William Brand

William Red Wake! Are you the one sending me those "enlargement" emails? Only because you requested them, which is odd in and of itself, as I'm a graphic designer by trade. I guess you'll want illustrations of the process...?

He wants them enlarged and handed about.

William employed Rousseau's men to assist Ajayi to whatever destination ordered. It was only fitting that those who had done the harm should bear the weight. This was done begrudgingly of course, but no one could refuse the three men who demanded it. Rousseau was left mostly to himself . He protested everything, until William, tired of his complaints, took the man's cane and drove him before all. Out across the lawns they went, William striking the man only enough to drive him, deaf to all of Rousseau's protestations.

Don't fret, mate. He always talks like that.

Aye. Agreed. Personalities range too far afield for me to place labels. I avoid labels when I can. If I had to use any description I would use convincing or not convincing. I look at Cascabel and think, convincing. Braze, convincing. Edward O'Keefe, convincing. Jim Warren, convincing. Haunting Lily, convincing. Patrick Hand, oh so very convincing. Besides, you have pressed pirates, who took...or were rather taken...to the sea. You have pirates who were labeled thus by slander, libel or some other malediction. You have pirates that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Strangest of all are those pirates that carried a sword in one hand and a bible in the other. Several pirates in history refrained from drink and lechery for religious reasons, but were not above slaughtering entire crews without a second thought. And you have the bloodthirsty, devil-may-care, half way to the noose 12 hours out of every 24. Too many kinds for labels.

August 5, 1704 The business of this surgery done, Eric went over to a sleeping Mister Roberts and nudged him. "The weskit..!" Jack said, sitting up a little startled. He fumbled for the cup that was no longer in his hand. Eric snorted and patted Jack on the back. "Easy, Jack." "Sorry." he said, smiling at his own state. He rubbed the palm of one hand over an eye as he sat up. "Miss O'Treasaigh has fetched out th' lead." Eric explained. "Joshua's in good hands here. We'll wait t' take him back when th' Cap'n comes. Jack could see that Jean was shouldering his musket and preparing to depart, he followed suit, anxious to report the business of Wellings and what he knew of Ajayi to Mister Warren. He was equally anxious to eat and find his hammock. Starboard Watches on Duty

Would you all like to be listed together on the Roll Call?

August 5, 1704 - On the Cul du Sac Royal Hernando López de Arriortúa and Felipe Gasset were standing on the holy ground of the Navarra when the cry came to them across the water. The sound carried easily over the distance, though a neighboring ship had begun celebrating somewhat raucously their recent good fortunes. The Bosun, Arriortúa, went to the rail with a glass as Gasset hailed the approaching boat. Maurice called out again, and so the merchant and the small boat conversed in this matter as the distance shrank between them asking and answering several simple questions. There were not many at the rail, Pew noted, but many more of them were armed than he had expected. "Some zeven...seventeen muskets, by my count, sah." Dries said quietly. "And heavy in the water..." Peter said, than quickly added. "Sah." None of this had escaped Preston's accounting and he made note of her rigging and great guns. "A merchant at war." he said abscently, as he was still trying to make out the condition of her topmost sails in the darkness above them and other subtle details of her make and readiness. Arriortúa remained on the upper decks aft, but Gasset had moved amidships along with some additional unarmed men to receive the men of the Lucy. Gasset looked affable enough. Indeed, he looked more than affable, even pleased to see them. He had a genuine smile and a good, average face. He raised a hand in greeting when they were close enough to make him out by the lanterns of the Navarra. "Welcome, friends." he said in a clear English, though it was no indication of his knowledge of the language one way or the other. The familiar face of Lieutenant Guerrero De la Cruz appeared then beside Gasset. Eight bells of the Second Dog Watch. First Watch begins. Starboard Watches on Duty

Please make your way to the kitchen, chicken. The cook wants to have a word.

