Pyrates of the West Coast

[William Brand]

When they reached the quarterdeck, William stood at the rail. Mister Lasseter joined him there and both of them were quiet a moment. William allowed this pause so that the Quartermaster could find his bearings amidst such unhappy news.

"I was greeted with this exact blow when coming aboard this morning. It has been a terrible blow, and while I expected news of this kind in regards to the Monsignor, I am no less shaken by it. To say nothing of Jack."

"Aye, Cap'n." was all that Dorian managed.

William scanned the deck and found the face of a weary, unhappy Master Gunner. Mister Youngblood was making no attempt to look at anyone and seemed entirely lost in his own thoughts. William couldn't ever remember seeing his brow look more furrowed. William returned to the conversation at hand.

"In your absence, I have made a few decisions. First, I have not upbraided Mister Youngblood. His conduct is as accidental as..." William didn't know where to go with this thought, so he spoke on other matters. "I've raised Mister Pew to the position of Master-At-Arms. Considering our close proximity to other ships of no small threat, and given our luck of late, I thought it prudent to move on the matter. I did not want to leave a void of such importance."

The Quartermaster nodded, and William saw his approval mixed in with his still mingling grief.

"He has already taken to the task of that office with an apt and able eye for the lists. I expect him to do well."

"A good man."

"Aye."

They stood a moment nodding. William noted that Miss Smith and Tempest stood over the disposed comrades wrapped near the starboard guns and his guts twisted a little. Mister Badger stood with his hat removed and his look was worse. William quickly turned to another matter already revealed to the Quartermaster.

"I shot Muller."

"Aye, Cap'n." Mister Lasseter said. nodding. "'Tis best you did...and the other prisoner?"

William looked at Mister Lasseter for a second before nodding. He had forgotten the women in the hold for the present and she might have remained so awhile before he had remembered her. He shook his head.

"She is still below. I've not thought on her since returning. I admit, I shouldn't like to until later."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Thank you, Mister Lasseter. When you are prepared, please inform the crew that I wish to hold a ceremony for Jack and Diego in an hour's time. Take what time you need for yourself then. You need not perform any other duties until the funeral. We will speak of all other important matters pertaining to the ship...after."

[Dorian Lasseter]

:: Mr. Lasseter nodded again, looked out over the bay at the ships and shoreline, then turned to William...::

Ye don't mean ta put 'em off inta th' bay do ya? I mean no disrespect, but ha'n't we best head ta deep water fer th' fun'r'l?

::Dorain stood waiting for the Captain to think on what he had asked... as he waited, he absentmindedly dropped one hand to the hilt of his sword, and the other to the handle of his pistol...::

[William Brand]

"What...?" William came back again from the faces of Tempest, Tudor and Mister Badger. "Aye. You're right of course. Part of me is still abed. Please set a course North by Northeast until we have reached an adequate depth. We may require the use of the lead. Unless the Don has sent charts with you?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aye Cap'n...

::Mr. Lasseter wished to get out of his finery, however the recent turn of events caused his mind to dismiss that wish... and at that moment he remembered what Leftenant Lamaire had said about signaling the french frigate.... He dashed to the waist of the ship and called over the side to the departing hired pinnace...::

Avast there! My apologies, but we're not done wi' yer services! Come along side!

::He looked back to the quarterdeck and to Captain William... then walked to the break of the deck and spoke...::

Leftenant Lamaire expects us ta signal when we's gonna come an' warp o'er close ta th' Don's dock... fer takin' on supplies..... I wish ta inform 'em of 'r situation, so they ain't alarmed when we 'ead off... I'll dash off a quick note...

::Captain Brand slowly nodded...::

"Very well..."

::The Quartermaster nodded back, then headed back to the boarding ladder and looked down to where the pinnace was about to hook onto the main chains...::

A'right... A moment an' I shall return fer wot I need ye...

