The Watch Dog

[Pew]

::Rising from the table, I push the chair back slowly,

"Cap'n ifin ye please, I'd like ta borrow Miss Smith as ta fetch tha lads and 'elp us prepare..."

Before I could finish my sentence the Captain had looked at his Steward and nodded. Without having to make the Captain speak with a mouthful of food,

"...right then, Miss Smith, ifin ye'd be so kind as ta fetch Cut-throat, tha nubian, Mr. Roche and Mr. Press, oh, and Mr Monahan, an' inform them o' tha days business... I'd be in yer debt..."

smiling, I see the Captain's steward also fetch a sarcastic grin.

"I'll get Mr. Franklin an' tha two of us 'll get the arms proper fer tha day. Cap'n, Mr. Youngblood." I give a slight salute to the officers remaining and retreat to the passageway to find Mr. Franklin.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian followed Jacquelyn into the Surgeon's chambers and shut the door behind him. His brow was slightly furrowed and his curiosity was too great to let it pass.

"How... How does he know of such things about this isle? Don't ye tell me 'e's a frenchy that were born 'n raised here abouts..."

She took a pace towards her desk and lay a hand upon its surface befor answering this new line of query.

"Non, but he does know a fair bit about the local waters... and possibly more... "

"I see.... "

He may have planned to say more, but Tempest stepped closer and laid a hand upon his chest.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

::Rising from the table, I push the chair back slowly,

"Cap'n ifin ye please, I'd like ta borrow Miss Smith as ta fetch tha lads and 'elp us prepare..."

Before I could finish my sentence the Captain had looked at his Steward and nodded. Without having to make the Captain speak with a mouthful of food,

"...right then, Miss Smith, ifin ye'd be so kind as ta fetch Cut-throat, tha nubian, Mr. Roche and Mr. Press, oh, and Mr Monahan, an' inform them o' tha days business... I'd be in yer debt..."

smiling, I see the Captain's steward also fetch a sarcastic grin.

"I'll get Mr. Franklin an' tha two of us 'll get the arms proper fer tha day. Cap'n, Mr. Youngblood." I give a slight salute to the officers remaining and retreat to the passageway to find Mr. Franklin.

Tudor swaggered her way out of the ward room, in search of those to be going ashore. She decided to start her search below in the galley and found Monahan and Roche getting a small repast of coffee and hardtack before their next watch. "Right-oh, lads." She greeted with a grin. "New oders for the day. You two lucky fellows are excused from your regular duty. Go gear up, for you're heading ashore with the landing party." And with a smile, she grabbed the tankard of coffee out of Monahan's hand and motioned him out the doors. "And find Harold Press . . .last I heard he was on the berth deck, sleeping. He's coming along too." She called after the two, taking a long swig of the dark brew.

Next, she went topside, to the gun deck, sure to find Cut-throat by his cannon. Sure enough, there he was intently chipping some patches of rust from the cannonballs. Ajay was also there, helping him, mainly with the heavy lifting. After passing on the the events planned to them, she made her way towards the ward room once more, either to see if there were any more orders, or, if not, to clean up the remains of breakfast.

[William Brand]

July 19, 1704 - Ward Room aboard the Watch Dog

Third Bell of the Forenoon Watch

Miss Smith entered the ward room to find that only the Captain remained, the other officers having gone to their respective duties. He looked up briefly from his notes and ledgers, before returning to his work, and he said nothing for a full five minutes. Tudor was almost finished with her work there when he began a list of questions without looking up.

"Do you enjoy your time here aboard, Miss Smith?"

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor's hand froze in it path to the last dirty dish she had to collect. She allowed a momentary look of puzzlement to cross her face, but then collected herself and responded. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't be here, other wise." She paused again, shifting some of the dishes she carried. "Why do you ask, sir?"

