Dorian Lasseter

Luck was with the two seamen, and the ordinary still had the cook in the kitchen. Eric had a meat pie, and both had small beer. Dorian sat in contemplation while Mister Franklin ate his fill. His mind was on the Master-at-Arms, lying in a fevered state in the surgeons abode. He was so lost in thought that he finished his beer, yet tipped the empty vessel to his lips several times before realizing it was so. The final time an annoyed look crossed his features and he called over a serving girl, ordering more. As he waited for the fresh drink, he looked to Mister Franklin who had stopped eating and was just staring at what was left of his meal. “Eric… bit of a stupid question, but are ye a’right?” He looked up at Captain Lasseter with a sullen visage. He heaved a great sigh. “Sorry sir… ma’ mind’s on Preston… I guess yers be to… He’s in an awful state sir… and… gawd… I don’t want ta think about it…” Dorian nodded a bit and tapped the table with his middle finger. “Don’t ye worry lad… Preston’s a strong man… He be right as rain afore ye know it…. Mark my words…” Although he spoke with conviction, the captain did not truly believe his own words, but he needed to keep someone’s spirits up. “Now, finish up… we’ll head back fer ta see if Cap’n Brand is about, then we’ll see what may come of things…” “Aye-aye Sir…..”

Inside the rooms of Maeve O’Treasaigh, Surgeon As the man on the table was made comfortable and a silence fell, voices were heard outside. Miss O’Treasaigh looked at Briar a moment and nodded before heading to the door. Upon opening her door, she saw Captain Lasseter and Mister Franklin turning away. The noise of the door caught their attention and they turned back. She stepped out and closed the door quietly behind her. Maeve smiled and spoke. “Good evenin’ Cap’n Lasseter, Mister Franklin… “ The two men turned around and smiled. Although they were standing in the street, Dorian took off his hat. “Good Evenin’ Miss O’Treasaigh… I… might I inquire on ‘ow Preston fares?” Her Brow creased a moment, then Eric spoke up. “Mister PEW… Preston…” Maeve’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and she nodded. “Preston is restin’ now… A dear friend, an Apothocary stopped in and we’re tendin ta his ills… “ “And, what might his ills be, dear lady?” Inquired the Captain of the Heron. Maeve took a look over her shoulder, back to the closed door behind her. “Tis the Marsh Fever… He’s restin’ well, but still fever’d… “ The look on Dorian’s face said all she needed. His smile faded slowly into a gave look of concern. “I….. I see… Ah Hmm… very well… We shall let you return to attending him. I have a room at th’ Chateau Anse… Please send word if anything should happen before I return. Has Cap’n Brand been here?” She pursed her lips and took in a breath. “Nay… th’ good Cap’n hasn’t been here as of yet, your men did go looking for ‘im…” Dorian nodded in answer. “Very well… We shall return soon, unless it is best ta just wait til morn. Let the man rest wi’out disturbance?” “Aye Cap’n that may be best… I’ll send for you and Cap’n Brand of course, should anything occur.” Again Dorian nodded, but this time a smile crossed his face. “Thank ye kindly Miss O’Treasaigh… Good evening again…” With a curtsey and bows, they parted. She back inside and the two men turned away. Dorian again looked to Mister Franklin. “Vittles fer ye lad… and… somethin’ fer me as well…” Eric nodded sullenly as the began to walk towards the ordinary they passed not long ago, hoping it was still serving food at this late hour… Just before four bells of the Mid Watch

Hmmm.. I have some interesting links on the subject... http://dohistory.org/on_your_own/toolkit/writing.html http://www.library.cornell.edu/olinuris/re.../langdicts.html http://leo.englang.arts.gla.ac.uk/oethesau...utoeonline.html

After Dorian had a pull from Mister Franklin’s rum, he stood a moment longer in silence. He looked Eric up and down, trying to determine the seriousness of the situation by the demeanor of the man. Finally he offered the bottle back and spoke. “We best be headin’ ta Miss O’Treasaigh’s surgery… See where ting’s stand…” Eric looked at the Captain with a sober expression and only nodded before he turned and they began the journey to the office where their comrade in arms lay. The walk was a silent one, save for others along the way, even at this rather late hour. Occasionally Dorian looked at Mister Franklin to see what external feelings betrayed themselves on his face. Mostly he saw a look of concern and possibly fear, a fear he also shared of the possibility of Preston dying from his sudden illness. As he thought on this, the memory of his recent injuries pressed to the forefront of his mind, causing him to touch the wound on his temple. It was still tender and felt mildly warm, but his fingers came away clean, no blood or other fluid on them. The men continued to walk, slowing occasionally in the darkness, remembering the way to the Young Doctor’s residence and office.

