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

"We're trying to build a legend, mate," he remembers insisting. "Can't do that if all we care about is where the next meal's coming from."

Izzy crossed his arms, pushing his chest out, still too skinny to be properly intimidating. Hornigold never fed his men well.

"And how's this junk gonna help build your legend, eh?" Izzy demanded. He couldn't quite hide the twinkle in his eye. "Gonna be Captain fuckin Knickknack? Captain Junkshop? "

Ed stepped into Izzy's space, crowding him against the wall. Izzy's eyes flashed, mouth twisting into a smile.

"It's not junk, mate," Ed growled, wrapping his fingers around Izzy's tie. "It's style. A legend. Has style."

Ed can still feel the charge in the air when he remembers that day, the rush that he felt when Izzy looked up at him, a little blush spreading across his chest. He remembers the way his belly swooped when Izzy kissed him.

Ed moves unhurriedly, avoiding too much attention. Just another sailor, looking for a place to stay and a mug of ale. That's all he looks like. He'd stake his life on it.

"Ed Teach."

He feels the gun at his back before he hears the sharp, unmistakeable sound of the hammer being pulled back. He freezes.

"Benjamin Hornigold would like a word, sir," a slightly nasal voice recites, stiffly enough that Ed knows they're Hornigold's words.

Another alleyway branches off from this one just a meter or so ahead. Ed just has to distract the man, keep him talking long enough that he can make a break for it and disappear in the backstreets of Kingston.

"Hey," he says, "listen--"

A bright burst of pain splashes, white, across Ed's vision as the butt of a pistol slams into the back of his head. He falls forward, seeing nothing but the packed dirt path as it rushes up to meet him.

*
Ed's head throbs as he slowly becomes aware of the world around him again. His mouth is dry, eyes crusted almost shut and, fucking hell, he must have drunk himself to sleep again. God, that'd be the first time in... Chains clank together as he tries to raise a hand to scrub at his face. They've bound his arms behind his back. He remembers the alley, the gun at his back. His head throbs again, and he rolls over slowly.

"Fuuuck," he groans.

He blinks, waits for his vision to clear. There's not much to see. The room is dark, ceiling lost in shadow above. Not far above him, though. Even in the dark, he feels the weight of the air, the tightness of the space around him. Most likely, even if he weren't chained to the fucking wall with his hands behind his back, he wouldn't be able to stand fully upright.

He pushes himself up to sit, trying not to crush his fingers beneath himself.

The floor rocks gently beneath him, the motion familiar, almost soothing. Definitely on Hornigold's ship then. Well, he meant to get here, one way or another. He'd have preferred to skip the headache though. And the chains. He takes a breath, then blows all the air out of this lungs, trying to clear his head, to focus on the plan. Or, well, a plan at least.

Someone else is breathing, steady, quiet. Ed's hackles rise as he realizes it.

He freezes, listening. There it is. He thinks it's coming from the right, tucked into one of the corners of the room. Hornigold? The bastard always liked to play games. Ed flexes his hands, licks his lips as he tries to decide on his next move. He hears fabric shifting, a faint clink.

"Who's there?"

The voice is rough, tone flat. For a moment Ed doesn't recognize it. Emptiness sounds wrong in that voice. Ed takes another breath.

"Jack?"