The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the two captains began to reign in the bloodlust, to bring calm to the deck of the shattered vessel, Dorian began the task of gathering the prisoners. A couple more small arms were fired, but not much came of it, so Dorian made known his intentions.

“Master-ta-Arms! Assemble yer marines in th’ waist! Disarm th’ prisoners at th’ mainm’st, take ‘em foreward an’ hold them on th’ deck of th’ Fo’c’sle! Master Whittin’ferd, have some men guard th’ prisoners until all are accounted for, then the marines will take over, have th’ rest search th’ ship for anyone hiding, then we’ll square away this deck.”

Certain familiar voices were not heard and Captain Lasseter looked about. Harold Press stepped over to the captain, looking quite the seasoned veteran of battle, covered with spent powder, spattered with blood and some other unknown substance. He knuckled his forelock and wore a grave expression.

“Cap’n… you’ll want to see…”

Dorian made a gesture to Harold, so as to say ‘show me’ and the marine escorted the Captain to where the Master-at-Arms lay. A silent curse escaped his lips as he thrust the tip of his cutlass into the deck and released the hilt to leave it stand on its own before kneeling down beside the fallen officer. Dorian looked Bill over and noted the many wounds inflicted. He looked up to see others standing neared now, seeing Preston and Mister Brocke he slowly shook his head before looking back to Flint. He spoke to the man as if he could still hear them.

“Ya got th’ colours I see… Fine job Master Flint… I’ll see to it ye get… rewarded…”

He gently took the colours out of Bill’s one hand and folded it onto his chest. Finding the other hand out and holding the all too familiar Tomahawk, he folded it onto his chest as well.

“Mister Press, you will stand guard over the Master-ta-Arms until we can have him brought aboard th’ Lucy.”

“Aye cap’n…”

Harold stood at attention, taking the order most seriously. The last thing Dorian did before standing was run his hand across Bill’s face, insuring his eyes were shut and he looked at peace. Standing, Captain Lasseter scanned the deck of the snow. He noted Mister Brocke and hoped his words would not be to stoic and seemingly cold.

“Mister Brocke… Take Master Flint’s place an’ lead th’ marines as ordered.”

Nathaniel blinked back some more tears and straightened some, knuckled his brow but made no effort to speak. Dorian nodded to him slowly before turning to other business. He scanned past the snow and over to the Lucy’s deck trying to see what all he could of his ship and crew on board. Those left were squaring away the deck and seeing to the wounded and dead. There stood Master Johnson near a swivel with two muskets leaned against the rail. He held a lintstock in one hand and directed some men, yet kept an eye on the happenings aboard the snow. Dorian continued to look over his ship, trying to pick out who was yet standing. The Holy Ground seemed too vacant and he wondered what had happened there since his departure. All he saw was Nigel looking to the snow. Their eyes met and the Coxswain gave a crisp salute to Dorian, who returned the salute, though not as crisp.

[William Brand]

Briar was never covered in so much blood as this, or so it seemed to her in that moment. It was not terrifying, being merely a medium of the body, nor did it turn her stomach to see it upon her hands in such volume. Rather, it was the sight of Maximillian's hand splintered and laid open that caused her calm to itch a little. She looked away from it, finding more relief in Christopher Newstubb's damaged, bleeding skull as she cradled his head gently between her hands. Blood had run down the front of her skirts and she could feel it pooling into one shoe. "We came away victorious, then?" She said absently, and if Maeve heard her say it, she did not answer.

For her part, Doctor O'Treasaigh was in abject terror. She might have been impatient with Briar, given the quiet shock that lingered like a pause in the woman's face, but she understood the feeling all too well, having felt the very same way herself on many occasions. She was jealous then and almost wished for it, knowing it was an easier calm to be afraid in a kind of dreamy way, but she was using her fear to fuel her work. Her hands were moving so fast they were threatening to make poor work of the man's torn scalp. She was just conscious of Maxamillian as he lingered. "I'm sorry about your friend." she offered, nodding in Clovely's direction and trying to sound empathetic.