As the crewmen spoke to Captain Lasseter, the look on his face fell from a smile to a look of concern. He looked about the room at all the others of the crew and back to his tablemate. “Miss Ashcombe, forgive me, one of my officers is quite ill, I must away… Please inform the Carpen… Mister Wenge and Miss McDonough that I am needed… I…” He intended to say more, but it seemed that the word had spread. Other crewmen came over and queried Dorian about Mister PEW, to which he had no answer. He apologized again and placed several coins on the table that more than covered the food and drink. Still wearing the grave look, he attempted a smile and tipped his hat and began to make his way out of the room, heading out into the night. He was followed by several men to whom he turned and sent them back into the ordinary, they would all know more in the morning aboard the ships. He then began making his way to the wharf where he would find a boat to ferry him back to the Watch Dog, where he assumed the Master-at-Arms lay in the surgeons’ care.

Captain Lasseter, though having drunk his fill was still sharp. He had witnessed the possibility of a quarrel between shipmates and defused it, if for only a short time. Mister Bly had been reigned in for a time, though he did not let got of what was eating him. Dorian watched this and made calculations in his head, watching The Carpenter and Tailor dance, while Mister Bly watched, his temper rising. Dorian looked at the other person in his company, Miss Ashcombe. He gave a look and silent apology to her, hoping to reassure her that they would not end up in the middle of a bare knuckled brawl, or worse, as each and every sailor from the Watch Dog and Heron was given a pistol before shore leave, and all the marines were armed with musket as well. At one point Nathan shifted his weight as if to stand, the look on his face said he meant to cross the floor and have words, or worse, with the dancing couple. At that moment Dorian stepped close to Nathan, blocking his path. “You’ll not want ta be doin’ that’ lad… “ Dorian spoke this in a tone of steel on steel close to Mister Bly’s ear. The man nearly jumped away from the Captain as he spoke. His face was slightly ashen, but recovered quickly and he opened his mouth in a snarl, the drink taking away his regard for the chain of command. Before a word escaped his lips Dorian’s hand had shot out and taken the man by the throat. Again he spoke in the sharp tone. “I warn ye… I know not what you an’ those two have betwixt ye… Either Captain brand or M’self will get ta th’ bottom o’ it soon… There be enough trouble in this port save wot ye might stir up, an’ I’ll be havin’ none of it… Sit yer arse down an’ steady yerself, Or I’ve a mind ta ruin yer evenin’…” Nathan stood slack-jawed for a moment, then just about fell into the chair he previously occupied, turned his eyes to his tankard and took a deep breath. “My Apologies Miss Ashecombe… I shall return in a moment…” Dorian Tipped his hat and put on a fine smile, then walked across the room to the dancing couple. “Mister Wenge, Miss McDonough… I believe yer havin’ a grande time a-dancin’ an’ a-flirtin’… I would suggest ye remember this time well, and not make such a show next time… if there be a next time… “ He smiled sweetly and tipped his hat and turned to leave, but stopped and addressed them once again. “One other thing… Iffn’ I hear tell of a brawl in this place or another, and any of ye be involved, no matter who be at fault… it will not go well once back aboard… “ Again he smiled and tipped his hat and made his way back to the table where a brooding Nathan Bly and the young lady sat with their drinks in hand. He placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, picked up his tankard and tapped it against the man’s and said some words, to which the three of them drank. As they did so, some other crewmen from their ship entered in a hurry, scanned the crowd and pointed to Captain Lasseter, making their way to his side.

