The Watch Dog

[Guest]

Secluded on the opposite side of the berth area, Tudor smiled to herself to hear the captain make the men at their ease with his presence. She hunkered down further into the hammock she had found on, unnoticed by any. Her arrival a while previous had been greeted with much the same hush, only she found herself unable to dispel it. Most of the men tried not to stare at her as she passed, some whispering as she went, none brave enough to actually speak to her. Adjusting her coat that was being used as a blanket, she took a moment to enjoy the solitude that enveloped her, the only thought plaguing her being that she hated damp wool.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny did not register much of the second part of what Captain Brand had said, or she might have been more frightened by the talk of "taking up the lash" which was intended as a warning towards any hidden and nefarious designs she may have come aboard with.

Her mind was awash with dreadful images conjured by the Captain's story. His narrative punctuated with the scars of his bare flesh, bringing a grisly and all too tangible reality to the words spoken.

The queasy feeling that had never left her completely, now returned with force.

Mr. Pew had begun to speak shortly after the Captain left, but Jenny held up a hand, the other covering her mouth and rushed from the room. No sooner had she let slam the door behind her than her eyes flooded with a torrent of tears hidden only by the continual soaking rain. The sudden change to coolness from the close, stagnant air of the ward room staved her sickness. But not the sickening feeling. Jenny groped blindly in the driving spray and huddled against the overturned boat nearest the mast. She held her cheek to the wet wood and sobbed. Her head swam, exaggerated by the pitching of the boat and she crumpled slightly. Unseen in the fog which obscured everything the rain did not.

Jenny concentrated on the feel of the wood against her cheek strugling to gain control. In the turbulent water and atmosphere of the past half hour its solidness gave her something to grasp. She held tight to the lapstrake and stayed that way for some time before sense drove her back indoors to escape illnesss. Thankfully Mr. Pew had gone. Jenny changed clothes and tried to dry herself, being soaked through to the skin. In the solitary confinement of the canvas she lay exhausted and alone under the woolen blanket and sleep came fitfully.

[Pew]

Below deck on the Lucy

Preston had it in half his mind to risk the storm and go ashore. The confinement was getting to him. The tête à tête of the Steward and Captain had him easing in nefarious thoughts. If he could have shot Miss Ashcombe and thrown her overboard, he would have. The thoughts continued to pervade his mind now. Could it be on the off chance that den Oven and Miss Ashcombe were in with one another? Had she been made a part of his escape, and the poor assassin merely a ruse to take away the focus from the prison while den Oven escaped? Was Klaas murdered while the Frenchie searched the Lucy's ledgers? Had Ajayi been murdered by a hand an arms length from hers?

Preston appeared among the hammocks below, soon behind William.

"Goddamn fekking wommen." The words arrived before he was able to identify where they were heading. The crew were in various stages of undress displaying those casualties honored among most men. They spun about to see the Ship's Master with his palms at his temples and slowly making their way to the sides of his cheeks. He did not see Miss Smith on the far side of the vessel, resting. Charlie Goddon was the first to break the silence.

"A nip sah?" Charlie handed Preston a flask with the top already removed. Several gulps were followed with an appreciative nod.

"Carry on," breathed Preston.

He made his way back into the storm checking on the watches one last time before he attempted rest.

The Ward Room still festered with the air of uneasiness. Preston slid Dorian's chair across the floor loudly and propped himself up. He blew out the shaded lantern then propped his feet on the long table. The rain had abated except for the few henpecks upon the glass as the stern swung into the storm. The din had set Preston into an unsettled slumber.

____________________________________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: At anchor, bow facing NNE

Speed: At rest

Wind: Strong North-Northeasterly winds, approx. gale strength gusts, 22-30 knots, swirling

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Admiralty House, Saint Pierre, Martinique

Dawn came slowly to Martinique on the 5th of August, 1704. The storm had abated to a mist and the clouds shut out the sun for a couple hours past when dawn normally would have come. Captain Lasseter had finally taken advantage of the room offered and was asleep in his shirt when a knock was sharply laid on his door. He woke with a start, but recovered quickly in the unfamiliar surroundings. Dorian removed himself from his bed and was searching for his clothes when the knock came again.

“A moment… er… Un moment, si vous plait…”

Unable to find his clothes where he laid them, instead he found a banyan in their place. Wrapping himself in it he headed to the door and opened it. There stood a servant, his clothes neatly dried and folded.

“Capitaine Lasseter, compliments du juge. Le déjeuner attend dès que vous pourrez.”

“Merci… Merci beaucoup…”

Dorian took the clothes from the servant who bowed and turned away down the hall. The door shut firmly, Dorian headed deeper into the room and laid out his clothes on the bed. He dressed quickly and once all his accoutrements and weapons were in place left the room and headed down to the main dining hall where The Judge, Lieutenant Martin, his Sergeant, and Mister Flint were already seated, about to enjoy the breakfast laid out. A twinge of embarrassment washed over the Captain, being the last to come to the table.

“Good morning Capitaine. My apologies, it took longer for your clothes than I had expected. Please sit.”

“Thank you Juge Richet. You are too kind, too kind by far.”

