The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

The young lad looked Mister Wenge over and worked his jaw from side to side slowly as he did so. Liam waited for a moment more, expecting more to be said. When none came, the boy smiled.

“Aye, sah… Jus’ don’t let a splinter fester… it’ll be yer undoing…”

Liam nodded cheerfully, knuckled his brow quickly and turned away, heading aft to see what he might find in another part of the ship. As he wandered, a white and black form attached itself to the lad, following him as a shadow would in strong sunlight.

[Alder]

Alder raised his hand to recapture the boy’s attention, but the lad had turned too soon and missed the gesture. The carpenter had not intended to simply dismiss the lad though with the work left to consider, it was just as well.

The young man’s wisdom echoed, “don’t let a splinter fester… it’ll be yer undoing…”

The advice was certain, if not ironic coming from a lad whose position as powder monkey presented more palpable potential for harm. Aboard the Heron, Liam’s role was considered necessary though his life . . . expendable. His new Captain held his crew in higher regard though the job itself of transport of explosives chemicals; the care of heavy projectiles stored against shifting seas, the violent discharges of heavy caliber cannon was no respecter of any man’s survival. Any of the requisite tasks could injure, maim or worse. Alder made conscious note to himself to check the condition in the ship’s magazine.

Life at sea was indeed tenuous, held in so precarious a balance that even a sliver of wood coated with the vector of disease could lay a man low and yet, what tremendous acts of God were oft been necessary to return a monster to their creator.

The carpenter removed a notebook from the pocket of his slops but thought better of it in the fading light, choosing instead to make his way to his quarters to exploit the remnants of the day by lantern. In passing, Mister Wenge exchanged a cordial an approving nod to Mister Van Baerle who likewise seemed to be evaluating the general condition of the Lucy while on his watch. Such independent motivation was just what Alder was seeking in the guise of what would be carpenter’s mate. In the brief time since he joined the Lucy from the Maastricht, he had found John to be a solid, hard working lad, observant and eager to take on responsibility. Notwithstanding this insight, Alder had little time to know the inner workings of John’s character.

The carpenter recalled the rapport that was cultivated while working with Mister Thatcher on the figurehead. Where the vitality of the Lucy was concerned, Alder was eager for collaboration.

[William Brand]

The horses did not last the distance. William's mount was almost lamed before reaching the outskirts of St. Pierre. They would have been forced to abandon it altogether, but for a modest plantation within walking distance of the inland road. Here they rested themselves as much as William would allow them and himself. He sat but once, and was on his feet again moments later, anxious to be riding again. He paced the damp lane before the main house and took only a little water when offered.

Once fresh horses could be procured again, they were off again and the ride proved a quick one. Monsieur Rousseau's plantation soon loomed before them, as did their own anticipation. Durand and many men waited in the lane.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As they rode closer, Captain Lasseter drew back the cock on his musket full. He would have been bone-weary had it not been for the adrenalin running though him, seeing the gathered crowd before them, unsure if they were friend or foe. He steadied his breath as he slowed his mount to a comfortable pace. Monsieur Durand was standing, flanked by two soldiers and opposite was three men, obviously in the employ of the plantation. Others milled about, not seeming to be concerned with whatever happenings were afoot. Dorian could tell, even from the distance they were, that things were not calm between those in the lane. The horses were slowed to a trot and finally stopped at the feet of the men. He steadied his musket across his lap and checked his pistols by way of making sure he still had everything on his person before the wild ride. Adjusting himself in the saddle, Dorian hoped to be out of it very soon, but waited for Captain Brand to open whatever dialog was to be had. Durand looked at the three horsemen, focused on each individually but gave no hint of his mood aside from a sour look at the men of the Plantation.

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - The plantation of Monsieur Rousseau

William noted the calm in Dorian's quiet preparation and was grateful to have him there, for the tension that greeted them was palpable. Rousseau's men were understandably for their plantation owner, being in his employ and under the shelter of his wealth. They wore their loyalty openly and their oft used hostility. They also wore something less pleasant for Durand, and William wondered if it stemmed from something much older than the night before them.

William dropped wearily from an equally weary horse. He shouldered his musket as easily as one might don a hat, making no great show of it. He tried to present an air of casual business, hoping it would carry him across the many walls being built silently before him.

With William dismounted, Dorian slipped from his mount, trying to ignore the look which came from one of Rousseau's company. The man, both large and imposing in his countenance, seemed to have chosen Dorian in that moment and Dorian knew that the man would make it his business to watch him and him alone until all of the affair was completed. 'So much the better, lad.' Dorian thought, for this made such a choice easier for him and he would know whom to be wary of if the evening proved unpleasant.

He was certain that it would prove unpleasant.

It was something about the smell of rain on the air, the cool of the evening and too many strangers met in confusion that reminded Dorian of something long ago. Maybe it was the wealth of the place and a mixed company of men great and small. It was the old country all over again, but removed to this younger place.

Dorian watched William and Durand meet and Durand said simply, "Your man is alive within." William, too tired to stand on ceremony and too weary of the customs or mysteries of the moment to wait, made to walk up the lane. Durand, looking past William at Dorian, caught Captain Brand at the elbow as he passed and said, not looking at him, "He is much abused." William only just allowed Durand to keep hold of him, but his informal air dissolved. That face which he reserved for those far removed from his favor, replaced his casual one. He walked to Rousseau's nearest man with the bearing of one who would be heard and obeyed.

"I will speak with Monsieur Rousseau." William explained, making no effort to translate this into French.

"Monsieur, celui est impossible. Mon maître a des invités dans… et ne peut pas être dérangé." the man returned, treating William with equal disregard in language.

"I will be brought to Monsieur Rouseau or I will bring this business to him and place it at his feet and do so in front of his guests." William explained further, speaking quietly all the while. Then he added, "That business which he conducted in the dark before will remain in the dark only if he meets with me this moment."

