The Watch Dog

[Pew]

After retiring the muskets to their quarters and Mister Franklin staying topside, I decided to stay in the cabin for some well needed rest. Pulling the bottle from the desk drawer, I placed it near the log I was finishing. Taking one long sip from the bottle, the sweet liquor soothed the throat of a man just finished barking out orders to fire. The smell of gunpowder still drifted in amongst the decks and was fighting for my senses over the aroma of freshly brewed coffee streaming from the galley. I blew out the shaded lantern and locked the armoury door. Removing my shirt, I gently laid down. As the hammock swayed to and fro, I was rocked to sleep with thoughts of Martinique.

[William Brand]

"Ahh, Mister Lasseter. You'll be happy to hear that Mister Badger has coaxed two additional knots out of the 'Dog since last night. We are making excellent progress. Clear weather. Clear Sea."

"Very good, Cap'n."

"You're proving the better navigator than I, Mister Lasseter. I wonder if you would take stock of our position?"

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Invite Miss Mcdonough to join you and anyone else who may be in need of instruction."

[Dorian Lasseter]

"Invite Miss Mcdonough to join you and anyone else who may be in need of instruction."

The QuarterMaster smiled,

"Aye, Cap'n... "

He walked foreward and down into the waist, found Young Fitch and instructed him to go and find Ms. McDonough, Bill Flint, and Nathan Bly and have them report to him on the quarterdeck. He then headed to the wardroom to get all the different navigation tools, all but the loglines and lead lines, which were stored in a locked on deck. He headed up the aft scuttle and onto the quarterdeck, laid out all the instruments on the poopdeck aft. Walking to the binnacle he withdrew the logbook, inkpot, and pen, carrying them to the poop and depositing them with all the instruments. He checked the quadrant, backstaff, and astrolabe in his keep against the two others that had been kept below while he waited for those in question to arrive.

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin stood silently as Mister Franklin and Siren exchanged words, stepping back, head held low avoiding eye contact with all. She was shocked to hear Siren speak so to Mister Franklin, an officer. When they stood toe to toe Murin feared the worse. Mister Franklin was a man and clearly had the advantage of upper body strength and stood a full head taller than Siren but Murin could sense that the lass would be quite lethal if the need arose. She was grateful when Captain Brand arrived to defuse the situation.

Siren excused herself and Murin waited patiently for the captain to finish with mister Franklin. After their discussion at the rail Mister Franklin returned and introduced himself. Murin, not use to her new position as a seaman began to curtsy but recalled Sirens salute and knuckled her own forehead, the locks that hung in her eyes bouncing at her touch.

She explained to Mister Franklin that she had no experience with fire arms and little with blades, none with a blade this size. She complied as he extended his hand and asked for the cutlass. He inspected it with a practiced eye in the sunlight making no indication as to the quality or condition of the blade.

"I would gladly tend to it myself Sir ifin I had the materials to do so." Murin volunteered.

"Aye, indeed you will!" He nodded at her, his impish smile had returned now that his fury had dissipated and she found herself more at ease with him than she had been with any officer thus far, which surprised her each time she noted his clearly British accent. He returned the cutlass to its sheath and handed it back to Murin as he asked to see the pistol. Tucking the cutlass under her left arm she drew the pistol from her belt and handed it to mister Franklin.

"Lass." His smile fading a bit as he gently pushed the barrel skyward. "Never point that at anyone unless you intend to shoot it." He then took the pistol and inspected. After some intense scrutiny he began to walk away. "There is a bit of work here." When Murin did not follow he turned, flashed her a smile "Come along lass." He lead her from the bright sunlight of the weather deck to the armoury below deck chatting lightly of where they would start and how she could proceed in her training.

[Black Syren]

Her song quietly given voice completed she felt much better and had in fact returned to her earlier high spirits before her words with Mr. Franklin. Though the exchange still bothered her, she would make a point of finding Owen and telling him to not repeat the word.