The Judge bowed his head and raised his glass as the Captain sat and was served by two servants. All ate with an appetite fitting the last evening’s happenings. Near the end of the meal a servant approached the Judge and whispered into his ear. Quickly he wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood.

“We have word of an injured man on the edge of the town. A foreigner it is told. Come.”

Every man seated followed the Judge, wiped away any evidence of the meal and stood, exiting the hall behind him into the hallway and to the Judges office. The hallway and parlour were still awash with marines, also enjoying a lesser, yet hardy morning meal. In the Judges office sat a man, hat in hand still damp from the rain. Dorian looked out the windows at the dreary light and noted that the rains had turned to a light misting. As the office filled with men, the door was shut behind them. Judge Richet smiled at the man and began asking him questions politely, to which the man answered politely. The man seated was a Philippe Pétain, assistant of Doctor Jean-Bernard Dubernard. A Monsieur Lagueux Michaud had found a badly beaten and torn man in the road last evening before the storm. The man was in very poor shape, but would recover in time. Captain Lasseter looked at the assembled men.

“We must be off to see this man within the hour and hope to be able to identify who it might be.”

Nods were given and Monsieur Petain thanked, he would lead them back to the Establishment of the Doctor when they were ready.

Three Bells of the Forenoon Watch

Starboard Watch on Duty

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - Aboard the Lucy

William woke in the unfamiliar surroundings of the Lucy's berth well into the morning. The air was so thick from the heat of men and the heavy humidity of the abated storm that he felt suffocated. No one had awakened him, and while they had probably left him to sleep as a courtesy, he was irritated. He had never liked sleeping overlong and the crushing air did not improve his mood. He left his hammock with determination to seek sky and did so half dressed, arriving on the deck in nothing more than the borrowed shirt and breeches.

The air on deck proved not much cooler or thinner, but it had the benefit of moving. William was glad of the breeze as he made his way on up and forward to a bucket at the mast. He splashed his face and was not surprised to find Tudor almost at his elbow.

"Good morning, Sah."

"Miss Smith." he returned, drying his face and hands on a proffered towel. "What news?"

"None but the break in the weather, Sah, and no word from shore."

"I'll have my things brought to the Ward Room, Miss Smith. I mean to go ashore."

"Aye, Sah."

Just after three bells of the Forenoon Watch

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

A slight knock was heard at the door and then it was opened. Preston, still slumped in Dorian's chair, was awoken suddenly. He grasped the pistol he laid on the table the evening prior. A figure filled the door. The sun was just set in the rising sky where it had peaked the mountains bathing the wardroom door in light. Only shadows gave Preston the choice to fire or not. His better judgement won out against his instinct.

"Mister Whitingford, Miss Smith will collect my things presently. I plan to go ashore presently."

Preston nearly fell out the chair trying to stand.

"Aye sah. I'll fetch Ash for some victuals."

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - Aboard the Lucy

William nodded, gratefully. He crossed the small space to better throw open a shuttered window, for even the air in the Ward Room was too still. The air beyond the Lucy looked promising, though not altogether inviting. "Tis a shame to waste this goodly wind..."

"Aye." Preston agreed, a second after calling out the door for the cook.

William turned back again. "How is it with you?"

This question was obviously directed towards Preston's health of late, but Preston answered as ambiguously as possible. "As good an' as bad as ever, Sah."

"As fortune is in life." William agreed.

Miss Ashcombe came in then wearing evidence of culinary efforts already in progress, for shore was clothed in an apron stained many times over from the cookstoves. She attempted to wipe a loose strand of hair from her face without getting flour in her hair and just managed it.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Standing in the doorway with the sun at her back, Jenny could not clearly make out the second inhabitant of the Ward Room. She was sure of Mr. Pew due to his bellowing voice, but it wasn't until Captain Brand stepped into the stream of bright sunlight from the opened shutter that she recognised him. He looked entirely different clad only in shirt, slops and unshod. He wore neither weapon nor hat. Only the sheen of perspiration from the stifling humidity. He gave her a brief nod but his expresion was plain. She affected a quick curtsey towards both. "Yes Mr. Pew?"

The Ship's Master held his knuckles to his lower back and stretched the bad choice of a sleeping place from it as he spoke, causing him to grunt as he did so. "Ashe! Captain Brand'll be our guest fer breakfast. If you please, fetch a plate fer us and quickly as he is to go ashore"

Jenny curtsied again and having never fully entered the room turned on her heel and hurried to the galley thankful that there had been plenty cooking there.

[William Brand]

If the Captain hated the air below decks, then Tjaak should have found it unbearable. At the abated storm he had been obliged to light the stove again, and the heat of it alone was too much for most men, but not for Tjaak. He liked cooking well enough, and even had a little skill at it; a rare thing for a ship's cook. He also liked the heat, having grown up in cold climbs. What he didn't like was his patent inability to learn languages beyond his own. His lack of English was a lingering bad taste in an otherwise perfect dish of good luck, for he had not expected to become the cook of the Lucy so soon after being a temporary prisoner. As a cook he was reminded of his Dutch stubborn mouth four and five dozen times a day, and so the return of Miss Ashcombe proved to be but one more reminder among may.

