The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

William first mistook the request as a prelude to some violence on Saltash, but it was the 'scissors' and her hand that brought him down other roads. "Scissors."

It was not a question. William had known his share of women at sea. Some of them were shorn.

"I have two pairs of scissors." William continued. His tone was matter of fact, though he was at a loss about his feelings on the matter. He found himself in two camps. "One pair is quite fine, being made of well fashioned steel and refined gold, though I expect the quality is not important."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"Which ever is sharpest." She growled, a vicious enough sound that for a moment he reconsidered his original supposition that she intended violence. The fire in her tone told him that if he did not give her something sharp to do what she planned in the next few minutes, she would set about finding it herself. Still she paced like a caged animal, eyes darting to the door every few minutes and hand still wrapped around her neck.

With a resigned sigh, William stood and retrieved the fine pair of which he spoke and carried them across to the corner where she now stood, but he hesitated in placing them into her open palm. There was a silent understanding that he was offering to help with the clipping, knowing it's not so easy to reach the back of one's own head, but the Steward, angry facade once again melting into broken and weary faced smiled and shook her head at him. "I'm sorry, if there is going to be sharp metal anywhere near my neck right now, it's only going to be in my hand."

Taking the blades up quickly she tugged at a giant hank of hair and chewed through it with the scissors with little regard to the evenness. "It was foolish of me to let it get so long. I always used to keep it fairly close cropped." She said, the first fistful of hair entirely separated from her head, leaving only an inch or two to cover her scalp. She set to work on the next section, capturing the spring like curls in a white knuckled grip, "Y'know, don't give anyone anything to grab onto in a fight." And with a clipping sound, the second handful was freed, the back of her head having less length now then the side. "But, a while back, I was bed-bound for about six months and it started to grow out. I guess I thought it looked pretty so I've not cut it for the better part of 2 years." She set about the final strands, and spoke with a strained cheerfulness that seemed to teeter on manic. "Vanity getting the best of good sense I guess." And with that, the halo of spiral ringlets that always fluttered about her face was gone, in it's place, odd ends and disparate lengths, all evidence that her hair was even curly was now spread between the floor and her two fists.

[William Brand]

William had nothing to say on the subject. He nodded once at the last, then plucked up some of the hair, placing it between the pages of a book set near the windows. He did this wordlessly. Then he took back the scissors with no more command than an open hand. Once replaced among his belongings, he said, "Sit." It was a command and an invitation at the same time.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor sat, still clutching some hair, still looking every which direction, as if someone might jump out of a trunk our walk through the very walls. She didn't speak any more. As quickly as they tumbled out of her while cutting her hair, they were gone again. She was the discarded rag doll again and sat with no comfort, just weariness. After a heavy sigh, she finally made eye contact with William, as if bidding him to say whatever he had to say, ask what questions he had to ask.

[William Brand]

"Are you harmed in any way that would present over time."

It was a question of many answers. It was a question of many questions. He didn't like asking it anymore than she liked being asked, so that it hung in the air, but William was a pragmatist.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Her eyes narrowed a moment, as if she had to think, but really the truth was she was deciding how much of an answer she wanted to give. "No. Not for want of trying on his part, only . . . ." Suddenly she had to choke back a bitter laugh. She knew the Captain was only doing as he needed, both as the commander of the ship, and as a caring friend, but she didn't want to say the answer, and no one aboard ship had ever seen the scars she knew she would have to show - a simple no, without evidence, would leave everyone holding their breath for weeks. Without another word, but a resigned shake of her head, she lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing only the lower part of her abdomen. From the navel down, she was riddled with the ridges of a series of old wounds, perhaps only two years into healing. "Even if I wanted children, I've been told it would take heavenly intervention for it to happen. So, no. You will still have your Steward in nine months time." She dropped the shirt again, looking away and closing her eyes, thinking of it all - Saltash, the damage to the ship, the storm, the scars - all of it burdened her, ground her further down into her chair, until with a gasp for air, she stood up abruptly again, but instead of pacing she was practically lunging for the door.

"Captain, I need to go back to work. I need to not sit still right now . . . I can't . . .I can't . . . I just can't . . ." She didn't know what she was trying to say, and she was literally choking on the words, they stuck in her throat and she fought the urge to cry, but she didn't know what she was weeping about.

Edited September 17, 2013 by TudorSmith

[William Brand]

William did not completely hide his reaction to her revelation, despite a long life of such revealing deprivations. Of course the how and why of it bothered him, but this was a moment of pure 'now'. She was showing all the signs of someone who's emotional compass was on the spin. Of course she had every right to be that way, act that way, but he wouldn't have any of it for her sake.

"Harry Saltash is in chains. No work will be required of you." He threw the water from the basin out the casement window, which proved fruitless, since so much more water came in at the open window from outside. He continued. "If you go out there, they will see the bruises and cuts that weren't there from before, and questions will be asked of you. No, you'll stay here the night and you'll pick your marine, or if you like, any other man or woman to guard the threshold."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

His words smarted as they hit her - he knew her too well. He knew how little she wanted everyone to see how damaged her face was, and, in kindness, he used that against her. "I will go mad if I sit still too much longer. More mad, at any rate." She smiled a bit at this, clearly aware of how insane she must seem at that exact moment. "You think this is just reaction to . . . today." She couldn't bring herself to refer to anything more specific. "This is an everyday fight for me. Today just has me too broken to hide it." She felt she was being too dramatic, too cryptic and she forcibly shook her head, as if the action would clear it. "Please, if Saltash is in irons, I have no reason to sit in here, wallowing while others labor, cowering in fear while there is work to be done. As much as I hate the idea of questions, I hate more being seen as weak, and injured and . . . damaged." She could tell her babbling was not convincing the Captain. He looked at her, kindly, but in an unyielding sort of way. She sighed, defeated once again. It was becoming the theme for the day. "I won't have an able bodied crew mate wasting his time being my nanny at the door. I'd rather have all hands working to right the ship, as long as I can have a pistol and a knife with me in here." It was a request, stated as a preference. "But, just . . .what will I do to occupy myself all night?" Her tone implied sleep was the furthest thing from her possible agenda.

