William Brand

June 21, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog Between seven and eight bells of Middle Watch The middle watch was almost over aboard the Watch Dog when William finally woke completely. The early light of dawn would come soon and with it a new day. This would be the first day of his life. This would be the day that all the rest were marked by from now on. This was the first day of the new calendar. William tried three times to speak and three times he failed. Then he mustered enough strength for a single order. "...de la Vega ..."

William sank into the dark with the anchor chain wrapped about his neck. He was sinking upside down and dropping to depths that began to press about him until the little bit of air he struggled with went out from him. The rope strangled him as much as the constricting water and he thrashed against the forces which combined now to kill him. Then he woke. A burning, torn pain cut into his consciousness. His chest felt alive with pin pricks and hot pain. He was made to confront the pain so suddenly that he balled up his fists until his forearms ached. Then the initial surprise of his recent injury and surgery subsided. He managed to just keep back the outcry that almost passed his lips. Somewhere, above in the dark, a bell rang the hour. "Fugit hora..." he whispered to no one as he slipped once more into dreams of treachery.

It had been a choice that only she could make. In this surgery, in this small tiny ship within a ship, she was Captain. A man had been brought to her with a ball of lead in his body. That ball had been propelled into his flesh by a few dozen grains of powder by an enemy that knew an officer when it saw one. She was given two choices and two choices only. Stop the bleeding and help him recover only to endanger his life with prolonged exposure to that projectile resting in his frame, or take it out now and risk losing him at his weakest and most mortal state. Tempest had never been a waiting doctor. Like the storms her name implied, she was a rage of activity. She was a force of will... ...and she never liked to cut open a patient twice. . . . Now, hours later, she cleaned her instruments. She put them away in compartments and boxes. She gathered bloodied rags. She washed down a sticky table and a floor of clotted blood and gritty sand. She worked, continuing to occupy herself as her nerves began to unwind. Since finishing the surgery, half a dozen others had come and gone with injuries so simple that they were almost a nuisance by comparison. Splinters, bruises and burns. She treated them all without a word of complaint. She listened to the description of devils and phantoms over and over. Every patient seemed to need to speak about the terrible afternoon. Then they were gone, each returned to their duties. The ship rocked. Tempest sat. The Captain breathed.

Marry me.

I need a steaming cup of vanilla hot chocolate.

Oh great. Now I have to kill you and take your stuff.

ANOUNCEMENT THIS IS AN OUT OF STORY ANNOUNCEMENT. We have recently run into the problem of "time" aboard the Watch Dog. To give us a structure of regular time we are attempting the following schedule. Please adhere to it as much as possible. If the suspension of time becomes an issue, we shall announce a change at that time, but for now, this is the way that days will play aboard the Watch Dog. Each week shall be played out as two days. Every day shall be a combination of watches equal to eight hours, except weekends, which are a total of eight hours. Sunday - The Middle Watch (12:00 AM - 4:00 AM) Monday - Morning Watch (4:00 AM - 8:00 AM) Forenoon Watch (8:00 AM - 12:00 PM) Tuesday - Afternoon Watch (12:00 PM - 4:00 PM 1st Dog Watch (4:00 PM - 6:00 PM) 2nd Dog Watch (6:00 PM - 8:00 PM) Wednesday - First Watch (8:00 PM - 12:00 AM) Middle Watch (12:00 AM - 4:00 AM) Thursday - Morning Watch (4:00 AM - 8:00 AM) Forenoon Watch (8:00 AM - 12:00 PM) Friday - Afternoon Watch (12:00 PM - 4:00 PM 1st Dog Watch (4:00 PM - 6:00 PM) 2nd Dog Watch (6:00 PM - 8:00 PM) Saturday - First Watch (8:00 PM - 12:00 AM) Rinse and Repeat. I know this may be confusing at first, but hang in there. We'll all get it. THIS SCHEDULE BEGINS MONDAY AUGUST 15TH. THE SCHEDULE WILL BE PERMANENTLY POSTED UNDER THE ORDERS THREAD

