Chapter Text
Silver was drowning.
Water under him, above him, around him and he just couldn't get his damn peg leg out of the net, which mercilessly dragged him into the dark depths. He didn't want to die like that.
Muldoon drifted next to him, reaching out his hands to him. "It's not that bad, just let go," his voice said in Silver's head.
Suddenly, something or maybe someone pulled him up, further and further up and then he could finally breathe again. The ground beneath him was solid from one second to the next and Silver knew he was standing on a beach. Someone held him tightly, murmuring the same words near his ear over and over again, "I've got you. I've got you."
The voice of his captain.
With the hug and these words came the final certainty that this had to be a dream. Flint and he had never touched each other like this, had never been this close. An arm against Silver's chest, a knife at his throat, a hand over his mouth to silence him, a fleeting, unintentional touch of their fingers over a glass of water, a shoulder offered as support on uneven paths. All of this, but never such a close embrace and while Silver was still coming to this conclusion, the body in front of him began to slowly dissolve. Silver's arms instinctively tried to hold on to it, but soon they slid through the non-body, so that he finally embraced himself. He opened his eyes, but all that awaited him was pitch black darkness.
Silver's entire body twitched and then he really woke up. Immediately he felt lightheaded. The ground beneath him was shaking, a constant surge, and he fought an emerging nausea.
Was he in a carriage? He imagined hearing the distant tramping of hooves.
Scraps of memory fought their way to the surface of his mind. The ambush off Nassau's coast. His fall into the water. Max, Isaac Hands, a fight, obviously lost. Was Hands still alive? Where did they take him? He had been drugged, presumably with opium.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids didn't want to cooperate with him.
"Sleep," a voice said, and so he fell asleep again.
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The next time Silver came to himself, stagnancy. No more movement, but loud voices nearby. An argument maybe? He desperately tried to pick up everything, but in the end, he only caught fragments of the conversation.
"This isn't really a place for someone like him. Yes, we have many criminals here, but their offenses are not as serious as his crimes."
"I think this amount of gold is compensation enough. And you surely don't want to cause any problems, do you?"
"Well... as luck would have it, only a few hours ago a bed in one of our huts became available."
The clinking of coins.
"Can he walk himself? Oh, I forgot his leg. And he hardly seems to notice anything. How much opium did you give him? Burton. Smith. Take him to his new accommodation. And make sure he stays there for the time being."
Silver was grabbed by the arms, pulled up and then dragged away. He tried to find support with his leg, to stand himself, but had no chance. It became brighter, presumably they had stepped outside. He blinked, but everything remained slightly blurry.
The two men dragged him along a narrow path, past some buildings of different sizes, until they reached a smaller hut. A few flat steps led up to a narrow porch, on whose boards there was something on the floor. A big, white cloth? It arched a bit. To hide something? The shape that emerged underneath was similar to a body. Two other men stood next to the cloth and one of them carried a rifle, the other had a wooden bat hanging on his belt.
Before he could make sense of all this, Silver was dragged further up the steps and through the open door of the hut and finally pushed rudely on a soft surface. A bed? Immediately he tried to sit up again, even though everything was spinning in his head.
"What's going on here, who is this?" asked another new voice nearby, but no one responded.
"Let me go. Don't you know who I am? You should let me go immediately." Even in Silver's own ears, his words sounded slurred. Oh, how he hated opium.
"You will regret this. When Captain Flint learns that you're holding me here... He will come and kill you. Burn everything down. He has taken revenge for less serious offenses in the past. What do you think he does to people who hold his king captive?"
Someone spat out and something damp hit him in the face. "Pirate scum. I don't see a king here. Where is it, your crown? And your throne?" a man scoffed. Someone else laughed viciously. Silver tried to straighten up again.
"Tie him up." Strong, unyielding hands pressed him back onto the bed and he now felt real panic sprouting up in him. The last time someone pinned him down like this, it ended with the loss of his leg.
"No, no, fuck, let me go!" He writhed in vain under the iron handle.
