The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

With the morning watch gone, William had returned topside to man the quarterdeck. He took his morning meal late on holy ground, then he releaved the Coxswain, taking the helm himself for the remainder of the watch.

For two full hours he occupied the quarterdeck alone watching the distant Heron. The Maastricht had fallen back so far during the night, that William was obliged to let the Watch Dog drift a bit Westward until the Maastricht began falling in behind them to Starboard.

They were perhaps two days out from Martinique if the weather held.

~Starboard Watch on Duty~

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor was getting a later start then usual, the party having lasted into the small hours of the morning. She wearily made her way to the ward room to clean up the last remains they had left behind. She squinted at the light the peaked through the cracks in the shutters over the window. Rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes, letting them become acclimated to the light, she started gathering up the last of the dishes to take down to the galley. She smiled as she remebered some of the higlights of the evening, everyone merry from the wine, some a few steps closer to intoxicated then others. But the evening was gossiped away, with plans for the shore. All had many plans for their leave, except Tudor herself, who did not make plans, but still she enjoyed sharing in the scheaming.

Finally loaded down with all to be removed, Tudor made her way to the galley.

[William Brand]

Tudor was greeted by a glassy-eyed, but busy, Mister Gage. He was so engrossed in his labor, that he said nothing to her when she brought some of the dishes and crockery from the Ward Room into the galley. Instead, he simply passed her a mug of dark and somewhat suspicious looking coffee laced with rum.

"For the dawn which follows." he managed, when she did not immediately take it from him.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She grinned widely at him, taking the mug and lifting it to him in salute before taking a long swig. "What kind of weakling would I be if I couldn't handle tippling wine with women, aye" With that, she headed back for the Ward room calling her gratitude over her shoulder to Mr. Gage.

[William Brand]

Mister Gage set into his morning routine with his own mug of "Morning Watch" on the galley table. He prepared the food intended for the noon meal with his usual care, careful to never waste one piece of fat or one morsel of bread. There was no shortage of food aboard, bit Lazarus had all too recently left the sea a half dead mariner himself, and he wasn't about to throw away the smallest crumb of food on the promise of stores ashore.

Large chunks of fat and pork went into todays stew pot, along with parsnips and roots of half dozen varieties. Into this he added rum and spices, stopping many times to taste as the food came to a slow boil.

He was mindfull to check and re-check the fire, for an accident of cinders was also a concern he did not take to lightly, especially with the galley so far aft.

All the while, the young, but admirable Steward brought him plates and cups, spoons, knives and all manner of crockery. He was flattered to find both plates and bowls wiped clean with bread, and he said as such.

[Dorian Lasseter]

26 July, 1704

The Heron

Two Bells of the Mid Watch

Larboard Watch on Duty

Captain Lasseter had retired to the Wardroom a couple hours before to write the days activities in the ships log. The Jollywatt had been repaired in a grand manner and set back on the davits aft. He noted how well Mister Flint had drilled the marines aboard the Heron, and was given permission to do so at every Forenoon Watch until otherwise noted. Mister Brocke on the Starboard and O’Hara on Larboard watch would be the lookouts when the marines were drilling. The Weather had remained clear with a small cluster of clouds passing mid afternoon. The island they had passed early in the day turned out to be Saint Vincent, and they would be seeing Saint Lucia come the morning. The servicing of all the great guns was finished just after dark, giving all of the hands idle time, to which Dorian allowed an extra rum ration for all the good work and allowed smoking in the bow til the end of the second dog watch, which he joined the crew in doing so. All in all it was a very good day, with the prospect of the next day looking the same or better. He was in the midst of writing this last piece when the candle snuffed itself, forcing him to locate a new candle, light it so he could finish the entry. That done, he washed up and prepared for some sleep. The evening air was warm, so he stripped to his slops before climbing into his hammock. He lay there for a moment before closing his eyes, his pistol across his waist as always.

[William Brand]

July 26, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Three bells of Morning Watch

William went through five candles during the night as he wrote out the details of the battle and the taking of prizes. He had also begun a calculation of profits, based in part on the ships themselves and the list of arms from Mister Youngblood and Mister Pew.

He then catalogued all of the maps, charts and documents taken from the Maastricht, including the surprising discovery of a pardon.

The document was folded neatly into a leather wallet prepared for just such a document. It bore the seal of the Royal Navy and the document itself was no forgery, having too many seals and signatures to be anything but the genuine article.

William sat looking at it for nearly three quarters of an hour. The document presented the barer with absolution without question or contradiction. In fact, the document soundly stated that any name affixed to the document would see freedom upon presentation. There was room for at least two dozen names.

William secured this unusual treasure away privately against some future possibilities.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill Flint went about drilling the marines with great gusto. All them absorbed the lessons quickly and were able to demonstrate the required tasks on demand without prompt. The Redlegs had taken the liberty of modifying a few of The Heron's boarding axes so that they more closely resembled the tomahawk favored by the colonials for close combat. This he showed them how to use in tandem with the long knife to great effect. Steadily many of the off duty sailors began to gather round and observe the training. The practically tripped over themselves when Bill invited them to join in. On fellow in particular showed great potential and Bill would have picked him first should they need additional marines.

"What's yer name mate?"

"Peter...Peter Hurgronje, myn heer"

"Well, Peter I was wondering if you'd be so good as to assist me in a further demonstration?"

