William Brand

I don't know when it started. I actually think of this as the first year, since in many ways, we all helped to put it back on the map. The unified effort to restore the festival certainly made it a banner year, but I'd love to know the history from the beginning.

The shortest day of the year makes for a long night of drinking!

I was going to make espresso...

Jib has worked the Minnesota Renn Faire. I believe that Sjöröveren and Red Bess are from there. The Fools Gold crew covers some of that area http://www.foolsgoldpirates.com . Welcome aboard.

August 3, 1704 - Ward Room of the Lucy Monsieur Durand scanned every line of the ledger with the deft skill of one who reads between them just as well. He would sometimes stop, his lips moving quietly as he made a silent notation in his head, storing away goods and numbers against some eventual end not yet discussed. While perusing some unremarkable notations on ship's stores, he made unexpected conversation, breaking the silence with his first observation of the day, apart from the Ward Room having chairs. "It is widely rumored on the docks that you keep some seven women aboard ship, Captain." he said to no one in particular. "I don't keep any of them aboard, Monsieur." William returned, since he had the lion's share of women. "Neither do I." Dorian agreed. Duran looked up with one grey-green eye and one dark, prismatic orb and waited for them to amend their comments and he looked certain that they would. He was not disappointed, for William, preferring some conversation to so much silence, added to his answer, knowing that it would go a long way to calming the room. "You are correct in the number, but not in the keeping. I have in my service some seven women exactly, not counting a guest recently come aboard, and as she has worked in trade for food and clothing since her arrival. It might therefore be said that eight women live and work aboard the 'Dog. I am fortunate to have so many." William said, though he did not feel equally fortunate about all eight women. Dorian made as if to speak, but Durand was suddenly very talkative. He did not stop looking at the ledgers. His eyes never left them at all, but he began questioning William at length. "Thiz...guest. Thiz newest woman. Tell me of her, Capitaine." William shrugged, and genuinely too, for he knew almost nothing of the pickpocket turned mess mate, apart from her masquerade, which he left from his narrative. "She's little more than an urchin, Monsieur. A ragamuffin. A creature of cobwebs and cobblestones. Our Miss McDonough, in her charity, brought the girl aboard that she might eat and make herself known to our rag bins." "I see." Durand looked at Murin then, who smiled pleasantly enough, despite the smallest twitches at her mouth. Durand smiled back, though it was more social reflex than smile. "And what more do you know of her, Capitaine?" "Little to nothing." William admitted. "She arrived bundled and bound as one wearing all that she possessed." Durand nodded, one finger tracing down the page. He said nothing for a full minute and no one seemed to know where to carry the conversation next. William was sitting to Durand's left, comfortably faced towards Durand's good eye, with Murin on Durand's blindside. Dorian, sat at the head of his own table facing Durand. After that quiet minute had passed, Durand began to speak about rumors and the hearsay about Martinique. "There have been strange goings on of late." he began, and William noted how well he used his understanding of English to frame sentences and phrases particular to the language. "Take for instance the murder of Monsieur Basile Duflot de Mofras, a man of some importance here at Martinique." Jenny was not enjoying this conversation. The mention of her recently murdered neighbor, a man not much older than herself, only added to her unease. She wanted to walk out of the room, but could think of no immediate reason to carry her from the place. "And how did this poor fellow come to be murdered?" William prompted, noting Jenny's maintained agitation. "He was killed by one of his slaves." Durand explained, his tone flat. William nodded. "A theme not uncommon to the trade." "Oui...but this man was uncommonly kind to his slaves." Durand returned, then repeated, "Uncommonly kind." No one responded to this, so Durand continued. "The slave was hanged of course." "Of course." William replied, though his tone was not so casual. His eyes had narrowed as he said it. Durand did not look up to see this. "I have my suspicions that it was the girl that performed the act." Durand said aloud, almost as an afterthought, before falling silent again. "The girl...Monsieur?" It was Dorian's turn to prompt Durand, who had begun another quiet calculation in his head. "Oui." he said after a time. "This girl. This slave girl...sister to him that was hanged...she has been missing ever since the night of the murder, gone to places unknown. The hanged man remained...asleep in his bed I am told." "Perhaps to assuage the appearance of guilt." William offered. "He waz found with the weapon, Capitaine." "Then, he might have done so t' save th' sister." Dorian said, then he sent Jenny out to fetch some tea aft from the galley. She went out gratefully, though not outwardly so. "Perhaps, Capitaine. Perhaps." Durand agreed, though his 'perhaps' sounded doubtful. Then the conversation about William's guest came full circle. This eighth woman, Capitaine..." "Monsieur?" "This errchin. She would not be a slave girl, would she Capitaine?" "I keep no slaves aboard the 'Dog, Monsieur, and besides, she is too pale a girl to be the one in question." "I would see this for myself, of course." "But of course, Monsieur." William agreed.

