The Watch Dog

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor breathed deeply and her eyes went distant. "If only that were easy." She spoke under her breath. "I never forget people sir, no matter how alluring gold and adventure are." She hesitated then continued, feeling some regrets. "Sir, I know I have been . . . distracted as of late. But I am determined to be less so. It not just . . ." Not sure of how to phrase her myriad of thoughts, she chose her next words with care, but decided to use a seldom seen candor. "Captain, I do miss him very much. Having a . . . having him made me feel a little less like an outsider. I do not have many on board that I feel close to. I know I do not do much to change that, but old habits die hard . . ." She paused again, and shook her head to clear out her thoughts. "Many things have been distracting me as of late, and not just that. My apologies. I shall rectify and be more of my old self." Her cheeky grin crossed her face and was almost convincing.

[William Brand]

"Im sorry, Miss Smith, but I'm afraid that once we reach Martinique I am putting you ashore. You'll draw your pay and seek another berth."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Uncharacteristically, Tudor's jaw dropped, but only momentarily, and then her face went blank and unreadable. She straightened her posture and nodded her head stiffly in accordance. "If that is what you wish Captain. I shall be ready to depart once we reach shore. I will also make sure all in the ward room is in order before I leave. Any orders for now, sir?" She was the epitome of respect and militaristic obedience, all the while, her mind searching through her list of possible places to sign on after this. It was not a thought she liked. For all that she felt like she was just an observer sometimes, she genuinely like belonging to this crew - it reminded her of old friends. And being told that there was no longer a place for her did something startling to her. It hurt. Very seldom did she feel such emotions as attachment and remorse. She stood awaiting the captain's response, her face stoney, but if ever she was to cry, now would have been one of the times.

[William Brand]

William crossed the distance between the bench and Tudor so quickly that she almost fell back apace. She would have stood her ground, if not for William's jabbing fingertips which reached out and shoved her off balance.

"Who are you?"

Before she could answer he jabbed her shoulder soundly again, forcing her back a little. His face was that of the night watchman. All questions and severity.

"Name!"

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Her response was with an equal severity - she was all control, but all serverity, A look of sheer rage crossed her face but she made no movement save crossing her arms in front of her in a show of non-retalliation. "TUDOR SMITH" She bellowed hoarsly, not a woman's loudness, but the hollar of a soldier calling across a battlefield. "Sword for Hire, Soldier without country, mistress of my own destiny and up until a moment ago proud captain's steward aboard The Watch Dog." Her words were laced with venom and her expression fury.

[William Brand]

William's smile spread very slowly, but wide. He grabbed her by both shoulders. "There she is!" he exclaimed, and then again softer. "There she is..."

He stood back a pace, pointing at a shaken but more defiant Steward.

"There is the Steward that was want to flash pistols at Scully! How I have wondered when and if I might see her again..."

He went at once to the bench and threw open one of its hinged compartments. He brought out a sturdy bottle of some unknown vintage and crossed to the table with it and two mismatched glasses. He drew the cork out with his teeth before he plopped the first glass down on the table and filled it to the brim, spilling no small amount on the table. Then in an unaccustomed manner, he spat the cork away and filled the second glass.

"What shall we drink to?" he shouted, lifting the glass into the air. Then before she could answer he cried, "To Ship's Stewards! Let maids and manservants keep house in dry and stationary houses! Stewards will draw pay in blood and in blisters. Let no page boy dare the field against a steward, but couch down in fear amidst dust brooms and hearth rugs! Here stands a Dodonide! What fool is a lover who takes a throne over a Steward's chair!"

He drained half the glass, almost choking on its contents before raising his glass again. "To Miss Tudor Smith, queen of the Earth and subject to no man but at her choosing."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

It took a moment for Tudor to assess the situation, and still she hesitated, unsure of what the best next move would be. Not taking her eyes off the Captain, in case his mood changed again, she took the glass he poured for her and downed it with flinching or change of expression.

Since both were acting so out of normal so far in this interlude, Tudor reached for the bottle to refill the glasses - or specifically her own, leaving the captain's glass to be filled by the owner. "And let us drink to The Steward's Captains! Always sure to tell them when they are being fools and want to scare three years off their lives in doing so." She lifted her glass to him a chagrined expresion on her face. But then, some of the clouds in her eyes cleared and she nodded to him ever so slightly. "Thank you Captain." It was said quietly, but with sincerity. His words and actions were just what she had needed. She hadn't had someone do such to her in quite a few years. It was oddly refreshing.

[William Brand]

He nodded.