:: He pulled some coins out of his pocket and jingled them, making sure the master of the boat heard, thus keeping the small crew complacent... Mr. Lasseter then strode quickly back into the wardroom and found pen, ink and parchment. He quickly dashed off several sentences, signed his name, sanded the ink, and finally folded the note. Not having time to seal it with wax, he looked about for an alternate way to keep the note shut... not finding anything to his liking, he folded it in such a way that it stayed shut, for the most part. He then wrote Lamaire's name on the ouside and quickly left the room... Back on deck, he crossed the waist and was down into the pinnace. He handed the note to the master, pointed to Le Requiem and made sure the man understood his wishes to the letter before he handed over the coins... Quickly he was back on the main deck of the Watch Dog, up to the quarterdeck he marched. Once there he called the crew to their duties...::

A'right Lads! We 'ave a short run ta make! Win th' anchor! Set tops'ls! Aloft!

Mr. Badger, set a course Nor, by Nor'east...

Nigel! get one o' yer mates and 'ead up inta th' chains wi' th' leads... soon as we got no bottom give a holler...

::As the slightly bewildered crew jumped to commands of the QuarterMaster, Mr. Lasseter leaned onto the rail in front of him.... his knuckles turned white at the strain of his grip, the only outward sign that he let show of his grief and frustration...::

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

It was a strange and fragile thing mortality, Tempest thought as she gazed upon the wrapped husks of emptied souls. Often taken for granted and cheapened by those who had never felt the icy clutch of the Reaper's want. She exhaled slowly and caught Armand's eye as he stood a short distance away. The Gascon came forward to gather Miss Smith and take her below, there was no need for her to stand this deck dwelling on fallen comrades anymore than what ceremony's demand would soon enough warrant.

The young woman resisted his gentle nudging at first, eyes focused intently on the two forms afore her, then hesitantly gave in. The Surgeon kept her standing, and allowed the scene to unfold around her as if she were watching a performance on some otherworldly stage. Her expression had gained neutral appearance, caught somewhere betwixt the masks of Comedy and Tragedy; niether gaining ground to hold the field. Clasping hands loosely behind her lower back, the ememrald sights roved the surrounding parameter, liting here and there before dropping back to the forms in rough canvas shrouding.

The tellings of Maritime superstitions voiced in the chambers of her mind as she focused on the Monsignor's remains and it seemed, at least in this case, that the fouled cess fell not to the vessel, but to the Holy Man only. She drew deep breath and refocused on the form of the other, delicate brow creasing in response to musings. If this vessel held to the traditions commonly practiced in regard to circumstances of this nature, then it was only natural to conclude, that the personal affects would soon go before the mast for purchase...

Retraining line of sight to William, she delved further on this thread of thought. If she could manage to contact the proper individuals in le ministere de la Marine, perhaps there would be a way to ensure that Monsuier St. Anthoney's finale possessions would find their way to surviving relations...It was the least she could do.

The Surgeon started to turn away and make movement in direction of lower deck access when she paused to watch the vissage of Mister Lasseter at rail's proxy. There was an urge to go to his side for to her eyes, it was comfort that was called for...But, this was duty and as regretful as its demand could be, she would deny this action its flourishon. These matters would be discussed when opportunity presented itself in a more private fashion.

The sounds of vessel coming to life rang the air in allegro pacing, subtle shift of solid surface gave evidence of changing direction and avian natives called down from the heavens in protest to perch loss.

[Kendra The Sea Maid]

* Kendra stood motionless, keeping in her mind the less she moved the less "in the way" she was.

She gazed about the ship, with all the flurry of activity around it seemed more to her like a bunch or rats scurring about except one. . . Dr. Fitzgerald. She too had yet to leave her spot. In her face was grief to be sure, but there was also a tremendous sense of resolve in her eyes. Eventhought the sailmaker looked directly at her, she most assuredly did not see her or if she did her duties prevented her from acknowledgement in such a moment as this.

[William Brand]

As the sails filled with wind the familiar lurch and roll of the deck gave William one of the few comforts of the day. The lulling of the Watch Dog was so familiar to him now that he hated being ashore at times. He had spent most of his life aboard ships and the sea had ever seemed a vast spread of possibilities to him. It was ever changing. It was malleable. It was hypnotic at times. It was oft times lonely in its expanse.

