The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Berth deck of the Watch Dog

"A fine language if you have a tongue for it." Robert Hollis said before the cable tier door, and if Murin was startled she did not show it. She simply turned towards him, and though a new door had been framed in since Tawny's unpleasant departure, there were gaps sufficient and daylight enough streaming in from the overhead hatch for her to see him without the aid of a lantern. "I'm sent to bring you fare." Robert explained. "You'd best step away now." he explained, and she complied easily enough.

Then, Jack Roberts threw the bolt and swung the door that Robert might enter. Robert, who was ordered to leave the tray and nothing more, tarried in the opening and attempted conversation as he exaggerated the simple task of setting the bowl and cup upon the floor.

"Best come out of there, Mister Hollis." Jack prodded.

Robert smiled and gave Murin his most winning smile. "Perhaps we'll another time." He made the gesture of tipping an invisible hat. "Miss McDonough."

"That will do, Mister Hollis."

"Aye, Sah."

[Silkie McDonough]

She wiped the tears from her cheeks before the door opened then stood silent and impassive as Robert Hollis delivered her meager meal. Murin bent for the bowl and cup before the light was cut off by the door once again. She knew better than to say anything to Hollis. She also knew well that if there had been any aboard that did not know she had been locked up they soon would, Hollis would see to that. The woman sat damp floor once again. She closed her eyes as she gulped from the cup. Setting it on the floor between her feet she realized how hungry she was. She swallowed and her stomach flipped. She needed to eat it now or fight the rats for it later.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Harry Saltash was at the gangplank when a young boy arrived with paper in hand. The lad tried to avoid Harry's eyes as he scanned the Watch Dog stem to stern in search of a marine, but as many of the marines were employed in the stowing of stores, not one was to be found at hand. That is, none that were obvious to the boy. Harry tried prompting the lad with several questions, but having no tongue for French, he grabbed Ulrich as he passed. "The lad needs something."

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, garçon?" Ulrich asked, leaning over the rail. The boy started and quickly asked for the whereabouts of a Miss McDonough, though he pronounced it 'Meck-Duhnoo'. Ulrich made a face at this and gestured impatiently for the paper. The boy gave it up reluctantly, but Harry reassured him with a smile and would have sent him on his way, but Ulrich called him back again. Then Ulrich called for Mister Badger, and once the letter was in his hand and he had heard whom it was for, he agreed that the lad should remain until the Captain was made aware of the matter.

William was in the passageway already when Mister Badger entered to fetch the letter to him. Jacob explained the arrival of the boy and the intended recipient of the letter he bore. William's eyes narrowed only a little as he tucked the letter away without reading it. Then William went out into the daylight.

At first, he only looked about the upper rigging and seemed no more interested in other matters than any other passerby. He thanked Mister Badger, who returned to his work. William simply stood before the doors of the surgery and the galley. After a time he made his way along the rail. Once he was within speaking distance of Ulrich, he casually asked him to send the boy on his way, never once looking at the lad. Ulrich did so and William continued forward along the rail.

As the lad returned into the throng, William observed him peripherally all the while pretending to watch a load of new cable go down into the holds, but this proved difficult, so he passed word to Ciaran to go aloft and see what might be seen from aloft. From William's vantage point the lad was already lost in the crowd.

"A veritable fog of flesh." William cursed quietly, and wished, not for the first time, that he could see through the obstacles before him.

7,000

[Red Cat Jenny]

Waist of the Lucy

Miss Ashcombe had been standing attentively watching the proceedings between seemingly opposite sides despite polite formalities exchanged.

