William Brand

I'm doing very well. My brother babysat tonight while I took my wife out to dinner and a movie. It was a very pleasant evening. Le Nonne serves the best Gnocchi on Earth.

"Thank you, Mister Youngblood." William returns to the stern with spyglass in hand, not scanning the wide ocean for enemies that the lookouts might find on their own, but rather watching the road and pathways which wind out of the jungle for those enemies who will surely come if they are not soon at sea.

"Mister Youngblood. Have the repairs been made to those guns which could not be made to fire before?" William doesn't wait for a response, but instead, he proceeds to his next question. "Have you been promoted above the gun deck in my absence, sir? I should think that a gun deck which runs the length of the ship and occupies its greater girth would be enough for any man. Why then are you found so often near the helm?" Aye, sir, guns was just gummed up, notin a good o cleanin couldn't fix. An as fer ta quarter deck, well its got such a nice view sir. William's smile is a slow spreading line of dark clouds. "Views are therefore a matter of taste, Mister Youngblood. Some sailors are quite content with the view from the forecastle, while some never tire of the view aloft. Still others are obliged to enjoy what views they may be assigned, counting themselves lucky never to have seen or compared their promontory with that of the brig. Perhaps the question was too subtly put, Mister Youngblood. I meant for it to serve as a request."

"Mister Youngblood. Have the repairs been made to those guns which could not be made to fire before?" William doesn't wait for a response, but instead, he proceeds to his next question. "Have you been promoted above the gun deck in my absence, sir? I should think that a gun deck which runs the length of the ship and occupies its greater girth would be enough for any man. Why then are you found so often near the helm?"

"Very good, Mister Lasseter." William says, appearing in the door frame. I shall go above and mind the ship. William follows Mister Lasseter to the gun deck and makes his way aft to the helm. He lays his coat over the rail there and takes a drink from the bucket laying hard by. "Tis a fine day. Aye."

The ghost town Pub. Aye. Another Molson Canadian coming right up.

Aye. This place needs a fiddler and about thirty more people.

Solitaire, eh? Deal me in.

William retired early to search his trunk for those hidden things laid there in the false bottom. Pulling up the compartment he withdrew the contents carfeully folded there and lay them on the table. The first was a red coat of some wear, worn by time, salt and use. The brocades, embroderies and trims of that great coat gave evidence of a time of great prosperity mixed with the tell tell signs of a vagabond. The second was a simple satchel of papers containing enough documents to condemn a man three score times. Here was a letter of reprisal. There an assault of words printed by a scandelous paper. And here, a printed vissage of a man that never truly exsisted, but on the paper it was printed on. William added his recent warning or threatening dispatch to the satchel. Finally, William withdrew his cutlass. It was the very likeness of the one wielded in the drawing of that notorius pirate, William Brand. He drew it out and lay it naked on the table. The steel of it gleemed a dull brown black and was etched throughout by an engraver's hand and the use it had seen in combat. William lifted it up to feel the familiair weight of it. "Hello my dear, Curtal-axe." William said while holding the cutlass at arms length. "How many baptisms of blood have we known together? How many more still have we been acused of?" William smiled then. It was a smile of a half dozen faces folded into one curve of steel. Then quoting some other William, he began to speak what he and Carter once rehearsed in a more friendly hour... "There is not work enough for all our hands; scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins to give each naked curtal-axe a stain that our French gallants shall to-day draw out, and sheathe for lack of sport: let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o’erturn them. ’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords, that our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, who in unnecessary action swarm about our squares of battle, were enow to purge this field of such a hilding foe, though we upon this mountain’s basis by took stand for idle speculation: but that our honours must not. What’s to say? A very little little let us do, and all is done. Then let the trumpets sound the tucket sonance and the note to mount: for our approach shall so much dare the field, that England shall couch down in fear and yield."

"In your company, I have no doubt of it." William pours three glasses and grabs one up to toast. "To piracy. May we outlive our reputations long enough to enjoy the rewards of good company."

William leans on the table with all the weight of Atlas on his shoulders. A tired smile crosses a weary face; his eyes continually falling on the crude representation of himself. "You're too much kindness overwhelms me. I am in your debt. I cannot express what a relief it is to me to have you both impart great loyalty with very little discussion. I am also glad that you are brief in your advice, as I am tired." William taps the document with one rigid forefinger. "This libel...this unrepentant lie of my conduct has chased me round the horn and back a dozen times. Would that the death of William the Third had ended its credibility. It should have been buried with his sovereignty." William straightens again. He places his hands behind his back and looks at them with a level eye. "Thank you, both. I ask that you keep this dangerous understanding to yourself. I shall address the issue before the crew very soon, but for the time being, I should like the keeping of it."

William listens to them both with a nod to all things said. Already he has begun to take a liking to Mister Lasseter, that passes simple loyalty. The man is frank and to the point and William finds his candor appealing. Tempest is much the same, speaking her mind with little suppositions or conclusions. She doesn't mince her words or waste them in the pursuit of idle possibilities. They are very exact confidants. "I do not believe that Moreau was responsible for this delivery. I do believe that he knows who I am and if he wanted to use that knowledge against me he might have done so in our negotiations regarding the cutter. No, it cannot be Moreau. Still, what remains is this. Someone else knows enough about me to have me know that they know it. Someone sent a messenger into harms way to tell me that they know. That document represents a crime almost eight years past. It can only be interpreted as a blatant gesture of warning or threatening. The sender of this sign has gone to the extent of sending the document itself, and how many of copies of such a document can remain after eight years? This also shows that Moreau cannot be the source. Why should he have such a document in his possession?" William pauses for a time to regard the man in the drawing before setting it aside. "It was my expectation to address the matter of my past before the crew before setting sail, but this unexpected delivery has pressed the matter. In short, someone knows who I am, and that dark pronouncement there is a death sentence to anyone found in my company aboard this ship. Forget the past of every man and woman under my charge. If I am taken while at the helm of this ship, that places everyone under my command within the scope of that condemnation laid out in this document. The crew's very association with me could see them hanged, guilty or no."

