William Brand

You will be fashionably late anytime after ten. You will be too late anytime after midnight.

I'm having a New Year's Sale. See the first page for pricing.

What type of wood are you using? Can you do darker stains?

The silence was smothering, but for the frigate herself. Paul listened for a reply, but there was nothing. Paul Mooney knew a silence from a silence. He had known alleys of coastal towns and the holds of other ships. He had known and witnessed a few ambushes in his day, and when Meg did not answer, Paul knew the silence for what it was. Treachery. Meg lay where she had landed, having been struck by the haft of Tawny's knife. Blood had already hardened in the hair above her left ear. She was dazed and a little removed from herself, partly from a concussion, and partly out of fear and denial. She wasn't sure how she had come to be here on her back. She noted with what wits she still possessed, that Tawny was stock still above her, his head turned slightly away from her as if listening. He lay upon her with his slops hanging open and gathering about his knees. He had Meg pressed down among some musty parcels and sacks. He had made quick destruction of her clothing to the waist, and a thin red cut ran across her ribs, demonstrating his impatience. Still, the silence continued. Tawny began to rise a little. He cupped a hand hard over Meg's mouth without looking at her, and she was painfully aware of the knife which had never left Tawny's other hand, for it was outlined against the soft light aft. despite the silence which stemmed from her fear and Tawny's smothering palm, her mind began screaming, 'Please don't leave me here! Please not here!'. Paul backed up a pace and peered up into the gloomy light of the berth deck overhead. "Some assistance here!" he hissed, and his own harsh whisper came out sounding overly loud. Paul cringed a bit, and when no one responded, he chose a different tack. He put out the lamp and crept forward along the larboard side of the hold. The space here was very low, for the curve of the hull came up sharply at the sides and he was forced to double over as he went. This afforded him an approach which was unlit, but it put him on equal terms with whomever might be there in the darkness. Then he waited. He stopped and crouched and allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Tawny an equally patient predator, was also biding his time in the dark. He was in motion, but he moved so slowly that he almost seemed not to move at all. Meg could only feel his departure by the decreasing weight of him upon her. Her eyes were well adjusted to the near darkness by now, and she was sickened to see how much of him was naked as he got up from her. It served to remind her that she too was stripped, and while Meg longed to cover herself, Tawny was still too close to risk his impatience a third time. Then a light spilled into the space. Owen came down into the hold with some effort, for he alone had heard Paul's near silent call for assistance. He came down bearing a horn pane lantern for light and he looked irritated to be crouched in the musty compartment. He let the greasy orange light of the lantern bounce around the space, but he couldn't see anything. Paul could see just enough from his vantage point to make out a crop of dark hair forward of the main mast step and he watched it move with gathering understanding. 'There's a man down here and he has the woman.' he thought, and he waited from his chosen place to see if the man would shrink from Owen or step forward into the light. Owen, unaware of any trouble, real or imagined, stepped about without caution, noisily searching and shining the lamplight into every nook as he came forward. "Mooney! Where the hell are ya, lad?" Still, Paul watched from his place, trying to decide how best he might approach the unknown man and still maintain an advantage. He had time to wonder if Meg was already murdered somewhere close by. The man might have her tied up or knocked out among the stores. Owen passed him just off to the right then and Paul noted how surly Owen looked. Owen was still grey and sweaty from the injury inflicted upon him during combat, but Owen's own impatience at being wounded and mortal kept him from spending his recovery in a hammock or surgery cot. Owen walked stooped over, but more from discomfort than from the low space of the hold itself. His guts had been very nearly opened the day before last and he was in a poor mood. "I'll give ya yer teeth fer a thank you, Mooney, if ya don't show yerself!" Then Owen stopped and raised his lantern a little higher, for he had seen the same shock of hair just beyond the forward stores. Tawny tried not to drop too quickly, but Owen had sharp eyes. "Manus...?" he asked, his irritation immediately replaced with caution and curiosity. "You pilfering, mate?" Paul watched this interchange from his place in the near darkness, though much of that darkness was gone now. He let his eyes drift back and forth from where Owen stood and from where he imagined the other man might be. Then Paul's eyes fell between two casks to find a pair of eyes looking right back at him. The eyes stared back from a face that was both unfamiliar and unfriendly. A smile spread on that strange face and Paul stared back. Then Paul inched his way out into the light on Owen's left flank. Owen was caught off gaurd