She understood the officers French clearly, but his motive seemed so open against the disparate placing of his men aboard the Lucy. It was a game of chess played out with smiles and cordial words. But the faces of the men nearby, however carefully hidden, perhaps suggested otherwise. Jenny had always been a study of people..of the subtleties beneath the gracious facade often displayed by men of state, their jealous lady companions sizing one another up and servants concealing just how much knowledge they had become privy to by association to their masters. She'd whiled many tiresome evenings studying the subtleties of such parley at social functions. Jenny's grasp had tightened on the tray she held until she felt its edges dig into the heels of her palms. She relaxed them only when a man obviously of the Lucy appeared. He was hard to ignore, his large stature draped in a bright new coat and arms displayed obviously on his person. Though the French soldiers did not openly acknowledge his presence, she noticed their eyes flicker towards the man and one shifted his stance ever so slightly. Jenny made her way down the stairway to the Ward Room to replace the items she held. As she stepped into the cool dark of the Captain's quarters something bumped her leg. She nearly dropped the tray as the cat's tail encircled her ankle before she realized what sort of creature was about her feet. The large white and black cat having passed her fully, returned and bumped his head against her leg again pausing to sniff delictely before rubing each side of his face along her shin. The vibrations of his purring tickled and she stooped to scratch the would be marauder who rewarded her by lolling on his back and stretching one paw towards her. Jenny laughed taking ease in the cat's obvious disinterest in any goings on beyond his own pleasure. "Would that I could have your sense of ease" she laughed, scratching the cat and playing with the one batting paw. He paused and looked up at her with such wisdom in his small face almost as if he'd understood. The wisdom dissolved a moment later as an insect flew by and he was off at once playing and jumping and dissapeared into the darker reaches of the room. Jenny sighed and straightened stowing the tray and setting things straight before heading to the galley and Mr. Marsh. She'd not eaten yet and hoped to wait no longer for something before whatever might lay ahead.

[Black Syren]

Ciaran had advised her to sleep, and she had dozed fitfully, though her injuries no longer felt as if she were stretched over a flame they still felt like a bad burn. She winced as she turned over and lay there for a moment taking in the ship. There seemed to be more activity and she heard the captain order Ciaran aloft. Rolling to the edge of the narrow bunk she sought and found her clothing and carefully dressed. Though the cloth rubbed it was her hand that she favored, for it was used to untangle the man o war from her skin. Moving slowly she made her way out of the surgery and back to the deck. Where was Argus? Glancing upwards she could make out Ciaran, but he had not noticed her yet. She moved towards her post avoiding the curious looks sent her way.

[Capt. Sterling]

August 4, 1704 - Silver shop directly opposite the Watch Dog

Sterling had transfered onward to the adjacent shop’s window, growing anxious as young courier remained overly long at current post. He turned several times to observe, his own position offering a rather poor vantage point, but soon breathed a sigh of relief as letter passed from hand to hand and slowly began its way to Murin. Or so he thought…

“Puis-je vous aider le monsieur ?” *

Startled, Sterling glanced toward shop keeper. Head cocked slightly allowing good eye better view of the balding man who hung in doorway’s frame, barely allowing him enough space to even be there.

“Non, non merci,” he replied with an impatient shake of his head and redirected his sight once more to the boy’s reflection.

“Come along. Be off with ye,” he thought to himself, but the boy remained put and Sterling made his way back to the previous shop window.

This window now proved ineffectual as midday multitudes packed the area between him, the boy and the ship. But, his curiosity was aroused as a figure, moving along the railing, was easily seen. This person seemed familiar to him. From such a position Sterling could not truly be certain but there was something in the cut of the man, his carriage…

Inward witness barked to remain as he was. He could not help himself and, instead, he risked turning about to confirm his suspicions, but attentions were fully captured by a second individual swiftly going aloft.

Head turned Heavenward as lookout scanned not the open waters but the masses below, obviously looking for something… or someone. Heart sounded loudly now in Sterling’s ears as watcher’s focus was nearly upon him. Scarred face quickly lowered, but not without one good look at the man who had caused the about face in the first place. Gaze lingered long enough before averting back to window’s belongings. By then, the boy, who, now dismissed was heading straight toward him.

Long strides now took Sterling to first shop’s entrance and he was greeted by a charming young woman. He wondered if, like at home, shops employed the better looking girls to entice male customers indoors. He was willing to take a gamble.

“Bonjour,” he said, fingers coming up to touch hat’s brim.

“Puis-je vous aider Monsieur?” the young woman asked. **

“If it is agreeable to your master, yes I think you can,” Sterling replied. Words fell slowly, deliberately, as one gloved finger slowly traced her jaw line, roaming downward to décolletage. A knowing smile graced the beauty’s features.