[William Brand]

"And you find that being Steward aboard this ship is rewarding enough for you?" he said, passing over her question while he continued to pen the previous day's calculations on the charts of La Blanquilla. His tone was relatively flat, and one might have thought he was but half interested in the conversation at all, since his eyes never left his work.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She waited a moment, letting the captain's question hang in the air. She decided to answer with all candor. "Well . . . there are days that I feel more like a serving wench, then a steward," She said, with a grimmace as she once again, reshifted the load in her arms. "And days where I wonder if I really am any use to the crew, at all. But no matter where I'd be, or what I'd be doing, there are always parts of duty that one does not apprechiate. However, that doesn't mean that you would choose anything else. I chose to sign on with this crew for a reason. As I said before, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." She concluded, but then, a thought struck her. "Have I been remiss in any of my duties, sir?" She asked, suddenly worried by her Captain's line of questioning.

[William Brand]

He put his pen down and looked up with an expression that was altogether flat yet focused on the conversation. His face was unpleasantly unreadable. It had gone entirely flat, but for the eyes which scrutinized her for a long while. He continued in this manner for awhile, holding her gaze when she was able to hold his. Then he gestured to the empty chair opposite the table.

There followed an awkward moment when Tudor didn't seem to know what to do with the armload of dishes she was burdened with, but she set them down again and took the seat across from him. Still he watched here. Finally he broke the silence with two words. "Serving wench."

It was neither a question nor a comment, but a little of both and neither. If he was trying to make her uncomfortable, he had succeeded. She was accustomed to his sometimes silence, especially when he was working and she was doing her duties about the room, but this was quite different. This was an inquisition intriguing and also horrible.

"Serving wench." he repeated in that same emotionless tone. "Tell me, Miss Smith, how would you distinguish the two occupations? What would you say are the primary differences between a serving wench and a steward."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

The fact that he had locked onto what she had considered the least important two words in her response did nothing to calm her unsurities about the conversation she found herself in. "That wasn't meant as a complaint sir . . I simply meant . . ." She looked at him and saw that he wasn't looking for an apology. "I would declare the diffrence between the two would be . . . organisation." She had sturggled to find a word, and she did not even like the one she eventually found. "What I mean sir, is that, a serving wench mearly brings food and clears the dishes. A steward does that, as well as keep your iternierary, and organises you workload - so to speak. A steward is meant to make the master's workload easier. I don't think I do that, sir."

[William Brand]

"No...?"

William said nothing more for a time. He interlocked his fingers and raised an eyebrow for a moment, but he remained as silent as the grave for sometime thereafter. The corner of his mouth moved a little and it might have been a smile, but no more reassuring than something predatory or hidden.

"Organization..." he said at last, as if trying on the word. He considered it and he even repeated it once, but quieter and more to himself. "...organization."

He got up from the table then and fetched his baldric. Swinging from the bottom of this was the basket hilted cutlass he wore more often than any other weapon he owned. He drew it out, and she tried not to flinch. He admired it a moment. Then, while swinging it about a little he asked her, "What think you of this blade?"

The question seemed to throw her a bit, for she seemed more distracted by the weapon in his hand than the question.

"Captain?" was all she managed.

"What do you think of it, Miss Smith? What value would you place on it?"

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She couldn't take her eyes off the weapon the captain brandished. She was not altogether too worried for her own saftey - she trusted the captain. She pondered then, at his question. Then stood and held her hand out, asking to have a closer inspection of the blade. Immedietly upon wrapping her small hand around the hilt, she was impressed by it's quality.

"Well, it's certainly nothing fancy sir. But well made, none the less. " She said, starting to run through her fighting positions with the blade. "It's a good weight, and balanced nicely. A bit on the older side, but that doesn't effect the quality at all." She was speaking softly as she got to know the feel of the cutless, almost as if she was explaining to herself. She then looked up at the captain. "Despite it's age and ware, it would still fetch a handsome price. But price and value are two very diffrent things, of course." She said with a small smile, proffering the hilt once more to William.

