The Watch Dog

[Silkie McDonough]

Captain John Sterling and Mistress Murin McDonough wasted no time on pleasantries. Theirs was an instantly comfortable relationship, old friends who had just met. Conversation began with simple things they both held in common but turned to pains both understood only to well. As was her nature Murin listened. His wounds seemed fresher and deeper than hers. Far too long he had held things inside fearing that he could not keep them in check. John, for the better part of an hour, confided in the lass before succumbing to an exhausted sleep.

She could not know the reason a man of his station was able to expose his emotions to her. Murin marveled that one of social standing could speak so candidly with a girl such as herself. He seemed not to see the boundaries that society had constructed between them. Kate Hodge had not let that facade down when alone with Mistress McDonough even after they had known each other for over two years. Perhaps he needed to release what had been held within, or perhaps it was simply exhaustion that let him drop his guard. Whatever the cause releasing these things allowed him to sleep and she was glad of that.

When the church bells began to toll noon Murin McDonough took the hand she had been holding and laid at his side. Vacating the chair that sat beside the bed she made her way quietly across the floor to the wash stand where the room key and John’s other meager possessions lay. Lifting the key she wondered for a moment if it was safe to leave him alone? Had he enough coin to keep himself well? She smiled to herself; he had survived without her thus far and would likely continue to do so. She must return to the Watch Dog, she feared that she may already have been missed. With so many of their numbers missing it was not unlikely that her absence may have already caused a stir or, at the very least, would require an explanation. He stirred as she slid the latch on the door but did not wake. Lightly she pulled the door closed behind her, turned the key in the lock and then slid the key beneath the door. She stood a moment listening for the deep breathe of slumber. “Go mbeannaí Dia thú.”* she whispered then left.

Treading lightly she made her way down the stairs. “Goode Keep.” The stocky man with the thinning hair who stood behind the bar wiped his hands on his breeches. “Yes Mistress?” Murin drew a coin from the pouch around her neck. “Please, see det d’gennelman is wakened at noyin bells u’d’church tower.” For she knew it would be unlikely that she could return to wake him herself. Accepting the coin the keep promised that he would see to it. She thanked him and scurried out heading again at a sprint to the docks.

Arriving at the ship a few minuets later, biting her lip, she scanned the both dock and deck for the captain. She could not give up Captain Sterling or his ship but she needed to let Captain Brand know that they were about. Should she reveal the full truth of her knowledge or should she simply tell of a rumor? Would this information jeopardize the life of a man with whom she was fast becoming a friend? How could she explain. Surely Captain Brand would understand. Indeed a fine line to tread between loyalty and mutiny.

*May God bless you.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Maeve was still awaiting a response from their awkward patient when Briar appeared, asking her question.

She turned her attention for a moment to her friend. "All's well down here. Miss Smith has been quite helpful and is writin' a missive ta her lady friends ashore here ta see if they'd be willin' ta occupy this place, at least through December." Maeve turned now to look at the quiet, bruised woman before her. "I was just askin' Marie here where I might be able to send her since we're turnin' us all out of the place in another hour or so."

Marie's face hid much of what she was thinking. Finally, she replied. "I dunna have anyplace ta go...I...I was turned out ya might say", she finished reluctantly. The chirurgeon regarded her kindly. "Well, ya'd be welcome ta stay at the church of Saint Louis. Father Thomas is very kind and you could most certainly find at least a few day's food and shelter there", she offered. It was hard to say what Marie thought of this as she turned to gather what little she had. BriarRose crossed the room in a dash, disappearing into the kitchen. A few short moments later she came back, finishing a knot she was tying in a piece of muslin around the last of their biscuits. "Here", BriarRose offered. "It's not much, but it should help out until you've settled in at the church tonight".

Marie smiled weakly at this, offering her thanks as she left the little shop. She would discover, probably sometime later that day, the little bit of money that Maeve had tucked into the tattered pocket of her pants the day before.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Saint Pierre, Martinique

4 August, 1704

The Cutter, Lucy

As the guard boat came closer, Dorian made sure Jean Doublet was at his side. The Captain had some French, but not enough for this occasion he feared. Orders were given to haul wind, slowing the Lucy while the small cutter got to within two cable lengths. The men on the Lucy were lining the sides and the marines were lined at the waist, awaiting the time when they would be boarded by the officer of Marines in the guard boat. Captain Lasseter looked through the glass again, hoping to be able to spot said officer. There, that had to be him. One marine, a Lieutenant by the looks of it, stood in the sternsheets in such a statuesque pose. He had the whitest of uniform coats and every button flashed in the sun. Dorian lowered the glass and gave a ‘hmmph’, to which Jean quickly looked to Dorian.

“Looks like th’ officer’s newly appointed… nice bright clean uniform… you c’n see ‘im there… the snowy white lad.”

Jean looked at the approaching boat and chuckled.

“Oui Capitaine, I see ‘im.”

“Lets hope he got nothin’ ta prove, or thinks he needs ta prove.”