Edited September 17, 2013 by TudorSmith

[William Brand]

She was talking more than him. He understood. She was asking and answering questions aloud. He understood. She was arguing with him about things she knew he wouldn't relent about. He understood. Like many times since going aft, he nodded. Just one more nod among many, but he wasn't accustomed to giving orders twice. "Sit." She sat.

He freed her of shoes, stockings and everything but the shift like shirt that was so common between both sexes aboard. He did this mechanically, like a footman. Again, it would have been intimate if not for the circumstances and he hoped not too intimate considering them. Then he nodded again, unable to help himself. To see her now, with her short hair and trailing shirt, she was boyish. He might have tussled her hair but for the bruises. He was more careful with her clothes than he had been with his own. He laid them over a chair and fetched up a cudgel, which he gave to Tudor. All of this without a word. Then he excused himself into the companionway, but was gone less than a minute.

When he returned, the doorframe filled behind him as Ajayi stepped into the space. The Yoruban, a sober man most of the time, sobered more still at the sight of Ajayi. Tudor did not look happy for the added company, but William made no apology. He simply closed the door and turned to them both. "Ajayi is injured." he began, "More than once these few weeks…and…being a man of few words AND being relieved of any duty on deck, he will sleep here." He did not give her time to protest. even if she meant to. He turned instead to Ajay and using English seasoned with some few Arabic words he made it clear to the man that his duty was now to the room as much as any other part of the ship.

"You will stay here and guard this door and that one." William gestured to both the companionway and the small door that separated his sleeping quarters. Ajayi nodded, unfettered by any excited ideas or the judgements that might have come from any other person aboard. William knew that the Yoruban wouldn't read into the presence of a half dressed woman in his apartments, but would take only that explanation given him. It wasn't that Ajayi failed to grasp the implications. No, quite the contrary. Ajayi was actually a better man than most aboard. He was an intelligent man, free of rash or wandering thoughts. In that way, William believed Ajayi to more civil and civilized than any other man aboard ship. Compared to Ajayi, Saltash was barely an animal at all, let alone a man.

William turned to Tudor then. "Mistress Smith, you are injured. You are therefore unfit for any service of the weatherdecks. Also, you are my Steward and are oft found here. No one will see fit to speak otherwise of this and Ajayi is beyond, even above gossip." He nodded, as much to end any discussion on the matter as to augment his unwillingness to hear otherwise. He walked to the door of his own chamber and gestured to the space within. "You will sleep here. You will not have the use of a knife or pistol. I would have you sleep, but as your sleep might be restless, than a pistol or a knife might bring you harm."

Instead, he gave a knife to Ajayi. It was a wicked wedge of a knife and Ajayi was quick to tuck it away.

. . . 

 

William went forward to find Mister Saltash.  He murdered Saltash in his mind about three dozen ways between the great cabin and the hold forward.  He did this freely in his head to work out the ‘salt of the anger from his water’.  A ritual to ‘purge the poison from the fresh’, as one of his many mentors had said.  

 

In one imagined murder he killed Saltash by clubbing him soundly with the butt of a pistol, stoving his skull soundly in one angry thrash.  This comforted him not at all.

 

In another he tossed the man overboard with loud words and rough manhandling, throwing Saltash clear, but not carefully of the bulwarks and sending him down tied and screaming to his grave.  This only tired him, but it burned off the anger, replacing it with a careworn feeling that left William only a little more aged.

 

He finally gave up imagining anything, for the day had been long, Lasseter was gone to unknown parts and the Whole Company was adrift on two many currents, real and imagined, for him to be angry enough to kill or cause harm.  He just wanted to say his peace, give his orders and be abed. 

 

When he reached the forward hold he found curious, but well chosen men to guard the prisoner.  Manus Hingerty and Alan Woodington stood up quickly, but carefully so as not to strike their hades on the low beams forward.  Their presence made him count the watches in his head, because he’d lost track of the ship’s bells. 

 

William offered a solitary “Gentlemen” before entering in at the cable tier.  Saltash stood up and did hit his head, which William enjoyed despite his growing fatigue about the whole affair.  

 

“Sah…” Saltash began and William only raised a hand.  

 

“It is not in your best interest to speak, Mister Saltash.  Not one word, if you please,”  Willam offered quietly, but sternly. “I’ve put my anger to bed, but it is not asleep.”

 

“But, sah, I…” Satlash started again.

 

William gave him a look he once reserved for only the vilest few.  A kind of wild, dangerous fire seemed to burn in his looks for a moment as he took in one slow breath.  Saltash retreated a little and shut up is mouth.  William closed the distance, almost anxious then that Satlash should come at him with some violence, so he’d have reason to kill the man in the moment, but he wouldn’t risk the right of the crew then to have their say.  He’d taken their voices from them once before in the slaying of August Muller and had carried the regret of that decision awhile.  

 

“Mister Saltash.  You will be brought on deck tomorrow to answer some charges laid at your feet.  You will have time enough to answer to those charges in the presence of the Whole Company, such as it is.  You will keep the night quietly here, where you may rest or lay awake.  I care not which.”  There was venom in this last remark, and William did not withhold any disdain. “If you leave this compartment for any reason, but to be brought to the head and back again, you will be shot or cut down at the leisure of the marines.”

 

Saltash flinched a little to be under the shadow of Brand’s anger, for he could see it rising like a tide at Wapping.  William was almost nose to nose by then.  So close was he that Saltash had trouble focusing on him in the low light.

 

“Do I make myself understood?” William said finally and slowly.

 

“Sa…” Satlash stopped to swallow once and repeat.  “Sah.  Aye Sah.”

 

William turned and left.  He left so simply and casually, that Saltash stood almost a full minute before realized he’d been holding his breath at the end.  Satlash couldn’t ever remember a man making him so nervous that he forgot to breath, even momentarily.  

 

William didn’t even pause with the marines, but asked them as he passed if they understood, having heard all, and they sharply replied with twinned ‘Aye-ayes’ to his back as he went.  