ANOUNCEMENT We have recently run into the problem of "time" aboard the Watch Dog. To give us a structure of regular time we are attempting the following schedule. Please adhere to it as much as possible. If the suspension of time becomes an issue, we shall announce a change at that time, but for now, this is the way that days will play out aboard the Watch Dog. Each week shall be played out as two days. Every day shall be a combination of watches equal to eight hours, except weekends, which are a total of eight hours. Sunday - The Middle Watch (12:00 AM - 4:00 AM) Monday - Morning Watch (4:00 AM - 8:00 AM) Forenoon Watch (8:00 AM - 12:00 PM) Tuesday - Afternoon Watch (12:00 PM - 4:00 PM 1st Dog Watch (4:00 PM - 6:00 PM) 2nd Dog Watch (6:00 PM - 8:00 PM) Wednesday - First Watch (8:00 PM - 12:00 AM) Middle Watch (12:00 AM - 4:00 AM) Thursday - Morning Watch (4:00 AM - 8:00 AM) Forenoon Watch (8:00 AM - 12:00 PM) Friday - Afternoon Watch (12:00 PM - 4:00 PM 1st Dog Watch (4:00 PM - 6:00 PM) 2nd Dog Watch (6:00 PM - 8:00 PM) Saturday - First Watch (8:00 PM - 12:00 AM) I know this may be confusing at first, but hang in there. We'll all get it. THIS SCHEDULE BEGINS MONDAY AUGUST 15TH.

Tempest was in the midst of a work both delicate and brutal. She stood bent over the canvas of the damaged Captain with a brow furrowed and a knife worn to nothing from continuous use and sharpening. She plied it against the torn skin with a mixture of misgiving and perfect, practiced calm. These were the careful minutes. These were the precious moments of decision and patience that a doctor dreads and lives for. All about her were the instruments of her work, but better than any of these were the intruments of her will, her mind and her gift. They lay at her disposal now, each ready to be used. Every one of them, honed to an edge better than that bistoury in her hand. She was angry. More angry than she had been in some time. Here was the finest example of waste under her knife that she had seen in an age. How often had it been this way...this carrion art of destroying the body and putting it back together again? Here was a Captain, a friend, now all but a corpse. It was always so much easier to blast the body apart than to put it back together again. Then...the tempest was past. The eye of the storm, that perfect calm of will and decision, descended like a quiet and she was reduced to a perfect instrument of healing. . . . She began to cut and even Atropos laid aside her shears to watch the work.

One Lemon Zinger coming right up.

William pours himself a glass and gives Mercenary a reassuring smile. "Bad news is like bad weather...or bad cliches...it eventually passes."

What's wrong little lass?

William puts a log or two on the fire and stretches weary legs. There is a mandolin that has gathered a few wekks of dust, but it remain untouched. Morning doves have made a home in a pecan tree just outside the entrance and he can just hear them over the fire. "I love this place at night."

Lead began striking off the rails and masthead. Small shots, mostly muskets. "The grape shot will come next." William thought, but didn't bother to stop hacking away at the anchor chain. "Better to lose the anchor than the whole damn ship." Then William was thinking back to Mahdi. What had he said of anchors? What was it he used to always say? The line split. The rope gave an audible pop and snapped away. Then another tendril of rope went. The cable began to stretch along the weak point and William's work was made easier with each cut. He continued to hack away at the line in an effort to free the ship as fast as possible, when all of it gave way at once and the ship lurched a little to larboard. William turned with a pleased smile. The ports were flying open along the gun deck. Gunner's were falling into place, dropping down from the lower shrouds to catch up powder and ball. Already firing from above, the lookouts were raining musket fire at the approaching ship. There was a sound then that William couldn't place at first. It a was soft, thumping sound like a muddy boot on wet wood. He knew the sound, but he couldn't remember from where. It was as familiar to him as the sounds of powder and shot all around him just now. It was as real to him as the splintering wood and the splash of misplaced cannon fire. Then he remembered where he had heard it before. He had heard that same sound once before aboard the Welshman. He had heard that exact sound when the coxswain had been struck by a musket ball. "Mister Badger." William began slowly. "Would you be so kind as to fetch the Doctor?" The Bosun seemed not to hear him and William realized that his voice was barely over a whisper in this din. He began again, but it became no louder by effort. It wasn't the sound of combat that had increased, but the rushing sound of blood in his ears. Then William looked down to the hand that had gone to the sound. It was at his chest, just below the collarbone. He drew it away filled with blood. "Damn." William pitched over suddenly like so much dead wood. His hat toppled at once and one leg bent ahead of the other sending him sideways. His cutlass went wild, almost striking the Master Gunner in the ankle as it pinwheeled across the deck. It came to rest in a pile of lines near the main mast. William's shoulder struck the starboard rail and his chin did a small bounce off the wood there. . . . Then he fell farther than a man should fall. He fell into a darkness and a place of memory. Mahdi's voice came then in its smooth arabic accent... "Better to lose the anchor than the anchor. For the first is made of steel lashed to the ship only by rope and the other is made of flesh lashed to the ship by will alone. The Captain is the anchor. The other anchor is but ballast by comparison."