He went to the middle of the quarterdeck and stood watching the crew in the execution of their duties. He enjoyed the holy ground. He found it as familiar as kings find parapets and civil servants Parliament. It implied power, but he understood it was trust. The crew relied on him to be exact. As Captain, his duties were many, but in the end he was to lead, direct, and in times of despair, strengthen.

William stood alone rehearsing those words that would soon send off the dead and restore the living.

[Dorian Lasseter]

::As the ship began her journey, the sails filled with wind and the sounds of the ship coming to life did little to stir the QuarterMaster... His grip on the rail and broad stance made it seem like he was part of the deck furniture...

His eyes moved just enough to survey the workings every so often... Even his breathing had taken on such a slow tempo that it was hard to tell when he inhailed or exhailed...

Once the ship had been manuvered out of the bay, away from all the other shipping, did a sign of life appear in him... slowly he bowed his head and his shoulders heaved a deep breath, his shoulders and elbows flexed, and in one fluid movement he pushed himself off the rail and stood erect, his hands slowly moving to clasp behind his back...

He looked forward and noted the men in the chains swinging the lead lines, calling out the depth as they did so...

Looking up to the top of the masts he surveyed Mr. Ciaran vigilant as ever...

Bringing his eyes back to the deck, he finally laid his eyes on the two canvas bundles, watching as crew moved back and fourth, some crossing themselves as they passed the still forms, others just bowing their heads, while others still seemed to do their best to not look...

Again his shoulders heaved a heavy sigh...::

[Pew]

::Stepping onto the Quarterdeck, I see Mr. Lasseter and Captain Wiliam standing no more than a fathom apart, but seems to be more like a league.:

"Gentleman," I say as I doff my cap slightly. Both men stared at the sea as if if were to speak to them. The rhytmic rise and fall of the Watch Dog upon the sea, reassured that all was to be well.

I felt it best to break the silence and interrupt each's thoughts,

"So . . . I sees that each 'o ya 'ave an arsenal ta yer selves, eh." Looking at me in question, I tap at the armoury log book in my jacket pocket. An understanding smile creases both men's lips.

"A Dutch Wheellock . . . a French Marine musket, Captain?," I mention to the Captain, loud enough to be heard by him and Mr. Lasseter alone. He smiles broadly, the first by him I have seen in a day.

Rehearsing to myself Mr. Lasseter's arms log, I look to him, "And you Mr. Lasseter. .a papinhiemer hilted rapier? Remind me ta ne'er be on the o'er end o' yer rage sahs. . ."

Both men look at each other and chuckle slightly.

"Aye lad", they say in near unison, "Aye."

[Dorian Lasseter]

::Mr. Pew's bit of conversation brought both men out of their revire...::

Well, tis always a goode thing ta be armed... ne'er know wot yer gonna need n' when... e'en in, polite, compn'y...

An' sever'l o' my wares are wot ye might call... Souvenirs...

::His eyebrows raised at the last word...::

An' my apologies... I have not congradulated ye on yer new appointment... I wish you much joy, Master t' Arms...

[Pew]

"Souvenirs . . .aye," I say chuckling out loud.

"Thankee Mr. Lasseter, under 'ard circumstances I am gracious nonetheless . ." With a slight bow and a tip of my cap, my voice trails off as I head to the main deck.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Voyage Gracieux

Antoine watched from the stern rail as the frigate hauled her wind making passage out of the harbour. Word had been passed rapidly to his private quarters when aggitated movement seemed to be taking place upon yon decks and the retrieval of anchor from crystaline depths furthered what was taking place. He shook his head with frustration as he turned away from what was transpireing to focus one good eye on the brigantine's captain, while speaking to another nearby.

"Alexandre..."

The ship's Navigator looked away from perusal of bound documents as the other came close with crutch support, "Qui?"

"This complicates matters..."

Alexandre-Louis Brigette set the heavy leather tome down and centered on the departing vessel.

"Then perhaps we should uncomplicate matters."

"Pardon ami, but I am not fully understanding what you are saying."

The Navigator smiled sagely, "You had not arrived above to see a small local craft leave the frigate's side and cross the bay."

Antoine's brow knit with a hint of confusion,"Non....et?"