He didn't mind so much. She had an easy manner and fair face.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe stood as far as she might from the hearth as the cook's mate piled heavily the tray. "Boy!" He called from his place nearest the purgatory of glowing coals. The shout producing one of the youngest of the Lucy's complement who was handed tankards. Tjaak motioned roughly for the lad to follow her and he nodded without a word. Jenny had found communicating with the Cooks' mate in simple and short words and motions functional if not frustrating. However the man did try to be pleasant and surpress his frustration when she didn't understand his thickly accented English. She returned to the Lucy's ward room shortly to find the two men settled at the table. They stood as she entered laden with a tray and followed by the lad carrying tankards of small beer. Waiting in silence while she set out the wooden plates of biscuits, fruit and thick bacon tucked beneath poached hen's eggs. There was a jar of preserved fruit and a smaller plate of ham. She knew the boy must be hungry and felt her own stomach protest it's emptiness but stood waiting to be dismissed before she could return to feed them both.

[William Brand]

"You present a good table, Miss Ashcombe." William said simply, but it passed for a compliment by comparison to the things he had said the night before and she thanked him. Preston dismissed her and William smiled inwardly to hear him call her Ash again.

When she was gone, William decided that it was best to inform Preston of their soon to be arrangement with the Navarra. He had hoped to tell him and Dorian both at the same time, but the morning carried a certain unpredictability to it that William didn't like. Preston listened without interruption, content to eat rather than talk. He nodded where appropriate, keeping any questions to the last, though William explained enough to make questions all but pointless. When William was finished he asked for Preston's thoughts on the matter.

"We are bound for Trinidad. They are bound for Trinidad." This was all he offered before shrugging, for what more was there to add. Still, he amended. "T' be paid t' go where we mean t' go." He shrugged again.

"Aye." William returned.

"C'n we kill den Oven first...?" he asked around a mouthful of eggs.

"Aye. The day is young."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Admiralty House, Saint Pierre, Martinique

As the assembly of officers was exiting the Judges office, Dorian came up short.

“Juge Richet, was you man dispatched to my ship?”

The Judge’s brow creased slightly and he politely held up a hand, exited the office and called a name. Moments later them man appeared, still holding the parcel given to him when he last tried his luck to be ferried to the Lucy.

At first Captain Lasseter was not pleased, he had wanted his dispatch to reach his ship at the soonest convenience, however with this new bit of information, it would save having to send another dispatch. Still, it was upsetting that there had been no contact between ship and shore.

“Since your man is still here, would you have your clerk add to my dispatch about this man who has been found and his location, I wish to keep all my officers appraised of the situation.”

“Oui Capitaine, as you please…”

“Thank – Merci Juge Richet…”

Dorian continued out and into the main house, where in the short time of his conversation, Master Flint had gotten word to the men that the hunt would continue presently. The squads would reassemble and continue where they had left off, in hopes that the weather had also prevented the hunted from making a further escape. Lieutenant Martin stood with an interesting and mild look of appreciation on his face as the Master-at-Arms relayed all the information in French as well as English. As the men gathered their weapons, Dorian watched as the Judges’ servant nearly took flight out the front doors, packet in hand, to be delivered to his ship. A smile crept onto his face, glad that the man took his given job so seriously.

[Black Syren]

Eager to be on Deck and make Herself useful she was quietly slipping out the door when twin femal throats being cleared had her halting and then perring over her shoulder past the door to see both ladies arms crossed and watching her intently. "I feel fine, no more pain, well a wee bit but not enough to hinder." She rushed out but Maeve pointed back at the bunk and grumbling beneath her breath moved back within quietly closing the door. "Very Well and when may I leave?" Both ladies looked at the other and Briar answered "When the good Captain says you may."

[William Brand]

The Making of Tawny: Part Four

It would be pointless to describe the thousand odd and complex moments that made up the sum total of David-Tara. There are not words sufficient to define any given soul on Earth, but to define the boy outside the scope of even the strangest upbringing, borders on the impossible. Add to this the complexity of his own divided perceptions of life as we define it and one is faced with a monumental task. It therefore falls to this poor writer to pick but a few simple, albeit horribly complicated experiences from Tawny's life to illustrate both the paths he was shown and the paths that he chose.

Now I caution you not to pity the creature too much, for despite the myriad of twisted moments, lies and misconceptions he was exposed to, in the end Tawny was a creature of choice, just like any other person. He was after all gifted with a remarkable intelligence and a natural curiosity. He was also of good carriage, well nourished and provided for better than most of his age during an age devoid of reason. His parents, though naive and morbidly distracted by personal dreams and pursuits, were not openly cruel, though they were certainly guilty of a pathetic ignorance regarding each other and their solitary offspring.

No, Tawny was intelligent enough to escape the unnatural circumstances of his early years, or at least he might have been, but he chose the secretive strangeness of the one life and the open, but carefully crafted lie of the other. In short, Tawny decided to return the favor of his upbringing by becoming the monster he began to suspect he could be.