"I...not know 'im well." Maximillian managed in poor English, then added, "I...sew him...right good."

"Sew him up? With that hand...?" Maeve said, not really listening or caring for an answer. Her hands were too full.

Maximillian lifted his untouched hand as if to say, 'I have another'.

'He's in shock.' She thought, then almost laughed and checked herself. She wasn't sure what sound might come out of her mouth then. Then it occurred to her, strange as the thought was, that Maximillian was possessed of a good hand, and more important, of a sailor's hand at that.

"Come here!" she barked, waking him from himself just enough to exchange places with him. 'I'm mad. Quite mad.' she thought, as she passed him the needle needed to sew Newstubb's scalp together, but the man went to it at once. Not only was the shock enough so as to keep his hand still and the work slow and steady, he was distracted enough that Maeve went to work on his other hand while he labored. Even more than this, he spoke softly in his native tongue with such an agreeable tone as to wake Briar to herself.

Maeve could not be certain how she would describe this scene with any accuracy of emotion later.

[Red Cat Jenny]

The Lucy

Jenny had ducked behind the larboard gunnle sometimes cowering, sometimes chancing all.. the desire to know where the battle stood too strong to refuse. Her back ached and her knees stung from pressing herself low against the solid portion where the rail met the deck. It afforded little cover and she crouched as tightly as was possible. With shouts The Lucy's men continued to spill over to the snow as a wave would. Washing onto the deck of the enemy like so much seawater in and around and seemed to devastate all in their path. However in the dark and in numbers she quickly lost sight of which belonged to whom.

Grape struck the holy ground whistling in her ears as it glanced off the ship sending splinters into her clothing and striking holes in her courage as easily as they pierced the fabric. Jenny covered her face instinctively, nearly sending a shot astray from the pistol gripped tightly. This was too much.. too real, surely she would die. She despaired of everything in that moment, her choices, what she would never see..her family..Jenny pressed herself to the cover of the rail for what seemed like eternity lost in smoke, cannon and musket fire and shouting. Her mind swam and she struggled for a time to keep a grasp on any self control. A hand shook her shoulder and the unfamiliar face at least a score younger stared into hers only long enough to see she was uninjured. Then dissapeared into the fray. Jenny half crouched half ran down the stairs intending to seek shelter in the ward room. But checked herself remaining halfway up the steps to the holy ground. She would not give in. All around her were just as vulnerable though easily more able. None cowered. Even those visibly injured. Anger stung her back into her place amongst them and she took up cover near the top of the stairs. She checked each pistol tucking one back into the belt and readjusting her grip on the other. Time passed feeling like an eternity and mere moments all at once.

She caught sight of the plume of Captain Lasseter's hat and was just able to follow the flash of color as it and the men following pushed forward on the snow. As Jenny leaned forward straining to see she was grabbed up roughly from the back and thrown against the deck of the holy ground. A sailor from the snow had managed a fortuitous crossing, jumping across the larger space aft of the Lucy's grapple lines. Unseen by most whose attention was focused forward in the waist, his intent was the tiller. But first to cut down anyone who would stop him in his pursuit. Jennys shoulder met the deck with the force of the man's throw and she screamed rolling over and pointing the pistol. Her shot went wide as he kicked her and she rolled away from the force of the second attack. He had a knife in his hand and paused to lunge at her but she caught him full in the face with a handful of sand. It was enough to stop him but for a moment. Long enough for her to back away on her hands and feet. He swore and cursed her and she prepared to be wounded in the fight. Jenny scrambled madly against the pain in her shoulder for the pistol but as she drew it the man was cut down by Nigel and fell halfway down the stairs landing in a drunken pose. Tucker appeared and roughly yanked the man over assuring he woud do no more harm and deposited him on the deck below. Jenny turned away shaking but Nigel quickly pulled her to her feet. She looked at him but could say nothing. He simply nodded and returned to the tiller . A shout came up then that the Snow had surrendered. Jenny could see Captain Brand board and move to where Captain Lasseter stood and a wave of emotion swept through her at the relief. The effect of her injuries, adrenaline and emotion jumped in her stomach and raised chills on her arms. Jenny turned to the scene just below her and descended to help with the wounded. She was unprepared, for the injuries had seemed few as she approached. Then she came upon a place where the great guns of the snow had done their bidding. The sand was bloodied in a terrible manner and the reason for it was no loger a mystery to her. Those who had given their last were set aside while others stood by guarding, muskets trained on the snow and the water around them, watching the proceedings thereupon for any move against their own.