“Aye Capitaine.”

The boat closed quickly and Captain Lasseter turned to the waist. He set the glass in it’s place and headed to the spot at the end of the two lines of marines. Master Whitingford stood at the rail just at the top of the boarding steps. Soon the small cutters’ sail slid past the bow of the Lucy, the man on the tiller let her run past and just as they reached the stern of the ship pushed it over and came around, sidling right up to the side of the Lucy and bumped the side gently. A sailor in the bow hooked to the main chains and soon a feathered tricorn came even with the gunnel. Nigel split the air with his bo’sun call and piped the man aboard. As his feet met the deck, Master Whitingford step closer and Mister Flint had the marines stand at attention.

“Welcome aboard the Lucy, Captained by Dorian Lasseter. I am Ships Master Whitingford, Sah!”

The Lieutenant regarded Preston a moment and saluted him.

“Lieutenant Louis Martin, à votre commande…”

Before Preston could say another word or move, the Lieutenant took hold of his shoulders and swiftly leaned in and kissed the Ships Master, once on each cheek. He released the stunned Ships Master and marched purposefully to where Dorian stood. Four of his marines followed him aboard and stood behind him in formation.

“Capitaine Lasseter, à quoi devons-nous l'honneur de votre présence en Saint Pierre?”

Though Dorian caught most of what the lieutenant said, he turned to Mister Doublet to translate.

“The Lieutenant asks, to what do we owe the honour of the Lucy’s presence in Saint Pierre?”

Dorian smiled at Lieutenant Louis Martin, who in turn smiled back and bowed his head slightly. The Captain spoke at the Lieutenant, knowing Jean would translate.

“I welcome you aboard the Bateau privé de guerre, Lucy. We are here to seek out an escaped prisoner of His Most Christian Majesties prison at Fort Royal. To whom would I send my letters?”

As Dorian spoke, Lieutenant Martin had his eyes dancing over every inch of the ship and the men around him, he seemed drawn to whatever reflected light, so he had much to admire on the Lucy. Jean translated and the Frenchman brought his eyes back to those of the Captain.

“Comandante Gabriel Depaul et Juge D'Amirauté Arnaud Richet… Je serai honoré pour leur livrer vos papiers moi-même, capitaine.”

Dorian again looked to Doublet.

“Lieutenant Martin would be honoured to deliver your papers to these men.”

Dorian turned back to the French officer and gave a shallow bow, which was returned just as politely.

“I would be honoured… I shall bring them post haste. Would you have some wine while I prepare them?”

Again Jean translated, and again a bow from the Lieutenant.

“Oui”

Dorian bowed and turned away, walking purposefully to the wardroom and to his desk. As he took up the papers, he shook his head. Without looking up he addressed Miss Ashcombe.

“Miss Ashcombe, would you select a bottle of wine and a glass, take it to the men on deck, some refreshment for the Lieutenant there, ya can’t miss him, th’ whiteness o’ his coat hurts the eyes. I’ll be back soon as I finish this.”

He took a small knife from the desk and began scraping the words he had written off the one folded parchment until it was clean, blew it off and readied pen and ink. It took him a moment to remember the names given. He wrote on the freshly scraped area, ‘Juge D'Amirauté Arnaud Richet’, and while that dried he turned to the other and filled in the commandants’ name there. While they dried he though that this was too easy, there had to be something the Lieutenant was keeping to himself. Was he really going to just deliver these to those in power and let the Lucy sail right in to the port? The ink dry, he had no time to think on it further, Captain Lasseter took the papers and walked back out onto the deck.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe went quickly to the sideboard and opened the cabinet which held the finer of the Lucy’s newly purchased spirits. She peered into the cupboard her eyes settling on a bottle of Vin Du Mouillage, but she spied another which had a label decorated in scrolled hand and fine lettering. “Chateau Lafont Menaut” Jenny recognized the pale parchment label of a costly vintage coming from Martinique’s premier French Vinyard. It was owned by Charles de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu, a frequent guest at her uncle’s functions. Selecting the bottle and one stemmed glass, she arranged the tray and arrived presently to serve the man whose coat and buttons truly did shine like alabaster cliffs in the sun. Miss Ashcombe smiled inwardly wondering if the Captains comment in passing had been in humor or disdain. Truly either was possible.

The officer graciously accepted the drink and her awkward curtsey, looking past her as Captain Lasseter again made the deck.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

With the noon bell already come and gone there were few remaining stragglers from the Lucy and the Watch Dog to be found. Seamen Coipman, Black, Howard, Aretinson, Millet, and Leigh had all returned to find the cutter gone and themselves welcomed aboard the frigate. All who were expected aboard had returned, and while some slept, the rest worked.

William stood at the gang plank with several of the young boys of the 'Dog. He was instructing them to fetch him three more younkers to the frigate, that he might have more to fetch and carry for the gunners. Even as they faded into the crowd, Miss McDonough materialized there and he stood watching her until she found him across the docks.