"And, if you will look to the left..." Brigett quipped with a hint of know it all bearing. " You will see that the vessel in question did not return to shore." He pointed to where the pinnace bobbed alongside the ship called Le Requiem.

Antoine-Pierre Grandjean smiled with foxish undertones as eluded realities came to forefront, "Bien."

Alexandre made mock bow, "Je suis a' votre disposition."

"Va te faire fourtre, mon ami."

The Navigator grinned, " You really must work on your diplomacy skills, Grandjean. You seem to lack that certain...civility with words."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The gown of Parisian wrought, lay over the back of small chair waiting to be placed back into its chest for hibernation. Atop the chest's curvature of lid, the Surgeon sat holding an object of gilt framing and petite images of painted rendering. The floating world shifted its angle minutely, though she gave surround no heed as she spoke to the vissage portrayed in golden boundry.

"So what do you think, Papa? Do you smile down on me from your lofty dwelling? Do you think that I have done properly by you...Or have I failed your aspirations?"

The small image gave no reply, but for the permenant smile of mischievous bearing. She sighed heavily, glancing to the dark adornments waiting to be donned.

"At least your son shall rise to proper status...Even if it is not to bear doing so with correct surname. How I miss you...And it grieves my soul that I have not been able to correct the wrongs of the past and allow our family name its' former glory."

The expressive emerald pools closed and she placed the delicate object to the side, reaching for the drape of dark hue clothing.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor was silent as Armand escorted her below. She really had no wish to go, nor did she see much of a need, other then to change to clothing more suited for the shipboard surrounding. But after intial hesitation, she allowed Armand to lead her away from observation of the departed. Death did not bother her, it did almost more to entrance her, as she gazed at the enshrouded bodies.

As they moved below decks, Tudors mind was already racing in a million diffrent directions, most of them plans for the next few hours, papers that needed sorting, errands that needed accomplished, but not a few of them were revolving in unanswered questions about the gentleman beside her and the ever developing saga that surronded them.

[Dorian Lasseter]

::Before the change of the watch, the leadsmen called 'no bottom' back to the QuarterMaster... with a short nod he tilted his head back...::

Put 'er in Irons, Mr. Badger! Sailors aloft ta take in sail!

:: The crew hopped to, climbing into the rigging and out onto the yards...

The ship was put into the wind, all forward movement ceased, then the men gathered in the sails...

Mr. Lasseter turned back to the Captain...::

Cap'n... I s'pose tis time fer..... time ta return 'em ta th' sea.....

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The Gascon waited with ever patience for Tudor to change attire. Her quaters being a tad on the small side dictated that he would stand outside, which also allow a moment to sort his thoughts in silence. The future stood as a path half hazed with the trappings of fog and mist. The joviality of the night passed had stirred desires not easily quenched since the flight from France. He knew inwardly, that he was no marin, it was not his place in the world; though he coped with Fate's whims well enough. Years in the Field had conditioned his abilities in the areas of temperance and mutability in situations unsuitable to what and who he was.

Armand leaned against the doorstead, and smiled at the hushed rustlings barely audible from within. But then reality brought that easy smile to a skreeching halt, for things were about to heel radically off course in regard to current situation. The universal clock was counting down and Destiny lay in the wings like a wanting child. The habitat that was once common place and taken for granted, that been lost to the greed and jealousy of another's want, was just beyond the horizon. The reappearance of Voyage Gracieux ensured it, though it was not without a tithe to be paid. Such audacious creatures were the Three, such games they played with mere mortals.

The slight striking of soft step in corridor caused him to leave wooden support and gaze into dimness of below deck lumination. It was a strange connection they shared and without having clear view of shadowed form, Armand knew instictually the nearing individual. Moving into the halo cast by hanging lamp, he saw the lithe figure change bearing as if on homing beacon to stop two paces from his standing. There was a strange haunted quality in her eyes that he had come to know, and there was no reason for words to usher forth the meaning. Protectively, he gathered his sibling against him and spoke with soft nature in native tongue to comfort.

