The Watch Dog

[Pew]

Each of us laughed in order as the Harbormaster came to the din still in search of his young servant. He stepped to us again and asked if we had seen the boy.

I put my hand to my ribcage, " 's 'e about this 'igh with dirty brown hair." The man nodded. "'e 'ave scars up 'n down both arms," I rubbed my forearms as I prodded for information. The man nodded again, more excitedly. "'ow'd 'e get those scars, any way?" I asked and crossed my arms. Pierre hid silently behind the crates and barrels. Luc made his way behind the man as he tried to explain that they were from simple accidents that only a small boy would have. Jean eyed the man and tried to follow his explanation as he stumbled several times over his words. Both Captains stood silently as the excuses flowed freely. It was clear to us that boy needed better surroundings.

The man backed up and threw his hands in the air as if he had no reason to explain himself to us. Stumbling over Luc, the man caught himself and turned quickly, half embarrassed for the fall and half because he had been caught in his words beating the child.

The door to the office slammed shut and a hand-written sign was placed in the window.

"We will not be zeeing 'im again," Jean laughed.

"Right then, Luc why don't you take th' lad for proper set o' slops. Take 'im t' see th' lady we spoke of. We'll load th' Patricia an' be ready'n bouts 'n hour." Luc nodded and smiled. Captain Lasseter dropped the coins in Luc's massive hands. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and headed to town. We watched as the two melted into the crowd. I turned to William and Dorian, "Cap'n's, wot 'as th' pleasure of you gents ashore now?"

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - St. Louis Docks, Martinique

"Pleasure...?" William said sardonically. "I have business ashore collecting shares from the jeweler, Monsieur Molyneaux. Afterwards, I must seek an audience with the master of the Fort Royal prison, and whomever else I must see in order to seek after prison recruits."

This put pause in the conversation for everyone, but Petee, who muttered, "That a pipe should not stay lit on such a day as this..."

William noted a few questions on the faces of everyone but Captain Lasseter, so he continued. "I enjoy a little variety as much as the next man, but our english is watered down of late and we must have more crew...for Heron and 'Dog. I shall see if there is enough to be had from the prison, and how many of them might be restored again to sea service. Some two dozen should be enough. The rest shall be gleaned from the French and Spanish."

"Shall we take on prison marines, sah?" Mister Pew asked, and whether he liked the idea or not, it didn't play out in his tone.

"I don't imagine so. I'm after able seaman and craftsman."

"Aye, sah."

"Mister Pew, I'll need you back again by the morrow. If this Tawny business is not resolved by then, we must let it go."

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian Stood fast as the Captain and Master-at-Arms spoke of adding to the crew, knowing what William was all about. He turned to the Master Gunner and asked quietly where he had made his dealings for the cannons. After some interesting directions given Captain Lasseter had a fairly good idea where he would go to procure the ordinance he was hoping to find. He thanked Mister Youngblood and turned back to the others.

“Well then… I do believe I’ll be off… “

He nodded to the group then had an afterthought.

“Mister Youngblood… I almost fergot… Have the Swivels from th’ Heron polished as best they can be… Mister Johnson’s done a fine job wi’ th great guns, work wi’ him an’ give me an appraisal as to their worth, when I see you next.”

“Aye Sah!”

“Very goode… Genn’lmen… See you about town I expect… “

With nods and grins, he parted their company, his hands full of his wares. He first made his way to one of the better hotels, Le Chateau Anse. He checked into a room and found it quite to his liking, mayhaps a bit extravagant, but why not. He ordered a larger basin of hot water so he might freshen up before heading back out to the day’s business. It had been so humid and such that the dust clung to every part of him. While he waited he counted the specie that Petee had gotten for the Apollo’s guns. How he did it Dorian did not know, but the sum was larger than he would have expected, and he had gotten two brass six pounders as well! He chuckled softly and gave his blessings to the Master Gunner. Soon the hot water arrived and Dorian set about the task of undressing, careful to set aside a parchment piece he carried. Soon he was busily scrubbing the dust and grime from his body, thinking about what the rest of this day and following night might bring him.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

After the song had been sung and the pints drained, the quartet from the Heron rose and headed out into the thoroughfare. Bill tucked the Sachem's tomahawk into his belt. He bid his comrades adieu and set out for the Watch Dog intent to report in to the Master at Arms before returning to the Heron. He was so caught in his foul mood that the whirling sea of humanity about him escaped his notice until someone grabbed his wrist. With blinding speed he plucked the hatchet from its perch at his waist with the intent of burying it in the interlopers face, but caught himself short when he saw who it was.

"Billy, I've been screaming myself blue to get your atten-Where did you get that?" Nathan Bly asked.

It took several seconds for Bill's jaw to work and then a few more to realize how foolish he looked, about to cleave Nathan in twain, and worst yet Murin McDonough had seen the whole thing and now gaped at him slack jawed and wide eyed. He loosed himself of Bly's grip in a rather more surly manner than he intended. Seeing the hurt and confusion on Nathan's face he mumbled an apology and fled towards the wharf without any explanation whatsoever.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - St. Louis, Martinique

Four bells of the Afternoon Watch

William also made his departure from the docks, anxious to complete all that he could by nightfall. He took his leave of the shore party, taking Claude Marchande along as escort. He and Claude went immediately up the main thoroughfare and were not quite 50 paces up the lane when William spied Bill Flint in an attitude momentum that threatened everyone before him. His face appeared to be at once void of emotion and fraught throughout with it. It stormed subtly on his face as he waded down through the crowd. William paused, and waited for Bill to reach him along his course. Bill almost passed him unobserved and William wasn't certain if he found this humorous or not.