Rousseau's man looked at Durand, who returned the look in kind, though what the man could read in Durand's impassive eye proved of little help. He also noted that with the arrival of Babineaux and the two captains, he was outnumbered in the lane. He looked back at William sternly. "He will..,refuse you, Monsieur." The man explained, defaulting to William's English to make the point more clear.

"Remind him then, that he has kidnapped one of mine." William returned carefully. "An offense answerable to the law."

Durand said nothing. That man who watched Dorian alone, said nothing. Babineaux said nothing. William and Rousseau's man said many things, though none of them aloud. They stood, too close together for strangers. They eyed one another until it was understood that they would pass the night in this stubborn fashion unless one or the other was moved to some other course. Finally, Rousseau's man said, "You will wait here, Monsieur." He tried to sound as commanding in his volume as William had been in his calm.

"Aye." William agreed.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The man walked up the lane away from the gathering with an aire about him like he was the king of France. All Dorian could do was look over the man who had marked him and give a sigh of near boredom. Rousseau’s man shifted his weight, as if trying to be more imposing. Captain Lasseter stared him in the eyes for a moment before reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a small leather pouch. He then felt around in his hat and produced his long-stemmed pipe and proceeded to pack it with tobacco from the pouch, while cradling his musket across his left forearm. Dorian casually wandered over towards the gate and snapped off a dry twig from the hedge and continued to where a lantern hung. Thrusting the twig into the flame until it lit, then using it to light his pipe until the tobacco was burning well. Dorian turned away and just dropped the still burning twig on the ground and returned to his former location, idly puffing on his pipe. He again looked at the man of Rousseau’s and took in a long draw of pipe smoke and let it out as a long sigh. There he would wait, ready for the unpleseantries to begin.

[William Brand]

Durand watched Dorian play out this scene, occasionally distracted by William's pacing. Durand looked weather worn from pursuing too many people to too many destinations and dead ends. Dorian thought that he might speak, more than once, before he realized that the Frenchman was not leaning to speak, but rather, drifting almost to sleep while standing. It was almost funny to witness, but no one smiled. Even worn the man was imposing, being taller than most of the men present. It didn't hurt that his false eye caught the lantern light in ways that were unsettling.

Then one of Rousseau's men coughed. Just that. He coughed and William was off up the lane.

William did this so abruptly, that everyone was caught off guard, Rousseau's men and everyone else equally. William was several strides down the lane when Dorian and Durand fell in behind him, almost together, Durand coming awake at once. Rousseau's men came after them quickly, openly flustered. They tried to call after William and the others, but in vain, for he would not turn back. They were further foiled in their attempts to halt him by the nature of the lane itself, for it was hedged in by landscaping and L'Ours and Lasseter filled the width of it shoulder to shoulder.

Rousseau's hounds, alerted by the commotion, began raising themselves up from various places of repose on the wide steps at the front of the house. They were bristling by the time William reached the first step. Having never feared dogs, William shouted down the first hound which threatened him and this gave the others pause as he gained those first few steps.

As the lane had widened before the house, Rousseau's men sprinted forward, taking the steps in pairs to reach the threshold ahead of William. With their jaws set and hands straying to blades, one of the plantation men put out a cautionary hand, though he it seemed more for himself than anyone else.

William stopped, but only to stare the man evenly in the face. "I'll will have my man again." He did nothing else but stand, while Dorian and Durand flanked him left and right, one encircled in a heavy wreath of pipe smoke and the other a dark tower of mismatched windows.

All of the dogs were barking as the music within the house died away.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As Captain Lasseter had gained the steps of the plantation house, he had shifted his musket from across his forearm to one of action. One had at the wrist and trigger, the other up on the forestock. He pointed it at no one, but the ease he could bring it to bare was not lost on any man. He stood beside Monsieur L’Ours with the tip of the barrel aimed just above most everyone’s head, casually letting it slowly drift between his adversaries. He paused more often than not at the man who had chosen Dorian as him mark. He clamped his teeth on his pipe, continuing to enjoy the fragrant tobacco, occasionally shifting the long stem to a more comfortable angle. One of the dogs edged closer to the Captain to which Dorian looked down barred his teeth and literally growled at the animal, then quickly shifted his closest foot, causing the dog to retreat quickly. Dorian turned back to the men of the plantation and noted that more than one seemed slightly pale. Weather this was a trick of the light on the porch or not, he could not tell. Whatever the case might be, Dorian assumed his previous disposition and blew more smoke onto the shroud about his head.

Aboard the Lucy, Cul de Sac Royal

All hands had made quick work of setting the sloop to rights after dropping the hook and the handful of officers were made proud by the men. Brisbane and Tucker were appreciative of their mates, Mister Christie and Goddon respectively. The four of them had taken up quarters of the ship and gotten easy work from the crew. The marines looked sharp on deck with Master Flint at one end, Mister Brocke at the other, toeing the line in proper fashion waiting for the side party to disembark. Master Flint stood ready for whatever orders the Ships Master might leave him with before heading down the side.

Edited February 23, 2009 by Dorian Lasseter

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - The Plantation of Monsieur Rousseau

Between three and eight bells of the Second Dog Watch

They found themselves enveloped in a silence that hung heavy. So much so that the click of dog's claws on stone seemed overly loud. The music had faded and faltered within, replaced now with indignant French exclamations and the approach of footfall.

Rousseau appeared in the entryway of his home flanked by so many wigs and worrisome looking guests that it was like the advance of a tailor dressed army of foppery. William had not seen so much lace since coming to Martinique and there could be no mistaking a sudden change in perfume, for they were assaulted by lilac and rose water. Every other hand carried a handkerchief and even Rousseau himself was still dabbing at the corner of his mouth in an absent minded way.

