The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

William was down the gang plank and part way into the crowd as Alder uncovered the figurehead. His vantage point was not perfect, but even in profile the work was fine and he said the word aloud, as if speaking it was required to make the point.

"Pardon...Monsieur?" said a man near him and William waved him on.

Turcotte loomed ahead and William set his jaw and his patience.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Preston gave Dorian a genuine smile and was about to say something when Captain Brand excused himself, heading towards a group of French soldiers. Dorian slowly brought the gifted sword to his side, point up and resting on his shoulder. Both men watched William approach the soldiers. Dorian recognized Lieutenant Turcotte and was about to make a comment when Mister Wenge had said ‘Sir?’, finally responding to being given the lead in the unveiling. Dorian addressed him and put whatever William was attending to aside for the moment. As the Carpenter unveiled the figurehead and all who would sail upon the Lucy, and all those who would see her as she sailed took in the fine lady. Captain Lasseter waited a moment before speaking, letting all those present take her in. Finally he broke the silence.

“No finer lass has graced th’ bow of a ship that I’ve been on. Nor any I have seen in my days at sea. I would wish to take time and drink a toast to th’ fine Lass, however we are soon to depart. So, once she’s sailin’ proudly, we’ll ‘ave that toast… Come lads! Time ta throw off th’ bonds o’ terra firma an’ give o’er ta the seas spirits! Back aboard an’ ready th’ lady!”

A hearty ‘Aye!’ rose from many a throat and there was a mass of men waiting their turn to get back aboard the Cutter. Soon the mooring lines would be thrown off and the ship would cut through the water, sails taut in the wind.

[Red Cat Jenny]

At the sound of the Ward Room door closing Miss Ashcombe had stepped from her area of privacy. She surpressed a yawn as she drew her parcel from the stern bench. Jenny was tired and her back ached badly. In truth she'd been awake for several hours. Unfamiliar sounds and a chill that crept over her during the night had conspired to taunt her with only brief periods of sleep. She withdrew from the parcel a bundle of linen. Her only clean petticoat. Wrestling further to untangle stays from the skirt, a heavy object flew from the bag and landed on the planks with a ringing thud. Panicked she scrabbled for the dirk and it's small scabbard. Her eyes raced to the door. Jenny quickly re-wrapped the small dagger and tucked it deep in the sack, but not so near the bottom that it might accidentally poke through.

She paused a moment stilling her nerves and considered her situation. Shaking her head she sighed "T'is no use to wear these now, I may be known too easily" she replaced the items and instead settled on the cot removing a comb and working through two days of unkempt hair. Jenny stood brushing what she might from the slops and felt as rumpled as the fabric she fussed with. She looked about the room and finding pitcher and basin, used it to freshen her face and hands as best as she could manage. She did not dare use the cloth there, instead settling for a piece of muslin from within her things.

The face in the small glass bore no more signs of the bruise, at least in the poor morning light. She rearranged her hair as neatly as was possible and placed the hat again. Silently thanking Miss McDonough for the loan of it. Miss Ashcombe stared back at her countenance in the small mirror. Such unfamiliar surroundings... she had almost no knowledge of protocol and wondered how close it may be to the conduct and formalities one had on an estate such as Isle De Generosite.

Jenny fixed a pleasant look upon her face and tried to clear her mind of too much before she was certain of her fate. After all they were still ashore and she still vulnerable. Her stomach growled and she turned to find the galley and Mister Marsh. Hot coffee and food of whatever sort one ate in the early morning hours on a ship would prove a distraction however brief, from such thoughts. Shouts from the wharf side hastened her step towards the galley.

[Alder]

Alder was much relieved by the response and honored by the Captain’s praise. He was likewise assured by the approving nods of his crewmates without whom he would not be enjoying this glory.

The brightness of this mornings sun shone upon the figurehead. A beaming ray bounced off the goldleaf star in her outstretched hand and reflected onto Alder’s squinting gaze. Straining for sight between the slits of his eyes, the craftsman beheld an unsettling specter from his past.

“Aurora” he uttered in a melancholy whisper, having little regard for who might have overheard.

