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Stede woke to the sound of gulls overhead. For a moment, he thought he must still be dreaming. He used to love the beach – still did, but he didn’t get much chance to visit, living where he did now: big, suffocating city, no ocean for miles around. He thought about it sometimes, but he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d… except… no, hang on, he had gone to the beach. He remembered now, the events of the day starting to fall into place in his mind. He’d left his home that morning, while Mary was at work and the kids were at school, with three packed suitcases in the back of his car, just in case – he didn’t know how long he’d be going away for, just that he had to get out. To be honest, he didn’t really know where he was headed, either. There hadn’t been much of a plan. He just got in the front seat and drove and drove and drove, and eventually found himself pulling up by the closest beach. Call it his subconscious guiding him.
From there, it was a short walk from where he’d parked to the seafront, and a relatively quiet one. Not much foot-traffic in the middle of a weekday like this, and it looked like he’d have a good stretch of the beach to himself for a while, which sounded just perfect for his state of mind. He could have a nice peaceful sit by the ocean, watch the waves lap in and out, and there he could decide what came next. But as he’d been crossing towards his future, sand and sea calling out his name, he’d stepped out into the road, and there was a flash of blue and then – nothing. And then the sound of gulls overhead. And the feeling of solid ground beneath his body. Which meant he’d been knocked down by a car, probably knocked unconscious, but he was fine now. He could hear, he could feel, and as soon as he opened his eyes, he was sure he’d be able to see. He left them closed for a minute, though, as he contemplated how close he’d come to serious injury just now. Or worse. It was a sobering thought, and part of him wondered if this was some kind of karma for leaving home like he had, with a vague note to Mary about taking some time away. He hadn’t thought she’d mind, really, but maybe that’d been short-sighted. Hell, maybe if he got up, dusted himself off, and headed home now, he’d get back before she did and she wouldn’t even notice he’d even left. And everything would go back to normal.
He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the blue sky above him, just as clear as he’d remembered it. What he didn’t remember was the man leaning over him. A long haired, bearded man, who looked almost as though he was from another time. Stede blinked up at him.
“Ah,” the man spoke, in a thick Scottish accent. “Yer not dead.”
“No, I…” Stede said, grunting a little as he propped himself up on his elbows, wondering how long he’d been knocked out cold for someone to think he was dead. “I think I was hit by a car.”
“A car?” the man asked, like Stede wasn’t making any sense – which frankly didn’t make any sense to Stede, since he was lying here in the middle of the road, so yes, of course he was hit by a car, he wasn’t just lying here trying to catch a few rays!
“Yes, a blue one,” he said curtly, wondering if there were any cameras around here, because the driver clearly hadn't stuck around, and he wasn’t best pleased about being the victim of a hit and run. “I think it was a…” he trailed off, as the rest of the world around him came into focus. He blinked. “Where am I?”
“Down by the seafront,” the man said.
“Right, that’s what I thought,” Stede nodded. “And, um. Sorry, just getting my bearings,” he said, scrunching his eyes closed and opening them up again, as if a bigger blink would change what he was looking at. Unfortunately, it didn’t, and as he staggered to his feet, he began to take it all in. Where before there had been an unobstructed view of the beach and the ocean beyond it, now there were huge wooden ships docked all along the way, with tall masts and billowing sails. As he turned, he saw a row of Georgian style buildings right where his car should be parked. And suddenly, the man standing beside him didn’t look so out of place anymore. No, it seemed like Stede was the one out of place. Or out of time.
“Wh…what’s going on?” he asked shakily.
“Ahhhh,” the man said, as if he suddenly understood– Stede wouldn’t mind a bit of that understanding himself right about now, but what the man said next didn’t exactly help. “Have ye been in the old gravy basket?”
“The… what?” Stede asked, beginning to wonder if he was still unconscious and this was some bizarre Alice in Wonderland style dream, where people dressed like they were from centuries ago and talked in nonsense phrases, which were delightfully whimsical when you were reading about them, but evidently less so when you were living through them, because what the absolute fuck was a gravy basket?
“Betwixt hell and high heaven,” the man explained… if you could call that an explanation.