"Mister Flint."

Bill Flint stopped short, and gave William a salute. There was a kind of abruptness in the gesture which gave William pause. It was obvious that the man was upset and William considered letting him travel on his way, but for a morbid curiosity that suddenly sparked.

"Is anything the matter, Mister Flint?"

"No, sah." he returned almost too quickly, and again William almost let him travel on, but again he paused. This time he considered how much the man's stature might serve him, and his surly mood so much the better, if surly it was.

"Mister Flint, I require you to follow me on an errand of importance."

Bill said nothing for a moment and perhaps he was trying to find cause enough to refuse an order from the captain, but in the end he nodded. "Aye, sah."

William called down to Mister Pew, standing among the small band at the docks. "Mister Flint is with me, Mister Pew."

Then they went, the three of them, and William turned them upon a less frequented street which served more residencies than businesses. It was a modest street, not too wide, but also not too narrow. It was well kept and lined with the second story homes common to this district. At one of the many intersections along this street stood a pale blue building with a modest sign and window which advertised both medicines and knitted goods.

"Please wait here, gentlemen." he said, leaving Claude and Bill on the threshold of the establishment as he stepped inside.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Maeve stepped out from her tiny kitchen with a small smear of flour dust across her lower right jaw. She looked a bit bedraggled with the day's heat but her demeanor was one of surprise as she saw Captain Brand cross over her threshold. "Captain Brand!", she remarked. "Tis a suhprise ta see you here". Her eyes flickered to the two crewman standing just outside of her modest shop and returned to engage the captain's once more. "Is Captain Lasseter alright?"

[William Brand]

"Captain Lasseter is quite well, though he spends his recovery in revolution between work and rest." William said, removing his hat as much out of courtesy as to escape the heat, for his frock coat made the day unbearable, but the decorum of the coat was required for some of the circles he would visit that day. He inclined his head a little in place of a bow. "How is it with you, Miss O'Treasaigh?"

"Well, Captain." she said smiling, and she made an attempt to dust some flour from her dress, but succeeded only in adding to it.

"Good, good." William returned, and for a moment there followed a silence, for William seemed to have forgotten his errand.

"Was there something...?" she began in an attempt to prime the conversation once more, and he crossed to the shop table, reaching into the satchel he carried with him.

"I recently had the opportunity to peruse my modest library on the Watch Dog, where I discovered some several volumes which may be of interest to you." He plucked out a worn publication that was bound in heavy paper and dog-eared from either readings, time or both. "I have always been possessed of curiosities as touching the sciences, and I have had occasion to gather many varied and mixed texts. This one in particular is of little use to myself, or to the ship...as it touches on subjects of childbirth."

He handed it to her and she flushed a little as he did so. He wasn't sure how to take this, but he smiled and continued.

"It is written down by one Charles de Saint Germain of Paris, though I imagine that Monsieur de Saint Germain is probably buried beneath some spot of grass near Paris by now, for this volume was printed nearly a half century ago. It might contain but a little information, which scholars more modern have already corrected, but it might serve."

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Maeve gripped the book rather tightly as she flushed, listening to him explain. The polite thing to do would have been to show immediate gratitude. Indeed, she managed a polite thank you, but it was faint, even terse. Her face took on the expression of one who was extremely careworn.

"It was very generous of you ta think of me with such a gift, and ta come all way here to deliver it personally", she added. "Would you like a glass of water, sir?", she asked lamely.

[William Brand]

"Thank you. No." he refused politely, and he noticed something suddenly in her bearing that wasn't there before. Something had changed almost instantly and William thought it might be the book itself. Perhaps she found the subject of midwifery demeaning in some fashion, and this troubled him. He hoped his second gift might make up for this unforeseen faux pah, and he reached into the satchel and retrieved another small book.

This one was bound in leather , but for one torn corner. The cover was stamped with the words "Ars chirurgica: A compendium of the theory and practice of chirurgery" and at the bottom of the cover were the words "London" and "Dawks" followed by the date 1699.

"This particular tome was nearly killed in a recent exchange." William explained as he thumbed the damaged corner. "Our quartergalley was struck by cannon fire and more than a few books were deckled by it. This one is written by a Doctor William Salmon of London, and while I believe some of his work is antiquated, he is concise. Our Doctor keeps too fine a library not to consider this work an afterthought, so better for it to serve somewhere where it might do some good." he said as he passed her the second book.

[Pew]

Luc and Pierre had returned just as the last of the goods had been loaded aboard the Patricia and the jollywatt from the Heron. Looking very much the part of a flibustier in , Pierre stepped with a hop as he rejoined his pirate crew. Pierre was dressed in a pair of shortened slops, and a well hemmed sailor's jacket, with a pair of rope sandals to cover his dirty and scarred feet. Not used to wearing shoes, he nearly tripped as he tried to climb on the last crate to show off his new uniform to the crowd.