"Ov course, Heer Flint it vould be myn honor"

Flint had taught them all he knew of weapons, now he would teach them to fight and kill with empty hands. For the next hour he taught them how. With regualr practice Bill knew these men would have no equal in all the world and their small fleet could strike with impunity and take nearly any prize they desired.

[Alder]

Alder found himself anxious for the next watch having left a task unfinished to his degree of expectation. This incompleteness was unlike his nature or the nature of his previous supervision. Even the watches themselves had become an exceptional event, as he had never been assigned a watch, but was instead expected to toil consistently until vanquished by exhaustion. A convention that amazingly enough agreed with him.

It was no surprise therefore that Alder found himself observing the drills of Mister Flint and the crew. Alder’s muscles involuntarily contracting as his thoughts mimicked the actions of the participants. He marveled at the unique, synchronous combination of axe and knife and pondered similarity use of adze and chisel.

Alder had thrown a chisel once in frustration that; to his astonishment, found its mark on a slender column of the family’s carriage house. Since that time, practice had honed a skill that he had not exercised from the time he had set sail. Now, awaiting eventual landfall, the mental aspects of uncertainty gnawed at him for a physical release.

[Silkie McDonough]

Yesterday was lost. Murin had awakened her mouth dry, throat sore and her head pounding from partaking of more wine than was best for her. She tried to sit up in her hammock but found the effort painful. She tried to fall asleep again but the throbbing in her head made additional rest impossible. She slowly sat up in her hammock, placing her bare feet on the cool wooden deck. Meg. Meg Wardell had assisted her into the hammock after the gathering with the ladies. Miss McDonough leaned forward her right elbow on her knee, her hand rubbing her forehead as her stomach rolled with the waves. She had no idea what time it was. Daylight from above made its way down the steps to the lower deck. Miss McDonough yawned and the pain in her head felt as though it would burst open her skull. Water, water helps. The water stores were still relatively fresh. She staggered to the stairs and dragged herself toward the light; each step could be felt in her head. It was here that Nathan greeted her. “There’s my sleeping beauty, decided to join the crew again?”

Murin squinted at the lad, “I’d b’happy t’join d’livin fer now.” she grumbled in return and continued her trek upward. At the top of the flight she clung to the post on the landing in a vain attempt to calm her stomach.

“A bit too much?” he inquired.

“Aye”

He offered his arm, “May I assist?” She gratefully accepted.

Nathan, always her protector, just as Fionn had been, saw that she ate something and drank as much water as she could stomach. He left her in the galley. She tripped to the head to relieve herself and returned to find Nathan sitting at the table. In his hand he held a folded paper packet of white powder, “From the Doctor;” he proceeded to dump it into her drink and stir. “Drink.” The taste was unpleasant but she managed to drink the full tankard ending with a barely stifled belch. Nathan grinned and let her finish her light fare while he filled the tankard with water once more. He then insisted on escorting her back to her hammock and would not leave until she was safely in her hammock.

How many hours she slept she knows not. Hushed voices of others in the berth came to her attention as she emerged from unconsciousness. Experimentally she turned her head. The pain had subsided, her stomach calmed. Yes, today was already better. She lay there only a moment before she realized that it was the urgent need to use the head that had awakened her. She stumbled in the near dark finding her way to her destination. Once relieved she went topside.

The dark on the horizon was giving way to dawn. Miss McDonough looked to the front of the ship. The shadow of the Heron danced against the lightening sky. Behind, the Maastricht limped along. Nathan Bly who was on watch caught the lass’ eye and beckoned her to join him at his station. “You look much better lass.”

“I feel mouch betta! Tank ya fer yer assistance yes-t’day.”

"As always is my pleasure." He gently tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

Murin laughed, "Ya need not baby me Fionn, ah," she shook her head, "Nathan. I managed to o'r imbibe on m'own. Tis nil yer responsibility lad. Buot I do appreciate yer efforts yesterday." she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Wot bell b'it?"

"Three of the morning watch."

She looked up to the fore top lookout hoping to see Siren but it was the Starboard watch and the lookout there was a lad she had not yet met. Beyond the mast she could see that the day would be clear and bright. Her heart was light. "I best leave you to your watch, I'd nil wont t'get ya in a bad spot wit d'oficers." and she turned to leave.

"Will we be sharing our morning meal?"

"I'll sit n'eat wit ya buot I'll not share m'rations ...I've nil ate a full day!" She laughed lightly and winked at the lad as he watched her walk away. She began to hum a tune as she headed to the quarterdeck, She had decided to try her hand at reading the navigational tools once again.

[William Brand]

William cleared his throat as Miss McDonough reached the holy ground. She straightened at once, having stopped just shy of the upmost step.

"Cap'n."

William fixed her with a serious expression and said nothing for a moment. He was seated at the poop deck on the larboard side with a chart in both hands and a satchel of documents resting beside him. He carefully plucked out one of these documents and stood up, his face still serious. He walked over to her and stood, sizing her up and down. She stood at an uneasy attention.

After a time he opened the document and read aloud, "Article IX..." he began, then paused to look at her before continuing. "...that if any of the said Company shall in time of service be so Drunk & Incapable in time of Engagement that they do not fight and withstand the Enemy then they shall be Cut off or punished according as the Captain or Majority of the Company shall think fit."