She held her breath and rushed below escaping the horror of death and assisted tending to those injured but living.

[Pew]

Nathaniel turned with heavy heart to carry on the orders.

The ship's master watched as the Captain knelt to the master-at-arms. Dorian spoke quietly to Bill Flint, then stood and set his jaw squarely pronoucing orders to secure the snow. Preston then grimaced and growled at Charlie Goddon to get his prior shipmates to stand guard over the prisoners. Charlie understood the Master's demeanor and merely replied, "Aye."

Whitingford stepped heavily through the waist. He breathed deeply, now wiping what sweat, blood and powder remained on his face. Streaming past those men of the Watch Dog, he plunged his cutlass deeply into those men of the snow now begging for water or mercy. Near the bow, Eric Franklin grabbed for Preston's elbow to slow the Master of the Lucy. Master Whitingford stepped beyond his friend and marched below the main deck of the snow, alone and angry.

The stories told of what was found below could never be truly explained but by those whom the Captain sent to find the ship's master. Preston was finally accounted for, near the stern, a dagger in each hand, covered in blood. Robert Jameson drew his musket on the shadow standing over what appeared to be a body. Johan Stadtmeyer held the shaded lantern high above his head "Sar?"

"No survivors," was all that was heard.

[William Brand]

With none of the 'Dog dead aboard the snow, William had crossed again to the frigate to access the loss of life and damage to the vessel. The deck was cleared of any significant debris, though there had been little to speak of. The pock marks of musket balls and canister shot could be seen hear and there, but she was no worse for wear. The most tell-tale sign of the engagement was the blood upon the deck, one of Maximillians fingers and some spent pistols yet to be carried back to the armory.

William felt, more than heard Durand then. The bulk of the man bore a presence that was hard to miss, and the smell of something distilled was carried from the man on the night air. Durand was ever drinking, but almost never truly drunk. Tonight was no exception, for he stood near at hand with a cup in hand and a pistol tucked neatly in his belt.

"I saw you not tonight, Monsieur." William remarked as he plucked up the seaman's discarded digit and tucked it into a handkerchief.

"I was a witness, forward." Durand explained, and watched William roll the ruined finger up neatly and tuck it into his pocket. "A most macabre remembrance, Captain."

"Aye." William returned, and chose not to explain his action, though Durand would probably guess at it eventually. If Durand was unaware of such superstitions, then at least a good story might come of it. Then Tudor was there.

"Sah." she offered, passing him the dipper from the Main Mast.

He looked her up and down as he accepted it, and found that he liked her best this way. Armed. Tussled. Indifferent to the protocols of the day. Removed from polite society and puritanical ideals in a way that spoke of distant shores. He brushed a single hair back from her face without even thinking, then put it back again. He did this with indifference to Durand or anyone else who may have watched.

"Shall I have Mister Gage light the cookfires and prepare the Ward Room to receive guests, Captain?" she said with a smile that had become customary between them.

"Put such things by awhile. I'll see the Navarra brought closer first."

