William Brand

The small craft was now under the range of the deck guns and the muskets of the watchmen. Mister Whiting went forward to prepare a line as Mister McGinty steadied the boat. The job was made more difficult for Whiting, as the foot space was taken up by the roughly wrapped body in the open belly of the craft. Mister McGinty cried out, "Ahoy! Who be the officer of the watch?"

I would also like to buy the entire set if there is a discount.

The cart ride down to the docks was uneventful, and Whiting and McGinty could not have been happier about it. They had rehearsed many different reasons why they might be transporting the body of a dead clergyman, but were relieved that such reasons were never to be given. It was troubling enough that they should be delivering a former shipmate in such a fashion without the added troubles that might have come with discovery. Once they reached their waiting craft, they gave the cart driver a heavy coin and promised more if he waited for them to return later in the day. The man's eyes betrayed his appreciation for coin and he smiled a crooked smile. Satisfied that the bribed man would remain, they took the parted Monsignor into the small boat and began the labor of bringing him out to the waiting frigate. It was harder work for the two of them alone and they passed the time in a rueful silence, each in his own thoughts about the mysteries and events of the day. They were but half way to the Watch Dog when they raised a lantern to signal the officer of the deck.

today's special is curry pasta with coconut shrimp...

William sampled the delicacies of the table until the distraction of other delicacies became more inviting. He was in the midst of another glass of wine when a woman caught his attention from across the room. He returned her smile and set his glass on a tray as a servant went passing by. He was half way across the room when the woman was swept off into a dance by another man and he was left crossing the room to no particular destination. He was considering another conquest, when his attention turned to a woman closer at hand. He turned soundly on his heel, wandering through the crowd until he stood before a woman of surpassing grace. He had always wondered what it would be like to dance with her. "Miss Fitzgerald, I wonder if you would do me the great honor of joining me in a dance?"

Cake

The small funeral procession arrived in the Potter's Field that was the cemetery for the unknown or unclaimed. The Watch Dog's men hung back at the edge of the field, watching while a second man joined the cart driver. The two began unloading the shovels and pick axe for the purpose of digging a solitary grave. They hung a lantern on a swinging pole fixed to the side of the cart and set about their work. Whiting and McGinty spoke at length about what might be done before asking the others to join them. They closed the distance between themselves and the diggers before the two men in the deepening grave were even aware of them. They were at once unsettled by the five quiet and unexpected mourners. They found the flintlock pistol pointed at them even more unsettling. "Please, carry on with yer diggin'." Whiting said, pointing his pistol at the larger of the two. McGinty gestured to the other with a long, wicked knife. "Come out of there." The man came out at once, gripping his shovel a little too tightly. Smyth relieved him of it and lead him over to the cart, helping him into the waiting seat. Whiting continued with his instructions. "Dig that grave good and deep. We may perhaps have a body for it yet." He tossed the man a coin or two from the purse which Mister Lasseter had provided them. The man managed a simple nod. Then they all thought twice about the matter of leaving the grave digger alone and Smyth, Godfrey and Marchand chose to remain behind and watch the man dig. Whiting and McGinty went with the cart driver to deliver the Monsignor into the company of the Watch Dog.

what the...? What rooms are those? The Tsunami is a frigate.

"Lead on, Mister Lasseter." William said, tapping his cane before him in long swings as he went. He had not thought to use the cane since his injury, but he found that the weight of it was satisfying, and he thought it might serve him well as a weapon if the occasion called for it. They sampled from some three dozen platters heaped with sweet meats, candied nuts, sauteed vegetables and steaming trays of foods William couldn't name. Every dish was a feast in its own right and worthy of praise. William thought such a meal might require him to loosen his belt before the night was over. And, looking around the room, he had another more roguish thought about loosening his belt.

Diego, that's a picture link to Rummy's webshots. Why are you selling your stuff?

Aye.

Why am I on the floor?

William watched the interchange, saying nothing at first. He watched the Spanish dandy make woefully poor retorts against Lamaire's nimble and casual jabs. He sipped his drink and smiled a little at the confidence that oozed from Lamaire. "I believe the Spaniard has killed himself." was all that William said.