“My master is most obliging,” the girl said softly. She stepped aside, one hand waving Sterling inward.

Several more minutes were required while the girl explained that she must take her leave of day's occupation. Shop owner only eyed Sterling briefly before nod of understanding was given along with permission for the rest of the day off. The young lady collected a few of her things before coming to take the captain’s arm.

“A moment?” he requested of her. Grey beaver was removed and brown periwig followed. He shook out his own blond hair and it fell down about his shoulders before he replaced his hat. The girl watched him curiously before he chuckled and told her falsely of the wig’s discomforts. Arm was offered and the two made their way back out into the streets. The young boy was no where to be found, perhaps thinking it wise to be content with the coins already in his possession.

The pair began their walk back to the inn. Sterling's face averted from prying eyes as he gazed intently upon the young woman. Such was a simple task, for she was easy to look upon and would make a pleasant bedfellow until midwatch.

But she served another purpose. He hoped her additional company would contradict any description the boy may have given of the note's author. He tried to urge her along without stirring her concern. With letter's delivery, he now desired to be back indoors. Once again he had acted rashly, but he could not help but lend aid to others, whether or not he truly should. He often jested it would be the death of him.

*Can I help you?

**Can I help you Sir?

[Jack Roberts]

I closed the door and returned the bolt back.

I haven't been on the ship long but I did noticed this lady wasn't obviously deserving of such treatment. My curiosity got the best of me.

"Lass you all right?"

"Wot, 'ave you done to find yourself here?"

[Silkie McDonough]

"I'm fine tank ya." She wanted to say that she was here because of a misunderstanding. Because she spent time with a friend who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wanted to cry out that she had been honest and that the captain was unreasonable in this. She managed to croak, "Capin as es reasons."

She knew that captain Brand wasn't being unreasonable but she also knew she would never betray the Watch Dog. There were also those new sailors that came from the Fort Royal prison whose allegiance was still in question. The captain was keeping her from them. The men who could easily try to take advantage of the woman and her connection to the English. To turn the Dog over to those she considered her personal enemy. Her blood boiled at the thought. What did the captain know of her? Nothing they had not spoken but a few times. He had not inquired where her loyalties lay. She had signed the ships articles, was there any reason for him to doubt her?

[Bloody Bill Flint]

A harsh laugh interrupted their conversation.

"Well, well finally bit off more than you could chew eh Murin McDonough?"

Nathan Bly hissed aloud.

[Silkie McDonough]

She knew the voice well. The venom dripping from his words left no doubt how he felt about the woman. She dare not respond especially to Nathan Bly. Bad enough she replied to the guard outside the door. It hurt deeply that Nathan was so bitter. That he refused to speak to her. The man had no idea that she held him dearest of all the crew. She still felt towards him as always, kin to a brother. "Oh Finn." she said as she exhaled and thought to her brother, Ya always said twas d’blessin uv d’gods det I ad d’luck uv er ancestors, fer witout it my uncannin ability t’attract trouble would bae d’ end uv mae. Well ere I sits eld again m’will sufferin for being so blasted impulsive at the wrong time.” Her thoughts strayed to the life she once knew in Ireland. “Would det ya were ere to scold mae now lad." She continued to eat what had been provided and washed it down with the contents of the cup. Once empty she sat the cup in the bowl on the floor and slid the two away until they came to a stop with a light thud against the door. She slouched against the wall and hoped that sleep would soon take her.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Lucy

Those who were off duty took their midday meal in relative silence. No skylarking and yarn weaving being done, just some murmurs and glances at the French marines on deck. John Kingsman and Samuel Milling were near the bow eating cold stew and drinking their beer when the sound of a stomach growling reached their ears. The complaint came from one of the French marines who stood at attention. The two sailors looked at each other and John smiled.

“We musta interrupted der meal when we come into sight. Poor buggers, an’ here we is feasin’ infront of ‘em.”

Samuel bit his lip to keep from laughing and turned away, stepping away from where those marines stood.

“C’mon John, no need ta torture ‘em now.”

