The Watch Dog

[Pew]

Eric remained standing. He removed his cap and placed it in his hands.

He wiped his brow of any perspriation that may be evident, real or imagined.

"Beggin your pardon sah, a few o' th' men 'ave noticed, and myself t' be included... has, is...damn...well sah, does den Oven cause th' Captain for 's much concern 's he 'as shown 's of late? I understand Miss McDonough an' such, but th' Captain seems t' have much on his mind."

Eric was not once to mince words nor be nervous, but standing before Captain Brand now, a different veil had fallen.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William made no remark, but two phrases entered his mind then.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions."

Both of these answers seemed appropriate, but only in the moment, so William used neither. While it was true that William had been less likely to laugh aloud of late, it was only under the circumstances of the present. Because of this, he could find no way to answer Eric at first, so he made none. Instead he drank the glass he poured for Eric and filled it again. He passed it to Eric and would not speak until Eric took it.

"Mister Franklin. Weighty matters have made these few days long. That is all." Though it was not all. William was paused only a moment before he continued. "Call it the departure of too many, the arrival of not a few and the treachery of a handful. We have passed into a dangerous time. I've not enjoyed enough of Martinique to be rested. I will be more myself on the sea."

[Pew]

Eric merely nodded in agreement.

"Aye sah, somedays th' dragon wins," Eric added as an afterthought.

"Mister Franklin?" The Captain didn't quite understand the statement by the Master-at-arms.

"Sah, at my former post, my master gunner used t' say after a bit o' bad luck, 'Somedays th' dragon wins.' He always told us St. George couldn't best them all." Eric wanted to continue, to discuss the new marines, but it was not pressing. "I'll be about m' duties sah." Eric replaced his cap and returned to the deck of the Watch Dog.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William replaced the bottle in the stern bench, and smiled despite himself. The mention of St. George had brought up thoughts of the Ascalon again. Hollis had asked him about it just three days prior, and no doubt he had already talked about it to some of the men aboard. "Somedays th' dragon wins." he said aloud, and wondered if it had ever been said of him in reference to that ill-fated vessel. Even William couldn't be certain of the details of that particular story, having had nothing to do with it, despite the many tales to the contrary.

William replaced his hat and went to the surgery door to see what Miss O'Treasaigh was making of her apartments there.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

The Captain arrived at the surgery to find Miss O'Treasaigh already attending her first of two patients. Miss Tribbiani sucked in her breath sharply as Maeve finished up the job of wrapping Treasure's hand. Footfall in the open doorway alerted her to someone's presence and she turned to see who had arrived.

Seeing that it was the Captain, Maeve turned to face him.

"Hello again Captain Brand", she said, smiling. "What may I do for ya sir?"

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - The Surgery of the Watch Dog

"Please do me the favor of tying Miss Tribbiani down." William said, but before Treasure could apologize, and in the face of Maeve's raised eyebrows, he recanted. "Just see that our Miss Tribbiani causes herself no further harm."

Treasure looked moved to words of explanation, so he stepped forward then and reassured her that he was not angry, but also said that he would be if she left that place before released from the good ministrations of Miss O'Treasaigh. He had seen too many a proud man and woman disregard their previous surgeon, often to the point of making him cross. He would not allow such foolishness to continue in the future. This said, he frowned to see her in discomfort and reassured her that food and fare were available to her at a whim to give her ease.

Next, he went to the bedside of Luigi, who lay unconscious in a regular and comfortable sleep. He was troubled a little inward to see Luigi wounded, but the man seemed well enough and knowing something of medicine by experience, he bent to the man's diminished hand and smelled the bandages.

"This good man was wounded in service to a woman." William could not now bring himself to say 'crew mate'. "I would have him keep his hand, if possible."

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

"Of course Captain", she murmured. "I'll take a look at it as soon as I'm finished here with Miss Tribbiani", she replied. "In the meantime, I'm lookin' forward ta settlin' into ma quarters. It's truly much more than I'd hoped for", she said, smiling.

Captain Brand returned a pleasant enough smile and welcomed her aboard yet again as he left the surgery for duties elsewhere.