Then he smiled. It was as casual a smile as he could offer, and he changed the subject at once. "How found you the wine, Miss McDonough."

"I...sah...I did not fin' it, as much as...it fo'nd me."

Whether she had meant this as a joke or not the answer struck William deeply, and he laughed so suddenly and unexpectedly, that even he could not keep from snorting a little as he did so. He laughed freely for a moment, and when he began again, it was with some care.

"Yes, but how did it find you, Miss McDonough? To your liking."

"Past likin', Cap'n."

"Very good, Miss McDonough. Medicine to your hurts."

"Aye, Cap'n." she said, smiling a little herself.

"Very well, Miss McDonough."

He returned to his papers without another word, though he was heard to laugh quietly at least once more before four bells.

July 26, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Four bells of Morning Watch

[Black Syren]

Having taken care of her abolutions she hurried Towards her station and spotting The Captain sitting in the sun hailed him. Blue green eyes sparkled with energy as she approached. She had not overimbibed knowing that a roaring head was not suited to her on board a swaying ship.

As William glanced up and motioned her forward she finished her approach. "I wished to thank you. For yesterday." she saw the surprise in his eyes so she grinned and motioned to her station.

"Im ready to retake my station Sir, I am sure Ajayi will wish to be relieved." As he nodded she knuckled to him with abundant energy and leapt down the short flight of stairs and quickly moved into the rigging and ever upwards.

Reaching the top Ajayi watched her with dark eyes and held out his large hand to pull her the rest of the way up. "Thank you, And good day to you. Have I missed anything?"

He slowly shook his head then offered her a rare smile His voice deep and flavored with his homeland, his accent somewhat difficult to make out. Not that she could understand his native language to begin with. So he pointed to her and then to the sea and frowned speaking slowly. He pointed to her again "You.' then pointed out to the sea "Sea." Then he grinned and spoke "Same." Then he flitted his hands about energetically.

At first she stilled seeing his smile then her brow arched slowly followed by the second wondering what he was up to before laughing. At first she had not understood him and it took her a second to follow along but she grinned at him and nodded "Ill take that as a compliment, go and take your rest." She told him watching him shake his head before agiley climbing down.

[Silkie McDonough]

Her heart skipped a beat when the captain addressed her in such serious tones. What document had he chosen from the satchel she could not guess. He stood before her scrutinizing the young woman, then began to speak, "Article nine..." The wait after was interminable. Her mind raced …article nine, article nine? Which article was article nine?! "...that if any of the said company shall in time of service be so drunk and incapable in time of engagement that they do not fight and withstand the enemy then they shall be cut off or punished according as the Captain or majority of the company shall think fit." This ship, this very small ship, left little unknown to those aboard. Captain Brand was not pleased with her need to stay a bed yesterday. She had been informed that she was relieved of any further service but over imbibing had not been part of the reward for services rendered. Murin had many a time in the past consumed pocheen, ale and the like with little effect. This red wine that Tudor served snuck upon her unlike any before. She had been given little in the way of spirits in the last three years, her tolerance for alcohol was low, her judgment quickly impaired, she failed to note when she had reached her limit.

To her delight the captain smiled down at her, he understood her mistake was not intentional. "How found you the wine, Miss McDonough."

At some point in the past two days, between inebriation, headache and embarrassment, the lass had begun to find herself again and her mildly sarcastic humor came through as she answered, "I...sah...I did nut fin' it, as much as...it fo'nd mae." The captain freed a natural healthy laugh. The girl was not sure if he found her comment truly humorous or if it was merely the surprise at such a retort from the lass who had been, to this point, incredibly shy and unsure. Murin liked the sound, deep and effortless; the blue of his eyes seemed to brighten even more with his laughter. She smiled and a soft chortle tripped forth from her lips. When the captain continued on a serious note the lass was sure to let him know that the lesson learned would not soon be forgotten. He returned to his papers, she continued to the navigation station and began to take the measurements as she had been instructed by Mister..., she corrected herself, Captain Lasseter, checking them against those that had most recently been recorded. She heard Captain Brand chuckle again at least once more before four bells were struck. Murin’s smile continued throught the morning, to have the captain, a man of words, find hers clever pleased her more than any aboard could know.

......................................

Having been relieved of duty allowed Murin to move freely about the ship. Once she had measured and remeasured feeling confident that she had done so correctly she turned to remove herself from the Quarterdeck. The captain looked up from his papers and smiled at her as she passed she returned his brilliant smile with a soft blush and a bashful grin.

She stopped short of the top of the stairs. It suddenly occurred to her that the matter of the French flag had not been addressed for some days now. She turned to the Captain again. "Capn'?" She waited. He continued to read for a moment then lifted his eyes to the lass once more. "Miss McDonough?" "Capn' tis still madder uv d'French flag. I've not worked on it a'tall. Been four days since yer request, we'll b'needin it soon. I know nil uv wot material may b'stored buot ifin I m't'use canvas fer d'task I'll need help wit d'stitchn'." She looked at her left hand then back at William with guilt in her eyes.

[William Brand]

July 26, 1704 - Three ships on the sea

Three bells of Forenoon Watch

"Think not on the matter anymore than to find another to make the flag for you, Miss McDonough. We have colors of Spain if we shall require them." He said, unconcerned about the matter, but seeing that she was in earnest, he continued. "Fetch a lad to make the bourbon banner and give no thought to your hand."

