The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - At the docks

William watched the Lucy row gracefully away from his vantage point on the docks. She was delightful to watch, beautiful in shape and movement, and he was proud in the knowledge that she had joined the Whole Company. On some levels he was more deviously delighted, for he knew that anyone watching the bay that morning knew that the Lucy, Star of the Morning, was one of his ships sailed masterfully under the direction of Captain Lasseter.

William smiled to think of the title Commodore, though he had not assumed it. Dorian had suggested it in jest after the taking of the Maastricht and Heron, but William was content to remain Captain of the Watch Dog and the Whole Company, for the position of Commodore placed him outside the scope of his own perspective.

"Un beau bateau, Capitaine." Turcotte said, his expression placid. It was the first openly pleasant thing William could ever remember him saying. Still, William couldn't get past enough of his dislike for the Lieutenant to make conversation, but he did manage a nod.

"Aye."

Tudor arrived at his elbow about this time and he was glad of her company. She too watched the Lucy on the light breeze and light of the bay. She carried with her some parcels and ever looked the part of the adventurous traveler. He smiled to think of her boarding the Maastricht and striking the colors there and she caught him shaking his head.

"What ever are you thinking, Captain."

"It's nothing, Miss Smith." he said, and waved it off with a gesture. Then he though of another pressing matter and turned business at once. "Miss Smith, see your things aboard ship and fetch me coin, pistols and my cane if you please. Then join me here for an errand in town."

"Aye, aye, Sah."

Three bells of the Forenoon Watch

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Nodding at the Captains bidding, she quickly made her way on board. She took a moment to secure the few purchases she had made on her way back to the ship, pausing for a moment to make sure that her letters were still folded and stored on her person, not willing to leave them anywhere. After doing so, she grabbed the items that the Captain needed and hurried back to where he was waiting.

[William Brand]

Turcotte was not pleased that William had chosen to leave on errands while awaiting the return of his men and William had not made the decision to irritate the lieutenant, but he still smiled a little as he went. The pressing business of securing a ship's surgeon could not wait, for even if the missing men were not found, he still meant to take the Watch Dog to Trinidad and he woould not go without the assurance of a surgeon to see to the sick and wounded.

He explained as much to Tudor, who noted that the Captain seemed bound to destination already decided upon. She thought that he might be bound for Miss O'Treasaigh's, but in this she was wrong, for he passed the street leading to her shop.

Instead, he made his way to the street beyond and they found themselves in front of a merchant's shop which sold some of the finer instruments of land and sea to be had on Martinique.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor raised a brow as she looked at the shop, content to observe rather then question the reason for their current location. She simply waited for him to lead the way into the shop. Curiosity filled her as to what importance this errand fullfilled in regards to his conversation about finding a surgeon, if any, so she followed eagerly as they entered, taking in the sights, smells and layout of the building.

[William Brand]

William was a long time in the shop, buying everything from bolts of fine linen to bottles of unusual spices. He purchased some unusual tools that looked to be for some medical purposes, and Tudor began to understand.

"Bandages and medicines, Sah?"

"Aye, Miss Smith." William returned, distracted by a delicate watch on display. He added it to the list of purchases. "And bribery."

In addition to the many medicinal viles, bottles, scales, spices, herbs, bandages, and instruements, he purchased some finer ladies goods, most of them frivilous.

"She is a simple woman, Captain." Tudor offered with a smile she couldn't hide.

"An Irish woman doctor living in Martinique is anything but simple, Miss Smith." He said seriously. Then William, who had known some several thousand days in the marketplaces of the East before he was seventeen, did something he had never done before. He purchased the goods at cost without haggling a single farthing.

Tudor was surprised to say the least, but said nothing of it, and out of the shop they went laden with parcels.

[Alder]

Aboard the Lucy

As they distanced themselves from the port, the weight of responsibility for the vessel pried Alder’s thoughts from pastime to the practicality of maintenance that was essential not only to the continued seaworthiness of the Lucy but also the very survival of those aboard. The carpenter had inventoried his expansive tool collection including those he had only recently acquired on his visits ashore. He had assessed their condition, oiled, sharpened, and tuned as needed in each moment he could steal away. Alder had hoarded much more than his hands alone could wield in anticipation as well as the humbling realization that he could not accomplish her care alone. The support of crew was critical. He thought about an apprentice to assist in their guidance, someone stout of heart that would manage duties of the reciprocal watch and seek him out presently should the need arise.