"Quelles affaires sont ceci?" Rousseau said, in a tone that only just pantomimed genuine interest.

Durand explained, for the third time since discovering Ajayi's whereabouts, that they were here for the return of the Watch Dog's man. Rousseau seemed genuinely surprised by this, and if Durand was irritated, he didn't show it. He simply explained the reason for their arrival as if just arriving himself. Still, Rousseau seemed not to understand.

"You have purchased one of mine into slavery." William said flatly, interrupting Durand at the end. Rousseau, capable of excellent English himself, turned to a man at his left and waited to hear this said again in French. Rousseau answered to the translator and not to William.

"I have purchased slaves before, Monsieur." Rousseau's man explained, and he even managed to mimic his employer's removed, unengaged tone.

"Nevertheless, I will have my man back again." William returned. His tone was calm but absolute. "Where is he?"

Rousseau's brow furrowed, and he seemed not to understand the question, or at least, it seemed a thing too unimportant, so he chose not to acknowledge it's weight. William repeated the question with more calm, though this had the effect of being less calm.

"How can a slave, purchased by me, belong to you?" Rousseau said again through his man. It was infuriating stuff. William straitened a little, a tick of his impatience showing. "Come again tomorrow." Rousseau added, turning away from them with all the indifference of a god removed from mortals.

"Where is he?" William exclaimed and this time he was loud enough to make one or two ladies, and not a few of the more genteel men jump a little. Durand may have smiled a little then. A dog barked.

Rousseau turned back again, and for the first time one could see the underpinnings of his masks. There was a little irritation in his eyes. It was a kind of lazy impatience born of wealth, for Rousseau felt himself so removed from anyone beneath him, that he did not like being prodded to some actual regard for his inferiors. He found it unpleasant and he felt that it dirtied him to show so much interest openly. He was starting to shed his genuine boredom for a subtle, but equally lazy anger. "The slave is not here." he said, slightly exasperated. He gestured in wide circles with his hands to the plantation as a whole, and William was worried for a moment that Ajayi was already gone, bound for plantations or islands elsewhere. Rousseau, thinking himself misunderstood, added. "Why would he be here?"

William understood then that Rousseau did not see the plantation as a whole, but rather he saw the house as an island in the midst of the plantation. Of course to him the slaves were not 'here', they were 'elsewhere'. They could never be here in the same place as Rousseau, for it would imply some equal plane of existence. They occupied a completely different continent just beyond his hedgerows and gardening.

Rousseau, still thinking himself misunderstood, explained and gestured in the general direction of the property North of the house. "The slave is there." He sounded flummoxed now, as an indifferent adult chiding someone else's children.

As before, William took off at a pronounced stride, leaving everyone who didn't immediately follow. As no one hedged him in on this side, he gained the most obvious lane North of the house unchecked. He ignored Rousseau's awakened alarm and his first real indignation. "You will come back, Moniseur!" he cried, using his most excellent English for the first time, and so surprised was his translator, that the man repeated Rousseau's demand in French.

It might have been funny, but no one was laughing.

Larboard Watches on Duty

[Dorian Lasseter]

When Rousseau gestured and stated flatly, ‘The slave is there’, had anyone been listening they would have heard Dorian’s jaw crack. Anyone paying attention would have noticed him begin to level the musket barrel at Rousseau’s forehead. Had William not begun his journey towards the fields that the plantation owner had gestured towards, the situation would have gotten very messy. As Rousseau and his interpreter called out to deaf ears, Dorian and Durand fell in step behind William, following as a rear guard of a sort. Dorian’s pipe had gone out, but he wasn’t about to remove it or do any other thing besides keep his musket at the ready in both hands. On they marched quickly until reaching some outer buildings on the plantation. These were not as handsome or well appointed as the main house, and as they approached the smell of unwashed bodies that had spent their days toiling in the fields descended upon them.

[William Brand]

William, though shorter than either Dorian or Durand, proved hard to keep up with. He sometimes strode and sometimes jogged across the lawns. Then the grass and gardening gave way to dirt and uneven, well trodden soil. It was slick, unyielding stuff. It was so densely packed from the traffic of human beasts of burden, that the earlier rain had not touched it but to pool on top in shallow, glossy and reflective mirrors.

William called out to the imposing, unlit windows of the slave quarters. These were not fancy buildings, but they were embellished with enough of a facade to make them pretty by day and ominous by night, features for passers by and Rousseau's own vanity, not for their occupants. The rest of the structures were solid and sturdy, unmarked by any elegance.

"Poor houses an' prisons." Dorian said as he caught up to William. One of Durand's men arrived with him, and this afforded them a lantern. They moved forward at once, almost attacking each building, under the protests of Rousseau's arriving men.

Each house yielded nothing but the worst onslaught of smells and poverty. Ajayi was not found among the first three buildings, though not for lack of looking. William and his party plowed into every house and outbuilding. Thankfully, this relieved them of their followers for a time, for Rousseau would not go in at any of door, and his men, unprepared to face such threatening fervor, were obliged to wait in the fresh and open air.

Still they searched, and every time William came out again into the night, Rousseau's band of shocked guests would jump a little in surprise, though William ignored them in his progress. It did not help that Dorian's demeanor was all hostility and Durand was an imposing man in carriage alone.

"You will cease, Monsieur." Rousseau protested. "You will take your men and go from here!"

"We will at that!" Dorian spat, and he stopped to say it, which gave Rousseau pause. The man visibly flinched.

Finally they reached the last of the houses, if such a name could be granted the structure before them. It sat alone in the darkest part of the house grounds. It was almost buried in a stand of trees. It was not quite a barn, but more a livery for humans. In fact, it was both a stable and a slave house. The architect had married both together poorly, so that the overall effect at night was disturbing. It had so many dark, shadowy archways and it seemed to dead end everywhere, a thing that William might have had reason to dread, though he was too angry to care. It loomed before them and it was fixed with so many heavy doors that William was reminded of Dorian's words from minutes before.