August 5, 1704 - The cellar of Rousseau's slave livery What happened next surprised everyone. Before Ajayi could answer, Rousseau appeared on the steps. Reawakened to his position and power on the Earth, he entered the room with a kind of stern defiance to what he most certainly perceived as interlopers. He did this with the air of a man come down from Olympus, descending the stairs with an altered countenance that was altogether different from that indifferent man from before. The change was surprising. Something outside and unwitnessed by them had brought him back to himself. Perhaps his guests, standing about him in the dark, had reminded him with words or silence that he was a man of position. Whatever the cause, he was here. He was angry. Behind him came as many men as he could convince to follow by threat or coercion. They seemed more hesitant than Rousseau, but he had certainly chosen the most brutish and dangerous of his men. It didn't help that they were armed. Durand stood where he was. Gibraltar in a great coat. His man looked less certain, and the light moved a little in his uncertain hand. William and Dorian let Ajayi back down carefully. They both did this without saying anything to one another. They didn't even exchange a look. They simply set Ajayi back again and rose at either side of him. Dorian was too aware that William's musket was out of his immediate reach, but he was transformed now. Just one more Irishman with a gross of experiences at his back and enough of the scrapper left in him to make a show of himself. In fact, he looked downright happy to see Rousseau. It was something about the eyes. Something in his calm said that he could do cold blooded murder and raise a toast to the slaughter afterwards. William was calmer than he had been all night. It wasn't a mask of anything now. He was actually already beyond the room, his mind racing about the distance to the docks and the doctor waiting there. He couldn't have cared less for Rousseau and he was as genuinely disinterested in the Frenchman as Rousseau had been with them upon their arrival. "You will have a carriage brought to this place." William said simply, as if passing along instruction to one of his own. Rousseau's face went a little dark at this and they were seeing the real man for the first time. William wasn't sure if the man was more angry at him directly, or more irritated at being forced to demonstrate so much action and emotion before lesser men. What William was certain about was the fact that Rousseau would own a carriage. He probably had two or three of them. "You will have a carriage brought to this place." William repeated, with no more emphasis than before. Rousseau's men had spread out along either side of him, filling the side of the room and the stairs. Dorian's man was among them, watching Lasseter with the same measure he had shown before. Dorian was glad of it. Still, Durand never moved and Rousseau shot him a venomous look. William walked right up to Rousseau then. The plantation owner began a curse in French that would have been worthy of repeating for years to come if William hadn't cut him off. "You will have a carriage brought. Not that man." William said pointing to one of Rousseau's servants. "Nor that man." He said, pointing to another. "You, sir. You will have one brought." Rousseau dared the field and came toe to toe with Brand. "You are the stranger here. You do not know what foolishness you 'ave brought with you. I am a man of great stan..." "I am taking my man out of this place." William said and turned his back on Rousseau. William could not have angered him more in that moment. Rousseau was not accustomed to being cut off, but to have an inferior show his back in such a manner was a blow to everything he believed himself to be. He struck William across the back with his cane. Durand bristled so suddenly that several men went for blades. In truth, Durand barely moved, but being a big man any movement startled people. Dorian had been watching his chosen opponent this whole time. As the man saw fit to watch him, he brazenly stared back. With the sudden action of Rousseau and Durand's unchecked flinch the man had gone for his sword. It was not but half way out of its scabbard when Dorian drew his pistol and set it in the porch of the man's ear. "Don't." was all that he said. He had drawn the pistol, cocked it and placed it firmly against the man's head so suddenly, there was no need to say more. Still, the man held his sword, half drawn. William turned where he stood, his back still stinging from the blow. Rousseau had cracked the cane with the force of it. William's eyes threatened to well up at the pronounced smart that hurt outward an inward, skin to spine. There was a silence in the place that deafened everyone. William regained his height and his composure, but the calm that came back was all anger in check now. Ajayi was almost forgotten in the blinding sting that still wouldn't fade. Dorian's man still held blade. "Put up your sword, sirrr." Dorian said in the clearest and coldest English William had ever heard him use, though his 'sir' trailed, threatening. "Put up your sword or I'll send you t' Hell in portions." Portions came out like a growl and a hiss rolled together. The man let gravity replace his blade and even raised his hands a little. Rousseau stood defiant. It took William a moment to straighten completely. "Some one hundred and fifty men of my company wait offshore." William said, standing close enough to Rousseau now that even Rousseau's men did not know what to do. "Thank them. Thank them in your prayers ere you sleep, Monsieur. Were their lives not within my care, I would risk all to destroy you." "Monsiuer..." Rousseau tried, and it was not fear in his voice, but uncertainty. His men had not sprung to his immediate aid and this confused him. "I would peel you, Monsieur. I would...with a glee I have not known before...willingly perform all of those treacheries attributed to me, though it take me a fortnight." There was something in the way that William spoke then at the end. Something about the calm that was fading away at the corners of his mouth. Something about the tremulous way his hands began to shake. The anger that showed then, underneath the peeling paint of his calm, gave Rousseau his first true pause. It was not that William became less inferior. It was rather the opposite. William was becoming more inferior still. Almost savage. Rousseau had no way to gage this kind of anger. No one had ever been this close to him and this angry at the same time. "You...will go and fetch the carriage!" William said, and almost couldn't, anger and volume overtaking him. Rousseau, stubborn past the point of reason, turned to Durand then, trying to enlist him by insulting him. "Comment défi vous, monsieur. Comment pouvez-vous se tenir pour ceci?" Durand looked angry now. For the first time, he looked angry. "I am with them. Not with you." He said 'you' with such derision that Rousseau looked slapped again. Then Dorian's man moved a little to much for Dorian's liking. With his free hand Dorian drew his knife and in one swift stroke, cut the man deeply across his hip, freeing the man from his sword and pistol as he did so. They clattered to the floor, and still, Dorian pressed the pistol firmly. The man could do nothing but grit his teeth and bleed. This movement triggered two other men to action, though Durand disarmed the first so easily with a swipe of one long arm, that the man gaped to see his sword sent sailing. The other man was dispatched by Durand's man, who in a manner more lucky than graceful, smashed the lantern across the face of the second. The man cried out to be cut and burned all at once, and he discharged his musket in surprise. It carried off some off some of Durand's coat, though Durand seemed unshaken by this. Then Rousseau and his men were all being herded out. Herded like the men they bought and sold. It was a loud procession, for everyone had been deafened a little by the musket and their blood was up.

