The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

"No word yet from Mister Youngblood, though he may already be into his second rum and shore leave."

"Aye." Dorian agreed.

"Petee has a way with acquisitions." William said quietly, and then wondered in a way he had never wondered before, if the Master Gunner's acquisitions had always been proper, and more importantly, legal. He said none of this aloud. "We'll put him on the errand of brass sixes. How are your Dutch recruits?"

"Too little English among 'em."

"Aye." William agreed, but thought that Dorain's remarks probably touched on heritage and language both. "We've some seven tongues now..." The dog barked again. "...not counting that one. Do you have interpreters enough?"

Dorian shrugged and yawned a second time. "They'll catch on...or...catch a word er two from me."

William nodded as he finished off the last of his meal, long since cooled by the scant breeze coming in through the stern windows. It was of little relief, but relief just the same. It was barely enough to flutter the pages of the ledgers, but it was now more constant than before. William was enjoying the inactivity of sitting about, but he sighed after a time, recognizing a need to complete the large tasks which fell to him. He stood up all at once.

"I must go to the Maastricht and see if the work there is done enough for her auction."

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

As William stood quickly and proclaimed his intent. Dorian stood as well, but not so quickly.

“Aye… I’d vouch fer ‘r carpenter an’ mates that if it ain’t finished now, It will be by days end… An’ it’ll be fine work… better’n wot that dutchie deserves… “

He had a humorous twinkle in his eyes as he said this that was not lost on Captain Brand. They both chuckled as William took up his hat and made his way out of the Wardroom. Dorian bid him luck and went back to the table, gathered up the ledgers and placed them in their proper niches… He to would be heading off the Watch Dog, back to the Heron to which he was charged with. He pondered several things about the nimble craft, how that nimbleness might be improved, if it could be, to simpler things such as changing her name. She was not adorned with a figurehead, not even some nicely done paint on the bow. He had a mind to change that, both the name and the lack of a figurehead. His mind was working through all these things as he gathered up all he had come aboard with until a harsh bark was heard and a streak shot past him. Turning he saw Pandora up on the locker-seats at the stern of the wardroom, puffy-tailed with a look of anger on her face. More laughter from on deck was heard, along with a scolding from none other than Miss Tribiani. Argus would soon learn the ways of this ship if he planned on staying. Dorian made to soothe Pandora, but she was too agitated to accept his soft words and petting. She hopped down and turned tail to him, finding a way foreward and below around the new canine onboard. Dorian watched her go, then took up his own hat and headed above, hoping the Jollywatt from the Heron had returned from shifting the watches.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Between one and two bells of the Afternoon Watch

William walked among the laborers of the Maastricht for half an hour, content to say little. He stood from time to time, nodding, his hands behind his back. He was dressed in shirt, slops and hat, having left his coat and waistcoat on the 'Dog. He squinted up at the foremast, and though it was still diminished, it did not diminish the work being completed everywhere else.

"Master Carpenter!" he called out, and Rummy set aside her mallet and chisel. She brushed off the wood shavings in the folds of her rolled sleeves and met the Captain at the stem of the fluyt. "The work is as much as I had hoped for and more."

"Thank you, Captain." she said, familiar with this praise from the Captain, for he and Dorian had never kept back praise for her speed in accomplishing repairs.

"You've married old and new with your usual gift for resurrection." William said, running a hand over one of the forward rails.

"Perhaps the Captain is thinking of some other carpenter." she returned, with a smile that had always made her well liked aboard ship.

William looked at her and couldn't help smiling back. He nodded and leaned back on the rail and studied her face as he said, "You're considering a long shore leave."

Her pause was answer enough, but she still returned a solitary 'Aye'.

"You would always have work here, Rummy."

"And someone would always be tearing it apart again, Captain."

William said nothing to this. He just leaned there against the rail and waited to see what else she might say. She just smiled again and ran one hand over her work. Neither of them spoke for time, though each of them was thinking of arguments and counter arguments about the uncertain future. This silence lasted awhile before William stood up again and tapped the rail with his knuckles.

"Good, solid work, this."