[Pew]

::Arriving back in the galley, I find Eric Franklin slowly sipping a new cup of brewed coffee.

"Long night?" I ask him and lean on the galley door.

"Aye," he says without looking up, "Wet as all hell s'well". Eric shakes his head at his rhyme.

Laughing, I continue, "...finish up your brekkie, we need ta outfit the crew goin' ashore."

"Aye, Mr. Pew, be right down".

I turn on my heels and head below for the armoury.

[William Brand]

"Yes..." he said slowly, replacing blade again to the old scabbard and baldric. He put them on the table. "Price and value are two very different things entirely."

He walked to the windows and stood, as he was often want to do, with his hands behind his back. "I served aboard the Kingfisher some years ago. There was a man aboard ship. A very capable man. His name was Richard Amherst. He was an educated man of many schools. He owned a private library aboard ship which rivaled the Captain's own. Indeed, he was versed in more subjects than the Captain. In addition to his schooling, he possessed no small amount of training in the arts of war, tactics and the delicacies of the sword. In short, he was a consummate fellow, and worthy of any post aboard ship.

This man was the Captain's Steward."

He let the last statement fall where it may. He let it linger a long while and for a time he seemed far away. When he returned again, he continued with force. He walked over to the table and placed the tips of his finger upon it.

"This table is the political battlefield of this ship. It represents a seat of power occupied by all of the senior officers of his ship. Our lives, fortunes and future are played out in miniature upon this table. Amherst understood this. He was no more a laborer than I am fishmonger. He was a servant, yes, as a Captain is a servant. He had a place of his own, and let any man who knew Amherst speak of him, and that man would tell you with what grandeur Amherst kept his post. When one came into the presence of the Captain, one was ushered in by Amherst as one might be ushered before a Pope or potentate. Not because the Captain was of such a standing, but because Amherst reverenced his position as Steward. Amherst was the root of Stewardship. No task was beneath him or above him."

He paused here, and Tudor thought that she might make some comment, some interjection, but he went on again.

"When I introduce you at table, at court, at every opportunity, I do so without apology. You are my Steward. You are not the Ward Room's chamber maid. Why should you make yourself less than you are when all around you do not?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

19 July, 1704 Ward Room of the Watch Dog

Fourth Bell of the Forenoon Watch

Just after the bell was rung for the fourth time, the QuarterMaster arrived in the Wardroom.

"Cap'n, Ms. Smith... am I interruptin'? My apologies, I need m'oilskins..."

He looked between the two of his crewmates, wondering what he might have interrupted.

[William Brand]

"Mister Lasseter." William turned to him and reined him into the conversation at once. "What positions have you held before on previous ships?"

His stance changed to one of thought and he closed the door behind him as he pondered on the question, not because he had forgotten, but because the question might be answered in many ways. It could be answered by importance, by order, or by significant experience. As a sailor, one sometimes does greater things as an able seaman than as an officer. Acts of bravery, forethought, advancement and opportunity are not limited to office.

[Dorian Lasseter]

After a short time he shrugged...

"I been many things... worked on a merchant 'r two as a wee buoy, all th' duties o' a powder monkey an fetch buoy... on up ta bein' ships master o' a bark... E'en made th' mistake o' signin' on a blackbirder, young n' dumb then... Then I was pressed inta 'is majesties service, back as an able seaman, worked up ta bein' th' master gunner an' master ta arms, it were a wee sloop o' war... I hated most e'ery bit in tha' service... officers on most e'ery ship treated me less then th' blokes they pressed outta th' prisons... "

His brow had furrowed during his last statement, and his hands curled into fists. Suddenly he seemed to have caught himself as to what he was doing and his expression softened, his fists relaxed into open hands. Taking a breath he continued.