2nd Dog Watch - La Margarita McGinty, Smyth, Marchand, Whiting, and Godfrey had returned to the sleepy seaside town after a prolonged and failed search for the missing Monsignor. A man who loosely fit the clergyman's description had departed the island by boat many days before at the approximate time of the Captain's kidnapping. It was shortly confirmed by one other witness that a man of the cloth had passed through that other port to destinations unknown. Reassured that de la Vega had indeed booked a hasty passage beyond their reach, the small band had returned across the island. Here they had stopped to procure refreshment and a meal ashore, confident that Mister Lasseter would not greatly mind their short, self appointed shore leave. An hour passed as they nursed drinks and cleaned mismatched plates. Songs and stories were woven together about previous deeds and bygone days. Godfrey was compelled to recite the most embarrassing of tales about a privy and a fire which had almost left him bald above and below when their laughter was interrupted by the small reports of several firearms. Since such sounds are common to a seaside port, they returned to their conversation only to be interrupted again by a nearby bell ringing the hour. This awakened them from their playful procrastination and they rose from the table to pay for their respective portions before tramping out into the night. Once on the street, McGinty began an irreverent shanty which was soon picked up by all but Marchand who seemed not to know it. Still, he joined the chorus after a few passes. The song was reaching a fevered pitch, when it died off almost at once, beginning with Whiting and ending with a confused Smyth. "That's no way to end..." he began, but as he followed their gaze he understood their silence at once. Three men were exiting a building that appeared to be a jail or prison house. The first bore a lantern, which he used to light the path for the remaining two who carried a fourth man. It was this fourth man that drew their attention. It was Diego. McGinty almost started forward at once, stopped only by Whiting who held him by the shirtsleeve. Whiting was shaking his head before McGinty could even utter a word and he coaxed them all back from the light of a nearby lamppost. They watched from the shadows between a bakery and a cooper's shop. The two men who bore the Monsignor tossed him unceremoniously into a waiting cart. It was Smyth that noted the cart's dimensions and the many earth moving implements piled about the prostrate clergyman. "Tis a grave digg'r." he whispered under his breath. "Dead..." was all that McGinty could add. Too shocked to do anything but watch, they remained in the shadows of the street, exchanging understanding looks. After the cart driver was paid and underway, they slipped into the street again and followed in a tiny funerary procession. It was as solemn as it was lonely. A dog was keening from some nearby alley.

Congratulations on your upcoming little one. I hope the birth is an easy one. Is there some place we can go to see some pictures of the sale items?

William wakes up in a pool of water, his own blood and turkey gravy. "What the...?"

Procrastinating the cleaning of the office.

Bustiers are a matter of course, so I did mean braziers. However, since an elevated firepit is a brazier of sorts, I'll consider it a yes. One more thing. YAY! I like fire.

William stands up at once, upsetting the table. "I beg your pardon, Scarlet. I was..." But he never finishes. He slips in a French pastry and goes over backward into a table spread with a fragrant Swordfish a la Siciliana cooked in raisins, olives and garlic. Unfortunately for William, the cook has left the swordfish sword proudly displayed for "presentation" and William takes an unexpected attack from his rear flank and goes over the table shish-ke·babbed. He cries out "Bugger!" just before he is silenced by an over-ripe watermelon which lands soundly on his head. The cook comes in shortly afterwards with a deck hose and begins to spray down the hosts and the dining room.

120

The threads was dead but it awoke reborn! Undead redhead pyracy thread!

Seeing the fire spread across the buffet table, William goes for a bucket of clam chowder, tripping over a honey roasted ham and going headlong into the hiding Scarlet under the table.

William, blinded and stabbed with prawn scewers, draw his pistol and fires into the wine rack. The spark accidently discharges a waiting tray of Brochette Dijon Flambe, which goes up like a torch. "Show no quarter!"

A chunk of turnip seasoned with a hint of parsely takes William unawares and he spills over a fallen Mister Lasseter, landing unceremoniously into a platter of speared prawns.

"Rooms are extra! They run anywhere from..." William gets baptised in lentil soup.