Ajayi lay within. Just that. Nothing more. There were no furnishings. There were no chains. It was plain but for the sparest amount of straw and Ajayi. For a brief moment, William thought the man was dead. This momentary thought passed quickly though as Ajayi shifted, blinded by the feeble light as the others had been. He raised one arm to shield his face, but not before William caught sight of a nose, mouth and eyes badly beaten. 'What had Durand said?' William wondered then. 'Had he said that Ajayi was 'much abused'?' These words failed to explain what had been done to the man. William passed his musket to Dorian absently. Dorian took it without question. William walked down the steps which continued past the door, so that they were now almost six feet lower into the Earth than the rest of the building. The symbolism was not lost on William. When he reached Ajayi's side he stood over him for a moment, uncertain what to do. Ajayi looked up and he was so piteous in appearance that a sound caught in William's throat. "Capppuhn." Ajay said through a mouth that had once been perfect. This was a blow on William's ears, and he couldn't remember if the twice former slave and castaway had ever addressed him such. A second, subtle and strangled sound caught in William's throat as he bent down. "My good man." Was all that he managed. He didn't know what to do for Ajayi, for everywhere the man was broken or bruised and there was no place to touch that was not torn or damaged in some fashion. "Le Christ outre de la croix..." Durand's man whispered, and even accustomed to slavery as he was, he looked unsteady. Ajayi's left eye was swollen completely closed and as ripe as eggplant. His face was swollen too much to identify the man by sight alone, and had William not known him by his weary voice, he would have not thought this damaged creature to be his man. Fingers were bent in ways that made his empty stomach coil in anger and nausea. Ajayi's perfect teeth, that were wont to smile often, especially in favor of Mister Whittingford, were wrecked. No other word could describe that once untouched, ivory smile. Several teeth were gone and some would have to go in time. His lips were parted in places and he had never seen so much blood on a man still alive. Everything about Ajayi that had been beautiful had been sold along with his freedom. "My god, Dorian." William said, in a rasp. "They made 'im face th' lash..." Dorian said in a wonder so bare that it couldn't hide his disbelief, for this was not cliche. Ajayi had faced the lash. They had whipped him across his face and chest. Not his back. Durand's man crossed himself.