"Prison..." William said softly, and he took the lantern from Durand's man. He was sure that of all places on the plantation, Ajayi would be here. Something about the place assured him of this fact. Only this last, most horrible place could hold Ajayi.

They went in at the only open door and their solitary light was swallowed up by it.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As they entered this last place, Dorian removed his pipe from his clenched teeth. He did not tap out the ashes, but made sure it was indeed out and placed the whole affair back in his hat. The stench of human waste and blood, most likely human, assaulted them as they got deeper in. The light of the lantern illuminated many horrible sights, for it was in essence a prison as there were men chained to the walls in various areas. Each remained silent as the pool of light came over them, moving only to shield their eyes from the blinding light. All looked to be near starved to death. They reached the center most area of the building which was a large open space, devoid of anything but for two tables. One large and sturdy, the other smaller and rough built. The light spilled across them and the large table was stained in many areas, with what all of them need not guess. Ajayi was not to be found in any of the side rooms, if you could call them that. As they reached the back of the building they came upon a small door set at the bottom of three steps and bolted from the outside. William stood a moment at the top of the stairs before descending. His hand took hold of the bolt and William paused a moment. Dorian took that pause to hand his musket to Durand and withdrew a pistol, a better weapon in the confines of the building. William had turned at the sound of the pistol being cocked, and Dorian nodded to say he was ready. William shot the bolt back, and in the silence that enveloped them it sounded like thunder.

Edited February 25, 2009 by Dorian Lasseter

[William Brand]

Ajayi lay within. Just that. Nothing more. There were no furnishings. There were no chains. It was plain but for the sparest amount of straw and Ajayi.

For a brief moment, William thought the man was dead. This momentary thought passed quickly though as Ajayi shifted, blinded by the feeble light as the others had been. He raised one arm to shield his face, but not before William caught sight of a nose, mouth and eyes badly beaten. 'What had Durand said?' William wondered then. 'Had he said that Ajayi was 'much abused'?' These words failed to explain what had been done to the man.

William passed his musket to Dorian absently. Dorian took it without question. William walked down the steps which continued past the door, so that they were now almost six feet lower into the Earth than the rest of the building. The symbolism was not lost on William. When he reached Ajayi's side he stood over him for a moment, uncertain what to do. Ajayi looked up and he was so piteous in appearance that a sound caught in William's throat.

"Capppuhn." Ajay said through a mouth that had once been perfect. This was a blow on William's ears, and he couldn't remember if the twice former slave and castaway had ever addressed him such. A second, subtle and strangled sound caught in William's throat as he bent down.

"My good man." Was all that he managed. He didn't know what to do for Ajayi, for everywhere the man was broken or bruised and there was no place to touch that was not torn or damaged in some fashion.

"Le Christ outre de la croix..." Durand's man whispered, and even accustomed to slavery as he was, he looked unsteady.

Ajayi's left eye was swollen completely closed and as ripe as eggplant. His face was swollen too much to identify the man by sight alone, and had William not known him by his weary voice, he would have not thought this damaged creature to be his man. Fingers were bent in ways that made his empty stomach coil in anger and nausea. Ajayi's perfect teeth, that were wont to smile often, especially in favor of Mister Whittingford, were wrecked. No other word could describe that once untouched, ivory smile. Several teeth were gone and some would have to go in time. His lips were parted in places and he had never seen so much blood on a man still alive. Everything about Ajayi that had been beautiful had been sold along with his freedom.

"My god, Dorian." William said, in a rasp.

"They made 'im face th' lash..." Dorian said in a wonder so bare that it couldn't hide his disbelief, for this was not cliche. Ajayi had faced the lash. They had whipped him across his face and chest. Not his back.

Durand's man crossed himself.

[Dorian Lasseter]

It was almost too much to bare on top of everything else that had happened or been found out this day. Dorian clenched his jaw so tight that his teeth hurt. If Ajayi look so abused in the weak light, he feared what the bright light of day would reveal. He turned to Durand.

“Have ye any water?”

Durand refocused a moment and turned to his man.

“Donnez-moi votre cantine.”

The man was still mildly stunned, but did as Durand said, handing him the canteen and thus it was passed to Dorian who set Williams’ musket against the wall. Captain Lasseter replaced his pistol on his belt and opened the full container. He slowly dropped to one knee and realized there was no way Ajayi could hold it, or move until his restraints were removed. He handed the canteen to William and drew his sgian dubh from somewhere on his person and bent to cutting what bound the large man. The rough line had bitten into his skin everywhere it was lashed about his limbs. Dorian had to carefully saw at the knots and gently pull away the blood soaked manila. He helped Ajayi sit upright after returning the small blade to its home and pointed to the canteen.

“Water? Can ye drink?”

Ajayi sagged a moment and barely nodded. Both William and Dorian helped him as best as they could. Finally he shook his head after half the content of the flask was in him. Dorian shouldered the canteen and put a hand on Captain Brand’s arm.

“Shall we take our man out of this place? Before I decide what fate I’ll deal ta Rous- that bastard…”

Dorian turned back to Ajayi before William answered and posed a question to the large man.

“Walk? Can ye walk? Back to th Watch Dog with ye Lad… Away from here…”

Edited February 26, 2009 by Dorian Lasseter

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - The cellar of Rousseau's slave livery

What happened next surprised everyone. Before Ajayi could answer, Rousseau appeared on the steps. Reawakened to his position and power on the Earth, he entered the room with a kind of stern defiance to what he most certainly perceived as interlopers. He did this with the air of a man come down from Olympus, descending the stairs with an altered countenance that was altogether different from that indifferent man from before. The change was surprising. Something outside and unwitnessed by them had brought him back to himself. Perhaps his guests, standing about him in the dark, had reminded him with words or silence that he was a man of position. Whatever the cause, he was here. He was angry.

