Chapter 1: Ashes of the Old

Chapter 1: Ashes of the Old

The alley reeked of fish, sweat, and the lingering bite of ale. Rats scurried along the slick cobblestones, their sleuthing bodies vanishing into the darkness between the warehouses. The scent of salt carried from the docks, where the great ships of Bristol lay at rest, rocking in the harbor’s embrace like sleeping leviathans.

Edward Teach crouched low behind a stack of broken barrels, listening to the heated voices beyond the alley’s mouth. He had spent enough years lurking in the shadows of this city to recognize the tones of drunken arrogance, sailors deep in their cups, speaking loudly, loosely, and, most importantly, carelessly about their coin.

One of them was Benjamin Hornigold.

Edward had seen him before. The man cut a striking figure, broad-shouldered, dressed in a fine yet well-worn coat, and carrying himself with the self-assurance of a man who knew his place in the world. His voice carried over the others, rich with confidence.

“…tell you, lads, the Ranger will put to sea in a fortnight. A rich commission awaits us in the Indies, and there’s gold in the waters for any man with the stomach to take it.”

Edward knew that voice. He had been listening to it for days. Hornigold was a privateer, a man who sailed with a thin veneer of legality while his cutlass dripped with the same sins as any common pirate’s. But he was different, ruthless, yes, but disciplined, and respected. He was a man who could open doors that street rats like Edward were usually forced to pry loose with a stolen dagger.

And so Edward had made his decision. He would trick the trickster. The game was simple: create chaos, let greed do the rest. Edward had slipped a handful of stolen coins into a sailor’s pocket while the man was deep in his cups. Then, with the lightest of touches, he had plucked the same coins back, palming them as easily as breathing. When the drunk finally noticed, his slurred accusations turned into a brawl within seconds.

It was beautiful. Hornigold and his men, roaring with laughter just moments before, now found themselves in the center of a maelstrom of fists and curses. Bottles shattered, chairs overturned, and the lanterns swung wildly overhead, casting long, lurching shadows across the walls of the tavern.

And in the chaos, Edward made his move.

His fingers worked fast, lifting a pouch of gold from one man’s belt, snatching a gleaming ring from another’s distracted hand. He could’ve taken more, but he knew better than to grow greedy. He had already drawn too much attention to himself.

He moved for the door. He had nearly reached it when a hand, strong as an iron clamp, seized his wrist. Edward whirled, his free hand darting toward the knife at his belt. But then he met Hornigold’s gaze, sharp, piercing, full of something that wasn’t anger, but amusement.

“Well, well,” Hornigold mused, tightening his grip. “You’ve got a quick hand, boy. But you’re not quite quick enough.”

Edward smirked. “Haven’t been caught yet.”

Hornigold raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”

Edward twisted his wrist suddenly, stepping into the motion rather than away from it. Hornigold’s grip loosened just enough for Edward to slip free, and before the man could react, Edward tossed a handful of coins into the air.

Gold flashed in the lamplight, and like starving dogs, the brawling sailors lunged for it. In the chaos, Edward vanished into the night.

Hornigold laughed, shaking his head. It wasn’t often that someone impressed him. Hornigold was not a man who let things go.

A trickster like Edward could be useful, dangerous, too, if left unchecked. He had seen enough men rise and fall in the cutthroat world of privateering to recognize that talent, without guidance, was as fleeting as the tide. And Edward had talent. But more than that, he had something rarer: nerve.

Hornigold liked that. So he waited. The docks were not a place where people vanished completely. Edward might have thought he’d disappeared, slipping into the alleys of Bristol like a ghost, but Hornigold knew better. The boy was young. Clever, yes, but not yet wise. He had nowhere to go. Hornigold watched and when the time was right, he struck.

Edward had been lying low for weeks. His winnings from that last night at the tavern had been spent fast, too fast. A few meals, a dry place to sleep for a handful of nights, and then he was back to scrounging. He hated this part of the game. The hunger, the cold creeping into his bones, the slow realization that wit and quick hands weren’t always enough. He had just stolen a half-loaf of bread when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Took you long enough to get desperate.”

Edward spun, heart slamming against his ribs, his knife already in hand. Hornigold stood at the mouth of the alley, arms crossed, watching him with that same knowing smirk. It wasn’t possible. Edward had checked his surroundings, had moved like a ghost through the city, avoiding anyone who might recognize him. He had been careful.

“How?” was all he could manage.

Hornigold’s grin widened. “Boy, you’re quick. But you leave footprints like the rest of us.”

Edward’s mind raced. He had covered his tracks. He had! No. He hadn’t. Hornigold had known where to look. Knew the kind of places a hungry, street-smart boy would hide. It hadn’t been magic, nor some secret pirate trick, just experience. That was what unsettled Edward the most.

He scowled. “What do you want?”

Hornigold took a step closer, tilting his head slightly. “Now, that’s the wrong question. The right question is, what do you want?”

Edward tightened his grip on the bread. “If I had an answer to that, I wouldn’t be starving in an alley.”

Hornigold chuckled. “Fair enough.” He reached into his coat, pulled out an apple, and tossed it. Edward caught it on instinct, his stomach twisting at the scent of it, sweet, fresh.

“You think I’ll follow you for an apple?” Edward scoffed, but his fingers tightened around it anyway.

Hornigold’s expression turned serious. “No. But I think you’ll follow me for something more.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Gold?”

Hornigold shook his head. “A family.”

Edward froze. The word struck something deep, something he hadn’t expected. Family. Edward had never used that word to describe anything in his life. Not the city streets he knew better than his own reflection. Not the dock workers he had watched from the shadows. Certainly not the father he had never known, nor the mother whose face had faded into a ghost of memory. Family had always been something that belonged to other people. Not to him. Hornigold must have seen the hesitation, because he took a step closer, his voice lower now. Calmer.

“You’ve got the instincts, lad. But you don’t have the means. That’s where I come in.”

Edward swallowed, tasting salt, his own sweat, the sea air drifting through the alley, the unspoken hunger not just in his stomach, but in his bones.

“Why me?” he asked, voice quieter than he meant.

Hornigold shrugged. “Because you’re almost dangerous. And with the right people behind you, you could be unstoppable.”

The words sent a thrill through Edward’s chest. Not just survival. Not just another scam. Something bigger. Hornigold turned, giving Edward his back. 

“The Ranger leaves port in two days. If you want to spend the rest of your life scraping for crumbs, be my guest. But if you want more…” He looked over his shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

And then, just like that, he walked away. Edward stood there, apple in hand, listening to the distant crash of waves. A family. It wasn’t what he had been looking for. But it might be exactly what he needed. And that terrified him.