Pyrates of the West Coast

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

As Tempest regainged former position at Mister Lasseter's side, she was met with proffering of smile. It was an expression that contained many layers in content and she slyed survey to venture if anyone in proximity had noticed. It had gone by without note, those who stood in close surround were occupied by other matters, whether it be of intake to the aray of delicacies offered or the exchange of verbal delvings. She watched as William carefully made selections from the expanse of table running at great legnth to the right. He paused and looked in her direction, as if sensing that he was under some form of scrutiny. Their eyes met briefly and there appeared some form of unspoken understanding that flowed in brief before contact was broken.

She contemplated momentarily, what it was that William thought of all that they were in the immediate midst of. It would be a conversation of interesting levels, should such a thing be breeched. Her attention turned to where Jean-Micheale was conversing with one of the local gentry and Mister Badger. As was to be expected, the Frenchman danced nimbly the rises and falls of verbose; always managing to bridge the chasams that occured betwixt individuals of varied backgrounds. Much as William had done, Fournier had glanced to where she stood watching his actions. What passed between was of a far different nature than that which had occured moments before. To anyone who had chanced to view the silent interchange, it could easily be summized that therin lie a strong and strange chemistry...A chemistry that was unsettling and somewhat dangerous.

Placing a hand on Mister Lasseter's near arm, the Surgeon made indication that she wished to visit the large balcony bordering the legnth of the Great Hall. The Quartermaster grinned with a hint of michievous hue and proffering his right arm, they navigated the human sea to gain the night's offering of peacful repose.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Lucia-Therese Santiago sat on the expansive crimson divan, giving much effort to appear calm. The large expressive eyes flitted to the entrance of neighboring room periodically, trying to measure what might transpire given her current state of vulnerability. She was well aware of what had been considered common knowledge amongst the population of young coquettes calling this island home. In secretive circles, behind the screen of elegant fans, her current companion was oft times the subject of delights not spoken openly. By first hand experience, or second hand retelling, the French Lieutenant was whispered of amidst girlish giggle and blushing cheeks; and the thought of what she may have gotten herself into made a smallish sheen of perspiration appear over her delicately hewn features.

To this point, the man in question had been nothing if not genially affable. No bold or rash action had presented itself as Lucia had secretly feared. The Frenchman had been, in every way, the utmost portrait of gentlemanly carriage; their only contact of physical means, being that of his proffered arm in order to escort her from Great Hall to private chambers. With arrival, he had offered her seating and excused himself to adjoining chamber; claiming he would be brief in absence. At first, a thousand possibilties had raced Lucia's mind, for it was obvious that the next room held a bed and she inwardly called to a numbering of saints to assure her safety until errand was compleated. She tried focusing on objects within the room as matter of distraction to pass the time; and it was as she looked upon an ornate diptych resting on nearby mantle, that he returned.

The Lieutenant paused to obtain two goblets of sanguine liquid and accompanied by good natured smile, offered one to her. Standing at respectful distance, he calmly waited for the young Spanish beauty to further her intentions. Lamaire knew that this was not a meeting of carnal content, though he would be the first to admit that such ventures would not be met unwelcome. When she had stopped his passage, it had been with an air of uncertainty and it had not gone without note, the hushed whispers of those they had passed in leaving the main gathering. Lucia Santiago had simply made quiet request to speak in private surroundings and there had been a air of urgency in her verbose.

Dominique inwardly made assumption that she, the sister of Emil-Umberto Santiago, had come to plea his forgiveness and forego the impending Dawn's demand. As she hesitantly spoke, he realised that what she truly wanted, could not have been further from the truth...

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Armand had serected glances to where the ladies and the Lieutenant conversed. Just before Lamaire's departure from their company, he had noticed a shadow pass over Tudor's features; though it had seemed she had been of light heart just moments before. Her sudden reaction to circumstance of unknown issue nagged at him inwardly, but he kept his stance within the circle of companions; watching as the Lieutenant returned to the fold.

After obtaining a fresh glass of refined intoxicant, Lamaire turned to the Gascon and switching to shared mother tongue, made request. There was a stirring of soul that climbed within Armand's being. It was an honour to be chosen to suit such duty and due to multiple reasonings, it was a mantle the Gascon would readily accept. The details of the matter were discussed and without further ado, Lamaire gave sincere words of appreciation to his Southern cousin then bid all a good night.

