Kate: But it's vital any servant of mine conduct himself properly. I hope you're not prone to unseemly conduct, Mr. Lowe. Tom: Well, I believe there's nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so. Kate: Then you've washed up on the right island.
Blackbeard: Here's my creed. I suspect that God is a clockmaker. He wound Creation up and now he sits back and watches it unwind, whether to his pleasure or otherwise is any man's guess. Tom: That's a cold theology. And is there room for a Devil in it? Blackbeard: Of course. The Devil is an Englishman. Tom: Are you not an Englishman? Blackbeard: No longer. Tom: Then what? Blackbeard: A fellow who no longer wishes to be governed, inspected, indoctrinated, preached, taxed, stamped, measured, judged, condemned, hanged, or shot. I'm not the Devil, Mr. Lowe. I have cast out the Devil, that deprived distinction between rich and poor, great and small, master and valet, governor and governed.
Tom: I don't fear death, Commodore. Blackbeard: If Mr. Nightingale dies, I'm afraid death is what you'll be pleading for, and it is exactly what you will not be granted. Not all those unflattering legends about me are untrue.
Kate: Although this comes to price, naturally. You do have money, I presume. Tom: My ship was raided by pirates. I'm lucky to be in possession of my own teeth.
Blackbeard: So poor old Mr. Nightingale had the poor manners to die. Tom: He did. Blackbeard: And yet you seem heartily disinclined to join him. Tom: Oh, I am that, sir, most heartily disinclined. Blackbeard: And here's me thinking you had no fear of death. Tom: No fear of it, but no impatience for it, either.
Tim: Then why are we still here. You have the logbook. Without it, the secret of longitude is lost forever. So let's just burn it and be gone. Tom: What's your haste? Tim: I don't want to get my neck stretched or stabbed through the vitals neither or have my eyes torn out with hot pokers or called a monkey.
Selima: If you were to furnish me with that phrase, I could perform that task myself. Tom: And I'd no longer be of use to the commodore, and he'd butcher me. Selima: Or perhaps reward you. Tom: And perhaps tomorrow it'll rain mutton and unicorn.
Tom: I must express my gratitude for your intervention. Blackbeard: They do say the true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him no good.
Blackbeard: Selima believes you to be treacherous at root. Traitorous to your core. And I will not have her be right. I choose to be right about you. I choose to trust you, and you'll make good on that trust, because here's what she doesn't know about cruelty: you can hurt a man, you can cause him torment to make him damn the eyes of god; but you can't really torture him until you learn his most intimidate tortures like I know yours. You don't fear death or pain, not the way you fear exposure as a coward. So you'll do as I command, or I'll string up young Master Fletch in the town square, and I will visit upon him such enormities as to make Christ weep. I'll starve him and slit his skin and scourge him and see him violated again and again and again. For if there's one thing I know, it's how to spread a legend. And I'll ensure the world knows the cause of his suffering is the loyalty of one Thomas Lowe, ship's surgeon. And that's how I'll torture you--with your own vanity.
James Balfour: I've heard things about him. Not all of it sugary. Blackbeard: Either the fellow saved my life, or he tried to end it, then changed his mind. Either way, he fought like a dog to save me when those I love were content simply to avenge me. James Balfour: Which makes him what? Blackbeard: I haven't decided yet.
=^_^=
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Tom: The Devil's Dominion.
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Kate: Indeed. Although I see it finds you in shackles.
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Tom: Well, I believe there's nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so.
Kate: Then you've washed up on the right island.
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Tom: Then hold your tongue, or a madman will have it.
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Tom: That's a cold theology. And is there room for a Devil in it?
Blackbeard: Of course. The Devil is an Englishman.
Tom: Are you not an Englishman?
Blackbeard: No longer.
Tom: Then what?
Blackbeard: A fellow who no longer wishes to be governed, inspected, indoctrinated, preached, taxed, stamped, measured, judged, condemned, hanged, or shot. I'm not the Devil, Mr. Lowe. I have cast out the Devil, that deprived distinction between rich and poor, great and small, master and valet, governor and governed.
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Blackbeard: If Mr. Nightingale dies, I'm afraid death is what you'll be pleading for, and it is exactly what you will not be granted. Not all those unflattering legends about me are untrue.
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Tom: My ship was raided by pirates. I'm lucky to be in possession of my own teeth.
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Tom: He did.
Blackbeard: And yet you seem heartily disinclined to join him.
Tom: Oh, I am that, sir, most heartily disinclined.
Blackbeard: And here's me thinking you had no fear of death.
Tom: No fear of it, but no impatience for it, either.
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Tom: What's your haste?
Tim: I don't want to get my neck stretched or stabbed through the vitals neither or have my eyes torn out with hot pokers or called a monkey.
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Tom: And I'd no longer be of use to the commodore, and he'd butcher me.
Selima: Or perhaps reward you.
Tom: And perhaps tomorrow it'll rain mutton and unicorn.
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Blackbeard: They do say the true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him no good.
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Blackbeard: Either the fellow saved my life, or he tried to end it, then changed his mind. Either way, he fought like a dog to save me when those I love were content simply to avenge me.
James Balfour: Which makes him what?
Blackbeard: I haven't decided yet.
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