 

Then William retired to a hammock made recently empty by the loss of Mister Badger.  It was a sobering choice that William made on purpose, so that no member of the Company there would question why he slept in their midst instead of the great cabin.  He knew they’d find it either to solemn a choice that the shock might give them pause, or too personal choice to inquire.  Either way he’d be left to sleep.  If any man aboard took issue with it, he’d address it when they came at him questioning, but didn’t imagine it coming to much, since the other revelations about Saltash would greet the day.  

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Every minute was an hour, every hour a century. Tudor tried to rest, tried to do as she had been instructed, knowing the surest way to be released back to duty was to follow her instructions. But silence roared loudly in her ears and kept her from sleep, or peace, or any kind of rest. A strange gratitude formed for every occasional noise from the decks that echoed it's way into the room, every gust of wind that rattled at the windows. She lay in the bed, pretending to be asleep, hoping against hope that if she lay there long enough, eventually the exhaustion would take over. But no matter how dormant her body felt, her mind still raced. What little sleep she did was fitful, much like the captain had predicted and when she could not lie still any longer without joints and muscles aching, she paced, bare feet silent against the planks of the floor. She wished they would make noise. Never had she wanted to wear heavy boots that would make a ruckus more than she did just then, if only to drown out the interrogation she felt herself being put through by her own thoughts.

She collapsed onto a the floor after walking miles without traveling any distance, unable to keep standing, but unable to lie back down. She leaned back against the wall of the room. With a sigh, she began to take account of events, just as a tactician evaluated his standings after a defeat. Voices of far distant and long departed mentors demanded to be heard, as clearly if they lived and stood in the same room. She could see them in her imagination, and while none of them had ever met so, she pictured them sitting around a table not dissimilar to the one close at hand in the Ward Room. They were her personal councilors of war, and every one of them had something to say. Why do you sit and let these things happen to you, where is your fight? The first chided. You are at a disadvantage here. You should have retreated months ago - the minute your judgement began to be clouded by emotion. You thought this place was safe and you were ambushed. The second growled. You let your guard down, you stupid little girl! You let them see you weak. That disturbing propensity to trust will get you killed one way or another. The third mocked. The thoughts continued but they didn’t take their turn. You don’t belong here was followed by A solider never is without a weapon which was drowned out by the third, cruel voice shouting at her You are weak, and useless.

This inner conversation went on and on, Tudor took every thought, every word, and clung to it, believing them all to be true even if they were such contrary ideas of both how weak she was, and how much harder she could have fought. They tore her apart inside. The the turmoil ran deeper in her than just the fear and anger brought about by her encounter with Harry Saltash – the attack only dredged up every other fear and doubt – and she could not separate all the emotions, and wished to be rid of every single one of them.

Just when she thought she could bear it no more, more noise invaded the silence. It was just a muffled voice from elsewhere on the boat - perhaps the changing of watches, or repair crews calling out to each other, she couldn't make out the words. But it acted as touchstone for reality - the world beyond her own world.This ship, this floating fortress had been battered, beaten and often times betrayed, and yet it went on. And so would she.

In light of that simple though, that profound lesson, realized on the floor of the great cabin in the darkest hours of night, all other teachers from her past were silenced. She knew that there would be struggles ahead - she'd bear the scars from this day just as she bore from every other thing that ever happened to her. But someday they would heal, fade. Someday, like that very ship, she would be repaired, righted. It might not be in that very moment, but knowing that someday they would no longer run so deep into her gave her something like peace, enough to actually sleep. She crawled back into the bed and as soon as her eyes shut, she slept.

It was dawn until she woke again. She rose again, not because she could no longer lie still from the pain, but because she finally felt ready to move. The light pouring into the room gave promise of a clear day - the storm had finally passed.

[William Brand]

Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog

 

William woke abruptly to seven or eight bells of some daylit watch.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d passed more than two watches together without waking and he was noticeably addled by the time, light and location.  He felt worn through and would not have been surprised at all to find that he had passed near ten years asleep.

“What witchcraft and misfortune…?” he slurred aloud, much to the hushed amusement of two nearby forms.  He couldn’t place the careful chuckles of either and made no attempt to see them better by rubbing his eyes.

He hung awhile, sideways in the hammock with his legs dangling as he waited for his mind to surface.  He could feel yesterdays bruises and pulls, including something in his right hip that predicted a limp for the next day or two.

Jim’s clear calls sounded overhead.  The man’s voice, raw from shouting all night, still carried true and William was glad of the sound.  

‘Sah.”

William visibly started.  He hadn’t heard the approach of Robert Hollis.  

“Sah, the men have found the Patricia and two men…”

William went wide awake, half dressed and half way to the ladderway before Robert could say another word.

 

[William Brand]

Aboard the Watch Dog

Ajayi had passed the night without much sleep, but hadn't minded the passing of it.  

He'd lain down but once and remained where he was all night, having noted how the woman he barely knew paced, muttered, halted, paced and revolved again through pantomimes of action.  It had been disruptive, to be sure, especially in the confined spaces of the great cabin, but had come with explanations that Brand hadn't offered.

For instance, her bruises spoke of a something beyond the passing of the Navarra, what with some of them too finger-like.  Many of them were on one side, belying the use of a prominent hand.  Her eyes were also too wide for shock to have lingered so long from the collision.  But more than any of this, she seemed to have forgotten him entirely, and for his size, this spoke volumes. 

This last thing might have bothered someone else, but Ajayi was no stranger to attacks.  He'd born them with a dignity rooted to deep to be rooted out and he understood that inward, focused shout of self-voices that came after a beating.  So, without any more narrative than her appearance and agitation he'd kept himself still and pretended a sleep that never fully came.

Instead, he'd thought of people, places, dates, all removed by leagues and time.  He'd pondered on the ruin of a smile that would never be the same.  He'd considered revenges and purpose, doubts and decision long into the night as the Steward's pacings came in waves.  Three times the sea and her feet had almost lulled him to sleep, but he'd woken each time, careful to be quiet.  Careful to not remind her that she'd forgotten him there.  Careful for her sake, because the sake of others gave him something he hadn't owned for himself in years.  Strength and purpose.