Le Chateau Anse Captain Lasseter sat and slowly drank the small beer he had ordered, actually glad it was weak, seeing as he had drunk his fill of spirits at the chandlery. He did not need to fill his gut with more. Small talk ran around the table, from how the events of the day had unfolded for them as for the captain. Miss Ashcombe remained mostly silent, only saying she had enjoyed her time with Silkie as she shopped, and Mister Wenge as their escort. The Tailor and Carpenter were both pleased at Dorian’s announcement that the Heron would be re-armed with fine brass guns, larger than those she now defended herself with. Alder put a hand to his chin in thought and was about to ask Dorian a question that he knew pertained to the larger armament. “Master Wenge, think not of it presen’ly… Aye, the bulwarks’ll need extra shorin’ up fer such guns… not to worry… all will be done by you ‘r other crew… but it’ll wait til our time ashore has ended.” Alder smiled and nodded, just then the food arrived and was placed around the table. Soon all were immersed in the course of their meals. The men ate heartily and with gusto, while the women took a slightly easier tac with consuming their food. When Dorian was mostly finished with his plate, he sighed and laid down his fork. “ I have been remiss… take up yer drinks if ye will… A toast… a toast to good health, fine company, and wealthy prizes.” He held his tankard aloft, and soon it was joined by those vessels held by his crewmates and their companion. All drank is toast with a smile. The others went back to their meals while Dorian sat and took a look about the room, noting the temperament of the rest of the patrons and being satisfied that all was well enough, yet he remained guarded enough that his purse would not be cut.

Aboard the Heron. The crew had all taken time to look at, touch, and make comments about the two brass guns coming aboard the Cutter. Soon after the delivery of the second carriage, The Master Gunner came aboard. He instructed the crew to do as Captain Lasseter had said and they began polishing the swivels while He and Mister Johnson took stock of the iron four pounders of the ship. In an hour’s time Mister Brisbane called their attention to yet another barge making it’s way towards the Heron, with yet another brass gun in it’s hold. Again the boat was given way and bumped alongside, this time a packet of parchment was handed up and much was revealed. Petee damn near laughed his pipe out of his mouth as he read what Captain Lasseter had written. More heavy work was to commence. As each new brass gun was brought aboard, an iron gun would be lowered into the barge in it’s place. All new cables would be made up to secure the new guns as well. Also once the guns were all delivered, shot would be traded out as well. The amount of teeth showing on all the officers’ and crews’ faces was incredible. Not one wore a frown, even with all the work to be done. They would toil into the night until all was set, and the morning sun would shine. It would shine off the new and freshly polished brass great guns of the Heron, showing all around her that she was not to be trifled with. Four Bells of the Second Dog Watch

^^ Been on that trail in Algonquin Park many a time in th' past... er... umm... Sound Effect