"I fought just as bravely as any man on 'is majesties ships, but never came ta much... not ta them atleast... So.... on a dark night in a port on Gibraltar, couple mates n' I slipped out a gunport an' made it ashore... Seems they dinna miss us, no search party came ashore ta find us... I sold all but me knife an bought new truck... got hired on a french merchant headed fer th' sugar islands... made a friend 'r two... an' well... 'ere I am...

Somat amiss?"

[William Brand]

William shook his head slowly, his hands behind his back once more. He looked at Mister Lasseter and gestured to the waiting weather gear with a nod and Mister Lasseter went to fetch them. Then, William pressed him with another question.

"Do you remember the day after Captain William was found murdered? I came to you with a question or two."

"Aye." Mister Lasseter said, his oilskins in hand.

William looked at Tudor. "The monsignor put my name before the mast for acceptance to this post. I was nominated Captain and had but to except the title and the Watch Dog would be mine while I would have her. Of course, I was flattered. Most flattered. I had been one great concern...that Mister Lasseter here should feel passed over. Overlooked.

So I held a private conference with him and asked him if he would himself except the post."

He looked at the Quartermaster then. "Do you remember what you said, Mister Lasseter?"

[Pew]

::Laying several muskets and pistols on the small table in the armoury I hear Eric walk in behind me with several sheets of oiled canvas in his arms.

"I was able to borrow some sheets to wrap the weapons in on their way ashore...Keep'm 's dry 's possible"

"Good idea mate. These 'ere guns 'ave seen alot of nature as of late...", throwing the canvas on the floor, Eric and I begin to bundle the muskets.

After several minutes, we have collected the weapons needed for the day's foray. Looking like we are jumping ship, several odd stares pass us by as the crew moves about their business. Carrying the weapons and tools to the Weather Deck, Eric secures the arms under a small canvas tarp that had been erected amidships for those on watch during the night. Watching the crew swing the small boats over the side. I inhale deeply, "I'll be going about ta see the Cap'n ta get this here trip started. Watch the arms and see if you can give the lads a hand." Slapping Eric on the back I head to the Ward Room.

Jumping the few steps tot he door of the Ward Room, I knock quickly and open the door to see the Captain, Mr. Lasseter, and the Captain's Steward in the midst of discussion..

"Beggin yer pahdon sahs, tha arms are ready and the lads are swinging the cutter and jollywatt over the side . . . ."

[Dorian Lasseter]

So I held a private conference with him and asked him if he would himself except the post."

He looked at the Quartermaster then. "Do you remember what you said, Mister Lasseter?"

"Aye Cap'n... I do..."

He looked at Ms. Smith before continuing.

"I said I was quite happy wi' th' position o' QuarterMaster here... I been a ships master afore, but at this time I's happy ta share th' authority vested... An' seein' as 'ere on the 'Dog it be a democracy, I defer'd ta th' wants an' wishes o' th' crew... He were named Cap'n, fine and dandy by me..."

As he finished his words there was a knock on the door and Mr. Pew stood in the now opened doorway.

"Beggin yer pahdon sahs, tha arms are ready and the lads are swinging the cutter and jollywatt over the side . . . ."

Dorian turned to him and nodded, turned back to Ms. Smith and the Captain.

[William Brand]

"Thank you, Mister Pew. Miss Smith will be with you momentarily. Be certain that all of your men have fed and drawn rations against the day before departure."

"Aye, sah." The Master-at-Arms went out again, drawing the door close and William continued as if uninterrupted.

"You said other things as well which I remember. You said you had been 'Captain of other ships in other lifetimes'. I understood then that you understood that a Captain 's calling is a life unto itself. When one is Captain of a ship, it is its own lifetime, marked from then as a new and present course. The lives aboard ship become all important then. The past is a thing removed, except where it threatens or assists the present."

Mister Lasseter nodded.

"But it was what you said last which was most important to me. You said, 'Yours in service'. I have heard few greater oaths, Miss Smith. I knew then that Mister Lasseter was the Quartermaster of this ship and he has ever embodied that stewardship. When I give orders through him I know that I will either receive council back again, or that he will send it down to the crew unamended.