William tipped his hat a little and noted something in her bearing he couldn't discern at that distance.

[Silkie McDonough]

Spotting Captain Brand, Miss McDonough was hit with the realization that she had never revealed her story to anyone save John Sterling. She had come to the conclusion previously that she had nothing to hide from the captain of the Watch Dog. Murin had been a prisoner of a war, a war being waged against her and her people by an invader who wanted to deny them their heritage and freedoms. The majority of the new recruits were prisoners of war brought from the Fort Royal Prison. There would be no conflict, perhaps even less since she was allied with the Watch Dog before ever being torn from her home. Walking brusquely towards the captain she clutched tightly at the package intended for Genevieve Ashcombe, wondering as she walked, what she should say. Worrying how much she would need to tell the man. Determined to protect all the men she owed her freedom and her life to.

She stopped within five feet of the captain, stood at her full height, brought the fingers of her right hand to the outer end of her right brow and locked eyes with him. “Capin Brand sarh.”

“Miss McDonough” he returned the salute appearing unaware of the difference in the woman’s behavior and waited for her to speak.

With a snap she pulled her hand away dropping it smartly to her side completing the gesture as she had seen others execute time and time again. Thus far it had been highly unusual for the sailor to approach the captain so directly. Her demeanor spoke of some urgency, but still, her apprehension in his presence was discernible. “Sah, a word ifin I meah?”

William Brand raised his right eyebrow “Aye”

The sailor, still clutching at the package she held, took two steps towards the man, “Capin,” she spoke in a low tone, “I’ve…” her brow furrowed and her focus drifted from his eyes as she paused to find the correct phrase. Her eyes again found his, “I’ve …news wot could bae impartunt.”

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - aboard the Watch Dog

"Is the matter of capital importance, Miss McDonough?"

"It...Aye , Sah."

William said nothing and his face remained impassive as he gestured up the gangplank. Once aboard, he let her go before him to the Ward Room, but not before correcting a task or two being mishandled on the deck. Once inside the Ward Room, he took a seat at the head of the table, taking the time to wind his heavy watch as he nodded towards her.

"Proceed."

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Preston had watched the Captain return to the ward room. He remained in the waist as he had in the weeks preceding since he had come aboard the Watch Dog. Many times men of stature had arrived aboard the ship and oft they repaired to the ward room. As he stood there at attention he made eye contact with the head of the marine detachment and offered a sly smile. A curt one was returned, but returned nonetheless.

Thoughts passed back to the days of father's similar receiving of other men, at other places, of other rank. It didn't matter the country nor the position, but Preston was there at father's side. He had seen tens, nay, possible twenty, thirty or more of those whose rank and title came before their own name. Preston remembered those remarks of men, the "father's shoes" he had to fill, the lineage to uphold, and the whispers of the ability to do so. 'What would father say now', he thought to himself as he stood there in line, half a dozen French marines to his right and another half dozen of the Lucy to his left; Master of the sloop Lucy, consort of the Chien du Garde, ready to take up arms at a moment's notice.

"Perhaps," was all that he whispered, "perhaps." Preston narrowed his gaze and watched Captain Lasseter return from the Ward Room.

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Watch Dog

She hoped that she was making too much of the matter “Ummm, perhaps eh’taint nuttin but, dears an English privahteer in deese wooters sah. D’Arch Angel wit capin John Sterlin, I seen em a’sherr”

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Ward Room of the Watch Dog

"Indeed." William said at first, and no more. He finished winding the watch and set it aside. Then he leaned in a little on his elbows. "And how come you to a knowledge of this ship and this English Captain, Miss McDonough?"

[Silkie McDonough]

Standing in front of the captain still hugging the parcel she realized not only had she not shared her tale with Captain Brand but that he had never asked. "It were capn' Sterlin wot elped me t'freedom sarh." She held his eye, she had nothing to hide. She would tell him anything about herself he wished to know. She hoped that it would not come to a choice between the two loyalties.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Ward Room of the Watch Dog

"May I assume that you spoke with this Sterling, Miss McDonough?" William asked, and there was a new, previously removed tone in his voice as he said 'Miss McDonough', as if a dark formality had settled over the room. William's face changed very little, but the small, conversational smile on his face faded to dusk, taking all of the light from his eyes.

[Silkie McDonough]

Sterlings words "I know him." jumped foremost in her thoughts. Did the two know one another or know of each other? Murin had heard rumors of Captain Brand that called him "Red Wake". She was sure that there were stories around Captain Sterling, he looked like the half mad one eyed man of legends. She took in a deep breath and nodded, "Aye, we spoke." Anticipating the next question she continued. "E'kows were ere, n'yes, I stoopidly let yer name slip." She cast her eyes down, "M'surry."

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Ward Room of the Watch Dog

"He saved your life...?" William said and it was hard to tell if it was a question or comment, but he was already beyond either and the words carried little care.

"Aye." she managed, not knowing what else to say to this.