Dorian had walked the streets slowly, being wary of those around him as many passersby noticed him dressed as he was. Many greeted him kindly, to which he returned the greetings, but some cast a measuring glance his way. He stared each of them in the face, causing them to avert their eyes and look elsewhere. After making one wrong turn and being put back on course by a smithy’s helper, he found the Chandlery he was looking for. The warehouse was rather large and open. Piles of used canvas, spars and what not were everywhere, along with some new equipment. The Captain slowly walked through the piles and palates, seeing items of interest in many locations until he was finally approached by one of the many young men employed in the Chandlery. Pleasantries were exchanged, along with some mild tripping over language barriers. Dorian walked about to the different areas and pointed out what he was interested in for fitting out his ship. The young man made some notes on a slate with a stick of lead and jotted down some numbers as well. Questions were asked back and fourth, Dorian finding that it was possible for him to trade the Heron’s 4 pounders in iron and all the shot for them as credit for items he had on his list. His luck was with him today, as he overheard another who he presumed to be a ships officer on a merchant talking to an older man, presumably the Chandler himself, about acquiring some cannon, but nothing so big as he had in his warehouse. The Chandler was making promises to the other captain that he would find cannon for him and not to worry. Dorian filed the conversation in the back of his head to use to his advantage later, once the haggling for prices began. More time was spent finding needed or wanted items until his list was filled to his satisfaction. They walked to the back of the warehouse where a desk and counter were against the back wall, along with a fine table, chairs and glass fronted china closet, which was more of a liquor cabinet then anything else. The young assistant pulled several sheets of parchment from the desk, along with quill and inkwell. Dorian have his name and that of his ship to which the parcels would be delivered. Soon the proprietor made his way back and was introduced and business began in ernest. Drinks were poured and toasts to ones health were drunk. News and gossip was interspersed with the dealings. All was settled before long except for the great guns Captain Lasseter had wanted. Of what six pounders were available in the warehouse, five were from one ship, three from another and four more from a third lot. Dorian was interested in eight brass six pounder guns. He suggested he actually purchase the lot of four and the lot of five, giving him an extra and a reasonable matched type, but since he could not have a full matched set of eight… the price would be less. He got a dark look from the Chandler, but it passed quickly and more deliberations and libations flowed. Once the last glass was drained, the Chandler was silent for a time, the calculations he did in his head were almost visible on his face. Now… now was the time to play his trump. Dorian offhandedly mentioned that in purchasing these great guns, he would be replacing what he had, eight four pounders or iron. The range of expressions that passed over the Chandlers face was extraordinary, and took only an instant. His final expression was a calm one, slowly he made some calculations on the slate and nodded. Yes, he would take the iron guns in trade for the four brass guns, the other five would demand their asking price. Dorian agreed to this after taking time to look at the revised figures. After the deal was struck, the assistant wrote out in detail all that was to be delivered to the Heron. Monies were exchanged, along with a note written by Captain Lasseter to the officers onboard his ship, giving instruction to hand over the iron guns when the brass were delivered, along with full exchange of shot as well. The chandler did not have an abundant supply of six pounder round shot, but it would do for the present. Dorian would have to go elsewhere to procure a full measure. All said and done, the deal sealed with a final round of Cognac, Captain Lasseter left the Chandlery in search of an ordinary, he needed some food to soak up the drink from the dealmakings… First bell of the First Dog Watch

Captain Lasseter had scrubbed himself as clean as he could, taking special note of the wound on his temple. It wasn’t as angry as it had been earlier and he nodded to himself, glad that it remained happily on the mend. He dressed in the clothing he had brought with him, leaving what he had worn into the room laid over the back of a chair. He groomed himself nicely, could use a shave, but no time for that, plus the added roughness might come in handy. He looked at himself, now dressed more like his station than he ever had been. He then laughed at himself… “Bloody fool… Cap’n’s on’y as good as ‘is crew an’ the ship ye keep…” Again he nodded to his reflection. He smoothed out the front of his coat and shrugged, took up a small ledger and patted his pocket full of coin and headed for the door. Out he went, locking the door behind him and made his way out into the street, heading in the direction that the Master Gunner had shown him to the Chandler whom he purchased the brass guns in exchange for those of the Apollo.

On the Heron As Mister Brisbane walked the deck as he watched all the small craft in the port, skittering around like water bugs. One of which seemed to be making a line directly for the Cutter. As he paced about he kept an eye on the ever closing vessel. Once it was within a couple cables length, he called the marine on deck to attention, and made sure others were armed. He shielded his eyes from the sun and peered into the fast approaching craft. There was a great gun in gleaming brass in the bottom. His brow furrowed and he took a great breath. “Halt there! What’s yer business afore ye get closer?” He was answered in broken English by a man in the stern. Something about delivering a purchase made by a Monsieur ‘Pideeyonblood’. Nigel’s curiosity got the better of him and he waved the craft closer, while trying to figure out who the man was talking about. The barge came along side and the man in the bow hooked onto the main chains. Nicholas Johnson ambled over to the side and looked down into the boat. “Awww… thet’s a purdy gun… Peedee, er ah, Master Gunner Youngblood should have a look at thet…” It then struck Nigel what the man in the boat had said. “Petee Youngblood…Ah, aye.. I do believe ‘e already has seen this gun. Men! Rig out ta haul cargo aboard!” He then waved the man in the sternsheets to come aboard, where he had a very energetic and animated conversation with the man, finding out that two guns, with their carriages would be delivered this day to the Heron. Johnson directed the crew in bringing the first barrel aboard, had it laid out on the deck. “I do believe Cap’n Laseter gonna like this ‘ere gun… Won’er what we’re gonna do with ‘em, where thay’s gonna go. Mebee amidshisps, like th’Sofia an’ ‘is Grace on the “Dog, aye?” Nigel just smiled and nodded, lightly touching the brass barrel that had been warmed by the sun, thinking how hot it would get during a battle.