[Silkie McDonough]

The Cable Tier of the Watch Dog

That was all. She saluted as he left but Captain Brand took no notice. She stood in the dark her eyes fixed upon the door. She stared there not because she expected the door to open any moment but because that is the only source of light in the small compartment. She stared because she was left in the dark. After many long moments Miss McDonough blinked and pulled her eyes away from the door. Looking into the darkness above her to the beam she knew was there her vision failed. She reached out to find it and placed both hands along the wooden surface, raised herself to her the balls of her feet and allowed her weight to pull forward as she dropped her head and arched her back letting a soft groan escape. In the silence of the cable tier the sound seemed overly loud and she stopped abruptly but she continued to stretch enjoying the release of tension. Once done, she felt vaguely refreshed but the weight of her world bore quickly down upon her shoulders. Captain Brand had left her in the dark literally and figuratively.

How had she managed to create this situation for herself? She was far too impetuous a girl at times. Had she been so restricted the past three years on the plantation and before that she was so complacent in her freedom and security? She dropped once more onto the floor. Murin now had more than enough time to consider her behavior here in Martinique.

[BriarRose Kildare]

BriarRose arrived at the docks with a few more belongings in tow. Miss Smith had been waiting for her arrival and quickly escorted her through the crowd of people upon the docks. BriarRose had very little time to look about her as she was taken aboard and further escorted to the surgeon’s quarters. Thanking Miss Smith, BriarRose entered through the surgeon’s door to see Maeve bandaging Miss Tribbiani’s hand. Placing the packages down she greeted Maeve and her patient.

“Hello, Maeve, Miss Tribbiani.” She continued, “Is there any thing you need me to do for you Maeve?”

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Miss Ashcombe had presented herself in the waist before the Captain had reappeared. She had before her a bottle of fine vintage, but better than Lieutenant Martin would have opportunity to imbibe. Assuming the present was for the French higher-ups ashore, Preston caught her before it had been unveiled to the Lieutenant. A second of momentary confusion caught the steward off-guard.

"Whoa, Ash," Preston whispered to her, "'Tis a gift for those tha' make th' decisions' ashore, not 'n errand boy." The Ship's master had seen his share of those who felt their position was greater than it truly was. Lieutenant Martin was one of those men.

Miss Ashcombe, confused, finally understood to whom the bottle was for while the Ship's master had ahold of her arm. She glanced to those unfamiliar men on the deck of the Lucy. Preston reassured her, "Tell th' Cap'n I'll remain aboard as 'e makes th' appropriate presentations ashore." A wink accompanied his final statement. Miss Ashcombe smiled, relinquished the bottle and curtsied briefly before returning to the Ward Room.

Lieutenant Martin waited patiently in the waist of the Lucy with his marines for a return of Captain Lasseter.

_____________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: At anchor, bow facing N

Speed: At rest

Wind: Northerly breeze, two points off the bow

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Maeve brushed back damp strands of hair from her face. The humidity seemed even more oppressive here on the boat and so she had flung open the old gun ports in the surgery and in her shared quarters in an attempt to garner relief in having some moving air.

She turned and smiled at Briar's sudden appearance and question. "I'm glad ta see ya made it safely". Quickly, she filled in Miss Kildare regarding the status of the two patients already in their care. There was really nothing more to do as far as Luigi and Miss Tribbiani were concerned and so she gestured to their quarters immediately behind where she stood. "I could use yer help movin' in the rest of our things", she said lightly. "Then we should set about givin' this surgery room a good scrubbin' an' take inventory of everythin' we have available to us in here", she concluded. Within moments, the two of them were completely embroiled in their tasks as a bored Miss Tribbiani looked on.

[Black Syren]

These women had been kind to her ashore, and she remembered the shared laughter when she had tossed that wretched cap upon their table. A smile tipped her lips before she growled with frustration. As the women moved about making the surgery their own she let her gaze move broodingly after them. Feeling overwhelmed with the need to help for s’truth she could not sit idle she asked if she could aid them in some small way.