and he flinched. This caused him considerable discomfort. One hand went down to his gut. "Mooney, ya bastard! slitherin' 'bout the hold like a..." but Owen stopped. The other man was on his feet now and Owen stared to see a half naked Meg held out like a shield of flesh before a man he didn't know. Owen went serious at once. "Come out of there." Owen hissed. "I will speak with th' Cap'n of this ship first." Tawny returned. "Him first, an' no one else." "Ye'll come out or swing." Paul ordered. "Nooooooo..." Tawny said in one long drawn out syllable, a smile playing over his dirty face. "Tawny's a fishmonger's son. Tawny can gut a fish with a flick." he said, pantomiming the act of gutting Meg from crotch to throat. He dragged his wicked knife ever so gently up her naked belly. Owen glowered. He was close to screaming. His face twisted up into a knot of anger. Owen was not incensed or morally enraged by what was playing out before him. He didn't have any overly strong feelings of loyalty to Meg. He was just angry. Owen had served aboard the Watch Dog for many weeks now and in the company of women both plain and beautiful and it was distracting. He was a man of deep lust and cravings, and he was forced daily to curb his own instincts. His own needs had to be suppressed almost hourly with drink or mischief. He was almost ill for watching women move about the ship before him like a parade of temptation. He had accepted the fact that he was not well liked by most of the women aboard and that he might never know one in a way that he would find favorable, and now this interloper, this vagabond, had come aboard and taken what Owen himself had been denied a hundred times a day. It angered him that this man should steal aboard the 'Dog and just take what he himself could not have as one of the faithful able seamen. Sure, some small part of him was angered that one of his own crew members should be used such against her will, but Owen was in a foul mood. He was put off that this man should take what he himself had guarded with his life. His guts hurts him. His head hurt him. His back ached from the pain of it all. His lust curdled in his bowels. Tawny smiled at Owen's outward anger. "Tawny 'ill make fish food of yer chum 'ere ifin ye don't back away." "Ye'll be a shade tawnier when I'm through with ya." Owen spat back, advancing a little with his own drawn sailor's knife. Paul tried to circle to larboard a bit, but the casks there hindered his progress forward. "Ye have no place to go, mate." he pointed out to the stranger. "Tawny 'ill mark this sweet meat." he warned. "Harm a hair more and I'll geld ye..." Owen whispered dangerously. Tawny was surprised to be advance upon by two men who seemed less concerned about his prisoner, and more intent on stabbing him no matter the outcome. He stepped back a pace and this exposed him to the smallest of spaces overhead into the berth compartment. He did not notice the looming, dark skinned Yoruban. Ajayi reached down so quickly, that Tawny's hand, armed with the wicked knife, was jerked up and away with enough force that his forearm cracked a little. Ajayi grabbed the man by the face with his other hand, curling his fingers into the man's mouth with such force, that man gagged upon them as Ajayi dragged him up through the narrow space by his head. Paul and Owen were so startled, that they jumped together to see huge, dark and unexpected arms snatch the man up from before them. They scrambled aft at once to make their way up, hoping to see what work Ajayi would make of the man. Meanwhile, the berth deck became a place of yells and confusion. Ajayi had wrenched the man up through the narrow space so quickly, that the man bit down upon Ajayi's fingers as much from surprise as gravity. Ajayi tried to right the man enough to overpower him. Tawny demonstrating amazing ferocity despite an injured arm, slithered right out of Ajayi's grip and cut him across the ribs with a quick darting motion. Ajayi' who was agile for his size, allowed the man to cut him as he rolled away from him. This carried the curve of the knife just across his ribs, leaving little more than a superficial gash. Someone struck Tawny with a shoe turned projectile, but Tawny managed to duck a second missile and a punch aimed by Ajayi. Then Tawny dropped down low in a sort of strange bow and tried to hamstring the Yoruban, but Ajayi came forward and half struck half lifted the man upwards with a knee to the man's shoulder. Tawny stumbled and almost slit Ajayi's throat as he came up. Then he countered by burying his curved weapon all the way to the handle through Ajayi's leg mid-thigh. Ajayi, who had made little sound at all since the fight began, howled and reached down and grabbed Tawny by the testicles so hard, that one of them was crushed under Ajayi's angry grip. The dark Yoruban cut off the man's instant screams by lifting him at the throat and groin and slamming him sideways into a starboard beam before letting him drop. Then Ajayi himself fell over as his leg gave out underneath him. What followed was a crazed rush of shouting and kicking as men and women set in upon the fetal Tawny. Then everyone stopped almost as quickly as they had begun. They were all turning to look at a beautiful, but tragic looking Meg who stood half naked and bewildered at the end of the common space. "I didn't see him." she said like a sleepwalker.