. . .

The Heron progressed along her course by alterations which brought her back and forth along that imaginary line which the fluyt and frigate had made their own. In respect to the sea itself, they were but a few small boats in a sea filled with ocean going vessels of war and commerce.

Throughout the world, thousands of ships were setting sail or returning home. Some of these returned to celebration and some to loss, for commerce, like the sea, is a fickle mistress.

The three ships themselves passed so near another ship that morning that they might have engaged her, had she not been just beyond the horizon and bearing away from them to the West. The ship which escaped them was no more aware of their existence in neighboring waters as they were of her. It was a wealthy merchantmen out of the Antilles, bearing away Northward and Westward along the trades and currents which carried it away from them.

A simliar passing had occured far off to the East of them the night before. It was the nature of the sea and the curve of the Earth that made such fateful passings possible. One prize and one foe, passing the three small ships by mere chance.

. . .

One such beneficiary of fate was Meg Wardell. Her boat, a remnant of a much larger wrecked vessel, had been so small and unassuming when the firgate came upon it, that had it not been for a keen eyed lookout, she and her fellow castaways might have cast their dies.

She was every day grateful for her life. This was made stronger by her good fortunes upon the 'Dog and her friends. The equality of her experience was so great, that what happened next came as such a shock, that it bewildered her to the point of statuesque panic.

She was one moment thinking fondly on her good fortunes, anxiously employed in the hold fetching stores up for Mister Gage, when a man came up behind her in the crouched space. She gave his presence no thought, thinking it to be the cook himself.

"'Ello deary." the man said, and the tone unsettled her at once.

She turned and managed a simple 'hello' in return, though her own voice almost stopped in her throat. Her small lantern flashed across a surface that looked wet and sharp, for the man was armed. The blade in the man's hand had a wicked curve to it. She thought she might scream and indeed she meant to, but it stopped somewhere in her throat.

"This is but a trifle." the man said, gesturing to the knife, and now that he was in the light she thought he might be an Englishman, but no one which she knew.

He stank. Some of this was from the hold itself, but he also had a mean looking wound on one side of his head. His hair was dark and long, some of it gathered in a messy tangle at his neck, but much of it hanging about his head. His eyes were merry in a way that suggested he was dangerous more than friendly, but he tried to reassure her with words. "Be a good girl and there be no need for cuttin'".

Her eyes went a little wide at this.

"We'll make a bargain, girl. You and Tawny, eh?" he said conversationally, but low, so not to be heard above. "We'll start by gettin' to know one 'nother. Eh?"

She started to shake her head, but he raised the weapon a little, which now looked more like a kitchen implement. This did not make her feel better, for it was a carving knife by the size of it.

"What's yer name, girl?"

At first she couldn't remember. She had been someone with a name a few minutes ago, but now she wasn't anyone. She suddenly couldn't find her name in the metallic blur of her thoughts.

"Ya must 'ave a name..." he coaxed, close enough to her now to block all escape. His eyes falling on her body. "Tawny, I'm called." he offered as if to coax her by example.

"Meg..." she said at once, and she was surprised that enough of her could remember.

"Mmmmmeeeeeg." he said in a way that was so unpleasant, so unholy, that she thought she might never like her own name afterwards. "Meg's a good name, it is. Meg and Tawny." he said nodding, as if placing the names together made them a matched set. Meg thought she might gladly go overboard on a piece of adrift debris, not to be paired with this man.

"How...how...?" she tried asking, but her mind wasn't sure what her question was.

"How'd Tawny come aboard...?" he offered, and she nodded, for this question seemed as good as any to a trapped girl faced down with a man twice her size in possession of a knife. "Tawny knows when t' leave a ship. Tawny follows the rats when the rats know t' go..."

He flicked off a button from her shirt so easily and quickly with the point of the knife that Meg didn't even think to scream. Her brain and mouth weren't talking to one another at the moment, even though panic was screaming at them both.

"There's a good girl. Tawny 'as gifts for good girls".

[Dorian Lasseter]

26 July, 1704, Aboard the Heron

Four Bells of the Forenoon Watch

Larboard Watch on Duty

Dorian stood on the quarterdeck, watching the crew go about their duties. The morning light had come during the Morning Watch, revealing Saint Lucia off the starboard bow, just as expected. Mister Styles singing out when it came into view and many of the men on deck turned their eyes to the east briefly, hoping to see the land breaking the flat horizon before turning back to work. It would not be seen at that level for another hour or so. Time moved on, the watch changed and Mister Flint again called those marines to assemble in the waist for drilling. Styles and Roche, just off duty and Smyth, just coming from below assembled with their gear in hand. Cartouche belts were strapped into place, cutlass adjusted, muskets held at rest. Mister Flint called out his orders and the marines followed them. The off duty crew had gone below for their morning meal but soon were back on deck to watch, most holding the remains of biscuits and their tankards. These men were on duty when the drilling of the marines occurred yesterday, and were unable to actually watch the proceedings, now however, they had no obligations to keep them away.

[Silkie McDonough]

Four bells struck as Paul Mooney entered the Galley. Mister Gage looked sharply at the person who had entered, the disappointment in his eyes was clear.

"Problem Mister Gage?"