Of course, this was not a choice made in a single moment. No, it was rather an evolution, much like his self discovery about his own confused sexuality. Indeed, this next step of evolution came as a result of this budding understanding of strong emotions and physical appetites and it began with his mother. She did not encourage such a step of change openly or by the steps of manipulation as she had done in his early years. Quite the opposite. To put it simply, she stopped holding their little sessions altogether, choosing instead to pursue an altogether different road for her revenge. She had an affair.

Now she might have kept at the mad alteration of David-Tara, but it was taking too long and she grew impatient and a little bored. Also, she was uncertain that her efforts would or even could make a monster of the boy, so she simply set him aside in favor of something else. It didn't help that she was getting older and she feared aging almost as much as being treated as a second class citizen, so when the boy did not show the adequate promise of becoming strange she decided to fill her days with other activities, employing her time and wealth to court a young lover.

At first, David-Tara was hurt by this abandonment. He was possessed of enough natural affections to be hurt, but being naturally curious, hurt soon turned him to action. Each time she pushed him away to his studies or some distraction that she might free herself to imbibe in secret pleasures, David-Tara would find ways to listen or peer in at keyholes. He soon learned the greater secrets of adult appetite better than most men might in a lifetime. It didn't help that she used the private, secret rooms once meant for her son's instruction to hide her new unfaithfulness. David-Tara, being apprised of all those rooms and their many secret nooks, would often hide in them in silence with rapt attention, learning more from his mother and her lover than she might have ever hoped to teach him in his more formative years. To put it plainly, she drowned him in more misconceptions about love, intimacy, lies, truth and appetite than he was prepared for, doing the damage in ignorance that she had hoped to do by choice.

In those weeks and months the seed of Tawny was sewn.

Added to this were the experiments he began to pursue on his own. To describe these morbid escapades I must first remind the reader of David-Tara's skewed innocence, for what might be seen as a kind of monstrous barbarism for a boy, was simply a callous kind of dispassion in the face of pursuit. That pursuit being understanding at all costs, or rather, understanding for understanding's sake without care for moral limitations or the second guessing of the naive.

For example, David-Tara would often sneak dusty tomes from his Father's bookshelves. Tomes purchased more for status than education. David-Tara would seek out every scientific volume he could find, often borrowing illustrated texts containing dissections and exploded diagrams of anatomy. In an effort to understand more, and against the backdrop of his split perceptions, his pursuit became and obsession. Discontent to rely on the diagrams of published works, he would venture far afield on his Father's properties searching for carrion. While most young men of his day were content to poke a dead bird or an animal carcass crushed rudely under a passing cart, David-Tara would secret these remains away in order to pry them apart. When pickings proved scarce, he would wring the neck of a chicken or capture vermin to peel them to his purpose. He did not kill such animals with an air of cruelty. In fact he was almost dispassionate in his weekly slaughter, but slaughter he did, killing more animals to bend them inside out than any hunter might do for daily sustenance. David-Tara's need for sustenance was born of appetites more unnatural.

Stranger still was his return to the path of self discovery as he returned to his own sexuality and even pondered on questions and actions that would make us turn in horror out of sheer reflex. He quite considered doing himself bodily harm, but only to know. He had to know. He was saved from this idea by another one, which came to him in a strange moment of clarity, if such a word can be attributed to him.

One day he was standing in the yard when he chanced to witness a girl flirting with a man above her station and many years her senior. He couldn't imagine what an obvious, but poor beauty should see in a weathered and wrinkled old man. Perhaps it was something about the way the sun caught her hair and his jacket buttons, but he suddenly understood. Rather than perceiving it as wealth, or youth or appetite, he saw it for what it truly was. It was a kind of commerce. A trade of goods for power, subjugation or goals outside his immediate scope.

David-Tara was giddy. He was not so very old that he should have understood the concept of give and take, of wealth and poverty, or of the currency of youth, but he did. He suddenly saw past the veneer of life's simple definitions. The young girl was poor, but of great beauty. She understand this asset as did the older man, who would raise her from the dirt, while lowering himself to baser desires and needs of his own. It was a kind of commerce of flesh, ambitions and secrets, but more than this it was a kind of harsh underlying truth. It was one more piece of the puzzle, and it opened David-Tara's eyes to possibilities he had not even considered.

In that moment...in that awful epiphany...the first real seed of Tawny first took root and germinated. A bad seed in cruel soil destined to bear fruit unfit for human eyes.

[Red Cat Jenny]

The night's weather was breaking but for the humidity, its prior fury gathering into large grey bundles which trudged to the SouthWest leaving bright breaks of blue sky inbetween. Jenny shaded her eyes and looked to the clearing horizon over the trees. Her attention turned to the rail as Mr. Tucker's voice responded to a call of "Ahoy zee Lucee" and shortly a small boat bumped alongside. She'd drawn nearer to see if the officers had returned but only a lone Frenchman occupied the craft. Tucker turned to advise the Ship's Master, but upon seeing Miss Ashcombe dispatched her to relay the message. Jenny returned at once to the Ward Room finding Mr. Pew still at his breakfast and Captain Brand just crossing the room to exit. Both men looked up as she repeated Mister Tucker's words..

[Pew]

"Yer carriage awaits Cap'n." Pew smiled.