"I will not sit idly by and watch you rot in some self possessed pool of neglect. No lass, I will not." He drained the second portion of his cup and filled it again with better care than before. Then he gestured about the Ward Room with his unoccupied hand. "What was the Watch Dog before the Monsignor found her? A decaying thing off La Desirade? A shadow of her former self? A husk...? I would sooner sink her broadside than watch her fade again or let the worms at her wood too long. And if her, than why not you? You are worth ten Watch Dogs, and don't you believe that Armand doesn't think so." he said, speaking of the young Frenchman in the present rather than the past.

He placed a hand around her shoulders, and it was strange, for it was more contact than she had ever had with the Captain. He lead her to the bench at the stern windows, and after she was seated he sat down opposite her.

"Duty and honor are compelling masters, but I would wager the weight of the 'Dog in gold that Armand dragged an anchor all the way to the door of his future rule. He sleeps on mattresses stuffed with goose down and caltrops. He dines on ashes and every day is a lent of Tudor. A starvation of Tudor."

He sipped his glass and smiled at her.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She simply shrugged in lieu of better response. Her own worth was not, had never been, of to much of interest to her, just the worth of her actions - their worth in gold. But lack of interest had never been able to stem the rogue emotions when the lack of worth was felt. She tried to think of a way to communicate this, but found none, and shrugged again.

Armand's name actually being used made her flinch, ever so slightly, not to be noticed but felt all the same. She also noted with a rueful smile the captain's use of tenses. For this she had an answer. "Armand is in my past. And we cannot alter or return to the past so there is not point looking at it. He might be in my future, or perhaps not - in truth, I do not see how - but I cannot make it be one way or the other. So, all this to say, clinging to hopes and dellusions that he should look on what was with regret when I will not even allow myself to . . . will simply keep me asking the post-battle question of 'what-if?' And that, as known to every field commander worth his salt, is a dangerous question to ask." She looked out the window and sipped down half of her refilled glass. "But, again, Thank You." She offered him a smile that was at once still melencholy, but yet with a hint of mischief and spirit.

[William Brand]

He returned a similar smile and a similar silence and they kept it together a full five minutes, he to his thoughts and she to hers. It was the Captain who finally broke the silence.

"Proud Steward of the 'Dog up until a moment ago...?" he said suddenly, if a little falsely concerned.

"Well considering..." she began, but he cut her off.

"Insubordination."

She smiled a little at the contrived tone in his voice, for he had set aside all the seriousness from before which had been so unsettling to her, so that now there was only the feigned hurt. The pretended disapproval.

"You'll leave this ship only when I allow you to go."

"Subject to no man but at her choosing..." she said slowly, reminding him of his own recent words.

"Aye, you mutinous marshal."

She was comfortable now due to the drink and the turn in the conversation that they bandied words in this fashion for a time. Then the bell sounded and brought them to purposes of habit and necessity. He set aside his thrice drained glass as he stood up and raised her by the hand.

"You showed an uncommon respect in your acceptance before, not to mention a sharp choice of words in your righteous indignation after. That is good. You are learning both edges of the sword one uses to serve and to be served. There is a fine balance between duty and defiance."

He looked at her with a measuring eye, appraising her as he had often done before.

"You may leave a worthier epitaph than me yet, Miss Smith."

"Aye, Captain." she agreed almost too quickly and he nodded.

"Please send for Mister Pew. I have business to discuss with him."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Once the lessons were concluded for the time being, the three earstwile navigators heading off to other duties, the QuarterMaster packed away all the instruments, leaving the one set of working instruments in the binnacle. He walked to the taffrail, looked out into the wake of the ship for a time. The change of watch just past, the fresh crew of the watch moved vigorously to their stations, while those coming off their watches ambled into the berth areas or Galley. Dorian had heard some stirrings below in the WardRoom, but let them be, as he was suddenly lost in the moment. A song from times gone by had invaded his thoughts. This set his fingers tapping against the rail, he then moved foreward, his footfalls in time with the tune in his head. He smiled as he watched the crew about their duties. He stopped on the lee side of the deck and tapped his foot in time to the beat in his head along with tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword. He kept this up for some time, no one on the quarterdeck approached him to ask what it was he seemed so happy about.

He quit the tapping when the first bell of the new watch struck with a deep breath and a sigh.

First Bell of the Afternoon Watch

22 July, 1704

[Pew]

Arriving on deck found the daily chores of a honed crew working as one. The canvas would snap every so often finding the crew back in the rigging to adjust the sails. A pipe played on deck as the cannon were polished and the deck being swiped down. I tucked my fingers into the hips of my breeches as I heard Miss Smith swing open the ward room door.