Armand watched after Dominique's departure, his slender figure weaving through the guantlet of crowd until pausing at the request of some fair face. Movement of approach took his center of attention away from distant courtly exchange, the cool of grey sights fell upon his lifetime companion and companion of other desires.

The Gascon smiled warmly in greeting as they neared, proffering an arm to his charge and asking if he could do any service to ensure her comfort. A subtle residue of former shadow haunted Tudor's eyes, though she tried to cover its existance. Glancing to where he had last spyied his impending dawn comrade, he caught brief glimpse as Lamaire slipped the encompasment of glided chamber, but now with gilded companion in accompaniment...

Tudor gracefully accepted Armands arm. It was much easier to pretend that there was nothing going on in her head, when she could appear as if her only purpose was to be decoration on a sleeve. When he inquired if there was any service he could provide to aide her contentment, Tudor simply smiled and shook her head, her mind having been elsewhere, mainly trying to decide if she could kill Santiago herself and make it look like a stroke of ill-luck. She wanted neither Lamaire or Armand to be harmed in anyway, and even though she held implicit faith in both of their skills, she held no faith in Santiago to fight fair . . .her mind was simply running amuck.

She simply smiled sweetly at Armand. "I am at your whim, monsieur. Where ever you wish to go . . . although, I shall insist again, you owe me the last half of a waltz" She giggled slightly, trying to be blithe and glib.

[Pew]

::With the distinctive sound of musketshot, I am ripped from my slumber deeply embroiled in a dream of two Welsh handmaidens and a warm bath . . .

I sit up, only to hear the shot again, but no call to arms from our Mr. Youngblood. I rise, and hear the shot once again. I run up to the main deck and wait to see if I can hear it again. A splash, and then I hear "FIRE!!".

Heading to the bow I see a small crowd surrounding Mr. Youngblood, deep in his cups, target shooting with empty wine bottles.

"AGAIN!!", says Mr. Youngblood to Nigel who attempts a new height with each toss.

BOOM!! goes the shot from the musket. Glass shatters and then falls some 30 yards to our starboard. Not a bad shot for being in near darkness, save for the moon's glow over the harbor.

Leaning on my elbows on the gun'le I begin to wonder if our officers will ever appear on the Watch Dog again . . . . ::

[Dorian Lasseter]

Placing a hand on Mister Lasseter's near arm, the Surgeon made indication that she wished to visit the large balcony bordering the legnth of the Great Hall. The Quartermaster grinned with a hint of michievous hue and proffering his right arm, they navigated the human sea to gain the night's offering of peacful repose.

::As they made their way through the gala crowd, towards the egrass onto the balcony, Dorian viewed the world around him through clear eyes. He noted the reactions of those close by as they parted before the two of them, most looked at them with fleeting interest, while the daring few made predatory glances at each in turn. Mr. Lasseter felt no fear, knowing that those who looked on boldly had no chance of making good what their stares wished.

Soon they arrived at their destination, the wide balcony opening before them. Slowly they walked to the rail, looking out over the town and the port beyond....::

Here we be, dear Tempest.... Tis a grande estate th' Don has... Much too grande fer me tho... I think I'd prefer a more humble abode...

::Stopping momentarily to look into her eyes, he knew she had something on her mind, and he guessed some of what that was...::

B'fore ye speak... I know ye have some thoughts on yer mind, other than th' beauty o' this night.... I 'ave no doubt you will be attendin' physician ta Leftenant Lamaire's duel on th' morrow... Cap'n's made it clear yer not ta be left ashore by yerself... Tho... I know tis truly not necessary, lest extreme foul play occurs.... I'd be delighted ta remain with ye... If that be yer wish... An' now tha' I've gone on fer too long, I shall be silent...

::He smiled warmly at her... a slight look of anticipation on his face, waiting for her thoughts to be voiced...::

[William Brand]

When his appetite for food was satisfied, William entered the throng of women on the wide dance floor. Careful not to upset any couples already at their turns, William hand picked a woman of surpassing beauty and invited her out for a dance. With her permission, they entered the dance floor and he forgot who he was for the few minutes that they swirled about the room. He chose to be unaware of the eyes that followed him, concentrating all of his charm on the woman in his arms, but he failed.