Was it his angle of view or his lack of rest that had transformed her image so? Alder pondered as he made himself ready and supported the crew of the Lucy for her maiden voyage.

With renewed resolve, the carpenter anticipated the escape this newest journey may offer.

[Silkie McDonough]

The lady was beautiful. Her hair of auburn, her mantle of blue the gold leaf that glinted in the pale morning light. He saw her for what she was, the striking vision of a woman otherwise known as the devil herself, she would surely give them all hell if crossed. Ben chuckled to himself; a smile crossed his face, although those who saw it would likely take it for a smirk. She was indeed a vision of every one of the fairer sex that ever broke his heart, helped him spend a weeks wages in one night, shunned him because of his imperfections, or made him grin from ear to ear while questioning his moral standards. A cheer went up after Captain Lasseter announced the ships imminent departure. Looking again on the figurehead, thinking on the fairer sex …he shook his head from side to side, no matter, once he had coin in his pocket again the ladies would find him comely enough. A guffaw escaped his lips as he trotted up the gangway to the Lucy.

[Silkie McDonough]

Once McDonough and O'Flaherty had finished their meal they had lingered in the common room at Le Chateau Anse. Murin had hoped that Mister Wenge would find his way to the inn but as the hour drew later she knew that his work kept him. She had hoped that leaving her book in his possession would have given him reason to visit but he was immersed in his work and would not be thwarted. She knew the type of man and admired him for it, Murin sighed; she longed to see the form he had crafted for the figure head.

The evening’s conversation with Moira had been rather light. They discussed the Watch Dog, the Lucy and how Murin had come to be a member of the crew. Moira would speak of Martinique and the shops, her inhabitants who had the best breads and cakes but was closed lip about her and how she came to be here. Once again the door had opened to a new patron and Murin, out of habit rather than any expectation that Alder might actually join her last evening, glanced up to see that an unwelcome but familiar honey haired man had enrtered …Monsieur Taggart. “Moira, t’bed wid’us.” Abruptly, she stood and turned not caring if the girl followed as she exited the room.

“Was Taggart.” Moira stated flatly. It was not a question. Murin, for the first time that evening, was closed lip in her hasty departure. Moira spoke again at the top of the stairs. “I know wot he is capable of.” Murin had stopped in her tracks at that and spun to face the girl, “Wot?” she exclaimed. Moira said nothing more. Murin contemplated what she had heard in the lass’ voice. Had it reflected what she knew of him from reputation or from experience? The two stood in the hallway for a long moment their eyes locked. Murin trying to read what she saw there and Moira determined that nothing be learned.

Sleep came easily and both were awake at dawn, dressed for the ship and out of the inn by sunrise. The morning was focused on business. Much of yesterday had been spent scouring the town for enough tanned cow hide to make the Marines uniforms. Belts and baldrics, and smaller items were easily made with what is available but the coats …not even if made without sleeves, would have to wait for another port. Moira assured Murin once again that they had been to every tanner and leather worker in the city. Miss McDonough resigned herself to the fact that she would have to inform Mister Pew of the situation, if it was he that she should now report to, perhaps it was Billy Flint or …who was the other? So many changes had happened in the ranks since they arrived that she was at a loss. Would the new Master at arms make drastic changes to the uniforms planed by Mister Pew and herself?

Before leaving the inn Miss McDonough, for the first time she could remember, gave a lad with a small cart whom came recommended by Monsieur Ferland, coin to follow her and Miss O'Flaherty through the city to the wharf with the bundles they had gathered yesterday. Together the three headed to the sea. As they traveled they were joined by fellow crew members. “The Lucy is t’sail this morning?” Murin quickened her pace. The lad with the cart struggled to keep up even with Moira’s help their progress seemed slow. Murin had to speak with Mister Pew, she had a gift for Jenny, and Alders creation must be adorning the bow of the ship! Grabbing a bundle from the cart she gave charge of the goods to Moira took off at a trot and was soon out of sight of her companions. Moira had proven trustworthy since signing on, besides, if the lass wanted to make away with the goods she would first have to convince the lad to stray. Murin doubted that the lad would risk betraying the owner and innkeeper of Le Chateau Anse so easily. Additionally, the Lucy was sailing, not the Dog. Murin knew that O'Flaherty wouldn’t get far with “Dog’s” hounding her”

[Black Syren]

The sun moved steadily above and the manual labor had her shirt clinging to her and she paused to rub her back and peel the damp shirt from her skin allowing room for a slight cooling breeze. Her hands were rubbed raw from the coarse ropes she had handled along with the others and though they burned she did not complain. Work was difficult at times, boring at others and in the end it was gratifying.