She watched first Briar then Maeve turn to her with identical scolding looks and took a small step back before seating herself gingerly upon the cot. She cradled her now wrapped palm and watched the two women resume their chores about the cabin. By now both women had tendrils of hair clinging to their foreheads and could only assume that in their stays, petticoats and skirts they must be overwhelmed.

“It helps to dress as I do.” She said hestitantly and nearly flinched as Maeve turned back to her taking in her mans garb brow arched. “Being aboard ship is difficult in skirts…” She broke off gesturing lamely suddenly unsure of herself with these two women who seemed more competent and assured than she herself was.

"Thanks for aiding me..and welcome to the Dog." she said more softly and turned away from those all knowing blue eyes to settle upon the porthole and what she could see of the sky beyond.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Lucy

Saint Pierre, Martinique

The Coxswain, glad to not have to head to the Admiralty House, headed to the quarterdeck, out of the way of the gathering of men. Another reason he did not wish to go was his eye, which had begun to water and pinch again, still not quite right after the sea battle not so many days ago. During his shore leave in the last port he had dulled the pain with drink, but now that he had only the usual shipboard rations, the pain returned. He blinked back some tears, which in some ways made it worse. Taking his neck cloth off he headed back to the waist and dipped it into the fresh water butt and quickly returned to the stern, where he took the wet cloth and held it against his eye, giving some relief. Nigel thought he might talk to Mister Marsh, once the captain had gone ashore, and see if he might do him a kindness and see about an extra gil of rum on the sly.

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

William Flint, Christopher Tucker, Alder Wenge all arrived on deck prepared for a ceremonious trip ashore. Mister Flint had also retrieved James Whiting and Robert Jameson from his ranks of marines to accompany the party ashore. Preston looked at the master-at-arms' choice. While the men where similar in age and proportion, their backgrounds and appearance could not be more differing. Mister Whiting's blue eyes and blonde hair contrasted to Robert's fiery red mustache and shaved head.

Preston laughed to himself. While James was able to converse briefly in the classic languages, as well as Scripture, Mister Jameson was a poor Irishman whose only communication was in English. Yet both men wore the badge of honor as Marines of the Lucy. They stood at attention with their musket buttstock flat on the deck.

The ship's master continued inspection of those men reporting back to the waist. Alder Wenge was a full fathom tall and neatly groomed, ready for the visit to the Admiralty House. Christopher "Lucky Tuck" Tucker, was the smallest of the group but easily one of the most influential. For any journey of importance, Christopher was sure to be invited. Finally William Flint was always a button of perfection. Nearly a full foot taller than all of the men and armed well, almost too well for a 'friendly' trip to Monsieur Arnaud Richet, one of the Admiralty Judges. Preston paused.

"Mayhaps a pistol less, eh Mister Flint," Preston whispered to the master-at-arms.

"Aye sir," Bill replied stoically.

As Bill headed below for a quick exchange, Captain Lasseter and Jenny Ashcombe arrived on deck. Captain Lasseter in his 'shore' finery, and Miss Ashcombe dressed in simple slops, shirt, neckerchief, and an ill-fitting hat of Miss McDonough's. Again, the contrast was found humorous to Preston.

"Captain, Miss Ashcombe," Preston smiled, acknowledged the pair and knuckled his forelock.

Miss Ashcombe curtsied and Dorian Lasseter nodded, "Mister Whitt'n'f'rd. Are th' men ready?"

"Aye sah. Mister Flint 's curently b'low deck, back 'n a moment. We 'ave th' Lucy's small boat ready 's well."

"Mister Doublet?" Dorian asked.

"Oui, Capitaine Lasseter," Jean replied.

Dorian nodded again and as if Bill Flint had been listening, he returned to his postion.

Preston stepped forward, closer to Dorian Lasseter, "Sah, a gift f'r th' Admiralty Judge, courtesy of Miss Ashcombe." Jenny blushed for her mistake, but Captain Lasseter was none the wiser. Dorian accepted the bottle and placed it in a leather satchel. Dorian left Mister Whittenford's side.

"Lieutenant Martin, thank you f'r your patience," the Captain spoke.