He was a third of the way through the dance when he remembered the cottage in Greencastle. His step never faltered. His expression didn't change. But in that moment the night was over for him. He finished the dance with the young lady, escorting her back to the waiting throng of friends he had plucked her from. If she was disappointed by this quick dispatch, she hid it well. William was already moving away.

He made his way to Fournier.

[The Doctor]

Jack arrived upon the maindeck during the impromptu skeet practice, wearing ony his nightshirt and hat. As Mr. Younglblood prepared for his next target, I announced "Mister Youngblood!" in my most authoritatve voice.

Youngblood, deeper in his cups than I had realized, whirled to meet my voice, his musket still shouldered. Seeing me in such dress must have doubled the shock to his inebriated brain, for as the the words "Aye, sir?" escaped his lips, so did the musketball escape it's barrel.

I winced as the ball tore through my thoat, shattering my spine after it's brief stay, leaving me for perhaps the first time in my life speechless. My entire body fell numb, no longer able to stand without assistance, and I knew coudn't stay awake but a few moments longer. I tried to smile at Peetee, so he would know this was naught but an accident, and all is forgiven.

The last I heard was Kendra's angelic singing, joined moments later by a joyous host...

[William Brand]

William and Fournier conversed only for a moment and it was an exchange of wills. William, distracted by thoughts past and present, had decided to return to the Watch Dog and forego anymore of the Don's hospitality. Fournier insisted that he stay and sleep a night on a mattress of goose down and forget his cares for the time being. They exchanges well crafted phrases in an effort to convince the other that their's was the better plan. Still, in the end, William shook off all efforts to remain and celebrate. For him it was celebration enough to be alive, well fed and to carry these new dispatches of wealth and possibility. And the Watch Dog, with its small hammock hung privacy, held more sway for him, so he bid his goodnight to the French captain.

He made his way to the balcony to make his departure known his Quartermaster and Doctor.

[Kendra The Sea Maid]

Jack arrived upon the maindeck during the impromptu skeet practice, wearing ony his nightshirt and hat.  As Mr. Younglblood prepared for his next target, I announced "Mister Youngblood!" in my most authoritatve voice.

Youngblood, deeper in his cups than I had realized, whirled to meet my voice, his musket still shouldered.  Seeing me in such dress must have doubled the shock to his inebriated brain, for as the the words "Aye, sir?" escaped his lips, so did the musketball escape it's barrel.

I winced as the ball tore through my thoat, shattering my spine after it's brief stay, leaving me for perhaps the first time in my life speechless.  My entire body fell numb, no longer able to stand without assistance, and I knew coudn't stay awake but a few moments longer.  I tried to smile at Peetee, so he would know this was naught but an accident, and all is forgiven.

The last I heard was Kendra's angelic singing, joined moments later by a joyous host...

"Here's another load miss" * if she heard that one more time she was going to scream. It was Mr Youngblood's . She looked through his pile and just shook her head.* "If I did not know better I'd swear he got him self in a brawl with an alley cat!"

*BANG. . .THUD Simon was gone in a flash, before Kendra realized he wasn't there. She followed as best she could, when she finally got to the upper deck she saw just a person's legs lying there, because Simon's huge physique though kneeling obscured the rest.* "Simon what has happend who is lying. . .? *At once, the giant jumped up to shield her. . ."OH GOD NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" JAAAAAAACK PLEASE oh JAAAAAAACK!"*First the Monsignor Now Jack* "NOOOOOOO!" * She wanted to touch him, but Simon had a tight hold. She barried her face into his chest, asking why. There was so much she wanted to say, in a split second that was all taken away!* "Why. . .why. . .?" *then she began to sob uncontrollably*

Edited January 25, 2006 by Kendra The Sea Maid

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Here we be, dear Tempest.... Tis a grande estate th' Don has... Much too grande fer me tho... I think I'd prefer a more humble abode...