He rubbed his bristled chin with tar stained fingers and began to assess the crew. Captain Lasseter had been supportive in the request for assistance in his last endeavor with the figurehead, nay, he had been much more than that. The carpenter would need to consider well before he call to station the most valuable resources of his liege. Alder sought to mentor one who would follow his lead, not become an obsequious sycophant. One with loyalty; yes, but blind obedience could endanger both the master and his mate.

Many of the newest crewmembers were the result of the Captain’s personal selection. Perhaps when he was satisfied with caulking for the day he would seek out Captain Lasseter for advice.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - At Martnique

William made several inquiries before finding himself before the residence of chirurgien and anatomiste, Laurent Tramois. Tudor smiled and regarded William with her head cocked to one side. William answered only with a raised eyebrow as he knocked. Within moments an older man with a shock of bone white hair greeted them at the door. This proved to be Laurent Tramois himself.

"Bonjour, Monsieur. Mlle. Comment est-ce que je peux être utile ?" the doctor said, smiling.

"Pardon, Docteur Tramois. Parlez-vous anglais ?"

"But of course, Monsieur." Tramois said with wry regard.

"Excellent. Then this will go faster." William proceeded with introductions, and hastily. Laurent Tramois did not hide his surprise at hearing that Tudor was William's Steward. Tudor took this in stride, but William was impatient to finish his business, so he brushed aside the doctor's social consternation and pressed forward. He explained his reason for being there, which was this; he was there to secure some medical instruments not available aboard the Watch Dog or in town.

Again, Laurent Tramois was surprised and said as such, and again, William had no time to explain. Instead, he drew out some large, round coins and held them out. The doctor, being the man of business that he was, recognized William's haste and wealth and took him at once to the cabinets where he kept his instruments of healing. William was quick to pick out several tools of good craftsmanship, as well as a few he could not easily identify, which he chose solely because they had been used much. He reasoned that they were important by that use and chose them for no other reason. Some of these instruments would prove superfluous later, but William wanted to be certain to have too many rather than too few.

During William's presual Laurent Tramois chanced to ask him if his doctor was an Anatomiste, he being highly schooled himself and wont to remind everyone who met him.

"I do not know, Monsieur. I'm sure she will tell me if and when she joins my crew."

"She...?" Again Tramois did not hide his surprise and it was laced with a sort of aghast indignance.

"Miss O'Treasaigh has been of good service to my men already, having mended a captain and ship's master in my company." William said as he fished into the ship's purse to pay for the instruments.

As Tramois took the coin he felt chagrinned for having sent Maeve so much healthy business of late, for he had heard by rumor and inquiry of her services, and all because of his own laziness in the night. Still, William paid him handsomely for the extra instruments that he could and would replace in time.

Their business done they made as if to leave, but William spied several large tomes of medicine shelved nearby and with several added coins he purchased these as well, so by the time they left the home of Laurent Tramois, they bore enough to entice the most established doctor to sea. William was taking no chances and time was short.

Within moments they reached the home of Maeve O'Treasaigh and William knocked heavily upon the door.

Just before five bells of the Forenoon Watch

[Guest]

As they waited at the door to be recieved, Tudor thought over all the items they had arquired to use as bait. "Such bribery is usally reserved for rulers and men that know too much about past indescretions." She said with a small chuckle. She didn't know why she was to be in attendence for this offer of position, but if the captain wished her to be there, then that's where she would be.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's Home

"Quiet, you." William said in good humor, then added, "If she should say 'No.' than I may still retain those instruments necessary to secure another, and time is against us if we mean to sail before the end of the day." Tudor was still smiling, so William continued. "Besides, I may leave a tome or two against the debt of restoring Captain Lasseter and Master Whitingford to health." He said Preston's surname without thinking about it and he didn't think about it afterwards.

[Guest]

While the name 'Whitingford' did not register familar with her, Tudor assumed it to be Mr. Pew and made no comment on it. She simply shook her head, with a silent laugh. "And if she does say yes and sails with us this evening, we'll be creating a habit for women of medicine aboard the Dog."

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Logan Christie played out the log-line as Nigel Brisbane turned the glass.

"Mark!" called the Cox'un.

"One," counted Logan, "two" he reported a few seconds later.

"End!" called Nigel after the sand had passed.

"Three knots sah!"

"Aye, three knots," replied Preston. Logan and Nigel began to wind the line back onto the spool. Preston marked their speed in the log at the binnacle and on the traverse board hanging nearby. The ships' master placed the log in the small latched drawer and opened the cabinet below. He removed the back-staff from it's case, placed the staff on his shoulder and stood with his back to the sun.