"Please don't," he pleaded. "Let me go…" He was aware that he was begging now, but he could not think clearly, just wanted to get out of here. There were too many strange, unwanted hands on his body, and he couldn't defend himself, he couldn't do anything...
"Please." Tears rolled down his cheek against his will.
"Look at him. Long John Silver, pirate king. Pathetic." Again, that mocking laugh.
Helplessness and a touch of hysteria were the last things he felt rise within himself, then mercifully the darkness finally picked him up again and he became unconscious anew.
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This time Silver did not drown in his dream but burned. Not by a fire around him, but from within. He had never believed in hell, but maybe he had ended up there.
For a while, he wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep. At some point he felt – it could have been hours in this state or years or maybe even only a few minutes – how someone wiped his glowing forehead with a cool, wet cloth.
Was he back on the Revenge?
His leg... He had lost his leg.
Silver blinked clumsily, seeing only dimly that there was another person standing in the semi-darkness.
"Flint?" he murmured, trying to raise his hand to grab his captain's arm. Who else would take care of him? But why did he move further and further away from Silver?
"Stay with me. Read something to me?" Finally, he got something soft to grasp and clung to the shirt sleeve. A hand closed around his, but there was no answer. Silver wanted to open his eyes completely, but his eyelids were heavy again or maybe still heavy and a moment later he fell asleep again.
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When Silver came back to himself, clearer than he had been for quite a while, the first thing he heard were two voices talking quietly nearby. Memories returned to him. The hut. He had been captured.
How much time had passed since then?
The ambush.
Flint and Madi. Were they still alive? Perhaps their bodies had long since been buried at the bottom of the ocean under wreckage, where Silver had almost found his end. The very thought of losing either or both of them hurt more than he had ever thought possible. The last thing he had seen before falling into the water was Madi, who had already saved herself into one of the long boats, and Flint, who was on his way there. They must have made it.
He tried to suppress his dark thoughts and instead focus on the conversation that was taking place right now.
"It's just wrong. To have him here. He will be our death sentence. Everyone has heard the rumors. He is a demon conjured up by Captain Flint from the depths of hell. His executioner who kills just for fun."
"A demon? I have heard that he is Flint's shadow, who has torn himself away from him and is now wandering freely on earth, has no soul of his own and thirsts for revenge because he can no longer find peace."
"Maybe... Maybe this is just a lunatic who only claims to be Long John Silver. Look at him. Did you imagine him this young? Does he give you the impression of a dangerous pirate? To me he seems very human. He cried, he almost died of his fever. Do demons or shadows do that?"
Great, then the people to whom the voices belonged had been there when he was brought here. Silver remembered his collapse only vaguely, but still felt humiliated. He carefully moved a hand and found he was no longer tied to the bed.
"But if he's really Long John Silver, then we should probably fear Captain Flint. He is his right hand and you have heard what he said. Captain Flint will come here to retrieve his property, probably by force."
Silver was pretty sure he hadn't expressed himself that way. He laughed harshly. "You really have a fascinating imagination and I love good stories. I've never heard the shadow thing."
He decided to finally open his eyes and this time he finally saw everything clear. "But I don't fucking belong to anyone." Silver propped himself up on his forearms and looked around.
It had to be late in the evening, there was no more daylight visible through the small windows. In the middle of the room, two young men sat at a table with a few candles on it, illuminating their faces and the surroundings. That had to be the direction from which the conversation had come. One of the men had short cropped, brown hair and the other had chin-length, dark blonde curls. Both stared at Silver in shock, obviously not expecting him to be awake.
On the bed right next to his own - and the distance was quite small - another man sat at the head end. He looked older than the other two, bearded and with short, blond hair. He had a book in his hand, and a lantern was attached to the wall above him. However, his attention no longer rested on the pages, but on Silver as well. Apparently, he had not participated in the conversation.
In addition to their beds there were two more beds, all lined up with not much space between them. There wasn't much more furniture, apart from two small cupboards on the opposite wall of the beds and the table with the four chairs. A few buckets and other vessels of various sizes and shapes were scattered on the floor, but Silver could not make out their contents in the semi-darkness.
"Where am I here?" Silver asked.
