The Watch Dog

[Pew]

I couldn't speak, utterly surprised at Dorian's offer. I could only look between the Captains and finally to William.

Thousands of thoughts began to flood my mind: the new recruits, the cannon, small arms, Eric, Jean. I thought I had nearly stared a hole through Captain Brand's head when suddenly he spoke and I regained focus.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's Shop

"Whittin’ferd." William said aloud, though it came out so flat it sounded like neither a comment nor a question. If Preston meant to speak then, he didn't, and William pressed forward on the subject of quartermasters. "I think no other man would do for just such a position, though I would expect some caution as to his health." Dorian nodded and was silent, and he and William waited for Preston to speak, but when he said nothing, William continued. "Captain Lasseter shall remain the Quartermaster of the Whole Company, but the Heron and 'Dog are in need of Ship's Masters. It will mean a raise in shares and responsibility, with a decrease in hammock space, but you'll have many a good man...and woman to render the fat of a day's work." William paused, his hands unclasping in a "there you have it" gesture.

"The chair has been pulled out. You have but to sit in it."

[Pew]

Whittin'ferd. That name hadn't been spoken in some time. It lingered in the air. Heavy. Heavy with the weight of a unwanted title and a past that need not be aired. They shouldn't know, but they did.

How?

How much?

Damn.

At that moment it did not matter. A quiery for later, over dark beers and a dark pub.

"Aye sah. It's some chair indeed. 's more like a throne eh?" I laughed. Dorian and William also chuckled a bit. They both knew that I was able to handle the job. But I still questioned my health.

"Th' Heron you say Cap'n Lasseter, she's at th' docks now?" Dorian shook his head "no", but explained that she was to gain a new figurehead and she should be coming to the wharf soon. I smiled, "Mayhaps a trip to my..pahdon Cap'n, our ship, might be th' cure for wha' ails." I tipped the bottle from Cap'n Brand as a salute, and downed a large swig. "Thankee gents, th' both o' ye."

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704

"We would no sooner lose you to illness...than idleness. you're meant to put to sea, ship shape or no. You've too much salt for an island composed of so much sugar."

This opinion produced its share of toasts and a few hearty comments on the subject of rum. The conversation traveled this course for a time, falling here and there on the various spirits to be had in the world. It was good conversation, and it was easy to forget that Preston was ailing or that business of any kind lay beyond that plain and comfortable room. It was in those few moments the best upper room any inn could have offered and they talked freely on all subjects.

Elsewhere on Martinique it was another matter altogether.

Monsieur Binet Gaubert was not man of much imagination. He was a plain man of plain faculties. He worked as well as any man and had been a carpenter all of his days. He rose with the sun and often retired long after the moon still hung high. Today had been no different, for he had spent the better part of the day scouting about in the various hamlets of the countryside, going almost as far as the coast while doing odd jobs here and there in hopes of hearing news about the girl.

Adebanke, the young girl he had discovered in the cart road, was ever present in his mind. His patron had suggested that Binet keep her as a slave or servant. Perhaps even sell her if he had a mind to. When he had found her, the idea of keeping her or selling her had been furthest from Binet's mind. His mind didn't work that way. He was not a devious plotter of wealth and opportunity. He was a Carpenter. Pure and Simple.

Now it was late. Darkness had settled over Martinique. Binet Guabert reached the outer edges of the Villa de Corneille in the prevailing darkness where he was first heralded by Saint Blasphemy, causing him to first leap, then laugh and then finally to cross himself almost immediately. Binet held up his lantern to find the bird feasting upon some rather gruesome looking entrails from where it sat on a fence post. "That's people he's eating..." he first thought, then corrected this idea. "That's a foolish thing to think." He threw a rock at the bird with no real effort to hit it. It never moved and Binet continued on.

He was only some fifty paces further down the road when he noticed two things that seemed altogether wrong. One, it was very quiet. Two, not a single window was lit by candlelight or hearth glow. Not one. Ten small houses spread out along the meadow and cart road that made up the village of Crows and not one looked inhabited.

"MERCIER!" he called, truly expecting his dog to answer back. A solitary bark would have sufficed, but there was nothing.

There are moments in everyone's lives when they tell themselves that everything has a reason. There are always perfectly good explanations for the strangest of circumstances. And while Binet was not a man of much imagination, he imagined much in that long, deafening silence. Too much. More than once he almost thought he would just turn around and go anywhere but forward. It was the best thing to do of course, but he didn't. Like any reasonable person, he eventually reasoned that everyone was away or asleep. Perhaps the windows were shuttered from within. Perhaps he had guessed the lateness of the hour wrong.

Binet went up to the house he had built with his own two hands. He turned the key in the lock of the door he had framed. He crossed the threshold he had constructed and then sprawled upon the floor he had crossed three thousand times before.

Tawny stood over the befuddled man still clutching the mallet he had used to hit the Binet unawares. He watched as Binet tried to regain his feet in the light of the sputtering, discarded lantern.

"Where's the boy...?" Tawny asked, almost conversationally.

"Ce qui..." Binet attempted, but even in French it came out sounding thick and its meaning was lost on his assailant.

