The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

It was is if Murphy himself were at his coattails, making sure he could not get a moment of peace. Captain Lasseter tilted his head back and could do no more than breath out a ghostly laugh. Righting himself, Dorian turned and headed back to the Ship’s Master’s quarters. Seeing the unsure looks on Johan and Robert’s faces, he shook his head and stepped to the door, opening it to see Preston wiggling about, still bound in his hammock.

“Good ta see you awake, lad… Calm yerself an’ I’ll have ye released…”

The man did as his captain bid and settled himself, to which the captain had Mister Jameson come and untie the line, releasing the Ships Master. Preston slowly righted himself and seemed to do an internal inventory, making sure he was all in one piece. He was relatively quiet for the time being, so Dorian leaned on his shillelagh and waited to see what Preston might do, or say.

[Pew]

"I dinnot know wot yer up to Dorian," Preston smirked, "but we've got much t' do." The ship's master laughed and leaned in close to the captain grabbing him by the neck and kissing him hard on the cheek. With a simple slap to Dorian Lasseter's shoulder, Preston led himself out of the room. Jameson and Stadtmeyer looked at each other wholly confused. "Gentlemen," he nodded to the two standing near, "much t' do, no mucking about now." Master Whitingford waved a pointed finger at the two.

Dorian was as confused as the two. He called from the cabin down the narrow passageway, "Mayhaps, ye should 'ave yer arm looked at Preston."

"An' yer head," whispered Robert. A glare from Dorian received a nearly imperceptible nod from the marine.

"Right as rain, Cap'n, right as rain," Preston quipped. "Shall I have Mister Goddon assemble th' officers 'n the Ward Room sah?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

“Right as rain, my arse! You’ll do no such thing…”

Dorian stepped around to face Preston and regained some energy through his temper being trifled with.

“First thing yer gonna do is set yer arse back in yer quarters an’ have the surgeon examine you. Once I’m satisfied, you’ll be escorted ta th’ wardroom fer a meal and we can talk about wot it is you think we have ta do… Do I make myself clear, Master Whitingford?”

He tried not to sound too cross, but some fear that Preston had lost his senses took a mild grip on the Captain. Some doubt crept into his head, call it a sailor’s superstition, that the Lucy was a cursed ship. That maybe Neptune or some of his minions were at work to make it so. He griped the head of his shillelagh and thumped the tip onto the deck, trying to shake the thought.

[William Brand]

Jim kept the watch as well as he had ever done before. He let the Watch Dog venture as far as canvas would carry her, tacking along a wide course. With the coming of day the real hurts to the Watch Dog could be seen, though there were few. Badger had already set men to the damaged bell and wherever a hit could be found from small shot here and there, men were employed in mending at these scars with wood, pitch and paint.

The Navarra was still falling off to their port quarter as they tacked again across an unfavorable wind. The Navarra looked no worse for wear as she traveled low in the water, an all too pregnant prize in these waters. Jim noted her many times as orders and instructions came and went from the holy ground.

The rest was work.

[Pew]

"Cap'n, Dorian, sah, beggin' y' pardon, but there are surely more men tha' need tendin' to than m'self. A scratch 'tis all," Preston touched his arm lightly. "A meal though. Hmmmm, a meal sounds nice Cap'n. Mayhaps the surgeon can attend to us 'n th' Ward Room?"

Dorian squinted and could not grasp Preston's sudden change of demeanor. He wasn't sure to be angry or worried. "Haven't y' said 'much t' do' Preston? What are you on about?" The captain of the Lucy became worried that perhaps Preston's sickness had returned and completed taken over his faculties.

"To th' Ward room then Cap'n?" Preston smiled innocently.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill grumbled in his sleep once more about his ruined vest and then came to. He slowly gained his feet and carefully made his way on deck. All work in his immediate vicinity stopped as sailors looked on slack jawed. More than a few crossed themselves and uttered prayers for protection from the supposed fiend that had just crawled up on deck.

"What're you apes gawking at? Back ta work!' Bill snarled, the effort costing him. His hand flew to his side where the pain was most manifested and he coughed, noting flecks of crimson on the back of his hand.

"Sah!" Nathaniel Brocke practically flew to his superiors side "Feeling better I hope?"