Jacobus Casteel held the rudder as Luc stepped in first and helped the boy into the craft. I followed as Jean handed me the personal belongings of both himself and Luc. Anthony Coipman held the craft firmly against the pier as a stately leg appeared waiting to step into the jollywatt.

"Ah yesss, Miss Smith." I said as a re-introduction. "Glad y' could join 's" I said smartly. A glance was shot my way that caused Luc to avert hs eyes quickly. Jean bumped into me and outstretched his hand to help Tudor into the boat. As he passed, he smiled and whispered, "A pillar of zalt you zhould be." His smile continued as he took the hand and forearm of the Captain's Steward and helped her into the boat.

Pierre tried to stand but caught himself on the gun'le quickly, "Flibustier Pierre St Germain, à votre service." He offered a salute, but Tudor looked at him confused.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Maeve smiled more genuinely and seemed to recover herself a bit as Captain Brand handed her this fine treasure. It was certainly the most recent book of medicine she has seen in some time and already she longed to read it. She wanted to pit her acquired knowledge against the findings of a recently published and respected doctor. Maeve could feel the captain's eyes upon her as he astutely regarded her reaction. She toyed w/ the torn edge of the book and her face took on a suddenly serious, somewhat concerned expression as she met his blue gaze.

"Cannon fire sir? As a privateer, do ya often run inta such dire conflict?", she inquired.

[William Brand]

"Dire...yes. We exchanged ordinance as a matter of courtesy." William said, casually enough. "We were fortunate. Seldom have a seen so few lost to take such a prize."

"And...what was the cost, Captain Brand?"

"An able seaman and a boy." he returned, and he did not elaborate.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Sensing his somewhat clipped answer as an invitation not to continue along this particular topic, she simply smiled. "I'm sorry captain", she said quietly. It was followed by a silence which to her seemed uncomfortable as he merely continued to look at her. Setting the book down, she made a gesture for him to stay put. "I have a little something to give you as a thank you", she said and did not wait for him to respond, afraid he might protest. She went quickly into the kitchen and returned with a small knit sack full of fresh made biscuits filled w/ plum preserves and butter. "Thank you Captain. Et's not much en rehtarn far these expensive books, but it'll hafta do". Smiling, she handed him the bag.

[Dorian Lasseter]

On the Heron

As Mister Brisbane walked the deck as he watched all the small craft in the port, skittering around like water bugs. One of which seemed to be making a line directly for the Cutter. As he paced about he kept an eye on the ever closing vessel. Once it was within a couple cables length, he called the marine on deck to attention, and made sure others were armed. He shielded his eyes from the sun and peered into the fast approaching craft. There was a great gun in gleaming brass in the bottom. His brow furrowed and he took a great breath.

“Halt there! What’s yer business afore ye get closer?”

He was answered in broken English by a man in the stern. Something about delivering a purchase made by a Monsieur ‘Pideeyonblood’.

Nigel’s curiosity got the better of him and he waved the craft closer, while trying to figure out who the man was talking about. The barge came along side and the man in the bow hooked onto the main chains. Nicholas Johnson ambled over to the side and looked down into the boat.

“Awww… thet’s a purdy gun… Peedee, er ah, Master Gunner Youngblood should have a look at thet…”

It then struck Nigel what the man in the boat had said.

“Petee Youngblood…Ah, aye.. I do believe ‘e already has seen this gun. Men! Rig out ta haul cargo aboard!”

He then waved the man in the sternsheets to come aboard, where he had a very energetic and animated conversation with the man, finding out that two guns, with their carriages would be delivered this day to the Heron. Johnson directed the crew in bringing the first barrel aboard, had it laid out on the deck.

“I do believe Cap’n Laseter gonna like this ‘ere gun… Won’er what we’re gonna do with ‘em, where thay’s gonna go. Mebee amidshisps, like th’Sofia an’ ‘is Grace on the “Dog, aye?”

Nigel just smiled and nodded, lightly touching the brass barrel that had been warmed by the sun, thinking how hot it would get during a battle.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - St. Louis, Martinique

"Thank you." William said, and his smile was a genuine one. "I shall leave you to your reading then, Miss O'Treasaigh." He turned, inclining his head a little at the door and she echoed the gesture with a curtsy. He replaced his hat again as he went out into the bright afternoon.

Claude was standing with both hands on his musket, watching Bill pace back and forth on the quiet street. The man's agitation had not quited in William's absence, but Bill stopped and joined Claude and the Captain when they went on to the jeweler's shop. As they went, William made a gift of two biscuits each to the marines, keeping the preserves for a more appropriate opportunity at table. Claude ate with appreciative sounds, glad to have fresh fare ashore, not that they suffered much under the shadow of Mister Lazarus. Supper on the 'Dog was well prepared, but eating in the afternoon sun in the civilization cut out of the Martinique jungles was something else entirely.

They walked and ate and no one among them made conversation. They passed a few people, but not many along the random roads they chose to the higher districts. When they arrived at the shop of Monsieur Molyneaux, William again asked them to wait out of doors while he went in to fetch another portion of that coin in the Frenchmen's keeping.