Behind him came as many men as he could convince to follow by threat or coercion. They seemed more hesitant than Rousseau, but he had certainly chosen the most brutish and dangerous of his men. It didn't help that they were armed.

Durand stood where he was. Gibraltar in a great coat. His man looked less certain, and the light moved a little in his uncertain hand. William and Dorian let Ajayi back down carefully. They both did this without saying anything to one another. They didn't even exchange a look. They simply set Ajayi back again and rose at either side of him.

Dorian was too aware that William's musket was out of his immediate reach, but he was transformed now. Just one more Irishman with a gross of experiences at his back and enough of the scrapper left in him to make a show of himself. In fact, he looked downright happy to see Rousseau. It was something about the eyes. Something in his calm said that he could do cold blooded murder and raise a toast to the slaughter afterwards.

William was calmer than he had been all night. It wasn't a mask of anything now. He was actually already beyond the room, his mind racing about the distance to the docks and the doctor waiting there. He couldn't have cared less for Rousseau and he was as genuinely disinterested in the Frenchman as Rousseau had been with them upon their arrival.

"You will have a carriage brought to this place." William said simply, as if passing along instruction to one of his own.

Rousseau's face went a little dark at this and they were seeing the real man for the first time. William wasn't sure if the man was more angry at him directly, or more irritated at being forced to demonstrate so much action and emotion before lesser men. What William was certain about was the fact that Rousseau would own a carriage. He probably had two or three of them.

"You will have a carriage brought to this place." William repeated, with no more emphasis than before.

Rousseau's men had spread out along either side of him, filling the side of the room and the stairs. Dorian's man was among them, watching Lasseter with the same measure he had shown before. Dorian was glad of it. Still, Durand never moved and Rousseau shot him a venomous look.

William walked right up to Rousseau then. The plantation owner began a curse in French that would have been worthy of repeating for years to come if William hadn't cut him off. "You will have a carriage brought. Not that man." William said pointing to one of Rousseau's servants. "Nor that man." He said, pointing to another. "You, sir. You will have one brought."

Rousseau dared the field and came toe to toe with Brand. "You are the stranger here. You do not know what foolishness you 'ave brought with you. I am a man of great stan..."

"I am taking my man out of this place." William said and turned his back on Rousseau. William could not have angered him more in that moment. Rousseau was not accustomed to being cut off, but to have an inferior show his back in such a manner was a blow to everything he believed himself to be. He struck William across the back with his cane. Durand bristled so suddenly that several men went for blades. In truth, Durand barely moved, but being a big man any movement startled people.

Dorian had been watching his chosen opponent this whole time. As the man saw fit to watch him, he brazenly stared back. With the sudden action of Rousseau and Durand's unchecked flinch the man had gone for his sword. It was not but half way out of its scabbard when Dorian drew his pistol and set it in the porch of the man's ear. "Don't." was all that he said. He had drawn the pistol, cocked it and placed it firmly against the man's head so suddenly, there was no need to say more. Still, the man held his sword, half drawn.

William turned where he stood, his back still stinging from the blow. Rousseau had cracked the cane with the force of it. William's eyes threatened to well up at the pronounced smart that hurt outward an inward, skin to spine. There was a silence in the place that deafened everyone. William regained his height and his composure, but the calm that came back was all anger in check now. Ajayi was almost forgotten in the blinding sting that still wouldn't fade.

Dorian's man still held blade. "Put up your sword, sirrr." Dorian said in the clearest and coldest English William had ever heard him use, though his 'sir' trailed, threatening. "Put up your sword or I'll send you t' Hell in portions." Portions came out like a growl and a hiss rolled together. The man let gravity replace his blade and even raised his hands a little.

Rousseau stood defiant. It took William a moment to straighten completely. "Some one hundred and fifty men of my company wait offshore." William said, standing close enough to Rousseau now that even Rousseau's men did not know what to do. "Thank them. Thank them in your prayers ere you sleep, Monsieur. Were their lives not within my care, I would risk all to destroy you."

"Monsiuer..." Rousseau tried, and it was not fear in his voice, but uncertainty. His men had not sprung to his immediate aid and this confused him.

"I would peel you, Monsieur. I would...with a glee I have not known before...willingly perform all of those treacheries attributed to me, though it take me a fortnight." There was something in the way that William spoke then at the end. Something about the calm that was fading away at the corners of his mouth. Something about the tremulous way his hands began to shake. The anger that showed then, underneath the peeling paint of his calm, gave Rousseau his first true pause. It was not that William became less inferior. It was rather the opposite. William was becoming more inferior still. Almost savage. Rousseau had no way to gage this kind of anger. No one had ever been this close to him and this angry at the same time. "You...will go and fetch the carriage!" William said, and almost couldn't, anger and volume overtaking him.

Rousseau, stubborn past the point of reason, turned to Durand then, trying to enlist him by insulting him. "Comment défi vous, monsieur. Comment pouvez-vous se tenir pour ceci?"

Durand looked angry now. For the first time, he looked angry. "I am with them. Not with you." He said 'you' with such derision that Rousseau looked slapped again. Then Dorian's man moved a little to much for Dorian's liking. With his free hand Dorian drew his knife and in one swift stroke, cut the man deeply across his hip, freeing the man from his sword and pistol as he did so. They clattered to the floor, and still, Dorian pressed the pistol firmly. The man could do nothing but grit his teeth and bleed.