“No,” Stede emphasised, feeling quite frustrated by this point, because the least this man could do was say something normal. “I was just crossing the road,” he said, gesturing emphatically to the ground below him which was, admittedly, more of a cobbled street than a road, but it hadn’t been when he’d stepped out onto it. “Taking a trip to the beach,” he went on, now jabbing his arm towards the ocean, which was, thankfully, still there, even if the whole set-up was quite a bit different. “I just don’t remember it looking like this,” he finished, motioning finally, dramatically, to the rest of the world around him.
“Canna tell what’s real and what’s the basket anymore, aye?” the man asked.
And despite his growing annoyance with this strange man, Stede supposed that what he’d said was sort of true, because even if he had absolutely no idea what this gravy basket was, he was clearly losing his grip on reality. Fortunately, it was at this moment that he remembered that his phone was in his pocket. Oh, thank fuck, he didn’t need to solely rely on the weird stranger who’d suspected he was roadkill. He could get in contact with the authorities and sort this whole mess out. But as he reached for his jacket pocket, he couldn’t help but notice that the material felt very different.
Which was when he stopped looking at everything else and finally looked down at himself, only to find that, while he was very much here, his clothes most certainly were not. Not to say he was naked (thankfully, that would be all he needed) but this outfit hadn’t been in any of his suitcases, and definitely hadn’t been on his body – he may own enough pieces of clothing to lose count of, but he’d remember if he owned anything like this. A long teal frock coat, lacy white sleeves peeking out of it, paired with matching teal breeches, white stockings… finally, his gaze landed on his shoes: black, with little white bows on. He looked like he’d stepped right out of the past. Much like the man standing before him.
“Did you change my clothes?” he asked, feeling monumentally stupid for even posing this question, but it made about as much sense as anything else.
“Na,” the man shook his head. “Ah found ye like this. Why? Are ye looking to change?”
Stede didn’t even know how to answer that, because frankly he was too busy trying to figure out how he’d ended up in this outfit to begin with, let alone how he was going to get out of it. But before he could think on it any longer, he noticed something else unusual – sheets and sheets of paper scattered around him, almost as if they’d been thrown at him… or he’d dropped them when he was hit by the car. Which of course he hadn’t, because he hadn’t been holding anything when he was hit by the car, but he hadn’t been wearing a teal frock coat and shoes with little white bows on either, and yet here he was. Bending down, he picked up one of the sheets of paper, hoping for some kind of clue as to what the hell was going on here, but somehow, the words on the page only made things worse.
PIRATES WANTED
SEEKING ADVENTURERS TO JOIN A HARDY CREW
SWASHBUCKLING EXPERIENCE APPRECIATED BUT NOT REQUIRED
FIND CAPTAIN STEDE BONNET AT THE DOCKS ABOARD THE GOOD SHIP REVENGE
INTERVIEWS WILL COMMENCE 05/05/1717
Alright, this had gone far enough. Not only was it apparently 1717, but he was a pirate? A pirate who had flyers? “Am I on one of those prank shows?” he demanded, hands on his hips. “Do they still do those?”
But his companion, of course, had no answer for him. Which Stede should have predicted, since a man from 1717 wouldn’t know what a prank show was, and this fellow was certainly living up to that expectation… which was exactly what an actor on a prank show would do. This, of course, left Stede just as clueless about his situation as before, and doubly irritated.
“Alright, well, if you’re not going to help me, I’ll be on my way,” he said, straightening his frock coat haughtily, because he’d had quite enough of this. Prank show or not, clearly something was going on here, but he reasoned that only so many people could be in on it. He just had to walk far enough away from here, and eventually he’d encounter some normal people again. And maybe a film crew, trying to punk him.
Resolute in his sort-of plan, he picked a direction and set off, away from the docks and past the old-timey buildings, where he could hear some kind of hustle and bustle. These shoes, he couldn’t help but notice, were surprisingly easy to walk in, feeling perfectly sculpted to his feet. Honestly, this whole outfit felt tailored to him, which was another uncomfortable thought – who the hell had been taking measurements? It all seemed like a ridiculous amount of effort for a prank. He was used to being made fun of, having endured plenty of that in his schooldays, but even the Badminton twins had never done anything this extravagant. And while they definitely had the money to pull off this sort of thing if they really wanted to, surely they were too old to be doing something like this by now. Besides, how would they know he’d be heading to the beach today? He didn’t even know he’d be heading to the beach today! All he’d known was that he was leaving, and… oh God, had Mary somehow followed him? Came home early, saw him leaving, and decided to punish him for abandoning her by staging some elaborate hoax? Was she the one who’d hit him with her car, just to spite him? He hadn’t thought she’d be the type, but clearly anything was possible.