William, though shorter than either Dorian or Durand, proved hard to keep up with. He sometimes strode and sometimes jogged across the lawns. Then the grass and gardening gave way to dirt and uneven, well trodden soil. It was slick, unyielding stuff. It was so densely packed from the traffic of human beasts of burden, that the earlier rain had not touched it but to pool on top in shallow, glossy and reflective mirrors. William called out to the imposing, unlit windows of the slave quarters. These were not fancy buildings, but they were embellished with enough of a facade to make them pretty by day and ominous by night, features for passers by and Rousseau's own vanity, not for their occupants. The rest of the structures were solid and sturdy, unmarked by any elegance. "Poor houses an' prisons." Dorian said as he caught up to William. One of Durand's men arrived with him, and this afforded them a lantern. They moved forward at once, almost attacking each building, under the protests of Rousseau's arriving men. Each house yielded nothing but the worst onslaught of smells and poverty. Ajayi was not found among the first three buildings, though not for lack of looking. William and his party plowed into every house and outbuilding. Thankfully, this relieved them of their followers for a time, for Rousseau would not go in at any of door, and his men, unprepared to face such threatening fervor, were obliged to wait in the fresh and open air. Still they searched, and every time William came out again into the night, Rousseau's band of shocked guests would jump a little in surprise, though William ignored them in his progress. It did not help that Dorian's demeanor was all hostility and Durand was an imposing man in carriage alone. "You will cease, Monsieur." Rousseau protested. "You will take your men and go from here!" "We will at that!" Dorian spat, and he stopped to say it, which gave Rousseau pause. The man visibly flinched. Finally they reached the last of the houses, if such a name could be granted the structure before them. It sat alone in the darkest part of the house grounds. It was almost buried in a stand of trees. It was not quite a barn, but more a livery for humans. In fact, it was both a stable and a slave house. The architect had married both together poorly, so that the overall effect at night was disturbing. It had so many dark, shadowy archways and it seemed to dead end everywhere, a thing that William might have had reason to dread, though he was too angry to care. It loomed before them and it was fixed with so many heavy doors that William was reminded of Dorian's words from minutes before. "Prison..." William said softly, and he took the lantern from Durand's man. He was sure that of all places on the plantation, Ajayi would be here. Something about the place assured him of this fact. Only this last, most horrible place could hold Ajayi. They went in at the only open door and their solitary light was swallowed up by it.

Today's special is... My, but we've killed a fair number of chickens this week.

I saw the wings. She still looks like a zombie.

I would lose the zombie in the first picture, but otherwise they look great.

August 5, 1704 - The Plantation of Monsieur Rousseau Between three and eight bells of the Second Dog Watch They found themselves enveloped in a silence that hung heavy. So much so that the click of dog's claws on stone seemed overly loud. The music had faded and faltered within, replaced now with indignant French exclamations and the approach of footfall. Rousseau appeared in the entryway of his home flanked by so many wigs and worrisome looking guests that it was like the advance of a tailor dressed army of foppery. William had not seen so much lace since coming to Martinique and there could be no mistaking a sudden change in perfume, for they were assaulted by lilac and rose water. Every other hand carried a handkerchief and even Rousseau himself was still dabbing at the corner of his mouth in an absent minded way. "Quelles affaires sont ceci?" Rousseau said, in a tone that only just pantomimed genuine interest. Durand explained, for the third time since discovering Ajayi's whereabouts, that they were here for the return of the Watch Dog's man. Rousseau seemed genuinely surprised by this, and if Durand was irritated, he didn't show it. He simply explained the reason for their arrival as if just arriving himself. Still, Rousseau seemed not to understand. "You have purchased one of mine into slavery." William said flatly, interrupting Durand at the end. Rousseau, capable of excellent English himself, turned to a man at his left and waited to hear this said again in French. Rousseau answered to the translator and not to William. "I have purchased slaves before, Monsieur." Rousseau's man explained, and he even managed to mimic his employer's removed, unengaged tone. "Nevertheless, I will have my man back again." William returned. His tone was calm but absolute. "Where is he?" Rousseau's brow furrowed, and he seemed not to understand the question, or at least, it seemed a thing too unimportant, so he chose not to acknowledge it's weight. William repeated the question with more calm, though this had the effect of being less calm. "How can a slave, purchased by me, belong to you?" Rousseau said again through his man. It was infuriating stuff. William straitened a little, a tick of his impatience showing. "Come again tomorrow." Rousseau added, turning away from them with all the indifference of a god removed from mortals. "Where is he?" William exclaimed and this time he was loud enough to make one or two ladies, and not a few of the more genteel men jump a little. Durand may have smiled a little then. A dog barked. Rousseau turned back again, and for the first time one could see the underpinnings of his masks. There was a little irritation in his eyes. It was a kind of lazy impatience born of wealth, for Rousseau felt himself so removed from anyone beneath him, that he did not like being prodded to some actual regard for his inferiors. He found it unpleasant and he felt that it dirtied him to show so much interest openly. He was starting to shed his genuine boredom for a subtle, but equally lazy anger. "The slave is not here." he said, slightly exasperated. He gestured in wide circles with his hands to the plantation as a whole, and William was worried for a moment that Ajayi was already gone, bound for plantations or islands elsewhere. Rousseau, thinking himself misunderstood, added. "Why would he be here?" William understood then that Rousseau did not see the plantation as a whole, but rather he saw the house as an island in the midst of the plantation. Of course to him the slaves were not 'here', they were 'elsewhere'. They could never be here in the same place as Rousseau, for it would imply some equal plane of existence. They occupied a completely different continent just beyond his hedgerows and gardening. Rousseau, still thinking himself misunderstood, explained and gestured in the general direction of the property North of the house. "The slave is there." He sounded flummoxed now, as an indifferent adult chiding someone else's children. As before, William took off at a pronounced stride, leaving everyone who didn't immediately follow. As no one hedged him in on this side, he gained the most obvious lane North of the house unchecked. He ignored Rousseau's awakened alarm and his first real indignation. "You will come back, Moniseur!" he cried, using his most excellent English for the first time, and so surprised was his translator, that the man repeated Rousseau's demand in French. It might have been funny, but no one was laughing. Larboard Watches on Duty