"Ah oui, s'il vous plaît," Lieutenant Martin swept his hand towards his small cutter.

"Mister Flint, if you'd b' so kind 's t' accompany me with the Lieutenant. You gents, take Miss Ashcombe an' 'r cutter ashore."

"Aye sah," came from those men at once.

"Mister Whitt'n'f'rd, you 'ave th' deck."

______________________________________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: At anchor, bow facing ENE

Speed: At rest

Wind: North Easterly breeze, one points off the bow

[Alder]

Alder remained at the ready alongside Misters Whiting and Jameson the senior of the three in the only manner that held no stock; age and not of salt. His anticipation met apprehension as the two emotions vied for prominence even and they lay cloaked from the unperceptive by a mask of finery. Though he felt well-armed in both wit and weapon, he wondered what receptin would be met. Still the carpenter was eager to offer his talents as his Captain saw fit. Alder assessed every nuance and awaited command however it may be communicated.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As Dorian turned the deck over to Preston, he too looked over his officers and men who would accompany him ashore to the ‘dinner party’ with Monsieur Richet, Admiralty Judge. He knew they all had put on their best, yet what a rag-tag bunch they still looked. He and Mister Flint wore new coats, and the rest were in much less. Doublet was the worst off, as he had been sent along off the Watchdog with not more than a ditybag. They had atleast three hours until dinner, until they were expected at the Admiralty House. Captain Lasseter mused this for a moment, before turning back to his officers and speaking in a low tone.

“Gentlemen… I much appreciate that you did your best in dressing, however I hope to make a certain impression on those in power here. Mister Flint an’ I will head directly t’ the Admiralty house an’ make our presence known. Th’ lot o’ you will head in ta town and purchase some new finery, nothin’ too gaudy now. Here, take this specie, spread evenly amongst you, for what you’ll need. I only wish I had someone who knew th’ town I could trust so you might find yer way to meet us once your purchases have been made.”

The officers smiled and nodded, none took offense to what their Captain had said about their clothes not being up to a certain standard. They were after all, sailors, not courtly hang-abouts, and they knew their Captain took pride in them.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William spent the next little while penning the awful reply of condolences to the officers and crew of the Chasse de Mer. The words were long in coming and he found that he had not the tongue for it. It proved too formal a letter in the end, so he began again, lacing the next one with personal observations and recollections of the former Captain. He was careful to use poignant French phrases where he could and he did not withhold his own feelings on the matter. Then he signed it solemnly and sent it on its way.

After this he went on deck again, and he decided almost immediately that he had waited long enough for news of his men from Durand or any other source. He took the time to send a brief note by runner to the Navarra, explaining his intentions to meet the Spanish ship off the coast of Martinique on the morrow. He further explained that he would send a dispatch by horseman overland to tell them when he would depart St. Pierre. This done, he set his hat and moved to the quarterdeck. The time had come to cast off all lines and return the frigate to the sea. William pictured a tethered dog in his mind, but thought the use of the word 'unleash' would be too dramatic for such a simple maneuver, so he kept it to himself. "Mister Warren!" He called, shouting despite the close proximity of the Ship's Master.

"Sah!" Jim returned with equal force.

"Muster the Starboard Watch smartly, if you please." William pointed along the 'Dog's rails. "Let's have some men larboard and prepare to ease away."

"Aye, Sah!"

"Mister Franklin!"

"Sah!"

"Your marines to Mister Badger!"

"Understood, Sah!" Eric nodded. "Marines t' me! Lay aft an' surrender yer muskets fer the workin' day!"

Mister Badger!" William continued.

"Sah!"

"Prepare to set topsails and stand by to shiver the yards!"

"Aye, Sah!" Jacob snapped off a smart salute and his whole countenance turned to that of the taskmaster. "LOOOOOSE THE TOPSA'LS! Moooove lively, Mister Clovely!" These shouts were followed by many more, many of them aimed at Mister Roberts. Jack answered every order in turn while Mister Badger looked on with a nod or two.