Speaking of pudding, how about a nice steamed pudding...?

Let's roll out a barrel or two. And tonight, Indian food...

August 3, 1704 - Ward Room of the Lucy Durand ducked as they went through the door and down into the Ward Room, as did Dorian who entered before him. Dorian went down the stairs as slowly as he could without being obvious. He found Miss McDonough just dropping into a chair and a rattled Miss Ashcombe who composed herself at once. Jenny had served her Uncle often enough under trying circumstances. She had become used to painting on a mask. She was the fly on the wall at her Uncle's plantation. A serving relative among the servants. She was used to it. She understood the art of the invisible who live under the same roof, but in shadow. Now, she tried to paint on that mask an inch thick, and succeeded to a point. She was calm enough in motion as she set about serving Murin. She did this with the practiced grace of one who has served at table before, loosing the shake in her hand just enough to pass for a steward, though her mind raced about what she need know for such a calling. As Dorian stepped into the room he had just enough time to give Jenny a winning smile, though he was also distracted by several passing thoughts at once. Almost on his very heels came Monsieur Durand, filling the stair and framework of the companionway before he too was standing in the room, both men looking about as their eyes adjusted to the gloomier light of the room. Jenny almost dropped the pitcher. There before her stood Donatien Larue Durand. There was no mistaking the man who had burst into her room at La Chateau Anse just three nights previous. Now, as then, his head all but brushed the ceiling, for he had removed his hat to escape losing it against the low beams, his head as bald as before. His one good eye was bright now as it had been in contrast to the strange polish of the other. Here before her was one of the last men on Earth she had expected to see aboard the Lucy. Here was the unabashed drunk that had crashed into her life, now come crashing again. Donatien Larue Durand...the man the clerk had referred to as a "personage of some importance". She had just enough time to recover herself a little as William also stepped in from the light beyond.

Try as he might, Monsieur Durand could not keep himself from fixing Dorian with a look. "Have you no chairs, Monsieur?" Then, he gestured again as if to say 'Lead on' and waited for Dorian to go before him.

"Durand." the man returned. He stepped forward then and held out a hand for his papers. Only when the documents were returned to him did he step aboard the Lucy. He proved to be taller than Dorian, but only by a few inches. He made a point of standing all but too close to Captain Lasseter, accentuating his size. He even leaned a little. Dorian did not step back. "Capitaine." Durand said, simply, though it came out sounding like so many things at once. It was a greeting, formality and a prompt all at the same time. Dorian made a point then of gesturing to William, for Durand had not extended his formality to Captain Brand after coming aboard. Durand took this in stride and stepped towards William, again coming too close. He had the advantage of standing half a foot over Captain Brand. William removed his hat to pay his respects, but Durand's proximity prevented him from bowing, and William fixed him with a gently reproving look. It was Durand that was obliged to step away that William might complete the gesture. Miss McDonough, and most of the men of the Lucy who witnessed this interchange, were probably not aware of the subtle posturing which took place in those first few moments. There was a sort of give and take as the weatherdecks became a social battle field of advances and retreats. Durand seemed to tire of it almost at once. "I will see the ledgers now."

The idea is great on peper, but two points... One - The fort is currently wrestling to get every dime that it can to preserve the fort itself, first and foremost. The barracks are in a poor state and could fall down before all of the red tape is cut, so I imagine the Royalist would be pretty far down their list of considerations, though I'll wait for Harry to have the final say on that. Second - The Pirates in Paradise Festival is co-hosted by the owners of The Wolf, a schooner at Key West which already serves as the flag ship of the Conch Republic, so they might not wish to be one-upped by the addition of another ship, though who knows...they might be encouraged to start a whole navy. I for one would like to see a whole navy. Third...The Royalist is a 71' LOA gaff-rigged, square-tops'l ketch refitted to the specifications of an 18th-century dispatch gunboat/bomb ketch. The Mercury is a brig-sloop. That said, the Mercury crew will gladly except cash in lieu of the Royalist to build the Mercury, while still strongly encouraging Key West to buy the Royalist. See Item Number Two.