"The boy...THE BOY!" Tawny yelled, losing his patience almost at once, for in his madness he had forgotten that this was Martinique and that the man might not understand him at all, nor he him. Tawny picked up a large jar and threw it deftly, catching Binet even as he made his feet. The Carpenter went down again like so much weight and confusion, catching his head on the edge of a chair too well built to give. This did almost as much damage as the shattered earthenware, for already he was bleeding profusely and the blood filled one eye. Tawny closed with Binet and then danced away at once as Binet took a swing. Tawny laughed to see the man swing so blindly and he leapt within reach of the him just long enough to strike and jump clear again. This time he landed a blow with the mallet across the man's left knee. The sound was loud in the darkness. Loud enough to cover the entrance of a third brawler.

Mercier entered the house. He was a mixed breed of so many mongrels that any definition of breeding was lost on him. He was a dark dog to be sure and thick haired. He was not a pretty or noble animal and was possessed of no more imagination than Binet. It could be said that it was impossible to describe the dog at all apart from a solitary word. Huge.

Tawny never saw him coming. In truth, Tawny thought he had killed the dog. He had struck it so soundly over the head with a shovel that he had never imagined that the dog was anything but dead. He had left Mercier in the side yard along with the carcasses of two other unremarkable canines. Now, here it was. Huge. Angry. Loyal. Everything that Tawny despised in dogs from the Watch Dog on down to the lesser mammals. He despised it all the more as it tore up his one good hand in an effort to save a kindly master. Binet responded in kind with the chair that had all but undone his skull.

They were three dogs at once then...Tawny, Binet and Mercier. Every one of them in a bidding war of blood.

[Alder]

The captain’s praise rang as cathedral bells dawning a celebration of the ages. So echoed his words on the carpenter’s soul affirming his allegiance to ship and her master, and vowing his gifts to the claim of the cerulean draped goddess that would dance upon the waves. Alder nodded at Mister Thatcher, with a capricious grin that was mirrored by his crewmate.

“Shall we?” Alder waved his arm wide in grand fashion toward the night and rewards yet to be experienced.

“Grand idea, Mister Wenge” Robert chortled deeply “Tis a bonnie lass a callin, . . Ah ken hear er now…” he mused as he made swift pace past the carpenter.

Exiting the storeroom, their paths were intersected by that of the clerk who paused leaving the two no egress. The men snarled in indignation awaiting the lad’s redirection.

“Mister Wenge?”

“Who Asks?” Robert replied, suspicious and aggravated.

Likewise irritated by the insignificance his presence commanded, the inimical youth jabbed the man in the gut firmly with the package as he glared past toward the carpenter.

“Tha lass wan’ed ye tah half it” he spat at the ungratefulness.

Though unlike Robert to be intentionally rude, his protectiveness left Alder turning from the somewhat comical view of his doubled-over friend. Catching his breath, Robert held fast the solid package as the presenter ebbed to phantom in the alleys embrace. Random obscenities followed after him while chance questions flew through Alders mind as he unwrapped the text . . . and holding the item he looked deep into the night. This, this was the text he had hoped to read to and with Miss McDonough. The book fell open into Alder’s hands as Robert slowly righted himself. “The Flies and the Honey-Pot”, how poignant, he considered. A tale of delights so sweet, it entrapped the imprudent fly to its ultimate demise. Alder slammed tight the tome, deafening the voice of Aesop’s ghost.

Mister Thatcher slapped the back of his silent comrade. “To the inn!” he urged, renewing the quest.

“Aye, . . aye, Robert, I’ll meet ya there.” he spoke with no actual intent in word or tone. A moment of introspect awakened another social debt that begged his attention. Having no news of Mr. Pew and feeling derelict in not asking Captain Lasseter, Alder’s conscience twinged at an unthinkable fate and calculated the surest path to the chirurgeons.

“Aye, Alder, so be it” Mister Thatcher understanding called, respecting his friend’s privacy, there paths diverged.

[BriarRose Kildare]

BriarRose and Maeve sat listening to the murmurs of the men talking in Preston's room. "Maeve, dear, why don't you go to bed. You have had a long day and you need your rest. And don't be worrying about the Captain's, I'll take care of their needs."

Maeve sighed and said, "Aye, I think ya be right. I'll be headin' then off to bed. Thanks Briar and a goode nite to ya." With that Maeve got up and headed for the stairs.

BriarRose sat for a while listening to the murmurs of the men and crackling of the fire. She got up and went in to the kitchen to get some biscuits, meat and cheese for the gentlemen. As she put a tray togetherwith food Mandrake laid by the kitchen hearth snoozing contendedly.

As BriarRose was taking the tray piled with food back through to Preston's room there was a loud knock on the door. Pausing briefly to set the tray ladened with food upon a table she went to open the door. A tall man with warm somber eyes greeted her as she asked, "May I help you sir?"

He seemed stunned for a moment before replying to her question, "Aye, Miss, I am here ta see Yer patient."

Smiling warmly, BriarRose said, "Ah, then come in then. I just prepared a bite for every one to eat."

He seemed to hesitate before entering the front room of the shop. "Thank ya."

Holding out her hand BriarRose introduced herslef. "I am the apothecary who has been working with the surgeon. My name is BriarRose Kildare."

Taking her hand a spark of light entered his eyes as he held her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Pleased ta meet ya. Alder Wenge at yer service."

Blushing slightly BriarRose, stepped back a bit, "Well then please follow me." and with that she picked up the tray and went towards Preston's room. Knocking swiftly she then entered the room to see the men at ease enjoying themselves. "I thought you would all like a bit to eat. Would you like some tea to go with what you are drinking?"