"In Savannah, on a plantation," one of the men from the table declared after a moment.
"A place where criminals get a chance to redress. We are allowed to live here and work in the fields in return," his neighbor added. It sounded like it had been memorized, a phrase that was said around here a lot.
The man next to Silver remained silent.
None of the three men seemed like a criminal at first glance and Silver frowned. He wanted to ask something, but his thoughts were very sluggish, and he already felt exhausted by his short waking phase.
"How long have I been here?" he murmured.
"You were brought here three days ago. Since then, you haven't been really responsive and you've had a pretty high fever." Three days. He could have sworn that it would have been one night at most.
Silver let himself sink back onto his flat, uncomfortable pillow. "Okay, I think I'll close my eyes again. Just for a moment."
He dreamed of blood and shadows.
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The next morning – Silver at least suspected that it was morning, he had slept through the night – the silent, blonde man brought him something to eat.
Even though it gnawed at his pride that he could not get something to eat himself, Silver did not hesitate for a second to accept the offered plate and immediately grab for the bread. He had struggled with hunger too many times in his life and that feeling of an empty, aching stomach was nothing he ever wanted to experience again. Not if he had a choice.
Silver sat up, leaned against the wall behind the bed.
"Thank you... What's your name?" he asked after the first bite. Time to gather more information and learning the names of the other men was a start.
Instead of answering, the man just threw a frustrated glance at his two roommates, who were sitting at the table again and were also busy eating their food. Before one of them could react, their silent companion disappeared through the door with his own plate.
"Marcus. His name is Marcus. I'm William, that's George," the dark-haired man finally introduced himself and the other residents of the small hut. The two men did not seem as anxious as they had the previous day. Perhaps they had noticed that Silver did not seem to pose a direct danger for the time being.
"Why didn't he say anything? What did they do to him?" An uneasy feeling stirred in Silver. What exactly was this place? Were people tortured here? If he now also lost his tongue... What would he be without his voice? Nothing.
"Oh no, I heard he was already like that when he arrived here. It supposedly took almost two years for him to say anything at all, everyone thought he was mute. Or lost his mind. Maybe he did in a way." William laughed nervously.
"He usually speaks, though not very much. In particularly stressful situations, however, it happens from time to time. That he stops talking. For days or sometimes weeks. Our friend hanged himself here in the hut yesterday, we found him when we came from the fields. So... It's almost impossible to communicate with Marcus in this state because they wouldn't even give us paper, let alone pens," George added, shrugging his shoulders, and Silver got the impression that the two loved talking about others and spreading information. He saved this knowledge for later.
Their words sparked a sudden, unexpected wave of sympathy and solidarity for Marcus in Silver.
For a moment, Silver saw himself again, so many years ago. A memory he thought he'd long since forgotten. The little boy who came to a foreign country whose language he could hardly speak. Completely on his own and unable to communicate with anyone through words. A little girl, a little older than him, but just as alone. She simply took his hand and showed him how to find his way in this world, at first without words.
Not the same situation but the lesson from it was simple. If someone bothered, there was always a way.
"What should we call you?", William interrupted his thoughts and Silver was glad that he could bury the unwanted memory deeply again. "Some people look for a new name when they come here. Either because they want to remain anonymous if they had enemies or to actually make a completely new start."
"Silver is fine." He had been wearing this last name for quite a while now and had gotten used to it. Besides, it would be ridiculous to use another one if everyone here knew who he was anyway. He would not find anonymity here. Apart from that, he had no intention of staying here any longer than necessary.
"You're the first pirate to end up on the plantation," George said.
"If you don't mind me asking... Why did you end up here?"
"My brother felt that because of my past, I was not worthy of inheriting the family fortune. So he made sure that I disappeared from the scene. But at least he didn't have me killed, so he can't hate me completely." William lowered his gaze to the tabletop in front of him. George briefly put his hand on his shoulder and pressed it lightly.
"I'm actually lucky that I ended up here," George said. "The day before I was supposed to end up on the gallows, Mr. Oglethorpe showed up in the prison where I was awaiting my execution. He was looking for workers for the plantation and of course it was a better deal for the prison owner to sell us for gold than to execute us. Oglethorpe saved the lives of many prisoners that day."