Kingsman shrugged and followed Milling over to the starboard cathead and they looked out across the water at the town and fortifications of Saint Pierre while they dined.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Ciaran went aloft and spied all the surroundings. While William waited for word from above, he surveyed the deck, and finding Miss Tribbiani attempting her place there, he sent Brenton Lund to fetch her back again to the surgery, adding his own look of sympathetic disapproval that she should think to labor after such an injury.

After a time, Ciaran looked down from the height, having found nothing worth noting to the Captain. He said as much with a look and a nod to the Captain below. William was disappointed, but not surprised by this. It would have served little anyway, since William was of a mind not to pursue the matter beyond the confines of the Watch Dog. He scanned the docks one final time from his poor vantage point. Then, with nothing but the unopened letter available to him, he went below, but not before he fixed Nathan Bly with such a look that the man was lost for what to say or do. William left Nathan in this awkward limbo as he disappeared below the weather decks.

The berth deck was crowded, not that it wasn't always such, but the milling of so many men as they stowed and secured supplies made the place seem all the smaller. So busy was the place that he travelled forward through the throng a third of the distance to the fore lastage before anyone noted his arrival. There were several quick nods, sharp salutes and a stumble or two as men became aware of him.

Jacob Badger was in the midst of calling a few men aloft for the business of checking all the lines before departure, when William and he met among the men.

"Has she spoken to anyone?"

Jacob shook his head. "I've not heard her speak, but some 'ave spoken ta her." Jacob gave Jack a look, as was his way, but William seemed not to care about this. Instead, he went forward where John McGinty stood watch over the door. John snapped up his musket so suddenly, he might have struck the overhead beam. William was actually surprised that he didn't, and said as much.

"What words has the prisoner shared with anyone?" William asked as a matter of course, for he expected to hear the words 'None, sah'.

"Some Gaelic, Sah. Betwixt her and God, I expect."

"Speak you Gaelic, Mister McGinty?"

"None, Sah, but as I'm a sailor I know 'nough of it ta cuss, which...she also did, Sah."

William smiled a little at this. "And no other words...? Then I..."

"Beg pardon, Sah. She said that she were 'fine' to Mister Roberts and that 'the Cap'n had his reasons', Sah."

William said nothing to this, for what had he to say, what with Murin able to hear all. Still, his mood darkened a little. "Open the door." John threw the bolt and stood aside as he went in. William closed the door slowly behind him as Murin stood up, this time careful not to strike her head overhead.

"How is it you have tongue enough to disobey my order of silence, Miss McDonough?" he said flatly.

[Capt. Sterling]

The Archangel, now known as the Horizon Désolé, made her way smartly toward the furthest edges of the harbor. Her piercings had been boarded over and camouflaged, her guns covered with old tarps and spare cordage, looking like so much uncared for and unkempt supplies. Once again she seemed the very image of her former profession, right down to the resurrected barrier dividing crew from human cargo. Her African crew members, only too pleased with proper captain's views on slavery, now played their parts as well. Stripped down to bare essentials, they paraded in low spirits about the lower deck, hands holding fast to the chains that should have bound their wrists. Even the 'Angel's new paint job, already worn by the weather, looked decidedly aged and very much French... in other words ...

Gaudy.

Mr. March stood upon the quarterdeck looking decidedly uncomfortable. Only the most trusted and seasoned hands moved about in the open. Men, reliable to do their jobs without word.

"Well Mr. Bottles," March began, keeping his voice low enough so only the other man could hear. "You are in charge."

"Merci, M. March," Bottles said, failing at his attempt to check his grin. Additional tug was given to ill fitting wig, before hands brushed invisible specks from Sterling's borrowed clothes.

"Do not let it go to yer head lad," March added. "You will only be translating the orders I give you. The men already know what to do."

Fiddler struck up a lively French jig. Crack of short whip was heard and the Africans were put through their daily exercise before returning below decks to make ready for any fight that might lay in the near future.

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Watch Dog

"Begging yer pardon sah I responded witout tinkin." She began a curtsy then felt the fool and simply looked to the ground until she composed her thoughts.

[William Brand]

Augst 4, 1704 - The fore lastage of the Watch Dog

William considered several retorts to this most obvious answer, but felt that any of them would be utterly lost on Murin. His respect for the woman was declining by degrees, so much so, that his anger could not rest for trying to keep up.