That was only becoming more apparent as he passed the row of buildings to find what must be a town square. God, this was surreal. He felt almost dizzy as he took it all in. From here, the world seemed to stretch on forever – these buildings, these people, each of them looking like they belonged in some old painting. He bumped shoulders with one of them as he hazily made his way through the crowd, and was surprised to feel how solid they were. Like a real person. Which they couldn’t be, because this couldn’t be real, but… it felt real. Stede could feel everything, from the fabric against his skin to the ground beneath his feet. In fact, every one of his senses was overwhelmed: he could taste the salt air, hear the people talking amongst themselves, like this wasn’t a performance put on solely for his sake, just people living their lives. He caught snippets of conversation as he passed – two men drunkenly arguing outside a pub, a mother trying to wrangle her children, and then another voice, drifting out from the crowd…
…slipping into unconsciousness… Stede, can you hear me? Stede…?
Stede stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name. It somehow sounded both close and far away, and his eyes darted around frantically, trying to see who was speaking to him. But nobody was even looking at him. “Yes, hello?” he called back, in the hopes that the person would reveal themselves. “Hello, I can hear you! HELLO???”
But these attempts to respond only resulted in a group of people dressed like they’d wandered off the set of Bridgerton looking at him like he was the crazy one. And hell, maybe he was. Maybe he’d lost it. Maybe he was seeing these people in old-timey outfits when in fact they were all in t-shirts and shorts, off for a day at the beach and wondering who the hell the weird blond man was shouting at. Either that, or he was still lying there in the middle of the road, dying, and this was some final crazed vision before he slipped away, someone else’s life flashing before his eyes. Unless he was in hospital, completely out of it, drugged up on morphine and dreaming up a world of fantasy while doctors worked to bring him back to life.
Or he’d gone back in time to 1717.
Whatever it was, it was becoming increasingly clear that he needed help, and from the judgemental looks of the people around him, he wasn’t expecting much assistance from them. In desperation, he turned back in the direction he’d come, wondering if that strange Scotsman was still there, because as unhelpful as he’d been so far, he at least wasn’t hostile. And he’d bothered to check whether or not Stede was dead, which was somewhat nice of him. Unless, of course, he’d been circling like a vulture trying to decide whether to eat him or not, but that seemed a tad extreme. And so, Stede awkwardly made his way back to him, trying to ignore the continued stares from members of the public following his little outburst. To his relief, he got back to find that the man was still standing right where Stede had left him, already looking in his direction as he approached. Like he’d been waiting for him to return. Bit creepy, but at least he hadn’t wandered off, so Stede decided to take the win.
“Hello again, uh…” Stede began sheepishly, realising that in all the time they’d spoken, he hadn’t actually learned what this man was called. “Sorry, didn’t catch your name.”
“Nathaniel Buttons,” the man said, bowing his head.
“Nathaniel,” Stede began, before he was quickly interrupted.
“Except nobody calls me Nathaniel.”
Great.
“Mr Buttons,” Stede sighed, already regretting coming back, “is there a doctor’s office around here?”
“Ah dinnae ken,” Buttons replied, his stare boring through Stede as he spoke. “I’m just visiting. Like ye.”
Well, that was suitably unsettling, and customarily unhelpful. But Stede wasn’t sure who else to turn to, and it wasn’t like he had any leads to follow. Well, except… he glanced down at the papers still strewn across the floor. If they were to be believed (and they weren’t, but if they were) then apparently he was a captain. Looking for a crew. Of pirates. And if there was one thing he knew from the many pirate-adjacent books and movies he’d consumed throughout his life, it was that ships had doctors. Even pirate ships. Hell, especially pirate ships, surely. Those guys were probably getting into scrapes all the time, and would need some decent patching-up. So, maybe that would be the place to look for some medical assistance.
“Buttons, do you know where I can find the… good ship Revenge?” he tried, doubting that the man would be any more help here than he had been thus far, but figuring it was worth one more shot.
But to his surprise, Buttons nodded. “Aye,” he said calmly. “Follow me.”