Evil, Jack. I'm going to need a short stack of plates.

You should also include Alder on this project. He is a carpenter in real life and as a Pirate.

William if you look for swivel clips for dragoon carbine slings, such as used by Am. Rev. War types you may be able to figure out how to weld two together to get that look.... I'm a sculptor actually with ties in the casting world...bronse, silver and the like, but that isn't a bad idea.

Thank you, Kass. I'm sorely tempted to duplicate that ornate clip on the bag.

I didn't know we were counting sickness. My whole family got that for Christmas.

This place is crawling with pirates.

Lady Snow, you have but to ask. I will undergo any errand to fetch that food which would comfort you most. Apart from that, we have chocolate from Trinidad and a reserved table for you and any company you may favor for as long as you need.

I came into some money in 2005 and bought the tickets. I didn't have any money for the tent. I had no money for clothes. Still, with a plane ticket burning a hole in my pocket I was forced to find money and go to PIP.

Lovely? Thank you. I think the best compliment the aftercabins have hed before now was "roomy".

Stay...? You think you'll stay? I offered you a room. Have you rented it out already?

And in light of my recent illness, today's special is chicken soup...

July 26, 1704 - Three ships on the sea Three bells of Forenoon Watch "Think not on the matter anymore than to find another to make the flag for you, Miss McDonough. We have colors of Spain if we shall require them." He said, unconcerned about the matter, but seeing that she was in earnest, he continued. "Fetch a lad to make the bourbon banner and give no thought to your hand." . . . The Heron progressed along her course by alterations which brought her back and forth along that imaginary line which the fluyt and frigate had made their own. In respect to the sea itself, they were but a few small boats in a sea filled with ocean going vessels of war and commerce. Throughout the world, thousands of ships were setting sail or returning home. Some of these returned to celebration and some to loss, for commerce, like the sea, is a fickle mistress. The three ships themselves passed so near another ship that morning that they might have engaged her, had she not been just beyond the horizon and bearing away from them to the West. The ship which escaped them was no more aware of their existence in neighboring waters as they were of her. It was a wealthy merchantmen out of the Antilles, bearing away Northward and Westward along the trades and currents which carried it away from them. A simliar passing had occured far off to the East of them the night before. It was the nature of the sea and the curve of the Earth that made such fateful passings possible. One prize and one foe, passing the three small ships by mere chance. . . . One such beneficiary of fate was Meg Wardell. Her boat, a remnant of a much larger wrecked vessel, had been so small and unassuming when the firgate came upon it, that had it not been for a keen eyed lookout, she and her fellow castaways might have cast their dies. She was every day grateful for her life. This was made stronger by her good fortunes upon the 'Dog and her friends. The equality of her experience was so great, that what happened next came as such a shock, that it bewildered her to the point of statuesque panic. She was one moment thinking fondly on her good fortunes, anxiously employed in the hold fetching stores up for Mister Gage, when a man came up behind her in the crouched space. She gave his presence no thought, thinking it to be the cook himself. "'Ello deary." the man said, and the tone unsettled her at once. She turned and managed a simple 'hello' in return, though her own voice almost stopped in her throat. Her small lantern flashed across a surface that looked wet and sharp, for the man was armed. The blade in the man's hand had a wicked curve to it. She thought she might scream and indeed she meant to, but it stopped somewhere in her throat. "This is but a trifle." the man said, gesturing to the knife, and now that he was in the light she thought he might be an Englishman, but no one which she knew. He stank. Some of this was from the hold itself, but he also had a mean looking wound on one side of his head. His hair was dark and long, some of it gathered in a messy tangle at his neck, but much of it hanging about his head. His eyes were merry in a way that suggested he was dangerous more than friendly, but he tried to reassure her with words. "Be a good girl and there be no need for cuttin'". Her eyes went a little wide at this. "We'll make a bargain, girl. You and Tawny, eh?" he said conversationally, but low, so not to be heard above. "We'll start by gettin' to know one 'nother. Eh?" She started to shake her head, but he raised the weapon a little, which now looked more like a kitchen implement. This did not make her feel better, for it was a carving knife by the size of it. "What's yer name, girl?" At first she couldn't remember. She had been someone with a name a few minutes ago, but now she wasn't anyone. She suddenly couldn't find her name in the metallic blur of her thoughts. "Ya must 'ave a name..." he coaxed, close enough to her now to block all escape. His eyes falling on her body. "Tawny, I'm called." he offered as if to coax her by example. "Meg..." she said at once, and she was surprised that enough of her could remember. "Mmmmmeeeeeg." he said in a way that was so unpleasant, so unholy, that she thought she might never like her own name afterwards. "Meg's a good name, it is. Meg and Tawny." he said nodding, as if placing the names together made them a matched set. Meg thought she might gladly go overboard on a piece of adrift debris, not to be paired with this man. "How...how...?" she tried asking, but her mind wasn't sure what her question was. "How'd Tawny come aboard...?" he offered, and she nodded, for this question seemed as good as any to a trapped girl faced down with a man twice her size in possession of a knife. "Tawny knows when t' leave a ship. Tawny follows the rats when the rats know t' go..." He flicked off a button from her shirt so easily and quickly with the point of the knife that Meg didn't even think to scream. Her brain and mouth weren't talking to one another at the moment, even though panic was screaming at them both. "There's a good girl. Tawny 'as gifts for good girls".