She was her own person, she made her own coin, saw things she doubted she would ever have seen otherwise, and had a large and talented family. Grateful to have even been given the chance at such a life she tried to work hard and keep her spirits high. Though she had kept to herself for most of the voyages she had loosened up around Alan and Ciaran was a wonderful friend and often they sat together and spoke of things seen or done, things they wished to do.

The winds cavorted playfully rifling the reefed canvas, making it snap, the ship creaking as it rocked to and fro sounding more a heartbeat with every creak. Argus bumped her legs pulling her from her thoughts and she glanced down at him with a smile. Already was he filling out and getting stocky, he sat at her foot and whined and dropped his leather toy and she shook her head and bent back to her task.

Nearby a pod of dolphins surfaced and played about the smaller boots still bringing cargo to be loaded. With a sigh she reached for yet another line and listened with half an ear to those about her.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - At Martinique

William met Turcotte amidst a churning mix of dock laborers, sailors, townspeople and children which crowded the many streets which emptied into the docks. Turcotte wore his usual expression, a genuine air of place which the lieutenant believed in so perfectly, no amount of self or public examination would ever undo it. Turcotte was a man of self proclaimed position and every time William saw him he wanted to hit him in the teeth.

Instead, William exchanged pleasantries.

"Capitaine Brand. Monsieur Évariste de Conflans." Turcotte said with a wolfish smile.

William looked the frightened man up and down. He was not a remarkable looking man, though unique enough to be recognized in a throng. He was well dressed, if not overly fashionable. He was thin, gaunt really. He was also pale for a man of the tropics and possessed of a very thin, almost razor-like nose. His eyes were dark as was his hair. His hands and fingers were long and tremulous. William noted how he clutched his hat in them, wringing the brim as he stood on the cobbles.

"This is the man who brought the carriage to Fort Royal Prison?"

"Oui."

"Have you questioned him, Lieutenant?"

"Enough to know that it was he who bore Captaine den Oven...and one Henri Fourquaut, to safety."

"As a conspirator or a coachman?"

Turcotte turned to the reedy man. "That remains to be seen."

William did not like the heavy-handed tone in Turcotte's voice, nor did he find it necessary. The coachman did not wear a heavy look of guilt, neither did he look entirely blameless. He stood nervous amidst the detachment of marines with an air of guilt, but not blame. William guessed that Monsieur de Conflans had, in a moment of temporary opportunity and greed, accepted a bribe or some added wage beyond his usual fee. It was the story of 'the moment'. Many an honest man had set his propriety aside in the face of a round, bright coin, and as Monsieur de Conflans was indeed a coachman, it was not outside his purview to receive tips. William surmised all of this aloud though it was apparent that the man understood none of what William said.

"Lieutenant, please ask him where he last saw den Oven and Henri Fourquaut together."

Turcotte asked and a marine cuffed the man in the back of the head to hurry his answer. The man was quick to explain that the coach ride had been a short one. No more than a mile at best, and then through streets sparsely populated. He had left the two men in the street between a stable and a bakery. He was in the midst of describing both places by name and rote description when Captain Lasseter arrived at William's elbow.

"Wot news, Cap'n?"

"Much."

Eight Bells of the Morning Watch

Forenoon Watch Begins

[Dorian Lasseter]

While the crew readied the Lucy, Dorian stepped ashore to see what transpired between William and lieutenant Turcotte. He sauntered up and asked what news William might have, to which he was filled in by the Captain. Dorian readjusted his grip on his bright, shiny new sword, causing many of the soldiers and the man in question to eye it. Dorian saw this effect and in a swift movement brought the tip up and gestured to Monsieur de Conflans.

“So… this man’s th’ last to ‘ave seen den Oven an’ his accomplice… deliverin’ them where exactly?”