William began shaking his head very slowly. He stared at her in disbelief and there could be no doubt that he was angry and becoming angrier still. Instead of balling up his fists, he spread them flat upon the table so slowly and deliberately that the gesture proved far more threatening. He let out one long, slow breath and made as if to speak, not once, but three times. So angry was he, that he suddenly removed himself from the table. He was unable to look at her for want of screaming 'Why? In the name of all that's holy, what could have possessed you?'. Of course, the answer was already before him, for as she had already stated, Sterling had saved her life. He paced the room four times before stopping and turned in the spot most removed from her.

"We are allied to France!" he shouted, and again he could say nothing more for a moment. Then his words came, like a deluge, and infinitely worse than screaming, he whispered them at her in a loud hiss across the room. "A tailor of mine in conference with a privateer of England while we walk hand in hand with their most Catholic Majesties of Spain and France. All but bedfellows at Versailles! I have these two days danced, gamboled and capered about Turcotte, that our letters of Marque might not be so much as worried about the edges." William's voice came louder now. "Smiled in his face like a whore, my dignity undressed so that we might not fall but a stride out of favor with France!"

Murin made as if to speak and William shut her teeth with a look.

"The Forenoon Watch is not cold upon the fire and Klaas, murdered and drowned, lies cold within the hold with so many rats and onions for company. Murdered. Not a crewman aboard this..."

A knock came at the door then and Jim Warren put his head in to see if anything was the matter. William sent him away again with instructions that they were not to be disturbed, and he just managed to sound cordial about it. Then he stood in front of the stern windows watching the water in silence.

"Where is he?" William asked without turning back to her.

First bell of the Afternoon Watch

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill was below deck in the armory preparing to go ashore. His shirt was soaked with sweat so he decided to replace it with one he had purchased on shore leave. When opened his packages he discovered Treasure's gift. Smiling to himself he replaced his shirt and slid on the blue frock coat she had purchased for him. He retied his sash about his waist, shoved several pistols, and his cutlass inside it and strode up on deck just as the Captain and a french marine offcier disappeared into the ward room. He made is way to the railing to join the ship's master, noting the wary looks of the fenchmen at the sight of a heavily armed man of his stature. He clapped a hand on Preston Whitngford's shoulder.

"well, are they gonna invite us to the dance or not?"

[Silkie McDonough]

Ward Room of the Watch Dog

There it was, the wrath that she had known lay beneath the surface of this otherwise calm man, and it was all aimed at her. "E'es..." She wanted to lie, thought that perhaps that would be best, regretted telling the captain as he fumed before her. "E'es restin at an inn." She continued, the words pouring from her lips. "Capin, I'll give em t'ya ifin ya request it buot I ow's im a debt. Ifin ya needs mae t'I'll take m'shares n'remain ere. I nil wonted dis t'appen! I ner tot t'see im again." the pitch of her voice rising as she spoke. “Twas quite by accident det our pats crossed t'day. I…” she stopped, it was essential that she not cry. “I ken nil take it back sah buot I beg det ya…” she bit her lower lip; there was nothing she could say or ask. She would stand for what the man before her felt necessary. Suddenly her countenance changed, she stood tall again, her hands at her side the package held in the left, and waited.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Ward room of the Watch Dog

The first fire of William's anger had burned itself out, but the coals remained and he looked at her with a Captain's contempt. The crew had long ago pulled out the great chair and asked him to sit and he could not now ignore his place.

"You have, out of loyalty to him, given out my name most freely, only to return to me with his. To whom are you loyal now, having betrayed us both to each other? Will you now lay odds upon us?"

William gave her no opportunity to speak, but went to the door and called for Mister Badger to lay aft with two marines. Then he stood before her and said, in a voice so close, and in a tone almost in confidence that it was a kind of angry intimacy, "You will say nothing of this to anyone until I have considered the matter. You shall not speak at all until I have removed this order of silence from you, not even to agree with me. Say but a single 'Aye, Cap'n' to me again before I am ready and you will uproot my already hewn down patience."

Mister Badger appeared at the Ward room door and before the marines could enter William said, "Please see Miss McDonough secured in the cable tier."

"The cable tier, Sah...?" Jacob asked, but the look in William's face was answer enough. "Aye, Sah."

[Silkie McDonough]

As ordered she said nothing, turned and follow Mister Badger in silence. I�m a fool she thought. I should have kept silent. No, that would not have been possible. The two marines that fell in before and after her did not ask the question that she could see in their eyes. She would be embarrassed and it was likely that would not be the worst of it but she had done the right thing and she knew it. She hoped that Captain Brand would consider that. It was not the wisest thing she had ever done but there was no erasing the morning from her life. Could she have left John Sterling and ran to William Brand immediately after the chance meeting? Perhaps that would have been prudent but he was in need and he had been so giving to her. No, she could not have done that, it was not in her to leave one is need and alone, especially one she owed such a debt to.