Prestons snickered a bit as Captain Lasseter chuckled and said, "Aye, that would be a fine idea lass." He seemed to look at her his hazel eyes very peircing and direct.

Blushing again, BriarRose turned slightly to put downt he tray as Alder Wenge entered the room.

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Heron

Ben talked and laughed with a few of his new crew mates but never mentioned his doubts about his decision. He was here, under the stars, free. He couldn’t have stayed in that cell any longer. He had made the decision to join the Watch Dog based on the word of a man he knew nothing of. Captain William Brand, William "Red Wake". Tales of how that moniker was pinned on the man rushed through the new crew like burning dry brush feeding the flames of his doubt. Now he found himself on the second ship, a ship that just hours ago was shot at by some suicidal fool. Which of the new recruits was he after? Which of his new crew mates was wanted dead or alive? Perhaps it wasn’t one of the new recruits. Perhaps the shot was meant for one of the previous crew. Mister Quigley, try as he may, could not settle his mind this night. He went below deck early and settled into a hammock but his mind kept racing. He starred at the planks above him. By morning he would have the grain in those planks memorized.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe woke with a start. Instantly aware of her surroundings and having rested, her mind was now active. Everything came flooding at once driving momentary panic before it. She took a deep breath, closed the tome slowly and deliberately and pushed it aside almost toppling the mug of water Callie had left. Jenny took up the mug and moved to the stern bench looking out at the cul de sac. A constellation of ships lamps bobbed below the lights of the shore. All seemed quiet. Jenny brought a hand to her mouth stifling a yawn and wondered how long she'd lain asleep. Who had entered and left the food and water.. When would someone come for her again. She remembered being told Mister Tucker would see to any needs she had, but for the moment she preferred the solitude. Miss Ashcombe leaned forward, elbows on her knees and placed her head in delicate hands careful of the still fresh wound. "fool" she said, the realization of her actions coming to light more clearly in the quiet. The irreversibility of her crime and..."Benoit" she whispered the name. Dead. But how foolish to think that would be the last of her uncle's attempts. Perhaps Henri wasn't the man who had persued her that night. Justice alone for deserting the plantation and without his permission might fuel Martin Garaud to some extent, but the affrontery of his stolen purse would surely provoke a more pointed effort. Panic grabbed hold again renewing the sting at her temple. She had been told there was shooting "It was meant for me" again she whispered, less audibly this time. As if to say it any louder would confirm the thought bringing a chill to her bones. Jenny stood suddenly walked towards the door, halted and returned again to the seat. She considered all that the Captains and crew did not know. Possibly wouldn't need know. Mayhaps she was making too much of it. The Lieutennant had come and gone and Captain Lasseter seemed mostly unafected. Mayhaps she was safe after all. Jenny resolved as she moved to the table and picked at the now cold meal, that she would not feel so until they were far out to sea and Martinique was but a distant memory.

After more deliberation she selected a piece of Mango and returned to the stern bench suddenly tired from a full stomach. Sleep soon found her with the fruit still in her grasp.

[Alder]

What on god’s green earth had possessed him to kiss her hand? His mind scrambled with the singular introduction. This reticent man, bent on formality and propriety, was now, inexplicably at a loss for words. True, Alder was grateful for her skills in the caretaking of his crewmate. Nevertheless, the overwhelming relief in her tone regarding the condition of Mister Pew, drew actions from the carpenter; that although inarguably forward, he could not find himself wholly repentant of. And for this, his senses were likewise preocupied.

Moving past the door of Preston’s room, Alder was well pleased that vitality that had overcome his pallor and the laughter that reflected his good spirits. Spying Captain Lasseter and realizing he had encroached upon the captain’s visit, Alder felt especially awkward.

“Excuse me, Sirs” he entreated

“Mister Pew . . . I am delighted to learn you are well.” Alder exchanged and continued in knuckling his forelock “Captain” and awaited acknowledgement that he may bid a hasty retreat.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's Home

Two Bells of First Watch

"Come in, Mister Wenge." William said, and Dorian was already waving the man in. "We shall soon see everyone ashore."

"I hope I am not intruding, Sirs." Alder offered, and William shook his head.

"No, no, sah. Sit. Our business will include you now and in time, so sit." William, Dorian and the others looked about, for there wasn't truly any place for Alder to sit, so he leaned upon the window seal where Paul stood. "I've recently taken on additional men from the Fort Royal Prison, and having questioned many, I found a carpenter among them."

Alder nodded, and being possessed of a sober and cordial disposition, it was hard to discern those thoughts which underlined his tone as he asked, "Will you be making a change, Sir...in my appointment?"

"No, sah." William said, and it came out with a little huff of a laugh. "Not at all, though I'll keep you aboard the Heron for the present as Master Carpenter there, and you may choose...what...two subordinates...?" William asked, turning to Dorian.