Five bells of the Afternoon Watch

~Larboard Watches on Duty

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

She watched the captain and his two mates leave as she contemplated why such a man would bother to make a personal appearance to make gifts of books which could have brought him some nice coin instead. She was bemused that he seemed so ready to accept her skills as a chirurgeon when the rest of the world merely regarded her, at best, as a midwife. When her father, Diarmid, had left her to return home to Ireland 7 months ago, she had hoped to fair better than she actually was. She had assisted her father with nearly every patient he had, often taking the lead in operations, administering sutures, and the like. Naively, she had assumed that a trust and confidence in her skills would have spread and given her a kind of hard won credibility. She had felt confident that she would have plenty of work even with her father gone. With the hard pang of an aching heart, she realized she’d become far too familiar with naiveté and the high price it demanded. Things were not turning out as she had planned and as soon as the money from Captain Lasseter ran out, she knew she would be struggling even harder to make ends meet.

Maeve glanced over at the book on midwifery. Except when giving free charity service at the church to mothers who had nowhere else to go, no one to help them, and no means to pay, she’d done very little of it. Truth be told, she'd had more experience birthing lambs than human babes, although the similarities were there. Perhaps she should have gone back home with her father, but she'd fallen so in love with the lush tropical beauty of Martinique that she'd convinced herself all would be well if she stayed. Furthermore, the promise from her father to send her brother Seamus from the Americas to stay with her had helped to cinch her decision to stay. Yet, Seamus kept putting her off, saying he would send word when he could arrange to come and would send money until he then. She had yet to see any assistance come her way, and she was loathe to beg her Da’ for money. Distraught, she wondered how much longer she would be able to stay afloat before she too was begging upon the charity of the church. Though she loved her independence more than she ever thought possible, perhaps it was time she re-considered the offer to move in with her friend BriarRose. The companionship would certainly be most welcome. Maeve stared down the street, long after the captain had disappeared from view, wishing vainly for a world filled with people who thought much more as this intriguing Captain Brand did, a world where women were free to be fierce, brandishing the swords of men, and valued for knowledge and skills thought only proper for a man. She laughed just then, and it nearly turned into a sob. Maeve had thought she was done feeling sorry for herself, resolute now in her purpose to get her affairs in order. Contrary to her previous resolve, she needed one more good cry.

[Pew]

Tudor Smith returned the salute slowly and looked at the other men in the boat. Smiles formed on the curls of their mouths.

"New addition Miss Smith," I spoke up and nodded towards Pierre. Pierre stood at parade rest as best he could in the jollywatt.

"Very well Pierre," she said calmly and waved him to sit. Tudor went to sit on the plank nearest myself but promptly moved when she saw I was to share a seat. Luc looked and smiled recognizing Miss Smith's demeanor had not changed towards myself.

"Cobus, to the Watch Dog first sah," I requested.

He nodded as Anthony untied the bow from the dock.

The trip to the Watch Dog was uneventful even as Jean and Pierre discussed the tactics for taking one of the many Merchantmen in the harbor. Looking astern I could see the Patricia slowly making it's way towards the Watch Dog. With it's gun'le's low in the water, any wisp of chop could surely become disasterous. I kept my eye trained on the longboat while Tudor and Jean playfully instructed Pierre on the proper way to throw a grappel to the railing of your foe. Luc remained quiet seated next to the boy and stared forward.

[Silkie McDonough]

Genevieve ...steps to the inn, hoping Murin had returned as she said she might. ...Genevieve brought a hand to her mouth and her eyes sparked with a smile she tried to hide..realizing the able member of the Watch Dog's crew had an unforseen predicament. "Your shoes!" Genevieve laughed and was met with a look of frustration that melted into laughter as Murin holding petticoats in hand teetered about in unfamiliar footwear looking quite adorable..

"It'as been a while since I wus required t'wear deese blasted tings." Murin chuckled "M'avin moore trouble balancin' on deese den on-n'Dog in rough seas!" Her laughter pealed forth in a cheerful tones in unison with Jenny's. Dropping the petticoats Murin expressed her pleasure at seeing the lady here, she resisted the urge to give the Jenny a hug but when, without hesitation, Miss Jenny embraced her she felt none of the awkwardness that she had expected. In her little village such displays were common but the English she had been serving over the past few years were less demonstrative of their affections and Murin would be loath to have offended the woman.

Murin suggested a late lunch here at the inn since she had not had anything to eat since the morning meal aboard the 'Dog. The meager meal she had eaten this morning and the length of time that since passed had her stomach protesting. They choose a table at a window in the front of the pub near the door. The keep could speak English enough to communicate with Murin directly but seemed to prefer the use of his common tongue so Jenny translated and ordered for them both. They sat chatting for some time. The two communicated as old friends, Jenny had no end to the questions about what lay out in the world. Murin feared she would slip and reveal something of how she came to the Watch Dog. The light meal had been consumed and the two continued to chat over cool drinks when Captain Laseter entered. He stopped as he entered surveying the pub before the keep came to greet him. He looked directly at Miss McDonough who smiled and would have said something if her mouth had not been full. He gave her nothing more than a polite nod and a gentle smile smile before the keep had escorted him away. Jenny had seen Murin's eyes open wide and the smile cross her face so she turned to see who the lass had spotted. Murin's smile dropped for a moment and disappointment flashed in her eyes. She had begun to think of herself as an equal to the officers on the Dog but here, in Martinique, it was clear that he did not wish to acknoledge her even as crew. As Jenny turned back she inquired after the man.