He sounded genuinely grateful. Did many men consider this Oglethorpe guy to be their savior? And yes, he had saved them from death, but how good could the intentions of a man who enslaved people on a plantation really be?
Silver also learned that William had only been here for a few months, George almost two years and Marcus even longer – how long exactly neither of them knew.
Then suddenly there was a knock on the door, and it was thrown open just a few seconds later. A tall, elegantly dressed man with a hideous wig entered the hut. Outside the door, Silver spotted two other men, apparently some of the guards. It was clear that the man was in charge of this place. One glance from the newcomer in their direction was enough and William and George were on their feet and out of the door the next moment. William mumbled something about the fact that it was time for work anyway.
The man adjusted one of the chairs so that he was facing Silver and took a seat on it. "Well, Mister Silver, I think it's time for me to introduce myself and talk to you about your stay and the rules here."
Silver placed the now empty plate next to him. "Oh, is it? Or you simply let me go and we save ourselves this conversation. It's not too late for you to survive the whole thing unscathed. Mister Oglethorpe, I suppose?"
The man just gave Silver a thin, joyless smile. "Yes, that's my name and I own this plantation, among other things. And I wish it was that easy, but someone paid a lot for us to keep you here. In fact, it was such a huge sum of gold that it even makes up for the costs that will be incurred for your food and compensates for the fact that you cannot work in the fields with your condition."
His condition. The last sentence was accompanied by a quick glance at the spot of Silver's non-existent leg and Silver felt the need to throw the thin blanket over it. He didn't and just stared at Oglethorpe until he looked away.
"Why don't you look at the whole thing as a kind of lifelong retirement? You never have to work again and still get a warm bed and two meals a day."
"How generous," Silver scoffed. "But actually, I'd rather decide for myself when and where to retire."
Oglethorpe ignored his comment. "The rules here are simple. Anyone who steals or injures someone else will be punished. Those who do not listen to the orders of the guards will be punished. Any attempts to escape will be punished. After sunset you have an hour to return to your huts so that we can lock them up overnight. A little safety precaution so as not to tempt anyone, you certainly understand. If someone is not in his hut, this will lead to a punishment for the whole group. During the day there will be at least seven hours of work on the fields. As mentioned, you don't have to. The rest of the day can be used by anyone as they wish. We even have a small library here and everyone is free to borrow one book a week from it. There is a canteen here where the food is served. You can either eat there or wherever you like."
"Wonderful. In order to be able to come back to these friendly offers, however, I need a way to be able to move again." Silver tried to sound indifferent, even though he knew that without a new crutch or a peg leg, he would be lost and completely dependent on the help of other people. He had already angrily realized that his rings and necklace had been taken from him, probably in the first days when he had been unconscious most of the time. All he had left was his earrings.
"If you behave and do not cause any difficulties, I will provide you with a crutch in a few days."
It took Silver's complete self-control not to react aggressively to Oglethorpe's patronizing tone. He gave him a curt nod to show that he understood the conditions.
"Sunday is a non-working day, everyone is entitled to visit our chapel in the morning and listen to the sermon. We have a bathhouse here and once a week a barber comes here so that everyone has the opportunity to feel like a respectable man." The look Oglethorpe gave Silver told him that Oglethorpe did not consider him a respectable man and that no new shave, bath or visit to the chapel would change that.
Just the thought of all these things made Silver's skin crawl. To sit helpless and vulnerable in a bathroom, deprived of any mobility advantage. Or voluntarily exposing yourself to someone else's knife, keeping a blade so close to your throat. No. No, no bath and no barber for him. He hadn't seen a chapel from the inside in his entire life and he would not start to change anything about it now.
"Well, I think that should be enough for now." Oglethorpe looked very pleased with himself and rose from his chair.
When he got to the door, he turned back to Silver. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. One more little thing."