"Aye." Dorian agreed, as the bottle was passed from him to William to Alder.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Surgery of Miss O’Treasaigh

A merry time was being had among those in the room, those crewmen of the Watch Dog and Heron. Many things had happened this day, much had been accomplished both aboard the ships and ashore. Captain Lasseter hinted at the special event to be had in the morning, more than the Heron getting a fine figurehead, but what exactly he would not let slip, they would have to wait. The only other person who knew was William, and he would not talk. Time marched on and soon Dorian would return to his ship if all were to be in order for the morning’s proceedings. Several times he thought to make an exit as the conversation paused, but each time a comment brought it back in strength. As it was, he would be content to warp the ship to the wharf in the predawn light, however there was still some preparation to be done before then. He made a mental note to himself that he would allow himself no more than another hour before obliging himself to be pardoned and return to his duties. It felt good to be in this company, the laughter, the camaraderie. What lay over the horizon was unknown to them all. He would take whatever came his way.

[Silkie McDonough]

St. Louis - Le Chateau Anse

Miss McDonough could not help but hope that the carpenter would receive the book she had left and understand her message. Murin nonchalantly observed the other patrons in the room. As she ate in silence her eyes met those of a honeyed haired gentleman a few tables over. Without a thought Murin returned the smile and nod with like greeting. Was he one of the crew who had signed onto the Dog from the Maastricht? No! The thought of what would be proper, that she was a woman alone in the ordinary of an inn came to her too late! She shifted her eyes quickly away focusing on the remnants of her meal.

Each time the door would open she would lift her head looking for Alder; each time she dropped her gaze to what remained of her evening meal. When finished eating, loath to retire for the night, and still hopeful that Mister Wenge might yet show she lifted the blank book that she had purchased two days before to the table top and placed lead to paper practicing her handwriting. Letting her mind drift the letters became small drawings. The pictures in her mind from her home. A skiff, wildlife …seals. She had a fondness for the “Seal Folk” they brought to mind thoughts of her seldom seen father. Simple sketches she thought, but a desire to draw with the skill she had seen in Alders book burned in her heart. Perhaps like her letters, with enough practice, drawing too would become easier.

“Pardonnez-moi Mademoiselle.” the server standing before her, with bottle and glasses in hand, startled her back to the present. “Zee gentleman asks ef e may join you for a drrink.” In hopes that Alder, unknown to her, had entered the ordinary her face lit up and she looked quickly to the person that the server nodded towards. Smiling at her was the honeyed haired gentleman still at his table, his broad grin and sparkling eyes focused on Murin’s. “I …uah ....” Murin blinked glancing from man to man, not knowing what to do. The gentleman stood and advanced to her table and the server spoke again. “Mademoiselle McDonough, Monsieur Taggart. Monsieur Taggart, Mademoiselle McDonough.” Murin swallowed the honeyed haired man began, “Please forgive my lady but I could not help notice you from across the room. May I join you?” Something in her spoke with a clear negative response. Murin did not wish to offend but this was no proper meeting. She was waiting for Alder. What if she refused the man’s company and the carpenter remained absent? Did she care that she could offend this man? Was he someone she should not offend? The server continued at the behest of Mister Taggart. “Monsieur Taggart is the proprietor of zee largest cane fields on Martinique.” What was meant to be an enticement for the woman to accept the mans request made Murin, after having been a slave at such a place, less than pleased with the prospect of sharing the mans company. Before she could voice her objections he presumed to seat himself beside her and bade the steward pour the wine into the glasses. “Mester Taggart, fergive mae buot I’m waitin fer a suitor” she lied.

“No man who makes such a beauty wait is deserving of her company.”

“I assure ya he is deservin an I nil tink e’ll take too kindly t’seein mae in yer company.”

“Please lady, drink with me. Your suitor has not shown yet, I have watched you. Each time the door opens you sit up like puppy in anticipation of its owner. No man should treat such a gem so.” He lifted a glass and presented it to her. “Please, call me Andrew …” He waited for her to supply her first name but she remained silent. “Share just one glass with me lady and we shall see what you think of my company then.” Not wanting to cause problems for the inn that she had been calling her home for the past few days she took the glass and tasted the dark red liquid. In hopes that the man might depart sooner Miss McDonough sipped the contents more quickly than perhaps was prudent. Mister Taggart continued to speak of himself and his wealth asking little of her and bringing himself closer to the lass with each sentence. The dimming candle light created long shadows that stretched to corners of the room. Each time he would advance his seat towards Murin the girl would retreat. As she set the now emptied glass on the table she found herself between the wall and the finely dressed man that had imposed himself before her. “I tank ya fer d’good port sar but I moust away.” She attempted to stand; he pressed his hand to her thigh with just enough force to keep her in her seat. “My lovely lady, your young man is not here. Why not let us enjoy each others company Miss …McDonough?” He exaggerated the pronunciation of her name as he moved so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Mister Taggart, I’ve dun wot ya asked and shared dis one glass wit ya. I would like t’go” he remained uncomfortably close while he refilled her glass. Presenting the glass close to her lips he whispered “Why resist the temptation good woman.” The door opened once again but try as she may Murin could not see past the peacock before her. “Ifin ya d’not let me up I shall b’fersed to cause ya bodily arm sah." He laughed, “I prefer a woman with some fire in her! The moment I saw your auburn locks in the candle light I knew you would be someone I would share my bed with.” Being nearly pinned to the wall Miss McDonough had no space to slap the man so she took the good port and splashed it into his face. Taggart sat back and wiped his face on the laced cuff of his shirt, allowing her just enough room to stand. Her right hand went for the knife she had sheathed between her bosoms but he was quick to stop her. Grabbing her by the wrist he hissed “You can not think that I did not see that little blade tucked so neatly where I would have my pleasure?!” She reorted through clenched teeth “Mister Taggart, I knows them wot work ere well n’dey will nil let ya hurt mae.”