I am the proprietor here, and while under my roof you shall be waited on hand and foot until a chirugeon says differently. Now eat your soup and be pampered.

Should you be hugging anyone...? A lass in your condition. Get the lady a chair! And a serving boy or two! And something to drink! And...while you're up, repaint the Kate! She's showing her age in places!

Eat up. We made a great deal of the stuff.

Well, I'm breathing...but I just got my buffalo sandals and they smell like they were cured in diesel fuel. Got 'em outside now, hoping it'll air off. Is this normal for these? I know the very smell that you are referring to. I've bought leather products overseas with that very same "petroleum bi-product" odor to them. I've always assumed that it's a cheaper tanning chemical or a leather adhesive holding the thin layers together. Probably both. The smell doesn't ever go away entirely, but it evolves slightly to something less appalling.

Welcome back, Syren. It's good to know that you're home, and though in pain, well beyond previous years.

Durand watched Dorian play out this scene, occasionally distracted by William's pacing. Durand looked weather worn from pursuing too many people to too many destinations and dead ends. Dorian thought that he might speak, more than once, before he realized that the Frenchman was not leaning to speak, but rather, drifting almost to sleep while standing. It was almost funny to witness, but no one smiled. Even worn the man was imposing, being taller than most of the men present. It didn't hurt that his false eye caught the lantern light in ways that were unsettling. Then one of Rousseau's men coughed. Just that. He coughed and William was off up the lane. William did this so abruptly, that everyone was caught off guard, Rousseau's men and everyone else equally. William was several strides down the lane when Dorian and Durand fell in behind him, almost together, Durand coming awake at once. Rousseau's men came after them quickly, openly flustered. They tried to call after William and the others, but in vain, for he would not turn back. They were further foiled in their attempts to halt him by the nature of the lane itself, for it was hedged in by landscaping and L'Ours and Lasseter filled the width of it shoulder to shoulder. Rousseau's hounds, alerted by the commotion, began raising themselves up from various places of repose on the wide steps at the front of the house. They were bristling by the time William reached the first step. Having never feared dogs, William shouted down the first hound which threatened him and this gave the others pause as he gained those first few steps. As the lane had widened before the house, Rousseau's men sprinted forward, taking the steps in pairs to reach the threshold ahead of William. With their jaws set and hands straying to blades, one of the plantation men put out a cautionary hand, though he it seemed more for himself than anyone else. William stopped, but only to stare the man evenly in the face. "I'll will have my man again." He did nothing else but stand, while Dorian and Durand flanked him left and right, one encircled in a heavy wreath of pipe smoke and the other a dark tower of mismatched windows. All of the dogs were barking as the music within the house died away.

Chicken...sans flora...and a brandy. Aye.

We'll be serving chicken soup all week.

I want to go to this one... http://steampunkconvention.com/node/4