Dorian Stood fast as the Captain and Master-at-Arms spoke of adding to the crew, knowing what William was all about. He turned to the Master Gunner and asked quietly where he had made his dealings for the cannons. After some interesting directions given Captain Lasseter had a fairly good idea where he would go to procure the ordinance he was hoping to find. He thanked Mister Youngblood and turned back to the others. “Well then… I do believe I’ll be off… “ He nodded to the group then had an afterthought. “Mister Youngblood… I almost fergot… Have the Swivels from th’ Heron polished as best they can be… Mister Johnson’s done a fine job wi’ th great guns, work wi’ him an’ give me an appraisal as to their worth, when I see you next.” “Aye Sah!” “Very goode… Genn’lmen… See you about town I expect… “ With nods and grins, he parted their company, his hands full of his wares. He first made his way to one of the better hotels, Le Chateau Anse. He checked into a room and found it quite to his liking, mayhaps a bit extravagant, but why not. He ordered a larger basin of hot water so he might freshen up before heading back out to the day’s business. It had been so humid and such that the dust clung to every part of him. While he waited he counted the specie that Petee had gotten for the Apollo’s guns. How he did it Dorian did not know, but the sum was larger than he would have expected, and he had gotten two brass six pounders as well! He chuckled softly and gave his blessings to the Master Gunner. Soon the hot water arrived and Dorian set about the task of undressing, careful to set aside a parchment piece he carried. Soon he was busily scrubbing the dust and grime from his body, thinking about what the rest of this day and following night might bring him.

Dorian hefted the bag of coins. “Aye Cap’n… Swivels n’ Sixes… Master Youngblood… find me by tomorrow eve… I’ll ‘ave more work fer ye… Aye… fine work indeed… “ Petee gave a flourished salute to Dorian and smiled his quirky smile. Dorian turned his attention to the young lad named Pierre. “Sooo… Pierre is it? A boucanier are ye?” The lad replied with a confident ‘Oui’ to both questions, a harsh grin on his face, and a waggle to his head. Dorian nodded slowly. “Well… if yer ta be on th’ Heron… gonna need sommat better ta wear… “ Dorian’s mood was such that he was feeling mighty generous. He pulled four unbroken pieces of eight out of his personal monies and held them in his hand, jingling them lightly. Looking at the assembled group he wondered aloud. “This should be plenty ta rig th’ lad out in two sets o’ fine sailors trappin’s… “ The boy understood enough to know the coins were meant for him in some way and was almost vibrating in anticipation. He could not stand to be silent any longer and began speaking in such rapid French that not one of them understood a word. Dorian looked to William, PEW and the others, each wore the same expression. He began to laugh and put a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Slow down, lad! In due time… in due time….”

Huzzah! My congratulations to you my goode man!!!

Dorian walked up the Wharf and spied William and Mister PEW among others of the crew. Among them was a ragged boy, wearing an oversized sailors jacket. He smiled and called out to those standing there. "A new crewman aye?" All eyes turned to him as he walked up, even that of the whelp. “Who drummed up this lad?”