August 3, 1704 - Aboard the Lucy "You had best wait until they have celebrated so...before placing Preston's name before them." William said sagely, turning his banter upon Preston who fixed him with a look. "They'll not approve of him sober." Before Preston could make an answer to this the Lucy was hailed yet again, and by a voice more commanding than any previously that day. A man of significant stature was already upon the gangplank, though he was careful to stand in the attitude of one who expects to come aboard without overstating this expectation. He was a tall man, and seemingly, equally wide in the shoulders, a feature exaggerated by the coat he wore despite the rising heat of the morning. He was a strange looking man, who squinted into the morning sun. He was alien in appearance, for he was as removed from the fashions of the day as he was from his hair, for when the two Captains and the Quartermaster approached the rail, the man removed his hat to reveal that neither his own hair or anyone else's adorned his head. Also, he carried a sword of such size that it seemed a century out of place, though William thought a man of his stature would find a small sword laughable. He also carried two heavy pistols tucked together at his waist and he did not seem to mind the weight of them. Jerrod Styles, normally aloft on duty, stood soundly between the visitor and the weatherdecks, though he looked back to see what Captain Lasseter would do with this man who seemed ready to come aboard at the merest nod. Dorian met the man at the rail and introduced himself as Captain of the Lucy. William was glad to hear Dorian say it with deliberate clout, for though the stranger's mode of dress gave away no office, his bearing did carry with it a weight beyond the man himself, and Dorian was careful to balance this weight with his own. The stranger made no mention of his own name, but offered a packet of several neatly folded papers to Mister Styles, who then passed them to Captain Lasseter. As Dorian took them, he did not take his eyes from the man, though the stranger looked away from him as casually as one who finds such errands beneath him. William watched this scene unfold with the eye of the detached observer, since he had remained anonymous for the present. He watched how the man stood, noticing that he wore his self assurance well. It was not the haughty stance of the wealthy or the politician, but the genuine power of a man who has survived much without the greater need of public or private approval. Dorian himself was much the same way, caring little for the opinions of others as it touched his own self estimation. Dorian perused the documents before him with a removed aire that belied his experience as a man outside societies requirements. They were, for all intents and purposes, two castings off of one wax. However, a distinct difference remained. Dorian was Captain of the Lucy and Quartermaster of the Whole Company. As such he was governed by those he served, while also governing over over them. The man on the gangplank was a country unto himself, governed by no one absolute power. An enigma of politics and position, undefined, except for each passing moment. Dorian passed the documents to William with a Captain's expression. William had seen this face painted on Dorian just the day before when dealing with Lieutenant Turcotte, and William recognized it now just as much as he recognized Turcotte's hand in the documents before him, though Lieutenant Raul Turcotte's name appeared in none of them. "Monsieur, Est-ce que...je peux présenter capitaine William Brand du chien de garde ?" Dorian said, gesturing to William. "It is unnecessary to use French when addressing me, as I can speak your English well enough, Captain Lasseter." the man returned, and indeed he spoke English so well that one might have thought him born to the language, but for a hint of accent. Then he nodded to William with a gracious smile. "It is my pleazure to make your acquaintance, Capitaine. Your reputation precedes you." "And what reputation is that?" William asked. "I have so many, Monsieur." The man smiled. "Perhaps you will explain them all to me, Capitaine, when my buziness is done here." "Perhaps I shall." William agreed, careful to keep the conversation simple, for he was suddenly more aware of the man's possibilities than before, and he had ever been careful in tempting power with too much abandon. The Mahdi had once told William to 'Present your hand carefully to unknown dogs. Show them but one open palm while you make a fist with the other'. It was now Dorian's turn to watch the two men, even as he considered the papers before him, for unlike Turcotte's warrant to search and question, this man's documents were more subtle. Dangerous. One document gave the man the right to make an accounting of the Lucy, at least as Dorian understood it. It was a kind of customs document which gave it's bearer the right to assure the powers of state that no undo steps were being taken to hide contraband or stolen goods. As simple as it was worded, there was an unspoken power written between every other line. Indeed, there were more seals upon it than sentences. The other document was ambiguous, explaining with too many words the validity of the other. Dorian understood them both for what they really were. They were one in the same... It was the Lieutenant come again by another door. Two bells of the Forenoon Watch ~Starboard Watches on Duty~

No, I plan to waste away.