::Stopping momentarily to look into her eyes, he knew she had something on her mind, and he guessed some of what that was...::

B'fore ye speak... I know ye have some thoughts on yer mind, other than th' beauty o' this night.... I 'ave no doubt you will be attendin' physician ta Leftenant Lamaire's duel on th' morrow... Cap'n's made it clear yer not ta be left ashore by yerself... Tho... I know tis truly not necessary, lest extreme foul play occurs.... I'd be delighted ta remain with ye... If that be yer wish... An' now tha' I've gone on fer too long, I shall be silent...

::He smiled warmly at her... a slight look of anticipation on his face, waiting for her thoughts to be voiced...::

She almost made response to the first comment in regard to grandiose living, but held her tongue as he furthered verbose. Keeping her expression neutral, she watched his body language which was unable to conceal things that he had chosen not to speak. There was a certain boyish charm that her companion gave forth and for reasons that did not calculate properly, Jaquelyn Bertrand was intregued. It was a far departure from her usual taste, having always been in the company of those such as Jean-Micheale. Men of refined qualities and appetite for stature, position and power. Dorian Lasseter was not of that breed...and she found it more enticing with the beginning of each new day. The look of anticipation that graced his expression made her smile inwardly and after a pause for the sampling of crystal companion, she caught his eyes with her own, and with hushed tone stated her thinkings on the matter.

"Your assumptions have steered you correctly...And I am flattered that William has voiced such concerns to mine well being; though I can assure you and he, that I can well take care of myself...even if the emergance of foul circumstance should rear into view."

A hint of feral smile played her lips fleetingly.

"Never the less...I see that this matter is beyond negotiation and, being that it has been deemed necessary for me to be watched over..."

She stepped close, voice dropping to whisper, "Then, Mister Lasseter...It is in my sound judgement, that you should serve...nicely. In fact, I can think of no other that would be in the means to accommodate in said matters in a finer capacity."

Tempest noted the pause that occured in his breathing pattern just as movement to the left made her attention turn to approaching figure. Stepping back, the Surgeon addressed the interloper of command status.

"Ah, William...I see you feel the need for the night's offer of fresh air..."

[William Brand]

"More than the balcony can offer. I am returning to the Watch Dog presently."

Mister Lasseter made as if to speak and William raised a hand with a smile. "Before you ask, there is no need for either of you to return tonight. I am taking Mister Badger with me and I may perhaps send him back again. I don't wish to deprive any of you a night's stay in a comfortable bed and the benefit of time away from duty."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

"You are too kind, William. Though I dare say that the relish of fine bed will be short in it's duration. The hour grows quite late and I have an appointment with the dawn. I do thank you for your consideration and understanding in regard to circumstance."

The Surgeon smiled with hinted predatory mannerism.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

She simply smiled sweetly at Armand. "I am at your whim, monsieur. Where ever you wish to go . . . although, I shall insist again, you owe me the last half of a waltz" She giggled slightly, trying to be blithe and glib.

Offering a nod of accord, the Gascon wondered what was distracting her so fully. His brow knit briefly at the quandry then dismissed it to be replaced by curiosity to the current hour. Lamaire had given instruction as to where they would find chambers to gain rest and had encouraged fully the use of such refined appointments. This presented another quandry...How was he to handle current situation?

"Mademoiselle, if it is a waltz that you wish then consider me at your service to fulfill want"

Taking one of her hands gently, Armand lead Tudor to the throng of dancers. Two rounds of the floor made, he leaned to her ear.

"The night is quickly departing. What is your desire for accommodation of quarters? If you wish to return aboard, I shall make arrangements to see you back...But, I must stay ashore."

The shadow of former bearing came forth to haunt her features, then departed just as quickly, leaving him confused as before. Armand led her from the floor to near seating and cocking his head slightly to the left, spoke with greatened concern.

"Mademoiselle...Please do me the kindness of informing me as to what is troubling you so..."

[William Brand]

One eyebrow went up at the smile and William turned on his heel and departed before he said anything else. He was tempted just then to say too much.

He found Mister Badger in the company of several party guests and enjoying himself to the fullest. William, against his own advice, asked him to remain if he liked and chose to take a solitary carriage back to the Watch Dog. He made Mister Badger promise to tell the Quartermaster only after he had gone.