Dorian stood on the deck of the frigate and watched the ships boats come and go, delivering crew to and from shore. He spied the Heron’s Jollywatt headed shoreward, so instead he found his way into one of the boats of the Watchdog and had the men at the sweeps make a detour, dropping him at his ship. Once aboard he set to work, making his way to the wardroom and putting the ledgers back in their proper niches. He found that Miss Moore must have been in and removed his plate from earlier, for it was nowhere to be found. He nodded in approval, hoping it was a marked improvement that would flourish. Settling into his chair he gazed out the open stern windows, and just felt the hint of a breeze flutter by. He let his mind wander a bit, thinking on what had been discussed with William. New brass six pounders for the cutter… some new swivels would be good too… My, things were looking up for the craft now at his command, but the addition of the cutter had put a strain on the chain of command. He needed a quartermaster for the Heron, and William needed a quartermaster for the Watch Dog, since he was now captain of the Heron, not to mention other officers down the line that would be needed. He thought about who he would like as his officers, and who would serve best as new officers aboard the ‘Dog as well… decisions to be made together, he and Captain Brand. With a shrug he stood and headed on deck. Nigel stood on the quarter, looking refreshed, yet he had a somber quality to him, probably due to the fact he had recently returned from shoreleave. “Mister Brisbane… I take it yer time ashore was… fruitful?” “Aye Cap’n, it were… All’s well aboard th’ Heron… how is it with you, sah?” “I’m well enough, Nigel… I’ll be headed ashore yet again… most likely will spent the night there, I’m hopin’ ta find somethin’ grand fer this fine ship… can ye keep somthin’ under yer hat, lad?” Nigel cocked an eyebrow at captain Lasseter, as if he didn’t believe the man had needed to ask such a thing. Dorian took off his hat and shielded the side of his face with it, as if doing so would allow even more privacy to their conversation. “We have enough coin ta spread about ta outfit this ‘ere ship wi’ bigger great guns… And that I shall do if they are ta be had…” Nigel’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. Dorian held up a finger to his own lips and the Coxswain clamped a hand over his own. Dorian smiled and lowered his finger, then took up his hat and placed it on his head. A small chop in the breeze fluttered his shirt front and kerchief, disturbing a piece of parchment tucked inside. He slapped a hand on his chest and smiled at Nigel. “Keep it under yer hat, lad… have th’ jollywatt come about an’ be ready ta take me ashore… “ “Aye, Cap’n!” Dorian headed back into the wardroom and gathered some things, his waistcoat and new coat, a fresh shirt, stockings and slops which he put into his bag, along with other sundry items. His pistol was inspected and hung on his belt as was his cutlass. All appeared in order. He headed above and gave Nigel final orders, some final repairs needed, some clean up work, and to make the guns and swivels ready for inspection upon his return. A grin and a snappy salute was given in return. He proceeded to the side and there was the jollywatt. Crewed and waiting. In short order he was on his way to shore.

As William stood quickly and proclaimed his intent. Dorian stood as well, but not so quickly. “Aye… I’d vouch fer ‘r carpenter an’ mates that if it ain’t finished now, It will be by days end… An’ it’ll be fine work… better’n wot that dutchie deserves… “ He had a humorous twinkle in his eyes as he said this that was not lost on Captain Brand. They both chuckled as William took up his hat and made his way out of the Wardroom. Dorian bid him luck and went back to the table, gathered up the ledgers and placed them in their proper niches… He to would be heading off the Watch Dog, back to the Heron to which he was charged with. He pondered several things about the nimble craft, how that nimbleness might be improved, if it could be, to simpler things such as changing her name. She was not adorned with a figurehead, not even some nicely done paint on the bow. He had a mind to change that, both the name and the lack of a figurehead. His mind was working through all these things as he gathered up all he had come aboard with until a harsh bark was heard and a streak shot past him. Turning he saw Pandora up on the locker-seats at the stern of the wardroom, puffy-tailed with a look of anger on her face. More laughter from on deck was heard, along with a scolding from none other than Miss Tribiani. Argus would soon learn the ways of this ship if he planned on staying. Dorian made to soothe Pandora, but she was too agitated to accept his soft words and petting. She hopped down and turned tail to him, finding a way foreward and below around the new canine onboard. Dorian watched her go, then took up his own hat and headed above, hoping the Jollywatt from the Heron had returned from shifting the watches.