Then he went over and down into the boat bound for shore.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Red Cat Jenny]

Feeling as though she'd been struck physically, Genevieve stood in the children's small bedroom and watched the coach recede down the lane and around the bend, finally obscured by the overhang of branches from hundred year old trees which lined it's far end.

She held in one hand a toy which she had retrieved from where it had been dropped, victim of interest in some other item of sudden importance to it's owner. As she caressed the well worn figure of a rabbit, she understood how it might feel were it able to. .

The house was quiet and felt coldly of death. The way life did when it was suddenly rearranged by the unanounced departure of a loved one. She replaced the toy upon the windowsill and headed towards the stables, suddenly needing to be away from this place which felt less and less like home everyday.

[Alder]

Spying back at the Watch Dog as the distance began to offer a panorama of her full breadth, Alder observed its newest member bounding across the deck. A wide grin parted his lips as he fondly recalled the gregarious nature of the large beasts that guarded the perimeter of the manor house. His expression paled; however, as memory served a similar canine exuberance for chewing. Alder was optimistic neither rail nor peg would be ill served by the sounding chamber of the creature. The still echoing beast; however, was not the objective in surveyed the deck.

He had been confident, his emotions stirred by the prospect of being in close confines as they had made their way through corridors to received gracious shares.. And yet, the paths of one Miss McDonough and Alder seemed to mysteriously deviate.

Still, he rubbed one of several coins in hand, his thumb riding over raised textures, pondering its fate. Welcome as the share was, Alder was unaccustomed to gratitude in any of its incarnations. Inexplicable as his turn of fortunes, something about his chapter of his continuance held uncompromising promise. Alder shifted his view toward the port and beamed with a knowing smile.

[Pew]

Wharf at Fort Royal

I unwrapped the note from the Captain and smiled. I watched as Pierre stood at attention and awaited his next order. Jean shrugged and smiled. Luc saw the boy standing tall and waved him to the cart. He laden the boy heavily with crates of Cognac and pointed to the longboat, now arriving at the dock.

The Captain's Steward approached, "Ahh yessss, Miss Smith." I said. Anger was in her tone, but not her words.

"Sir." She said tersly. "Reporting for duty, sir."

"We b'lieved you to b' on the 'Dog, Miss Smith. Last we saw o' you, Mister Flint an' yourself were t' b' on th' last longboat out last eve," I crossed my arms trying to match her demeanor.

"No sir, I was here in town trying to find you sir."

"Ah then, my deepest apologies. We spent th' evening 'n th' company of Jean's brother 'n th' hills. A gracious gift these barrels from him," I tapped the hogsheads of rum. I pulled a bottle from the crate of cognac stamped "Rhumerie de Labat". I offered the bottle to Tudor to which she faltly declined. I replaced the bottle. "We 'ave' a bit o' shuttlin' t' do t' the 'Dog an' th' Heron. Take yer time 'n town 's I'll 'ave th' boy come find you 'pon the longboat's return." Upset she was being dismissed, Tudor nodded ever so slightly and made her to the end of the wharf. Pierre looked at me and I touched my finger to my eye and pointed to Miss Smith. Pierre nodded and watched Tudor as she stood in the shade for a moment and disappeared into the crowd.

Eric came from around the wagon, "What's up her arse?"

"Sauced she didn't make 't t' th' mansion," I calmly replied. Jean and Eric laughed and shook their heads. Never to understand the behavior of a woman, they went back to unloading the carriages.

With the longboat tied off, the laborers made quick work of loading the barrels into the craft. Eric agreed to accompany the first round of hogsheads to the Watch Dog. I tugged his arm and pulled him close. "One o' those crates make it's way t' our cabin aye," I stated, not giving Eric an option.

"'s taken of mate." Eric winked.

The bow line was cast off and soon Patricia was making it's way slowly towards the Watch Dog.

[Alder]

Perhaps it is for the best, Adler sighed as he set off from the dock redirecting his thought to more productive exploits. He trekked toward the swelling epicenter in search of a native or well-versed guide to the dryer woodland of the island in search of a specimen. Scouring the flipping pages of his journal as he walked, he found the equally illusive entry for lignum. Alder had heard rumors of the density of this indigenous wood caused it to sink in water. Imagine! Such prized concentration would suitable replace the handle of his adze, mallet, chisels . . . the inventory of recipients grew as he drew closer to the inn.