Blue green eyes so like the sea swept over the waters which lay tranquil and she watched a pod of dolphin swin off to the stern. There were hardly any clouds, the world lay like a rich blue about them. A lone sea eagle gave voice as she hunted and dived with ferocious speed to take her prey back to wherever she had come from.

The winds seeming to pick up just a wee bit if the slapping of the canvas were any clue. She peered down below and took note that all hands seem to be at their assigned tasks. Raising her face once more to the sea she inhaled deeply of the winds then settled herself keeping a weather eye open.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Young Thomas Fitch quickly walked through the ship, looking for the three crewmembers the QuarterMaster had given him to find. He found Nathan first and he nodded to the boy, then headed aft to report to Mr. Lasseter. Next he found Ms. McDonough in the Armoury.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Miss McDonough? Mister Lasseter sent me ta find you... Yer ta report to 'im on the quarter..."

He knuckled his forelock and bustled off before an answer was had. He finally caught up to Bill Flint in the Galley as he was just getting up from a meal.

"Mister Flint? QuarterMaster says yer ta report ta 'im on the quarter presently..."

His duties done he walked out into the waist and looked back to where Mr. Lasseter stood.

"Mister Lasseter, Sir, they been informed of yer orders."

"Thank you Mister Fitch..."

Dorian turned back to the sets of instruments laid out and looked them over yet again, not waiting for the crew he requested, he picked up each instrument, sighted them in and recorded the numbers, crossrefferencing them with each other...

[Silkie McDonough]

Mister Franklin would not let the lass clean the blade with only one good hand so he did the work as he instructed her. When Fitch arrived in the Armory she was watching Mister Franklin enjoying the work as finished cleaning the cutlassand he continued his instruction.

Fitch stood at the door, excused himself and delivered his message to Murin leaving immediately afterwards.

Murin listened as Mister Franklin finished a last few instructions before dismissing her.

“Tank ya sir. I hope t'have m'hand back soon.” She began a curtsey but stopped herself and knuckled her brow, sending the curls bouncing once again. He smiled and returned the gesture signaling her final dismissal.

Working her way through the decks she nodded to many, some returned a smiles but she was still receiving wary glances from a few of the crew. Once on deck she stood a moment allowing her eyes to adjust in the late morning sunlight. When she turned to site Mister Lasseter on the Quarterdeck, and found Nathan smiling down at her. She returned his smile as she ascending the stairs to report as ordered.

[William Brand]

July 22, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Six bells of Forenoon Watch

Raphael-Etienne Chanault sat in a quiet corner of the nearly deserted surgery watching the able seamen pass by the small window set in the door leading out onto the gun deck. Apart from the sunlight which passed through that small opening into the world of the Watch Dog, the surgery was otherwise unlit.

Chanault didn't mind. He rather liked the dark. It was his element. The inkiness of half lit rooms and night alleys had served his purposes on more occasions than he could count, but this darkness was different. It was small and enclosed and it rolled and pitched all of the time. The ship dead ended in too many places. Options for retreats and attacks were few. It was a kind of claustrophobic box for cats. The only trees were the rigging and the only alleys were the narrow passages and companionways between decks. The Watch Dog itself was so small and narrow that it was in and of itself a kind of alleyway, filled edge to edge with a cross section of teeming humanity.

Chanault did not mind the sea so much, nor did he mind the ship, for each experience of life was an opportunity to test and try himself. The 'Dog was the world in miniature. A microcosm of his previous experiences. It was a classroom of the human condition and he watched and watched and watched all day. The cat on the window sill. The calculator. The observational naturalist of a thousand unspoken cues and experiments.

He heard a soft thump and a click in the adjoining room and ceased his musing long enough to listen.

"She is at the cupboards where the vials are kept." he thought to himself. "Now she is pouring herself a drink. And now she is penning some note in a ledger."