With the horizon vane lined up with the horizon, he slid the half-cross back and forth until the shadow of its vane fell across the slit in the bottom vane while the horizon was visible through the slit. By doing this Preston was able to sight both the sun and the horizon while his back was towards the sun.

He replaced the instrument and noted his calculations in the log once more.

...travelling 3 knots, winds from the east, sailing large with a quartering wind, fine on the quarter...

Preston looked up at this point to see Captain Lasseter call to pour on all sail.

"Lessee wha' she c'n do, eh boys!?!" Dorian turned to Preston who flashed a smile as Lucky Tuck repeated the order.

_________________________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: SSW

Speed: 3 knots and increasing

Wind: Easterly, fine on the quarter

[Dorian Lasseter]

The order to put on all sail was carried out with energy from the men and soon the Lucy heeled over with the pressure of the wind. It was a grand feeling having the deck tilted just so, that and the feel of the hull slicing through the water beneath their feet. The logline tossed again yielded a speed of eight knots. This put quite a smile on many a face, including the Captains’. The Lucy had made good time and had come about, now heading North-West up the coast of Martinique. The Larboard Watch was still on duty, and those of the Starboard had gone below to get some rest before they would come on. Dorian had thought to keep all hands on, but nothing was of such import to do so. He stood at the fore of the quarterdeck and began to think of what would need to be done this day. Once in the port of St. Pierre, he would have the marines at the ready. First things first, he would send word to the local governor and military, stating his intentions and all other necessary information. Once the seal of approval was given, he would send detachments to seek out Den Oven, if he was to be found. He wished he had more knowledge of the port and town. Taking a look around and hearing of no sails on the horizon from Mister Smyth, He turned the deck over to Mister Brisbane so he and Preston might have a discussion over a very late breakfast.

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Preston eyed the sails as they filled on the northernly tack. Dorian approached with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Mister Whitt'n'f'rd, a late brekkie perhaps." the Captain stated more in the form of a remark than a question.

"Aye sah." Preston nodded to the Captain. As he passed the starboard side of the vessel, he eyed landfall to the weatherside of the Lucy. The wind had changed direction a bit, but not so much as to cause a shift in the sails. She was a ship of the wind, sailing free. Preston noted this in his head as they rounded the 'Rabid Cape'. In the distance he coudl barely make out 'Notre Dame de l'Assumption', the next north west of Fort Royal. "Breakfast, aye sah," Preston replied and followed Dorian to the Ward Room.

--------------------

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: NW

Speed: 8 knots

Wind: Easterly, fine on the quarter

[Alder]

Sleep had overtaken his weary frame and carried the carpenter’s mind leisurely adrift. Stillness and calm healed and readied his worn body for the next watch and his countenance for the next task. The fleetness of the Lucy conjured a breeze that lit its way though the narrow passageways and teased the skin of the resting man. Growling a snore in reply, he rustled and repositioned himself in his hammock. Not to be defeated, the wind echoed the resonance of an ethereal bell that pealed in the distance; a harbinger of marriage, death or little worse. Its merciless bay leveraged the unnaturally early rousing of the man.

The carpenter rubbed his eyes soundly. Unpeeling layer and layer of oak, he envisioned her outstretched hand and the spray that framed her as the bow cleaved the waves. Mayhaps, if he could anchor this dream, he could face the calm. Tugging a becket, he dragged a well-oiled chest closer to him. Slowly, deliberately and with singular attention, Alder unfolded a square of parchment buried deep beneath a compartment in his wooden coffer.

[Silkie McDonough]

The clatter of horse hooves against the stone and the shouts from the crowds had not penetrated the thoughts of the tailor as she sprinted towards the wharf. The crowd moved quickly and in that swift movement she was sent sprawling to the ground. Immediately, though none nearby understood, a stream of Gaelic curses were shouted out after the three horsemen as they disappeared around the corner. Murin McDonough gathered the things she had been carrying and continued her sprint to the docks and the Lucy. “Ní lú orm an diabhal or an donas ná é, imigh sa diabhal!”* She loathed being treated so by men on horseback. She had known these men in Ireland also. Men who thought they were privileged and demanded respect they didn’t deserve. These were the type of men who oppressed anyone who would see them as they were. These were the men who eventually took the man she loved from her. The red of her completion was no longer solely from the sun or the exertion. She had pushed on then, trying to make it to the docks before the Lucy departed but arrived only to see her in the distance sailing from port. “Chaill an Lucy mé”** Exasperated and angry Murin stopped at a dockside pub to cool her temper.