He was glad of this needful, sleepless guarding when he woke.  He was glad of the gifted knife still secreted beside him.  He was glad that on waking, one of his pained, broken teeth had slipped it's moorings.  He spat it out quietly with relief and smiled for the sunlight and blood.  Two bright reminders of life.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Despite the mostly sleepless night, Tudor arose with something tantamount to her usual vigor. Groggy, with aches and pains that would not let her even pretend to forget what had happened, but in the turmoil of the night, she had fathomed new depths of herself. Hardships had always acted as a chrysalis for her, a way to take herself down to the very essence and rebuild herself into something both the same, yet new. The events of the day before did not break her, did not change her position on this crew or even tarnish the uncommon trust she had started to build amongst her crew mates. As such, she could not and would not continue to lay a-bed and wallow, even if she was technically still confined to the cabin, by the Captain's orders

Stretching as she walked over to the chipped shaving bowl, she made a mental note that they would have to procure a new one, or seek a skilled tradesman to see it repaired. A silly small thing, perhaps when the ship itself still was far more damaged, but she could not right the ship. This she could.  There was a recipe for a paste like substance floating around in her memory - perhaps even a temporary repair could suffice.

Before she could manage to summon it however, she realized the water in the bowl was still a murky copper color, fouled from cleaning her face the night before, and would not do so well at the task now this morning. Instead she walked it over to the window, opened the hinges pane and dumped it, using a deep breath of the fresh wind and salt spray to energize her, where splashing her face would not.

Turning back into the room, she took note of Ajay. She had not so much forgotten that he was in the room, but rather, they had spent the night in the same room but yet in different worlds. Those two realities had now returned to one, and she smiled at his presence. The sense of security his presence had given was one of the things that had let her march through that parallel existence with no fear of assault from the other.

She noticed the tooth, clearly spat from where he sat, and wished there was anything she could do to help him, but at a loss for where to even begin, she instead just shot him a smile. "Thank you for sitting watch last night. I apologize, I am sure it was not very restful."

Knowing there was a very little chance of him fully understanding the words she had said, she hoped at least the sentiment would carry through. Rather then waiting for an answer she set about gathering up the oilskins and waistcoat the Captain had left in a heap on the floor, laying them out better to finish drying, and finding joy and solace in the mundanities of otherwise righting the room, all the while listening to the voices that carried down faintly from the deck, to see if she could gather any update on the ship's situation.

 

[William Brand]

Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog

 

"Tuck."

Jim watched William's face as the news set in.  Then watched him shake his head once, twice and then a third time with a little huff of a laugh that was more breath than mirth.  They were both at the damaged starboard rails.  

"Tuck", William said again, looking down on the men that were bringing ropes to the rescued longboat and the castaways there.  Like before, it wasn't a question. William came back to himself shaking his head a fourth and final time. "The man's to have my share at evening," he said, almost to himself.

"Aye, Sah." Jim agreed, adding nothing.

"And Durand...?"  This was a question, and it seemed to stop William with a new wonder.  "But...how...?"

Jim shook his head.  The two men simply watched as first, Christopher Tucker was brought aboard in a sling of rope, and then after him came a half drowned Durand helped by many hands. 

They lay Christopher down gently and all about him shook their heads to see the unluckiest of lucky men snatched from death again.  Owen Monahan crossed himself out of habit and some of his fellows smiled at the surprising revelation of a hidden papist.  Owen flushed and then glowered at them, which spurred them to wider smiles, though none of them met his eyes.

Durand looked no less drowned on deck as water ran from his shirt in long rivulets.  Twice he was offered a steadying hand and twice he shook it off, growling things that touched not on French or English, but rather some sort of Latin mixed with archaic expletives.  He cast his one good eye about until it fell on Brand.  "Permission to come aboard."  He asked this and promptly fell back into some saving arms.

"Permission granted."

Durand recovered himself, straightened his soaked clothing in an act of dignity that looked absurd and said, "Captain, I have need of a barber's bowl and some privacy."

William and Jim almost looked at each other, but didn't.  William opened his mouth to ask why the man should have such urgency for shaving, but Durand explained, "J'aimerais chier à voir par."

William was quite certain he'd heard the man wrong, his poor French notwithstanding.  Three questions formed on his lips simultaneously and before he could ask any of them a cry came up from the waterline.  Men employed in righting the Patricia were presented with the bent and broken corpse of Zachary Howard. 

 

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

There was so much she wished to accomplish. She was dressed and ready to face the day, having smoothed out her clothes as best she could, roughly finger-combed her newly shorn hair, and slipped her feet back into now mostly dry stockings and shoes that were just ever so slightly tighter after being soaked in the rain.

Having been busy since dawn, there was a very real possibility that the captain's chambers were now the most orderly part of the entire ship. She had righted everything thrown about in the storm, made up the blankets and pillows she had attempted to sleep on, and completed any other housekeeping task she could find. But now, with both the room and herself finally put in order, her mind sought more tasks to undertake. It started to venture past the door, seeking out these tasks, even though physically, she would not pass through it yet.

She was eager to discover which men had been recovered with the Patricia and in what condition they were found. This had been her foremost concern since she first heard the call from above that it had been spotted.

Additionally, she wished to know the general condition of the ship and be of assistance in any way to its ongoing repairs, if needed.

Her stomach insisted that it too needed attention, with a higher priority than she would normally grant it, even though on a typical day she broke her fast with little more than coffee.

She yearned to check on young Dash, though she could not decide whether she wanted that to be her first task or her last. She wanted it to be first so she could breathe easier knowing the boy was well, but the dread that he might not be gave her great hesitation.

Most of all, however, she wished to confront whatever was to transpire with Saltash, and soon. She desired the entire ordeal to consume no more of her time, her life, her worry, and heartache than necessary. Whatever unpleasantness was to follow, she wished it over with quickly. A million other things should and would take priority over it though, but she wished to race headlong into that particular storm, to see the end of it sooner nonetheless.

But still she was unmoved; her memory of the prior day was clouded, as if years rather than hours had passed, and she could not recall whether the Captain's orders were for her to remain for the night or until notified that she was free to return to her duties. While her judgment might still be untrustworthy, she chose to err on the side of caution and remain, at least a little while longer, and do what she could from the great cabin.