Then orders in quick succession were heard fore and aft as orders passed from officers top to bottom and from below on up the rigging. The sharp staccato of overlapping 'Aye-Ayes!' could be heard among the din of the rabble. Rowers of the dockyard's smallboats, hired for towing the 'Dog backwards upon her haunches, dipped their oars as their boatheaders cried out in unison. Oars rose and fell, lines went slack and sails luffed, neither drawing nor aback as the Watch Dog drifted out and turned lazily about on the Cul du sac Royal.

William wore a smile more at ease and he noted that among all the new recruits, none smiled more than Thomas Wheateham as they put to sea. His was the face of the moment, too happy to be truly free of Martinique's imprisoning shore not to smile as he went about his work. William turned to Jim.

"Set a course for St. Pierre, Mister Warren."

"Aye, Sah."

Just after six bells of the Afternoon Watch

Starboard Watches on Duty

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

BriarRose and Maeve had good-naturedly laughed off Treasure’s idea of wearing men’s clothing. While it did seem to be suitable for labors aboard ship, it conversely didn’t seem practical for the two women who would be practicing medicine rather than scrabbling up ropes and the swaying heights of a ship. In truth, Maeve thought it bordering on scandalous to see a woman’s legs so visible.

Miss Tribbiani made frequent offers of assistance to the two ladies as they moved about the surgery and cabin unpacking and arranging their new domicile. These, of course, they refused politely and finally reminded her of the Captain's orders to “tie her down”. This reminder seemed to quiet the poor lass.

In the midst all their re-arranging, Maeve heard the shouts of the crew as they made ready to set sail. Anxious to look upon her beloved Martinique one last time, Maeve moved to the gun port window in their generously spacious quarters as the ship heaved to and away from the docks.

[Black Syren]

As Maeve moved over to set eyes upon her homeland Treasure shifted allowing more room and wished more than anything to be back aloft her airy perch, face to the wind, riding the waves, eager to be at home once more deep at sea. A disgruntled sigh escaped afore she could sequester it and toyed with the hems of her slops hoping the others had not heard. It seemed they had not for indeed Briar had now gathered with Maeve and both had their arms wrapped about the other in comfort and support.

Shifting backwards on the bunk she hummed softly to herself and then noticed a book of medicines upon the table near to her and she hefted it and carefully opened it and before she realized it had read through the first chapter at a rapid rate. It was one talent she called her gift…she could read anything and rapidly. Still humming she continued on to chapter two totally engrossed in what she read. Really the mysterious treatments for the human body were quite astonishing…..

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Jonah Greene was kept busy all the while they were maneuvering the frigate. Since early that morning he had overseen the making and mending of pens, cages and enclosures for the livestock of the Watch Dog. The goats had proved counterproductive many times as they liberated themselves below decks. Jonah took this in stride and promised aloud to make a prison of the holds and this remark soon had many of the former residents of Fort Royal calling the bilge the 'Midnight Cells', in reference to the dungeon they had escaped, but also to pun the Master Carpenter, whose nickname had long been Midnight.

As the Watch Dog was bracing with the wind one of the cages tumbled and a plump pigeon escaped the enclosure before Richard Tollervy could stop it. It flew about the berth deck to the confusion and delight of the Larboard Watch, and it might have escaped the ship altogether, but Ulrich fon Sandt-Thorvald caught it on the fly, plucking it deftly from the air. He did this so casually that it raised not a few humorous and appreciative remarks and some small applause, before Jacob Badger reminded them that this was a work day among some 365 working days. He even cuffed Robert Elmer a little to make his point.

Meanwhile, Jim Warren and Mathew Campion stood on the quarterdeck making numerous calculations for the short journey to St. Pierre. William asked Tudor to join them there, where she proved a most knowledgable participant. She even smiled to see the rigid Mister Campion frown in surprise at her grasp of all things nautical.

William watched these various scenes play out as he circumnavigated the ship. He was quick to compliment a good labor and just as quick to correct a bad one, though there were few under the ministrations of Jacob and Jack.

The wind off the Cul du Sac Royal proved favorable for them and the open sea loomed as the 'Dog caught her stride.