Once William was on the street and a carriage was fetched for his transport, he made his way home again. The ride was quiet, apart from the carriage and horses. A wind had come up and the insects of the island were lulled into a silence. The night was clear and cooler than the hot day had been. Three times he was almost lulled to sleep himself. The motion of the carriage was like a small boat and he had always found it easy to sleep while moving. He was not too surprised then when the coachman woke him and informed him of their arrival at the docks.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Offering a nod of accord, the Gascon wondered what was distracting her so fully. His brow knit briefly at the quandry then dismissed it to be replaced by curiosity to the current hour. Lamaire had given instruction as to where they would find chambers to gain rest and had encouraged fully the use of such refined appointments. This presented another quandry...How was he to handle current situation?

"Mademoiselle, if it is a waltz that you wish then consider me at your service to fulfill want"

Taking one of her hands gently, Armand lead Tudor to the throng of dancers. Two rounds of the floor made, he leaned to her ear.

"The night is quickly departing. What is your desire for accommodation of quarters? If you wish to return aboard, I shall make arrangements to see you back...But, I must stay ashore."

The shadow of former bearing came forth to haunt her features, then departed just as quickly, leaving him confused as before. Armand led her from the floor to near seating and cocking his head slightly to the left, spoke with greatened concern.

"Mademoiselle...Please do me the kindness of informing me as to what is troubling you so..."

Tudor flinched. She had hoped he would not see through her guard. But there was no way she would be able to express what she had been trying for the last few hours to hide. "A lady does not criticise a gentleman's dawn escapades." She said lightly, trying to pass off her concern as insignificant, and any outsider would not question the almost merry intonement with which she spoke. No matter how foolish she thinks they are She mentally added. And with that she moved to change the subject. "No, I have no wish to return to the ship. I shall take full advantage of the good Don's hospitality and enjoy a decent night's rest." She said, keeping her eyes focused on the rest of the world around them.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

One eyebrow went up at the smile and William turned on his heel and departed before he said anything else. He was tempted just then to say too much.

The two companions watched after their commander as he dissapeared back through the large maw of Main Hall access. Moments passed with nary a word said until the Surgeon broke the stillness with off hand remark. The pools of emerald sight forcused intently on the Quartermaster's echo of hazel tincture.

"If it is your desire to stay and play knight errant to my task at hand, then I must say that I am in greatened need to find repose for the few hours left."

She paused to gage his bearing. Reaching to his hand not burdened with elixir vessel; the smile that had been given forth to William minutes before, reappeared with full display.

"If you will allow me to guide, I have knowledge as to where we are to berth for this night."

After travelling a number of grand hallways and passing through several chambers, they came to rest before the great hiegth of imposing door. Further down, they noticed the petite figure of female form slip quietly from another chamber and dissipate from sight into shadows playing the hallway's passage.

The large door was opened, lending access to eloquant chamber beyond filled with furnishings to appease any noble. Mister Lasseter held his standing near the entrance as the Surgeon crossed half the room's legnth to adjust the lumination of oil lamp resting on ornate mantle.

Looking over the gown's view of shoulder, she spoke with subtle challange.

"Mister Lasseter...I believe that I am in futher need of your aid in regard to the bindings of this gown..."

[Dorian Lasseter]

:: A hint of a smile graced Dorian's lips as Tempest spoke of needing assistance...

With a slow bow, he doffed his hat...::

Indeed M'lady... I am at yer command...

::Slowly straightening, he reached out and took the edge of the door, swinging it closed behind him. He took a moment to gaze across the room at her, then took two shallow steps backward, found the bolt on the door and shot it home. Glancing to the side he saw a vicars bench and coat stand, to which he threw his hat. The heavily plumed and scented chapeau landed on the benchtop and slid to a stop. His eyes turned back to Tempest, and his feet followed his gaze. As he crossed the space between them, the crystal vessel was lighted on a small table without missing a beat... ::

I see... Indeed, you are in need of release... Have you a particular wish in how I might release you of these bindin's?

:: His hands lighted on her shoulders, then slowly drifted down her sides to her hips...::

[Pew]

::I turn to see Mr. St. Anthony appear on the main deck in full nightshirt and unhappy to be awoken under such circumstances.

