A Captain's Oath4

“Commodore,” the blond pirate drawled, tapping his empty mug on the scratched wooden table that had belonged to the sometime governor of this fort of Dry Tortuga before Edward had captured the fort and executed the fat bastard. “We can settle this like civilized men.”

The commodore's eyebrows rose as did his temper. That this rat, this cur, would dare to bandy words with him! Remembering Woods Rogers' gleaming eyes the angry commodore swallowed his retort.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked instead, in the steadiest voice he could manage under the strained circumstances.

“I suggest we settle this like men, civilized men,” Edward repeated quietly. “Face realities, commodore. You couldn't capture this fort even if you wanted to. We could fling cannon balls and shot at one another for weeks – for nothing. We could send our men to die on each other's decks and walls of this fort – again for nothing.” Edward leaned back, hands folded on his stomach. “I don't want to risk my crew's lives in pointless fighting. So I propose a duel.”

The commodore stared, stunned. This pirate – this scum – wanted to fight him one on one? Unbelievable! Inconceivable! That a pirate should care about proprieties!... Gentlemanly proprieties, no less!

“A duel,” the commodore echoed, trying to gather his scattering wits, regain his composure. He WAS an officer of His Majesty's fleet after all. There was decorum and proper comportment to be maintained. “Absolutely out of the question.” He stood, one hand on his sword. “You will come with me. Either by your own will or by force.” He loomed over the blond pirate whose eyed gaze at him steadily. The man was unafraid, the commodore realized. Completely unafraid. Was this not HIS fort? Had he not captured it from the British? No wonder he wasn't afraid in the least. “Are we understood, pirate?”
Edward snorted and unfolded himself from his chair with a sigh. “I am disappointed in you, commodore.” He took a step and then rounded on the arrogant officer. “I thought we could settle this like men but you wish to play a different hand.” Edward found and held the commodore's eyes. “I am not coming with you, commodore. And you are not going anywhere.” His voice held just a suggestion of a cold growl.

The commodore gaped and then opened his mouth but Edward put up his hand.

“Look out the window, mate,” he invited casually. “Tell me what you see.”

Irritated the commodore stomped to the open window and started. Appalled he watched his ship, his frigate, swarming with pirates, Kenway's crew no doubt. He watched as the Union Jack was ripped down with much laughter which he heard clearly. He felt helpless as his first mate and cannon officers were herded amidships and made to kneel. He paled when he saw the pistols at their heads.

“Stop it!” he hissed rounding on Edward, who was leaning on the table with his hip, arms folded. “You bastard.”

Edward scoffed. “There are bastards and then there are bastards,” he remarked slyly. “Fortunately for you I am not one of them.”

The commodore sneered and then quickly adopted a cold closed-in expression. “What are you then?” he asked, seething inside. The damned pirate was toying with him! He'd never intended to let them leave, to go back to Rogers. His mouth tightened momentarily, then smoothed out.

“I am the one man who can help you,” Edward informed him, never letting his gaze slide off the commodore's face. “When Rogers finds out you've failed, he'll kill you. Right then and there. We both know it.” The stunned commodore bitterly acknowledged to himself that yes, the pirate had the rights of it. The Governor was never the man for half measures, especially when a subordinate of his failed in his task...

“So what do you propose, pirate?” the commodore asked, tight-lipped.

“Just what I said,” Edward said, matter of fact. “I fight you. You 'kill' me, then take my 'head' back to Rogers.” He shrugged. “Simple, really.”

“Simple?” The commodore gaped at him again. He couldn't seem to stop doing so. This man, this pirate, simply boggled the mind. “You want to deceive him? You want ME to deceive him? How insane are you?”

“No more than you,” Edward scoffed, straightening. “So, yea or nay, commodore?”

It was a long time before the commodore could say anything.


The rumours were slow to start. The news gradually filtered out to the British and Spanish islands and ports. No one ever found out where exactly they had started from or with whom. One day the shocking intelligence was simply there, slithering from port to port, ship to ship, mouth to mouth – Captain Edward Kenway was dead, killed at last by an officer of His Majesty's Royal Navy at Dry Tortuga, his ship towed back to Nassau and its Governor. Their fate, since pirates they were, was not in doubt. Kenway's death too was not in doubt – at least not to Rogers who opened the dark stained bag in his study to gaze at the severed head of his enemy. For a long moment he stared, unable to believe that the rumours, the gossip, had actually been true for once. Thatch hadn't been caught but that was easily taken care of. This one had been the real canker.

“Commodore, you've done well,” Rogers let the mouth of the bag close. “Very well indeed. His ship – she is here?”

“Yes, sir,” the commodore replied, back straight as a rod, voice confident once more. “She is beside my own frigate, sir, waiting your disposal.”

“Excellent.” Rogers' eyes gleam brightly. “Station your own men on the pirate ship. A strong contingent. I want to gather the crowds to see them arrive so that there is no doubt in anyone's mind just WHO it is that RULES here.”

The commodore nodded acknowledgement. “Any further orders, sir?”

“Keep a close eye on that ship, commodore. I wouldn't be surprised if they did try something. Kenway and his crew are sly foxes. And there is still Thatch...”

“Understood,” the commodore saluted and headed out to fulfil his duties, a sigh of relief escaping him once the door to Rogers' study was closed. So far, the ruse had worked.

But would it keep?