The door shut her into the darkness of the cable tier. The compartment smelled of damp line only pulled in this morning. The wood beneath her feet was still damp from the sea water that drained from the anchor line. Murin knew without a doubt that John Sterling would not do a thing to the Watch Dog or her crew here or in the near future, as long as she was aboard they were safe. How she knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt was a mystery to her. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. She prayed that John would remain safe from Captain Brand's wrath. She sat silently on the damp floor in the darkness hugged her knees. A salty drop rolled down her cheek.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Saint Pierre, Martinique

Aboard the Lucy

Captain Lasseter approached the gathered French marines and noted Lieutenant Martin sipping his glass of wine. He held the glass by the stem with the tips of his forefinger and thumb, just enough to gain purchase on the crystal. One would think he did not wish to touch the glass. Dorian came up to the man and smiled. The Lieutenant gestured to the glass with his free hand.

“Votre goût en vin est excellent, capitaine.”

This much Dorian understood and did not turn to Jean.

“Merci, Lieutenant… Merci beaucoup…”

Another round of shallow bows and Captain Lasseter got back to business. He held out the papers to the Frenchman.

“Here are the letters to be given to those necessary. My thanks for being the bearer of such. I also ask where we might drop anchor in the harbour to await an answer?”

Jean turned and translated what was said. Lieutenant Martin bowed his head as he took the letters from the Captain, read the names and titles written on the outside as he finished his glass of wine. He set the glass on the tray held by the Steward and turned back to Dorian.

“Ce serait mon honneur pour soutenir ces derniers pour vous. Je laisserai mes hommes à bord de votre bateau pour attendre mon retour avec les réponses que vous demandez, avec un pilote de vous guider à un ancrage sûr. Si vous me pardonnerez, je m'occuperai de ces sujets.”

Jean quickly translated for Captain Lasseter, but Dorian already got the jist of what was said, with a pleasant smile on the Lieutenant’s face.

“The Lieutenant, he say He would be honoured to deliver the letters, but will leave his men aboard until he return with answers. And a pilot to guide us to a safe anchorage. He begs your leave to attend to the delivery of the letters…”

Dorian took in a steadying breath. He slowly bowed to the Lieutenant who bowed back and upon straightening gave a fine salute, which the Captain returned. Turning away, the French officer spoke to his men already aboard, one being a sergeant shouted down into the guard boat and nine more marines clamored onto the Lucy, along with one sailor. The Lieutenant made his way over the side and gave a brief wave as he dropped into the boat. The French Marines spread out onto the deck of the Lucy and remained at formal attention as the Sergeant addressed Captain Lasseter, at his side stood the lone sailor, the pilot.

“Capitaine Lasseter, je suis Sergent Micheal Leveque, ce marin vous guidera à un ancrage sûr et là nous attendrons mon lieutenant pour retourner. Oui ?”

Jean was about to speak when Dorian waved him off.

“Oui Sergeant…

Jean, accompany this Sailor to the tiller, so we may be able to drop anchor, give your commands to Mister Tucker.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Jean Spoke to the pilot and took him aft as the Captain gave orders to make sail. He approached the Ships Master and Master-at-Arms.

“Gentlemen… We should hope ta have an answer within th’ hour… Mister Flint, have th’ marines at ease for th’ moment, but not too at ease…”

Bill gave a quick nod of understanding. Dorian then addressed Preston.

“Go and have th’ larboard watch off th’ deck Misters Marsh and Cuylemburch should have the noon meal ready… cold, but ready…”

Preston set his jaw and nodded. Before either could add a word, the Captain clapped a hand their shoulders.

“Take a bit of ease… we are not under attack, we are not bein’ overrun… That Lieutenant, he’s a tricky one… smart… wiley… He’s got his men aboard incase we might bear false papers, and will have us drop anchor well within the range of the forts great guns. Just for insurance. I was afraid we’d be facing an upstart, newly appointed officer with a thought ta prove himself. He seems a bit of a dandy, a fop. But a fop wi’ brains. My first trip inta Saint Pierre will most likely be ta th’ commandant’s office, or the Admiralty Judge’s house. I fear my original time for th’ search will be delayed, but not ta worry. Now go see to our men.”

The three officers exchanged nods and were off to their duties. Bill to the marines, Preston to the sailors, and Dorian to the quarterdeck, watching where the pilot was taking them.

Starboard Watch on Duty

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William was a few minutes alone, pacing the room in tight arcs. Had anyone been near the ward room door they might have heard William speak aloud several times as he argued points of law, the inconsistency of foolish people and some random religious remarks that the average clergyman would have found unsettling. After a time he stopped, for he felt more than heard Jim Warren outside the door and he opened it to find him and the Boatswain.

"Come in, gentlemen." William gestured to the table and both men took a seat while William kept his feet. "No doubt you've come to me to ask me 'Why?'"

"Aye." Jim returned.

"I was discreet as may be, but the lads couldn' help noticin'." Jacob added.