For over an hour she sat there. Negative thoughts danced around her as she drank some fairly good rhum and tugged at the hemp that held the parcel intend for Genevieve. Her mind, full of dark thoughts, collided with the bright sunlit morning seaside. Brooding she recalled the loss of the life she had intended to live. What right had men of power to keep take her life! To first take her livelihood then, when she objected to that, send her to an island as hot and oppressive as Barbados where she would toil for their comfort. Then to be cast out to a field where the likes of her usually passed away nearly unnoticed. She had escaped. She had altered that fate. They tried to keep her under their thumbs but each time people of good hearts assisted her and her luck held. She had survived thus far virtually unharmed!

Moira and the lad with the cart had passed by at least a half hour ago. She let them go, watched them as they unloaded the goods onto the Watch Dog. She considered Constance, Meg and others from the crew who were going to take their earnings and settle here in Martinique. Captain Brand had suggested that Miss McDonough could follow suit. Looking out beyond the ships docked nearby, over the water, beyond the ships anchored there, she longed for something more than this island and the people with whom she could not communicate. No, this could never be home. For now the Watch Dog and the Lucy were her home.

Nathan found his way into her thoughts. He was a good lad and she had no intention of slighting him. She examined her behavior, had she given him any reason to think she was interested in him as more than a friend? She could not recall having thought of him as more than a good friend his behavior always reminded her of her brother Finn. She missed nathans smile, his attentions, and his friendship. Perhaps Billy could talk to him for her. Was Billy on the Dog or on the Lucy, so many new crew and new assignments. What of Genevieve, now the lone woman on the Lucy, if Callie had decided to leave with Sealegs and Meg. She must be feeling much like Murin had when she first boarded the Watch Dog. Nothing but the oversized clothes on her back and a few odds and ends I her possession, knowing no one. Murin could only assume that Miss Ashcombe had remained on the Lucy with her safety in question. Murin had hopped to help ease the transition for the lass. Jenny had met Alder; perhaps he would be company enough. He would be company enough for her. She smiled at herself shocked that she would let the thought form completely in her mind. Weather it was the rhum or simple reason; she came to the conclusion that she had no reason to warrant such moodiness. No, this is not the life she had dreamed of. This was so much more than she had imagined! She stood lifted her tankard to the sun, and toasted herself before she threw back the remains. The tankard hit the table with a resolute thud before she tossed a coin to the serving wench and headed for her future. As she walked briskly from the dockside pub she laughed at herself and wondered how many more times she would find herself contemplating the obvious.

*there is nothing I detest more, to hell with you!

** i missed the Lucy

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - At Martinique

William and Tudor waited until both of them were convinced that no one was home. As they turned to go a figure appeared at the curtain and then Miss Kildare was at the door, apologizing for keeping them waiting. William assured her that no harm had been done in the waiting and asked if "The Doctor" was about. Briar smiled a little at this and explained that Miss O'Treasaigh had gone to give service to the church and the poor. William thanked her, apologized for being abrupt and made haste to seek her out.

[Capt. Sterling]

a stream of Gaelic curses were shouted out after the three horsemen as they disappeared around the corner. Murin McDonough gathered the things she had been carrying and continued her sprint to the docks and the Lucy.

He had watched the entire thing, knowing only too well the antics of the so called well bred. He was considered one of their ilk and yet the thought made him all too uncomfortable. True it had its merits…

….Right hand, elegantly clothed in presentation glove, clenched tightly before he moved it to settle in the small of his back. The lad appeared to be in one piece as the horsemen rode on and yet his mind was addled enough by the assault that he had raced off again, something small dropping from his person unnoticed. But not by all.

“Avast!” he shouted but the word went unheard and the gentleman was forced to make his way into the lane. Several young boys scurried ahead of him, reaching out to take for themselves what the older youth had lost.

“Belay that! That belongs not to thee!” came scolding tone. French words tripped easily from his tongue, such speech well practiced. Young eyes looked upward toward the stranger and then widened before dirty hand reached out to tug at companion’s ragged sleeve. In an instant, warning hand had been slapped away as the other continued to seize hold of the newly acquired treasure.

“Have a care Pierre,” followed as a verbal warning as other’s gaze remained fixed on the older gentleman that was fast approaching.