She turned to look at Ajay, who still sat by the doorway, dutifully performing his task, seemingly unbothered by the more tedious nature of it. "Ajay, see if there is anyone passing by in the companionway to take a message, would you please?" She couldn't bring herself to butcher the sentence in a futile attempt to be better understood—such attempts, she felt, made the speaker appear foolish, the listener insulted, and ultimately rendered the message no more intelligible. "See if we can have some food brought to us, and any word from the Captain." She punctuated "food" with a slight gesture to mimic eating, but otherwise, she spoke to him as if he were fluent, out of respect for him.

He nodded, clearly understanding her point if not every word, and stood to do as she had asked. While he had gone no further than to the wardroom door, his absence from the doorway made the space feel even emptier, making her even more anxious for a task. There were only two things left that she had not been able to put right—the crack in the porcelain shaving bowl would have to wait until she could find some medium with which to mend it, but a tear she had spotted in the Captain's waistcoat could be addressed immediately, as long as the small sewing kit she had stashed in a drawer in the wardroom hadn't gone amiss in the wreckage of yesterday.

[William Brand]

Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog

Ajayi was gone only moments. After all, he was charged to watch over this charge, but this charge he was charged with had charged him with a duty befitting the charge, so he went to the task with a smile in his eyes and an appreciation for her candor.

Not knowing the protocol of the galley as a place unto itself, he knocked, finding a weary Lazarus. Mimicking Miss Smith, Ajayi mimed the act of eating and spoke only two words. “Food. Captain.”

“Aye.” Lazarus returned and they parted.

Ajayi put out his head out at the companionway to see the Captain in conversation with a draining Durand. Ajayi accepted the presence of Durand without curiosity or question.

“Captain.” he said, just loud enough to be heard. William turned his way, and Ajayi added, “Food”, nodding back toward the great cabin.

“Thank you.” William returned.

Ajayi returned through the companionway and let himself back into the presence of Miss Smith and reported using the same litany for a third time. “Food. Captain’.

He ran the bolt shut.
 

. . .


William’s stomach turned in a pleasant way at the thought of food, but he set that aside.

He wanted to be angry with Durand, but could find nothing resembling a reason. He wished to be mad at the sea...that dumb animal thing that divided and joined all parts of Earth...but he couldn’t give the anger substance. He wanted to curse the Spanish.  All of them together.  This was foolishness.  He needed to be angry at someone, and then he remembered Saltash and everything he could and would do that day came into focus with a precision that gave him purpose.

“Mister Warren, if you please, see the Patricia brought aboard.”

William went to give a second order, but paused. Jim, ever a clock of order and routine in all things simple, had not returned so much as a nod or an ‘Aye’.

“Mister Warren?”

“Sah. May I recommend she be tied alongside and left there for a time.”

William understood in a moment and nodded. “Have Mister Howard brought aboard.”

“Aye, Sah.”

“Mister Youngblood!”

Petee fired off a clear ‘Sah!’ and made his way to them smartly. William gave him fixed, strong instruction on two fronts.

First, that he was to learn what men of the Lucy had served with Zachary Howard on the guns of that ship, and that they of that crew, and they alone were to see his body set for proper burial. Those men were to be delivered from all other duties but a twinned vigil; the keeping of the sober watch over Mister Howard and of one third of the prisoners at the shaded space forward.

Second, the Master Gunner was to take the other two thirds of the prisoners and see them soundly watched ‘at work’ mending the placement of the loosed guns and the damaged deck.

Mister Youngblood was to have the command of any marines for those purposes.

“Aye! Sah!” He returned as two separate and distinct returns.

“And Mister Youngblood…”

“Sah?”

“Remind the prisoners that we have added shot from the Lucy. Am I understood?”

“Indeed, Sah.”

William turned to Jim and surveyed him gallant to keel. “How many watches have you stood the quarterdeck together since the storm?”

Jim smiled a little and it was answer enough.

“I suspected as much. Hear my orders now. You are not required to sleep, eat or resign the deck, but as you see fit...understanding that you never have to prove anything to me.  Mathew Campion took a turn asleep three hammocks from me last night and should serve.”

Jim took the compliment and suggestion in turn. “Aye, Sah,” he returned, smiling and committing to nothing.

William shook his head with a little huff and a smile and gestured to the aft companionway. “Monsieur Durand.”

Durand took a step and paused.  Slow to give anyone more deference than he felt they deserved, he made a point to offer his hand to the Ship’s Master. Jim clasped it without pause.

“Welcome aboard, Monsieur.”

They passed out of the sun then, and by the surgery and galley both, and though Brand had business in both places he wished to see Durand soundly set. Lists of many thing were being made and checked off in his mind as he strode those few short steps.

Finding the door shut fast, he was obliged to knock.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Ajay returned both sooner and later than Tudor had expected—in that she had never truly intended for him to leave should he not find someone within calling distance from the door, but he came back so promptly that she marvelled at the quick efficiency that saw him returned to his post, standing guard as if he were the anthropomorphized form of the ship's namesake, before she had even truly noticed he was gone.

At first, she had not immediately noticed his absence. Upon stepping from the Captain's quarters into the adjoining wardroom, she had quickly fallen into the same level of frenetic tidying that had filled her hours from waking until then. Her quest for the sewing kit was temporarily belayed upon seeing the still tumultuous state of the room.

In quick order, chairs were righted, debris and detritus cleared from the table, a candlestick picked up from the floor but held onto lest someone other than Ajay come back through the door, and scattered papers were quickly collected and stacked in some semblance of order.

The sewing kit had only just been retrieved from the small drawer where she had previously placed it when Ajay reappeared and gave his simple, two-word report.

She smiled and thanked him, finally seating herself to retrieve the needle and set to her task, not much bothered by what exactly "Food. Captain" would translate to in terms of what, who, and when things would arrive.

Even if she had been concerned, she would not have been left waiting long, as her ear, carefully attuned to listening for his orders over the general cacophony of the ship, picked out the Captain's voice in the companionway, even though it was too muffled for even Ajay to notice. "The Captain's here," she announced, putting the mending down before she had really been able to start any work on it. The large Yoruban did nothing but raise a brow at her, unsure of what she meant or why she stood.