"So it has Mister Pew. I assume den Oven's death may now precipice on a plate of eggs?" William smiled back.

"That 't may Cap'n. My first meal 'uld b' 'is last." Preston threw down the plate and followed Captain Brand onto the deck.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mister Tucker stood fast as the man from the small boat climbed aboard and bowed.

“Monsieur Witeengfoward?”

“Ah, ye be wanten Master Whitinferd. You, stay here. He’s been informed of…”

Tucker realized at that moment he hadn’t known what this man was all about, and still didn’t, just that he was asking for the ship’s master.

“Wot is it that ye want from Mister Whitinferd?

The man held out a parcel that Tucker took and writ upon it in the Captain’s hand was the Master’s name.

“Oh, why didn’t ye say so?”

Tucker turned to head below but stopped short as Preston and Captain Brand of the Watch Dog had just emerged from the wardroom of the Lucy.

“Master Whitinferd, Sah! Parcels’ just arrived, looks ta be from th’ Cap’n. Tis addressed to ye, sah…”

[Pew]

Preston took the mall package and opened it. A single letter was wrapped within. Preston opened it deliberately.

He read it slowly and again, and then passed it to Captain Brand.

"Mayhaps a Tawny sightin' sah?" The uttered name caused many on deck to change demeanor immediately.

William read the letter and paused. Thinking. He tapped his finger upon the parchment. "Very doubtful Mister Whitingford, for the country is rife with injured foreigners. As much as an end to that chapter would be exceptional, we cannot go ashore bearing arms for that purpose alone."

"Aye sah." Preston agreed. "Permission t' join th' Captain ashore?"

"Mister Pew, while your fervor is appreciated, I cannot allow two of our ships to remain at anchor without some assemblance of higher rank. Please secure the Lucy and pass word to the 'Dog of my intentions ashore."

"Very well sah," Preston replied begrudingly. Rank brought responsibility. At this moment, Preston wanted to be ashore. Damn, he thought to himself. Damn, damn, damn.

[Pew]

Aboard the Watch Dog

Eric Franklin rose to the sound of hammering aboard the Watch Dog. He made his way to the origination of the noise and found Luc at work in the armoury.

"Meester Fonklin, many cratezz have zee broken in zee storm."

"Aye Luc, that they 'ave." Eric looked around the small room and saw that many had toppled upending their contents and some downright split in two. "I'll send on o' the lads in for a bit eh?"

"Very well Meester Franklin."

Eric placed his hand on the frame and called for a few of the boys to come for and help with the organization of the arms and restacking the crates that Luc was repairing. He went back into the cabin and wondered how Preston fared through the storm. He wondered if Preston Ellery Whitingford ever found out or realied that he had found the letter from his father. Preston hadn't brought up the matter at their last meeting, so no reason for him to. "Enh" he breathed loudly. He procured the key and opened both armoury ledgers to compare. He read some dogeared notes to himself as he added in his head...

"Jack St. Anthony's arms, placed in storage with his sailor's trunk."

Eric looked over to the corner where it sat for time before realizing it had a new home in the 'Dog's wardroom. He continued.

"Th' Padre's weapons were sold before th' mast

1 blunderbuss - Nicholas Johnson

3 small knives - Robert Thatcher

I cutlass - John McGinty

I boarding Axe - Owen Monahan

1 pistol - unknown

I Spanish snaphaunce pistol - Ciaran

I pistol - Andrew Smyth"

Someone had written some other notes on a well folded piece of parchment tucked in between the pages. The writing did not match Preston's.

"Captain William's weapons were taken into the armory when he died and sold before the mast. Pirate Phil never returned to reclaim his weapons after his disappearance, so his weapons were sold before the mast. Recipients unknown."

Preston's writing continued below those notes.

"Paul Mooney, extra knife by way of th' death of Lawrence Dinwiddle.

Syren and John McGinty, one pistol each for sighting th' Heron an' th' Maastricht."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Lucy

The Frenchman, sent with the parcel waited patiently for the men before him to further address him. He stood at obedient attention as best he could until eyes turned back to him.

“I am to wait foor Monsieur Weetingfoward to return a message to Capitain Lasseteur?”

William gave a slight chuckle.

“Monsieur, you have little time to wait, for I shall return with you bearing any correspondence for Captain Lasseter.”

“Ah, oui, ah… Monsieur?”

“Captain William Brand of the light frigate Watch Dog, Monsieur…”

“Oh… Pardon, Capitain Brand, if eet pleases you, we may return in my bateau.”

“Aye, it would please me… Merci.”

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - Aboard a French bateau bound for shore

William explained the matter of the found man to Miss Smith just before entering the small boat with her. He took his seat at the bow with a mix of dread, anticipation and urgency. Too many things were happening at once, not least among them the disappearance of his men, the flight of Den Oven and the Spanish merchant vessel which would soon be watching for their return.

Tudor was quiet, and whether it was from similar thoughts or others, William could not tell. William would have found any conversation difficult anyway amidst his own distractions, his thoughts turning from what he knew to what he didn't and then traveling to absurd climes.