He avoided Silver's gaze and it seemed like he was extremely uncomfortable talking about whatever he was going to say next. " We do not condone… the practice of sodomy here. This is a place of new beginnings, men can leave their sins of the past behind and become better people. Therefore, such an offense is also punished. I firmly believe that with strict rules and a little help, anyone can be saved and live a meaningful life. This is a real second chance for many."
Flint would definitely burn this place down. And Silver would love to stand by his side and hand him the torch with a smile.
"Such a pity. I just thought there was something between you and me. You know, that particular spark..." Silver winked meaningfully at Oglethorpe, even though he knew he probably should contain himself. But the alternative was to threaten him.
Oglethorpe squirmed uncomfortably, then sighed in resignation. "This isn't a bad life. It could have got you a lot worse. Think about it. A place where the past doesn't matter. You should be grateful."
He nodded to Silver again and quickly left the hut.
One book a week, otherwise nothing to do and without his crutch he couldn't even move out of the hut at the moment. In addition, a megalomaniac plantation owner who thought he was a righteous saint. A place where the past didn't matter? He knew himself well enough that this claim was unfortunately not so easy to implement, no matter how much you wished for it. In one form or another, the past always caught up with you.
Silver would either die of boredom or because he would instigate a revolt.
This was a nightmare come true.
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In the evening, Marcus brought him something to eat again. A bit of meat with an indefinable side dish. Cutlery was obviously not trusted here either, at least not outside the canteen. Before Silver could say anything, Marcus had disappeared outside again with his own plate. Probably not to go back to the canteen, otherwise he probably wouldn't have brought his own plate here in the first place.
Silver gulped down his portion hastily – it hardly tasted like anything, but he hadn't expected anything more from this place and at least you could eat it at all – and in the meantime thought about the best way to socialize with his new, involuntary roommates. Even one single day in this complete seclusion had bored him almost to death. It was far too quiet. Since Oglethorpe had left, no one else had entered the hut and Silver would have immediately exchanged the silence for the sometimes annoying and ridiculous problems of his crew members who sought his advice.
He had discovered a book on the floor between his own bed and that of Marcus and had been happy for a moment until he realized it was the Bible. Contemptuously, he had thrown it back on the floor, only to pick it up again an hour later out of sheer desperation and read a few passages without much motivation. He imagined his eyes hurting from rolling them so often. Such presumptuous chatter.
In any case, George and William seemed to be afraid of him. Marcus didn't, but Silver first had to find a way to communicate with him. He already had an idea that hopefully would work.
Still feeling weak, he considered whether he would make it out to the door. Especially in his current state without a crutch. Nevertheless, he had to try. First of all, however, he put on fresh clothes after realizing how much his own stank. Someone had put two sets of simple trousers, shirts and underclothes next to the bed. The other men had worn similar clothes.
After he had managed this with some effort, he knotted the left trouser leg below his stump and had to take a breather for a few more minutes until he had enough energy to get up. It was humiliating to only be able to move by resting his hand against the wall and hopping on one foot to the door and Silver felt tempted to just go back to bed.
But finally, he made it to the door and opened it slowly, looking outside. He had to blink when he was confronted with direct daylight for the first time in days. The small windows in the hut did not allow much of it into the interior.
Marcus sat on one of the steps that led up to the narrow porch. His empty plate stood next to him, and he didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, lost in thought.
Silver cursed inwardly when he saw that the porch had no railing to support himself on. No way to do this elegantly.
Ah, fuck it. He swallowed his pride and then cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me? Would you mind helping me out here?"
Visibly taken by surprise, Marcus turned to him. It was obvious that he hadn't expected Silver out here.
Silver gestured toward the stairs. "I'd like to sit down with you, if you don't mind. But I..."
Thankfully, Marcus seemed to understand his dilemma right away, and he rose without Silver having to explain any more. As Silver grabbed his shoulder with one hand to support himself, the fleeting thought occurred to him that Marcus must be almost as tall as Billy, although not of the same overly muscular build. But very few men were.
"Thank you. For the food too." Silver had to look up slightly due to the proximity to Marcus in order to be able to look him in the eyes. Marcus returned his gaze, nodded briefly.
Without hesitation, he then wrapped his arm around Silver's waist and together they found their place on the stairs again.