"Mister Youngblood!" he bellows, leaving the crew to wonder if our ships officer's ashore heard him.

Mr. Youngblood whirls around, dizzy from the rum and the smoke still upon deck from his previous shot. His musket is still shouldered and waiting the next volley. A CRACK is suddenly heard. Before Mr. St. Anthony can speak again, blood jettisons from his neck where his throat used to be.

The crew gasps as the ever increasing cloud of smoke billows from the end of Petee's musket. The officer in command of our cannon slowly lowers his rifle as the realization of his actions stuns him in to sobriety. Nigel runs to try and catch our Mad Jack as he slumps to the deck grasping at his throat. Dropping the musket, Mr. Youngblood and John McGinty also run to Mr. St. Anthony's side.

Blood now begins to pool on the freshly scrubbed deck only to trickle down the side of the Watch Dog into the black water of the harbour::

[William Brand]

William made his way down to the docks, hopeful to raise a boat and rowers to take him to the Watch Dog. He had thought that the cutter or dingy might still be at rest there, but he found niether. Instead, he found a pair of large fellows who were willing to take him over for coin. He also found a man with a disconcerting cart standing hard by the docks. the man had a grave look about him and William thought it might belie the man's profession. Still, he did not find it overly ominous. He even managed a nod in the man's direction and the man returned a short, but none to friendly nod. He placed a comfortable coin in each man's hand and with the rowers paid, they set out.

The night air off of the ocean was cool and the sound of surf in the purple, pre-dawn light was again putting William to sleep. When they had crossed almost half the distance to the waiting ship a shot was heard from the Watch Dog. The sound of this musket report focused his attention at once. It was followed by a few scattered cheers and he smiled a little at it. No doubt Mister Youngblood was enjoying an opportunity to either practice or teach. He didn't mind. They could replenish any powder used tonight with that offered from the Don the following day. In fact, William thought it might be the best time to be using the older powder. He heard a second shot. Then a third.

He was settling again when something changed altogether. The final shot that carried over the echoing waves was followed by something much more ominous. Silence. Then in an instant on the heels of this silence came a mixture of alarm. It carried, and they were now just close enough to see a flurry of movement in the lantern light of the gundeck.

'The musket has blown up in his face.' William thought with sudden dread.

He stood a little in the boat, which made the rowers falter a bit in their effort. Then he sat at once and as a man who has ordered men many times, he called out, "Pull! Pull away!"

The two men redoubled their efforts and the small boat made good speed across the water. When they were but two thirds of the way over, Ciaran called out from overhead in the unseen dark of the rigging, "Boat, ahoy, Mister Youngblood! Boat off the Starboard Beam!"

A man, Maybe Pew, Maybe Youngblood, appeared at the rail. A signal flashed from a lantern and William called out.

"It is I, Captain Hollande!"

Men put a ladder over the side at once, and William was on it before the boat was fully rested against The Watch Dog. He thanked the native gentlemen for their speed dropping a coin into the waiting hands of the larger boatman as he departed their small craft. He was up and over the side before they could turn the craft around and begin their journey back again.

The moment his feet rested on the deck, William froze and his hands dropping a little at his side. He was greeted with the most unexpected surprises imaginable. Here, in the middle of the gundeck, lay the Master-at-arms. He was sprawled out and half cradled in the arms of three or four startled men. A pool of blood spread out in an angry stain and William would have slipped in it if not for his sudden halting shock. He had stepped right off the rail into the spreading line of blood.

"What in God's name...?"

"Cap'n...", Mister Youngblood and Mister Pew said together.

"What the devil happened!" William bellowed. He was so thunderstruck that all he could manage was angry alarm.

"Sir...the musket..." Mister Youngblood began and Mister Pew finished with, "He's dead, Sir."

William understood almost at once. He had seen this scene before. It had played out on the Kingfisher years before. It also played out now on the face of the Master gunner. Before Mister Youngblood or Mister Pew could say any more, William began to nod. His anger, a trumpet just moments before, now became a whisper as the wave of anger receded. His hand was at his brow. He was at a loss and it took him a moment to collect himself.

"Very well, Mister Youngblood." he said with a forrowing brow. "I believe I understand."