"Aye. Sent Meg to the hold over fifteen minuets ago for some stores and she's not returned. My request was simple. She should have been able to locate what I needed by now." He placed the knife he had been using on the counter and began to wipe his hands on his apron.

"I'll go after her." Paul, still grieving the loss of Lawrence Dinwiddie found that the hours previously spent in his friends company were now often empty.

"Thank you." Mister Gage lifted the knife and began filleting the catch of the day once again as Paul headed to the hold.

The lamp that usually hung at the the bottom of the stairs was missing from the hook. Paul had to locate another to proceed into the darkness of the hold. Upon the nearest barrel sat several items that had been retrieved from storage. A tin covered in flour. A small sack of peppercorns. The salt tin was spilled atop the barrel. Paul felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle. His hand went to his knife. "Meg?"

[William Brand]

The silence was smothering, but for the frigate herself. Paul listened for a reply, but there was nothing.

Paul Mooney knew a silence from a silence. He had known alleys of coastal towns and the holds of other ships. He had known and witnessed a few ambushes in his day, and when Meg did not answer, Paul knew the silence for what it was. Treachery.

Meg lay where she had landed, having been struck by the haft of Tawny's knife. Blood had already hardened in the hair above her left ear. She was dazed and a little removed from herself, partly from a concussion, and partly out of fear and denial. She wasn't sure how she had come to be here on her back. She noted with what wits she still possessed, that Tawny was stock still above her, his head turned slightly away from her as if listening. He lay upon her with his slops hanging open and gathering about his knees. He had Meg pressed down among some musty parcels and sacks. He had made quick destruction of her clothing to the waist, and a thin red cut ran across her ribs, demonstrating his impatience.

Still, the silence continued.

Tawny began to rise a little. He cupped a hand hard over Meg's mouth without looking at her, and she was painfully aware of the knife which had never left Tawny's other hand, for it was outlined against the soft light aft. despite the silence which stemmed from her fear and Tawny's smothering palm, her mind began screaming, 'Please don't leave me here! Please not here!'.

Paul backed up a pace and peered up into the gloomy light of the berth deck overhead. "Some assistance here!" he hissed, and his own harsh whisper came out sounding overly loud. Paul cringed a bit, and when no one responded, he chose a different tack. He put out the lamp and crept forward along the larboard side of the hold. The space here was very low, for the curve of the hull came up sharply at the sides and he was forced to double over as he went. This afforded him an approach which was unlit, but it put him on equal terms with whomever might be there in the darkness.

Then he waited. He stopped and crouched and allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.

Tawny an equally patient predator, was also biding his time in the dark. He was in motion, but he moved so slowly that he almost seemed not to move at all. Meg could only feel his departure by the decreasing weight of him upon her. Her eyes were well adjusted to the near darkness by now, and she was sickened to see how much of him was naked as he got up from her. It served to remind her that she too was stripped, and while Meg longed to cover herself, Tawny was still too close to risk his impatience a third time.

Then a light spilled into the space. Owen came down into the hold with some effort, for he alone had heard Paul's near silent call for assistance. He came down bearing a horn pane lantern for light and he looked irritated to be crouched in the musty compartment. He let the greasy orange light of the lantern bounce around the space, but he couldn't see anything.

Paul could see just enough from his vantage point to make out a crop of dark hair forward of the main mast step and he watched it move with gathering understanding. 'There's a man down here and he has the woman.' he thought, and he waited from his chosen place to see if the man would shrink from Owen or step forward into the light.

Owen, unaware of any trouble, real or imagined, stepped about without caution, noisily searching and shining the lamplight into every nook as he came forward. "Mooney! Where the hell are ya, lad?"

Still, Paul watched from his place, trying to decide how best he might approach the unknown man and still maintain an advantage. He had time to wonder if Meg was already murdered somewhere close by. The man might have her tied up or knocked out among the stores.

Owen passed him just off to the right then and Paul noted how surly Owen looked. Owen was still grey and sweaty from the injury inflicted upon him during combat, but Owen's own impatience at being wounded and mortal kept him from spending his recovery in a hammock or surgery cot. Owen walked stooped over, but more from discomfort than from the low space of the hold itself. His guts had been very nearly opened the day before last and he was in a poor mood.

"I'll give ya yer teeth fer a thank you, Mooney, if ya don't show yerself!"

Then Owen stopped and raised his lantern a little higher, for he had seen the same shock of hair just beyond the forward stores. Tawny tried not to drop too quickly, but Owen had sharp eyes.

"Manus...?" he asked, his irritation immediately replaced with caution and curiosity. "You pilfering, mate?"

Paul watched this interchange from his place in the near darkness, though much of that darkness was gone now. He let his eyes drift back and forth from where Owen stood and from where he imagined the other man might be. Then Paul's eyes fell between two casks to find a pair of eyes looking right back at him. The eyes stared back from a face that was both unfamiliar and unfriendly. A smile spread on that strange face and Paul stared back. Then Paul inched his way out into the light on Owen's left flank.

Owen was caught off gaurd and he flinched. This caused him considerable discomfort. One hand went down to his gut. "Mooney, ya bastard! slitherin' 'bout the hold like a..." but Owen stopped. The other man was on his feet now and Owen stared to see a half naked Meg held out like a shield of flesh before a man he didn't know. Owen went serious at once.

"Come out of there." Owen hissed.