“Knows em well?” He mocked her dialect, “I ‘knows’ that you are nothing more than a common Irisher despite the trappings of a lady that you wear!” His body pressed her against the wall. She pushed at him with her free hand but he did not budge. “I have purchased their silence in the past.” taking her jaw in his hand he held her face and put his mouth to hers kissing her roughly. Her free hand pushed at his face in a vane attempt to stop her assailant. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. The next instant she was free of him.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Le Chateau Anse

Coincidences of opportunity seldom present themselves more than once and strangers who have met before under the threat of violence or malefaction will not likely meet again in similar circumstances. Nevertheless, Alain Roux and Murin McDonough had chanced to meet each other once before. They had been introduced during a robbery involving the tailor and a cut purse on the streets of St. Louis. Alain had been but a passing stranger then and had lent his assistance to Miss McDonough only as a matter of course. A good deed in an otherwise oblivious world.

Now, sitting across the crowded room, Alain Roux was busy counting out a handful of very small coins in order to pay for his scant meal when he chanced to look up and see the Watch Dog's Tailor in what seemed to be another distressing situation. He recognized her with a surprising and sudden clarity and he was on his feet before he knew he was standing. He stepped from behind his table and he would have crossed the room then if not for the arrival of a short, dark haired man with a rather wicked looking grin. The edge of his smile almost as dangerous as the knife in his belt.

"Miss McDonough." Luigi said while looking at the man who kept her captive at the table. The look that Luigi fixed him with was not friendly, nor was it dangerous. Luigi's smile simply faded away. His face was flat and no more emotional than a man regarding a wayward child or a disobedient dog, but it was constant.

"Your pardon, Monsieur, but this lady and I..." He began, but Murin managed the softest pleas.

"Luigi..." she whispered, and it was all that she managed before the man squeezed her hand hard enough to cut her off.

"This man cannot be your suitor." Monsieur Taggart said, in a tone of surprise and with a hint of disdain.

Luigi sat down at once and leaned in on one arm. His expression remained as it was. Passive. Removed. The tone in his voice was the same as he spoke, though the words were not. "This lady does not want the pleasure of your company." Luigi said simply.

Alain Roux remained where he stood, waiting to see if Luigi's arrival was good or ill. Only a few others noticed the interchange at all, though few cared.

[BriarRose Kildare]

BriarRose could hear the revelry of the men as she walked towards Preston's room. A smile reached her rosy lips to hear the sound of joy and happiness from such good companions. She missed the comradry of having family and friends. Balancing the tea tray in one hand she swiftly knocked and entered the room. The men paused momentarily in their speech as she quietly set down the tray and began to pour and serve the tea to each man.

[William Brand]

William gently refused the tea, having already imbibed the despised beverage at the Jeweler's shop. Unlike many of his former countrymen, he was not enamored by the drink, for teas both weak and foul had been served to him in his younger years, forever spoiling his taste for them. Briar tried to offer him several alternatives, insisting that she could prepare any one of them within a few minutes, but William took this opportunity to politely decline and to return to his business aboard the Watch Dog. The Ilex shares and the waiting Maastricht sales would need to be counted, divided and distributed. It was the final business preventing them from departure and he meant to court the Navarra for business that served both the interests of the Spanish there and his own two ships.

"My compliments on your hospitality and your service to the Heron's new Ship's Master, Miss Kildare." William said, raising his final toast to her and to Mister Pew at once. Then William parted their company and excused himself to waiting business.

Out on the street the air was clear and it awakened him a little, for the day had been long and he was weary about the edges. Paul walked along beside him testing the weight of the shares in his pocket. They passed two ladies of ill repute who were locked in a heated argument over their own shares, having just fleeced a plantation owner. They were not so embroiled in their dispute that they didn't attempt a clumsy, but practiced offer of their wares, stripping a shoulder here and raising a skirt a little there. William and Paul passed them with little more than a tipped hat and the argument ensued.

When they reached the docks they found the Watch Dog's longboat and a handful of the Starboard Watch waiting to ferry passengers to and from the frigate. They were currently employed in the service of a merchantman just recently returned from the ship with purchased goods. Several wagons waited dockside and these were already half filled with bales and barrels of Maastricht goods. Men of the Watch Dog and the docks were busy loading them to travel inland and William stood awhile in conversation with a Monsieur Gadbois.

While he spoke with the merchant a second man made his approach, hat in hand, and begged a word with Captain Brand. They stood aside and the man introduced himself as Paul de Lannel, a man who had previously made the acquaintance of the Starboard Watches. The man seemed anxious to sign aboard and as William could find no reason to deny the man, he gave him leave to return with the longboat and they all went together to the ship.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The bottle was passed around one last time and it was done. Soon the victuals and tea were consumed and all that was left was crumbs and sediment dregs. Dorian had told the others of the exquisite work Mister Wenge and Roberts had done on the figurehead destined to grace the bow of his ship.