"Tis the quartermaster of d'Dog ...nil, tis d'capin' o'd'Heron, our second ship, ifin rumors aboard be true we er keeping er."

"And what is this captains name?"

"Captain Dorian Lasseter." she stated flatly as she watched him walk away without so much as a dui duit.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny noted the silent exchange between Murin and the decorous man she indentified first as Quartermaster and then Captain which was confusing enough..but she also noted the look of either dissapointment or some other emotion on the lass' face. Perhaps she disliked the Captain or there had been some other reason for them to do little in manner of acknowledging each other. She shrugged to herself..no matter...there was much she didn't understand and attributed the stilted exchange to some protocol she knew not of.

Sipping the last of her drink she turned her attention to her new friend and the days task. They had planned to visit several shops as Murin had been alloted some leave ashore, granted solely for her own interests. Jenny was again surprised at the equity with which the crew of the Watch Dog were treated. It wasn't common from what she knew, for a Captain to treat his crew so generously. However, form what Murin spoke of over their lunch, he was an unusual captain and they unusual crew.

The two women strolled along the street and stopped often to peer through dusty shop windows which held various things. Candlesticks and plates of pewter, shoes, dresses, a tailor, a bookseller they would return to on the way back and a shop which sold only teas. Jenny walked slowly not wanting Murin to feel self concious as she balanced with growing certainty, becoming accustomed to both dry land and ladies shoes. Jenny listened to Murin's friendly chatter which was distracting from the grisly events of the day which had unfolded earlier. She focused on Murin's accent and cadence trying to block the image of Darius' hollow stare from her minds eye. They arrived at a Chandler's and Murin pulled Jenny inside. Amongst the canvas, tools and ship's supplies, she pointed out a small selection of sailors clothing. Murin explained that she intended to purchase slops and shirts for when they once again set out to sea. It seemed odd to Jenny..the two proper women dressed in skirts of pale greens and blues standing here in a shop frequented by men. Those who stopped to re fit before sailing, yet she was intrigued by the girls confidence as she picked through the linen and canvas clothing, putting aside several items. Murin held a pair of slops up to Jenny and smiling impishly said "I b'lieve these'd fit you" Jenny laughed "I couldn't" but inside she was struck with a sudden thought of freedom, of feeling like the woman before her must , out on the ocean and away from all this. "Do you think so?" she asked laughing. Their conversation was interrupted by a Tall man who had come up behind Murin and stood silently with a look of mild amusement. Murin saw Jenny's expression change as the woman looked over her shoulder. Turning to look in the same direction, she almost collided with her crew mate he had stood so close. "Padrig!"

[Alder]

The intricacies of the flora closed in curtains behind them as they moved deeper onto the trail that lead away from the noisy sprawl. The sweet scent of jasmine embracing the . humid air reminded him of hyacinth. The aroma lured his mind to source of the sweetest scents he had ever know. He recalled of the name of a most enchanting flower

…Murin.

Staring into the cleft of the woods; blurred the reality of presence with that of desire. Alder felt the hand against his; he imagined falling into the pools of distant eyes. His grip tightened as he contemplated what might transpire. Tracing up from his grasp and he was startled back to his senses in realization that he was still beside his guide from town and not grasping the hand he fancied. His fallible flesh had yielded completely to his psyches ruse. Alder was reddened and aghast further still when the lass titter with her downward glance, “Aye lad, you protest. . . but it seems I do bring you some pleasure.”

“Enough, Woman!” He snarled, ejecting her hand from his, “I’ll have no more of this folly , be on you way, I shall find mine . . . alone.” Alder turned with an abrupt gait, and then shaking off his lunacy, he spun on his heels.

“Wait, wait, Alder called after her in a somewhat conciliatory tone. As much as he wished he was able, he could not leave the vulnerable creature to find her way unescorted. He resumed his place beside her.

The journey took on a stoic stillness; “She’s a lucky one, that lass” came the waif’s yearning tone as she looked back toward town. Alder mirrored the action of her glance as he wondered how his aspirations could be so obvious to this one and yet so obscured from Miss Macdonough that Murin would avoid his presence?

Though the tension ebbed, not another word was spoken as the travel unfolded. Time passed as the path meandered eventually terminating onto a clearing. The rhythmic hum of solitary sawing pierced the calm as they closed in on the destination. Seasoned timbers were piled neatly to either side of a wide aisle. Statuesque cylinders of lumber stood as sentinels guarding the compound. Alder’s hand fell to the irregularly furrows of the undulating bark as if renewing an acquaintance. The lass was absorbed in her gazing at Alder, who seemed inexplicably transfixed in this place. He seemed wistful as his hands lay on a log, the layers of its life revealed by the vertical glance of a blade exposing the concentric crosssection. A single finger dragged along the ridges that revealed the course of its destiny even as a memory scores a man’s heart. Alder found familiar grain and texture within and without. He relished the nuances and complexities of the variety present. Strange tropicals lay alongside recognizable hardwoods; no doubt shipped in and bartered for. He ambled along exploring the ridges and fissures of logs awaiting the attention of adze and saw. Alder spied the singularly shaggy bark of hickory with its shallow groves reminiscent of the carver’s gouge. Aye, carving… Many of these magnificent, unhune giants were worthy of the carver's hand and cried out for resurrection aboard the bow of seaward vessel. The seasoned growth would easily withstand the barrage of worm, wind and wave even they resisted the onslaught of foraging beetle, beast and bane.