Forever circumspect and reserved in exchange with the unfamiliar, Alder probed the innkeeper with little success but to redirect his path to the apothecary.

Arriving at the doorstep of the quaint shop, his attention was caught by the flattened carving of pestle and mortar that seemed to salute passersby with each gust. Try as he may, he struggled to make out it’s origin neath layers of thick decoration, coat over coat as shielding from the elements. Even the weathered fissure would not reveal its heart. His need to know unmet he grasped the sun warmed knob and pried swelled lumber from its frame. An angry, unsettled bell summoned the shopkeeper who was still grinding his morning meal as he rounded a counter.

“What ails ye, Son?” wheezed a grizzled soul who appeared more in need of medicinals than his patrons.

“The innkeeper spoke of the apothecary who may know of lignum or a guide that I may secure some timber.” Alder began “might you be that sage?”

The sot coughed out a laugh “Sage indeed, this mind is crisp as ever, though I fear my time is neigh. A bellowing cough punctuated the close. “There is timber to be had at some distance; my niece…” he added as a rather comely girl flew from hiding to gleam up at potentially liberating stranger.

The pharmacist disapproving of her brazenness; cleared his throat and continued, “… will set you on the path.” Alder, distracted by the collection of mortar sets shelved across the back wall, offered no reply.

“Daft man?” the keep queried at his rudeness, but the grip of the lass ultimately transformed his focus as he looked into her soft eyes and raised an astonished brow at her ethereal loveliness.

Perhaps his optimism with this day was not ill founded.

The lass seized a mortar; to the chagrin of her on looking liege, placing it in Alders palm as if to keep his free hand occupied and dragged him abruptly from the shop. He offered no resistance to the gentle assault, but went along as she led him down the center street toward the edge of town.

Over his shoulder he could just make out the familiar gait of Miss McDonough and the lad he defined by their laggardness in arrival as her beau. Alder reassessed his prize, adjusted his grasp replacing hers in dominance as his guide led him into the deepening shade of the overhanging arbor.

[Pew]

Eric approached the Watch Dog standing tall in the bow of the longboat.

"AHOY THERE!!" Eric yelled as he cupped his hands about his mouth. He could make out the distinctive scarf wrapped about the head of Claude Marchande. Claude squinted into the sunlight and shaded his eyes.

"Ahoy back," Claude smiled.

"Is the Cap'n aboard?" Eric asked. Claude pointed a finger towards the Maastricht, and Eric turned to see a small craft departing the vessel, aiming for shore.

"What you got there?" Claude asked.

"First o' many hogshead o' rum," Eric replied, now merely speaking to the marine who was leaning over the railing. Alan Woodington heard the familiar voice and walked to the rail.

"Already out o' your coin eh Eric?" Alan asked the Sergeant-at-arms.

Eric shook his head. "A mate o' ours we met ashore, has a brother who runs a distillery..." Eric continued the story and several of the other crew on deck came to the rail to hear of newly acquired rum stores. "Pew's ashore with the rest and two men that want to join the crew."

Mister Gage had walked onto the deck, just as the first barrel was being raised from the longboat. Eric's head popped above the rail, "Ah, Mister Gage, some hogsheads for your keeping. I trust they will find their way into your log."

"Thankee Mister Franklin, they will indeed. How many may I say are coming aboard to join us?"

A smile grew at the ends of Eric Franklin's mouth. "Several."

Claude looked at the ship's cook and began the chant of "HUZZAH'S" as the crates and barrels were lowered into the hold. The crew joined in, each one laughing and pointing at the endless supply of liquor making it's way onto the Watch Dog.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - On the Cul du Sace Royal

Two bells of Afternoon Watch

"What news, Mister Franklin?" William called out across the water as the boat passed near the Watch Dog on its way inland.

"Nothing o' the rat to report, Cap'n."

"And the barrels?" William continued, having expected no word of Tawny, and hoping none would ever be had of him again.