"Aye a bit lad, where's the Cap'n?" Flint asked

"He's with Mister Pew" and Brocke wore and uneasy look as if he'd said too much already

Flint raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Best I let the Cap'n tell it sah."

"Agreed then, be so kind to help me to the Ward room so I might await his audience" Flint said

Brocke obliged and ducked under the Master-At-Arms shoulder, and together they slowly and painfully made way across the deck to the stares of more than a few crewmen.

[Black Syren]

She did not figure any would accept her offering and none did, at least at that moment. All the men seemed to defer to a man short in stature and yet he seemed to draw one’s eyes. He was blonde and heavily framed with muscle, like a stout English oak, his eyes were of the deepest of browns with a hint of amber, piercing like the eyes of a raptor. His nose was a trifle overlong and his mouth held a cruel edge, hard and unyielding was her first thought and yet it changed as she surreptitiously gained further insight into the mans character. Superlative. That was the word she would use to describe him as he moved among the men, quietly speaking with them then moving to another. She shot a look from her lashes to Alan who gave a slight nod that he too was watching and wary of anything that may yet occur, Manus following suit.

She had no idea the passage of time but she knew it was hot and the air was stale here in the small prison she helped guard. She could feel the sweat run along her skin in rivulets, her shirt sticking to her back. Argus still watching had decided to sprawl at her feet and to ease the ache in her lower back she leaned against the door. Alan and Manus had been having a discussion of what fare was better and this included breads and puddings then began a heated debate over drinks. She shook her head at them but could not prevent a slight curl of her lips in amusement. Her attention was then drawn back to the prisoners when the man she had so carefully watched came forwards. Not that he gave her any notice for he spoke directly to Alan and Manus. It was clear she was beneath his regard as he asked to speak to the Captain.

Manus shook his head then deferred to Alan causing the one she now knew as Matthew Harding to shift. “The Captain is still busy with the ship, however I am sure Mister Warren would speak with you.” Her voice was husky and drew all eyes where she leaned against the door. But not his, he merely stiffened and angrily asked if women spoke for them. Alan stiffened as did Manus and Treasure merely sighed. “You asked a question and it was answered. Should you not be content with that?”

Again she was ignored though Alan quickly spoke up that if he wished it Mister Warren could indeed be fetched. Mr. Harding told him to have Mr. Warren fetched at once causing Treasure to laugh again drawing eyes her way. “Not much for manners are you? Mr. Warren will come to you when he is able to and not a moment before. This is a working ship Mr. Harding, coming from one yourself I am sure you are well aware of this?” she kept her tones light to take any sting that may be perceived from them and she shifted blue green eyes to Alan and Manus before pushing away from the door and opening it causing Argus to rouse and stretch. “When Mr. Warren is able lad will you tell him that A Mr. Harding from our prisoners wishes a word?” Her tones were muted as was the reply but within moments she had said “There’s a good lad.” Then the door once more was closed and she leaned against it yet again.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny had followed Miss O'Treasaigh back down into the darkness of the hold, even as the sun began to warm the shrouds above it. Maeve wore what meager lendings The Lucy's Steward had to offer until she would be able to return to her own belongings. She paid no mind, as she examined dressings and made adjustments discovering some unseen wounds now that haste and chaos had left only its debris in the form of broken bones and damaged flesh.

Jenny followed Maeve offering assistance where she could. The closeness below decks and the sight of those injured now seen with fresh eyes presented a gruesome reality which adrenaline, fatigue and urgency had blurred into only vague memory hours before. Blood seemed to linger in the air..mingled with groans and illness and her head began to swim. She placed a damp palm to her brow and closed her eyes a moment. Seeing the distress on the less experienced womans face and having most in hand, the churgeon bade Jenny up the ladder to see to the Captain and Ships Master.

Thankfull for release, Jenny glanced towards the ward of Mister Marsh. No smells of food came from the galley stove which burned low smoking as a few embers spent their existence. Only water for the treatment of wounds and black coffee had seen the grate in the past hours. Jenny grasped the familiar worn spots between the rungs with one hand and held her side with the other as she ascended the ladder. She felt no warmth nor moisture through the thin linen, checking for the first sign of infection. The docteur had removed the only large splinter imbedded and treated the laceration with a salve. She ascended into the ward room and relief. A cool dampness which had lingered from the open shuters brought a calm to her skin. Relieved to escape the spectre below, Miss Ashcombe set her attention about the quarters to bring the room to rights before those officers and the Captain or perhaps Captains, returned.