"Aye, Captain."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Jameson and Stadtmeyer had found the Master of the Lucy bloody and unconscious. What they had seen below in what must have been his wake would haunt them for a time. Not knowing what else to do, they had taken Master Whitingford and cleaned him up as best they could in a short time. As luck would have it, they found a butt full of water and near drowned Preston in it, yet he did not come to. They had made the deck with the Officer between them, and other hands helped them with their burden, but only the physical one. Preston was spirited over to the Lucy, stripped of his wet and bloodied clothes, cleaned and wounds dressed as best they might. He was tucked into his hammock and covered. Liam Rowan was left to watch over him, should he stir. During this time all those prisoners on the snow were gathered on the deck of the Focsle, where it was discovered that only thirty two men survived the battle to become prisoners. Of that number, three were officers and none higher than the masters mate. Captain Lasseter had remained visible the whole time, but made trips to the Lucy twice in that time. When the marines were securing the prisoners, he walked to the rail where the Watch Dog still grappled and called to Captain Brand.

Captain Brand… A word with you Sah?

Edited August 31, 2009 by Dorian Lasseter

[William Brand]

William was bound for the rail opposite when Captain Lasseter called him back. Durand and he went together standing very near to Miss Tribbiani and Argus. The dog gave Durand a single huff of a bark, but a steady look from L'Ours checked the pup again, and Argus was obliged to trade sides with the marine.

"But one dead to speak of here, Captain." William called. "The Navarra is inbound, though her sails are set in a fashion unbecoming to a bosun."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian did not react to the mild joke made of the Navarra as William might have expected. As a point of fact, it seemed to pass as if it had not been said. Dorian spoke in a low, even tone to his brother.

“William… One dead you say? Aye, very well… I’ve not got the count of my dead or wounded, save one… Bill Flint, Master-ta-Arms of the Lucy… I would… If you would oblige to send over your marines to secure th’ prisoners, I’d have those marines of th’ Lucy bear Master Flint aboard th’ Lucy…”

His voice trailed off some and he left the question hang, his mind on many other things at the moment, one being where his senior officer might be.

[William Brand]

William, more sober than not already, sobered still. "You have them there." William pointed, for some were still aboard the snow, but he called the rest and marshaled them over sending word to Eric Franklin to see those prisoners well guarded. "John Clovely is my man lost. And Paul Mooney is twice shot or more." he called to Dorian, who was looking about still for Preston. "How is it with the Lucy?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

He was brought back to the moment by Williams question.

Th Lucy… Shes not as pretty as she was, but shell be put to rights in time…

Dorian became more himself and even smiled some.

Thank you Will… Ill have my marines back soon as… soon as I am able.

Touching his hat and turning away, he found Nathaniel Brocke, Acting Master-at-Arms waiting with the Lucys marines. Already a shroud had been laid beside Bill. It seemed as if all activity stopped to bear witness as the men who Master Flint had trained gently lifted him onto the shroud, then lifted him and bore him across the gap and onto the Cutter. Dorian followed and had them place him on the main gratings. Once the man had been laid in repose, Dorian caught Mister Tucker crossing the deck.

Tuck, what have you seen of Master Whittinferd?

Before he could answer, Jameson spoke up.

Capn, hes below, was brought aboard some time ago.

The Captains brow creased.

Brought aboard? Did he bear injury after quarter was given?

Jameson opened his mouth, but could not answer, the haunted look grew deeper on his face.

Out with it man… What has occurred?

Stadtmeyer took up where Jameson left off.

We found him blow on th ship dere, he seem ta be knocked senseless. Didna wake even after near, after dowsed wi water, Sar.

Dorian began to grow irritated. Not at his men standing before him, but at himself for not knowing the state of his officers and men. He had thought Preston was doing his office, gathering the numbers of dead and wounded, stores used or lost, stores and goods aboard the prize, and so forth. Dorian set his jaw and cleared his throat.

Tucker… do me the honour of getting me th count of our dead and wounded. Have Mister Brisbane get numbers from th master gunner of wots used or destroyed aboard th Lucy.