"Hogshead o' rum. Courtesy o' a friend."

"Friend indeed." William agreed as he leaned on the tiller and swung the small boat towards the frigate. "Can one suppose that you have sampled the quality."

"Aye, sah." Eric said with a wide smile. "I can personally vouch for it."

"Thank you, Mister Franklin. I should like you to man the quarterdeck in my absence, if you please."

"Sah...I had thought to rejoin Mister Pew ashore." Eric returned, knowing full well that the Captain's requests were seldom anything but orders.

"If you please, Mister Franklin." William repeated.

"Aye, Sah. I shall man the quarterdeck."

"Thank you Mister Franklin."

William called to Claude Marchande who stood at the rail with his musket. William ordered him to fetch clothing and coin for business in town which would occupy most of the day and evening. Claude appeared delighted at the prospect of doing his watch ashore and agreed post haste.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin had hoped to see the new carpenter when she arrived on the shore. She in fact had but he faded into the crowd so quickly that she had not been given time to catch his eye. She would most likely have done nothing had the opportunity presented itself. She sighed inwardly. Something about the man, other than his broad shoulders and chestnut hair, attracted Murin to him. She so wanted to speak to him, had wanted to do so since the day she had taken his report for Captain Brand, but she could not muster the courage to even look him in the eye without blushing.

Nathan followed Miss McDonough as she strolled to the inn stopping at a shop or two on the way. He was a comfortable sort whom when she first boarded the Watch Dog made her feel at home. His dark eyes were always shining and he seemed to genuinely care for her welfare. As she stepped from the small shop of the soap maker she spied the carpenter once again. A petite lass walked with him arm in arm. Murin’s heart sank, her step slowed and she fought to keep her jaw from dropping.

“Isn’t that the carpenter from the Heron?” Nathan inquired.

“Aye” Murin managed to say without too much expression in her voice.

“Wenge, Alder Wenge I believe. Mister Wenge!” Nathan called out waving his hand hoping to get the mans attention. “Tis a fine lass with him, ...but not the beauty of the lass in my company." Murin smiled at him ...then tapped Mister Bly in the upper arm with the back of her hand as he stepped forward into the street. Mister Wenge had indeed seen Nathan and waited with his companion as Nathan made his way through the crowd towards the older man.

“Have you spoken to him?” Murin inquired as she trotted to at Nathans heels.

“Nay lass, only what instruction given me by him when put to his service in the repairs on the ‘Dog. A hard woker, knowledgable and willing to teach those of us who are willing to learn.”

“Aye. He does fine work” Her eyes focused on Mister Wenge and the comely lass they were now approaching. The lass with him was nothing like Murin. She had a small frame and rather delicate in comparison to Murin’s more robust figure. Judging by the mortar and pistil in her free hand she was likely educated also. And she looked the part of a woman, unlike Murin dressed as a sailor. The tailor and the carpenter did not know each other at all yet he was in her thoughts often. How silly was she? To imagine that Mister Wenge could feel a reciprocal attraction to her. It was likely that the excitement she felt each time she saw or thought of the handsome man was one sided. She would appear but a child to such a mature and well educated gentleman.

"Mister Wenge." Nathan held his hand out to the older man as they approached. As the carpenter extended his hand "Nathan Bly, able sea man. This is Miss Murin (MEER-een) McDonough." Mister Wenge bowed his head as she offered a shallow curtsy in return. He then returned the introductions including the sprite that held his arm. Miss McDonough was surprised when she was so bold to interject her own name as introductions were made then curtsied blithely, full of energy and confidence. Mister Alder Wenge's voice once again filled her ears and Murin hung to on every word of his baritone timber. With that distraction her comparison of herself to the woman at his side ceased.

The conversation was brief. The only words spoken in the thick Irish dialect from the tailor were in response to the question of which inn she was spending the night at. "Tis det un." She pointed up the avenue to a blue and pale yellow sign that read "The Chateau Anse". The woman in the company of the carpenter nodded in approval saying that it was indeed a good choice. Nathan, to Murin's chagrin, regaled the others with the tale of the bed bugs from the previous place of lodging. Her blush was hidden from the others in her company as she bowed her head and looked away in embarrassment. Tentatively she managed to look to the carpenter through the curls that tumbled in front of her eyes, as she demurely tucked a stray curl behind her ear once again, he was smiling politely at Nathan but his eyes briefly met hers, in those gold and green hues she saw warmth.

