Black Sails

You took one of me best whores for your private use.

Every day she's not under my roof costs me money.

Wait, listen to me!

Good men will die for some hidden agenda,

the Barlow woman's agenda.

Things will get better here. I promise you they will.

We'll need some additional items.

New guns, 12-pounders.

You'll have it.

You want the guns from my ship to hand over to a pirate?

That is correct.

Help me, Mr. Scott.

Please, help me save her.

Why don't I take over?

The Andromache, it can't be.

Captain Bryson hasn't had time to unload.

He didn't. She's riding low.

Those guns are still on board.

- What are we going to do? - Get them back.

Captain?

We're steady at six knots, north by northeast.

You don't trust me, do you?

With any luck, we'll sight the Andromache soon.

The battle will begin.

You and I will have our roles to play.

We have the chance for a few minutes' honesty first.

Honesty?

Men died yesterday

careening our ship faster than was safe.

Men are going to die today

attacking that merchant ship out there,

and they'll die not knowing it was all based on a lie.

A lie?

We don't even know if the Urca's schedule is accurate.

We're completely relying on the cook.

How can you just pretend you have no doubts about any of this?

Years of practice.

There's always doubt, Billy.

No sane man would deny that.

No good captain would acknowledge it.

Take our present route, for instance.

We tacked north by northeast,

along Andromache's best point of sail.

If you're Bryson, that's the smart course.

Yeah...

Well, he knows that I know that.

So wouldn't he have at least considered heading northwest

to follow the coast, lose us in the dark?

Or due east on the chance that we might sail right past him?

There must be at least one chance in three

that that horizon will remain bare

and we'll never see the Andromache again.

That's the truth.

But what good would that knowledge do

for any man on this crew trying to focus on doing his job?

This crew needs certainty,

and I need their support to achieve an end

which is in all our best interests.

So we dance the dance.

Never was there a Caesar that couldn't sing the tune.

Who's Mrs. Barlow?

Ah.

You've heard the stories, haven't you?

She's a witch who pledged my soul to the devil,

and anoints me with the blood of infants

to keep me safe in battle.

- Come on, I'm not stupid. - No, you're not.

So you can probably guess it isn't as much fun

to tell stories about how your captain makes a home,

with a nice Puritan woman who shares his love of books.

Is that the truth?

Sails!

Man your posts!

Posts!

Have a look.

It's the Andromache!

Well, this is a stupid fucking idea.

Given the straits we're in, I would suggest there is no such thing.

If we don't find a way to earn an income and soon,

we will lose what little we have left of a crew.

Or worse yet, we will be eaten

by what little we have left of a crew.

Wish me luck.

You gave him permission, dear.

We must stand by our word.

But I said he could put one finger in my bum, not three.

Then next time, charge him by the digit.

Mrs. Mapleton, a word, please.

What the fuck are you doing here?

Mr. Noonan expressly forbade it, did he not?

It turns out Mr. Noonan has had a change of heart.

A transfer? What is this?

It means, madam, that the dispute

over the whore with Mr. Noonan has been settled

through an agreement to purchase this establishment

from him... by us.

- Noonan sold you the inn? - Yes, ma'am.

And where is he now?

From the tone in his voice, it sounded as if Mr. Noonan

couldn't wait to be rid of this place

and of its screeching pig of a bawd.

His words, not mine.

The last I saw him, he was seeking passage to Port Royal,

and then to who knows where.

You're telling me that Mr. Noonan,

who just a few hours ago had the intent of seeing your captain beaten to a pulp,

that Mr. Noonan decided instead to sell you his life's work?

Yes.

And you expect me to accept it

based on a piece of paper and your word?

And to keep my mouth shut about it

when any half-wit can see that there's foul play at hand?

Yes.

I want a raise.

- What did you make before? - Three percent of gross.

I'll give you 40.

Welcome aboard, sonny.

We are the proud new owners of a brothel.

Let's hope no one notices.

No one has seen or heard from Scott all morning.

He must have left with Bryson.

You're certain he said nothing to you about why he would do this?

Nothing, ma'am.

- Before I knew what was happening... - Get my horse ready.

I'm going to see my father. I want to know what the fuck's going on here.

Hello.

What the fuck are you doing in my office?

Flint stashed me here.

Presumably to stop what's in my head

from spilling onto the deck of the Andromache.

Oh, that's Randall.

Why is Randall lying on my sofa?

Well, he's not exactly going to be leading the charge

after the day he had yesterday.

Why are you chained to him?

So I don't try to run.

Thank you.

Sorry, have I done something to you?

Excuse me?

Well, you seem to harbor quite a bit of anger towards me,

and considering we hardly even know each other,

I'm wondering if there's something I'm missing.

Flint and his crew offer you a life of freedom and prosperity

for which you repay them by stealing the product

of months of their labor and sacrifice.

But you're not finished. Then you lure Max into your selfish scheme.

Hold on.

I specifically tried to talk her out

of getting wrapped up in my selfish scheme.

I know all I need to know about the kind of man you are.

Ma'am, you should come outside right away.

For years, we've all profited in this place,

trading on the stability of my family's name.

But unfortunately, our circumstances have changed.

A fortnight ago, His Majesty's Navy attempted to place me under arrest.

I am, since that day, a fugitive

marked for execution by the Crown.

Unbeknownst to me, my family in Boston

learned of this and ordered Captain Bryson

to liquidate our holdings here.

What about our goods?

I convinced him to leave behind the contents of our warehouse,

but that is all.

To those of you owed credit

or for whom we held goods on consignment,

I leave it to my daughter to see you made whole as best we can.

But once that is settled, our business with you

must be considered complete.

I'm very sorry. Godspeed to you all.

I want my money back!

We aren't closing on her!

I said to raise all the canvas!

- What's our speed? - Sails are all raised!

No, they're not.

Where are my t'gallants on the main and mizzen?

Captain, we're fully loaded.

If we raise the t'gallants, the mast won't hold.

Stand by to stretch that starboard!

Time.

Present speed: six knots.

We need at least another knot if we're to catch up by dark.

- Raise the t'gallants. - Captain...

Shift aft the back stays if you're worried about the masts.

Shift 'em to the stern if you have to.

Even if the back stays hold at such an angle,

and I wager they won't, the load on the sails

will exceed capacity and she'll dig in hard at the bow.

She'll hold.

Hard enough to shake loose the rigging entirely.

Captain, Mr. De Groot makes a good point.

The speed we'll pick up will come with dire risks for the ship.

But I think she can take it.

Mr. De Groot, quickly, please.

- Raise the t'gallants! - Raise the t'gallants!

Out of the way!

Brace up another five degrees!

- Five degrees! - Five degrees!

Bring her up into it.

More!

Brace up a little more!