[Dorian Lasseter]

At sea, 7 August 1704

It was the last straw, the innocent smile given to Captain Lasseter by his Ship’s Master. His jaw clenched so hard that the marines heard Dorian’s teeth creek and grind under the pressure. The Captain slammed his shillelagh into the bulkhead, and had it not been made of such stern wood, it would have shattered. Dorian took a quick step to Preston and grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back into his quarters muttering curses in gaelic through his clenched teeth. There he pushed the man onto his seachest and held him there. He worked his jaw once before finding his voice. When he spoke it was cold and even.

“I dun’t know wot yer on about… Wot’s in yer head… But until th’ Surgeon tells me yer fit enough, and only then, shall we have a meal in th’ wardroom fer ta discuss business… I cannot make it any clearer than that… Wot you did…

He stopped a moment and looked Preston square in the eyes.

“Jameson, Stadtmeyer… You know my orders… He is to remain here until I say… I will go and gather the Surgeon presently…”

Dorian let Preston go and stood at his full height, stepped out of his quarters and now looked at the two marines.

“Are we clear, gentlemen?”

He did not wait for an answer, for they had only one to give if they knew what was best for them. Turning away and into the darkness of belowdecks, the Captain moved quickly and with determination to find Miss O’Treasaigh, his injuries all but forgotten in his fury. He found her back at work, tending to his injured crew. Stopping an arms length from her as she tended to Jeffrey Elijah. Dorian took several long, even breaths before addressing her.

“Miss O’Treasaigh… Would you do me the honour of following me to Master Whittingferds’ quarters so that you might assess his… might see if he is fit for duty… And afterwards, join me for a bit of breakfast in the Wardroom… so we might discuss…”

Maeve gave him a curious look, due to his halting speech and stiff manner. Something was amiss. There was more to what the Captain was saying, or asking. She nodded gently.

“Yes Captain, as soon as I finish with this bandage we’ll have a look. Won’t be but a moment, sir.”

Dorian bowed his head.

“Aye, mum…”

He waited, eyes half closed, using his ears more than eyes to tell what was happening until her footfalls stopped before him. She stood before him as he opened his eyes and he motioned for her to follow. The short time standing had allowed his temper to cool and his wounds made their pain known again, causing him to rely on the walking stick for the short trip to the quarters of Master Whittingford. Just as they came to his door, Dorian turned and bent close to the Surgeon.

“I am in need of more than just a look at his wounds… I need ta know if he’s stable in his mind… something happened aboard th’ ship, he did… what no sane man I know might… I just… I need… If you can tell me…”

Words utterly failed him at the moment and all he could do was look at Maeve, hoping she understood what he was in need of knowing.

[William Brand]

Meave blinked. Just that. She was too tired to navigate a conversation that promised misgivings and rulings. It was too wearying. Part of her ached for food, but more of her was repulsed by the idea of eating anything that might come off a ship's stove. She brushed a hair out of her eye and stilled herself. The threat of seeing madness great or small sobered her, for she had once lived at the very threshold of insanity in the company of a kinswoman.

She gave Captain Lasseter the simplest of nods. It was the only way that she could think to acknowledge his request, encourage them both and resolve herself to the task all at the same time.

[Dorian Lasseter]

He shut his eyes and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the Surgeon, moved to the side so she might pass. Dorian let his full weight sag on the bulkhead as he waited, not caring that his marines present saw him in such a state. While in the service of the English, he had seen captains and officers try as they might to show themselves to be untouched by human emotions. Hard and bitter to the last in order to maintain discipline among their crew. He now saw what a farce it was. Mayhaps he was not the best captain, but he would not treat his men as if they were animals, would not be seen as a heartless bastard as he had once called an officer before slamming his drunken fist into the man’s face several times until he was pulled off. While in this state of being, his thoughts were disturbed by footfalls coming aft. They were of an even gait and solidly stomped onto the deck with each step. When the Captain felt them close, he opened his eyes to see Charlie Marsh come to a stop.

“Cap’n sah… Seein’ as we’re under weight, permission ta light to fire proper an start on th’ midday meal?”

Dorian’s mouth curled up on one side. He liked Charlie, though had only known him a short time. He was gruff but somehow quite likeable.