And then he was off, walking down towards the docks with his hands clasped behind his back, and Stede could do nothing but follow, hoping that this new avenue would lead him somewhere helpful. He wasn’t expecting to find a psychiatrist aboard to explain this potential breakdown he was having, or anything like that, but maybe someone who’d know what to do with a bump on the noggin. Surely that’d set him right. And he might be sorted sooner than he expected, because it wasn’t long at all before Buttons stopped short, standing to look up at the ship before him. Apparently, they had already reached the Revenge.
“She’s a fine vessel,” Buttons was saying, with a hint of reverence to his tone.
Following his gaze, Stede was inclined to agree. If he could have dreamed up a pirate ship, it would look something like this, right down to the whimsical unicorn figurehead. Which only lent credence to the idea that he was dreaming all of this up, but still, he had to give himself credit for his own imagination. Maybe, when he woke up in the real world again, he could try to write a series of pirate novels or something. Obviously there was something in his brain just dying to materialise, so he might as well take advantage of it.
“Yes, she’s… very beautiful,” he admitted, before remembering why he was here, and his eyes dropped down to a crowd of people standing beside the ship. “Ah!” he said, clapping his hands together. “Are you all here for the interviews?”
There was a vague murmuring from the gathered crowd who did, frankly, look an awful lot like pirates. To be honest, Stede wasn’t sure that pirates were usually hired through interviews, but it seemed like a sensible idea. Good to know what sorts of people you’d be working with before you all ended up on a boat together – especially when it came to filling certain roles, which was hopefully going to come in useful right about now.
“Wonderful, now, are any of you doctors?” Stede asked, admittedly feeling doubtful as he addressed the motley crew before him, who didn’t look like they had a medical degree between them. And for a moment, it seemed like he was about to be proven right, because none of them stepped forward. But just as Stede was giving up hope, one of them finally spoke up.
“I can be.”
Hm. Not exactly encouraging, but better than nothing, Stede decided. “Well, I’d better interview you first then, Mr…”
“Roach,” the man said.
“Mr Roach,” Stede smiled politely.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Roach tutted, wagging his finger. “Dr Roach.”
Hmph. Seemed a little conceited considering this man hadn’t even been sure he was a doctor a few seconds ago, but whatever got Stede through this. “Yes, of course,” he said, shaking his head as though he was the one at fault. “Dr Roach. Right this way!”
With his usual brand of unearned confidence (some things, at least, never change) he set off up the ramp leading to the ship, hoping this Roach character was following behind him. It felt almost surreal, stepping up onto deck – as a Kiwi from a wealthy family, this was hardly Stede’s first time on a boat, but he’d never been on a vessel like this before. Mostly because he was born in the wrong century for this sort of thing. But being up on here was somewhat thrilling, he had to admit, and part of him wondered what it would be like if he went ahead and sailed away from the docks, out on the open seas, rocking in the waves with the wind blowing in his hair as he chased adventure with his intrepid crew… but he didn’t even know how to sail a ship, so he tried to nip that little daydream in the bud and get back to business.
“Now, doctor,” he said, clapping his hands together. “First things first, do you know anything about head injuries?”
“Knife wounds or axe wounds?” Roach asked.
Okay, not the strongest start, but Stede couldn’t blame him for leaping straight to that sort of thing – he was a pirate, after all.
“I was thinking more of a car accident,” he said. “See, I was crossing the road in 2025 and I was hit by a car – sort of a horseless carriage – and I woke up in, well, now. Any idea what’s causing this?” he asked, forcing something between a smile and a wince, well aware that this was probably the least helpful way he could describe his experience to a man from the 18th century.
But then, Roach replied. “You’ve suffered severe cranial trauma.”
Stede’s eyebrows shot up in amazement, stunned to hear words that not only made sense, but seemed far more professional than anything he’d expected. “Really?” he asked, just in case he was hearing things.
“The Glasgow Scale puts you at a deep level of coma,” Roach went on.
“I knew it!” Stede practically shouted, delighted to finally find somebody who could actually explain what was going on. Well, sort of. Obviously this pirate wasn’t actually saying any of these things, that would make no sense – not that much of this made sense, but the point was, clearly some doctor in the real world was delivering this information to Stede’s comatose body, and his brain was processing it through this not-doctor in the not-real world. Hell, maybe he’d even heard about this Glasgow Scale earlier, and that was why his mind had conjured up a strange Scotsman who talked about gravy boats! It all fit! “So, what, I’ve dreamed all this up?” he asked, desperate for any information he could squeeze out of this man. “I’m just sleeping in a hospital bed somewhere?”