He listened to the subtle, almost imperceptible movements of his most recent charge. She moved, even in the lulling of the ship like a lady of distinction, and even without seeing her through the door, he could picture the way she paused with the quill lying across the inset curve between her thumb and forefinger as she gathered her thoughts for the next notation.

She was a quiet woman, and even in the most agreeable company, she was sometimes removed. Distant. He could only guess at some of her histories, for she bore an unseen mark of another life, all but amputated. Her grace, lilt, accent, mannerisms, training, education, understanding and comprehension were the telltale signs of some previous grandeur secreted away in this unadorned world of wood. A jewel in the casement of a unremarkable bureau drawer.

Having known her but a few short days, he had still come to like her. She was in her silences as he was. An observer. She watched the world through eyes which gathered volumes daily and he often wondered about the library of her mind. He also wondered what her laugh sounded like. Not the laugh she made or tailored aboard this ship, but her real laugh. Her most genuine laugh. He imagined it was a good one. The kind which makes others smile despite themselves.

Chanault himself was not a man of much outward mirth. His laugh was often an echo that he alone heard reverberate in the hollows of himself, and he understood that his reserved countenance had a way of unsettling others, but he also appreciated this understanding of self, for he recognized that this discomfort placed him on ground that kept him apart from others. Safe ground. Ground of his choosing.

Raphael-Etienne was a cat among four dozen dogs.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster was just finishing up taking the second set of observations when Nathan Bly topped the stairs to the Quarterdeck.

"Ah... Mister Bly... yer th' first to arrive. Stand o'er there til Miss McDonough an' Mister Flint make themselves present...."

"Aye, sir."

He walked over to the foreward rail of the deck and looked down into the waist. Dorian went back to his calculations and a short time later Nathan broke the silence.

"Here comes Miss McDonough."

Dorian looked up from his notes and nodded to the young woman climbing the stairs to the deck.

"Welcome ta the Quarterdeck... have a spot by Mister Bly there, until Mister Flint joins us... All of ye are about ta learn some techniques of navigation... Solar observance now, and later this eve, celestial navigation. We'll see if ye gots th' head fer all this."

He watched the mixed looks appear on each of their faces. To some, reading charts and the tools of navigation were like magic. Some found the calculations impossible, while others just couldn't understand any of the charts legends. Many a man found himself lacking when it came to this job...

[Black Syren]

She had no idea how much time had passed but all too soon she was hailed from her perch and reluctantly took one last lingering look and quickly scurried down to drop upon the decks where she was given orders to wake Mr. Pew and quickly lengthened her stride towards his cabin.

Passing Owen she narrowed her eyes upon him and hissed she wished a word with him at his conveinience amidst a ripple of laughter. Moving sleekly past she slipped below decks and made her way to Mr. Pews cabin careful to avoid Mr. Franklin as she had no wish to stir up another argument not did she wish him to corner her to ferret out the information she stalwartly refused to give.

As the command to enter came she quickly peeked in, large aquamarine eyes blinking amidst the touseled raven locks. "You are wanted above Sir. Mr. Badger sent me to wake you to report for duty." She reported clearly anxious to be on her way which was not like her normally playful mood. Her exotic eyes showed anxiety and a wariness. She quickly saluted and made as if to close the door and slip back into the shadows.

[Pew]

"Duty, aye," came my short reply. Rubbing my eyes briefly, all I could catch was the the flowing hair of the messenger before it was cut short by a latch of the door behind her. Stairing at the door, I reach for the bottle below the hammock and take a long pull from it before I stand and dress.

Before I could change into a cleaner set of breeches, the door swings open again and the same vision appears in the doorway. "Sir, I ..." began the voice again. Unable to be fully clothed at that visit an uncomfortable moment passed before the voice could begin again, "..can wait.." The door again closed as fast as it was opened. Smiling, I continue to dress to begin the next watch topside on the Watch Dog.

[Black Syren]

Face flushed with color and she leaned against the door of the cabin. Twas not as if she had not seen men afore, but he was over her in rank and she had popped back in unannounced. This definitely was not her day, nor did it show promise of getting better for it seemed to steadily get worse.