“Aye, Mister Marsh… And be so kind as to make… something to be brought to the wardroom for breakfast, if you please…”

Charlie bobbed his head in a rolling nod and barely put a hand to his forelock before turning back to the galley. He spoke to the air before him as he went.

“Aye Cap’n sah… I’ll see wot chickens survived an either fix some eggs er fix thems them chickens that didn’t fer a tray. Poached , boiled, roasted… Got a hog from the ship we sunk fer midday… should be bled out soon an ready ta butcher…”

Dorian could do no more than chuckle at the man under his breath.

[William Brand]

Maeve removed herself from the room with the same discomfort it had caused her to enter it. If it was possible for her to look more careworn than before, then she was just that. Anyone watching her now would have forsaken their bed or any open spot of deck for her use, for she leaned upon the wall a little.

She sighed. The conversation within had been a long one, but only as revealing as any guesswork could have been, for Preston was at once witty, present and attentive, while exhibiting signs of fever, dispassion and a removed kind of carefree observation all at the same time. He was certainly no less stubborn for being ill, wounded or mad as a March hare. For he had persisted in a kind of manic confusion, all the while protesting his good health.

"He's mad as mad may be..." she said aloud to no one but herself, for even the guards did not hear her. Then she smoothed her clothing, out of habit more than anything else, and went to report vague summations about unclear findings.

She sighed more than once as she went.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Brocke and Flint made their way into the ward room and Bill was helped to a chair. Miss Ashcombe started at their sudden appearance.

"Begging your pardon Miss Jenny, I'm just here to see the Cap'n" Bill said.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Ward Room of The Lucy

Reciving word that Mr. Marsh had a morning meal prepared had brought Jenny down to the galley with a purpose more favorable than the previous hours had given. There she found Charlie sleeves rolled up looking more himself and ensconsed in his station. Though it was barely beyond the still fresh surgery crowding the space between the galley and ships stores and his demeanor was more sober, she considered as always, how he seemed to fit this part of the Lucy under his command. Charlie Marsh was a man content in and to have his purpose. She stood waiting his attention and he spoke acknowledging her while he kept his bulk bent to the task at hand. All around him were various meats cheeses and sundry as he worked to prepare both a breakfast and the midday meal. While he filled plates and a bowl he extolled the varied bounty brought aboard even considering that he would cook the chickens with small beer and honey and she smiled familiar with the recipie. Jenny's stomach succombed the the smell of fresh eggs, ham, cheese and coffee as she bore the items to the ward room. Two trips were required with so much fare and her side still tender. As she set mugs down among the plates, the ward room door opened without so much as a knock. Jenny started to see Mr. Flint looking a paler apparition in bandages as Nathaniel Brocke who'd been fortunate to incur only minor injury bore his shipmate awkwardly down the stairs. The former attempting to wave off any help. They explained their purpose and she curtsied gesturing to the stern bench not wanting Mr. Flint to bear standing in his condition. "Sirs, please sit," Jenny did not wish to step out of place and invite them to the table, but offered them mugs of the hot coffee and some bread. "I am told the Captain will return shortly" They accepted the fare and fell into quiet conversation discussing the previous nights action and Jenny continued to arrange the table twice replacing items from too small a plate as the ship rolled over larger swells.

[Pew]

Charlie Goddon had spent the better part of his watch topside assisting Mister Tucker's minions in repairing those stays that had been shot away. Enough had been bandaged to get the Lucy underway, but a proper overhaul of those cables was needed. Charlie peered up into the ratlines to see where he should next attempt his splice. He felt a tug at his sleeve just as he set a foot upon the rail.

"Mister Goddon, sah." Charlie looked down to see young Patrick Godfrey calling him closer. "Mister Goddon, sah, Liam overheard some o' th' men below. Well, sah,"

"Spit it out boy," Charlie huffed.

"Th' word is Mister Whitingford had gone mad . . ." Charlie put his hand up to stop the boy. "He killed four men by his own hand sah."

Charlie cocked one eyebrow. Stories during battle of one's man's heroics or even madness were not new to him. Tall tales were what he expected after several tankards of large beer or bottles of Madeira at the town ordinary, but not here, now.

"Come with me Patrick." He grabbed the boy by his shoulder and they moved further to the bow out of earshot of the other crew. "Tell me what you heard, exactly." He put extra emphasis on the final word of his order.