The same can be said of almost everyone aboard. Some, looking at Mister Gage, might see a cook. I see a SHIP'S cook. Lazarus knows when men are not fed they faint in the rigging. He knows any food lost is work lost. He knows that to waste is to harm everyone. If he prepares too little, morale is washed away with the rain. If he uses to much of the stores, he endangers our futures.

When you serve as Steward, you remove the petty obstacles in my path. You free me of the bondage of the every day, allowing me to serve the crew's best interests."

"I meant no disrespect, Cap'n." she said quietly.

"I know, Tudor. But do not think that we think little of you. I raised you as Steward because you can be. Yes, you are a woman, and yes, you are young. But remember, David ruled his people at the age of thirty...some four year our junior." he said, looking at Mister Lasseter, then back at her again. "Alexander was king of Persia and Macedonia, Overlord of Asia Minor and Pharaoh of Egypt at twenty-five."

"Died at thirty-two." Dorian said with a rueful smile. "Ruler o' th' world almost."

William went and placed his hand on the basket of his sword. He looked at it a moment, then said, "This blade is worth one hundred and thirty pounds."

She looked at it then. The idea that it was worth one hundred and thirty pounds was surprising to say the least. She might have guessed seven, maybe ten at most, but one hundred and thirty. It was worn, and more than a little ill used in places. It showed every sign of use and time.

"In a way, it is worth one hundred and thirty pounds, because it is mine, and I am worth one hundred and thirty pounds." he said slowly, then added. "Dead. I am worth one hundred and thirty pounds, dead. That is why this sword has such great value. Only because where it can be found, I can be found. You are my Steward. Because of this, and an edict some seven years old, you are worth eighteen pounds, dead."

She looked surprised, perhaps even confused. Her face reflected many expressions.

"If you are found with me by the English, you will hang. Not for any crimes of your own. You will hang for being in company with me. Mister Lasseter here is worth somewhere between thirty and fifty pounds."

Mister Lasseter made a gruff, dissenting sound at this. Probably due to the small sum, rather than the idea of it being over his head.

"He may have crimes of his own worthy of note, but the company he keeps is enough alone to have him hanged. So you see there is no small danger in your title. If you were but a lowly sailor, they might not hang you. Your chances are improved, being a woman as you are, but being a Steward does not help you."

William stopped. He had already said much more than he had intended to. Indeed, he had never meant to speak on all of these matters, but what was said was said. He looked up at Mister Lasseter.

"Thank you, Dorian. Please see to the men's readiness. I will join you on deck momentarily."

The Quartermaster went out with his usual affirmative.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the QuarterMaster made his way forward from the ward room he paused before going out onto the weatherdecks. He leaned against the larboard bulkhead, closed his eyes and sighed...

"Thirty ta fifty pounds... paltry sum since I took on this name... but it's on'y been seven year..." He mumbled to himself...

Opening his eyes he shifted his full weight back onto his feet, turning back he headed into the Galley and had Mr. Gage fill a leather jack-bottle with a weak mixture of rum and heated water. While he waited he donned his oilskins. He then set off to the weather decks. The rain had not abaited at all, it still came down as it had earlier. There, standing at the ready were his hand picked crew. All stood ready for an adventure, all but one. Mooney was sitting on the main hatch combing with his head in his hands.

"Right lads! ye be ready fer this venture?"

A hearty 'aye!' came from all save Mooney.

"A'right Mooney, still feelin' poorly?"

"Aye sir... I got the shakes an' my head's a-swimmin'..."

Dorian gave a sigh, and put a hand on the man's head, he was hot to the touch.

"Damnit man! why 'ave ye not been to th' Surgeon? A'right lads, a moment longer an' we may be on 'r way... Come with me, Mooney..."

The QuarterMaster escorted the poorly Mr. Mooney to the surgery and brought him inside.