But William did not understand. He did not understand one bit. He had thought that Mister St. Anthony was waiting behind him on shore, still immersed in drink and song. He had not seen him leave the party, but here the man lay. His blood already darkening. His eyes were wide in a way that was not uncommon for the man when he smiled. And smile he did. Even in death he had a grin of sorts. And the smile that had been often welcome and pleasant before was made unpleasant now in this cold remainder that was once the Master-at-arms. He could not make sense immediately that Mister St. Anthony was her before him and slaughtered in an accident. It was dizzying. William wondered if his carriage had not gone the long way round the island. He suddenly felt as though he had been absent for days. Still, Mister St, Anthony grinned as if to say, "The joke is on you, Captain." It was a riddle of carnage.

William found that he couldn't look away at first, and then he had to.

"Mister Youngblood, please..."

He didn't finish. He couldn't finish. He was in the act of turning away from the sight of the fallen Master-at-arms, when his eyes fell on a wrapped body, resting amidships near the Starboard cannons. His eyes went a little wide and his anger and surprise came back again like a wave. He looked about with a rising alarm.

"What man is that?!"

[Pew]

:: All the blood that had drained from the Captain's face when he saw Jack St. Anthony lying on the deck reappeared when he saw the Monsignor lying wrapped in the shroud.

"Captain, 'we 'ave been struck twice by angry lightnin'"

I place my hat in my hands and begin to tell the Captain how Diego Santana de la Vega was found, nearly ready to be buried in a shallow grave in a potter's field, only to be discovered by his crewmates behind the pub on La Margarita.

The Captain walks with me to the Monsignor's body as I continue how Mr's Franklin, Straw and myself cleaned up Diego and noticed the neck wound. After taking my leave from leaving the Monsignor on the deck I returned below for my leave. Waking to the sounds of musket fire I relay the scene that has just unfolded before us.

The Captain unties the shroud and pulls back the canvas to reveal the face of our ships Chaplain. He stands, places his hands on the railing, faces the harbour of La Margarita and inhales deeply and slowly.::

[CaptainCiaran]

(Ciaran is standing beside the wrapped body of the Monsignor, as the Captain approaches. Ciaran nods quickly in respect to the Captain, but then looks away so as to not reveal the tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.

It is then that he fully sees and understands what has happened to Mister St. Anthony further along deck. Seeing the bloody body of his comrade, the head nearly blown off, Ciaran is fully overcome with grief. He runs to the side of the ship and throws up. He stands there alone wrenching his guts out. Surely this is a nightmare, he thinks, but if so, why can't he wake himself up.)

[William Brand]

William was quiet a long time. His face became quiet as well. His whole demeanor flattened into an unreadable mask. When this was accomplished, he called for Mister Youngblood.

"Have you a loaded pistol, sir?"

Mister Youngblood hesitated. "No, Cap'n."

"Please load for me a pistol."

Mister Youngblood exchanged a look with Mister Pew and then began the task of loading a pistol with powder and shot. Everyone else was silent, except those whose emotions or whisperings had the better of them. William stood all the while with his back to the crew, watching the shorelights and the earliest hint of dawn on the sky. When the Master Gunner was through loading the pistol he stood with it awhile, uncertain if he should interrupt the Captain's musings. Indeed, everyone seemed reluctant to speak in his protracted silence. Finally the Captain turned and took the pistol from the Master Gunner. There was a look on the Captain's face that spoke of cold blooded murder and Mister Youngblood was not happy to find it there. The crew became very still, wondering what the Captain might need a pistol for and for whom, and even though William looked at Mister Youngblood for a long while, he seemed not to see him. Then, calling Mister Pew he said, "Fetch the traitor from the Fo'c's'le."

[Pew]

::Trudging into the fo'c'stle, I squint and see the traitor, Muller curled up in a ball.

"On yer feet rat." I snarl at him kicking some appendage.