William nodded and then shook his head. "I have imprisoned her to keep her from herself and those who would harm her." Then, over the course of several minutes, he explained Miss McDonough's actions as she had explained them to him. He added a few of his own words with her and then looked to both men for comment.

"Turn her out." Jacob offered, as easily as he might have asked for someone to pass the salt. It came out almost pragmatic. He said it in the tone of a man who has crossed his share of oceans and whipped his share of men.

William said nothing.

"Would they see her hanged, do you think?" Jim asked, and his face had never changed once during the whole of the conversation. William found this calming, like an anchor in his foul mood.

"I don't know." William admitted. "The act of meeting with an English privateer, masquerading as...well, I don't know what. I can't imagine this fellow Sterling is parading his allegiance about the island, but met with him she did, and the French can call it what they may if they learn of it."

"Treason." Jacob said again in his straight forward way.

"Aye...and would they be wrong?" William asked, though it was a question meant solely for exploration on the point. It bore none of the anger he had displayed before. In truth, he was not so much angry with Murin as he was frustrated, and he had used his temper unchecked to drive home the very weight of the matter. He did not believe that she had acted treasonous, but the definition of that act was the difference between freedom and a grave.

"But a woman?" Jim asked again.

"The French might hang a dog for treason." William said, and while he had not meant for the term to be metaphorical or humorous, it came out as a little of both, given the oft used title aboard ship. Jim smiled, but it was a humorless wisp of a smile. "They could hang all the dogs." William added, and his voice was sober.

"Then what is the question to be answered here and now?" Jim offered. "Are we to turn her out and set the French on the Englishman?"

"I don't like the idea of rescuing a woman half starved only to restore her on her progress to the gallows." William admitted. "And how should the crew like to see a woman hanged? She is well liked."

"A well liked dog turned 'pon her master." Jacob said sternly, and it was his turn to make use of the monicker. "Fool of a girl."

"Aye. If we turn her out and touch not the English, she might return to them and let slip some three dozen names of wanted men in the Whole Company. Careless as a child in conversation. No. I cannot let her go again to them while they remain. It follows that I cannot also attack the English and keep her here, for she owes some allegiance to this Sterling and would despise herself or us afterwards." William shook his head. "The matter is tainted top to bottom, and I can see no clear path but for the safety of the Whole Company."

"Let the English go and we may regret it after." Jacob said, simply.

"May...?" William returned. "Nay, will regret, I should think. This alliance to the French is a wall of clay. The English rule the sea with too many, too well, and the war will have but one outcome I think." Jim and Jacob nodded. "I think I know your mind, Mister Badger."

"You do, Sah." he agreed, and he seemed as quietly angry now as William had been but moment ago.

"Nevertheless, please have fare brought to Miss McDonough."

Jacob nodded, and he almost said more, but he didn't. He went out and left William and Jim to sound out the matter. "How can I trust her after?" William asked, rubbing his forehead. He did not expect and answer to this and Jim made none. Instead, he argued other points aloud.

"The French know of this or they don't." Jim mused. "If they know, then the English are found out already, and our part in this may be of no concern or beyond their horizon. We might say nothing and bear Miss McDonough hence to Trinidad. In this way she is removed from the French and any desire of theirs to pursue her is deluded by so much sea water. She has means enough...assuming she is allowed her shares or any sum, and she may find her way to anywhere she will."

"One imprisoned tailor, with eight score men in the balance." William returned, though he nodded at Jim's reasoning. Then he sent Jim out again to finish the business of securing stores. William remained alone to consider on the matter, and he liked it not at all, for he reasoned that Dorian should have a say in the matter and they were removed from him by what seemed liked three hundred leagues.

Two bells of the Afternoon Watch

[Capt. Sterling]

“Merci. Je suis le plus reconnaissant.” *

Paper, pen and ink was exchanged for several deniers. Inn keeper’s young charge dipped in curtsy before making her way below and door to private room was once more closed and locked.

Sterling felt better by an hundredfold though he had slept but an hour’s time at most. He woke suddenly, as was his want, bolting upward in bed, drenched shirt clinging to battered form as droplets of perspiration commenced in a downward trickle along his spine. It was not for disturbance that he now found himself awake but more for the lack there of. Feeling as if he had dozed off in mid conversation, which, indeed, he had, it was the quiet that woke him more than anything. As he pulled himself from the confines of bedclothes, he mused that it should have been the girl that had faded away from boredom at his tiresome speech, and yet deep inward, he was grateful for a listening ear. There were few that he could truly talk with and not just at..

Fingers raked roughly through blond locks glad to be rid of heavy wig, however briefly, as he eased himself to window’s edge and cautiously searched the streets below. There was something he felt the need to do and when satisfied with thoroughfare’s continued normal routine, he pulled black breeches back into place over linen drawers. When once again he resembled decency, he made his way down stairs and asked that materials for writing be sent to him as soon as they could be collected. Purchasing a bottle of wine he returned to his chamber to wait.