“Whatever you may be experiencing isn’t real, Stede,” Roach went on, voice calm and level. “You can escape from that world. You only need to take the definitive step to wake up.”
“What step?” Stede asked frantically, the solution almost in his grasp, “what do I need to do?”
“Uhhhhhhhhhhh,” Roach said, suddenly looking confused, and Stede sensed that something had shifted.
“You said I had… cranial trauma?” he prompted, hoping to get things back on track. “And I’m in a coma?”
Roach shook his head. “I didn’t use any made-up words,” he responded flatly. “I said you might have couscous brain.”
Dammit, back to 1717 it was. But maybe that real-life doctor was still in there somewhere, maybe he could still help, if Stede only asked the right questions.
“And what’s the cure for that?” he asked.
Roach shrugged. “I could give you a lobotomy?”
“Uh,” Stede said.
“Just a little one, you’ll hardly feel it.”
Okay, the real-life doctor had definitely left the party. “Let’s say no to lobotomies, I think, for now,” Stede said, as diplomatically as he could.
Roach actually looked a bit disappointed. “Have it your way,” he sighed.
God, this was disappointing. He’d come so close to figuring out how to get out of here, but the answer remained just out of reach. Typical. He supposed he had one clue, though, as vague as it was: he just had to take the definitive step he needed, and then he’d wake up. But what did that mean? What kind of step was he supposed to take? Had he been right before, that he just needed to walk and walk until his imagination stopped conjuring up new people, new places? Or would that just loop him back around, to the same weird Scotsman saying the same weird things, and then he was back to square one?
No, it had to be something else.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will his subconscious to work in his favour for once and conjure up the solution, but all he could take in were the sounds of 1717 swirling all around him. Seagulls still cawing overhead, shouts from sailors, the clopping of horse hooves on the path below…
Wait.
Hang on a minute.
He’d said it himself, hadn’t he? A car was just a horseless carriage. Maybe this was his answer. Maybe this was the step he had to take! He opened up his eyes again, only to find Roach giving him a strange look, not unlike the look he’d received when trying to call back to that disembodied voice earlier. Obviously his behaviour was weirding everybody out, which was another clear sign that he ought to hurry up and get out of here.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Stede said, backing up towards the ramp, “think I might just need to… stretch my legs.”
“Wait, am I hired?” Roach asked.
“Yes,” Stede said vaguely, because it wasn’t like it mattered anyway, and this “doctor” might just go ahead and try to lobotomise him if he was rejected – Stede didn’t know if any injuries incurred in a coma fantasy world would carry over into real life, but he wasn’t keen to find out. “Welcome aboard.”
With that, he headed back down the ramp, only to come face to face with a crowd of pirates still waiting their turn. Shame he was going to have to leave them in the lurch.
“Just taking a break in interviews!” he called out in a sing-song voice. “Everybody talk amongst yourselves!”
“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” a short man grumbled, turning his back.
“Aw, come on Big John!” a larger man called after him.
But Big John was already storming off, and it looked like a couple of the others were getting increasingly annoyed with the wait time too, muttering things like waste of bloody time and what kind of pirate does interviews anyway? Didn’t have much patience, these fellows. To be honest, they could probably do with a good captain to whip them into shape, teach them a bit about delayed gratification – perhaps with some alternatives to lobotomies thrown in. A people-positive management style could go a long way… so Stede had heard, though he’d never experienced that kind of working environment himself. It sounded nice, though. Encouraging people to be their best selves. Even if those people were pirates. Well! Hopefully they’d find someone like that to captain them. But it wasn’t going to be Stede, because he was getting out of here. And he got started by leaving in the opposite direction to Big John, just in case he bumped into him and wound up on the wrong end of a stabbing. That wasn’t part of his plan.