"Ah, Mister Pew, Cap'n r'questing your presence," she says over the drone of chores on deck.

"Aye Miss Smith, b' right 'n." I knuckle my foreheadand catch her off guard as she looks at me quizzically. I move to Mister Badger's side and inform him of my meeting with the Captain to which he nods carries on behind the helm.

I spin about and rap twice on the ward room door, waiting for confirmation from the Captain to enter.

[William Brand]

William called for the Master-at-Arms to enter and poured him a drink from the heavy bottle still on the Ward Room table. He passed it to Mister Pew.

"To your health, Mister Pew."

"Thank you, Cap'n. And to yours."

"When we reach Martinique, it is possible, however remote, that French favor may not be as forthcoming as it was between our recent allies. I don't expect trouble, but the nature of trouble is the unexpected. I would like you to go to Mister Badger and have him send the watch down to you in pairs, so that all of the crew might give attention to their personal arms throughout the day, and have each pair that comes to the armoury also clean some number of pistols and muskets until all are clean and in good order."

[Pew]

"Aye sah," I say more in agreement than as to respond to a direct order. Raising my glass, we salute the Watch Dog once more.

Taking my leave from the Captain, I return to Mister Badger to inform him of the duties over the next several hours. He nods and begins to look over the ship as to find the first set to take thier leave from the deck.

I return to the cabin and store the hammock away as to open the room. Unlocking the armoury door, I light a shaded lantern and open the log book to begin...

[William Brand]

Mister Badger was just beginning his selection of pairs for the armory, when Mister Morgan arrived to take up the Starboard watch. He came with haste, though his locomotion seemed somewhat stilted.

"My apologies, Sah." he said through a face that showed evidence of strain.

"And your reason for this late relief, Mister Morgan?"

Morgan hesitated at the word 'relief', his hand coming to rest on his gut. "I'm afraid...well, sah...it's the fish, sah."

"Ahhhhh." Mister Badger said with a nod. "Well, don't let the cook know. Never anger a cook."

"Aye, sah."

Mister Badger passed on the Captain's orders to send the crew below in pairs, then he retired to his hammock.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mister Lasseter stood back and watched the exchange of officers, hearing the troubles of Mr. Morgan as he was late for duty. He wondered to himself if this unease would run through the ship, or if it was just that the fish disagreed with the Boatswain's mate. After a short while, all had settled again so the QuarterMaster excused himself from the deck to record their speed and position in the ship's log, and check the charts in the Wardroom. He headed down into the waist and through the passage aft. He knocked on the wardroom door and was granted entry by the Captain.

"Enter."

"Ah, Cap'n.... I believe we're right on course.... We'll find th' trade winds soon, though... might slow us a bit, not much."

"Good to hear Mister Lasseter."

Dorian nodded as he walked around the room, gathering the heavy tome and writing utensils. He laid the book on the table along with the pen and inkwell, and began to sit in one of the chairs when he made a sudden movement, found himself off ballance and flailed his arms about, finally catching himself by putting a hand on the overhead. He noticed the strange look on William's face, to which he did not explain but reached down to the seat of the chair. As he stood, he brought to light one of the ships cats who had been sleeping on the chair.

"Almost used Pandora as a seat cushion... I doubt she'd of appreciated tha'...."

He proceeded to sit, cradling the feline in his lap.

[William Brand]

William smiled a moment and then returned to his reading. He was in the midst of some political piece published in French and his face reflected genuine concentration. Then he looked up again as thoughts of the ship cat brought him back to something he had almost forgotten.

"That reminds me, Mister Lasseter. We found evidence of vermin in with the stern chasers. We'll need to leave that gunnery hatch which opens to the passageway unlatched from time to time to let the cats inside. I don't want rats at the gun-tackles and breechings."

"Aye, Cap'n."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian opened the tome to the next blank page and settled to writing, occasionally stroking the head of the small cat in his lap. Her purrs soon filled the room's silence. In short order the QuarterMaster was finished with his notations, recording the ships speed and position, along with the weather and time of day. He blew on the pages, hastening the ink to dry and carefully closed the book so as not to disturb the Captain's reading. He sat a while longer, enjoying the peace, save for the loud purrs. Pandora decided to part company with the two men and as she jumped from Dorian's lap, he smiled. She padded over to the door leading to the passageway and scratched at it, signaling her wish to have it opened, so Dorian stood, walked to the door and just as he lifted the latch, changed his mind. he bent down and scooped up the feline before opening the door, headed out into the passage and turned to the aformentioned hatch leading to the chase gunnery deck. Opening the hatch with his free hand he proceeded to place the cat inside.

"Go earn yer keep, gerl..."