Aye Sah

Marines… as you were, Ill be below… Jameson, Stadtmeyer, come…

Edited August 31, 2009 by Dorian Lasseter

[William Brand]

Durand noted the furrow which had spread across William's brow. It was something in the news of the man Flint and something else as well. Durand did not ask, and felt that it was not his place, though with Tudor about he smiled a little. She returned his regard with something cool that only made him like her the more.

Aboard the snow, Jim Warren was calling the boarders to him and assembling them to go back to the frigate as they may. He kept a handful for himself, to do what duty they might. Jonah Greene happened then up from below. The man looked soaked clean through and bloodied besides, though Jim could see no mark on him.

"She's stove in astern and taking on water, sah! Teeke's at the matter now, and Wenge is there, but she'll not be put right without more men and haste."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter led the two marines below, first to the ‘hospital’ to inquire about Preston. There they found Mister Marsh and Cuylemburch doing their best to help the wounded. Helping alongside was his Steward, Miss Ashcombe, shirtsleeves rolled up as best as could be, doing her best. Charlie told of what had been done with the Ships Master and Dorian nodded several times. He looked about at the waiting wounded.

“Miss Ashcombe… Head to the Watch Dog and inquire of the Doctor, You all have done a fine job, but a true Surgeon is needed to help…”

With that he headed to the quarters of the Master, where he found young Liam sitting on Preston’s sea chest, so weary he was nodding. When the three men bustled in he stood wide eyed.

“Captain, Sah! I was watchin’ Mister Pew! He ain’t moved but ta cough once!”

Dorian held up a hand.

“Off with you then, thank you Liam…”

The boy made himself scarce, giving more room for the Captain and marines in the cramped quarters. Dorian studied Preston and began asking some questions of Jameson and Stadtmeyer. Their answers came haltingly at first, until finally Robert blurted out what they saw below and how he’d been found. The Captain slowly sat on the sea chest. At first he could not take his eyes off Preston, then he shifted his gaze to the marines.

“Get some line… bind him where he lay… watch over him… come find me when he wakes… tell no one what you’ve told me until I say… Is that perfectly clear?”

Even if they had not understood, the Captain’s tone caused both to snap off salutes. Jameson acted quicker and was off to get a stout line, leaving Stadtmeyer to guard the Master. Dorian stood, looked at Preston once more before heading out and into the wardroom. There he stood for a time doing nothing but breathing. With a great intake of breath that was held a moment too long before being exhaled, he moved. Over to the sideboard and found the half full bottle of whiskey. He did not bother with a glass or cup, but unceremoniously uncorked the bottle and drank from it, not once, but twice before slamming the cork home again.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Galley area/Surgery of the Lucy

Miss Aschcombe traded the chaos of above with a different though somehow lesser kind below. She simply followed the bidding of Misters Marsh and Cuylemburch. Perhaps it was the elder Marsh's unchanging presence that was comforting. He went about his task with purpose and efficiency just as he would in the galley. She handed him clean cloths she rended form what was available and accepted the others, brought the dipper whether water or rum to those who needed it and did her best to remain out of the way. Charlie Goddon, Nigel Brisbane and Nathaniel Brocke sufered cuts and bruises from shrapnel. Once tended to, they continued to help bear in those more seriously hurt, their own traumas minor only against the scale of battle. Her attention had been on every need she could fill when Captain Lasseter entered. At his condition Miss Ashcombe's first instinct was to wonder that it wasn't across the shoulders of Tucker and Brisbane.

His face and all of him was darkened in spent powder and grime as many of the others who had seen boarding. His hair hung loosely and thick strands were caked in blood at his right ear. The trail still fresh, continued down his neck into his shirt collar. A bruise was raising on the side of his lower lip. In his one hand he still held a cutlass, but his left knuckles were torn and as bloodied as the pommel in his right. His sleeves and coat had tears which did not make immediately apparent what injuries may or may not lie beneath. The Captain's shins below his slops and everywhere else exposed was bruised, scraped and caked in the detrius of war.