"You were the one who took care of me when the fever came, weren't you?" Silver didn't remember, but it was rather obvious. Another nod and a short smile.
"You had no reason to help me. Why did you do it?"
With the same expression of frustration as in the morning, Marcus looked at him, but Silver continued to talk as he rolled up his left shirt sleeve.
"I know you are having trouble finding words right now and I don't understand why you are not given paper and ink. What does Oglethorpe think would happen? Does a pen count as a deadly weapon? Anyway. You can write, right? We just have to improvise a bit when it comes to the writing tools."
He invitingly stretched out his now exposed arm to Marcus.
Full of astonishment, Marcus stared at him, and Silver knew that his idea was highly unconventional and on closer consideration probably also strangely intimate for two strangers.
In response to Marcus' questioning look, he just shrugged. He had previously pondered what the best way would be and decided on what he thought was the most practical one. Even if he himself wasn't a big fan of being touched by others, especially not on his arms and hands. All too often, this sparked the memory of a drowning Muldoon clinging desperately to Silver's hand in his final moments. Or how Vane's men had pinned him down on the table that fateful day. But it was Silver who was now in control of this situation, and he willingly let Marcus touch him, so it was fine. He would be able to handle it.
"I once knew an orphan, a really tragic story. The unfortunate boy's tongue had been cut out as punishment for his countless lies. Of course, he couldn't afford paper, he was far too poor for that. So that was the only way he could still communicate with his friends."
Silver wiggled his arm invitingly again. "Well, go for it."
After another moment of hesitation, Marcus tentatively grabbed Silver's wrist with his left hand to stabilize the offered arm. With the index finger of his right hand, he began to draw letters on Silver's forearm, leaving a tingling sensation on his skin.
Is this a true story?
Silver grinned with amusement. "Maybe. Maybe not."
I saw no reason not to help you
The words on Silver's arm were accompanied by a shrug.
"I am a pirate. For most men, that would be reason enough. Your friends also seem to think I'm a danger to you. I'm sure no one here would mind if I hadn't woken up the next morning. Or would not get anything to eat."
Why should I judge someone I do not even know?
Silver nodded approvingly. "What a noble attitude. Although you've obviously heard of me here. There seem to be the wildest rumors circulating."
Exactly, rumors
I somehow doubt you are Captain Flint's shadow
The corners of Marcus' mouth twitched briefly in amusement and Silver had to grin too. Of course, he wasn't a figure from a ghost story. Nevertheless, Marcus had to be aware that there was a grain of truth in the stories – Silver was not an innocent man. Still, Marcus didn't seem to judge him immediately. But how high was the moral standard in a place full of former prisoners anyway?
I also did not want to see anyone die again anytime soon
Ah, so not just selfless reasons. Did Marcus feel guilty about the other man killing himself? Silver wondered what the reason for this unfortunate event had been but decided against digging any further. Not now.
"I'm sorry about your friend." Silver followed Marcus' gaze to the spot where the covered body had been lying a few days ago.
Thank you
It is unjust that Oglethorpe does not give you a crutch
Marcus's eyes glared at him with genuine annoyance. Anger at Oglethorpe, Silver noted with satisfaction. Interesting.
"If I behave, I'll supposedly be allowed to have one soon," Silver scoffed.
William and George slowly approached the path to the hut and seemed very surprised at the sight that presented itself to them, as far as their wide-open eyes were a sign. They didn't say anything as they made their way past them into the hut.
"Why haven't we come up with this idea so far?" they could hear from the inside before the door was closed.
As with the two of them, Silver was curious why Marcus had ended up on the plantation. "You don't have to answer that, but... Why are you here?"
The hand around Silver's wrist twitched slightly and Marcus pressed his lips together, closing his eyes, but not without Silver noticing the flicker of pain in them. He took a deep breath before opening them again and looking Silver firmly into his eyes as his finger ran over his arm.
I killed my family
Silver frowned. Hadn't Oglethorpe hinted that this was not a place for murderers? On the other hand, Silver had been quite out of it at the time, maybe he had just misunderstood. Marcus didn't seem to have finished writing anyway.