She mewed at him, then turned and began to explore the space. Dorian returned to the Wadroom, cleaned up the logbook and writing implaments and bid the Captain a good day before returning topside...

[William Brand]

William continued to read until his concentration played out. His French had always been a very rusty implement and no amount of reading was going to improve it prior to reaching Martinique, so he shut the book and put it away.

Then he crossed to the small door which lead to his narrow, private room off the Larboard side of the ship. There he dressed down, putting away his coat and vest. He tossed his hat upon the small shelf which served as a second desk and climbed into his hammock. He lay there swinging with the ship for a time, listening to it until he drifted off.

His last thoughts were of a woman he had known and the unlaced night gown she wore one night in the spring of 1695.

[Black Syren]

Quickly bored she leapt from the barrel and moved to the galley in search of victuals and seating herself quickly ate keeping to the shadows of the galley as much as possible. Finished she rose and quickly scrubbed her own utensils before moving to find her hammock.

Settling in her hammock she glanced about then quickly shut her eyes and drifted to sleep. Her sleep was troubled, the trouble with Owen earlier reminding her of her very near escape from a near fate she wished to forget. Tossing and turning in her hammock she finally awoke with a hoarse cry and tumbled free of her hammock landing hard upon the floor. A throbbing in her wrist had her grimacing, cradling her wrist she quickly sat up to make sure she had disturbed no others, rising she moved to the deck needing to feel the breeze upon her face, to know that her demons were far behind her...Thanks to William.

Once aloft the breeze had her calming and with a wild shudder she noticed the passage of time had barely changed at all. Rubbing at her wrist she moved to sit upon a coil of rope and leaned back to look up at the skies.

[Pew]

With a shallow knock the young Geoffrey Wayne removes his cap and enters.

"Mister Pew?"

"Aye, Geoffrey. Let Mister Badger know to send to watch in pairs now."

"Beggin' yer pardon sah, Mister Morgan 'as taken the watch."

"Made it topside finally 'as he?" I chuckle and remember passing Mister Morgan with his head in a bucket. "Very well, let Mister Morgan know th' Captain wishes t' 'ave each crew member 'n watch come t' th' armoury t' clean an' outfit their weapon. 'ave 'em come 'n pairs 's th' first return." Geoffrey knuckles a salute and spins about, "oh, an' Mister Wayne,"

"Aye sah?"

"Ifin ye be so kind 's t' fetch 's a bucket o' oil 'n some rags."

"Right away sah." Geoffrey turns quickly and scampers up the ladder stairs.

A few moments later Mister Youngblood and Mister Tucker arrive at the door with young Mister Wayne in tow.

"Gentlemen." I finish my notations in the armoury log, stand and turn to retrieve their arms from the crate. Each man grabs a stool, sits and begins to wipe down their arms, paying particular attention to the barrel. Several minutes pass and the next group of men on watch pass through the armoury. Continuing for the better part of an hour, the armoury becomes a hive of activity with crew members furiously polishing, cleaning and outfitting their arms. Several pairs begin to compete in a gentleman's agreement with Mister Wayne as overseer. The young boy points to Louis Morrell as his pistol is not only cleaned but loaded and placed upon the deck before Maurice is able to even finish wiping his barrel down. With one eyebrow cocked, I look at Louis with a questioning stare, "Loaded eh?" He nods. "Not 'n my armoury," I glean at him.

"My apologies sah, jus' got caught up 'n all."

"Very well. Please go above 'n let Mister Morgan know ye 'ave me orders t' discharge yer weapon topside. Return 't t' me right away."

"Aye sah."

Moments later, a loud shot erupts from above, then comes the sound of feet hurriedly coming down the ladder stairs. Mister Morrell returns as quickly as his weapon is cleaned once again and returned to the crate just as a new set of crew members enters the armoury.

The scene is played over many times until two bells are heard aloft followed by a pause and a third bell. "Time does pass, does 't not Mister Wayne."

"Aye sah," he replies.

Standing and stretching, I remove a dark bottle from the small desk and refill the ink. Looking towards the newest members to arrive, "Mister Hand, would ye be so kind ' t' send Mister Franklin t' th' armoury on yer way topside?"

"O' course sah."

"Thankee. Mister Wayne would y' find Mister Fitch f'r me and fetch 's another pail o' oil?"