"Mayhaps a Tawny sightin' sah?" Preston had suggested at the mention of the discovered man ashore. For himself, William had immediately thought of Joshua Wellings, so the idea that the man in question was their escaped English prisoner seemed preposterous at the time. Now, in the boat, he considered on the idea and wondered if the stars were not aligned against them in recent days.

"Think you that Tawny could have survived his damaging departure from the 'Dog, Miss Smith?" William asked at once, bringing her from her thoughts.

Her face changed more than once, but most of her expression was incredulous. "Treasure is a good shot and had the advantage of height...if not light." She shook her head for a moment. "I should think not, Sah. More than likely, this man is a stranger and of no importance to us and ours." She seemed finished on the matter, then added, "Of course, it might be..."

"Wellings." William finished.

"Aye, Sah."

"But not Ajayi." William added.

"No, Sah."

They both had the same thought then. Had the beaten man been a dark man, the letter should have said such, so the matter of Ajayi's absence remained.

"If it be Wellings, let the letter be...exaggerated." William said aloud, and she nodded, though neither of them set their hopes very high. "And if it be our prisoner of before, let his condition be whatever it may...that we might do with him as we may."

"A cudgel and a shallow grave." Tudor said simply, and if it seemed like cold words coming from a woman, it didn't show in her face. William nodded, for there was a pragmatism in the death of mad dogs and nothing more was said on the matter. The conversation ended as quietly as the arrival on shore with nothing but splashes and the stowing of oars.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Mr. Pew had lingered until Captain Brand passed him and then strode from the ward room to see his superior safely to the waiting Frenchman.

A manhunt of some sort was obviously the order of the day and had to be quite serious to bring both Captains ashore. Jenny gathered the wooden plates and utensils to return to the galley. As she made her way below she considered asking details of either Tjaak or Mr. Wenge whom she passed on the way. But Jenny presumed as before, that her interest may raise questions so far avoided and decided against it. How much should a Steward be expected to know? Especially in the Captain's absence? Would he expect her to report certain things upon his return or was that solely Mr. Pews charge?

So many questions..she wished she had the irish girl with freckled cheeks and a non judgemental manner to fill in so many blanks which riddled her life at this moment. Uncertainty in her position crept in and out of her thoughts throughout the day and night and Jenny nervously hoped the time was drawing near when they would set sail away from Martinique. Far at sea she could be certain at least of what lay behind her if not what lay ahead.

[William Brand]

The Making of Tawny: Part Five

David-Tara saved some coin and even stole a little as he set out on his first errand of discovery into pleasures of the flesh and what he thought of as his search for private power. He took this gathered coin and found himself a girl. She was of similar age emotionally, but three years his senior. She was naive but ambitious enough to favor opportunity over the taboos of the day or the morality of the neighboring religions. When David-Tara approached her with his offer it seemed on the surface, practical, if not a little bit unusual. "Teach me the pleasures of the flesh." he had said, almost dispassionately and in a place public enough that she had laughed aloud, mostly from surprise before clapping a hand over her mouth. She alone had heard this proposition, but the laugh had drawn enough attention to propel her on to more private climes with David following after. When they were in a place more private, David-Tara proffered the money again and made the same direct request. It was as shocking a thing as she had ever known and in the end, it was the shock alone which swayed her when nothing else would have.

They retired to a place of privacy suggested by him. It was one of three barns which bordered his father's widening estate. It was a lovely place in its decline, a barn used only for the storage of hay and often to the neglect of the hay and the barn itself. It had an earthy smell of decay and new growth. It was warmed enough on the sunny side to be comfortable, but chill enough within to remain starkly real.

They stood in the open door of the place, not hand in hand as lovers, but side by side like siblings or strangers, and a long silence followed. She didn't know what to say to him and when the silence continued to linger, neither knowing what to do, David-Tara began to undress. The girl, her name never asked for nor given, was awakened to her situation, suspecting in that moment that she should not be paid for this secret act and even uncertain that she should be apart of it at all. David -Tara reassured her that the money was hers and more would be had in the future for the asking if she would remain available to him. It was neither a sweet nor tender reassurance, but it was more money than she might ever know and as his face and mannerisms were not unpleasant, she accepted.

"I'm a virgin." she offered at the last, not knowing if it mattered or not to this alien boy, and wondered silently if she had said it as a defense against what was to come. He smiled a smile then that she couldn't understand, for while it appeared to be simple it crossed his face in a tremulous way that was unsettling.

"Then I shall owe you more than I have brought with me." he returned, and he handed her all the coin he had.

The next hour or more played out as any scene of young and awkward love might. David -Tara expressed seemingly genuine declarations about her beauty and the natural surprise about the nature of the delights found in the moment. For her part, she was swept away in the bizarre enchantment of that very strange afternoon. He took every touch as it was offered and gave as much as he received, anxious to know all at once. She found his passion and attention enthralling and couldn't be certain if she would have preferred the experience with or without the eminent payment to come. In the end it was all it might have been for any two young lovers.

Months passed in this way, the two of them meeting in secret. The first few visits were wonderful, at least in her eyes, but they became strange and she found too soon that she was jealous of him for reasons she couldn't name. While she learned to need him and want him in a way that was very nearly love, he became quiet and distant both during and after every act.

