"That's why we need to be sure we're on the same page, little man," he says, sounding so reasonable that Izzy wants to scream. "Come on--this is not my first interrogation."

Izzy knows. He does. He doesn't know why he's being so fucking difficult.

"Hey, Izzy, look at me."

He raises his eyes to Jim's. They take a slow step towards him, then another. When he doesn't balk, they step into his space fully, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Breathe, viejo"

Izzy sucks in a breath, taken aback by the sudden realization that his lungs are burning. Jim nods encouragingly and he breathes in again. As he exhales, words come flooding out of him

"I don't know why I'm doing this," he says, face flushing. "I just. I know Ed's already found Ben. I know it. When we first started together, we were both just deckhands, stupid, inexperienced, no fucking sense. And Ed..."

His voice breaks. Jim and Roach don't interrupt

"Ed was so beautiful. He was fucking perfect. Looking at him was like... It was like looking at the fucking sun, like staring too long would strike me fucking blind. And Ben... Ben was looking too."

Jim squeezes his shoulder, comforting him. Izzy wants to throw up. He looks down at his feet, not wanting to see the way they'll look at him when he stops talking.

"I was older. By a few years. I'd been on board for about six months before Ed showed up."

"Ben had..." Izzy trails off, clears his throat before pressing on. "He'd already had me. And when I saw him looking at Ed I... Fuck, listen, it was already too late for me, but I just... I just wanted to keep Ed safe. So I did everything I could to keep Ben content." His mouth twists with bitter irony. "And it worked. Ben never touched him. Not like that, anyway. And now..."

His voice breaks again. He stares down at the carpet beneath his feet.

He still can't look them in the eye. He wants to curl into a ball and disappear, doesn't want to face the disgust they must feel. Jim squeezes his shoulder again.

"We're gonna get him back, Izzy," they say. "Just, trust us, yeah?"

He risks a glance up. Jim regards him calmly. There's no disgust in their face, and precious little pity--he's fucking grateful for that, at least. Roach leans against the wall, arms crossed, picking his nails with a cleaver

He looks almost like he's trying to give Izzy some privacy, like that's not fucking impossible right now. Izzy appreciates it anyway.

"It's-- I'm--" Izzy stammers. He doesn't know what he wants to say, and for once, his stupid mouth doesn't either. Roach pushes away from the wall tucking the cleaver back in his belt.

"Let me do the work, Dizzy Izzy," he says, a little twinkle in his eye easing any sting in his words. "After all, it's my kitchen."

*
Jim drags the hostage, chair and all, out of the larder, into the galley proper. The man is gagged, arms tightly bound behind him and secured to the chair. From where Izzy leans--close to the door, toying with a filleting knife Roach slipped him with a wink--he admires the knotwork.

"You've been holding out on me," he says as Roach takes out a clean, white cloth and lays it over a tall stool. "Where were those knots when you rigged the mainsail?"

Roach just shrugs, smiling mischievously.

"I like to keep an air of mystery," he says, eyes twinkling. Some of the cold terror at the base of Izzy's spine ebbs away, and he snorts.

"Like to keep away from the fuckin' work more like," he says, meaning it to sound stern--a touch of a smile creeps into his voice too, and Roach just smiles wider.

That smile, Izzy notices, doesn't budge an inch when Roach turns to their prisoner. The man pales a bit.

The thin man watches, too. His skin, already sallow, looks absolutely pallid now. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, all the way up to the crown of his thinly-haired head.

Roach hems and haws, hands on his hips, staring down at his collection. The prisoner's eyes flick from the tools to his face and back again. More slowly, and apparently with great thought, Roach begins removing items from his apparent inventory. The man's eyes dart around the room.

Izzy leans back, watching closely. As Roach narrows his selection down to five, he looks up at the thin man, who whimpers quietly behind his gag.

"Now," Roach says, sounding supremely satisfied. "Did you know that each of these knives serves a specific culinary purpose?"

Roach nods encouragingly at the man, waiting for him to respond. After a moment of terrified confusion, the man shakes his head, whimpering a muffled negative through his gag.

Roach's eyes light up, apparently delighted by the man's response.

"Today you will learn how each of them is used."

The man begins to shake. Izzy tucks the filleting knife into a pocket of his vest--he has a feeling he won't be needing it. The man's quiet whimpering stretches into a constant whine as Roach holds up a long, thin blade, wickedly curved and split at the tip. He grins amiably as he begins to carefully explain its function to the hostage.