Grabbing his manacles, I drag him to the deck standing in front of the Cap'n.::

[Pirate Petee]

* Mr. Youngblood took a couple of shaky steps back, then turned and made his way to the fore castle. His eyes were glazed over and red, either from the rum or the emotions that he was holding back, one couldn’t tell. He had seen death many a time, by his hand and the enemies, he had even witnessed fratricide, but never by his own hand. He braced himself as he sat down, pulling his pipe from his tri-corn, he lit the bowl and took a long drag. He grabbed the onion shaped bottle to his right and lifted it to his mouth. He wondered if the crew could ever forgive him for taking one of their best officers, for that matter he wondered if he could ever forgive himself. He set the bottle down and put his hand to his face as tears began to fall from his eyes.*

[William Brand]

Middle Watch aboard the Watch Dog - Nearing 4 AM.

William stood over the fallen Monsignor and found himself wholly uncertain how to feel. Mostly he was numb, but there were parts of him that were returning to him, warmed by anger. The neat hole in the Monsignor's neck was proof positive that a musket ball had ended his life. He now half laid half sat in a quiet posture that almost bespoke prayer and quiet reflection, though he was gone to other shores.

Out of the corner of his eye he noted Mister Pew's return with the prisoner.

Muller was a sunburnt from his time in the forecastle and he looked thinner than before. The bruises, given to him by the Watch Dog's crew and Forunier's men, were overlapping and ranged in hue from a yellow green to dark purple. His eyes were hollow and his mouth was now a layer cake of dried skin over dried skin. He looked smaller despite his height, and though he towered over William by a half a foot, he seemed altogether shrunken. Wasted.

William looked at him for only a moment before speaking.

"That man there risked the condemnation of mutiny to find who it was that took me from this ship." William said, pointing to the shell that was once Diego. "And he was paid for that risk with lead, not gold. His mutiny was born of a passion never to be understood by the likes of you. His death is now the direct result of your treachery."

Muller said nothing. He barely blinked. Indeed, Muller seemed almost too broken to care. He showed no emotion. This made William more angry than anything that had taken place since his return. He wanted Muller to cower. He wanted begging. But since Muller showed no real sign of life, he chose to end it there and then. What more was there?

"Augustus Muller. You are hereby condemned for mutiny, kidnapping and murder."

As William raised the pistol the brief spark that had been Muller lit up in the man's eyes. For one small moment, anyone standing near at hand could see mortality dawn in Muller's face. It gave William enough satisfaction then to smile a little as he pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through Muller's neck on the same side where the Monsignor had received his mortal injury. William had meant it to be. The difference in their fall was measured in the distance William stood from Muller. Barely two feet separated the pistol from Muller and the ball nearly decapitated him. His head fell over to one side even before his knees unhinged. He went down in stages, folding up at each joint like the puppet he had always been.

"Mister Pew."

The Coxswain's Mate came forward at once. William handed over the spent pistol. The Captain had a crimson spray of Muller on his jaw and neck, but made no effort to wipe it off.

"Assign some men to the task of clearing these decks, starting with that garbage there." he gestured with a nod toward the body of Muller. "I believe a cemetery fellow is waiting ashore for its disposal."

"Aye, Cap'n. There's a grave freshly made for 'im."

Mister Pew pointed to several able seamen and ordered them to take Muller over the side and row him to shore. The chosen rowers sprang to the dingy to prepare its departure. When this was accomplished, Muller's body was taken unceremoniously to the rail and dumped overboard. Only after it splashed into the water was any effort made to get it into the dingy. There was even a brief consideration to drag Muller by a rope, but this would have made the task long so they brought it into the dingy and rowed away.

William walked to the side of the broken Master-at-Arms. He was near enough to a drinking barrel at the Mainmast to gather up a dipper of water. He used this to wash away the blood from Jack's face. William untied his own kerchief and soaked it again and again in a bucket brought to him by Jerrod Styles. Each time he used it to wash away the blood and each time the blood pooled again in the maw that was once Jack's Adam's apple. Finally, satisfied that no more blood would fill and spill, William wrapped the blood pinked linen around Jack's neck to cover and bind it. In the end it only served to define the pallor of the dead man's face.

William stood up. A muscle under William's jaw clenched as he critiqued his own poor mortician's effort. He noted the blood stains on his hands and sleeves and dipped them in the bucket to wring them out a little.

All the while Jack smiled.

"Bring me this man's hammock." William just managed. "He is in ernest need of it."