He waggled the tip as he spoke and was amused as so many pairs of eyes followed its every movement.

[William Brand]

Agust 4, 1704 - At the docks

Again, Monsieur de Conflans was made to explain the exact location where he had left the two men. He was also made to describe something of their appearance. His description of den Oven mirrored William and Dorian's knowledge of the former Captain and they were not surprised to hear that Henri Fourquaut was a "dark, older man", for Monsieur Dufour had used these very words to explain the man he had taken for Scymmelpenninck.

"How knew you that his name was Henri Fourquaut...?" William asked, puzzled that the man should reveal himself to the coachman.

Turcotte smiled, and it was the wolfish grin again. "Charron."

The sergeant stepped forward and tapped his upper lip. "This dark man has a scar in ze shape of a question mark." This was not an answer entirely, so William and Dorian waited for the rest. "There iz a man of ze fort. Henri Fourquaut. He iz français-hollandais and he iz...missing."

"A french-dutch soldier." William repeated aloud, nodding. His estimation of Dufour was diminished yet again, but Fourquaut's role as a Dutch pretender was at least explained in part, though Scymmelpenninck's role in the event was not. "How is it that Fourquaut knew to use the name of my man?"

Again the coachman was questioned and again they learned nothing of the missing men. Monsieur de Conflans had never witnessed an interchange between Henri Fourquaut and any men but den Oven and Dufour. Once free from the prison, neither man had spoken to anyone during the coach ride and the coachman had witnessed no reunion on the street where he had left the two men. After this, nothing more could be learned and the coachman was taken away to await the outcome of the whole business, for Turcotte would let no man involved be free until he was satisfied on all points. He dispatched two riders in haste to see what might be learned at the bakery or stables and the two Captains were made to wait once more.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The two Captains were made to wait yet again. Dorian took on an aire of slight boredom and turned to admiring the sword in his hand. He kept aware of his surroundings, yet looked over the intricacies of the weapon. Standing just away from Turcotte and his company, Dorian mumbled under his breath.

“I hate waiting… Time’s waistin’ an’ th’ Lucy’s ready ta sail, save fer th’ return o’ th’ Marines an’ wayward crew.”

He lowered the sword but still waggled it some, the grip feeling very good in his hand. Will stood and remained the figure of patience on the outside. However, Dorian noted the set of his jaw and occasional roll of his eyes that said his patience too was growing thin.

[William Brand]

They waited only a few minutes, though it seemed longer. William would have waited more, but with two ships at his command he could afford to preempt understanding with a tactical effort. He looks up the long roads leading away from the docks one last time in hope of seeing Durand or his expeditionary men, but one or all might be hours off yet, so he turned to Dorian.

"The Watch Dog will remain here until I have some news from the riders and the return of all hands of the Whole Company. We increase our chances of catching den Oven with you at St. Pierre, so I cannot keep you here. Take the Lucy and go forth to that port and I will, as soon as I am able, bring the 'Dog there."

[Dorian Lasseter]

“Aye Cap’n… I’ll be away soon as I can. See you in Saint Pierre… today I would hope…”

With nods exchanged, Dorian scanned the crowd and turned away, heading back aboard the Lucy.

Aboard the Lucy

Men hauled and coiled lines, took gaskets off the sails and readied all that could be to go to sea. Dorian paced the deck, occasionally giving an order how he wanted something done. He kept looking to shore, waiting for Mister Flint and his marines to come back with those of Lucy’s sailors who were ashore on leave. He would not, could not leave without the marines. All preparations were made and all those aboard waited for the order to throw off the mooring lines and shove off the wharf. Dorian looked up at the pennant and watched it lazily float in the breeze.

“Ready th’ sweeps…”

His order was repeated by the Master and the Bo’sun. The sweeps were unstowed and made ready near the ports. Still the order to shove off was not given. Again the Captain looked to shore, first to the group of soldiers with Captain Brand, then his eyes caught site of men hustling along. He smiled, for there were his marines with a group of the Starboard Watch in tow. The men clamored aboard, quickly stowed belongings and joined their fellow sailors on deck. Some were visibly drunk. The marines took position on deck and Mister Flint reported that all his marines were accounted for. Dorian consulted his officers and found some men were not accounted for, as expected given the haste. They would be well aboard the Watch Dog for a short time.