But just as she did not have long to wait to find out his meaning, he did not have long to find out hers, as a firm knock sounded at the door after a futile jostling of the latch.

[William Brand]

Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog

William entered, surveyed the tidiness of the War Room, his Steward at mending and Ajayi hard by.  

Durand followed in his fashion, stooping a little as he was wont to do, as few ships were framed for his frame.  He also came in at a slant favoring his one eye forward a little.  His nightshirt clung to him everywhere with little regard for modesty.  He squinted a little in surprise to find anyone but William there.  This caused water to run out of the empty socket in a way that would have made anyone else self conscious.  He straightened to his full height, but made no move to adjust his clothes for decorum and moved no further than the step inside the room.  He marked Ajayi's place with a glance, but his eye fell back upon Miss Smith, along with his customary stern, unreadable face.  He took in her bruises and marked the age of them by hue.  He noted the places on her knuckles where her skin was broken, but healing.  More than all of this he noted her savaged hair and found he didn't mind it for two reasons.  Both base.

He chanced to wonder then what the 'other' looked like.  'Probably a man,' he guessed.  'Would he still be alive?  If she didn't kill him, did Brand?'  

She met his gaze as he thought all these things in a moment.  She held it, then...

'What...?' He wondered.  He caught something wavering.  'Fear?  No.  Not fear.  Anger maybe?'

William noted the interchange and broke whatever was happening by offering, "You'll remember my Steward of course."

Durand nodded his head once very slowly and deliberately, like a bow at the neck alone. "Mademoiselle."  

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Both Tudor and Durand were at some disadvantage, perhaps, as they sized each other up, as both were wont to do by their natures.

It was difficult for Durand to maintain the surly and imposing aura he typically preferred when the only thing separating him from the state in which his mother birthed him was linen that was currently more water than flax. Tudor was self-aware enough to know exactly how she must look. Despite her limited interactions with Durand, knew enough of him to know that he was astute. He would have surmised her situation at a glance.

In that regard, he had a clear advantage as she could only guess what had brought him aboard in such a state. It ... angered her.

Not at Durand, specifically. More at herself, if she was honest, but she was far from likely to be able to explain it even to herself. Nor was it specific to the moment, the past few days, or months, but anger from wounds and insults both scarred over and fresh, all at once. It was the tumult of condemning voices that she had spent the night silencing, and she would silence it the same way she had already done once.

By remembering herself. Who she was. What she chose to be.

Luckily, the Captain provided the mooring she needed to do this by uttering the word "Steward" as he observed formalities of reintroduction.

Tudor shifted her weight just enough to replicate a curtsy, as ridiculous as it may have looked, she being shorn and in slops. "Bienvenue à bord, Monsieur," she said, and with that stubborn adherence to courtesy and routine,the anger eased, and she then turned to her commander. "I believe Ajay has arranged for food to be sent up, sir, but I cannot confirm in what quantity. Should I arrange for more?"

 

 

Edited July 21 by Tudor MercWench Smith

[William Brand]

"No."

Ajayi watched Durand's eye move to the Captain then.  He suspected that Brand had been purposely curt in his response.  It had little to do with whatever the 'Steward' had said.

Steward. 

The word distracted Ajayi.  What did it mean?  Something subordinate, surely, but not slave.  Never slave.  Nothing approaching 'slave'. Even 'servant' seemed wrong somehow, but that might have been their...what?  Relationship?  And what of that?  Men and women of this place were baffling at times.  He'd seen Brand reverence the Steward with...what?  Again he couldn't say.  They were like sometimes siblings and sometimes removed from one another by leagues of station.  He'd seen things his own language had no word for, but guessed their language would do no better.

He admitted that he couldn't say which of them baffled him more, because the Captain seemed outside the society in which he lived and the Steward lived in many camps. 

Some of this seemed to come from traditions he'd witnessed at Martinique, where Brand had paid all the peoples of the two ships handsomely, so that Ajayi himself could not see who was above the other, since they all seemed equal in reward.  Also, he'd witnessed women of such finery at Martinique who seemed powerless but for some imagined thread of place, while women of no place seemed to rule from gutters by cunning and the selling of themselves and every appetite, proving that coin ruled and position was enigmatic.  

The Captain was speaking again.  He heard the word 'Monsieur' dropped once and then again.  Some title only applied to the bald man with the one eye.  Maybe a position of rank.  It wasn't the 'Mister' that Brand used for every other man aboard ship, but something of that cloth.  He noted that Brand seemed inhospitable, given the wet through guest, but had never known the Captain to waste words.  This was also a guess of course, since Ajayi was catching words like birds.  One at a time and not frequent enough to live by them.  This time he caught seven of them in a hundred.

Navarra

Storm

Spanish

Nine

Men

Ship

Watch Dog

. . . 

Durand endured the questions and was forthright with his answers.  He was not happy with the interchange.  It had nothing to do with his state.  He would have taken the questions naked and thought nothing of that, but he was tired.  He liked Brand but his patience was vanishing with his strength.  Plus, Durand had his pride and in a room of such varied pride among such varied people he did not want to ask the boon of a seat.

Brand walked over to the table then and drew out the largest chair, offering it to Durand.  Coincidence or Providence?  Durand didn't care.  He walked graciously to the table and sat down.  Anyone watching might have thought Durand a carefree and well-rested youth, but it would cost Durand later in the form of a cramp.

Brand dismissed himself to the galley, but not before mentioning a bottle of something French in the casement and leaving Durand in the company of his Steward.

. . .

'Steward' Ajayi thought.  There it is again.

 

 

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"If ever a man needed a decent drink, it would be Durand just about now," Tudor thought to herself as the door clicked shut behind William. The man held himself proud and upright in his seat, but she was no stranger to seeing the weary cracks forming around the facade.

And so, the Steward did as the Steward was meant to do.

Without offer or request, but seeing the need, she found the mentioned bottle, along with a set of glasses and a table linen. It was an older item, not very fine in make, stored in a small cupboard near the wine cache. It had been stained at some past dinner and was no longer fit for formal usage, set aside for great need or to be cut up for other purposes eventually. The thick weave should prove plenty absorbent.