Unknown to her, David-Tara had moved beyond her almost at once, propositioning not one, but several more girls of various ages and descriptions. He was kind to some and indifferent to others. He travelled far afield, going on foot to places of a surprising distance, all for the sake of understanding. Each of them were somehow assured that they and they alone were the object of his strange affections and generous coffers. He took steps to make them believe so.

David-Tara though of them as his own, almost like a harem of girls naive to all but him. Harem was not the word he used for them, and no word might correctly define how he thought of them, though the word cattle came disturbingly close. Playthings might also be applied to his concept of them, but even this word failed to meet the demands of his unusual perspective. Whatever they might be, they loved him each in their own way, never to know the same from him.

Over time, the exchange of payment for intimacy ceased. During this time David-Tara practiced his lies and use of charms and language. He supplanted his gifts of gold with words and letters, bringing each girl to his will by the execution of elaborate lies. It was not enough that they loved him, he wanted to own them body and soul as his mother had owned him. It became such an obsession that even he was unaware of it, propelled by the miasma of his awful childhood. It might have been enough for him given time. He might have even moved beyond it all over the course of his life. There was a sad sort of cathartic escape in each rendezvous and given time, he would have been the better for it, thought at the expense of many.

None of that mattered after the arrival of Christopher Daniels.

Christopher was a nephew of Cormac. He was older than David-Tara by a year and almost a foot taller. Like David-Tara, Christopher was fair, but more than this, Christopher was as well made in person and appearance as David-Tara was broken. He was charming to a fault, though fault could not be applied to the genuine way he won people over. He had a knack for befriending both young and old around him, a gift which drew all to his favor. Not only was it a gravity unto itself, but Christopher's charm was completely free of guile or selfish compulsion. People just loved him at once. It was easy to love him.

David-Tara hated him almost immediately.

Christopher's parents had perished in a fire, leaving him an only child. Cormac took to him, both as a devoted father figure for his orphaned nephew, an arbiter of his nephew's smaller, but profound inheritance, but also because he found in Christopher those traits that his own son seemed to lack. Cormac loved the boy in the grief of sister and brother-in-laws death, as much as a father might a son, but more so. It was as if Cormac had returned to that pride and love he had known only for David when he was first born.

David-Tara was not blind to this sudden gravitation, and while he had always been estranged to his father in many ways, it sparked a jealousy he couldn't give name to. It flared almost at once into a flame of white hot hatred. Within a few short weeks it ignited a fire within him that began to eclipse all else. It overshadowed his uncanny adventures into the countryside. Adventures that even Christopher and Cormac might have envied for their pleasure and easy acquirement. It eclipsed his waning interest in animal experiments and the functions of life and death. It utterly buried his fascination for his mother's escapades and made any affection with his willing consorts bitter. In short, it was a hatred which fed upon him, raised up from some dark, lonely place left over from his younger soul.

If this were not enough, Aingeal had christopher too, but more for Cormac's love of him over her own son. She almost saw her work in David-Tara undone and decided there and then to reveal all. One night over dinner and in the company of many, she professed all of her misdeeds against their only child in the vain hope of wounding Cormac and humiliating him before others. The horrid revelations of David-Tara's upbringing brought into light without regard for David-Tara himself and in so naked a fashion destroyed any natural affection that had ever existed between Cormac and his son and upset the world David -Tara knew forever. Any pity that Cormac might have felt for his own son was lost in the fury at Aingeal for her actions, the embarrassment of the moment and the repulsion for what David-Tara had and might yet become. The sudden and utter betrayal of his mother and the emotional disinheritance of his father in that moment shattered all the fragile goodness that David-Tara had left in him.

Added to this came the news that not one, but two of those lovely creatures he kept for himself were pregnant. He had escaped the nightmare of his home and family to find some comfort in the pleasure of his secret girls only to learn as he flew from one to another that each of them carried his child within them. He fled from the arms of the first only to be greeted by the same news in the arms of the second. One proud, horrifying announcement followed by a another. He was too shocked to seek out any of the others after for fear that all of them would be with child. His children. Perhaps his unnatural children.

It was all too much. David-Tara broke.

[William Brand]

The Making of Tawny: Part Six

The next few weeks were a daily nightmare of disillusion. David-Tara's father would not look at him but for stolen glances of horror mixed with shame and revulsion. Every coveted glance he sought from his father came like a blow. Cormac could have done no worse then than to spit vinegar upon him with every look. Each painful and silent interaction killed more of the child David-Tara had been, replacing it with the monster Tawny. David-Tara knew that the fond looks and kindness denied him would be visited upon the head of his new enemy Christopher ever after and he loathed him to a bitterness known by few.

Even worse than his father's daily retreat was his mother's constant attention in those following days as she begged his forgiveness, awakened now to the years of poison she had drunk daily with her son. She was ever the anguished penitent of mixed madness, grasping at forgiveness with the right hand while pointing in accusation at all around her with the left. She had become the outward monster of her inward turmoil. She never knew a day unmarked by tears ever after and people retreated from her as they would a leper.