First Bell of the Forenoon Watch

[Bloody Bill Flint]

When their gear had been stowed, Flint approached his captain.

"Sar, forgive me if it's above my place but suppose'n I might impose upon ye to learn where we're headed in such a tear, and to what purpose?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

"Aye Mister Flint… mayhaps wi’ all the happenings you hadn’t heard. We’re off ta St. Pierre up th’ coast, mayhaps we’ll catch wind o’ den Oven, or th’ missing crew of th’ Watch Dog. I’ll need you and th’ marines ready incase we do find trouble. "

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill was struck completely dumbfounded by the captain's response and it showed in his features.

"The marines'll be ready to be sure Sar, if we find Den Oven are there any particulars on what condition he should be in when we return him to the ship?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian raised an eyebrow at Mister Flint. A smile crept onto one corner of his mouth.

“Ah, I expect we’ll want him mostly undamaged, he and his accomplice if possible. We’ll deliver them back to the prison I would hope. Much ta do Mister Flint… much ta do…”

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Flint knuckled his forelock

"Aye Sar, as whole as possible" he said with a slightly shark-like smile.

Flint turned and whistled. Nathaniel Brocke was at his side in an instant. Bill liked Brocke and was thinking of asking Captain Lasseter to name him Sergeant at Arms.

"We're bound for St. Pierre to find Den Oven and the The Dog's missing lads. Have the men ready their arms. They're to take a double measure of powder and shot. I not sure what we'll find when get there, but I want everyone ready to march as soon as we make landfall."

"And wot of Den Oven if'n we's te find 'im" replied Brocke

Bill smiled at his choice of confidant, Brocke was truly a man after his own heart.

"Cap'n wants him breathing, but I doubt there'll be too much hell te pay if'n he's a little scuffed upon return." Bill said with a wink

Brocke smiled, knuckled his brow, and hurried off to do the Master-at-Arms' bidding.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - On the Watch Dog

Nathan Bly remained as he had been for many days, moody and not in want of comforting or companionship. In the short time since arriving at Martinique he had seen Murin's affection fall to another and Bill Flint elevated above him on another ship and several prisoners placed in high position on the 'Dog. He would not allow himself to include his great fortune in being alive, healthy, and for the present, well paid in his equations about his own life. He was young enough to decide when and where he would remember how well off he was in a world where so many went to bed hungry. After all, it was his prerogative to be young and moody.

Owen Monahan found Nathan glaring at the Lucy and smacked the back of his head just hard enough that Nathan almost dropped the cask he bore up the gangway. "A penny for your thoughts."

Nathan shot him a look and Richard Tollervy snorted hard enough that he choked a little. "Mind yourself, Owen." was all that Nathan could come back with.

"And if I don't...mind myself?" Owen asked as he looked about with a smile and a raised brow, feeling better for having taken the piss out of a young whelp. Not that his like or dislike of Nathan had an bearing. It was just Owen's way. He fished into his pocket and brought out three pence. "Three thoughts then...if you can spare 'em."

Nathan bore a hole in him with his mood.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Deck of the Lucy

Miss Ashcombe had rounded the corner of the galley past several crewmen and came immediately upon Mr. Marsh. He stopped abruptly giving her little more than a glance, grunted and turned stowing two heavy pots in the cabinet below. She stared for a moment, her consternation obvious. The fire was all but a small flame and embers and the lone dented coffee kettle decorated its grate. Mr. Marsh laughed "Are ye certain th Goode Cap'n hired ye gerl?" She stared blankly afraid to answer. He took pity over aggravation, partly because he had work to complete and hoped to be free for a moment once they pushed off. "Were about to sail Miss, can't be cookin when they push the ol gerl off" As he spoke Marsh poured coffee into a clay mug and handed it to her." There'll be much ta do once were in port again Miss..t'will be a long day" Miss Ashcombe thanked the cook and walked back towards the quarterdeck stepping clear of crew readying for sail.