“I said belay … stop that! Arrêtez-le! Heed thy betters or need I call the guard on thee?”

“Pierre!” The name was birthed in slow hiss, as the first child, crouched over in preparation to flee, inched slowly away from the other. One last tug at other’s arm signaled it was indeed time for the second to pay attention. Even younger face tilted upward, one small hand still clutching tightly to discarded pouch that jingled as it swayed from precarious grip. Face, equally begrimed with dirt, with bright blue eyes, cast about before prize were rapidly discarded once again and both boys turned and ran.

He claimed land now deserted and stooped to see several coins had escaped from worn purse. Scattered items were hastily collected yet once more, fine gloves plucking each piece from the mud before being shuffled back into bag, and then tucked into own pocket. He started off, long legs covered ground without too much effort as he headed in the direction he had last spied the young man.

It was nigh on an hour before he gave up his search, almost pleased that he could keep the money for himself. Famished, he left the docks and made his way back along the path he had created and ducked into one of the area’s taverns.

Already crowded, he entered and looked about, allowing good eye the chance to adjust to the darkened area. Smoke filled haze hovered above the heads of seated men and boys of all ages. The room vibrated with the buzz of conversation and the ringing of pewter tankards making contact with wooden tables. The smells that drifted from the bar and the kitchen quickly reminded him that he had not eaten since the previous night. Perhaps it was luck that brought him here at such the right time. He scoffed at himself. There was no such thing as luck. Putting now growling stomach in check, he spotted the lad he had been hunting, tossing a coin unto a table at the far end of the mob. Inching his way through the throng, he made a made a circle about the room only to come up behind the youth as they both made their way outside again.

“So much for supper,” he thought, his insides once again reminding him their interests had been neglected long enough. Before mad chase began a second time, he lunged forward and grabbed the lad by the shoulder and held him fast.

“Excusez-moi. Je crois que j'ai quelque chose ce qui vous appartient. Vous l'avez laissé tomber quand les cavaliers vous ont presque montés en bas,” he began.

*Excuse me. I believe I have something that belongs to you. You dropped it when the horsemen nearly rode you down.

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin drew her belt knife as she spun toward the man who held her fast. Treasures story of her attack jumped into her thoughts and the bruising of the lass' face and body flashed into her mind.There were far too many of the crew missing and misplaced for her to allow herself to follow suit! But before she lashed out with the blade she looked the stranger in the eye and froze where she stood. The face before her was familiar to her, her eyes widened "Capn' St..." His hand quickly clapped over her mouth and the two ducked into darkened alley between buildings. "Wot? ...Tisn't safe fer ya ere'" she hissed in hushed tones.

[Capt. Sterling]

"Tis true enough what ye say," he whispered with a nod indicating the still drawn knife pointed at his gut. "Grateful would I be if you would put that up and tell me how ye come to know me."

Good eye made hasty inspection of who was about and where he was before fixing his complete attention on the lad before him and then with full and proper view, the captain was utterly taken aback. Twas no lad at all, but an all too well armed maid that stood before him.

As eyes narrowed, head cocked slightly for better look.

“Hold a moment…. I know you! You be the lass from Edward Hodge’s plantation! Damnation Mistress McDonough, never did I think to see yer like again. How the bloody hell did ye end up here?”

[Silkie McDonough]

"Tis a long tale. Buot nil ere, tis nay safe fer ya! Wot er ya doin in dis French pert?!" Her mind raced trying to remember the lay of the wharf and docks, what place would best keep the man safe. She owed him that. He had made it possible for her to escape the plantation and would have taken her from the island if things had not gone awry. "Were's yer ship? When will dey come t'gather ya?" Looking around she knew it would not be long before they drew attention to themselves. "We need to move from ere."

[Capt. Sterling]

“Agreed,” he whispered. “Though none take much notice of a man in mourning. Them what do, prefer to cross the street rather than engage me with their condolences as I pass.”

Instantly tongue changed tack and he began to berate the woman before him in French, complaining of her improper dress. He knew not if Murin understood him and hoped she would not question his behaviour. But he had learned earlier on that she was more than sharp enough to follow any sudden change of lead and he continued on as two men cut through the alley behind her.

He breathed a sigh as they moved on without taking interest.

“Twas a long night alone in this port. I could do with something to eat, away from prying eyes and a bit of a sleep. My ship will not be able to put in close enough until mid-watch. So I cannot take myself away until then,” He paused a moment and looked her over.