Patrick nodded and began to tell what he had heard. As the story went on, Charlie's forehead deeply furrowed as he found the tale too unbelievable. He quickly stood up and headed aft. "Sah, I meant no harm," Patrick tried to explain. His voice trailed off as Charlie Goddon went to find the Ship's Master.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter had taken his time heading the short distance to the Ward Room. As he opened the door into the space he found it already crowded with some of his officers, along with his Steward. One of those officers was his Master-at-Arms, whom was so recently come back from the dead. The Captain’s fatigue hid his mild shock at seeing the man alert and animated in conversation. The talking stopped and Mister Brocke stood quickly, knuckling his brow and began helping Mister Flint to his feet when Dorian waved him down.

“No, stay at rest Master Flint, I know not how you’ve come to be here from the sick ward so soon after such injuries. And since you have come, I assume it is for good reason for you should be at rest in care of others.”

Lasseter slowly and deliberately walked across the wardroom to the table and sat with care in his chair. Miss Ashcombe attended and poured a glass of wine as he took his hat off and handed it to her as she finished. He placed one hand flat on the table as he took up the glass in his other. Holding it up in a toast he looked to his two officers.

“To good health, may it ever be present in us all…”

They held their mugs aloft and accepted the toast and drank. Dorian set the glass lightly on the table and placed his other hand flat before speaking again.

“Please gentlemen… if you have a matter to report, do so…”

He had a suspicion as to what they might have such urgent need to speak with him, but he wanted them to have their say before he made any judgments.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill wanted badly to speak to the captain about his expiriences in the past day or so, but he feared his reputation in such mixed company, never mind that the captain may think him mad. So instead he blurted out "What's this about Preston?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian’s brow furrowed and he pressed his lips together. News travels fast aboard a ship, bad news doubly so, however he had not expected questions about the Ship’s Master to be asked so soon. Especially since he hadn’t had his own questions answered about the man. With a slow, steady intake of breath, the Captain relaxed his face and spoke.

“Never you mind about Preston… He suffered some injuries durin’ the battle and as soon as I get word from the Surgeon… we hope ta have him back.”

He stood slowly and took his hands from the table and unbuttoned his coat, hoping to convey a bit of informality to the two men and woman in his presence.

“I know that is not the reason you brought yourself here… Come now… Out with it…”

Dorian saw Master Flint flick his eyes towards Miss Ashcombe and he gently cleared his throat. The Captain smiled thinly and placed his hands behind his back before addressing what was holding the Master-At-Arms’ tongue.

“Master Flint… In this room what you say is held in confidence to all here. Unless it is something so desperate that it is for my ears only, I expect you to be able to speak your peace.”

Dorian put a neutral expression on his weary face and leaned forward on the table, waiting to hear from his officer.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe placed the Captain's hat on the desk as still damp garments hung on their pegs in the ward room returning to the table as he toasted his men. She started inwardly at the news of Preston. Not having seen him since the early part of the conflict she now recalled last sight of him crossing the enemy deck as Captain Lasseter led the second wave of boarders across into the fray.

Through the night there had been no word of a grave injury nor had he been among those in the makeshift surgery below. But as the Captain now mentioned the ships surgeon, she supposed Mister Pew had been borne over to the Watch Dog and lay there with those others whom had been marked by battle. Her concern grew as she considered the illness which still occupied his body though it seemed to be slowly leaving him.

Jenny turned her attention to the men and waited to hear what would be spoken. She noted Captain Lasseter wince slightly from his stll fresh wound as he'd clasped his hands behind him and he leaned forward affecting a casual stance. She doubted either man had noticed. Bill prepared to speak shifting his position slightly at the invitation to bring forth what news had sent him here in his own condition. As Steward she would keep the confidence of what was spoken in these quarters or where need be.

[William Brand]

The discussion was soundly interrupted by a resounding knock at the door. One of the Lucy's newest recruits put his head in, and with so much on his mind, Dorian quite forgot the man's name in the moment.

"Sah. Mis...the surgeon is here to see you, Sah."

"Thank you..." Dorian could still not find his name, but the man had already gone, replaced by a very tired Maeve and the place felt smaller still. They exchanged the cordiality of the great cabin as Several of the men in the room began to rise and offer their seats. The careworn doctor blanched a little at this. She raised a hand and shook her head.