William invites Tempest and Dorian into his cabin and gestures toward a pair of waiting chairs. He walks behind the chart strewn table and stands with his back to them, hands behind his back and staring out the stern windows. After a time he turns to them and begins to speak his mind. "While I was aboard the Nymphe I had a chance to converse with Captain Moreau at great length on a wide variety of subjects. I questioned him again and again about his past and he was forthcoming with much unimportant information. I learned what I could about him and his history. It proved to be a cat and mouse game of deceptions and half truths and he played it well. So well, that it was not until I left the ship that I fully realized something that did not occur to me while I was in his company." William pauses for a moment before continuing. "Moreau never asked me anything about my past. He questioned me at length about my present, but not a single inquiry into my history. Not one question. And why should he avoid a subject that would teach him so much about me? Why not ask where my loyalties lie? Why not delve into my experience, training and education? Because he must already know who I am." William picks up what appears to be an envelope, but it proves to be nothing more than a large sheet of parchment folded again and again. William spreads it out flat on the table and then turns it around for them to read. It is a block print and it appears to be a poster heralding a large reward for a pirate by the name of William Brand. There is a figure of a man dressed in a long coat and carrying a cutlass in one hand. The ship rendered behind him is burning and sinking. The face of the man is drawn with a sneer and seems purposely drawn to make him appear evil and cruel. And while it is not an exact likeness of William, it is very similar to him. William waits for them to read, comprehend and look up from the drawing. "Yes. I am William Brand...and yes, there is a considerable reward for my capture and imprisonment. Now...I cannot be sure that Captain Moreau sent this to me. If he did, it cannot imagine his reasoning unless he intended it to be a warning. If he had any intention of collecting the reward, he would never have sent me this. Unless of course, he sent it to test me. If I were Moreau, I would want to be sure. It is even likely, that while he knows who I am, he had no hand in this whatsoever. I have enemies enough to have received it from another quarter. The messenger who delivered it seemed familiar enough, but I cannot say why." William pauses for a long time, waiting for them to speak their minds.

William stands at the rail for a long time watching the dark beachhead and listening to the lapping of the water against the Watch Dog. Then he turns to Mister Lasseter and Miss Fitzgerald all at once. "I wonder if I might speak with both of you in my cabin?" William doesn't wait for an answer, but goes immediately below.

William walks out onto the quarter deck. William focuses on a star for a long time. He seems very far away and doesn't notice the Doctor and Ship's Master standing hard by at first. "Good evening, Mister Lasseter. Doctor. It's been a busy week."

Zaghareet...? That takes effort.

OPAH!!

Bring on the belly dancers!!

"Thank you, Doctor. This evening will be fine." ... William walks about the ship on inspection. First he finds Mister Youngblood at the inspection of the guns, powder and stores. The powder is still well preserved and dry; a condition that will no doubt suffer a little once the Watch Dog is on the ocean. The ammunition is securely stored and the Master Gunner has made good use of the space for the swabs, worms and ramrods. All of them are well placed out of the way of the ship's day to day traffic. "Very good, Mister Youngblood. Very fine work here." William paces the gun deck for a time, bent a little to inspect the seams and seals of the deck planking. He runs a hand over the work there. "My compliments, Rummy. This is excellent work. You've put new life into her, Master Carpenter, that is certain. May I inquire after the condition of the longboat?"

"Mister Sons and Mister Morgan have my permission to go ashore. Mister Sons may join Miss Smith and Mister Muller in town and further the acquisition of rope there. Take Mister Morgan with your scouting party. You have my permission to bring back any game shot in the jungle there. And Jack. Be mindful of snakes."

Me an' me crew will be stayin' a' the Southernmost Hotel...Anyone else? I'm camping.

"Very well, Mister Sons. Please make yourself known to Jack this morning. He has pressing duties on shore regarding much needed supplies for this ship. And Mister Sons, please reserve your swims for those times when the crew is relieved of duty. I understand the draw of the lagoon. The air is good here, if not a little heady, and the water is clean, but rest and freedom from labor should come after the excercise of prudence. We shall have a good rest quite soon. Carry on, Mister Sons."

"Mister Sons..." William begins, but is at a loss for words momentarily. He presses his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose and makes no attempt at conversation for some time. When he does speak next, he tries to keep the exasperation from his voice. "Mister Sons, were you or were you not here yesterday morning when I expressly stated that no one shall leave the ship except under orders of duty or with leave to do so?"

"Mister Sons! A word if you please."

~John observes Jack standing watch and heads in the direction of Jack ~ " Beautifull Day isn't Jack, Think I'll go down and see what stirring below." ~ John heads down below and wanders towards forecastle on the gun deck. seeing no one around he heads back up to the Main deck and riuns into the Captain. "Morning Sir " John Says as he clears the ladder well. "Good Morning, Mister Sons." William goes to stand near the rail, where even now, Armand and the Doctor are in conversation. "Good morning, Doctor. A fine morning. I wonder if we may speak at length some time today on the subject of French Captains?"