Alder pondered the fate of The Heron, her identity, and her Captain. Would Captain Lasseter honor her with a fresh title? Would the Captain offer an effigy in wood or mystical creature that might revealed the spirit of the ship and in doing so shield it form harm and foul? He surveyed the expanse in expectation of promising discoveries.

Shadowed remnants of blotching purples and green played upon the trunk of a mysterious specimen, but one that Alder recalled from the island. Could this be the grail he sought? Indeed it was; the telltale bark of Lignum vitae, once bright and distinct though now vapid. Negotiating with the keeper of the lot, Alder was able to secure not only limbs of lignum, but also various samples for the Captain.

Returning his escort to the apothecary, he stumbled over an apologizing for his disinterest. The lass fell back into her world, reaching out to him only to offer the mortar and pestle which he accepted with much reserve. Alder turned. Securing the gift in his bag, he heard an indistinct clatter. As fortune would have it, there was enough coin remaining to venture a trip to the inn.

[Silkie McDonough]

Turning to look in the same direction, she almost collided with her crew mate he had stood so close. ""Padrig!"

Murin Took the lads hand and shook it hardily. Wot ye starin at? Taint ner seen a lady in such a shop afore?” She laughed.

“None dressed in such finery!” his smile broadened as he winked, “I would be kicked off the ‘Dog for my initial thoughts when I saw you!” He laughed at himself. Murin laughed as a slight blush washed her face. “It took me a few minuets to recognize you. I am hoping that I don’t know this lady because I can’t place the face.” He stated looking directly at Jenny and nodding his head.

“Dis Padrig, is d’lady wot rescued me yesterday when I wus at a loss in the milliners shop. Miss Jon-vee-ev …errr,” Looking at Jenny, “I nil know yer sir name.”

“Ashcome, Genevieve Ashcome” Genevieve held her hand to Patrick he took it in hand and shook hardily. “Pleased to meet you Miss. Ashcome.”

Jenny refrained from laughing at the manners of the man. “And you Patrick.” She did not find his manners offensive but the man made her want to smile, laugh even.

“Padrig is a right wealth o’knowledge n’ken make ye smile wit little effort.”

“Are you saying I am a fool or a clown?”

“Aye,” she winked at him, “a knowledgeable fool. Knows enuf t’keep imself unknown.” Her smile broadened and a mischievous spark shown in her eyes.

“I’m glad t’see you buying new slops and shirts. We were afraid o’wot would happen if you ever lost them!” Patrick laughed hartily, Murin laughed but a light blush rose in her cheek and Jenny stopped short of being shocked but the blush in her cheek was much brighter than that of Miss McDonough. “I’m sorry Miss. Even though Murin here is dressed in such finery she is still a crew mate and it’s hard for a man to treat her differently just because of her outer appearance. Which I might add is quite beautiful.” Miss Mcdonough’s blush heightened ever so slightly as she curtsied to the sailor in front of her. “Murin is right, those might just fit you but what would you wear them for? Planning on signing on to the Dog?” All three laughed at the statement but the truth of the matter is that the Dog was in need of sailors and willing to train those who needed it. “It’s tough work, long hours and many a day at sea, dangerous at times.” Patrick ran the tip of his finger along the scar on his cheek. “Not the place for a lady such as yourself Miss Ashcome.”

“Oh, like Miss Ashcome? Wot you sayin Padrig det I m’nil a lady?” Murin feigned insult.

“Murin, I do think the trappings of a lady have brought your confidence to the forefront. I hope to see more of it.” His smile always came easily and Murin felt comfortable in his presence. “Now lass, there is a pub with a comely wench waiting to serve me some fine rhum and with any luck …” he stopped himself noting the presence of Miss Ashcome. “It has been a pleasure Miss Ashcome.” He bowed to the lady, “Miss McDonough I shall see you tomorrow.” He bowed to her. The ladies returned a curtsy and giggled at Patrick as he did a quick step upon his exit.

Murin, without a thought, handed the slops and shirt they had been discussing to Jenny. She gathered the things she had chosen slops, shirts, sox, a few neck scarves, a pair of shoes, a new knife with leather wrapped handle, boarding axe, and a few other needed items, took them to the shop owner who wrapped the clothing and shoes. Miss McDonouh paid for the items and asked that they be delivered to the Le Chateau Anse as she laid two extra coins for the delivery.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe was at once relieved at Murin's recognition of the man who had silently come up behind her. His face had been serious..almost stern and she was afraid they would be reproached or worse for being where a woman would have little business. As Murin called the name "Padrig!" in her thickly accented manner, his eyes lit up and a broad smile creased his tanned, slightly weathered but now pleasant face. Introductions were made. Jenny felt slightly foolish for holding out her hand in the manner she had. Patrick took it in his and shook heartily. His hand was warm and a bit rough as she would have imagined a sailor's hands to be. He seemed quite friendly to his fellow crew mate and she enjoyed watching their exchange. As Jenny stood quietly while they spoke and shared humor, she was again surprised at how well this small and occasionally shy woman must fit into the weave of a life amongst a ships crew. She wondered at all the things in life she might have missed and suddenly felt quite small and uneducated despite her accomplishments of the past 10 years, both in the Colonies and at the plantation. As Mr. Hand took his leave and they laughed, the shopkeep totalled the shirt and slops Jenny still held in her hands. Too embarassed to say she had not need nor intention to purchase such items, she simply exchanged glances with Murin and collected the parcel once it was wrapped. The two exited the shop and noting the hour headed back towards the booksellers.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - Martinique