This movement triggered two other men to action, though Durand disarmed the first so easily with a swipe of one long arm, that the man gaped to see his sword sent sailing. The other man was dispatched by Durand's man, who in a manner more lucky than graceful, smashed the lantern across the face of the second. The man cried out to be cut and burned all at once, and he discharged his musket in surprise. It carried off some off some of Durand's coat, though Durand seemed unshaken by this.

Then Rousseau and his men were all being herded out. Herded like the men they bought and sold. It was a loud procession, for everyone had been deafened a little by the musket and their blood was up.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Darkness had long since fallen when they finally heard the sound of carriage and horses. Together, Mr. Franklin, Tudor and Maeve rushed to the door. Eric reached it first, flinging it open, happy to be in action and have something to do after their long wait. He rushed to the carriage, leaving Maeve and Tudor to linger just outside the doorway as Jack Roberts and Jean emerged from the carriage. The three men hurriedly worked out how the three of them would extricate Mr. Wellings from the floor of the carriage. Maeve turned and headed back inside to hover near her prepared table, absentmindedly brushing the material of her skirts down repeatedly as she waited. Miss Smith followed and had the presence of mind to begin lighting the extra candles and lanterns they had made ready.

Jean came through the door first, carrying Joshua’s legs. Eric followed, carrying his shipmate’s torso. An extremely fatigued looking Jack Roberts followed after. He waved off the carriage as his two crewmates carried their burden to the awaiting table. They were still situating him even as Maeve began her precursory inspection, asking for an explanation of his injuries from Jean. The smell of rum wafted up from her patient who seemed to be only vaguely conscious. She carefully studied the horrible welt just under Joshua’s right eye, noting the stippling burns from the gunshot that had miraculously fired just softly enough not to break his skin. But the bruise was angry. Maeve was more alarmed about Mr. Wellings’ left eye and inspected it gingerly as Jack repeated quickly the story of how it had been dashed from Joshua’s socket when he’d hit the ground from a horse fall. It was too early to tell, and there was far too much swelling yet to be certain of whether or not this eye would work properly ever again. It would probably become slightly lazy, at best.

She then raised the patient’s left arm and began unwrapping the bandages there as Jean continued the narration of this particular injury and what had been done thus far. She merely nodded as she concentrated on her task. She called to Miss Smith, asking her to bring over the rags and a pot of hot water. Eric walked over to Jean and offered him a cup of water, and a sip of something stronger if he wished. “Oui, sah”, said Jean with a weary smile. He moved off with Eric to join a bone-weary Jack who was already sitting by the fireplace.

Tudor came to Maeve’s side with the water and rags, offering her assistance. Together, they carefully re-cleaned Joshua’s wounds. They only oozed a bit of blood now and then. “First thing we need ta do is ta take the lead out”, Maeve said softly, almost to herself. She maneuvered Joshua’s arm until she felt she had the best position to begin extracting the shot. Tudor proved herself to be a competent assistant, already bringing a lantern to bear before Maeve needed to ask for the extra light. Maeve smiled at her. She brought her probe to bear and placed it tenderly against the wound and then jumped, startled out of her concentration as Mr. Franklin exclaimed “whoa!” There was a slight scuffle as she and Tudor turned to see Eric, bent over in a comical pose, holding a cup just inches off the ground. He had caught Jack’s cup of rum and kept the majority of it from spilling. Mr. Roberts was dead asleep in a chair before the fireplace, unconscious to the world.

Maeve and Tudor laughed. It seemed to break a tension that was in the room. At that moment, Maeve also knew that Mr. Wellings, though much abused, was going to be just fine. She set about her work with renewed calm and purpose.

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Preston was the last to depart over the rail. He shook Bill's hand and told him to keep an eye out for the Watch Dog even though she wasn't due until the following morning. "'Ave th' lads keep a watch on the Navarra. Jus' 'n case y' know," Preston winked. Preston looked up to see Andrew Smyth in the rigging giving him another pair of eyes to watch his his back. Bill Flint, ever the dutiful marine simply nodded and saluted the Ship's master.

Dries grasped the chains as Preston eased into the stern. Charlie held the tiller while Peter and Joseph pulled slowly on the sweeps sending them away from the Lucy. The night was still, not uncomfortably so, but just another calm, humid evening on Martinique. Preston cursed the island to himself as he longed to be back at sea and done with the drudgery of politics. He eased his hand in the water and watched a luminous glow trail behind.

"'s he expecting us sah?" Dries asked abruptly, clutching his musket with his forearm.

"I should think not Mister Weers. Captain..." Preston fumbled for the scrap of parchment he had written the Captain's name on. Mister Whitingford squinted to make out the name in the dark. "Yes, a Captain Eustaquio Alano Avendano."

"Capitán, Mister Pew," Maurice politely corrected.

"Of course Maurice, Capitán," Preston purposefully elongated the pronunciation. The men smiled, but for Peter.

"It's th' same bloody thing," Peter grumbled. Charlie scowled at Peter.

"'s enough o' that mate, eh Mister Norman."

"Aye sah." Peter merely chewed his lip and dropped the oar slowly into the harbor.

In a matter of minutes they were within shouting distance to the Navarra. Charlie swung a wide berth so he and Preston could get a look at the ship and possibly the number of men on deck. Reaching the larboard side of the vessel again, Preston told Maurice to hail the officer on watch.

Maurice cupped his hands and called aloud, "¡Ha del barco! !La Navarra!"

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - On the Cul du Sac Royal

Hernando López de Arriortúa and Felipe Gasset were standing on the holy ground of the Navarra when the cry came to them across the water. The sound carried easily over the distance, though a neighboring ship had begun celebrating somewhat raucously their recent good fortunes. The Bosun, Arriortúa, went to the rail with a glass as Gasset hailed the approaching boat.

Maurice called out again, and so the merchant and the small boat conversed in this matter as the distance shrank between them asking and answering several simple questions. There were not many at the rail, Pew noted, but many more of them were armed than he had expected.