"I will speak with th' Cap'n of this ship first." Tawny returned. "Him first, an' no one else."

"Ye'll come out or swing." Paul ordered.

"Nooooooo..." Tawny said in one long drawn out syllable, a smile playing over his dirty face. "Tawny's a fishmonger's son. Tawny can gut a fish with a flick." he said, pantomiming the act of gutting Meg from crotch to throat. He dragged his wicked knife ever so gently up her naked belly.

Owen glowered. He was close to screaming. His face twisted up into a knot of anger. Owen was not incensed or morally enraged by what was playing out before him. He didn't have any overly strong feelings of loyalty to Meg. He was just angry. Owen had served aboard the Watch Dog for many weeks now and in the company of women both plain and beautiful and it was distracting. He was a man of deep lust and cravings, and he was forced daily to curb his own instincts. His own needs had to be suppressed almost hourly with drink or mischief. He was almost ill for watching women move about the ship before him like a parade of temptation. He had accepted the fact that he was not well liked by most of the women aboard and that he might never know one in a way that he would find favorable, and now this interloper, this vagabond, had come aboard and taken what Owen himself had been denied a hundred times a day. It angered him that this man should steal aboard the 'Dog and just take what he himself could not have as one of the faithful able seamen. Sure, some small part of him was angered that one of his own crew members should be used such against her will, but Owen was in a foul mood. He was put off that this man should take what he himself had guarded with his life. His guts hurts him. His head hurt him. His back ached from the pain of it all. His lust curdled in his bowels.

Tawny smiled at Owen's outward anger. "Tawny 'ill make fish food of yer chum 'ere ifin ye don't back away."

"Ye'll be a shade tawnier when I'm through with ya." Owen spat back, advancing a little with his own drawn sailor's knife.

Paul tried to circle to larboard a bit, but the casks there hindered his progress forward. "Ye have no place to go, mate." he pointed out to the stranger.

"Tawny 'ill mark this sweet meat." he warned.

"Harm a hair more and I'll geld ye..." Owen whispered dangerously.

Tawny was surprised to be advance upon by two men who seemed less concerned about his prisoner, and more intent on stabbing him no matter the outcome. He stepped back a pace and this exposed him to the smallest of spaces overhead into the berth compartment. He did not notice the looming, dark skinned Yoruban.

Ajayi reached down so quickly, that Tawny's hand, armed with the wicked knife, was jerked up and away with enough force that his forearm cracked a little. Ajayi grabbed the man by the face with his other hand, curling his fingers into the man's mouth with such force, that man gagged upon them as Ajayi dragged him up through the narrow space by his head.

Paul and Owen were so startled, that they jumped together to see huge, dark and unexpected arms snatch the man up from before them. They scrambled aft at once to make their way up, hoping to see what work Ajayi would make of the man. Meanwhile, the berth deck became a place of yells and confusion.

Ajayi had wrenched the man up through the narrow space so quickly, that the man bit down upon Ajayi's fingers as much from surprise as gravity. Ajayi tried to right the man enough to overpower him. Tawny demonstrating amazing ferocity despite an injured arm, slithered right out of Ajayi's grip and cut him across the ribs with a quick darting motion. Ajayi' who was agile for his size, allowed the man to cut him as he rolled away from him. This carried the curve of the knife just across his ribs, leaving little more than a superficial gash. Someone struck Tawny with a shoe turned projectile, but Tawny managed to duck a second missile and a punch aimed by Ajayi. Then Tawny dropped down low in a sort of strange bow and tried to hamstring the Yoruban, but Ajayi came forward and half struck half lifted the man upwards with a knee to the man's shoulder. Tawny stumbled and almost slit Ajayi's throat as he came up. Then he countered by burying his curved weapon all the way to the handle through Ajayi's leg mid-thigh. Ajayi, who had made little sound at all since the fight began, howled and reached down and grabbed Tawny by the testicles so hard, that one of them was crushed under Ajayi's angry grip. The dark Yoruban cut off the man's instant screams by lifting him at the throat and groin and slamming him sideways into a starboard beam before letting him drop. Then Ajayi himself fell over as his leg gave out underneath him.

What followed was a crazed rush of shouting and kicking as men and women set in upon the fetal Tawny. Then everyone stopped almost as quickly as they had begun. They were all turning to look at a beautiful, but tragic looking Meg who stood half naked and bewildered at the end of the common space.

"I didn't see him." she said like a sleepwalker.

[Silkie McDonough]

Jim Warren was the first from above to the berth. As his foot found the deck at the bottom of the companionway step his piercing light green eyes met the blank stare of Megan Wardell while she released her words. Time stopped, those present were frozen in that moment.

A heartbeat later everyone moved to action. The nearest piece of canvas, a hammock, was cut from where it hung and tossed to Jim who quickly wrapped Miss Wardell. He turned to lead her up the stairs to the surgery. Those on the stair either jumped to the deck below or headed upward clearing the way. Meg did not move. Without warning her knees buckled beneath her Jim took on all her weight lifting her into his arms and carrying the lass up the stairs while another tar helped steady him from behind. She did not cry, her head did not bob or fall onto the sailors shoulder, she was void of all emotion all signs of life save for her breathing and heart beat drained from her.

The crew that moments before were involved in a frenzied attack on the interloper now refocused their energy and anger. Tawney's hands and feet were bound together behind him with little effort. They left him as he lay there, beaten and bruised, his breeches open, blood dripping from his mouth.