Miss Ashcome found herself assesing what care she could begin to give him, but she could not refuse his order. Despite his being wounded Dorian placed the crew first and there were some...Joseph Aretineson and young Patrick Godfrey who were even more seriously injured and in urgent need of more learned ministrations than either of the three could manage despite their every effort.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Christopher Tucker had left the Captain and headed aft to find Nigel Brisbane to inform him of the orders given. He found the Coxswain tending to his mate, Logan Christie, who had been shot through his left thigh at some point in the battle. As Nigel finished tightening and quickly tying a rough bandage around the man’s leg, Tucker stood back and waited until he was finished before speaking.

“Nigel, Logan… Are ye needin’ help ta get ta th’ waist? Have Charlie take a look?”

Logan grimaced at Tucker.

“I think not! Not goin’ ta th’ butcher ta be slaughtered…”

Both men chuckled at the Scotsman's thoughts on being treated by the ships cook. After the laugh, Tucker got back to why he was there.

“Nigel, Cap’n wants ye ta find out from Master Johnson wot were used er got destroyed aboard, I’ll be off ta get the injury count, startin’ wi Mister Christie here.”

All three men chuckled again, although Logan grimaced through more pain as he was helped to his feet.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny stepped cautiously between the debris which littered much of the snow's deck. Slowly making her way through the broken and foreign territory towards the Dog, where she was grappled at the side of the bow. She still held the pistol though close to her person as she passed between too few famiiar faces and hoped most others of the Lucy would recognise her as among their own. Jenny did not look directly into the faces of those men being collected and disarmed. She heard orders given and complied with, one or two requiring what sounded like a more physical convincing, as prisoners were accounted for and separated from the wounded. She wasn't sure if she wanted to remember the face of defeat, that it might haunt her during times when a conflict was not so easily won. As she crossed to the waist of the Watch Dog, Jenny was almost surprised to find herself in curious acceptance of that thought..of future engagements.

"Who approaches?" came the call from just the other side of the snows bow. But she barely needed answer for she recognised and was recognised by the good eye of L'Ours Durand where he stood in quiet conversation with Captain Brand. William followed the man's subtle change of attention and recognized her with the slightest of nods. They did not halt their conversation but Captain Brand waved off his guard at the rail and Jenny was helped aboard. It was a brief but frightening crossing as the two uneven decks pitched for a moment in height like angry jaws snatching at one's heels. The large hound accompanying the two men growled in punctuation of the moment. Jenny stiffened seeing that no rope bound the animal and wondered that it may be as fierce as those recently laying waste to the snow. She was careful not to make direct eye contact, being familiar with the guard dogs in the areas nearer the plantation's slave encampments. Jenny was met by Jack Roberts who bore her request from Captain Lasseter to them.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mister Tucker had gone from bow to stern on the Lucy and the Snow enquiring of those men who were found to be injured or killed during the battle. Many of the crew suffered what would be normal in a ships duel, the minor cuts and bruises from flying debris and jostling about. Others suffered worse, such as the first man on his list, the Coxswain’s mate, shot through the leg, or the Gunner’s mate who received a gash across his face on one side. These men never left the deck of the Lucy, while others who boarded suffered wounds in hand to hand fighting. The ships Master was cut deeply across his right forearm, several of the marines took damage such as Andrew Smyth with a dislocated shoulder and Cyrus O’Madden with a crushed hand. Then there were those who manned the great guns of the Lucy who paid an ultimate price. Samuel Milling and Roger Reeves killed while loading ‘Morrigan’, and Roundtree and Sandefur killed serving ‘Leucetios’. Tuck knew the Captain was well aware of the Death of the Master-at-Arms, so did not write a description of his injures, just the simple statement ‘Killed in Action’ next to his name. He went over the list before reporting to Captain Lasseter, totaling eight dead of the crew of the Lucy, with an additional five from the Spanish guests aboard. He knew others would die as well as some of the wounds were quite severe and even with help from the Watch Dog’s Surgeon the possibility of survival was bleak. The Boatswain finished looking over the list and went to find Nigel, the Coxswain to see what his list would reflect before all was reported to the Captain.