As the sound of footsteps muffled through the door approached she quickly righted her position and moved forwards hiding half within the shadows to better regain her composure and not show her flushed cheeks. aS the door opened she noticed that Mr. Pew stopped to regard her and she nibbled upon her full lower lip for a moment before debating if she should confess.

"Sir I have a question and was wondering how best to deal with it, If you can spare a moment that is." her voice was low and naturally husky and though she stood her ground she was still half hidden within the shadows.

[Pew]

Noticing that the young lass was taken a bit aback by seeing a ships' officer in a state of undress, I made as if the visit had never happened.

"Aye, gerl, wot be on yer mind? D'ya need a spot o' privvacy?"

[Black Syren]

Her face flushed yet still more at his words and her chin tilted at his words, eyes flashing like twin storms as she quickly looked over his shoulder to a spot in the wood. "Nay Sir but thank you for asking." Came her reply which trembled but a bit. "Tis A shipmate of ours Sir, he mentioned a certain word, and I repeated said word and offended Mr. Franklin causing both our tempers to flare." She clenched her jaw and her gaze hardened as she stared at that one spot just over his shoulder.

"I wish for none to get into trouble sir, but I would like to know your thoughts in perhaps handling it myself and what I should or should not say if tis permissible." Finally did those stormy spheres come to rest fully upon him, bold, earnest and keenly intelligent. But she stayed veiled within the shadows and made no move to budge. And she was careful to keep her eyes upon his face no lower than his chin.

The heavy tread of another coming down followed by masculine laughter had her gaze darting to the ladder where Mr. Owen was approaching and having not seen Mr. Pew smugly asked What she needed to speak with him about.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster was about to make another observation when Mr. Flint made his way onto the quarterdeck and snapped off a salute.

"Reportin' as ordered, Sar! "

Mr. Lasseter inclined his head to the man.

"Very goode, as I was sayin' ta Miss McDonough an' Mister Bly, I'll be teachin' th' art o' navigation to you three at present, if ye gots th' head fer it... Take a spot o'er with yer mates there... An' relax a bit..."

Mr. Flint knuckled his brow and stepped over to Nathan and Murin, relaxed a bit and greeted them. DOrian returned to has calculations, and once he was happy with them turned back to his pupils.

"A'right then... Have a care an' step back here ta th' sill of th' poopdeck. "

As they approached, he pointed out the instruments.

"These are some o' th' tools, or instruments used ta navigate. We 'ave the Quadrant, Backstaff, and Astrolabe right 'ere, an' o'er in tha' chest is the logline an th' leadlines... Some o' ye are familiar wi' the lines, I know, but these beauties, I doubt. "

He handed each one of them the quadrant and began explaining it's use. He continued in this manner for each instrument, explaining how to use them properly and make the calculations to find where you were in the tractless ocean...

[Pew]

"In a minute Mister Monahan, if you please," I replied to Owen and step out of the cabin to where he can see me.

"Sorry sah, didn't see you sah."

"Carry on, Mister Monahan." I fold my arms and wait until Owen is out of earshot. Watching her gaze move from myself to Owen, it becomes apparent that Owen had tried to get the lass into a bit of trouble. "I take 't th' word came from 'r one Mister Monahan, no?" Eyes returning to front, the gaze softens a bit. "Sir, I wish for no trouble...I," Siren tries to continue. I put my hand up to prevent her from finishing again. "Lass, 'tis no fault o' yer own. Owen 'as a way o' stirrin' 't up a bit eh." Crossing my arms again I continue, "I'll make Mister Franklin 'ware this was Owen's doin'. 'N th' meantime, give Mister Monahan a piece o' yer mind."

[Black Syren]

She was not one to carry tales and had Owen not approached none would have been the wiser, yet at Mr. Pew's words she felt at ease but her eyes retained their stormy appearance.