“She is a thing of beauty and will do handsomely on the bow. If I am to have everythin’ prepared for the morn, I should be going. I have a ship t’ be brought t’ th’ wharf an’ all the crews t’ be informed of a special event… “

His eyes danced with gleeful mischief as he looked around at everyone. He bid his farewell to the Carpenter and newly appointed QuarterMaster. Thanked Miss Kildare for the grand hospitality and made his way out into the night. He stopped at several of the tavern where he knew his men frequented and passed the word of the event to take place in the morning. This message would be passed around to any others met. This accomplished, Dorian found his way to the wharf and the Heron’s Jollywatt. He was still accompanied by Kevin Norman. First they headed to the Watch Dog and hailed the deck. Dorian boarded and informed those on the holy ground of the morning event. That accomplished he departed for the Heron. In short order they were boarding his ship at the late hour. He spoke with the Bo’sun about having the Heron warped into the wharf at first light. And had Mister Norman sent to the crews berth. This being understood, he headed to his quarters.

[Alder]

The bottle was passed in a joyous imbibing, abating further the subtle, ceremonious bonding of the crewmembers. Uncertain of whither or not to follow Captain Brand’s lead, Alder instead nodded in the affirmative to their hostess as she passed, teapot in hand. He had little resistance for the aroma swirling to his senses. Had the sweet vanilla that so captivated him wafted from cup or bosom, it made no difference. It was warm and welcome. Alder sipped the warmth and savored the feel and flavor as it cascaded. Raising his head as he inhaled, he became painfully aware that not only was his demonstration being closely observed by Miss Kildare, Pew was forced to restrain a good natured snicker.

“Been a while, ‘az it lad? He whispered and added a nudge.

“Aye…aye, Mister Pew” Alder replied in hushed but capricous laughter back at his teasing assailant, “your caretaker works magic on many a level.”

Their attentions returned to the forum at hand as the Captain alluded to the figurehead.

With the Captain’s praise, the wax was set, and his loyalty sealed. Alder promptly rose as Captain Lasseter stood and knuckled his forelock with particular attention as the captain took his leave.

Alder sat down once again and sighed, much content with the fold that he had found himself a part of. Alder gazed deep into the bits of leaves as they settled in his cup and thanked his maker.

[Pew]

With a sigh, I saw Alder sink a bit into his chair.

"Somat amiss m' goode man?" I asked the new carpenter.

Alder smiled a bit a took a sip from his cup.

[Alder]

Raising his head and lifting his cup in an understated toast, Alder cleared his throat and answered. . .

“Nay…” Mister Pew” Alder mused at the understandably incongruous observation “Jus much relieved at your wellness, Sir n likeweise pleased at your well-deserved appointment” he added, concealing his nostalgic appraisal of the tender care Pew must have enjoyed.

With each expression of kindness he witnessed, the surgeon’s arena was evermore removed from the hard, medicinal compound Alder had imagined. Quite the contrary, the delicious scents and scenery toyed perilously with his resistance to such ministrations as these. Still enjoying the warmth of the cup as it radiated deep into his palm, Alder subconsciously worked the muscled of his left hand slightly fanning his fingers, and then rolling them into a fist. Mayhaps, he pondered without outward query, these goddesses possessed a unguent that might ease the ache of his long hours of carving.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Heron

Dorian was about to enter the Wardroom and his quarters as he normally would, but at the last minute remembered he had left the young woman, Miss Ashcombe, within. He paused a moment and gently knocked. No answer came, so he decided to carefully proceed. The door creaked slightly as it opened under slow pressure from his hand. The cabin was dimly lit by only the small oil lamp on his table, next to it was a plate of untouched fare. At first he wondered if she had taken her leave to elsewhere on the ship, but if that had been the case Mister Tucker surely would have informed him. As his eyes looked about the room, he saw the cot unoccupied, as well as the chairs in the space. Then he saw her on the stern bench, her head cradled on one arm as if she fell asleep looking out onto the bay. He smiled and chuckled quietly, turned and shut the door behind him, then began to make himself comfortable be removing his hat, sword, and pistol from his belt, the latter he laid on the table beside the lamp. Dorian thought it imprudent to remove his coat just yet, though this woman had seen him in just his shirtsleeves earlier, but that was a different situation. He did however lighten the coat by removing the small pistols from the pockets, along with the pouch of coins, though lighter, it still bore some weight. All of these he placed on the table as well. He watched the sleeping form for a moment longer before deciding what he might do with her. Coming to a decision, the Captain crossed the space to the stern bench.

“Miss Ashcombe? Miss?”

He spoke in low tones so as not to startle her. Her head came up slowly at first, then she pushed herself upright, almost bumping into the Captain as he had bent close to her to wake her. Dorian quickly righted himself as she turned to him, eyes wide. Smiling, he guessed she needed a moment to realize where she was.

“Yer a’right Miss Ashcombe, remember, yer on th Heron, safe from yer uncle I believe.”

She blinked slowly and let out a sigh of relief. She went to smooth out skirts that weren’t there, as she was still dressed as a sailor. She recovered quickly and looked up to the Captain and briefly smiled.

“Forgive me, Captain, I must have dozed off at some point in time. Have you just arrived from shore?”

“Aye… Just returned… I… The hour is late, I would think you might wish ta be abed properly. I apologize but there isn’t much for privacy onboard. Mayhaps I c’n have some canvas strung up. Aye, I’ll have that done.”