William stops on his way midships, staring aloft at a sight almost as incomprehensible as the ship that is bearing down on them. Far from assisting the other men aloft in the setting of sails, the Master Gunner is smoking his pipe. William stare at this gross negligence of duty and is at a complete loss for words. Only the whistle of a passing musket ball brings him back to himself. "WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU DOING, MISTER YOUNGBLOOD!? SET SAILS YOU DAMN FOOL!" Sighting the ship still bearing down on the Watch Dog, William rushes forward along the gun deck. He gains the bow in a few quick strides and begins to hack away the anchor cable.

Nothing is wrong... ...but you might want to take this pistol and cutlass away from me and hide it until tomorrow.

William walks up to the bar and pours himself a very, very, very strong drink.

William watches the tightening grip of the Dark Lament. She draws in close then passes on the blindside of the Merchantman making it impossible to see her behind the larger cargo vessel. What is not impossible to make out is the exchange of cannon fire. The Dutch ship exchanges a broadside with her oppressor. The din carries over the water. The ringing bell sound of small cannons and the heavy concussive explosion of greater guns mix together into one terrible storm of volleys. Black and blue smoke fills up the space between them and William is just turning to give word to his crew, when he notices something that causes him to turn back... For while there is cannon fire, the sounds of impact seem too quiet, almost subdued. The exchange continues with much commotion and yelling, but to anyone who has heard such battle before, the lack of any blasted wood or shattering timbers among the roar of powder is too strange not to be noticed. Then the Dark Lament clears the Merchantman bearing off at great speed, bearing no mark from the exchange. "TO THE RIGGING! EVERY SAILOR ALOFT!"

"Thank you, Monsignor. Take a musket aloft and food enough for a long watch.""

"No, Monsignor. I cannot risk it. I do not think that those ships out there put into shore to attack any on land when they could have us all togther here on board and be done with us all at once. I would not see any of the shore party come to harm, but if I send anymore ashore while they wait out there, then we are rendered even more desperate. Besides, we have yet to see if they are in any conjunction, one with the other."

"Gentlemen! Please! William waits for silence. "The merchantman is riding low, but she must have considerable weight high and to her sides. See how it causes her to loll despite the relatively calm sea? That means she may be carrying cannon of significant number and size. She also has the advantage of more sail than her aggressor. So why is she surrendering to the second ship? Why does she not simply stay her course into waters of safety? There are two explanations. First, the merchantman is drawing her enemy into range so that she might surprise her oppressors. Or second, and this is much worse for us, they are not enemies at all, but are play acting to draw us out or come in close upon us. If we go out against the merchantman, then she fires upon us while the second ship flanks us. Or we don't go out, then they reveal themselves and come in together, diminishing our choices of retreat or attack." William pauses to watch both ships with a careful eye. "If we should be attacked now and suffer great damage, without the greater skills of our carpenter, we could be lost. Now we must play the most dangerous game of all. The waiting game. Jack. See that everyone is armed. Diego and Swan, you have the lookout. Mister Youngblood, please leave the gunports closed. I don't want them to think we suspect anything, and if they are not working together, I don't wish to alarm the merchantman further. At least for now."

William just nods then points out to the two ships. "Miss Swan. What do you see?"

"I'll ignore that, Miss Swan. For the record, I am fully aware of the gravity of the situation and the threat of the ships off our quarter." William stands at the rail for a long time with a spyglass to his eye. The merchant is retarding her progress and the aggressor is quickly closing the gap on her prize. "Mister Youngblood. The gunnery crew shall remain at their posts until relieved. I want two lookouts to remain aloft at all times. Bring Jack up here at once and send a runner ashore for the carpenter and ship's master."

William walks out onto the deck wearing a face as unreadable as a dead language. "Who gave the order to be to quarters, with our anchor still at rest, our sails tied up and our Ship's Master and all important carpenter still shore?"

I can play the flute! William, lad, hows about something healthy this day tas help me recover from a weekend of fun and frolic. Help you recover? It serves you right for not taking me along. Everyone goes to faires without me.