Ajayi removed the blade from his thigh and warm crimson quickly began to soak his slops. Patrick tore the scarf from his head and tied it tight around the thick thigh of the dark man. Then he and another tar struggled to lift the big man to his feet. Supporting much of Ajayi's weight they made their way to the companionway as with some difficulty.

[William Brand]

July 26, 1704 - Aboard the 'Dog

William was roused from his hammock even as he had climbed into it. The news of treachery aboard sent him out dressed in slops and shirt, where he found men bearing Ajayi into the surgery. He also found Meg Wardell there. A small crowd gathered around the surgery door forward and William was soon surrounded by many a curious face as Owen and Paul Mooney made their report of the incident. William did not interrupt and after a time he stepped into the surgery, closing the door behind him.

Tempest was already employed in the care of Meg Wardell, examining her for any wounds less obvious then her bloodied scalp. When she was satisfied that all of the young woman's extremities were intact, she set to the task of bandaging the damaged Yoruban.

William remained in the surgery for a full hour while Tempest worked. He did what he could to help when help was required of him and he did what was needed to stay out of the way when he was not required. He sent for drink and food for the patients and the good Doctor.

Meg Wardell was finally lulled into a comfortable silence of warm blankets and the semi privacy of the surgery by Chanault. He wrapped her as one would a young girl awoken by bad dreams, tucking her into a cot along the ward wall. She made no noise and would take no food, but she drank a flagon dry when it came, curling up again afterward, childlike.

Ajayi proved to be as quiet as Meg, but on other terms. He sat straight up on the table as he was want to, for he had a stature born as much from bearing as height and even the injury would not bend him. He made no utterance at all except to hiss once through set teeth when the Doctor began the stitching. Apart from this, his demeanor seemed more curious than concerned, for he watched Tempest ply and gather his punctured flesh the whole time she sewed.

Tempest, like her patients, was quiet in her work. She took in every sound made and every silence, careful to work with speed, for while Ajayi's wound was clean it was also severe. The knife had passed across the bone of his leg high up on the thigh. The injury passed clear through the front of the leg, but the muscles of the leg had not been parted, an she was sure that the leg would heal given time, for Ajayi was a strong man and he showed signs of previous and grievous harms.

"Our man has tangled with a dog..." she noted aloud, and William looked where the Doctor looked. At first, William thought she meant the stranger aboard ship, for the man had bitten Ajayi's left hand, but while it was bloodied by Tawny's teeth, there were signs of a previous scar or two, though they were faded by the years.

"I must go and see the prisoner." William said, excusing himself from the room.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As Mister Flint ended the drilling of the marines, Patrick O’Hara called down from his perch as lookout.

“Capin, looks ta be some kind o’ trouble on the Watch Dog!”

Dorian looked at the man in the rigging for a moment as he extended his own glass. He sighted in on the Frigate and focused the lenses. There was some commotion on deck, but what it was he was not sure. The crew were not running to the arms lockers, nor were they preparing the great guns, but there was a buzz of agitation like someone had poked at a hornets nest. His gut twinged slightly, telling him that there was definitely trouble yet the source of it remained hidden.

“Mister Brisbane, alter course ta bring us closer ta th’ ‘Dog…”

“Aye-Aye.”

Dorian never took his eye from the glass. He was intent on discovering what was amiss on the mother ship. As course was altered, he moved to keep the frigate in his sights. At one point he lowered the glass to cross the holy ground and noticed the four marines stood at the break of the deck standing in formation. When he stopped and looked at them Mister Flint knuckled his brow and straightened further.

“Captain, Sir. Do you wish us to prepare for battle?”

Lasseter’s right eyebrow lifted.

“Battle? Nay… Somat’s amiss on th’ ‘Dog, but not so as ta warrant action from us… least ways not yet… But ye may take up positions on deck, just fer th’ sake of preparedness…”

Mister Flint knuckled his brow again and turned to the three others and they took up positions about the deck. Dorian looked at the rest of the crew, all of them had turned out when it was heard there was trouble. All of them stood watching the frigate in their wake.

“A’right Lads… To yer duties! No need fer lollygaggin’…

[Pew]

Tawny was led topside with his arms lashed behind him. His feet were bound as well, but loose enough where he was able to kick off the straps and wallop the two men carrying him. With a loud thud, he hit the deck and lifted his head only to be staring down the barrels of two pistols I had cocked at aimed at his head.

"Welcome to the Watch Dog," I said abruptly.

Paul Mooney caught the man unaware and leveled a square stomp to the back of Tawny's neck and sent him crashing again to the deck. Tightly winding the heavy cordage around his legs, the man slumped and spit up blood, knowing not to try and buck once again.

"Yer Captain," the man spat.

"In due time sah." I replied slowly. Two muskets from the marines on deck were now also leveled at the man's head. "In due time...."

[Black Syren]

She watched as the would be rapist if he had not done the foul deed was soon tied up and could see no more with all about him. Her gaze then lifted to the horizon to see the Heron angling closer. She kept her own gun at the ready just in case it was needed.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter had the deck of the Watch Dog under scrutiny of his spyglass as the Heron closed the distance. Mister O’Hara up in the rigging was doing the same. Both watched as a man bound in line was carried onto the main deck, he managed to loosen some of his bindings and kick some of the men and received a sound thrashing for it. Mister O’Hara nearly fell out of the rigging as he caught a good look at the man.