My words killed them
After Marcus drew the last letter on Silver's arm, he pulled both hands back and fixed his gaze on his own knees.
Silver almost replied that words couldn't kill anyone, but that wouldn't be the truth. After all, his own words and looks had killed before.
Silver, however, had looked enough murderers in the eyes to see that Marcus wasn't one. He looked more like someone who was haunted by terrible guilt. Even after so many years. Whatever the story behind his statement was, Silver suspected that Marcus and his family were just more victims of some kind of power games. The plantation seemed to be a gathering place for such people as Silver himself was aware because of Max.
"I am genuinely sorry for your loss." He thought of Flint and Madi again and desperately tried to ignore the growing concern for them.
Marcus looked up again and his gaze flicked over Silver's face, clearly surprised at his statement. Showing condolences was probably not the usual response to such a confession. He hesitantly reached out for Silver's arm and Silver extended it in his direction again.
Have you lost someone too?
Was the fear so obviously written on his face? "I... I don't know. Our ship was attacked, I was separated from the others. And now I'm stuck here, no idea who of my crew is still alive. I hope... Fuck. They were in the long boats. I hope they made it." For Marcus, it probably made little sense, but for the moment Silver was unable to explain the situation more eloquently.
I am really sorry to hear that
Silver could only nod and Marcus gave his wrist a sympathetic squeeze.
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Silver spent the next two weeks sleeping a lot, regaining strength after his fever – which had weakened him more than initially thought – and making plans for his escape.
To do this, he had to think about what role he should play here. Fear-spreading pirate king? Reckless idiot, like when he joined the Walrus crew? Harmless cripple?
He probably didn't even have that freedom here. He was no longer a nobody, these men knew his name and who he was. His former freedom to be whoever he wanted, didn't exist any longer.
The truth was, Silver was getting tired of it. Playing a role to adapt, even if it had saved his life more than once. But in recent months he had felt more and more comfortable in his own skin. Something he hadn't initially thought possible after losing his leg. He was far from being alright but there had been progress.
But regardless of his role, the most important thing was to first gather as much information about this place and the people as possible. Then he could decide how to use that information to his advantage. After all, he was a true master at that.
So, for most of the time Silver sat on the steps in front of the hut and watched the goings-on and the people. At night he could almost pretend he was on the Walrus with everyone else's snoring. The only thing missing was the rocking of the waves.
He quickly realized that the guards met him exclusively with open hatred and disgust, while the other prisoners stared at him either with fear or with passive indifference and some even with admiration. Perhaps he could build on this if he wanted to get more prisoners to his side. After a few days, at least William and George had stopped staring at him suspiciously and expecting the worst every time he made the slightest movement.
He also did not miss the fact that a few individuals, both prisoners and guards, looked at him with an unmistakable lust, even if they quickly and shamefully tried to hide it again. Almost as if his damaged body was still something desirable. He felt a wave of revulsion rise at this realization and immediately dropped the thought of making use of this. Even if his looks and his charm had helped him out in one situation or the other in the past, he no longer needed these tricks. He was no longer the scrawny boy who had no other way of getting to his next meal.
He was aware that it would get him nowhere to make any ill-considered decisions now. He needed a well-thought-out plan, otherwise he might just forfeit his chance of getting out of here at all. So, he had to be patient, as difficult as it was for him.
For as much as he tried to focus only on planning, his thoughts inevitably returned to Flint and Madi and the war amid which he had left them behind. He tried not to allow the thought that they could both be dead. They must have escaped. At least that was what he kept telling himself.
Did they assume he was dead, or did they still cling to the hope that miraculously he had survived? Were they already looking for him?
If he was honest, Silver was less worried about Madi than about Flint. She was strong, she would continue without Silver. He had only been a short chapter in her life, and he hoped that it would at least remain a pleasant memory for her when she looked back later in her hopefully long life.
It wasn't that he thought Flint was weaker, but if he really thought Silver was dead... The past had shown that he didn't deal well with the loss of people close to him and Silver now belonged to this small group of people. He couldn't say what his death would lead Flint to do. Would he burn down cities for him too?