Minutes passed without event, then the tell tale sounds of vessel being brought to halt reverberated to the nether regions; a short distance behind, a door opened and presented Miss Smith in changed adornments. Armand fleeted glimpse over shoulder and gave small tilt of head indicating their need to return to the upper reaches of Wooden Nation. If Tudor was bemused by the scene she had entered, any such outward indication was placed in check.

The two were now three and the short venture to the air of fresher distinction opened up to a view of all present and accounted for. And though the quality of air topside was a vast improvement over what was to be had below, the mood that tinted it gave an overbearing feel of a catacomb's oppression.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Old Sol had carried forward predestined climb into the heavens and looked downward upon wooden craft, as with so many others viewed before. The temperature had risen to expected level for area's norm of season and though there was a steady wind that played through the rigging, it was not one of discomforting nature. And even if that were the case, no intent of wind could overide the feelings of those shared by gathered colleagues in the current moment.

It was never easy to accept the loss of friend or family and those that took stance on weathered deck plane could be labled one in the same on both counts. Like any family, there were instances of rivalry, joy, new additions...and losses. In the name of loss, this motley flock of different station and origin bade silent respect to their fallen kindred. The expressions gracing individual features were as varied as the pasts experienced. There were those who gave no effort to secret their feelings; there were others who stood rigid and the only indication of their thoughts reflected in the depths of their eyes; others still, kept focus on the wooden surface just afore their feet. But the common bond lie in the somber silence carried by all.

As William took his place near the newly constructed wide width of planking that bore the two shrouded figures, it seemed that even nature bent her ways in reverant regard; the wind paused its' general undaunted whim and even those that rode its' coursings on winged apendages, ceased crass jeering. The frigate's officers formed a line to the Captain's right and a small distance behind as the requiem began.

The bier was hoisted by six able men and balanced percariously on starboard wale rail. Being that the departed hailed from different nations no colors were offered to cover their remains, instead the simple trappings of sailcloth newly dyed black was offered to cover. William's voice lifted to stir the air with words of rememberance; of kindredship with the sea and the demands of those who chose to serve her. It was a ceremony of regal bearing in its' simplicity and carried forth waves of heartfelt undercurrents which wound forward to curtail with final verbose...

We shall walk no more through the sodden plain

With the faded bents o'erspread,

We shall stand no more by the seething main

While the dark wrack drives o'erhead;

We shall part no more in the wind and the rain,

Where thy last farewell was said;

But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again

When the sea gives up her dead.*

The prose hung the air with heavy intent as to be disrupted by the roar of three volleys of powdered shot and the bier was tilted to send the remains of mortal coil into the welcoming arms of liquid mistress.

*Excerpt from "Song of the Old Love". Of note, I have taken writer's liberty by quoting this. It is not correct in period fashion due to the poet's not having been born until 1820. Never the less, it seemed appropriate for the scene.

[CaptainCiaran]

(Dazed, as if lost in a dream, Ciaran watched the two bodies slide into the sea. On cue, the lookout made the sign of the cross and whispered 'God rest their souls'. As his hand brushed against his sun-tanned shoulder, the sound of the volleys brought him abruptly back into the present. 'Funny', he thought to himself, 'I have not shown any open signs of Catholicism since fleeing Saint-Malo'.

Gazing out to sea, while the Captain continued speaking, Ciaran's mind again drifted, this time back to that center of worship and learning in France. He was but a lad when he had arrived from his Welsh homeland. Welsh and Catholic, nearly an unheard of combination, yet one that his family was so proud of. It had been his father who had sent him to Saint-Malo, that French city founded by the Welsh monk of the same name. Young Ciaran was sent there to study, to learn, to become a man of God, there in Saint Malo by the sea. Ciaran remembered how he cried as he left his beloved Wales, cried until he could cry no more. But upon sailing into the French seaport, he felt excited and almost happy. He thought back, also, to that moment when he first saw it.

Mont Saint-Michel. Even as a child, the sight of that place left him speechless, awestruck by its rugged beauty. It was a magnificent fortified mountain, named for an Archangel, rising up from the sea.

Young Ciaran was a good student and learned quickly. He was devout and attended mass regularly, was gregarious and well-groomed. The years passed quickly and as they did, Ciaran thought less and less about his family and his homeland. There were more important things to occupy a 16 year old's time. It was in Saint-Malo that his sexuality was awakened. Father Jacques had seen to that.)