As she was given permission to give Owen a piece of her mind she decided to make it a wee piece and knuckling to Mr. Pew she quickly spun about and called to Owen as she went.

Placing one foot upon the ladder she waited till he approached and shot him a look over her shoulder eyes flashing with anger. "If you so much as try such an antic again Mr. Owen, you will not like the consequences. I may be young and a woman Sir, but I assure you I can and will hold my own with you or any." That said she quickly moved up the ladder not giving him time to speak to her again and it was very clear he had wished to. In fact he had reminded her of a fish out of water the way his jaws kept working as he tried to edge in a word here or there.

Having not really said what she had wished to say she still felt all the better for what she had. She had wanted to flay his hide with her sharp tongue but she had no wish to make an enemy on board, And Owen had friends.

[William Brand]

William moved forward and near the larboard rail as Mister Lasseter's instruction went from instrument to instrument and pupil to pupil. From this vantage point he watched the sea roll by, sometimes with the aid of the glass, and sometimes without.

After a time, he gave the deck completely over to the Quartermaster and Mister Warren, retiring for a time to the ward room to read. He plucked through many volumes until he found a dog eared copy of Don Quixote. The binding was well past its prime and the cover almost came away from it as he opened the old tome. As he set it on the ward room table, he was reminded of the stern chasers under the trap doors in the floor and decided against reading.

Instead, he called for Mister Youngblood and in turn, he had Mister Youngblood call three more sailors aft. When they were all gathered, he made them fold up the table. It hinged in two places on the top and on either foreleg where they met the floor. They folded it forward in an accordion fashion. Next, they brought up the two trapdoors, swinging them outward from the middle of the small room. This revealed the shallow gunnery compartment secreted below the Ward Room floor and the two 8 pounders, Geri & Freki.

"Wolves of Odin." William said aloud softly with a smile, and they all stood a moment admiring the Master Carpenter's handiwork. The worms, ramrods, sponges, priming irons, and lint-stocks were all well compartmentalized along side each gun. The ring-bolts, gun-tackles and breechings all carefully stowed within a functional, if somewhat confining space.

The guns themselves were draped in sailcloth that was covered in the fine dust and crumbs which had settled between the cracks of the Ward Room floor over their many weeks at sea and port.

Mister Youngblood ordered them uncovered at once, and the well concealed, but oft forgotten guns showed a great need for attention. The four men, under the scrutiny of the Captain, checked, cleaned, and polished ever inch of the stern chasers, careful to sweep out the space around them. The sailcloth coverings were sent forward to be cleaned and the tools were unpacked to be checked for damage. One ramrod showed signs of attack by shipboard vermin and it was brought out so that the Carpenter might see to it.

They cleaned, inspected and replaced each mended and cleaned item, and by the time they were finished, they guns had a deep polish and a whole bucket of dust, crumbs and rat droppings had come up out of the compartment.

With all of their ministrations performed, the trapdoors were lowered over the shrouded and sleeping cannons like coffin lids. William had just a moment to ponder the many metaphors which this image conjured.

"Excellent work, Mister Youngblood."

"Thank you, Sah."

July 22, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Just prior to eight bells of the Forenoon Watch

[Pew]

Siren turns quickly and approaches the ladder stairs. Watching her for a moment, Owen comes near to her and she whispers a moment to him. Up the stairs before Owen could reply, he watches her ascend to the gun deck. With a mischevious smile he turns and sees me still leaning on the cabin door with my arms folded.

"Finished wit' th' powder eh?" I ask raising one eyebrow.

Owen stands ramrod straight and knuckles his forehead. "Aye sah."

"Very well. Report to th' ship's carpenter 's she 'as some r'pairs for ye t' do." Owen exhales bruskly as my gaze narrows.

"Right away sah." Owen passes me and heads aft towards the carpenter's cabin. Shaking my head I head above to begin my watch just as the eighth bell tolls above.