"The cats keep down the lurking enemies of the hold who would sink us. The boarders defend the Watch Dog unasked..." William said this as if to himself, and perhaps he did, not thinking the words would mean much in the present company. It was a kind of barb that he said it so, but he was past caring at the moment. Before, he would have defended her, and indeed had done so just moments prior as he glared coldly upon Mister Bly, but now they were the Captain and the prisoner again.

William took out the letter with the unbroken seal upon it and passed it to Murin.

[Silkie McDonough]

I did not betray anyone! she screamed in her mind.

Miss McDonough’s brow furrowed as she took the parchment from the captain. Not a word passed her lips, she had learned her lesson. Her name was written there, she said nothing. Why would the captain give her a something in writing rather than simply tell her what he would say. She flipped it over a smudge of wax and nothing more. She looked up at the captain and waited.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Fore lastage of the Watch Dog

"Miss McDonough, the letter is addressed to you, is it not? I've done you the courtesy of delivering it unopened, but with almost everyone aboard the Watch Dog one might assume that your English friends have sent you this correspondence." William explained this very slowly and then he stood with his palms spread apart as if to say, 'Is this not so?'. "There is light enough to read by in this place."

[Silkie McDonough]

With an effort Murin did not tremble as she opened the missive and returned the open letter to Captain Brand unread.

She looked directly at the captain. Her eyes did not show defiance, nor did she lower her head in fear. The words on the paper would speak for themselves. Captain Brand would be dissatisfied no matter the content. Additionally, with her limited reading skills any attempt to read the foreign hand would serve only to raise the captain’s ire further. Miss McDonough knew whatever the subject of the communiqué she had done and said nothing to endanger the Dog. She could not imagine what additional John might have to say and hoped that perhaps it was sent by one of the merchants she had been dealing with but knew better. She appeared composed. Her back was straight, her head held high and her honor still firmly intact.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Saint Pierre, Martinique 4 August 1704

Aboard the Lucy

Four Bells of the Afternoon Watch

Dorian was about to head below when Mister Styles sang out “Small boat on approach!” He looked to where the lookout pointed and there was the guard boat on its way out. The Captain let out a sigh, relieved yet anxious for its return. Taking up the glass, though he could already see Lieutenant Martin’s bright white coat, he scanned the small cutter to see who might be aboard. Aside from the small crew and the Officer, it was empty.

“That bodes well I hope… Master Whitin’ford! A side party fer Lieutenant Martin if you please!”

Preston gave a loud ‘Aye-aye!’ and barked orders to Mister Flint, who then passed it down the line to the Lucy’s marines. As they came to attention, many of the French marines dressed themselves as well, not that they had been at ease, but backs were straightened and eyes stared straight ahead. Sergeant Leveque walked around the deck, eyeing each of his men and rounded back near the now assembled marines of the Lucy. He stood near enough to appear part of the side party, yet removed. Again the small cutter came about and bumped alongside the Lucy. As soon as the Lieutenant’s head cleared the rail, the air was pierced by the bo’sun’s call, but not as clearly as earlier. Mister Tucker wasn’t quite as good with the whistle as Mister Brisbane. Lieutenant Martin walked the deck, eyes flashing this way and that, finally centering on the Captain as he came to the end of the side party. He saluted and bowed, and Dorian returned both. The officer held out a letter before speaking.

“Mon commandant vous souhaite la bienvenue au port de Saint Pierre, de même que juge Richet. Vous et vos officiers avez été invité dans les meilleurs délais à la maison d'Amirauté à discuter votre demande.”

Jean was at Captain Lasseter’s elbow and without prompt translated.

“Lieutenant Martah say his Commandant welcomes you to Saint Pierre, as does Judge Richet. You and the officers of the Lucy have been, ah, invited to the house of the Admiralty as soon as, at your earliest convenience. To discuss our demands.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at Jean.

“Demands? I’ve made no demands…”

“Perhaps I say it wrong. Maybe requests? No?”

“Aye… requests I have made… very well.”

Dorian bowed his head to the Lieutenant.