"Please." was all she said, quite content to stand. She smiled a little wanly at their acknowledgments, though she visited Mister Flint with a look of cold indifference, and stifled the urge to rebuke a recent patient. "I have come from the ship's Master." she said simply, and the room returned to the conversation Dorian had so recently avoided.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Captain had straightened upright when the Surgeon had entered and stayed as such since she did not allow herself to sit.

“Please, Mum… sit and break your fast before getting to the business of Preston. It will keep for that much longer…”

Again he offered a chair at the table, and also entreated the others to join as well. It had been a long, long night and new day for one and all. In some way he also did this to delay what news of Preston she had to give. The look on her face as she has spoken when she came to the ward room said volumes, yet until she had given her report Dorian would not assume anything of the mans’ condition. He even went as far as pulling a chair out for Miss O’Treasaigh, hoping she would take her ease and fill a plate from the platter of fare that was offered.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

The smell of food at once made her queasy even as it awoke her intense hunger. And though she ached to simply make her report to Captain Lasseter and be done with it, she could not brush away his polite and unspoken imploring for just a bit more time before giving him news he did not wish to hear. Also, not understanding the politics in the room and whether or not they had any understanding of Preston's condition, she prudently kept silent. Empathy and sympathy both tempered her response. "Of course, Captain", she said, approaching the proffered chair. "Thank you", she added, and sat, even as Captain Lasseter pushed in her chair. Maeve ate slowly and uncertainly, not sure if her stomach would betray her, giving it time to settle, even as part of her wished to scarf her meal in a most unladylike fashion. She listened politely and intently to the conversation as it picked up around the table of strangers, saying little.

[William Brand]

Aboard the Watch Dog, William stirred. He could feel the labor of the previous days at once, for it had been some time since he himself had labored to move goods and stores. He didn't mind the ache, for it served to remind him that they were wealthier still and alive to enjoy the prosperity of it.

"Captain." Tudor welcomed him as he stepped into the Ward Room proper. She had already laid out the heavy ledgers alongside a modest tray. "Master Warren has instructed me to tell you that one of the prisoners was found possessed of a good knife this very hour, though the man professes to have carried it unawares."

"Indeed." William returned, and while it was possible that the mistake had been an oversight on the man's part and the part of William's own marines, he sent her out to the Ship' Master with the precautionary instruction to 'see the man watched'. Then he settled into fare and arithmetic.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

It disconcerted the Matser-at-Arms that Dorian seemed to be delaying with the business of Mr. Pew. It was if he wanted to hear Bill out first. Very well then Flint sighed to himself. If the Captain was to learn that he may have a lunatic on his hands better it be in the prescence of the ship's doctor.

"Captain Lasseter," he announced quite abruptly," I was dead and have returned to you from the Great Beyond."

Beside him Nathaniel Brocke nearly choked on his food before a slap across the shoulders from Bill's large hand set him aright. The silence that followed was almost deafening.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the silence that followed Master Flint’s statement lengthened, Captain Lasseter did no more than study the man. He saw before him someone who very well may have died and been sent back to his mortal body, for it was not yet his time to sing with the angels, or, dare he think, with Old Scratch. As the seconds passed, Dorian finally moved, just slightly. He nodded ever so slightly and slowly blinked as he thought over what might be said about such thoughts. Looking to the others present, he took on an aire of understanding, for in essence he did understand what Bill said, what he had experienced.

“Aye… Master Flint… Seems you have been on yer way ta th’ Great Beyond, only ta be snatched back to yer mortal coils… Not your time ta depart this world… And since that be th’ case, I expect you ta take yer ease under th’ care of our Surgeon or whomever she see fit to watch over you until you’ve regained your former self… That’s an order, sah…”

Dorian had changed his demeanor to one of business, all understandings aside. His Master-at-Arms was presumed dead aboard the snow, having been shot so many times, and now restored to life, but with enough blood lost to stop the average man. Time to rest, time to heal is what was required right now and he’d be sure to see that Bill got what was needed. A new silence began as what the Captain had said sunk in to everyone's minds, only to be shattered by the sound of the ships bells being rung to change the Forenoon to the Afternoon Watch.

Eight Bells of the Forenoon Watch, Afternoon Watch begins.

7 August, 1704