"Well then," the beauty on Alder Wenge's arm interjected. "I have many things to attend to today. The first is to this gentleman's request, if you would kindly excuse us." Farewells were made and the two couples went their separate ways.

Murin's disappointment in seeing Alder Wenge with the woman ruined her mood. She did not let it show until she convinced Nathan to leave her at the inn. Miss McDonough ordered a bath as she was shown to her room. There on the bed were several packages tied with string, most likely from the milliner. Murin flopped down to sit on the mattress letting the sac she had been carrying fall at her side. Lifting the smallest package she tugged apathetically at the knot that held it closed. She had been excited about the prospect of being a woman once again. She was confidant in that role. She loved being on the Watch Dog but had yet to find her place. Yes, it helped that there were so many woman aboard, and the men there were much more understanding than most sailors, or at least held their tongues, but even with all the time she had spent aboard sailing vessels throughout her life she still felt most comfortable with herself as a woman. She had never been a sailor. She had been a woman and that was the role she knew. Independent but feminine. Was there really a place for a woman aboard a ship? Aboard the Dog. She began to wonder about the other women from the crew and what experiences they had to bring them there. The knot on the package came undone and she held in her hand a very neatly folded linen chemise. A smile came to her just as a knock at the door drew her back into the present. The bath would be ready presently.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - On the Cul du Sac Royal

Between two and three bells of the Afteroon Watch

William made his way to shore, rowed there by two of the Dutch recruits and in the company of Claude Marchande. They passed a merchant ship of Spanish origin, just securing herself from an Atlantic crossing. She was a proud ship of significant girth, resting heavy on the water with trade goods from the African coast. She sported an unusual number of guns for a merchant, but given the current mood of Europe and the colonies of late, it was not altogether surprising.

As they passed the merchant vessel they noted a smaller vessel, much like a sloop, but not much bigger than the Heron, which lay at anchor off the merchant's Larboard bow. She showed signs of conflict and almost as much damage as the Watch Dog had shown just a few days ago. She was painted in an unusual combination of black and various shades of orange. Her stern was utterly demolished to the beams, giving her an unfinished look. One mast was mended in two places and she showed signs of a recent fire. There was also a ghostly quiet about the second vessel which implied much loss.

William exhaled in a breathy whistle and shook his head as they passed. Claude uttered a solitary, 'Merde'. The Dutchmen made a few remarks together in their native tongue and William only caught the words tired, luck and hell.

A man, most likely the Captain, stood near the catheads of the sloop-like ship and William inclined his head a little as they passed. The man returned the gesture with an expression that belied a preoccupation with darker thoughts.

Still the small boat continued and they reached the docks during the busy afternoon hours of the day. The place was teeming with life. Bales, barrels and human cargo were coming and going from small boats. There, moving among the working mob, stood Mister Pew and his small band.

"What news, Mister Pew?" William called out over the din.

The Master-at-arms gestured to the many barrels lined up to go to sea. "Gifts from a friend, Sah!"

"Aye, Mister Pew!" William agreed again. "Now you must befriend a ship builder!"

Preston smiled at this and nodded. "Straight away, Sah!"

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Pew]

The hogsheads and crates were now neatly stacked on the pier and Pierre took a seat on one of them. I gave the drivers each a small payment for their morning's trip. The drivers waved briefly and turned the wagons around and made their way back into town.

"PIERRE!!" bellowed the voice from inside the Harbormaster's office. "PIERRE!!" The boy looked at me and then to Jean and shook his head "no." The harbormaster swiftly made his way to where we stood on the docks. Luc stood, and crossed his arms. The boy hid behind Luc and the barrels to where he was nearly invisible. The man was irate and yelling for the boy. Jean went to him and asked if he could help search for the lost child. The man shook his head and looked up and down the docks. Finally he threw his hands in the air and marched back into his office.