August 3, 1704 - Aboard the Lucy William returned from his thoughts. "I agree completely, Captain Lasseter. I mean to have the gun deck of the 'Dog shored up from beneath with a samson post and a support step, that I might have His Grace gilded in gold." William kept a straight face as he said this, but it dissolved altogether when Preston added. "Every man a wimple an' a crispin' pin." William had not expected this of Preston, for the reference was obscure enough that he had not thought to hear it used in such a manner here, and he choked a little as he recovered himself. Dorian ignored them both well enough, too happy with the nameplates to care about their mockery. Murin stood hard by and she made a point of complimenting the upcoming embellishment. "Thank you, Miss McDonough." Dorian returned.

"Number seven gun..." William repeated aloud. William and Preston exchanged a look. Preston's expression was more smirk than smile, though he raised an eyebrow to match William's. William shook his head a little in good humor. "English cutter...now, Dutch yacht..." Dorian ignored this. "River boat of 'er majesty, Queen Anne..." Preston remarked, effecting the slightest lisp of aires as he did so. He removed his hat and mimicked a bow deeper than was usual for him. It cost him a little, still being weak from recent days abed, but the joke was not lost. William returned the bow, though his thoughts were elsewhere again.

August 3, 1704 - Aboard the Lucy "Ajayi, Wellings and Scymmelpenninck did not report back to the Watch Dog last night." William said, his voice low. He did not want to voice his thoughts on the matter aloud, but as Dorian was often of a like mind, he ventured into conjecture. "An Englishman and Dutchman ashore in the company of a Yoruban..." Dorian nodded, still scanning the docks and the avenues stretching back into St. Louis. There was no sign of them, though an occasional dark visage stood out in the crowd, none of them the great able seaman. "They wouldn't sell 'im..." Dorian wondered aloud, his face frowning. William did not answer. This thought was one of many he had not wanted to voice, for his concerns last night had been for the men's safety. Now, the night was over and the morning was growing long. Like it or not, William had to admit that the idea of his two recruits turned slave traders was not beyond the realm of possibility. "I want to believe they were welcomed into one too many Pubs during their errand." William said simply. "I want to believe that and no more."

I'll take ten. One this year. One next year. One the year after that...

I don't even know you anymore...

Yes. Yes I can.

William looks about at the hushed patrons and fixes the fiddler with a stern look. "Play." "Don't worry, we'll get you a whole pie and a comfortable chair. You have a lot of catching up to do."

You've never had blueberry pie...? The Tsunami Kate goes quiet within and without. The fiddler stops mid draw, the note souring. Only the fire can be heard as a single log pops on the hearth.

We do not stand on ceremony here concerning the order of food. Dessert it is.

August 3, 1704 - Aboard the Lucy The flask passed between them and once William had taken a sip, he passed it to Preston. In doing so he was reminded of a pressing question. "Mister Pew...perchance, did our Mister Wellings and Scymmelpenninck visit the chirurgeon's with Ajayi while you were there?" "I don' know a Wellings..." Preston returned. "Ahhh, yes. You would not know him." William admitted, though this answered his question on the point of the three able seaman, for if Preston had not met Wellings, then the three men had never arrived at Maeve O'Treasaigh's home. "Joshua Wellings is one of the many men we took from the prison as able seamen for the 'Dog and Her...Lucy." William smiled. "Forgive me, Captain Lasseter. Force of habit." Dorian nodded. "If they came to see me, th' women might 'ave sent them off." Preston offered. "Perhaps." William agreed, and he and Dorian exchanged a short look.

I love the color on this one. It looks like a single frame from a 1960's pirate movie.

You're welcome. I threw out every unflattering shot of Mark, as he is loathe to be photographed. It really is too bad. He takes a smart picture. HA man that tall needs a justacorps.