Ciaran, Ciaran! Are you alright? (The lookout blinked and spun around smartly. No longer was he in France or Wales, but he was aboard the Watch Dog in the Caribbean. The voice calling him was the young lad standing beside him, John McGuinty.

Aye...aye, lad. I'm here. I'm, I'm right here. (Ciaran drew in a deep breath, raked his calloused hand through his long red-blonde hair, and smiled.)

[William Brand]

The silence that followed the fallen's departure was profound. William let it linger a moment, careful to provide as much silence as words, understanding ever that funerals are for the living. After a time he continued.

"As the Starboard 24 pounder was christened "Grace" by our departed Diego, we shall refer to it ever after as "His Grace", both in honor of our fallen companion and his faith in a higher power. Let it be remarked and let it each man and woman mark the change of it. And exercising my prerogative as Captain, I shall not send all of their belongings before the mast. The Monsignor's belongings are few and reflect a lifestyle of reflection and Jack's dunnage contains belongings that speak of a wider life with the possibility of relatives and friends beyond the Watch Dog, and I cannot sell what may be of greater value to others. However, I will auction up that small remainder of arms left by the Monsignor. Mister Pew."

The Master-at-Arms brought forward a handful of arms that included 3 pistols, 1 blunderbuss, 3 knives, a cutlass and a boarding axe.

[Dorian Lasseter]

:: As the items were brought fourth, a water barrel with the lid on was used as a table to display the items in question... the crew stood quietly, only some murmerings were to be heard... The QuarterMaster stepped up, took the cutlass in his hand...::

A'right... who will make th' first bid... look 'ere at this fine blade... goode... stout... would cleave a mans skull in two.... Who'll make an offer...

::He swung it around to show its handiness, shook it to prove how tight the handle and guard was attached...::

C'mon now! we ain't got all day! Or ain't none o' ye interested in such fine weapons?

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

Dominique dozed off and on atop the barrel butted up against foremast. The spot of choice had its qualities of apealing nature, but the ones that took the forefront were that of view concerning harbour's mouth and the fact that there was just the right mix of sun and shade to be relaxing. Finery had been disposed of quickly upon arrival back aboard and the light, loose nature of simple linen quickly replaced it.

Aside from Dawn Appointment, the passage of time had been unenventful. Upon returning aboard, reports were delivered showing that all was in order, which came as no suprise. There had been mention of brigantine's arrival to port under the pennant of familiar bearing which Fournier may have interest in upon return. Morning morphed into afternoon with the casual ease normal for these L and L's.

Overseeing of Le Requiem had been left to the knowledgable prowess of Second Lieutenant Andre Gericault as Lamaire decided that rest was called for. It was just as sleep was within grasp, that the insistant knocking disrupted intentions and he had returned above to receive the dispatch sent over from Anglais companion. It was with a certain amount of concern that he scanned through the contents of correspondance and obtaining a 'glass had move forward to the bow.

The Watch Dog was tracked until she hove to and held position, gently swaying in deeper waters. Dominique continued to watch over the frigate's form intermittantly since that time, though the 'glass now lay near in collapsed form and the sun warmth was doing its' best to beg forth the conjuring of much needed sleep...

[CaptainCiaran]

(As the Quartermaster lightened the mood with his auctioneerin' talk, Ciaran leaned over to John and says...)

Aye, tis a fine knife indeed, but I have me heart set on one of the pistols. I remember well the Monsignor using that pistol to the right of the blunderbuss when we were together up on the ropes fighting an enemy ship. Aye, he was a good shot, and so am I. The pistol is the item I want, no matter its cost.)

(The young Mister McGuinty nodded and smiled)

Arrr, I hope ye wins it, Ciaran.

Arrgh, I tell ye lad, I'm goin' to miss Diego as much as any man or woman on this vessel. He was a good man, opinionated at times mind ye, but fair in his dealings, hardworking when he needed to be, and a fine man o'the cloth, too, and he had a sharp-eye as a lookout.

He was me best bucko, he was.