For want of a better towel, this would have to suffice. She first thought to see if she could find one in the Captain's quarters, but she hesitated to rummage among his personals, especially since the Captain had been slightly stingy in his usual hospitality until his rather terse line of questioning was done. She had not paid close enough attention to recount half of what was said, much to her great self-recrimination. From the little she had absorbed, and what she knew of her commander, she could state clearly enough that his irritation was more due to the loss of his men. Durand's recent presence on the very ship, that had so stupidly caused the loss, made him the only available target for that ire. At any rate, she could not be sure if he would be inclined to share a towel at the moment, so once again she erred on the side of caution.

Her second thought was to send Ajay on an errand to her small space, where she knew a clean, dry towel could be found. However, besides her discomfort in sending him out on menial tasks she should be doing herself, she hesitated to be alone in the room with Durand, more out of logic than actual fear or distrust of the man himself.

After uncorking and pouring, she crossed back to the table where Durand sat and proffered him a glass and the dry cloth.

"Sécher le corps et humecter le gosier." She allowed only the smallest pull at the corner of her mouth to show that she was at all amused by her own wit.

[William Brand]

Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog

William knocked at the galley and had a only a moment to wonder that he did this at all.  Lazarus was prompt to answer.

"Pardon, Cap'n.  It's almost fin..."

William was already shaking his head.  "AS you have time Mister Gage."

"Yes, Sah.  Will it be just you, Sah?"

"Four."  William said no more than this.  His mind was too busy with numbers, treaties and funerals.  "How did the galley fare?"

"The galley, sah?" Lazarus looked about at the small space. "Oh.  The galley, Sah.  Some crockery chipped but not broken."  Lazarus took out a towel tucked at his apron, shed a long and dirty cap and wiped the entire circumference of his head.  "It's a good stove, Sah.  Sand an' bands well set.  Not so much as a cinder set free."

William nodded, coming back to the report.  He looked about the entire place and found it as well kept and tended as could be hoped.

"We shed some stores a little."  Lazarus offered.  "No more than a tax in peas...and that went to Argus."

"Thank you, Mister Gage.  I'll take my rum ration in a heavy broth to be divided between Monsieur Durand and Mister Tucker...when he's able."

"Aye, Sah." 

William closed the door, careful to check the shrinking and growing list in his head, and knocked at the surgery.  He heard the bolt run on the surgery door and chanced to wonder why.  Miss O'Treasaigh opened it only a little at first, more the gesture of a watchman, but upon seeing the Captain there held it wide and ushered him in.  William stepped into the surgery to find too many people there.  Wounded men were set like so much cargo, but in a way that William found admirable.

"Very good."  William said in deference to her handling of them, for every person there seemed 'fitted' to some position, be it seated or prone, that their injuries might not be troubled.  Indeed a few were set so that their arm, shoulder or leg might pillow the resting men to his right or left.  He looked back at her and said again, "Very good."

She looked about at her own handiwork and brushed a worried strand behind her ear.  "Thank you, Captain."

William turned his head to find Gabriel Edward, bandaged about the head, but clear eyed.  William went to ask after his condition, but was met with a question.

"Mister Badger..."

William shook his head soberly.  "No.  No sign."  He let those who were listening digest this a moment.  "The body of Mister Howard was brought aboard this very hour."  

A small groan of murmur passed everyone's lips.  Henry Church looked up from where he was cradling a battered young Dash.  The young man's eyes were fixed on Brand already.  William crossed to both of them, stepping long over a snoring Morrell.  He put the palm of his hand on the young man's brow.  Miss O'Treasaigh noted the bedside gesture and the paternal concern.

"The shipwright, Sah?"  Henry Church asked.

William's face didn't change, but for a small nod and the barest of smiles he gave to Mister Dash.  Outwardly he answered rather flatly, with the business end of clarity.  "Yes, the shipwright."


Inwardly Captain William Brand dispatched Capitan Eustaquio Alano Avendano using a carpenter's mallet, all the while shouting, "You have murdered a shipwright!  A shipwright!  Two days more proved and Alder would have had his Carpenter's Mate!"


Outwardly he simply smiled again, for he'd saved some gossip and good news for the last.  "Monsieur Durand and Christopher Tucker were plucked alive from the Patricia this morning."

This news had the desired affect.  It was a kind of balm through the wounded company.  More than a few remarks were passed around.  Superstitions and suppositions were spoken aloud and acknowledged as sailors do.  William let them chatter a moment uninterrupted.  It was like sunlight in a shuttered room.  When the good news was all but played out William added, turning to Miss O'Treasaigh.  "These men are to have the rum ration missed yestereve."

This was followed by many 'thank you, sahs'.

It lifted William a little and he dismissed himself from there lively conversation, passing forward. 

The list shrank.  The list grew.
 

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Durand accepted the offerings with requisite manners, but nothing more—not even an annoyed sigh to inform her how badly she was misinformed about the value of her own witticism.

This was fine by Tudor. Small talk and pleasantries were all well and good, but the fact that he did not feel compelled to engage in what he did not enjoy or feel naturally inclined to meant he did not pity her.

He, just as she, was content to let the other sit in their own indignities in peace.

She continued to keep busy with what tasks she could find, enjoying the ... well, it could not quite be considered companionable, but at least comfortable silence.

This went on uninterrupted until a knock jarred the silence. It was sure to be either the Captain, the food, or both.

[William Brand]

Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog

If Mister Gage was surprised to find three so varied persons in the Ward Room, and no Captain to speak of, he didn't show it.  He placed a tray of food before them in short order.  He made no mention of the damp Durand.  He simply placed a generous bowl of broth and a hunk of bread before him.  If he noted the bruises and sheering of the batter Steward, it didn't show as he put a generous portion of meat, beans and young pears on a plate before her.  If he found the presence of Ajayi strange in this place, again, he made no show of it at all.  He simply proffered healthy portions again.  

All in all, Lazarus was generous with his silence as he was his portions, for the tray looked almost untouched, even after serving out from it.  Lazarus had taken Brand's earlier instruction well in serving out all food that might be spoiled otherwise.  The added stores of the Lucy, and the damaged crates and stores of the Dog, were now going outward to an appreciative crew.

