The Watch Dog

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"What 'animal'?"

Others might ask, but would hide the intrusive nature of the question behind pleasantries and feigned concern. Durand, on the other hand, cut to the heart with sharp precision. That he asked at all was shocking, to say the least. She was glad for the large bite she had just taken of the last of the pears Mr. Gage had doled out to her, and she took her time chewing to disguise her shock that he should ask at all.

What does one say in response to such a question? She appreciated his forthrightness but had no practice in how to answer. Could she even respond without choking on her words, as if it were an unripe chunk of fruit?

Say his name? Shrug it off? Attempt to make light of it? Tell a riveting tall tale of heroics and prowess?

Finally, knowing she could stall no longer without appearing timid or rude—of which she was neither—she met his forthright question with a leveled gaze. "It does not matter who, which animal it was. It could have been anyone and no one. He thought I was nothing but a small thing for sport, but in reality, he was the one that is insignificant."

The words startled her as she said them, as it was not a thought or feeling she had been aware of. But as she looked around at where she sat, sheltered and guarded and nursed in no less auspicious a space than the Captain's quarters, while Saltash was under guard in the cable tier, with a growing list of people thinking of a dozen creative ways to do him harm.

Strange, that the act of a man who thought she was worthless somehow was showing her that she had some value after all.

 

[William Brand]

Durand let her finish, glanced once at Ajayi, who was watching them both, and plucked up a solitary potato while invoking a solitary reply.  

"Amen."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

That Durand, not a stranger but certainly not someone reliant upon or well-acquainted with her, should so agree further convinced her of the factual nature of her statement, even if she did not yet feel it in her bones. Still, his simple statement gave her some modicum of comfort in a moment where comfort seemed foreign. All she could do was dip her head slightly, a subtle nod of thanks.

Pulling the ill-fitted garment of that comfort around her, she downed the rest of the coffee that had been poured upon breakfast's arrival and set about her work again—the true comfort.

She cleared her own plate and fork to a small side table where an empty tray waited. She cleaned the space she had sat in of any crumbs and then returned to the still half-full tray that had been delivered. After offering to serve the Frenchman and Ajay additional victuals or a warm drink, she set about building a plate for the Captain, whose return should be soon enough if she knew anything about his typical paths through the ship and his tasks.

"And you, Monsieur? How came you to be aboard the Patricia? Ill-fate, accident, cruelty... or defiance?"

She knew defiance well enough to see the earmarks of it about him.

 

[William Brand]

"Providence".   He said without hesitation, adding, "From...du français".

He held out an empty cup, accepting warm drink with a nod.  He held the cup in both hands a moment, enjoying the heat for heat's sake.  Then he brought it up to drink, but paused, with the barest hint of a smile.

"And foolishness."  He added, sipping once, then affecting a pantomime of his native tongue.  "From thee Een-GLAYSSSH."  He chuckled then, in spite of himself.  It was deep sound from deep places and gone as quickly as it sounded.  

Somewhere forward something crashed upon the weather decks, but the cheer that followed spoke of accomplishment, not accident.

 

[William Brand]

First Bell of the Forenoon Watch

"There can be only one outcome." Jim said, his tone a calm surface over depths.

The Captain and Ship's Master had stood apart from everyone a long while.  No one had thought to approach them, because there was a grave and solemn way they conversed.  Once, Andrew Light had approached on some errand, but seeing something in their eyes he'd dismissed himself with a parting, "It'll keep."

William watched Jim's face for something, anything to help him to a course.  He didn't want to be what he had been the last time such things had happened.  His own temper was getting him into waters he couldn't navigate clear of, and he needed some tempering before Trinidad, but what he saw in Jim was what he expected any mirror might show him. 

Saltash was a rat in need of drowning.

. . .

The rest of the crew was employed in so much of mending and hammering and sewing, that few if any of them had the time to discuss why Saltash was forward under guard.  Of course they all knew he was there.  The 'Dog was a country only 25 meters, stem to stern.  The news had passed with the clumsy change in watches.  Any sailor that didn't know of such business was too addled to put to sea.  The news was passed along with the condition of every other thing aboard ship.  No unnecessary explanations.  Some gossip had gone about with the news, but it held too much seawater to be drink.  So many had been wounded and lost, that any summation about what he' done could be summed up later, and like the work to be done, summed up quickly. 

Saltash was in chains in the cable tier.  Brand had sent him there.  The rest was...well...immaterial in the face of widespread work to be done.