Jenny watched the Captain standing with Mr. Pew and some other men. She jumped as the sweeps clattered into place." Mind yer step lass" A voice came from behind. It was English in accent and she turned to see a plain looking man with dark sideburns. He pointed out the pool of water behind her where a mate had just spilled one of the ship's buckets. He introduced himself as Coxswain, after briefly questioning her presence, admonished the lad and was off to other tasks. Several other crew passed her by in their excitement. Some nodding others just a passing look of curiosity. Engrossed in the goings on Miss Ashcombe was quite content to take in all that was happening from her vantage point near the Quarterdeck stairway.

[Pew]

August 4, 1704 - At the docks

Dawn had broken some hours before.

Eric and those men from the Watch Dog with whom he'd been with tore into town on horseback. Unaware that the Watch Dog as well as the Lucy were still at rest, he sped with all the might the steed could muster. Robert and Jean both kept up, winding their way among a dense human throng of fruit sellers, fishmongers and the occasional whore.

When Eric rounded the last corner, he was nearly run through by a pair of men riding at his pace, yet in the opposite direction. Terse words drowned out by the gallop of hooves disappeared into heavy air.

The sergeant-at-arms had slowed when he saw Captain Brand and a few marines waiting for something. Himself and his party were all that he could think of whom were stalling the maneuvers of two ships and countless sailors. "Damn." was all that he could spit.

"Captain," Eric called. William Brand turned to see his men dismounting. "Sorry sah, I..err we..." Captain Brand put his hand up and told the men to catch their breath. Eric put his hands on his knees and gathered himself. A few minutes passed. Eric explained the evening at the Mansion. He went into great detail about his investigation and questioning of one of the field laborers. Eric recounted the story told to him by Denis Desmarais. The three men from the Watch Dog followed the trail Denis showed them at daybreak, clear down to the water. They found barely anything but the charred remains of a woolen cloak, burned driftwood, and numerous hoof prints. "We did find this Cap'n." Eric reached into his satchel and removed a long marlinspike with a "W" burned into the wooden handle.

"A 'W' Cap'n?" Robert quizzed.

Captain Brand took it gently from Eric's open palm. He eyed it carefully and turned it.

"Or an 'M'", William replied as he rubbed his thumb over the carving.

[William Brand]

William went with Eric, Robert and Jean and delivered this news to Captain Lasseter who was in the last act of preparing the Lucy for departure. William had Eric repeat his narrative and findings to Dorian. William also called several men from the Watch Dog and Lucy who had know Klaas Scymmelpenninck , but not one of them could be certain if the marlinspike had belonged to the man. Some of the Maastricht men were also still ashore on leave, so a full accounting could not be made as to the origin of the small article.

"We might ask the Maastricht men at the prison." Turcotte offered.

William did not like the idea of going there, hoping never to see the place again. "No. The 'M' could stand for Martinique or it might be a 'W' for the 'Dog." He passed it back forth from one hand to another. "We will wait for the rest of the watches."

"Sah...?" Eric began.

"Yes, Mister Franklin?"

"Is there no word of Ajayi?"

"Not yet, Mister Franklin...and Pascal and Manus are not yet returned and some of the Larboard and Starboard Watches are still ashore."

"Aye, Sah."

William looked the man up and down with an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Mister Franklin. Mister Thatcher. Your efforts are appreciated. Please report to the 'Dog and see your marines prepared for service ashore at St. Pierre. I will send Monsieur Doublet ahead with the Lucy, that he might show the marines of the cutter that discovered place."

"Aye, Sah." Eric turned and went with Robert and the other Watch Dog men back to the frigate, while Jean remained aboard the Lucy. Pew sent him aft to refresh his powder and see himself to the galley after the long ride. A silence followed. William passed the marlinspike to Dorian.

"M for murder." he mused aloud.

"W for Where the Hell are they?" Preston added.

"Gentlemen, let us be about it." William said suddenly. He shook Dorian's hand and also Preston's. "I shall see you all again by day's end."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

After finishing with the captain, and being off duty, Tudor had gone ashore. Knowing that the intentions were to not be in port much longer there were a few more tasks she had to see to before being at sea again.