Izzy crosses his arms over his chest and smiles, feeling suddenly at ease. He wonders if Roach would mind if he made drinks. After a moment, Jim slips over and sits on a stool next to Izzy with a casual nod.

They cross their arms, too, leaning their head back so they can watch from under the brim of their hat. They meet Izzy's gaze for just a moment, but he understands them perfectly.

It's not often you have a chance to watch a master at work.

The man's chest heaves as he breathes too quickly, still babbling as Roach impatiently pulls the gag from his mouth, letting it fall over his chin.

"What?" he says, clearly irritated by the interruption.

The man's voice goes high and reedy with panic.

"Wait, wait you didn't-- you-- you didn't ask me anything, you didn't ask me anything!"

Roach folds his arms, unamused.

"I asked you if you had heard of these knives," he says, nodding to his tools.

"And-- and I answered! I... please, wait!"

Roach bends to his task, knife pricking deeper into the hollow of the man's throat this time. The man screams, hands flexing in terror as the ropes hold his arms and legs mercilessly pinned.

"Wait! Wait! Please!" he screams, "Please, please, what do you want to know, anything, please!"

Roach clicks his tongue, irritated to be interrupted again. He doesn't bother to stand this time, knife unmoving in his hand

The prisoner whimpers, a desperate, almost animal sound, and Izzy could almost feel sorry for him.

"You are ready to talk already?" he says, nose wrinkling in disgust. The man draws in a convulsive breath. A drop of blood rolls down from the place where Roach's knife pierces his flesh.

"Yes," the man replies on a sobbing exhale. Roach narrows his eyes. The knife still doesn't move, another drop of blood rolling down the rivulet laid down by the first.

Finally, it overflows its banks, sending a slow but steady trickle down the man's chest, over his belly. The man shudders, watching Roach fearfully.

Izzy shakes his head, impressed and amused despite himself. Roach is a man of hidden depths and talents. Here he's barely spent a thimbleful of this man's blood, and the fucker's already gagging to spill all his beans. He feels a tap at his elbow and glances down to see Jim offering him a flask

He glances at them out the corner of his eye--they wink at him and he barely suppresses a laugh. He accepts the flask, takes a swig, surprised by the pleasant, earthy burn of whiskey, and then turns his attention back to Roach

Roach takes the prisoner's chin in his hand, holding him tight as he bends forward until their cheeks are brushing. His lips are almost close enough to touch the man's ear as he speaks

"What is Hornigold's next port?"

The man somehow blanches even paler, so pale you might think the little stream of blood trickling down his narrow chest was all he had in him.

"That's-- I-- I don't--"

"Ah, too bad," Roach says, in a tone that suggests just the reverse, lowering the knife to the man's breastbone again.

"Wait wait, please, god, he'll kill me!" the man wails. Roach pulls back, this time crouching on his heels as he stares up at his prisoner, confused.

"Have you looked around?" Roach asks, gesturing with the bloody knife in a vague, all encompassing gesture. "Do you see where you are? Do you see who you are with?"

The man's panicked eyes move around the galley, taking in Izzy and Jim, watching in comfortable silence. Finally, reluctantly, they return to Roach's face. Roach's mouth twists sardonically.

"You are going to die my friend," he says. "The only question is, in how many pieces?"

*
"To Kingston?" Stede exclaims, eyes lighting up as Izzy gives him his report. He leans back on his pillows, infuriatingly optimistic as always. "So, all we have to do is beat them there and lay a trap!"

Izzy squeezes his eyes shut, fights for patience

"They've two days head start on us, sir," he says through clenched teeth. Stede frowns as though he hadn't considered that factor.

"But there's always some... Shortcut or something, right?"

He looks so earnest that Izzy almost hates to disappoint him. He shakes his head apologetically. Stede's eyes move to Roach instead, hopeful.

"Perhaps the prisoner knows a shortcut!" he says. "Can't hurt to ask, can it?"

Roach and Jim exchange a look. Stede's eyes narrow, going back to Izzy. Izzy shifts from foot to foot, looking at Roach and Jim reproachfully.

"Afraid he's unavailable for further questioning, sir," he says stiltedly.

"And why would that be?" Stede responds, voice a touch too calm. Izzy opens his mouth, not sure how to respond. Roach interrupts.