"Beggin' yer pardon, but this lad has th' shakes an' a fever'd state... he was ta go along wi' me.... but not in this state..."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Jacquelyn looked up from conversation with Nathan at the door's opening. The quartermaster's entrance brought a warm smile of welcome to her face that quickly faded with the news he heralded. Near at hand, Raphael tended Murin and lady companion with morning offering from the Galley. The Frenchman turned to scrutinze the two new comers and made motion to leave current charge to attend the newest malady presented.

The Surgeon made gesture to stay, halting his progress. With critical and practised eye, she looked over fevered Jacktar and tsked. Leading him to available chair, Jacquelyn quietly questioned while Chanault's focus drifted from patient to Quartermaster.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian watched as the lad was administered to and caught Chanault's shift of gaze. He raised an eyebrow and decided to pursue a thought.

"This leaves me a man short... I wonder, if you are so inclined, Monseur, and with yer permission Goode Doctor, if you would come in his stead... from what you had said earlier I am to believe ye know th' hazards about this isle... I would be grateful for yer assistance..."

He stood calmly awaiting the reply from the Surgeon and her mate.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

A mere crease formed upon youthful brow, pale sights drifted back towards his true charge of duty and lingered. The Surgeon paused in tending the needs of Mister Mooney, Dorian's wishes caught her off guard, but not completely so in light of recent event. The Surgery's wards watched on, careful not to disturb the quiet that had fallen over their midst and the air seemed to gain a heavy quality.

Jacquelyn held Raphael's steady gaze as she broke the spell that seemed to lay everything in suspension, " You will excuse us briefly, please..." Surgery denizine's attention scurried elsewhere, with acknowledgments made of acceptance. She motioned to adjoining chamber with inclusion that Dorian and Raphael should follow.

With all secured behind, she turned to face both men, noting that a subtle form of aggitation seemed lay over the Frenchman's posture. "It is quite fine by me, if Monsieur Chanault attends to your want. But, it is not a choice I will make for him. He is at perfect liberty to make said decision and I will leave that to his discretion. I am sure that I will be well enough to tend things here in his absence..."

In the deep recesses of the Sphinx's mind, options were weighed carefully. To assist in this short journey would take him from the immediate presence of the one he was sent to protect. But, these waters had never born ill circumstance in the past and could be, for the most part, considered a safe haven. Fournier held nothing but the highest respect for this vessel's commanding officer and company...The question that plagued his considerations lie in what his Capitaine would expect of him at such a juncture. Perhaps then, as an act of good fellowship in Fournier's name, he would accept the invitation and offer what was reasonable in request.

Raphael looked to Jacquelyn, then with some hesitation towards the other man, who dwarfed him in stature. The pale sights measured the Quartermaster momentarily before verbose carried forth.

"I will need time in which to prepare, s'il vous plait. If you can allow me said luxury, Monsieur Lasseter..." Raphael's attention drifted to the Surgeon briefly. " It should take very little time to do so, then we may embark. I will make assumption that you have surveyed the charts given unto your keeping by Capitaine Fournier. I will do what I can to enlighten you on absences of information not noted."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian bowed his head as a smile formed on his lips...

"Merci.... to th' both of you... Aye, I would be honoured with yer knowin' presence with us on this venture, Monseur. I 'ave studied th' charts in 'r posession, I have a rough copy ta take along an' hope ta make notations on it ta transfer to a grande chart later... Take yer time ta gather wot ye need..."

He then stepped into the main ward, followed by Jacquelyn. He then motioned for her to follow him into the passageway. Once there he shut the door.

"Tempest... Again I thank ye... aye, th' lad c'n make decisions for hisself, but at times I stand on formality... It would have been improper ta just wisk away yer surgeon's mate wi'out askin'... As I see it, he is under yer command... all kinda complicated... B'sides, this'll gimme time ta warm up ta th' lad an him ta me... I shall see you on our return..."

He quickly pecked her on the cheek and was off...