The Watch Dog

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"What 'animal'?"

Others might ask, but would hide the intrusive nature of the question behind pleasantries and feigned concern. Durand, on the other hand, cut to the heart with sharp precision. That he asked at all was shocking, to say the least. She was glad for the large bite she had just taken of the last of the pears Mr. Gage had doled out to her, and she took her time chewing to disguise her shock that he should ask at all.

What does one say in response to such a question? She appreciated his forthrightness but had no practice in how to answer. Could she even respond without choking on her words, as if it were an unripe chunk of fruit?

Say his name? Shrug it off? Attempt to make light of it? Tell a riveting tall tale of heroics and prowess?

Finally, knowing she could stall no longer without appearing timid or rude—of which she was neither—she met his forthright question with a leveled gaze. "It does not matter who, which animal it was. It could have been anyone and no one. He thought I was nothing but a small thing for sport, but in reality, he was the one that is insignificant."

The words startled her as she said them, as it was not a thought or feeling she had been aware of. But as she looked around at where she sat, sheltered and guarded and nursed in no less auspicious a space than the Captain's quarters, while Saltash was under guard in the cable tier, with a growing list of people thinking of a dozen creative ways to do him harm.

Strange, that the act of a man who thought she was worthless somehow was showing her that she had some value after all.

 

[William Brand]

Durand let her finish, glanced once at Ajayi, who was watching them both, and plucked up a solitary potato while invoking a solitary reply.  

"Amen."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

That Durand, not a stranger but certainly not someone reliant upon or well-acquainted with her, should so agree further convinced her of the factual nature of her statement, even if she did not yet feel it in her bones. Still, his simple statement gave her some modicum of comfort in a moment where comfort seemed foreign. All she could do was dip her head slightly, a subtle nod of thanks.

Pulling the ill-fitted garment of that comfort around her, she downed the rest of the coffee that had been poured upon breakfast's arrival and set about her work again—the true comfort.

She cleared her own plate and fork to a small side table where an empty tray waited. She cleaned the space she had sat in of any crumbs and then returned to the still half-full tray that had been delivered. After offering to serve the Frenchman and Ajay additional victuals or a warm drink, she set about building a plate for the Captain, whose return should be soon enough if she knew anything about his typical paths through the ship and his tasks.

"And you, Monsieur? How came you to be aboard the Patricia? Ill-fate, accident, cruelty... or defiance?"

She knew defiance well enough to see the earmarks of it about him.

 

[William Brand]

"Providence".   He said without hesitation, adding, "From...du français".

He held out an empty cup, accepting warm drink with a nod.  He held the cup in both hands a moment, enjoying the heat for heat's sake.  Then he brought it up to drink, but paused, with the barest hint of a smile.

"And foolishness."  He added, sipping once, then affecting a pantomime of his native tongue.  "From thee Een-GLAYSSSH."  He chuckled then, in spite of himself.  It was deep sound from deep places and gone as quickly as it sounded.  

Somewhere forward something crashed upon the weather decks, but the cheer that followed spoke of accomplishment, not accident.

 

[William Brand]

First Bell of the Forenoon Watch

"There can be only one outcome." Jim said, his tone a calm surface over depths.

The Captain and Ship's Master had stood apart from everyone a long while.  No one had thought to approach them, because there was a grave and solemn way they conversed.  Once, Andrew Light had approached on some errand, but seeing something in their eyes he'd dismissed himself with a parting, "It'll keep."

William watched Jim's face for something, anything to help him to a course.  He didn't want to be what he had been the last time such things had happened.  His own temper was getting him into waters he couldn't navigate clear of, and he needed some tempering before Trinidad, but what he saw in Jim was what he expected any mirror might show him. 

Saltash was a rat in need of drowning.

. . .

The rest of the crew was employed in so much of mending and hammering and sewing, that few if any of them had the time to discuss why Saltash was forward under guard.  Of course they all knew he was there.  The 'Dog was a country only 25 meters, stem to stern.  The news had passed with the clumsy change in watches.  Any sailor that didn't know of such business was too addled to put to sea.  The news was passed along with the condition of every other thing aboard ship.  No unnecessary explanations.  Some gossip had gone about with the news, but it held too much seawater to be drink.  So many had been wounded and lost, that any summation about what he' done could be summed up later, and like the work to be done, summed up quickly. 

Saltash was in chains in the cable tier.  Brand had sent him there.  The rest was...well...immaterial in the face of widespread work to be done.
 

 

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

XII - That whoever shall be found seducing any boy or woman not of the said Company aboard ship, and carry he or she disguised aboard ship; or shall anyone at any time meet with a prudent Woman, that man that offers to meddle with her without her Consent, shall suffer what Punishment the Captain of that Ship or the Majority of the Company of said Ship shall think fit.

While she had heard Durand’s comments about French providence and English foolishness—she had even mustered up a witty rejoinder—she could not have repeated any part of the conversation once the echoes of the words faded into the air.

The words of Article Eleven were the only ones that remained with her.

She had only ever read the full Articles once, what felt like years ago, when she first signed them, with only occasional glimpses when they were brought out for the benefit of new crew members. Still, the written word had a way of etching itself into her memory—a surprising gift, considering her start in life, where most in her position were left illiterate.

With each passing minute, as they sailed closer to the moment Saltash would have to answer for his actions, Tudor found herself caught between the clarity and ambiguity of the article in question. It left her knowing precisely what would happen yet simultaneously knowing nothing. His punishment was inevitable, but when it would come, and what its result would be, remained an open question.

She could barely begin to fathom what punishment the crew—or, more importantly, the Captain—might deem fit for him. The fact that she even considered it, that she understood the weight of the moment, was enough to give her pause. In no other part of her life had anyone thought to punish a man who acted as Saltash had. His behavior would have been written off as an unfortunate but expected hazard of her trade, brushed aside as the natural result of being a woman in a man’s world. Worse, it would have been cast as her own failing—a weakness to protect herself from him.

But now, not only would he have to answer, it was likely he would pay for it with his life. The thought shocked her—and disturbed her on a deep, instinctual level.

Tudor was no stranger to death. From the moment she first drew breath, it seemed as though she had been a harbinger of it. She had killed for money, for survival, even for vengeance. But never for her own.

She was grateful that the decision of what to do with Saltash would not rest with her, at least not on her own behalf.

For young Dash, however, she would gladly lead a party of the crew in deciding the man’s fate. It weighed on her that she was not the only one injured by that animal the previous day, nor was it only one article he had violated.

VII. Any of the crew that shall be found Guilty of striking one another on board or shall be found Guilty of taking up any unlawful Weapon on Board the Privateers, or any Prize, by us taken, so as to strike or abuse on Another, in any regard, shall suffer what Punishment the Captain of the Ship or Majority of the Company of said ship shall think fit. Any quarrel that shall not be resolved between parties aboard, shall be ended ashore at sword and pistol by direction of the Quartermaster of the Whole company.

Oh, how she longed to take up sword and pistol on Dash’s behalf, as he had taken up arms on hers...

For now, however, this—along with her growing list of desired actions, from checking on her young hero to simply clearing the dishes from the ward room—would have to wait for the Captain's return from the deck.