William entered the jeweler's shop where he found only Monsieur Molyneaux and the larger man who guarded the shop. The guard inclined his head only a little as did William. Monsieur Molyneaux stood up immediately and came out from behind the large table which served as a workspace and shop counter. He greeted William both cordially and with the formality of a man used to working with men of high stations. They both kept business short, though William made several inquiries as touching the Maastricht and the Fort Royal prison. Monsieur Molyneaux was careful with his answers, but William learned enough from the man to alter his course for the day by mere degrees.

Once on the street again, and weighed down with more coin than the previous day, the trio continued on to other errands. William brought them to many places as the afternoon progressed, stopping at a total of eight establishments, including four counting houses, three taverns, an inn, a sugar baron's shop and a brothel. Two counting houses and the sugar baron showed real interest in seeing the fluyt, and William promised to meet with them at various appointed times throughout the following day. Only the brothel owner offered to buy the Maastricht sight unseen, but his asking price was so low that William glared at the man for such an insulting offer and the man shrank away, closing the door without a word just to be out from under such a look.

With this business done, they made for the Fort Royal prison.

. . .

Elsewhere on the island a company of some few soldiers, a mixture of agitated mourners, a magistrate and a condemned slave stood about for a gruesome, but seemingly necessary ritual of death. The afternoon was thick with humidity there, though the night had been both pleasing and cool. The sun shone, but only where the canopy of the nearby jungle did not block out the sky. The sugar plantation was surprisingly quiet for a working day, apart from the sobs and soft condolences which passed among the living.

Oduduwa stood apart from the pressing mourners. Proud, but heartbroken. He had come to the island by slave ship some two years back, alone among many, but for his younger sister. They had both survived a voyage which often took many in the passage, and while their life at Martinique had been neither too hard, nor too rewarding, they had enjoyed the small joys of one another's company. Slaves in the new world almost never enjoyed the privilege of family, for ties were often separated by distance and death, but these two had lived and worked side by side. Even the taskmaster of the harsh sugar trade had been kind to them, for fate had placed them in the gentler hands of these modest proprietors.

Life had been good of late. Life had been almost bearable of late. The young master of the blossoming plantation had spoken openly of the kind alterations of freedom and position for the slaves. The young master had proved to be an idealist in this regard and Oduduwa could see that the young man had meant what he said, so life had been good of late, made better by the promise of change.

Oduduwa had gone to sleep with a full belly and a laugh on his lips.

Now Oduduwa stood on the grass in chains he had not worn in two years. And now Oduduwa understood that death would not go quietly into the night and forget him and his sister. No. Death had come to take them after all. Death was a patient taskmaster. Death had placed a bloodied instrument in his hand and stolen his sister in the night. Death had come and gone in silence and left him to pay the awful price from which no slave returns.

Oduduwa's trial was already over. The whole of it had come and gone with only two witnesses heard. One man had discovered Oduduwa with the bloodied implement. The other had found the body of the fallen sugar baron. No one had been called in Oduduwa's defense.

. . .

The one and only witness to the slaying stood in a patch of shadow just outside the plantation. He didn't smile or gamble about, though he was as giddy as he had been since discovering Meg in the hold of the 'Dog. His face was as quiet as the trees, but oh how he danced inside. It had been many years since Tawny had framed an innocent so absolutely. He couldn't remember the last time he had watched a man stand condemned for his atrocities. It was heady stuff and Tawny stood transfixed with delight as they marched the unknown slave to a carefully selected tree in view of the road and the slave quarters. Tawny stared in fascination as they put the noose around his neck and hauled him up.

One moment there was a man with faculties and feelings. And in another moment, there was a wild flailing thing with no thought but breath and oblivion.

Tawny almost exploded from the jungle. He clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from screaming wild, foul, maddening things. He was so suddenly overcome with delicious obscenities that he almost couldn't keep them to himself, and he pressed his hands over his lips with as much force as he could muster. He wanted to run out into the open and cry "I've killed again! Tawny's killed him a man without his hands!" Still he clamped his hands over his mouth. He gripped his face to stave off this mad need to confess. He pressed so hard that he reopened his wounded ear and it ran yellow and red as he laughed into the muffling pulse of his palms.

Still the slave kicked at nothing and Tawny was forced to sprint headlong into the jungle to keep himself from incrimination.

[Alder]

Alder traversed the maze of alleyways that took him back toward the inn. Along the path he took in the natural splendor of the island. Glossy dark green leaves arched in the wind revealing their striking burgundy undersides. Foliage of every form and hue reached into the constricted trail to caress passersby.