What if something happened to Max? She would most likely take his whereabouts to the grave, and no one would ever find him unless he got out of here on his own.
The only positive thing about his forced inaction was that his stump was getting better every day. Without the strain of his peg leg and the constant stimuli of a lot of movement, the rest had to be pure paradise for his leg.
None of the other prisoners sought him out or spoke to him apart from Marcus, who still met him curiously and openly. Every noon during his break and every evening, he brought something to eat for both of them to the hut. Most of the time Silver had already moved himself inelegantly outside on the stairs, sometimes he let himself be helped by Marcus.
If Marcus had changed his normal routine only because of him and would prefer to sit in the canteen with the others, at least he didn't show it. However, Silver had the feeling that most of the men ignored not only him, but also Marcus, because they did not know how to deal with his muteness.
Randall had once taught Silver that people who were most underestimated often had the most valuable information.
Tell me about pirates
Marcus had written this on his arm the day after their first conversation and Silver was only too happy to comply. He was an attentive listener and Silver had always loved telling stories to a willing audience. It was also a welcome distraction to get away from his growing desperation and his own thoughts, which kept going in circles.
He mostly told Marcus stories about his crew, Flint, Madi and the Maroon Island and Nassau. Sometimes other persons like Vane, Teach, Rackham, Bonny or Max also made their appearance in his tales.
Some of the stories were true, some at least half true, and others entirely made up.
Silver talked and Marcus would regularly tap against his arm so that Silver held it out and he could write down his remarks. His comments told Silver that Marcus was witty and had a sharp mind, and Silver thought more than once that a man like him shouldn't be in a dull place like this plantation. On the other hand, no one should.
Silver spent most of the time the others worked in the fields reading – when he wasn't sleeping or watching the other men – even though the selection of books was very limited. He had found that George and William hardly ever read themselves, but still fetched a new tome from the library each week so that Marcus had more than one book a week at his disposal.
Unfortunately, the titles available there were almost exclusively religious or historical texts. Not to be compared with the volumes that Flint had laid out for him in the past and insisted that Silver absolutely had to read them because otherwise he would be missing an important piece of literature. A habit that Silver had initially acknowledged with an eye roll, until he realized that Flint's selection was indeed always extremely interesting, and since then had always made Silver curious what he would get to read next.
But most of all, after reading, he loved hearing Flint's own opinion on the respective book. He was endlessly fascinated by how passionately his captain could talk about a certain passage for hours. It was also amusing to see how flushed such a discussion always left Flint behind, caused by his animated way of expressing his opinion and the bottle of rum they often shared along the way.
In any case, Marcus had told him that Oglethorpe paid close attention to what ended up in his library. After all, nobody should get the wrong idea when reading an overly scandalous or progressive work.
He really missed Flint's books.
But who was he trying to fool? What he missed more than his books was the man himself and their talks. They had grown so close over the span of the past few weeks, closer than Silver had ever thought possible. He had picked up within the crew that many considered him and Flint inseparable by now, their connection supernatural, much to Silver's amusement. However, their partnership had got a little rift when Flint asked him about his past a few days before their departure for Nassau and Silver hadn't been able to answer. Their contact with each other had been noticeably more hesitant since then and he suddenly wished for nothing more than to get another chance to fix that.
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Only after his first two weeks on the plantation did Silver finally get not only one but even two crutches, which Oglethorpe brought him on his own. Not without threatening him again that the crutches would disappear very quickly if Silver violated one of the rules or otherwise caused trouble.
He would have preferred to have been given a new peg leg, but he had never had this illusion in the first place.
The first few days he took advantage of his extended range of motion to gradually walk across the entire site to see if there were any weak spots. The plantation was surrounded by high walls and fences, and every corner was teeming with guards. In the western part of the plantation there was a small forest, between whose trees you were a bit more protected from prying eyes, but here too guards patrolled frequently, and the fence also ran through the forest.
So, no good escape routes. It seemed that the only way out was through a riot. Or should he just wait for his crew to come and rescue him? As soon as they found out where he was, he was sure they would come for him. The question was, how long would it take?