“Glad I am that I could help you, and gladder yet that you made it away unharmed,” he said, right hand clenching once again as he tucked it away behind his back.

[Silkie McDonough]

Thinking but a moment the lass recalled a plain ordinary and inn a few buildings length off the wharf. "Come." She led him into the street after checking their surroundings. It was not unlikely that one of the crew of the Watch Dog might see her but she hopped that none would halt her progress. Miss McDonough stepped lively to the end of the wharf and rounded the corner, the captain's long strides keeping pace easily with her. Neither said a word as they walked, Murin turned another corner. The board hanging above the door displayed a roughly carved tankard and loaf. Without a word she ducked inside. Good fortune was with them. The tables at the front of the place were full allowing them the opportunity to choose a table towards the back, where the lighting was weak, without drawing attention to themselves. Not a word was spoken before the server approached. "Rhum" was all Murin said then she looked to the captain and waited for him to order his preference.

Miss McDonough took that moment to notice the captain once again. She recalled the first time she had seen the man on the Hodge plantation. The notable scar that ran from his brow to his check leaving a colorless orb had initially frightened her. His noble bearing and haughty airs gave the impression that he was cut from the same cloth as Edward Hodge and other men of undeserved privilege. Initial impressions are often wrong. What fates had conspired to bring them together once again? So much had passed in the time since their last meeting. Why was he in a mourning coat? Was this only to avoid the scrutiny of others? Why was this English man here on a French Island? Murin waited impatiently for the server to leave them to talk.

She drew the a small pouch from her belt to pay the lass. Digging into the bag she searched for the smaller coins she was sure she possessed, there had been more coin in the pouch than were here, poking inside her finger came through the seem. "Blast." she hissed. She would have to access the coin she kept secured in the pouch around her neck.

[Capt. Sterling]

Gloved hand came to rest upon Murin’s, preventing further search.

“Here. Permit me,” he said softly.

“Un repas s'il vous plaît. Quelque chose de chaud, quelques fromages assortis et un verre de vin rouge pour moi. Merci.” As he finished, he placed several coins upon the wooden surface, more than enough. The wench collected what was needed and made her way to the kitchen. He produced several more coins and slid them across the table top toward Murin. *

“If you are in need, please take these. I am well enough for ready cash at the moment,” he added, his expression pinching slightly as he spoke. Then head lowered, eyes looking away briefly before they closed.

“My wife passed recently. In childbirth as did my first.” He looked hard at Murin then, eyes filled with an ache he wondered if she could comprehend. “Why is it, something so special should end in such a foul way? I loved her... I…I…” He shook his head, and collected himself. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the subject as if nothing were amiss in his life. The hard features softened a bit until a slight smile forced itself to draw out the corners of his lips but the ache remained buried down deep inside.

“So, pray, tell me, how did you manage to get away from Barbados? I um, rather had my hands full at Hodge’s after things went awry on my end.”

*A meal please. Something hot, some cheeses and a glass of red wine for me. Thank you

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

This morning, there were markedly few people awaiting Maeve's care. It appeared as though the ministrative efforts last week of both Briar and herself had gone well. Father Thomas moved about the room, doing what he could under Maeve's instruction as she finished placing wrappings over a freshly stitched knife wound. She noted how, despite Father Thomas' help, things went much slower without Briar's assistance. She listened distractedly as the embarrassed patient blathered about how he'd lost a dispute in the kitchen with his wife. Maeve could smell stale beer all about him. Smiling with as much empathy as she could muster, Maeve glanced about the room to see who was next in need of help based upon the state of their injury or illness. All the while, she prayed silently that God might forgive her and even offer her some respite, though she knew, deep in her heart, that there was none to be had.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - At Martinique

William and Tudor found themselves in the cool, echoing halls of the church, and within minutes they were brought before Miss O'Treasaigh. At first she seemed not to notice them, and for once that morning William was content to wait. After a time she finished with the patient in her care and turned her eyes upon them. They greeted one another across the room with a smile and a nod as she made her way through the occupied and unoccupied cots.

"Miss O'Treasaigh." William began, bowing low. Tudor and Maeve exchanged curtsies. "I wonder if I might have a word?" He said, gesturing out of doors. She agreed and they went out into the sun. Maeve drew water from the well at the church's side yard to wash some blood from her hand while William came right to the point. "Miss O'Treasaigh, our doctor has quit the ship and our employ, so I come with urgency bearing gifts and an offer to put to sea."