Jean returned to us. "Pierre eez about due for zee whip, zo zayz heez mazter."

I leaned to the boy now peering out from behind Luc's slops. "Been a bad boy eh?" I mocked the harbormaster pointing a finger in his face. The boy stood sheepishly and put his hands behind his back. Luc looked at me, as did Jean. The boy was silent and I put my hand out to his. He return the exchange and his tattered sleeve pulled higher on his arm. My eyes widened at the sight of the boys arms. Several deep scars and cuts freshly healed were visable. Jean knelt and asked the boy if they were from the man who came looking for him. He nodded slowly. Pierre slowly began to tell Jean that he was sold to the man when his father never returned from the sea. I picked the boy up and put him on a barrel. He continued to tell Jean that his mother took ill and died last year. His Aunt was forced to sell him to pay for her sister's medicines and boarding when she was alive.

"How d'ya know all this?" I asked. Jean translated for the boy. The boy spoke nearly in complete French. Jean explained that that was the story the Harbormaster told Pierre. He took it as the truth and never looked for his parents.

I heard a familiar voice bellow over the noise at the docks.

"What news, Mister Pew?" William called out over the din.

I gestured to the many barrels lined up to go to sea. "Gifts from a friend, Sah!"

"Aye, Mister Pew!" The Captain agreed again. "Now you must befriend a ship builder!"

"Straight away, Sah!"

[William Brand]

"Rewarding me gunnery crews I see." Petee Youngblood said as he swaggered up to the docks and gestured to the barrels with a nod as he tried to light a pipe that was being stubborn. He wore his usual pale blue coat and black hat and looked as thin as he ever had among the many broad chested dockworkers about the beachhead. Preston made a dismissive sound at this and Petee smiled, all teeth. "Ya cried to have me gone...didn't ya?" Petee continued, batting his eyes at the Master-at-Arms. It was obvious by the way that he leaned, that the Master Gunner was already into his courses and well on his way to a good hangover by the morrow.

William and the men of the small boat were just bumping up against the docks.

[Pew]

Luc took offense to the surly man who staggered up to the party in waiting. He stood nearly a full head and shoulders taller than Petee. I had smiled, not having seen our Master gunner in a day or two, but Luc did not see the humor in his dispositon.

"Whaz zat say you?" Luc stated rather than questioned. Mister Youngblood swayed a bit, but held his ground.

"Ya cried to have me gone...didn't ya?" Petee repeated.

Luc stepped to the Gunner and was about to poke him in the chest with his two sausage-esqe fingers when I introduced them.

"Mister Petee Youngblood, Master Gunner of the Watch Dog, meet Mister Luc Otkupschikov. Luc 'll be joinin' th' crew aboard th' Dog presently." Luc immediately backed down and Petee stuck out his hand.

"Good ta meetcha Mister Otkoppingchickenoff," said Petee. Luc took no offense to the butchering of his name and Jean and I could do little more than laugh. Even little Pierre smiled at Mister Youngblood's attempt.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian stood on the deck of the frigate and watched the ships boats come and go, delivering crew to and from shore. He spied the Heron’s Jollywatt headed shoreward, so instead he found his way into one of the boats of the Watchdog and had the men at the sweeps make a detour, dropping him at his ship. Once aboard he set to work, making his way to the wardroom and putting the ledgers back in their proper niches. He found that Miss Moore must have been in and removed his plate from earlier, for it was nowhere to be found. He nodded in approval, hoping it was a marked improvement that would flourish. Settling into his chair he gazed out the open stern windows, and just felt the hint of a breeze flutter by. He let his mind wander a bit, thinking on what had been discussed with William. New brass six pounders for the cutter… some new swivels would be good too… My, things were looking up for the craft now at his command, but the addition of the cutter had put a strain on the chain of command. He needed a quartermaster for the Heron, and William needed a quartermaster for the Watch Dog, since he was now captain of the Heron, not to mention other officers down the line that would be needed. He thought about who he would like as his officers, and who would serve best as new officers aboard the ‘Dog as well… decisions to be made together, he and Captain Brand. With a shrug he stood and headed on deck. Nigel stood on the quarter, looking refreshed, yet he had a somber quality to him, probably due to the fact he had recently returned from shoreleave.