A formidable bee, legs laden with pollen, cavorted within the yielding petals of an exquisite blossom. A variety of hibiscus, as best Alder could make out of the tropical flower, displayed on the woody trunk of the shrub. Its scaffolding bent by prevailing winds and overflowed with blooms. He dug into his bag and withdrew a well-worn journal. Alder stretched for one of the botanical jewels to garner a better view. He smiled as he juggled the still attached blossom and book in one hand and began scripting with the other. The deliberate, gray marks of graphite that filled the tomb, chronicled his detailed observations and happenstance discoveries on many an adventure. Succinct verbiage annotated the enchanting scents and sensations that could not be transferred through his illustrations. Scraping the tip of his writing tool along the course edge of a rock, Alder embark on the task of recreating each slender filament with its bobbling anther powdered with potential. Each stamen lay poised to offer the promise of life to a bulbous pistil ripe with anticipation. Line followed line, the angle dragged on the page, shading and highlighting surfaces. Satisfied with his recording he ambled on. Flipping the pages for an errant leaf, but finding none, he fell on the last sheet of the journal. Alder cast his eyes downward, shaking his head in disbelief only to have his vision graced yet again. Violet faces peaked at him surreptitiously amid tangled vines of ivy. How curious; he reflected, to discover these two icons together; ivy, the symbol of fidelity and violets representing modesty. Among the scholarly teaching of his youth, his father set about the task of refining the culture of a gentleman. The illuminated language of botany wrenched it way into these lessons; not as a skill in and of itself, but as a means to an end. In this way, secrets could be exchanged with a lilac or peony. Entire conversations could take place in a bouquet.

Revisiting with dismay his last blank sheet and nub of graphite, Alder decided to abandon the page and seek out a merchant offering such wares.

[Silkie McDonough]

Nathan Bly had hoped that he would be able to convince Murin to spend the evening in his company while they walked to “Le Chateau Anse”. He was glad to see that she was spending the night in better accommodations but to his dismay the young lady seemed to have her mind set and would not be swayed from her afternoon plans. He could not seem to make himself known to her as more than a friend and her continual references to how much he reminded her of her brother, though meant as a compliment frustrated him all the more. There was that time shortly after she had arrived aboard where their eyes had locked, he felt that spark. “Well,” he mused to himself, “it has been a while since I have been with a woman perhaps that is all I was feeling.” Tonight he would find some company elsewhere be it with his mates or a comely bar wench. Still he searched the crowds for Murin as he walked the streets of Cul De Sac Royal and with no effort found himself outside Le Chateau Anse. “Blast!” When he realized where his feet had brought him he turned quick on his heels and began to make a speedy retreat. Again he stopped in his tracks. “If I were to stay here tonight …? No.” He began his walk again, more slowly, less deliberately as if he could change his mind at any moment and headed back to where he had last seen the other members of the Starboard watch.

…

Murin was surprised to see Jenny purchase the slops and shirt. As soon as they exited the shop she commented on it. “Jenny lass, dey’r comfortable buot will ye’ ever ave d’chance to wear dem. Been my experience det ladies on plantations are expected to be'aave and dress a certain way.”

Jenny just shrugged, “Well I couldn’t tell him that I wasn’t going to buy them after holding on to them so tightly. Perhaps I can find someone else who may need them.”

“A small boy I’d say, yer petite lass n’few otters would fit dem.” The two laughed lightly again and continued their trek to the book sellers.

Jenny had seemed somewhat distant all day and Murin had felt it was not her place to pry into her new friend’s life. However viewing pained look on the lady’s face as she witnessed shop keep in front of his shop greet a woman and her two charges, the Man stooped low to lift both the boy and girl in one warm embrace then leaned in to gently kissing the woman of his affection, she could no longer hold her tongue.

“Now lass, would ya’ tell mae wot’s got ya so distracted today?”

Genevive Ashcombe was not one to discuss private matters but having to keep things bottled up inside was not like her either. She had been doing that for four years now and without warning the events of the morning, and her life situation came spilling out. How she had cared for the children and loved them dearly. How her Uncle had been distancing himself not only from her but from the children. That there was a murder of good man, the lord of a nearby plantation who was determined to free his slaves and let them live nearly free anyway. That his Uncle had seen fit to send the children away, the children she loved, the only bright spot in her day.

The hair on the back of Murins neck stood on end when Miss Ashcome mentioned a murder. Miss McDonough was fearful that the demon Tawny was alive, she had seen Billy’s anger when he attacked Nathan earlier that day with his tomahawk, a tomahawk similar to the one that Billy had thrown at the murderer. Nathan was emphatic that Billy had only one like it. Surely he hadn't survived. Murin shook her head and returned her attention to Jenny. For now she would simply listen as Jenny let forth a torrent of barely controlled emotions. When the lady was calmed a bit she could ask where this murder took place. She could do nothing else at this moment. Miss McDonough knew the loss’ that so many aboard the ‘Dog had suffered herself included. She knew that Jenny needed to let go of the pent up emotions. Miss Ashcombe finished her outburst and apologized profusely. Murin reassured her that no apology was necessary and to some time ask her about her attack on her crew mate for simply wearing a red coat. They both laughed and the mood lightened. Jenny had mostly gathered her wits before they reached the booksellers but bad Murin to enter and she would soon follow.

Miss Mcdonough was at a loss in the book shop, so many books and the majority of them in French. She looked at all the knowledge and adventure that lay before her and felt very small and uneducated.