Seven bells of the Afternoon Watch

Starboard Watches on Duty

[Red Cat Jenny]

Aboard the small boat of the Lucy

Miss Ashcombe climbed into the ship's boat with the men. She was relieved that Mister Wenge and Mr. Tucker would be in their company. Having met very few of the Lucy's crew, Jenny would have been among strangers and quite uncomfortable. As they pushed away from the Lucy she fell silent unsure of her place. She understood they were to go ashore and the men to outfit themselves as would be proper for the evening's visit. Was she to accompany them? Was it was assumed she would purchase proper clothing as well? She looked down at the sailor's slops she wore and attempted to rub a spot from the shirt. The clothing had proven comfortable enough in the heat, but it was all she posessed besides one chemise, skirt and stays she had packed as she fled. Jenny wondered if Murin had thought to retrieve her second set of soaked clothing from le Chateau Anse as she left.

There had been no mention of Jenny's requirements other than to accompany them, perhaps to make her French and familiarity with the island useful. Mr. Doublet had spoken in French but seemed unsure he would know the local dialect well. She sat quietly and let her eyes drift along the shoreline with only the thump and slosh of the sweeps interrupting conversation too hushed to discern between the two men and Mr. Tucker. Jenny considered her plight and resolved to ask Mr. Wenge for help once ashore where they could speak in private. She bit her bottom lip considering that she had not a coin with her. It was all within her belongings. She had no proper clothing. Nothing to protect her from heat, nor rain and certainly not enough to feel as comfortable as she had become accustomed to. It was foolish to leave with so little, but necessary in order to slip away quickly and not make it immediately obvious that she would not return. She had no thread for mending, no shawl nor hat. She had taken along comb, brush and a few small sundries but now realized she lacked certain items to keep herself in a proper manner. Her consternation must have become apparent as Alder Wenge asked what might trouble her so suddenly. In hushed tones and blushed cheek she explained her plight to him. He answered with a chuckle and a reassuring look, that she as the Captain's Steward, would be included in the forray and expected to outfit herself as well. "There'll be enough left ta puchase that what ye need ta keep yer comfort miss, Captain's been generous in what he's given us" He then smiled warmly and suggested she in turn would be a generous help in their dealing with the local sutlers as none were so fluent in French as she. Miss Ashcombe returned the warm smile, her face now a relieved expression and considered what shops she had seen on the last of her only two trips to St. Pierre. She would wait for Mr. Doublet to speak first and only assist where she was asked to make clear what was being negotiated.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

The Admiralty House was well appointed in the colonial style. Captain Lasseter and his Master-at-Arms waited momentarily in the foyer before a servant came to collect them and escort them to the offices of Monsieur Arnaud Richet. There were two other men waiting with Richet

"Capitaine Lasseter of the cutter Lucy, and Mr. William Flint"* the servant announced.

"Capitaine Lasseter, so good of you and your officer to come, but Lieutenant Martin led me to believe there would be more of you, no?", asked Richet.

Captain Lasseter turned to Flint " Bill, I didn't quite catch all dat, y'mind translatin' a wee bit?"

"Aye, Captain, he's happy we're here but he's curious as to where the rest of the boys are."

Richet cut in "Ah, forgive me captain I assumed that because you sail for France you must be french. Let us speak in English then that you may be more comfortable, I was hoping you would join us all for a drink before dinner." Richet said and poured a glass of brandy for each of the Lucy's men.

Continuing to speak as he poured he went on "Monsieur Flint I find your accent quite charming, is it from the colonies?"

"Oui Monsieur"

"Splendid!" the judge cried

"Allow me to introduce our other guests this evening, My nephew Gaston," he said indicating the young man to his right

"And Lt. Franco LeClerc, of our most Catholic Majesties Dragoons, recently returned from the fighting against the British in New France" and pointed to the young man on his left.

* translated from the French

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Gaston smiled and uttered a few pleasantries, while LeClerc merely to a sip of his brandy and examined the thin cigarillo between his rather delicate looking fingers. Bill mused that they were almost womanly hands, indeed the lads entire appearance seemed rather effiminate. Hardly suited to the hardened soldier he was purported to be. Without looking at the two privateers LeClerc spoke.