And yes, for once, he actually had a proper plan, because he knew what he had to do now. Or at the very least, he had an idea, which he turned over in his mind again and again as he walked to the perfect spot, just far enough away from pedestrians that the carriages weren’t bothering to be cautious. It was so simple, really. He was hit by a car, and woke up here. So maybe, if he was hit by a carriage, he’d wake up back home. It made sense. Sort of. And there were plenty of carriages going by, leaving ample opportunity for Stede to jump in front of one of them. He just had to go for it. Had to… just gear up and do it. One big step, that’s all it would take. And he’d be back home. He’d been right earlier, he realised, about karma – he never should have left, and this was proof. This was what he got for abandoning his responsibilities, his family, his home: hit by a car and transported back into the past, as far away from them as it was possible to be. Served him right. But there was still a chance he could fix this. Reverse it all, and return everything to normal. And so, summoning all the courage he could muster as he saw a carriage approaching at top speed, he closed his eyes, took a breath, put one foot in front of the other, and–
There was no flash of colour this time, no blacking out, and no waking up on the floor. Because he hadn’t been knocked down. Somebody had grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him back onto the walkway, and Stede didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful that his grand plan had been disrupted, only that his heart was pounding in his chest at having come so close. But then he saw who had pulled him back, and he decided to be angry.
“You again!” he cried, once more faced with Mr Buttons, who he hadn’t even realised was following him. God, couldn’t a man even throw himself under a carriage in peace?!
Buttons, meanwhile, seemed surprisingly calm. “Dangerous, walking into the street like that,” he said sagely. “Ye micht get hurt.”
“That’s the idea,” Stede huffed, straightening his frock coat again, the motion feeling strangely natural to him, like he’d done it a hundred times before, even though there was no way he could have. “I’ve figured it all out, Buttons. Why I’m here. It’s just my brain telling me I’ve gone too far. And now I need to go back.”
“Back tae the gravy basket?” Buttons questioned.
“That’s not the gravy basket, Buttons, this is!” Stede cried, throwing his arms out. “This isn’t real! I don’t belong here!"
"Whaur do you belong?" Buttons asked.
“Well, I…” Stede faltered, all his bluster dissipating in an instant. Really, that question shouldn’t have stumped him as much as it had, because there was only one answer: home. That was where he ought to belong. At home, with his wife and his children. The people he needed to get back to. The people he was trying to get back to. But the truth was, he’d been fleeing home for a reason, and that reason was that he didn’t belong there. He’d never belonged there. And he knew it. That was why he’d left without saying goodbye, not even leaving a proper note. That was why, no matter what he’d tried to convince himself, he’d never had any intention of going back, not until now, not until he couldn’t. But if he didn’t belong there, then where did he belong?
“Micht be you’re here for a reason,” Buttons went on.
Stede almost scoffed at that, but it came out as more of a pathetic laugh as he looked around him, at a world that wasn’t even real. “What reason?” he asked.
“Tae lead that crew,” Buttons said, nodding towards the docks. “They’re waiting for ye.”
“But I’m not a pirate!” Stede cried. “I’m from 2025, for god’s sake! There are no pirates, not like this, not anymore! There’s no swashbuckling, no adventures, no… freedom.” He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
He could hear the sound of another carriage approaching, and felt his heart start pounding in his chest again. But this time, out of fear. God, had he really tried to jump in front of one of these things? What if it hadn’t worked? What if it’d killed him? He’d come close enough earlier, with the car – did he really want to risk it again, deliberately this time? He wasn’t exactly the king of self-preservation, but surely that was a step too far, even for him. After all, the whole idea that it would send him right back to the real world was just a theory. A theory he’d come up with only about five minutes ago, mind you, and you shouldn’t do things like jump in front of carriages on a whim. No, there had to be more clues, more scraps from the real world to slip through into his subconscious. More proxy conversations with doctors. The solution would come along eventually. He just needed more time to figure things out, to be certain of that definitive step he needed to take. And until that moment came… his mind had obviously built this world for a reason, so maybe he should just let it play out. See what it had to offer. Satisfy his urge to roam, explore, be free, all safe in the confines of his head. And then, after enough time had passed, he’d figure out a way to get back home. Maybe even wake up a better man. A better husband, a better father. A better Stede.
“Buttons…” he began, already beginning to feel the wind in his hair, “do you by any chance know how to sail a pirate ship?”
Buttons answered as though he’d been waiting for this question all along. “Aye, captain,” he nodded.
“Then follow me!” Stede commanded, puffing out his chest as he tried his best to slip into this new role, this new life. This new Stede. “We’ve got a crew to hire.”