"Some zeven...seventeen muskets, by my count, sah." Dries said quietly.

"And heavy in the water..." Peter said, than quickly added. "Sah."

None of this had escaped Preston's accounting and he made note of her rigging and great guns. "A merchant at war." he said abscently, as he was still trying to make out the condition of her topmost sails in the darkness above them and other subtle details of her make and readiness.

Arriortúa remained on the upper decks aft, but Gasset had moved amidships along with some additional unarmed men to receive the men of the Lucy. Gasset looked affable enough. Indeed, he looked more than affable, even pleased to see them. He had a genuine smile and a good, average face. He raised a hand in greeting when they were close enough to make him out by the lanterns of the Navarra.

"Welcome, friends." he said in a clear English, though it was no indication of his knowledge of the language one way or the other. The familiar face of Lieutenant Guerrero De la Cruz appeared then beside Gasset.

Eight bells of the Second Dog Watch. First Watch begins.

Starboard Watches on Duty

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Mr. Wellings began to moan and twist a bit as Maeve tried to extract the shot. Tudor couldn’t hold him alone. The ladies didn’t have to ask Mr. Franklin and Jean to assist them in keeping Mr. Wellings still. The moment they heard his moans they were up and over to the tableside. “Thank you gentlemen”, the doctor murmured as she began her efforts again. The piece of lead was buried more deeply than she’d hoped. This wound wasn’t fatal but it would smart him deeply for a while.

The effort and humidity of the day beaded up on Maeve’s forehead and began to trickle down her hairline. Without being asked, Tudor mopped Maeve’s sweating brow. The chirurgeon began murmuring encouragingly to Joshua as he was begrudgingly pulled from his exhaustion and rum induced stupor. Just as he began to cry out, Maeve pulled the shot out with a moist ‘pop’. Everyone broke into a smile, even as Mr. Wellings whimpered. “Nice job lass”, Eric complimented. In his enthusiasm, Maeve had the distinct impression he would have clapped her on the back had she been one of the “boys”.

“Thank you, Mr. Franklin”, she demurred. “We’ll let Mr. Wellings here rest now a bit far his efforts and make him mar comfertable before I work on his lesser ills”, she added, reaching for a small bottle of laudanum. Tudor let her tired arm set down the lantern and moved to open a few of the windows in the room. She gazed out at the harbor and the softly bobbing lights in the bay, breathed deeply, and smiled thoughtfully to no one but herself.

Edited February 26, 2009 by Maeve O'Treasaigh

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704

The business of this surgery done, Eric went over to a sleeping Mister Roberts and nudged him. "The weskit..!" Jack said, sitting up a little startled. He fumbled for the cup that was no longer in his hand.

Eric snorted and patted Jack on the back. "Easy, Jack."

"Sorry." he said, smiling at his own state. He rubbed the palm of one hand over an eye as he sat up.

"Miss O'Treasaigh has fetched out th' lead." Eric explained. "Joshua's in good hands here. We'll wait t' take him back when th' Cap'n comes.

Jack could see that Jean was shouldering his musket and preparing to depart, he followed suit, anxious to report the business of Wellings and what he knew of Ajayi to Mister Warren. He was equally anxious to eat and find his hammock.

Starboard Watches on Duty

[Dorian Lasseter]

Monsieur Rousseau's Plantation, Martinique

With ears ringing, all those in the small cellar room were forced out into the main building and eventually outside. Dorian had waited with his pistol screwed into the man’s ear for most of the men to head up the steps. It was then he gave the man a shove, causing him to almost topple. When this happened, the Captain quickly scooped up the man’s pistol where it had dropped when his belt was cut away. This weapon he held back, close to his body for several reasons, his pistol he placed nicely in the small of the man’s back when he regained himself.

“Move… easy now…”

When William was near, Dorian gave him a look and gestured with his head.

“Cap’n… Wot about Ajayi? Can’t leave ‘em here, can’t leave ‘im alone again…”

As both men turned to gaze upon the large blackamoor, they were amazed to see him standing, braced against a wall, but standing. William simply stated the obvious.

“Nay, he’ll come with us now.”

[William Brand]

William employed Rousseau's men to assist Ajayi to whatever destination ordered. It was only fitting that those who had done the harm should bear the weight. This was done begrudgingly of course, but no one could refuse the three men who demanded it.

Rousseau was left mostly to himself . He protested everything, until William, tired of his complaints, took the man's cane and drove him before all. Out across the lawns they went, William striking the man only enough to drive him, deaf to all of Rousseau's protestations.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter had watched as Captain Brand had driven Monsieur Rousseau before all in attendance. Had anyone been watching him they’d have seen a look of dark glee in his eyes. At one point he had let a small chuckle escape from him, which the man he had been driving with the barrel of his pistol took offence to. The man whirled quickly around and knocked the pistol from his back, but not out of Dorian’s grip and made as if to grapple with the Captain. However, he was brought up short as his own pistol was at the ready, its dark eye staring into his face. He froze and his eyes went wide as Dorian pulled the trigger. “clatch” The man jumped as the cock fell into the pan, but no gout of flame erupted, sending the ball into his head. Dorian only brought his pistol back to bear.

“Pity… musta knocked the prime outta the pan… Next time ye won’t suffer such luck…”

Dorian used the misfired pistol to shove the man back and wave him to keep moving. This the man did with a limp and a grimace on his face. He left a trail of blood and urine as he went.

Edited February 27, 2009 by Dorian Lasseter

[William Brand]

August 5, 1704 - The Plantation of Monsieur Rousseau

By the time they were all together again at the lane, Ajayi was loaded into the carriage and Dorian and Babineaux were occupying the seat, Babineaux at the reigns. Durand and his other men were on their horses.