(Ciaran's voice quavers fer jes a moment, before he regains composure.)

I tell ye, John, I don't know who we can get to replace him in the nest. I've been pullin' double watches whilst he was away, but I can't keep goin' on at this pace. I tell ye, I nearly fell asleep up there jes yesterday and that ain't never happened to me before!

I'd like to do it!

(McGuinty shouts so loud -- that fer a second Mister Lasseter thinks that he's made a bid on the knife. John quickly shakes his head 'No' to the Quartermaster, then continues quietly speakin' to Ciaran...)

I've been watchin' ye up in the nest and on the ropes since I first came aboard the Watch Dog. I love the way ye swing around up there like a monkey. And when yer sittin' up there watchin' the horizon with yer eyepiece...well, I can't stop...I jes... I bet the view is spectacular up there (John gazes upwards). I'd give jes about anythin to be a lookout like ye, Ciaran.

Well, lad, if'n yer serious, I'll have a chat with the Quartermaster or Captain William. We need someone to help out straightaway.

(surveying the lanky lad, Ciaran says,)

Well, John, ye look strong and wirey enough to swing from the ropes. How's yer deadlights? Can ye see okay?

They're good, Ciaran! I can see fine, even at night. I have eyes like a cat, mate. I see things that other often miss. Please talk to Mister Lassiter 'bout it, Ciaran! Please, mate! And if ye says aye, will ye teach me, brother? Will ye show me how to be a good lookout like ye are, like the Monsignour was?

Arr, indeed, I will, me lad. I'll teach it all to ye. How old ye be, John?

16, Sir. I turned sixteen a month ago.

Ciaran smiled, but before he could speak, the Quartermaster yelled out, Sold!

The lookout and John turned to see one of the crew walkin' up to take possession of the knife.

[Dorian Lasseter]

:: Once the coin was collected from the lad for the cutlass, the QuarterMaster handed the specie to the Captain. Next he picked up the boarding axe...::

Right lads... feast yer eyes on this 'ere axe... stout 'andle.... full blade.... clean edge on it... What say you?

::He gave the axe a swing, then held it out for all to see... Soon shouts were made, and after four bids it was sold to a barrel chested lad...::

There ye be Owen... thankee....

::Again coin was given over to the Captain... the QuarterMaster next sellected one of the pistols... he checked it to see if it was loaded, it wasn't then he sighted down the barrel, worked the lock ensuring it was in perfect working order, then held it high for all to see...::

Here be a fine pistol... as ye see, she be in perfect fightin' trim... nary a touch o' rust, oiled n' clean... I fine piece ta 'ave tucked in yer belt says I...

Wot's our bid, aye?

[William Brand]

With Diego's weapon's below the mast, William stood awhile, his hands behind his back. Mister Badger was near at hand and he seemed in better spirits. He drew the man over with a gesture and they conversed at length about block, tackle and all other rigging that might be replaced while in the Don's good graces. William had no intention of replacing any of it, but since the Danzig Trader, they had been frightfully short on extra hemp. Mister Badger concurred on each detail and agreed to discuss the matter in greater detail with Mister Lasseter once in port.

They turned back to the customary auction as the first blade disappeared into waiting hands. The sale of this cutlass was followed in short order by the exchange of coin and William received it and the price for an axe on the heels of the first.

Mister Lasseter was handling the sale with a perfect blend of sobriety and levity. Even William, who had too many personal arms for one man, was tempted to buy a pistol as the Quartermaster lovingly displayed what he professed was a 'fine and worthy weapon'.

[CaptainCiaran]

::Again coin was given over to the Captain... the QuarterMaster next sellected one of the pistols... he checked it to see if it was loaded, it wasn't then he sighted down the barrel, worked the lock ensuring it was in perfect working order, then held it high for all to see...::

Here be a fine pistol... as ye see, she be in perfect fightin' trim... nary a touch o' rust, oiled n' clean... I fine piece ta 'ave tucked in yer belt says I...

Wot's our bid, aye?

(Ciaran nudges John with his elbow)

Tis a fine pistol there, but not the one of Diego's that I be waitin' fer.

It's the little Spanish snaphance that I'll bid on.