"William Flint, this name is known to me in the colonies. Did you fight under Captain Benjamin Church?"

"Christ, even the little bastards voice is girly", Bill rankled to himself

"I have served under Captain Church against the Algonquin nations on occasion", he said with a shrug

"Yet now you fight for France," LeClerc returned

Catain Lasseter and Monsiuer Richet both took note of the anger Flint kept in check and how he tried to maitain a civil tongue as he answered the boy.

"I'm afraid I miss the Lt.'s point" Bill said as politely as possible.

LeClerc merely shrugged and sipped his brandy.

[Red Cat Jenny]

An officicial residence near St. Pierre

His back was stiff from the long carriage ride to the very Northern shore of Martinique. The latter part of which had been over a bumpy cart road just East of St. Pierre to the splendid yet remote residence in which he now waited. Martin Garaud sat uncomfortably in the outer parlor of the man's offices. He'd been kept waiting too long yet this was one time he needed keep his patience. Both altogether unatural experiences for him. Silently inside, his frustration fought with the tiniest feeling of trepidation. Perhaps for once he'd pushed harder than he should have. Perhaps this time extended his hand too far. Trade of this sort, the darker business of human cargo removed often the gentility of even those most highly educated or from the best of breeding.

The influence of power and coin, pressed hard upon the hand of reason in matters whose rules were still being written and whose wealth equaled the danger involved.

Garaud knit his brow. The name he'd been given in a dispatch so sensitive in nature it was relayed only verbally..No, it could not be the same man. Though the messengers sources had generally proven true in the past. His upper lip twitched at the outer corner and Garaud sponged the idea from his mind. "Rubbish" was the solitary thought and the only amount of deliberation he would waste any further mental effort on.

There was business at hand. The business of slavery, rum and the Colonial route they plied. His impenetrable composure regained, he stood turning to look for the assistent who several times had passed by, wearing the familiar look of those in his own servitude. Anxious, like an animal strayed too far into the open. Just then the door to the inner offices was swung wide.

Pinaud Fontainelle was a dignitary concealing a second livlihood and like himself was wise enough to avoid the paths of his dual interests any intersection. His prior visitor had gone by some back way.

Fontainelle stood and greeted him from behind the reflective veneer of his antique desk. It had been imported from France at great expense as was with most of his trappings. He was a gentleman dressed finely in silk and embroidery, topped with a grey wig and small pince nez on a chain pinned to his waistcoat. He rarely wore them as more than a decoration. He prized the fine things in life and like Garaud routinely aquired them with a sense of entitlement. However unlike his guest, his was more conjured than earned.

Garaud unable to avoid the thoughts which had plagued him all the morning leaned in as if those outside might somehow hear across the great expanse of the room. "Sterling?....an English so far upon French soil?

Fontainelle's whole demeanor changed. Shock gave way to defense. He stared in silence. His visitor continued..Surely you cannot have expected word...."

Pinaud cut him off "Where have you heard such information!" He stepped back from the desk his hand going to his coat pocket wherein lay a small pistol. Garaud kept his demeanor. "I have my sources.." he said offering no more. His mind raced at the confirmation of information he'd scarecly believed true. The thought that this official might be involved with the man turned his stomach to stone though he did not show it outwardly. He immediately regretted the misstep."Perhaps Sir it is best we address our business at hand" Garaud offered, now hoping to vacate the remote residence with haste once his business was done.

A long pause followed. Finally Pinaud spoke in measured yet deliberate tones. He watched Garaud's expression closely.

"We are men of profit Martin are we not? Perhaps in this....trade...John Sterling plays a part.." He paused then, seeing the expression of fear shadow Garauds normally superior countenance. He struck at that fear.

"it does not surprise me that you know the man."

"Know him?! I only know OF him..he is an Englishman!" Martin spat the distaste of the crown into his words.