Geoffrey Wayne knuckles his temple and heads off.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster found himself enjoying the easy sailing, and was glad the Captain had turned the crew's idle time into a 'make & mend' day. The weapons were being attended to by all aboard, giving each hand a familiarity with all that was aboard. Some of the men sat in a circle on the forecastle with thread and needle, repairing their clothing. Some sewed patches on shirts and slops, others repaired seams, while one lad darned a pair of stockings. Those on duty of the Starboard Watch had their chores as well, the deck needed attention, so the carpenter and her mates had brought out the pitchpots, mallots, and all else to pay the deck seams. The smell of hot pitch wafted about the ship as the almost constant pounding of the mallots commenced. The pounding was more of a dull thudding from where Dorian stood on the quarterdeck, the rythm of the sound almost perfect for a song. The great gunns and swivels had been attended to and all looked proud where they sat, especially the brass twelve pounders having been polished to a near mirror shine. Mr. Lasseter looked out over the endless sea around the ship. First with his bare eyes, then after retrieving the ships' glass he swept the horizon. Not another object in sight, save for some clouds in the distant west....

Five bells of the Afternoon Watch

The Ship, Watch Dog, eastward bound towards La Granade

22 July, 1704

[Silkie McDonough]

The rhythm of the ships work was infectious. A strong alto voice rose in cadence with the din of the hammers and work on deck. Murin, still feeling a bit out of place in her new surroundings, was never one to keep her voice quiet.

“Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog

It's all for me beer and tobacco

For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin

Far across the western ocean I must wander”

Before the end of the chorus others had joined her. She carried the verses well, her robust voice, clear above the sounds of the ship and the sea.

“Where are me shoes, me noggin', noggin' shoes?

They're all gone for beer and tobacco

For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about

And the soles are looking out for better weather”

Her hand may keep her from hard labor but she could carry a tune better than most and taking the lead came easy to her.

“Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog

It's all for me beer and tobacco

For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin

Far across the western ocean I must wander”

Where she would otherwise shrink from the attention of others, when singing she felt the need to let the music out, to share her voice, her God given gift was her gift to those around her.

“Where is me shirt, my noggin', noggin' shirt?

It's all gone for beer and tobacco

For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn

And the tail is looking out for better weather”

The voices were blended in a natural harmony.

“Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog

It's all for me beer and tobacco

For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin

Far across the western ocean I must wander”

The chorus was loud and strong, nearly every voice on deck in concert.

“I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed

Since first I came ashore with me slumber

For I spent all me dough on the lassies movin' slow

Far across the Western Ocean I must wander”

Murin hadn’t felt so alive in years. To be out on the open water again, on deck the wind tugging at her locks, singing a song, filling her lungs with sea air!

“Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog

It's all for me beer and tobacco

For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin

Far across the western ocean I must wander”

“ONCE MORE” She called out and the crew joinded in concert.

“Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog

It's all for me beer and tobacco

For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin

Far across the western ocean I must wander”

The crew on deck finished with bravado and laughter, then shouts for another song. Another of the crew obliged and a new song began. Several of the crew members whom Murin had not yet met took the time to introduce themselves before continuing with their work and the newly started shanty. In short order Murin was joining in with her own harmonies, walking the deck, keeping herself busy lending a hand where she could. The simple shanty had broken through the barrier she had felt just minutes ago. Many of those working on deck would pause for a moment as she passed by and blend their voices with hers (some pleasant some ...not so) but all with a friendly ease she had not previously known. Nathan beamed at her and when she drew near he put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed lightly in affectionate approval.

[Black Syren]

The sound of song had her spirits lifting as well and she tapped her foot keeping her wrist still, listening to the beautiful alto voice that cascaded over the waters, floated over the ship like some surreal dream, soon blended with the voices of the others. Then the song was over and she could hear the call for another song and soon the lovely voice came yet again.

She tried to not sing for she oft kept her voice quiet, she sang only for herself, but the voice called to her, lured her on and she could do no other than obey.

A sultry soprano soon rang out, the notes haunting at first then soaring high and the husky voice blending perfectly with the alto. She still sat hidden in the coils of rope but let loose all the passion she felt within and gave it wings to fly in the song. Her eyes drifted closed so that she knew nothing but the song, Did not realize when the others halted to listen to the two voices so perfectly in tuned to the other, The beautiful clear alto and the husky soprano, She only knew she had to sing.

[Silkie McDonough]

The sound was instinctive, the harmonies created with a soprano, so rich in tone, she was compelled to stopped all other activity save the song. Her good hand rested on the rail to keep balance, eyes closed lightly, she let the sound enfold her. The intonation of the other voice danced lightly around her deeper timber.

As the song end drew near she became aware that hers and the ethereal soprano were the only sounds save that of the sea and the ship herself. Murin was loath to end the song so she continued the song, not in words but in sounds, mouth music, hoping upon hope that the song of the siren would follow.