“Tawny! It’s Tawny, tha’ bloody bastard!”

Many of the men on deck looked at each other and back up at the lookout, hoping more information would follow.

“Oh they beat ‘im good…serves ‘im right it does!”

Dorian caught sight of the man identified as Tawny as he doubled over and retched on the deck. He heard some of the men talking of the man and interjected a question.

“Who is this Tawny? I don’t recognize th’ name… Don’t remember ‘im signin’ on…”

Robert Jameson spoke up.

“Aye Capin, Tawny didn’t sign on, th’ rat bastard…”

Dorian nodded. Jameson continued.

“He were on th’ Heron fer a time, but he’s a damned troublemaker, an’ a slacker… used ta sleep on duty in th’ bread room, I caught ‘im once an’ he twisted it ‘round, got me in trouble wi’ the capin, had me on report. When ‘e was found out later, along wi’ other things ‘e did, capin ‘ad ‘im sent o’er ta th’ Maastricht…”

“Ah hmmm… very interestin’… He didn’t sign on on th’ ‘Dog… ‘ow in blazes did he get aboard? Lest he escaped from th’ Maastricht… Can th’ bugger swim?”

Captain Lasseter directed the question to Mister Jameson.

“Aye, I do believe ‘e can a little… not a good swimmer, but I s’pose ‘e might a been able ta swim a cables length…”

“Aye… O’Hara! Does th’ situation look ta be well in hand?”

“Aye! He’s under cover o’ pistol n’ musket! He ain’t so dumb as ta try n’ fight now!”

“Very well… Nigel, resume previous course… A’right men! As you were! We’ll find out wot happen’d when we reach port…”

[Silkie McDonough]

Tawny lay on the deck, curled on his side, his head tucked into his arms for protection. Blood dried in the corner of his mouth, on his skull behind his ear, around his wrists and ankles and matted in his hair. Bruising beginning to show on the exposed areas of his beaten hide. Each time he struggled to escape his efforts were met with not only resistance of his bindings but the force of a sailor’s foot, fist, knee, elbow or belaying pin.

The crew, Paul Mooney in particular, did not take kindly to one of their own being accosted let alone one of the women being molested. His mood had been dark since the loss of his mate Lawrence Dinwiddie only three days past, Tawny’s attack on Meg had blackened it. Although off duty, Paul insisted on standing guard. His pistol remained in his belt. He chose rather to use brute force to keep the prisoner in check. Several of the crew wondered at Paul's cruel treatment of Megs assailant. Not because they thought excessive but that it was Mooney exhibiting the brutality. Paul was thought of as a gentle soul compared to many on board. This display of violence was unlike him. There was more on Paul's mind than the malefactor laying before him.

The past hour laying on the deck, in Paul's care, under the hot sun had finally drained Tawny enough that he was at last still. More than one crew member stopped and stared to be sure that the man was breathing.

[William Brand]

Tawny stirred a little and remained in such pain that a constant din of groans came up from him. It was all anyone could do not to silence him, but to kick the man only inspired more of the cacophony and so the beating had all but ceased by the time William came out from the surgery.

"Who is this creature?" William asked, with no more interest than a pedestrian interest and no one replied for a moment, for some guessed that William's question might be rhetorical. Even Paul, who knew his name could not bring himself to it, knowing himself to be too angry to control any answer that he might make. William looked at Owen, knowing he had never been one to keep blame from those who were due such assignment.

"He calls himself...Tawny." Owen said, his tone derisive. "He throws the title 'bout like a clipped coin."

"Mercy..." Tawny managed, and William's face furrowed a little. He crouched down beside the man.

"Mercy...?" He returned, as if the word were utterly foreign to him.

"I...beg mercy."

"My mercy was extended some time ago. I do not remember you among that throng which was present to receive it." William explained in careful tone that belied something dangerous underneath.

"I...I am your prisoner, sah."

"Quite impossible." William said, shaking his head. "All of my prisoners are aboard the Maastricht. I brought none aboard but those who would serve."

A slow and wicked looking smile spread on Owen's face, for he understood almost at once where the Captain meant to go with these words. Owen understood the finer points of a taunt, and the Captain was warming up for a decidedly vicious one. Tawny did not like the look of Owen's smile, but he found the calm, almost pleasant regard of the Captain even less appealing.

"There are only volunteers aboard this boat, Mister...Tawny." William explained. "Article twelve...?" William asked aloud, turning to Miss Smith, who stood hard by. She too smiled and began to speak from memory that which she had memorized.

"Shall anyone at any time meet with a prudent Woman, that Man that offers to meddle with her, without her Consent, shall suffer what Punishment the Captain or Majority of the Company shall think fit."

"Aye...just so." William agreed.

Tawny's eyes widened a little in understanding. He called out in a harsh and desperate manner. "I give myself a prisoner!"

"I have taken all the prisoners that I mean to take." William said, shaking his head as he stood. "And as you are not a prisoner, and morever, since you insist that you are not a volunteer aboard this vessel, then I must conclude that you are a pirate."

"But...Tawny is..." the desperate man began, but William cut him off soundly.

"Gentlemen, we have a pirate aboard ship! What shall be done with him?"