[Pew]

The ship's master was tired. The smells woke him more than the commotion atop him on the deck of the Lucy. The odors of Gunpowder, burnt wood, sweat, and mildew filled his room. Before he opened his eyes, he tried to remember how he had arrived at his hammock. And better yet, why he felt was bound to it. He felt the throbbing from his forearm and tried to move it. He had some room to move, but not much. He opened his eyes to find several lengths of cordage wrapped around his hammock. "Wot th' fek?" he said aloud. Was he taken prisoner? Had the Lucy been overrun? He heard several footsteps in and around his door. "DORIAN," Preston screamed. He paused a moment, "DORIAN!" he yelled again.

[William Brand]

Mister Roberts and the Captain spoke at length, thought the conversation consisted of mostly pauses and nods on the Captain's part.  Their conversation was not long to be certain, but Miss Ashcombe was made to wait while Durand watched her from where he stood. 

Durand was not so frightful in aspect as a man, apart from the disconcerting eye, but he implied a certain power and unknown that tended to give people pause.  His face, while not unfriendly in any particular way, was not a face of many smiles.  He didn't present the laugh lines of a joyful face, nor did he have the face of an angry man.  His was the face of the deliberate and the calm, showing emotion when he wanted to or expressing nothing readable at all. 

At the moment, he was simply regarding her, completely unaware it seemed that such regard without expression implied too many unknown dangers to be friendly.  Then, completely despite himself, he grinned a little.  He simply couldn't help it.  It was something about having a woman aboard ship, and more importantly, one that he had met before.

[Red Cat Jenny]

The faces of crew and prisoners still fresh in her mind were pushed aside by another. Had the evening been a peaceful one, Jenny might have reacted to Durand's direct stare which bordered on innapropriate. From his place next to the Captain he regarded her openly. This registered as a concern, given that they were no longer on separate vessels and might have given her pause considering that he stood with Captain Brand. Perhaps he might have sought to question her at a moment she was unprepared for. Yet he remained silent. Only when Durand's regard was acompanied by a smile was she shaken from her mental occupation with visions so recently encountered. Jenny focused instead on Captain Brand who had no unfriendlieness in his face, his expression carried only the weight and preoccupation of the past hours. He acknowledged her with the briefest of nods as he listened to Mister Roberts relay Captain Lasseter's request for the new churgeon. Jenny shifted from foot to foot and in mounting exhaustion waited in the most stillness she had encountered since the sun had set over the three ships.

[William Brand]

William sent Jack again with a final nod and some unheard remarks. He reported that the ship's doctor would be made available as soon as possible. Meanwhile, he put his head in at the surgery door and was able to glean bandages and some medicines for use by the Lucy's wounded. these were pressed into the hands of Pierre St-Germain and James Standiford, with orders that the two lads should go with Miss Ashcombe and be aides to her until such a time as the doctor should arrive and say differently.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Flanked by Pierre St-Germain and James Standiford Jenny crossed the Snow's deck quickly. Choosing to keep her eyes on the rope sandals of Standiford she carefully followed his steps until they reached the place where grapple lines held the Lucy to her prey. They arrived below to expectant attention from Marsh and two others who had been lending what small skills they had. The floor was stained with blood and bandages and sundry clothing removed from the injured lay in a pile. Charlie Marsh looked truly worn but unbeaten and Tjaack was not far behind. Their faces were ruddy and they were covered in sweat and blood, perhaps some their own, all but ignored in the service of others. They had treated many in the small time she had gone in search of help and the space below was hot and stale from the numbers of men. The injured had been separated by the severity of their wounds and a few were returning bandaged to the deck. Sulphurous odors from the great guns and wood smoke hung like a haze near the beams above. "Which one of ye's the churgeon?" Inquired Marsh, still tying a bandage to Robert Jameson who had a deep gash below the knee. When he learned the person whom they had sought was not among them, he set the two crewmen to work directing Tjaack to show them those that still needed tending. In the opposite corner the most seriously wounded lay on wool blankets.