“Mister Brisbane… I take it yer time ashore was… fruitful?”

“Aye Cap’n, it were… All’s well aboard th’ Heron… how is it with you, sah?”

“I’m well enough, Nigel… I’ll be headed ashore yet again… most likely will spent the night there, I’m hopin’ ta find somethin’ grand fer this fine ship… can ye keep somthin’ under yer hat, lad?”

Nigel cocked an eyebrow at captain Lasseter, as if he didn’t believe the man had needed to ask such a thing. Dorian took off his hat and shielded the side of his face with it, as if doing so would allow even more privacy to their conversation.

“We have enough coin ta spread about ta outfit this ‘ere ship wi’ bigger great guns… And that I shall do if they are ta be had…”

Nigel’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. Dorian held up a finger to his own lips and the Coxswain clamped a hand over his own. Dorian smiled and lowered his finger, then took up his hat and placed it on his head. A small chop in the breeze fluttered his shirt front and kerchief, disturbing a piece of parchment tucked inside. He slapped a hand on his chest and smiled at Nigel.

“Keep it under yer hat, lad… have th’ jollywatt come about an’ be ready ta take me ashore… “

“Aye, Cap’n!”

Dorian headed back into the wardroom and gathered some things, his waistcoat and new coat, a fresh shirt, stockings and slops which he put into his bag, along with other sundry items. His pistol was inspected and hung on his belt as was his cutlass. All appeared in order. He headed above and gave Nigel final orders, some final repairs needed, some clean up work, and to make the guns and swivels ready for inspection upon his return. A grin and a snappy salute was given in return. He proceeded to the side and there was the jollywatt. Crewed and waiting. In short order he was on his way to shore.

[William Brand]

"Weigh that..." Petee said all at once, tossing a heavy laden purse to Mister Pew without warning. Preston, possessed of enough reflexes to catch it on the fly, was still surprised by the weight of it. It made a satisfying jingling as he caught it.

"What's this then?"

"Coin ov'r cliche." he said straightening and puffing furiously to get his pipe going again. The word cliche came out with particular emphasis and slur, sounding more like clee-sssshay. Preston undid the leather drawstrings to the bag which revealed a large cache of mixed coin, all gold or silver. "Worth the'r weight in gold, lad. Aye." Petee said again, his smile as broad as Preston had ever seen it. A circle of blue-white smoke encircled his head.

William walked up upon this scene and Mister Pew snapped off a smart salute, as did Mister Youngblood, though it cost him a little balance. The Master Gunner seemed to be keeping his sealegs ashore. "Captain!" he said, overly loud.

"Mister Youngblood. How does your business go ashore?"

"Bus'ness is good, Cap'n." he said, swiping the bag back again from Preston with surprising agility. Even William seemed surprised, and wondered if the man was more jovial than drunk as he dropped the heavy bag into the Captain's waiting hands.

"All...sold...Mister Youngblood?" William asked, a touch surprised.

"Aye, Cap'n...and with two brass sixes into th' bargain." he said with a smile so wide it threatened to shut his eyes. "Trade off a merchantmen." he added.

"We made no mention of sixes..." William said, narrowing his eyes, but smiling.

"She's too purty for iron, sah." he returned, and William wasn't certain if he meant the 'Dog or the Heron. Still, William forgave him any drink that preceded his shore leave.

[Pew]

Seeing the bag of coin, reminded me of the small pouch I still had from the selling of the damaged and broken small arms. Fumbling through my satchel, I found the crimson bag.

"My take 's well, sah, from the small arms." I dropped the bag into the still open hands of the Captain Brand. "Brass cannon, Bag o' coins, an' free rum, we sound like bloody pirates," I laughed, yet ever careful of who's listening.

Pierre heard the word "pirates" and he perked up. He stepped out from behind Luc and saluted Captain Brand.

"Excuse-moi, Capitaine, Flibustier Pierre St-Germain." Pierre stood ramrod straight and waited for a return salute.

[William Brand]

"Le plaisir est tout l'à moi...boucanier fier." William said, amused. He raised his hat a little off of his head and replaced it again. "Et...que le bateau...est à vous, monsieur?"