Yes. We are drifting. Helm! Hard to Larboard, if you please. I have been spending a little time every day going through paintings, especially still lifes of the period. I find that still lifes often show us great hunting pictures and house wares. These often contain little items such as weapons, bags, crockery and so forth. I have yet to find anything in the past few days that shows bags, but I am determined.

Thank you all for continued updates both privately and publically. The list will contiue to grow, and while it reflects only the tentative few who wish to attend, I do hope that I shall not have to remove any name. Please buy those plane tickets early. By them. Paint yourself into a corner. Then you will have to go.

At first I was tempted to gratefully decline my own nomination, for much of the shared insights, inspirations and instructions attributed to me are merely the reflection of the other good nominations mentioned herein. Most of my understanding and enthusiasm comes from what I gained or learned from people like Blackjohn, Kass, Patrick and the others. However, since I am always wagging my finger and telling my wife that she does not except a compliment graciously enough, and since I am flattered by those who mentioned me here, I thank you.

One other note of instruction to writers on the Watch Dog. Some of the characters who are used primarily as "extras" or "non-player characters" do not have an excellent good grasp of the English language. A full third of the new Dutch recruits have no conversational English whatsoever. Please keep this in mind when writing. Learning a language, even when immersed in it, can take many months and up to several years to master. Conversational language is seldom learned in under six months. Ajayi, who came aboard ship only in the past few weeks, did not come aboard with a grasp of conversational English, and while it is true that he understands more than he can say, his language is limited. He speaks two dialects from his Yoruban origins and some conversational Arabic, but his English may take him some time. This will be true of the Dutch aboard, especially those who are only now beginning to learn the English language. A good third of the new recruits speak English very well, some without a noticable accent, but most, if not all of the rest, have only some grasp of it or none at all. Please keep this in mind. When the crew rosters are finalized at Martinique, the character biographies will include languages and proficiencies in those languages for each character and non-player character. Thank you. -William Brand, Captain

Bawdy music is appropriately inappropriate period music.

There you go, Miss Ashcombe.

I haven't called GoF "kass" since Paris of '97. Those were the days.

Sorry. I was actually thinking "Foxe" when I wrote "Gentleman of Fortune". I've been ill.

I for one enjoyed seeing the Royaliste.