A dispatch of such succinctness should not have taken any great lengths to write, but he fussed over it time and time again before actually putting pen to ink, for he truly meant that which he wished to say. In the end, as he gently blew over ink to hasten drying, he used little words to, hopefully, make his point. Finally satisfied, he finished dressing, checking both Rheinfelden and Snaphance for proper working order then folded epistle, taking it up and tucking it fast away in his pocket.

*Thank you. I am most grateful

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Berth deck of the Watch Dog

Between two and three bells of the Afternoon Watch

Robert Hollis made his way forward with a bowl and cup from the galley, careful not to spill the contents of either as he wended his way through men awake and asleep. He wore his usual smile, which Owen often complained about, for it was ever present and belied the man's habitual tendency to find humor in everything. He would often interject humor where he shouldn't, making him a friend to some and an irritation to others, but he was otherwise so affable that no one but Owen found him truly disagreeable. Robert's one true failing was this; that he was apprised of an overactive curiosity, often prying into the affairs of others past the point of social propriety. He would delve into every little secret and suspicion with the persistence of a driving rain, and he would spread them with the ease of a practiced rumormonger. In short, Robert was a man of unending frivolity, a gossiper of the first order, a patent eavesdropper, and a notorious teller of tales, both true and exaggerated.

Now, as he made his way to the cable tier, he was intent on learning why a woman should have angered the notorious Red Wake to such a degree. He was, after all, a keeper of so many stories as touching William Brand.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Lucy

Saint Pierre, Martinique

The Lucy was piloted into the harbour of Saint Pierre and well within the reaches of Fort Pierre’s great guns, just as Captain Lasseter had guessed. Jean Doublet had relayed the commands quite well from the French sailor, who was also Jean, Jean-Baptiste Romand to be precise. The pilot was at first quite tense, being among so many English speaking sailors, but Doublet made some small talk in between course and sail adjustments, not that there were many, so the two Jeans spoke of simple things at first. Dorian caught much of the small talk, but acted unawares, letting the Frenchmen have some form of privacy. Slowly Jean Doublet had worked in other seemingly harmless questions; how strong was the military presence in Saint Pierre, what was the feeling given towards privately owned and armed ships, how had the people been fairing with the war. He gleaned much information from the pilot, Jean-Baptiste asked his lot of questions as well; How did the Lucy come to call in Saint Pierre, why is it that if this is a French privateer most on her are English, and so on. Dorian almost chuckled aloud with how Jean Doublet skillfully skirted Jean-Baptiste’s questions for the most part, he answered the question about all the English aboard by saying that only a handful were English, many were Irish, some colonials and all had no allegiance to the English. This seemed to satisfy the pilot, as he did not further his questions. He may had had more, but the Lucy arrived where they were to drop anchor. Orders shouted, the best bower catted, and sails brought in. The anchor plunged into the bay and the hawser ran out and soon went slack. The cable secured and the Lucy slowly swung around on her anchor. Captain Lasseter had the seamen secure the ship, left his marines as they stood under the Master-at-Arms and Sergeant-at-Arms command, and stood on the Quarterdeck in a calm stance, speaking to know one but himself.

“Now we wait an’ see what becomes of us…”

He looked about and saw a mix of calm, boredom, uneasy, and defiant men. Some were his own and others the Marines of Fort Pierre. He hoped the wait would not be a long one.

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling found himself downstairs again, pausing before entering the common room. Once again gaze moved over the setting that lay before him with great care, and then, lowering brim of hat, not that it would do much to hide his face, followed by final adjustment of white weepers over sleeves’ ends, he stepped into the common room. Gaze remained locked upon Inn Keeper, who had been observed and then cornered before the man could disappear back into his cellar.

“Je sors pour un peu d'air. Je reviendrai en temps voulu et voudrai retenirma pièce,” Sterling said as he quickly made a study of the other man.

“Mais évidemment le Monsieur .. ?”

“Jean Devareaux, le capitaine du navire d'esclave français, Horizon Désolé,” Sterling replied. One brow arched in surprise as the proprietor digested the introduction.

“Un nom si étrange pour un tel navire, non ?” the inn keeper asked.

Black encased shoulders gave mild shrug.

“C'est une occupation particulière est cela non ? Peu importe comment profitable…De nouveau, je reviendrai assez bientôt,” he added. Weepers were once more troubled with before he started for the door. *

Outside, inward witness advised caution and haste, but outward appearance would not heed such demands. Sterling’s carriage spoke of intense sorrow; sloped shoulders, slow gait, head hanging low as arms came upward, absentmindedly, to hug form as if to comfort. Usual care as to foot placement was missing as path now tread, led him closer and closer to the docks. He looked the perfect widower because in fact he was. The pain he felt he did not have to conjure up, it was too real regarding second lover lost.