The two captains had talked of the wealth acquired, and the wealth soon to be acquired. They spoke of what might be done with that wealth, both on a personal and practical level. What improvements might be done to the ships, both for strength of form and ornamentation. Both made reference as to what could be done to improve the Watch Dog and William asked what Dorian might want for the Heron. “I had a notion ta re-arm ‘er… mayhaps wi’ 6 pounders, brass… She won’t ‘andle larger gins for fear o’ what damage they’d cause bein’ fired. On’y so much strengthenin’ can be done ta th’ craft…” William agreed after a pause to think, understanding that the nimble cutter was not as robustly built as the frigate. “Agreed… would be nice to have better weight of a broadside, but no matter, going from iron fours to brass sixes will be plenty…. If they can be acquired…” “Aye, Cap’n… indeed…” They heard more barking on deck, and a couple laughs from crewmembers. Dorian rolled his eyes and grinned a half grin. He yawned and put a hand to cover his mouth. When finished he gestured into the air. “Almost fergot… Seems I’ve acquired a ships cat on the Heron as well…there weren’t one when we got ‘er… He’s a… well…a Pooka… If ‘e shows ‘imself on deck you’ll see ‘im plainly… big puss… white n’ black…” Dorian grinned at William as he made a face. “We are becoming much like the ship in Noah’s charge I fear…” “Aye William… it does look that way at times…”

Dorian pondered Captain Brands' words for a time, mirrored him in sipping his wine. "It has possibilities... Tho.. wi' my small crew... I wouldn't care ta have more'n six 'r so... add a goodly number on the 'Dog here, an' I'll take a couple more trusted men on th' Heron... I c'n manage well with wot I 'ave presently... Just would be nice f'er a bit more ta 'andle th' lines..." He went back to drinking his wine, and wished he had brought his pipe and tobacco with him. A pipe after a good meal would be perfect right now.

Dorian steepled his hands on the table in front of him and closed his eyes. He went through the list of those chosen to be aboard the English built Cutter. They numbered not many above a score of men. “Weeelll… If I get all of ‘em back from th’ Maastricht an’ all… not too bad… but not as goode as could be…” He opened his eyes and looked at William, sitting back in his chair.

Dorian knew William had seen his falter on the ladder. Since nothing was said, he revealed nothing. Given the directive to head to the Wardroom, he went straight away and saw the fine repairs to the ships’ interior. He smiled and looked approvingly at the seamless joining of old and new. He also acknowledged those crew at work there. “Miss McDonough, Mister Bly… excellent work…” He placed the bag on the table and pulled the contents out, arranging them neatly. Soon William had followed and stood with his back to the door. He motioned for Dorian to sit and began to pace across the room. Dorian made to speak, but William held up his hand, halting him. Soon a platter of food was brought in and the meal was laid out. William sat once all was prepared and they enjoyed the noon time meal in relative silence. As luck would have it a light breeze had sprung up, easing some of the heat and humidity.

Dorian was hailed by William as the small boat approached and he smiled as he replied. “As well as can be Cap’n, And you?” “Likewise Cap’n…!” He bowed his head once and made a course adjustment. “Vast pullin’ lads…” The Jollywatt slide up against the hull of the Frigate and Brocke made fast to the main chains. Captain Lasseter stepped lightly off the sternsheets and onto the side ladder with the canvas bag in hand. Half way up a spell of dizziness hit him, causing him to cling un expectedly to the hull. He closed his eyes for a moment and froze in place til the spell had passed. Opening his eyes again, he looked about and continued up onto the deck as if nothing had happened. “William… goode to see you back aboard... I brought o’er th’ ledger an’ all else… and, must repay ye now fer earlier…” He pulled the one pouch that Captain Brand had given him on shore earlier as full as it was when exchanged.

Captain Lasseter had finished inspecting the bay around his ship, and the two other ships he was in the know about. All was well as far as could be told. He had set the glass aside and walked the deck, greeting the handful of crew aboard, even lent a hand shifting some lines and inspecting the work done as of late. He was happy with the great guns, small they may be. He mused about outfitting the Cutter with larger guns, but even with their good luck with coin as of late it might be too costly. These guns would do well enough. Whiting had been given the task of lookout presently and sung out that Captain Brand was coming from shore. Dorian acknowledged that, and set about some other tasks below deck. He found himself in the ward room going through the logbook and other papers. He shuffled through a small pile several times not finding one thing he knew had been there earlier. His brow creased heavily and caused some pain to his wounded head, but not enough to bring a hand close to the wound. His concentration on finding the errant page did not allow him to feel it. He shuffled through everything on the table still not finding it. His fists balled up and relaxed several times. No breeze scattered the papers as there was no breeze. Then it hit him. “Ohh… ho ho… ya pooka… where’d ye hide it?” He calmed himself and began a thorough search of the room. He went as far as opening cabinets, looking under cushions, and even turning out his hammock, which he had forgotten to stow earlier. He finally found it stuck under the crate of candles, how it got there he first could not guess, then reminded himself. “Ye tricky spirit… “ He smiled at that and added the errant page to the pile, gathered them into the front of the logbook and took one last glance at some numbers before closing them in. He went to his sea chest and unlocked it. Withdrew the smaller chest from inside and unlocked it as well. He counted out a large pile of specie and added it to the coin pouch lent to him by William, plus a portion into another small bag, to go back into the ships funds. Locking everything back up, he found his waistcoat and pulled it on, then had a second thought and shrugged it off, hanging it back up. He retrieved a small canvas bag, put all the pouches in it and even managed to fit the logbook in it as well. Heading back on deck he had Brocke and Press ready the jollywatt as he was heading to the Watch Dog to have a meeting with his superior.