Again he smiled at her and bowed his head before turning to the door and passing the word for the Bo’sun. Mister Tucker was there quickly and Dorian spoke to him through a partially opened door. He would have two crewmen pull canvas from below for the job asked. Dorian shut the door again and crossed to the sideboard and selected a bottle and gestured to the Lass if she would like something. She shook her head and he nodded, selected a vessel and poured a short drink. He walked to his table and turned up the lamp, brightening the room.

“Gonna need more light fer the canvas ta be strung up.”

Dorian took a drink from his glass and set it on the table, opened the drawer and withdrew a rolled taper. Stringing some out, he lit it off the oil lamp and proceeded to light the two hanging candles in the cabin, improving the brightness further. He blew out the taper and coiled it back around itself and crossed back to the table replacing it within. A knock on the door had him headed that way and he let in the two men with a canvas bundle. In short order there was a curtain of canvas dividing off a section of the wardroom around her cot. With the knuckling of forelocks those crew departed and peace returned to the space.

“You may retire at yer leisure, Miss Ashcombe. I have some papers ta look over and will soon retire as well… T’morrow’s a special day.”

[BriarRose Kildare]

BriarRose had left the men to their tea for a bit. After both of the Captain's had left she went back in to Preston's room to see how he was fairing with the remaining company left to him. As she walked in she noticed that Mr. Wenge was rubbing his hands. Taking a moment to check on Preston she then turned to Mr. Wenge and asked, "Are your hands bothering you sir?" She heard Preston snicker, but decided to ignore him for the moment. Holding out her hand to Mr. Wenge she continued, "Let me take a look if you please." He seemed for a moment to be startled by her forwardness, but then reached out slowly for her hand. Taking his large rough and callaced hand in hers, BriarRose, took great care in looking over his fingers, palm and wrist. She gently rubbed his hand to see how much soreness there was with in the muscles and joints. Looking back up at Mr. Wenge she noticed that he appeared to be blushing and could still hear Preston trying desperately not to laugh. Smiling to put the gentleman at ease she said, "I have an ointment that will take the tenderness and soreness from your hands. I will be back shortly with it." Turning to Preston she gave him a withering look that seemed to only add to his merriment. Tilting her chin up slightly BriarRose swept from the room. As she left the room she could hear a roar of Preston's laughter.

As she went to her apothecary chest to look for the necessary ingredients to make an ointment for Mr. Wenge�s hands, she began to think again upon the Spanish ship that Maeve had found passage for her. Her intuition was nagging deep with in her and she knew all too well when to listen to that sense. Chewing a bit on her lower lip she made a decision to write a letter to Captain Lasseter to get his opinion on the matter. She continued sorting through her herbs as she found the necessary ingredients. Setting them aside she went over to the desk sat down. Taking out a piece of parchment and a quill she began to write the letter.

Dear Captain Lasseter,

I hope that your evening is fairing well for you. It was very pleasant to have you visit Preston.

Please do not think me too forward, but I seek your advice. I am in search of passage upon a ship. My dear friend, Maeve, found passage for me on the Spanish ship, the Esperanza. However, I am not quite sure about it and I have an unsettled feeling about taking passage upon that ship. I was wondering if there is any advice you may give me? Or if perhaps I may find passage upon your ship? Please let me know at your convenience.

Sincerely,

BriarRose Kildare

Folding the paper she sealed it with wax then pressed the crest of her ring in to it. Getting up she went to the door and opened it. Although it was late, there were still boys hanging about the street and corner. The boy that had previously taken a message to the Captain's came over to her. Handing him a coin and the letter she said, "Could you please see that Captain Lasseter receives this letter as soon as possible?"

Tipping his cap at her he replied, "Aye my Lady. Should I wait for a response�"

"Yes, if you would please." Then she handed him another coin before he was off and running.

Going back to her apothecary chest she began to prepare the ointment for Mr. Wenge.

[Alder]

Delicate hands ferreted through the well organized chest of essentials. Placing tin above tin in a ritualistic sorting game that had oft been won and reset, the lass placed one and then another of the tiny hinged boxes aside. Turning, and consulting a library of jars, she considered and dipping her fingers into a squared vessel of viscous gel, she withdrew; to her satisfaction, a small measure, then more of translucent goop. Elbows flew as one and then another pinch of dried herb tumbled to the bottom of the mortar and were bound to one another with the twirling grind of her pestle. Able to just make out the teasing resonating from the adjacent room, a delightful smile overtook the maternal grin that curled one side of her lip more than the other. BriarRose shook her head at both their foolishness and her own as she felt another flush betraying her quieted emotions.

Without a word, she swept into the room and edged close beside the carpenter, opening her folded package on the adjacent table. The mixture of emollient nestled in the waxed paper still held enough presence of crushed herb to reveal the source of its aroma. Its green scent married the sweetness of her own, forming a heady blend that compelled Preston to regain composure if not some jealousy at the redirected attention toward her new patient.

Confidence reigned as BriarRose held out her hand to Alder requesting his own. Alder paused slightly before accepting the offer, seeking Pew’s council. His answer came in an affirming nodded of sincerity reflecting Preston’s genuine reverence toward the gifts of this artist. Still, recalling her furrowed brow as she had empathically reflected the discomfort of his work weary hand in hers prior, brought a self-consciousness to which he was unaccustomed. In the face of potential relief, he hesitated.