“Un moment pour recueillir mes officiers, s'il vous satisfait.”

Lieutenant Martin now raised an eyebrow at Dorian’s French. He smiled politely and bowed.

“Oui Capitaine, please do so, I shall wait.”

Starboard Watch on duty

[Pew]

Dorian put his finger to his lips, "Mister Whitt'nf'rd, a moment." Lieutenant Martin nodded and went to the side of his senior marine at the rail. He whispered something in the man's ear, and the marine nodded.

"Aye sah." Preston replied. He rested his hands on the pistol tucked in his belt. A prize from the actions with the Maastricht, it had yet to be fired with reason.

_____________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: At anchor, bow facing NE

Speed: At rest

Wind: Northeasterly breeze, one point off the bow

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the Captain and Master stepped away, Dorian muttered under his breath.

“Touche`…”

Preston gave him a questioning look, to which Dorian shook his head before continuing.

“Seems we been ‘invited’ ta th’ Admiralty House… all th’ officers o’ the Lucy… Not sure I like that… I don’t think I would leave th’ ship in just th’ hands o’ th’ mates… I certainly cannot pardon m’self from the ‘invite’, you might though… I’ll take Mister Flint ‘r Brocke, Brisbane an’ Tucker… Mister Wenge… I’d take Johnson, but his mate missed our departure an’ I’ll not take th Master Gunner away an’ leave th’ ship without… What say you?”

[Alder]

“Aye Sah” Alder soundly replied without any hesitation as he straightened himself up eager to represent his captain and the crew.

Having expended sufficient energy on images of the past, his passions now rose to a steadfast, defensive posture. The carpenter's wiry hand felt for the folded note pressed tightly against his chest. Then; in deference to the emphasis of "invitation" by Captain Lasseter, his hand fell to to his side for the assurance of the pistol that he had unfortunately neglected below. A moment of apprehension was replaced by a plan of action to abandon the first possession and retrieve the second.

[William Brand]

William received the letter again and read it aloud. He drew closer to Murin as he did so, careful to keep his voice low, though the cacophony of voices on the berth deck made this unnecessary.

"Thank you for what you have done. I remain, always, your servant. If ever there is a need, whatever kind, you know where to find me."

"Brevity in correspondence, to be sure." William remarked. "And cautious enough to leave the letter unadorned with monogram or signature." Murin said nothing to this, perhaps owing to her too many words from before. William folded the letter closed while looking at her. He passed the letter back again.

"And where might you find him?"

[Silkie McDonough]

She glanced at the paper as she took possession of it, what had John meant. You know where to find me. "I left im sleepin at an unremarkable inn but one city block frum d'docks." Miss McDonough spoke quietly to the captain with little inflection. "Once e'leaves dere I nil know where t'finds im" She paused in thought, "I knows d'name uv is ship, suppose ifin I needs im I ken put word out n'ope fer d'best." She fell silent thinking to her self how much she hoped she would never have need to "find him" yet she hoped to someday see him again ...if she ever has the chance to see anyone again. She fought to keep her composure as she said a silent prayer.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Lucy

The Captain nodded to Mister Wenge.

“Aye, go and put on yer best… I’m hopin’ this’ll be a dinner party, not a boardin’ party, if ye get my understandin’... Mister Doublet will also join us, for translation duty, Mister Roche and some of th’ others can handle those needs aboard while we’re off.”

Nigel shifted his weight awkwardly and cleared his throat. Dorian looked his way and spread a hand as if to ask what he had to say.

“Beggin’ yer pardon Sir… I’ve not got a fine coat ta wear t’such a fancy place as ye says we’re invited to… With yer permission I beg not ta go…”

Dorian gave the man a long hard look, but in the end he could not bring himself to force the man to go. He did resolve not to allow others to sidestep their social responsibilities of being an officer.

“I’ll allow it this time Mister Brisbane. Once things are established I order you ta find a tailor in this port and have a fine coat made. That goes fer all of you officers… Unless ye’ve drained yer coffers on th’ tarts in Fort Royal, you can well afford it… and if not, see me later an’ we’ll arrange somat. Understood?”

All heads nodded, some with reddened faces.