[Black Syren]

Now off duty and at loose ends which she hated to be, she moved towards the rails and watched the sea flow past, the smell of the salt, the spray upon her face, her hair whipping about her she sighed with contentment. Truly there was nothing better than being upon a vessel in the heart of the ocean and taking each day as it came. It was so much more exciting being out here than stuffed in some moldy parlor sipping tea and chatting inanely over fashion. This was living, braving what came and knowing in the end you were alive, had lived through the storm or battle and let the rush of life fill your soul.

Nay she would never do the pretty for she was wild, a daughter of the sea, and it's life liquid flowed in her veins the same as any old salts. This is where she belonged, the snapping of canvas had her glancing upwards and watching the clouds as they scuttled overhead before looking to where others also off duty sat, one repairing a flute and another a violin to play. Quickly she hopped upon a barrel nearby and listened to them talk and laugh. But her gaze often returned to the sea.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor arrived in the ward room soon after the Captain, Mr. Youngblood and the crewmembers had finished with the hidden guns. After the table was replaced, she set about the comforting tedium of her work in the ward room. Somehow, no matter how much effort she put into it, there was always still something to be set right or organised, or sorted out. She set to it with a grim vigour, determined to make up for the slack of having been in one of her moods. She had sequestered herself over the past hours, watching one day turn into another, avoiding any extended contact with anyone and only performing her duties to be above reproach. Being in such a state was not something she enjoyed. It did not give her satisfaction in her work and gave the feeling that she was little more then an observer of the comings and goings of the ship. But yet, as much as she tried to sensibly talk herself out of it, it was all to no avail. Her melencholy won out in the end, but with a determined wrinkle of her nose, she set herself to work.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mr. Lasseter explained how the three instruments in front of them worked, along with the Log or Chip Line and it's components.

The quadrant was used to find latitude by measuring the angle between the horizon and the North Star or Sun. It was also used to find the distance away from an object of known height.

The Quadrant was a major advance in instrument design over the cross staff because it eliminated the parallax error. The double pinhole sight made for more accurate and repeatable sights. However unlike the backstaff, one still had to look directly at the sun to make a sun sight. The quadrant got it's name because it could measure angles of up to 90 degrees: one quarter of a circle.

Operation of the quadrant was simple. The user sighted through the two pinholes along one edge of the quadrant, at either the North Star or the Sun. A string from the apex always pointed towards the center of the earth as there was a weight at the end of the string. As the user tilts the quadrant to sight the object, the angle was read off the point where the string intersected the degree scale alonge the curved bottom of the instrument.

The Back Staff was used to find latitude by measuring the angle between the horizon and the sun. It was designed so that the user does not have to look into the sun to make the measurement.

In principle, the cross staff is a very simple device to understand and operate. The short cross piece slides along the staff. One end of the staff is placed at your eye. The cross piece is slid forward or back along the staff until the lower edge of the cross piece touches the horizon and the upper edge just touches the North Star or the lower limb of the sun. Then the angle, in degrees between the object and the horizon is read off the scale which is etched onto one long side of the staff. That angle is easily translated into your latitude. That's the principle.

An astrolabe consists of a hollow disk, called the mater, which is deep enough to hold one or more flat plates called tympans, or climates. A tympan is made for a specific latitude and is engraved with a stereographic projection of lines of equal azimuth and altitude representing the portion of the celestial sphere which is above the local horizon. The rim of the mater is typically graduated into hours of time, or degrees of arc, or both. Above the mater and tympan, the rete, a framework bearing a projection of the ecliptic and several pointers indicating the positions of stars, is free to rotate. Some astrolabes have a narrow rule which rotates over the rete, and may be marked with a scale of declinations.

As the rete is rotated, the stars and the ecliptic move over the projection of the sky coordinates on the tympan. A complete rotation represents the passage of one day. The astrolabe is therefore a predecessor of the modern planisphere.