Alder’s mind scrambled in the silence begging for conversation to seal voids that were becoming fast filled with distracting notions. Twice embarrassed, he averted his eyes.

Impatient with the boyishness of the two, BriarRose would be still no more. She reached toward his lap and firmly took hold of the startled carpenters hand. Her other hand deftly seized her potion as she felt her patient untense and surrender. The tincture was warm with work as was her touch. Caring and compassion overrode a modicum of the awkwardness of the moment. Alder openly kicked at the chair leg of the now smirking Mister Pew.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor wandered the darkened decks. It had been a long and event filled few days, and there was no sign of respite from the activity. Not that she minded, she thrived on the flurry of action and movement. Although, truth to be told, she breathed a sigh of relife when the sale ended. There were too many people to watch, too many things to go wrong. Luckily nothing had. She made another round of the decks, walking silently. Word had it that the morrow held much more in store. With a sigh, and a final glance over the waters, she finally decided to retire for the night.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Ward Room of the Heron

Miss Ashcombe awoke puzzled briefly by the unfamiliar view which moved slowly in its inky relief outside the window. A voice spoke her name and brought back to mind that before her lay the cul de sac and the shore of St Louis. She was on the Heron. Jenny straightened suddenly, flustered at having fallen asleep. She turned apologising and seeking to diminish the awkwardness, inquired if the Captain had just returned from his errands. As Dorian addressed her few questions, she wondered what good fortune could have caused the smile which returned frequently to his visage. He conducted himsef with the propriety of Captain yet his mood was quite genial despite the day's events. He spoke to her and went about organizing his things, stopping to order a canvas partition strung in the cabin. Jenny stood quietly feeling somewhat conspicuous in the presence of the crewmen constructing temporary quarters for her. However, none as much as glanced at her in any manner. They simply went about their business and took their leave. Miss Ashcombe stood unsure of what would be proper to do next as the door again closed to the Ward Room. Wishing to be no more of a burden by asking questions, and not wanting to insult his hospitality towards her, she waited. Eventually he looked up from the items which he was gathering. "Captain Lasseter.." she started. Then stopped unsure of how to proceed. Jenny wrung the corner of her shirt and continued. "I havent the proper words to thank you for such generous treatment. I do want to apologise again for any difficulty I may have caused you or your men arriving as I did. You have been more than charitable.." Seeing her discomfort Captain Lasseter waved a hand toward the newly canvassed area and spoke genially.

“You may retire at yer leisure, Miss Ashcombe. I have some papers ta look over and will soon retire as well… T’morrow’s a special day.”

His ease of manner brought relief and Jenny thanked him again. She brought her parcel from the stern bench and as she placed it upon the cot, wondered at the event which was surely cause for his affable mood. There was no holiday she was aware of. Considering what it may be Jenny realized there were many things she hadn't knowledge of given her lack of experince in the matters of life at sea. Lost in this thought she opened the sparely packed bundle and withdrew a chemise. She paused regarding the garment and bit her lip. Placing it back she came round the canvas and stood waiting until he looked up from his desk. As he did Jenny realized there was simply no way to ask that the Captain leave his own quarters while she changed clothes behind the curtain of sailcloth. "I will bid you good evening then Sir" she said, planning to simply sleep dressed as she was.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian had looked up from his papers when he caught Miss Ashcombe coming around the side of the hung canvas. She stood a moment in awkward silence then bid him a good evening. Dorian smiled at her and wished her a good evening, hoping she might be able to find sleep again. She hesitated before heading back around the canvas, and he heard her sit on the cot and not move for a time. It then came to him what she might have asked but did not. He slid out his chair none too quietly and stretched.

“Miss Ashcombe? I apologize but I must check on the mornin’ plans. I’ll be on deck a short while. I’ll lock th’ door so as ye won’t be disturbed. I hope not ta wake ye upon my return.”

He waited a moment and heard her respond with a very quiet ‘Thank you Captain’, and he headed to the door, gently making his way out. Pulling the key from a pocket he secured the door and walked forward along the deck at a slow pace. Dorian walked along the guns, polished so nicely that they shone even in the darkness. He rounded the bow, greeting some of the crew still there and paced down the other side. At one point he stopped and looked at one of the guns, imagining how it would look in the following days. He broke from his imaginings and continued aft to the Holy Ground and nodded to Mister Tucker.

“Looks ta be a quiet evenin’… followed by a busy morn. I’m off ta bed now, see you a bit later.”

“Aye Cap’n, have no worries while ye sleep. All’s well an’ th’ coffee’s much better now that… well… now that we got Charlie an’ Tjaak in the galley.”

Captain Lasseter stifled a laugh and shook his head at the Bo’sun, and bid him a final goodnight. Arriving at the door to the Ward Room, he again fished out the key and did his best to unlock it quietly. He lifted up on the door as he opened it and it did not squeak this time. He entered and did the same to close the door, setting the latch carefully. The Candle was out on the other side of the canvas and he smiled. He quietly walked to the chair farthest from the cot and sat, pulled off his shoes, garters and stockings. These he lay on top of his sea chest. Standing he took off his coat and padded over to place it on a hook. Padding over, he unstowed his hammock and set it to rights, he retrieved his pistol from the table and carefully settled into the canvas. Fixing the small pillow just right he breathed out a long sigh and closed his eyes.