As she hurried through the streets, she let her thoughts linger on some of her past conversations Captain Brand - particularly the meeting where he suggested that she learn the skills of the Coxswain and be numbered among the Marines. It gave her much to think about. While over the past months there were times she felt the need to find a diffrent title aboard, she was glad that the Captain wanted her to remain Steward. But likewise, she was glad for the opportunity to learn more and perhaps prove to be of more use in the future, and being part of the marines seemed as natural as breathing to her. Contentment filled her.

Ducking into a narrow allyway not far from the pier, she quickly found the small tavern she had visited on one of her earlier trips ashore. Not many from the crew patronized this particular inn, not many even knew of it. Striding up to bar keep, she put all thought from her mind but the business at hand. "I am waiting for a message from Port-au-Prince, bearing the name Smith. It should have arrived by the hand of man from a merchant ship named The Virtue."

The man smiled at her, a knowing smile. "Merchant ship, indeed." He turned and opened a large wooden box behind the bar and retrieved a thick letter, sealed in blue wax the impression of a flourished crest impressed in it.

Taking it from the man with one hand she laid down a generous tip for him with the other. "For your troubles and your discretion." She said, with a smile and a nod of her head.

Breaking the seal she looked over the myriad of documents enclosed. The first sheet of parchment on the stack enclosed, she smiled to see a short note in an uneven, scrawled hand. Last time I play yur message boy. Yurs, Dan. He still couldn't spell for the world, she thought to herself, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Shuffling the papers she started to skim through the diffent writings. Pleased with what she found she folded them back up and put them in her pouch for closer review later. As it was, she did not wish to be away from the ship for long. Turning on her heels she retraced her steps, back to the Dog.

[Pew]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Lucy

The group of men parted ways and each wished the other well.

Dorian Lasseter walked the deck of the ship one last time while she continued to be lashed to the wharf. He would take a solid step with his sword, an unpretentious swagger, an unceremonious boast, yet a direct show of authority to all those who could see. Still firm in his grasp, the weapon left a slight gouge in the deck with each step he would take.

Captain Lasseter looked aft and saw Nigel and Logan were at the tiller. Lucky Tuck had his men in the rigging ready to unfurl the sails.

He saw Preston at the larboard rail. A nod and a smile met him there. "A fine day f'r a sail Captain Lasseter," he called out.

Dorian looked to the sky. "Yes 'tis Mister Whitingford. A fine day indeed."

Captain Lasseter looked about once again and ordered "Prepare t' cast off!!"

A hearty cheer arose from the crew of the Lucy as she was released from her terra firma bounds.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The men had released the mooring lines and were quickly coiling them out of the way as others slid the sweeps into place, and yet others dropped canvas. The breeze was not nearly enough to maneuver with, the sails filled lazily. Orders were given and the sweeps were bent to their task. Soon the Lucy was being propelled well enough by the sweeps, Mister Tucker calling out the timing.

“Pull! Annnnd, Pull! Aaaaannnd, Pull!”

Captain Lasseter had made his way to the quarterdeck and gave Mister Brisbane direction, taking heed of the calls from the lookout as well to insure safe passage out of the bay.

The deck was a scene of activity, men pulling the sweeps, others tending rigging trying to get the sails to gather the wind so the crew might have a break from the heavy work. As the ship got further out and more into the open sea, the breeze freshened and canvas snapped and held taut. A cheer went up when the order to ‘Rack the Sweeps’ was passed from the Quarterdeck. During this time Mister Whitingford had gone around with a small ledger and counted heads. He spoke to some of the men while doing so, making sure he counted the right men. Returning to the break of the deck he looked up at Dorian who focused his gaze on the Master a moment, gave the order to remain on course until well away from land before changing course to North West. He turned back to Preston.

“Wot news Mister Whitingford?”

“Aye, Cap’n seems we got th’ count o’ six men left b’hind, n’ are as follows; Coipman, Black, Howard, Aretinson, Millet, n’ Leigh…”

Dorian looked slightly annoyed, but the shrugged it off, knowing that it was bound to happen. He only hoped that none of them actually jumped ship.

“Very Well… they’ll just hafta take temporary berths on the Watch Dog til we rejoin with ‘er.”

“Aye Sah.”