As the dawn had risen and the day wore on, much had been accomplished aboard the Heron. Captain Lasseter had spoken to Boatswain Tucker about the goods brought aboard and they had retreated to the hold to inspect them. Loren Brant and Johan Stadtmeyer had assisted with opening some of the crates and barrels to reveal arms from the Watch Dog, nails, water barrel staves, spare canvas and lines, even food-stuff like flower and bacon. The storm had passed leaving the air thick with moisture and now the sun was on the rise adding heat to the mix. The morning breeze has dropped to but a whisper and soon all those crew who were on duty had stripped off as much clothing as modesty would allow. If they were at sea the men would have stripped to their waist, but in port an amount of decorum was called for. Even the Captain had sent young Kalfkin to the wardroom with his waistcoat as it became too weighty and warm for him. Miss Moore had happily plied the crew with fresh water from the stores brought aboard last evening. Every man had drunk to bursting as the heat and humidity caused them to sweat every drop back out. Dorian had returned to the Wardroom to enter all the particulars into the logbook. He opened all the windows hoping to catch any slip of relief from the scant breeze. He even took his neckerchief and dowsed it in his basin and slightly wrung it out before placing it back round his neck to cool him. He came out on deck after a time and chuckled as he saw Harold Press wipe his brow, then draw his knife and stick it into the mast.* He smiled and considered doing that himself. Heading to the quarterdeck he nodded to the salute given by Mister Tucker and took up the ships glass. He swept it slowly around the port, pausing at each ship around them. He watched some ships boats glide across the bay, the men at the sweeps looked miserable. He continued his sweep of the bay when Mister Tucker let loose with a curse. Dorian gave him a look that asked what that was about and saw Tucker looking towards the deck. There at his feet was the big white and black feline. The Boatswain looked at the animal as if he’d never seen a cat before. “Problem Mister Tucker?” The Boatswain looked at the Captain sharply, then his visage took on a sheepish look. “Serry, Cap’n… er… did ye bring this ‘ere ca’ aboard last eve?” A smile crept across Dorian’s face before he answered. “No… I did not… Tha’s a Pooka… an’ either he came aboard wi’ some o’ th’ goods… or he made ‘is own way aboard…” The Boatswain mouthed the word ‘Pooka’ and appeared to not know the word. So Dorian continued. “Don’ know what a pooka is, do ya?” The Boatswain half shrugged and barely shook his head while eyeing the cat looking up at him from the deck, a mischievous look upon his face. “A Pooka is a spirit o’ nature old n’ wise they be…. Keep ‘em happy an’ all is well.. cross ‘em ‘r anger ‘em… I pity you…” Tucker shot a look at the Captain who’s facial expression told his he was serious. Cautiously he reached down and patted the feline on the head. “Good kitty, er, Pooka…” The animal began to purr and threw itself on the deck, rolling onto his back. “Best scratch ‘is belly if ya know wot’s goode fer ya…” Dorian was smiling now, but “Lucky Tuck” decided to follow the advice and knelt down to scratch the belly offered to him. Dorian went back to peering through the glass as he heard the purring grow louder and the Boatswain voice continuing to appease the spirit. * sticking your knife into the main mast of a ship was said to bring up the wind in a becalmed sea...