On the back of the mater there will often be engraved a number of scales which are useful in the astrolabe's various applications; these will vary from designer to designer, but might include curves for time conversions, a calendar for converting the day of the month to the sun's position on the ecliptic, trigonometric scales, and a graduation of 360 degrees around the back edge. Another ruler, called the alidade, is attached to the back face. When the astrolabe is held vertically, the alidade can be rotated and a star sighted along its length, so that the star's altitude in degrees can be read ("taken") from the graduated edge of the astrolabe; hence "astro" = star + "labe" = to take.

The Chip Log is nothing more than a large reel with over 700 feet of line wound up on the spool. The triangular piece of wood you see on the front, right, is the "chip". This was thrown over the taffrail of the vessel into the sea. Because it created a great deal of drag, it stayed where it fell in the water and the boat sailed away from it.

The rate at which the line ran off the reel is the speed of the vessel. Knots were spaced along the line at intervals of 47 feet, 3 inches. This is the distance the vessel would sail, in 28 seconds, if it were traveling at 1 nautical mile per hour. If two knots ran off the reel in 28 seconds, you were making two nautical miles an hour...or two "knots". This is the origin of the term "knots" which is still in use today. The time period of 28 seconds was measured out by the 28 second sand glass you see in the photo. If the vessel was moving exceptionally fast, and there wasn't enough line on the reel to measure the speed, you would use the 14 second glass as your time interval and multiply the number of knots you counted by two, to get your actual speed.

The reel was held by two sailors - one at each handle. The Sailing Master would toss the chip and count the knots. Another sailor held the sandglass; turning it upon the order of the Sailing Master and singing out when all the sand had run out.

A secondary use of the chip log is to measure the leeway you are making: *so long as* the line is paying out freely, the angle of leeway will be indicated by the angle between the log line and the centerline of the ship.

Once he finished explaining everything he saw glazed looks in the eyes of the crew in front of him.

"Well.... too much too fast, eh? We'll take 'em one at a time...."

He then picked up the backstaff and showed them how to use it, had each of them use it to gain practical knowledge... He did this with each item, and then had all of them participate in the casting of the Chip line, finding their speed to be a bit over eight knots...

[William Brand]

William sat along the curve of narrow bench against the stern windows and made small notations concerning the Watch Dog's needs and expenditures. He compared these against Mister Lasseter notes and found that little or no alteration was necessary. The Quartermaster kept excellent books, and William was once again grateful that he need not concern himself too often with the accounting of the ship. Still he enjoyed going over the ledgers, if only to understand for himself what needed to be done and what was being done without need of him.

While he did this, Miss Smith made her way about the place, busy with her own labors. They shared the Ward Room as two ghosts haunting the same house, all but unaware of one another much of the time. William might have left it so, but not for an occasional exhale from her that came out more like a sigh than a breath. He guessed at her thoughts and smiled a little as he watched her over the top of the ledger that was resting on his drawn up knees.

She had been melancholy of late to be sure. Her spry friendliness was now replaced with a routine and half-hearted cordiality that spoke of deeper feelings and removed distractions. She moved about the room in a fixed and quiet circumference, like the moon, waxing and waning in a lifeless circle of habit. She was the embodiment of sad resignation.

"I miss him as well." William said aloud, but not to loudly for fear of startling her in her thoughts.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She looked up startled, not so much at that he had spoken, but by what was said. "Who is that, sir . .. or, well . . . I . . . " She sighed, but was unsure of what thoughts to voice and so decided to act as if naught was wrong. "I am sorry sir, I wasn't paying close enough attenion," This statement was evidence enough at her act, for barely a word was ever said that she didn't note. "To whom are you refering?" She finally brought her eyes up to face him across the room, a million questions and doubts and self-incrimination filling them.

[William Brand]

William raised a solitary and inquiring eyebrow.

"Perhaps I guessed incorrectly. After all, he was here but a very short time." William looked out through the stern windows at a sea that had covered the horizon of La Blanquilla hours ago. "Given our recent troubles and treasures, you may have forgotten him."