"Sorry, captain," he says, shrugging. "I found him... rude."

"Rude!" Stede squeaks, "You killed our only source of information because he was a bit rude while you were torturing him? Why--"

"Captain," Jim says, standing shoulder to shoulder with Roach. "Escucha."

Stede stops, gesturing for them to continue.

Roach and Jim exchange another look. Izzy stands stiffly, not quite looking at any of them.

"He was..." Jim starts, then hesitates, glancing at Izzy quickly before they finish, awkwardly, "he was really fucking rude, captain."

Stede's frown deepens. He opens his mouth, frustrated enough to simply demand an explanation when--

"It was my fault, sir." Izzy stares down at his feet, face flame red. "Roach was conducting the interrogation."

"I... Interrupted."

Izzy blinks, the moment still fresh in his mind.

Roach was still questioning the man--he'd given up Kingston as Hornigold's destination all too readily. More and more secrets poured from him as Roach poked and prodded, literally and figuratively. He'd worked for Hornigold before, many times. He was a procuror of sorts. Roach dug a knife into his ribs at that revelation. The man threw his head back, shrieking, shaking.

"Keep talking," Roach hissed, grip shifting on the knife, ready to slice

The man breathes in a harsh staccato, voice breathless

"I-- This-- this was an unusual case, Hands is older, he's well known, but the-- the principle's the same." The man gasps, as Roach's knife digs in deeper. Izzy's fists squeezed tight, nails digging into his palms. He felt Jim tense next to him, though their body language didn't change. The man continued, oblivious

"It was the same with Rackham, just another job."

Izzy can't help himself. He moves before the thought fully coheres in his mind, coming to stand before the hostage, staring down at him, arms crossed.

"What did you say about Rackham?" he demanded. The man hesitated, looking back to Roach, who rewarded him with another twist of the knife.

"Answer him," Roach said calmly as the man whimpered.

"Jack Rackham," he gasped at last, "Calico Jack"

"He was Hornigold's last bounty! Someone delivered him just a few weeks ago. They say... They say Hornigold's got a list..."

Izzy stood, unmoving, eyes suddenly distant, face slack. Roach wrapped his hand in the hostage's hair, yanking his head to the side as the knife began to slice a thin line along the man's ribs.

"Who's on the list?" he demanded, a touch of harshness in his voice for the first time. The man's voice is almost inaudible.

"Don't know," he whispered, voice high and terrified, "don't know any of the others, I swear, no one does!"

Roach's knife kept carving a slow curve and the prisoner's voice rose to a shriek.

"Traitors! They said it was men who betrayed him!"

Roach paused for an instant and the man drew in a breath, looked up at Izzy. His eyes hardened in sudden defiance.

"He sent us out to get his revenge on the likes of Rackham, and his little whore."

The man sneered the words, spitting at Izzy's feet.

He was dead before the spit touched the floor. Roach pulled the knife free from his jugular at the same time Jim stepped forward to pull their knife from his eye socket. They nodded to each other respectfully. Izzy stared at the cooling body of the only man who might know where Benjamin Hornigold was holding Jack Rackham.

If Jack was even alive.

*

Izzy stares down at his clasped hands.

Stede stays silent for a long moment. Izzy can practically feel him thinking.

"So," he says at last. "We still need to find a shortcut to Kingston, and now we need to prepare not just to rescue Ed, but to save... Calico Jack?"

He can't quite keep the distaste from his voice, but he doesn't miss the desperate hope in Izzy's eyes when he looks up at Stede's words.

"That is what you want, isn't it, darling?" he asks softly. Izzy swallows.

"Yes sir." His voice catches in his throat. "Please sir."

Stede smiles a bit sadly. Izzy's stomach drops. He always knew he'd disappoint Stede, one way or another, no matter how he tried to avoid it. And he's known for longer than that, how much he'd give for the chance to save Jack fucking Rackham.

"Right," Stede says, shaking off his momentary funk. "It looks like we've got a fuckery to plan!"

For once, he's going to follow Izzy's advice. He's going to make a plan. He can't afford to fail.

He waits until the last of the crew have started to drift towards the gangplank. He stands, winding a rope around his arm, tidying the deck as he thinks things through. God, tidying the deck? He really has been missing Izzy, hasn't he? Finally, he picks up the small pack he brought with him when he left the Revenge, slinging it over his shoulder