Charlie took Miss Ashcombe aside and inquired in a husky whisper. "We haven't much time if we are to save them." He gestured with a brief nod in the direction of John Kine, Thomas Reid and Nicholas Trodd. After a pause he sucked in his breath and went on. "I doubt Mister Trodd will last this night" he said this quietly and for the first time showed the toll such things beyond his ability had taken on him. Jenny shivered despite the heat below decks, relief being traded for angst so many times over. She could only make out shadowy figures wrapped in blankets with one or two of the Lucy's crew doing what they could. They were hunched over one figure shaking in fits and managed to get the poor soul quieted. Charlie put a hand to her arm staining her sleeve unintentionally. "Go...and speak to th Captain. Tell him the state of things. Perhaps he can hasten this churgeon of the Watch Dog. He'll want to know" Jenny nodded and sprang up the ladder. Marsh shook his head and found himself thinking of Meg as he returned to the pleading of those not as fortunate.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter had let the whiskey burn in his gut while he did no more than stare out the stern windows of the Lucy’s Ward Room. At one point he caught his reflection in one and realized he looked quite demonic, covered with sweat and grime. At some point he had sheathed his cutlass, but he didn’t remember when he had done it and was almost afraid to draw it out to see what gore might be covering the blade. With a deep sigh, he set the bottle on the table and was about to find the pitcher of fresh water and a cloth to wipe away some of the filth when he heard a voice scream his name. Dorian paused in his movement until the voice again called out his name.

“I see Preston is awake… God save him from what might be…”

He turned away from his search and grabbed the bottle to take with him, something in his gut told him it would be needed. Through the one door and into the lower decks he went as arrived at the door to the quarters of the Ships Master where the two marines left to guard him stood. Both men knuckled their brows as Stadtmeyer began to talk.

“Cap’n, Sah, we were about ta come find ye, but weren’t sure if we aught ta look in on im first. You heard im call, sah?”

“Aye, so did half th’ ship. Stay here, I’ll be with master Whittin’ferd fer I know not how long. Someone needs ta see me, knock first.”

“Aye-aye sah!”

Dorian went into Preston’s quarters and saw him bound like the Christmas goose in his hammock. He said not a word, but sat where he had before, on the chest there and placed the bottle of whiskey next to him.

[William Brand]

Jenny had only just gained the weatherdecks when she spotted Durand assisting the good Doctor to the deck of the snow. Each of them bore the boxes of necessary, albeit gruesome tools of the Chirurgeon. Durand had laid aside his usual heavy coat and was rolling up his sleeves, perhaps in preparation to assist, for only in stooping to surgery would the man fit below decks.

Maeve looked pale and careworn. She had not troubled to change the bloodied apron of her trade, which had not effectively kept the blood from her skirts. Her sleeves looked dipped and dyed, but she went without word or greeting to Jenny, who had already turned on her heal to lead them both below, anxious to be ahead of Maeve, so as to keep her between herself and Durand.

Once they gained the space that passed for a surgery aboard the Lucy, Maeve began to order everyone about. Unlike Brand or Lasseter, she was captain of any surgery in her charge and no one made any argument against it. Indeed, Marsh looked the more relieved for it, and Maeve was equally relieved to find him and the others already at work. Even Durand joined in, and it became apparent that he was there for the quick and tiring work of lifting or sawing.

[Pew]

Dorian sat quietly and stared at the ship's master.

"Very funny Captain. Tryin' t' keep th' spoils from me hand eh?" Preston smiled. "Let me get about Dorian."

The Captain of the Lucy creased one brow and pulled deeply from the bottle in his hand.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the whiskey settled in Dorian’s gut, he did no more than look at Preston. In the dim light the Captain searched the Master’s face, trying to see if there was any thought or knowledge as to why he might be confined in such a way. After a time all Dorian said was one quiet word.

“No…”