Lazarus accepted the 'thanks' from them in three different languages, stood a second's pause in deference and then returned to the galley.


 . . .


William had reached all the spaces before the mast, first to find Andrew Light, whom Jim had sent to bed in place of himself.  William called him out of the lightest of sleeps and when the man tried to stand out of his hammock William ordered him to as much ease as Andrew allowed himself.  Brand leaned low, one hand on the beam above to protect his head and one on the hammock to keep Mister Light from swinging.

"I'll have the name of the Bosun's Mate before the Dog Watches."

This was all.  No more.

Andrew blinked and nodded, surprised to have gained Badger's place, but more than this, the Captain's confidence twice in a day.  He hadn't thought to choose his own mate, but William was scare three paces removed when Andrew called him back with a name. "Mister Leerman". 

William paused and turned about slowly.  He appraised Mister Light with a long look, asking only one question.  "Do you speak any Dutch whatsoever, Mister Light?"

"No, Sah.  Not enough to mention."

William continued his appraisal.  It was a lengthy look.  Andrew waited.  

"Make the change known to him."

"Aya, Sah."

 
. . . 


Eric Franklin and Miss Tribbiani were engaged in a lively, but whispered debate on the good of having dogs aboard ship, with the latter arguing that the mess and the added tax on provisions was of no consequence, given the benefits of the animal's sense, ferocity when called for and loyalty absolute.  Eric was in the middle of arguing that all her points could be summed up in a good sailor who had better sense to relieve himself over the bow forward when William arrived.  They were at attention in short order, which startled Argus just enough to huff a little.

William scratched the mastiff's head behind one gratefully turned ear.  "How is the prisoner?"

Eric and Treasure exchanged a look.  Then Eric fetched his hand into his pocket.  There was some wriggling there as Eric tried to fetch something that clinked together.  

"Please..."  Treasure implored.  

"Go ahead." Eric returned as he fetched out what could only be a generous smathering of mixed coins.  They caught the light of the low lantern.  

"Sah."  Treasure began.  "Argus heard the prisoner at hiding them."

William said nothing.  His face darkened at the idea of a sailor carrying so much coin about his person, let alone secreting such.

"It was the tinkling, Sah.   Argus hear..."

"Aye."  William said flatly  Then added, "Thank you."  He said this three times.  First to Miss Tribbiani, then to Argus and finally to Mister Franklin as he held out a hand to receive what was likely 'stolen goods'.  William stood a long while holding the coins and weighing them up and down.  He made no move to put them away, but looked up with a practiced solemnity.  "The prisoner is to have no admonishment.  Am I understood?"

"Aye, Sah."  They returned together.

"The prisoner is to eat.  No trencher.  No knife."

"Aye, Sah."

"The prisoner is to be brought amidships at eight bells of the Forenoon Watch."

"Aye, Sah."

William almost turned to leave and added, "And Mister Franklin."

"Sah."

"Eight Marines...for his protection."

"Aye, Sah."

[William Brand]

Aboard the Watch Dog

Captain Brand came up again amidships and stood a moment with his eyes squinted and shaded as he adjusted to the light.  All the decks of the 'Dog were briming with sailors at work, but for a wounded few.  Brand's head tilted a little at some strangeness he couldn't put a finger too.  The Coxswain's Mate was limping aft from the foredecks and Brand called to him.

"Mister Marchande."

"Sah."

"The leg?"

"eh...amélioré...IMPROVED, Sah."

"We've too many not abed."  Brand observed, gesturing to many points.  "By my calculations we've two watches awake."

"Pardon...the men of the Lucy..."

"Right."  Brand agreed at once, his mind and math catching up. "But so many..."

Marchande didn't not know what to add to this and kept his peace while Brand seemed to ponder many things at once.  When he realized Marchande was still there he thanked him and dismissed him to his duties.  

Brand called for Mister Warren, who drifted over with a smile on his face, expecting some added reprimand for his 'long watch'.  Instead, Brand launched into the first of many questions, stopping for a long pause when the Bosun summed up the situation as a whole. 

"30 men.  22 of the Lucy and the 8 Spaniards.  Almost all of Lassiter's Starboard Watch."

William let a long slow breath and turned Fore and Aft.  He nodded and said nothing.  He walked in a tight circle and then another, stopping at Jim's left.  "He sent them over for safety and...to see..."

"...the cargo stowed." They finished together.  

William paused again.  He closed his eyes for long periods of time and Jim waited for the orders which would come all at once.

"We've a wounded and weary ship, so we shall take advantage of this boon and divide the load into a third watch of the Lucy's men."

Jim nodded. "I'm of the same mind."

"Claude Marchande is to take command of this...'Third Watch'."

"Aye, Sah."  Jim said, gesturing in Marchande's direction.  The Coxswain's Mate mate reported as quickly as 'the leg' would allow.

"Mister Marchande"  Brand continued.  "You are to take command of the men of the Lucy as a watch unto themselves.  At such a time as Mister Tucker is on his feet, he shall have the command of that watch, but you shall remain with them along with Pascal."

"Aye, Sah."

"Add to this Misters Dorleac and Fenner.  Mister Fenner is hereby promoted to 'Able Seaman'.

"Sah."

"What other..."  William didn't finish this outward thought, but squinted a moment.  "Do we have the pleasure of Mister Wayne's Company?  And his friend Godfrey?"

"Aye, Sah."

"They are likewise promoted to 'Able Seaman'.  Now go and bring back the names of any men of the Starboard watch capable of some Spanish so I may choose another."

"Aye, Sah."  

Brand and Warren stood awhile after.  When enough silence had passed, Jim chanced a compliment.  "Excellent arithmetic, Sah."

"Thank you, Mister Warren."


Seven Bells of the Morning Watch, the Ward Room


Seven sharp bells carried well through the windows of the Ward Room.  They were open to the air against a warming day.  Durand had drunk and eaten in deliberate slowness, closing his eye as he savored the sustenance.  When he was two thirds through the broth and half the bread he paused, looking directly at the Captain's Steward.  His face was stern and his tone the cold of pure business.

"What 'animal'?"