He had not been the perfect husband this time around. In fact he had blatantly disregarded even trying to be after actions convinced him that wife did not care for him as he had so hoped. This time he had leaped without looking at the differences betwixt he and Auore and then remained married to try and do his duty by her. In his own way he had loved her very much, but he kept such feelings shut away at best, never allowing himself to expose them a second time. And because of such, he had brought not only family to begin life anew in Virginia but long time lover Lilly McKinney, who he established in her own home in Williamsburg, in order to take his ease when he wished to lose himself. Now with Aurore’s passing in childbirth, he not only felt burdened by his sorrow but by his guilt as well.

He looked up suddenly as all too familiar sounds accosted hearing, the calling of the seabirds, the shouts and bustle of crews keeping their charges, the great Ladies of the seas, in fine fashion. Beside him, a merchant argued with the harbor master and the customs man regarding tariffs due. Ahead of him…

He halted as he stared hard at the great ship that lay docked, all too close for comfort, before him, then quickly crossed the street, stopping once more before shop window. Gaze did not linger over wares displayed but instead, focused on the Watch Dog’s reflection. Mind quickly made note of what he saw, once or twice glancing over shoulder to confirm what window pane told him. She was a prize fit to be had but he had his reasons not to do the taking. Still it would not bode well for him to remain where he was, no matter how much he wished to view those aboard her. Gloved hand fished in pocket to retrieve small note and then dockyard child was hailed and called closer.

Sterling held out the letter. Two more denier were also brought to view and child approached without so much as a second thought. Kneeling down before the young boy, instructions were given.

“Sur là-bas le navire, le Chien de Montre, il y a une dame. Donnez cette note au fusilier marin par la passerelle et demandez-lui de le donner à la Maîtresse McDonough. Ces pièces sont les vôs pour la sauvegarde si vous faites comme je demande,” and coins were pressed into small palm, taken back and returned as boy realized the seriousness of Sterling’s request. The captain winked.

“Pour mon amour de dame, oui?” **

The child grinned and nodded then turned and approached the Watch Dog.

*Sterling: I am going out for a bit of air. I shall come back in due time and wish to keep my room,"

Inn Keeper: But of course Mister...? "

Sterling: Jean Devareaux, the captain of the French slave ship, Bleak Horizon "

Inn Keeper: A strange name for such ship, no?

Sterling: It is a peculiar occupation is it not? Still it is quite profitable. Once again, I shall come back soon."

** On that ship, the Watch Dog, there is a lady. Give this note to the marine by the gangplank and ask him to give it to Mistress McDonough. These coins are yours for the keeping if you do as I ask, ” The captain winked.

“ For my ladylove, yes? ”

[Silkie McDonough]

The woman’s thoughts were scattered. She was innocent of treason, innocent of betrayal, innocent of …it mattered not. The Watch Dog was safe Murin McDonough knew that without a doubt. She reviewed the conversation with John Sterling in her mind again. She had said nothing of her crew or the ship or her defenses. The conversation they shared was of life and of personal loss. Her loyalties were not split. It was Captain's Brand and Lasseter, and her mates that she would give her life for. She hoped the captain would not ask her to hand over the Englishman but she would do as he requested. She prayed that she would not have to betray her friend.

Her thoughts turned. If she had been so innocent would she have felt compelled to report directly to the captain? She had hoped that her coming to the captain would speak well of her. Murin supposed that Captain Brand, despite his anger, had no choice. Shaking her head the realization of what he had heard was clear to her. As far as he knew she could have told the captain of a English privateer of the Watch Dog her crew and her capabilities. Additionally she could have been followed here. No, anyone who wanted to see the Dog would need look no farther than the docks.

She sat up, “Goode lawd!” What of the crew? Would Alder understand her actions? Nathan already hated her. Captain Lasseter, Paul Mooney, Treasure, each of the crew crossed her mind, Mister Pew, Billy Flint, even those who had decided to leave the ship. She had just found her home and …now this. Some explanation of her incarceration would need to be given. The thought stuck in her throat she closed her eyes holding back the emotions.

Her brow then furrowed in the darkness, did the captain think her capable of betraying her rescuers to the English? He had not given her a chance to speak, hadn’t let her explain. She straightened where she sat once again, “In ainm an Athar agus an Mhic agus an spioraid Naoimh. Amen.”* She crossed herself, would he ever hear her out? She stood, anger and fear rising within her. He hadn’t cared what defense she could offer! He sent her off to the cable tier without allowing her the opportunity to defend herself! Turning to take a step in the small room, “Mallaigh!”** she cracked her head on the beam overhead. Murin brought her hand to her forehead just above her temple rubbing at the spot where a lump would soon form. “Mallaigh.”* She reached out to locate the beam in the darkness. Both hands found the rough wood. Then her right fist struck the beam as she cursed again, “Imigh sa diabhal!”*** She placed both hands on the beam and inhaled then rested her head upon them. Would she be given a chance to tell her story? Would they hand her over to the French authorities without hearing her out? “Is míchinniúint mé, míchinniúint.”**** Silently she began to weep.

*In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit

**Damn

***God damn you

****I am doomed, doomed.