William remained on the grass. He seemed to pause for reasons that were not readily apparent. He had already ignored everything said from Rousseau upon leaving the slave livery, but to fix him occasionally with an impatient look at his blithering. Then he turned to face Rousseau, his men and the crowd of confused and astonished onlookers. Something Rousseau had said, something amidst all his protests, finally registered with William. Rousseau had complained that a man of his had purchased and seen to the slave. It was this 'seen to' which awoke something in William. "Which animal was it that lashed this man?" William said gesturing to Ajayi.

"It was I." One of Rousseau's men stepped forward from the front of the mass of guests defiantly. The man was not large, as William had imagined he would be. He was a surprisingly small man of no outward strength, yet he was not ugly, but fair and intelligent in appearance. He was well dressed and bore himself with the confidence that implied upbringing or wealth. He walked forward and placed himself before William, one ankle properly turned.

"Who are you?" William asked, tired of such people.

"Philippe Galouzeau de Villepin." The man said proudly and effected a little bow that demonstrated more his indifference to William, then his respect.

"For what you have done, you have earned my enmity." William said evenly, not knowing or caring who the man was, let alone his station. "I will kill you one day."

"Why not now, Monsieur?" Galouzeau asked flippantly.

William obliged him and rushed upon Galouzeau. The man drew just quickly enough to block the first blow. William's sword rang hard upon the man's blade and he turned it out of hand. William cut the man through the shoulder and then saved himself injury by retreating a little. Galouzeau was quick enough, younger and the better swordsman. He cut William across his left arm and opened his coat a little, but William began closing on the man too fast. William pressed dangerously close, leaving himself open more than once, but it was this recklessness that put Galouzeau off his game. It bewildered Galouzeau and he managed only one good thrust on William. It tangled in the basket of William's sword and William twisted hard upon it. Of course William paid for this with a gash upon his hand, as he had in battle with the Maastricht, but he broke Galouzeau's sword off seven inches above the hilt. Then William was beating him. It was no longer a duel at all, but a kind of bludgeoning. William struck Galouzeau with his sword basket so hard, that he dislocated his jaw and several of his teeth disintegrated. Three more blows cut Galouzeau's cheek, forehead and one eye. The man managed to keep his feet, though he wavered on one bending leg. William helped it. One slash above the knee and Galouzeau went over hard.

One man went for his pistol, but Dorian fired the one he had taken into the air, and no one else was moved to come to the man's rescue. The report was loud in the dark and it awoke William to himself.

All was silence then. William was breathing heavy, but after a moment or two he managed to say again, "I will kill you one day." he said in a conversational way. "When I am ready...I will kill you Galouzeau." Then William walked, stumbling once to the carriage. Dorian offered him a hand and William let himself be helped into the seat there. Then he looked directly at Rousseau. "I have people here at Martinique that will bring me word of you. You will treat your slaves better, sah."

Rousseau was incensed. His man damaged. His property taken. Shamed before all his associates. He pulled himself up to his full height. "You understand nothing of slavery!" Rousseau began, and William almost smiled, for he knew first hand too much on the subject, but he said nothing. "You will pay for this, Monsieur. You and yours will pay." William said nothing to this either, recognizing in Rousseau the ravings of the defeated. Here was a den Oven incapable of a dignified retreat. William simply shook his head and Dorian made some unflattering comparisons to sheep in Gaelic, so Rousseau turned his wasted venom on Durand. "And you. Bastard dog of a puppet governor."

Durand turned his horse about immediately and there was a light in his eye. "The King gave me his cup!" He growled in a French that was not laced with anything delicate. He was the bear now, and even his horse seemed unsettled by the change. L'Ours had awakened at the last, prodded by too much of Rousseau. Durand rode right up to the man and stopped only just short of trampling him. Rousseau was obliged to step back a pace, and as deluded as he was in his orb, Rousseau understood then that he had played the fool and threatened the sea. Durand, capable of so much calm, was now aimed at him in full. Durand repeated himself, "The King gave me his cup and bade me drink from it. Who are you to me...ssssah?"

Rousseau could not come back at Durand with anything of worth. Durand dropped his voice to a conspirator's volume and leaned low in the saddle. "Would you have the King know, and de Gabaret...how you bought a freeman to aid the enemies of France?"

Rousseau blanched. "Enemies...?"

"...of France!" Durand finished, impatient to be repeating himself anymore to this small man. "Traitors and murderers all. Sent with coin bearing the visage of the King to return again against us. To murder men and boys of France." Rousseau blinked, mouth agape. "Do not come at me again with threats too small. Don your heavy brocades and your necklaces of office, Monsieur. See how they serve only to crack your neck after a short fall. A Very...short...fall."

Rousseau was finished. It was over. He was toppled from his place and if he ever rose again, it would be by faltering steps or some repentant alteration that was probably beyond him. He took two steps back and removed his wig. He looked older then and unhealthy in the scant lighting. A man alone.

They took to the road without another word or even a look back, but for Durand's men who took up the rear guard.

[Pew]

Aboard the Navarra

Preston was the first to alight from the small boat. Although awkward, the vessel had pinned its stern against the hull of the lowly riding Navarra. The ship's master offered a true smile as he was caught off guard by the wishes of the officer on watch. He outstretched his hand.

"Ship's Master Preston Whitingford, sah." Preston nodded a bit as he introduced himself. Charlie was the next aboard and did the same. Close to follow was Maurice and Dries.

Joseph and Peter were offered a lantern or two from above to help stow the oars in preparation for coming aboard. Joseph grasped for one and set it upon the thwart as Peter removed his oar from the oarlock. They grabbed for the rope ladder as Preston made the introductions complete when the men stepped aboard. Looking about, Peter realized his small crew from the Lucy easily outsized the men on deck. He finally smiled.