Another pause followed as Fontainelle, who had some talent for intimidation in few words, looked away a moment as if thinking deeply then his expression became falsely incredulous. He spread wide his free arm as if begging an audience of the whole empty room. Then he again turned on his heel to face his visitor.

"Do you....." Fontainelle drew out these words, stepping closer to Garaud his fingers curling silently about the pistol still hidden. "question my loyalty, Monsieir?"

Garaud to his own shock stepped back and his voice came weaker than he desired. "Non Monsieur..I simply.."

Fontainelle turned on him. "You simply what?!" he shouted. Satisfied at the upper hand, Pinaud waved the outstretched arm dismissively and turned towards the tall windows of his office.

The elegant, slender panes afforded him a lofty view over small trees towards the harbor in the distance. He absently observed the movement there. Then without turning around he continued, his tone one of quiet determination .."Our trade knows no loyalties.." Fontainelle let the words hang in the air a moment. Martin Garaud felt then as if a huge expanse had opened below him. The official before him continued. "We conduct our business sir, in loyalty to our pockets.. to the promise of vast wealth in our future..." He paused finishing this thought in the silence of his own private musing..."and when the Monarchy releases us to look for its own interests elsewhere...we shall be as Kings in our own domain..."

Garaud stood in stunned silence. Fontainelle let the wound bleed slowly speaking no more until he had returned to his desk and sat with some ceremony. His air was detached..as he went for the second assault.

"Monsieur Garaud...I 'm afraid I must delay the business at hand as ...new business has presented itself." He steepled his hands and looked over them at the Plantation owner. "It seems Monsieur, that you have let wolves into our garden.." Garaud felt his skin crawl. He had no other information, no idea what was being insinuated by the man he stood before. "Monsieur Fontainelle..I am unsure of what you speak"

Pinaud smiled a small and pained smile, as if the weight of the mans ignorance was truly trying. "A man fired upon a French Privateer in the Cul De Sac Royal some two days past..I believe he was a man in your employ.." Martin began to protest but was silenced by his accusor. "Due to the ...nature ..of his employ with you I have taken steps to allow it a single and unexplained event. One crazed man ensuring his own death..." he sighed. "Certain other events and a lack of anything identifying on his person have conspired to assist in this charade. I intend to deal with this issue tonight personally."

Garaud bristled and his face grew red with anger. He started towards Pinaud. "Now see here Fontainelle!"..He felt he was being trapped. Why woud he have anything to do with such a foolish act?

Pinaud stood abruptly and brought the pistol against Garaud's puffed out chest. "You will leave this residence now and go back to Isle De Generosite to tend to your daily business." he snapped curtly, pressing the barrel against Garauds breastbone. "If..you should leave here " he hissed in barely more than a whisper "with so much as a hint of John Sterling upon your lips you'll not live to see the morrow. " Pinaud yanked back the pistol and Garaud turned to go. "This will be your undoing with no assistance from me" he spat. "Then I shall meet you at the gallows side by side" Pinaud leveled the threat with a smile. "Good day Monsieur Garaud" He summoned the guards to take the man back to his carriage.

Once free of the long path and gates, the carriage rattled along the bumpy cart road. Garaud had more than half emptied the flask he carried.

.."Treason..." the barest whisper escaped his lips. He drank again to wash away it's taste. Had his wife lived, had he the grace of her presence, he'd have never started down this dark road. "It will be the undoing of us all.." he thought to himself. Garaud perched his elbow upon the sill of the carriage and covered his eyes with his hand. "God preserve us".. he almost sobbed the words and fell into silence.

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling lay peaceful for the moment. Their first act of appeasing lustful appetites had gone with ease, the girl just as eager and willing to please as he was willing to take what she offered.

The fingertips of one hand now caressed her bare back as she lay nuzzled close to him, asleep, her head on his chest. He would order dinner up to the room in a bit, but for now he was content to remain as he was.

By now the 'Angel, under cover of her old profession but having no true ties to such a hateful occupation, should surely have dropped anchor close in the harbor, but not too close. Soon the boat would be sent to collect him. He shifted slightly, the girl exhaling softly as he did, and reached for his watch. He still had hours to wait.