David-Tara escaped them both as often as he could, finding some solace in the silence of his own thoughts and in secret places known to him and no one else about the countryside. He was the animal now. He felt that he was forever denied genuine pleasure, company, love, acceptance, and any place at the table of society for years to come. Believing this, he set himself on a path to ruin.

It should be mentioned here that Christopher Daniels felt sorry for his cousin and would have befriended him as easily as he had so many others, but he also sensed the venomous hatred within his new cousin-sibling and understood that caution was the order of the day. He recognized that this hatred directed at him might be a kind of jealousy and he had also been privy to the many revelations of his wretched aunt. This only prompted him to a greater kindness, for he was young enough still to see the good before recognizing the bad in people. To his credit, he tried again and again to approach David-Tara on the few occasions that his cousin was about. Every encounter was met with a kind of dark silence and Christopher slowly began to distance himself from his cousin.

Then a strange thing happened. One day while Christopher sat studying a large map on the desk of his uncle, David-Tara ventured into the room, and in a manner both shy and seemingly innocent, he invited Christopher to walk with him. Christopher saw it as a break in the clouds and went with David-Tara out of doors at once. At first they said little, as two cousins who barely knew each other would. Had anyone seen them together then they would have noted the familiarity of features in the two contrasting boys. Indeed, side by side they looked like siblings as much as cousins. Christopher enjoyed the walk, thinking himself the better for this opportunity to help his cousin and in the same way, help his loving uncle. He made a few comments on the day and the clear weather. He noted the vastness of the estate itself. He remarked on the fine condition of the many country walls separating one field from another. With each added point of conversation he hoped to work David-Tara from his shell.

David-Tara said nothing. His mouth was utterly dry and he had to keep his hands tucked in his waistcoat to hide the shaking. He let Christopher ramble on as much as he might, finding a reason to hate everything his cousin said. Having already determined to murder him, he felt no great compulsion to make conversation.

In time they reached the decaying barn where he had first met Brianna. "Brianna." he thought with wonder. That had been her name all along, though he had only ever used it for the purpose of flattering her during their more intimate moments. Her name had meant no more to him than any other words that he used when in her company, but now it seemed very profound, almost distractingly so. Funny that he should really understand her name as it was meant to be, now that he had already killed her.

Christopher brought him back from his thoughts. He was talking about the barn now. He commented on the beauty and wonder of the place as boys will often do in old buildings and remote places. He was genuinely pleased to have discovered this new place, with its smells and collapse. He began climbing on everything at once, anxious to see all parts of the barn with a carefree quality that made David-Tara angry.

Still, these explorations eventually brought Christopher to the only part of the lofts still intact, the exact place David-Tara had meant for him to go. Here, David-Tara produced a small flask he had stolen from his mother's secret lover. It was filled with a dark brandy of questionable origin and he offered it to Christopher. At first Christopher hesitated, not out of any mistrust for his cousin, but in the cautious way of a boy who doesn't know what to think of drink. He evaluated his age and moral compass, but in the end he was assuaged by the sudden hurt and uncertain look in David-Tara's eyes more than anything else. It was Christopher's natural desire to make everyone happier that was his undoing in the end. He took the flask gratefully and went to his death as Aristotle.

David-Tara retreated to a corner as his cousin began to choke, then die. When the throes of death came at the end, he found himself standing over his dying cousin with as much fascination as he had shown watching Brianna bleed out. When Christopher was dead, he went to work undressing him. Then he brought him top the place behind the barn where Brianna lay still.

She lay as she had for hours in a pool of her own blood. She was ruined in a way that blasphemed the love she had known for him. He had been as throughly cruel as he had been generous, having destroyed her utterly with many wounding blows. He had been careful to leave the face undamaged, wanting to see how she would look in death. Now her face frowned, a mark of the absolute sadness she had known seconds before the horror and shock of that first attack. The rest of her was a mess of blood and tatters. So utterly was she damaged that there was a kind of macabre telling in it, as if he had enjoyed the savagery more than the mere act of killing. He stood there now, regretting again that he should have damaged her so much, for in this ferocity he had denied himself the opportunity to see his unborn...

"No." he said aloud, returning himself to the moment. That door was closed. He had done what he had done and would do so ever after without regret.

He returned to his work as it began to rain.

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Preston stood at the starboard rail as Captain Brand's launch gradually became just another boat in the harbor. He lingered for a second more and returned to the ward room of the Lucy.

The heavy canvas separating Jenny Ashcombe from the goings-on in the ward room was slung somewhat to the side. Preston had heard movement behind the heavy curtain and caught a brief sight of flesh. He waited a moment longer and saw it again. It appeared to be a shoulder in the midst of some rapid addition of clothing. It wasn't the skin that garnished the Master's attention, but the dagger length scar that drew it's way across her back.

Preston leaned against the bulkhead and crossed his arms. "Ash," he interrupted.

The movement behind the curtain suddenly stopped. "Aye Mister Pew?"

"Join me on deck, ifin y' please."

"Aye sir, right away."

Preston paused again only to see a more flurried flailing resume in the small corner of the ward room. The ship's master shook his head.

____________________________________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: At anchor, bow facing E

Speed: At rest

Wind: Light easterly winds, light breeze, 4-6 knots, small wavlets, crests are glassy