Pierre looked utterly delighted, but managed to keep a formality that most boys his age would have already lost. "Ils sont tout l'à moi pour la prise, capitaine." he said with such serious venom and brashness, that William almost choked when he laughed.

"Hire this boy and keep him far from my cabin."

Translation...

"The pleasure is all mine... proud buccaneer." William said, amused. He raised his hat a little off of his head and replaced it again. "And... which ship... is yours, sah?"

Pierre looked utterly delighted, but managed to keep a formality that most boys his age would have already lost. "They are all mine for the taking, Captain." he said with such serious venom and brashness, that William almost choked when he laughed.

"Hire this boy and keep him far from my cabin."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor hesitated, standing under the shade, fighting the urge to turn back in her anger. "I had no direct orders to go back to the ship, SIR," She grumbled to the air, not able to bring herself to go back and show such an attitude to her officer. Enough had been said. "So I remained." She said, in a whisper to herself. Taking a deep sigh she moved on, discreetly looking over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner, seeing Pew and Eric, laughing and shaking their heads, no doubt at her expense, making her even angrier.

She walked along the crowded lanes, watching the people, her thoughts stewing silently. As she walked she noticed the signs of the diffrent shops. She stopped in many, causing curious glances in each as she racked up large bills in each, paying for all without flinching at the gold she parted with out of her pocket, leaving directions for the miscellaneous packages of fabrics, leather goods and books to be sent onto the wharf to be taken on to the ship on the longboat with Pew's contraband.

After leaving the gunsmith's where she had some trivial damage to her pistols seen too and looking at some new peices, she sauntered back onto the lane, feeling slightly less tense. A sign of the shop a few caught her eye and she made a beeline for it with a slightly mischevious smile on her face. "well, as I am to 'take my time in town', I shall." She went into the tavern, up to the barman and laying a gold coin down on the counter with a glint in her eye. "What have you by way of wines from Maidera?"

[Red Cat Jenny]

Genevieve walked along the shop windows of Cul De Sac Royal where the usual dustiness of the sun mottled streets had been tamed by the recent rain. She remembered the rain in the colonies which came as it did in Europe, steady, gray and sometimes lasting all day or several. In Martinique, one became used to the tropical downpours which left as quickly as they came. Leaving things steamy amidst bright blue sunshine. She dabbed the perspiration from her brow with a delicate hankie and walked the last few steps to the inn, hoping Murin had returned as she said she might. Genevieve was met with thickly accented muttering as she turned the corner of the small neat hostel and found non other than the lass, holding skirts in both hands and seeming to study the ground just at her feet. "Murin?" Genevieve questioned. She was met with the same anxious expression the lass had worn when Jenny first met her in the ladies shop. Miss McDonough looked altogether different now, dressed in earthtoned petticoats and stays with a pink floral pattern which matched the blush of effort coloring the poor girls cheeks. Genevieve brought a hand to her mouth and her eyes sparked with a smile she tried to hide..realizing the able member of the Watch Dog's crew had an unforseen predicament. "Your shoes!" Genevieve laughed and was met with a look of frustration that melted into laughter as Murin holding petticoats in hand teetered about in unfamiliar footwear looking quite adorable, hands balancing out to the side and her brow furrowed neath freshly washed curls.

[Alder]

Alder turned to the distant call of his surname and raised a brow as Miss McDonough appeared to strike the arm of her self-chosen companion. Curious, what manner of behavior or speech might have provoked such a response? Perhaps, he considered, she did not wish to attract the carpenters company to their soiree.

Fleet of foot, the lad approached with his partner in tow; Alder struggled to recall his name. . . Bly, he sighed to himself, of course Bly. Curse the social convention that would beg recognition of names from man who could call each tree by two, though was vexed to unearth the one for each face.

He found himself once again confronted by the duality of their presence, not wishing to engage the lad, though very much wanting to know the lass better.

"Mister Wenge." Nathan held his hand out to the older man as they approached. As the carpenter extended his hand "Nathan Bly, able sea man. This is Miss Murin McDonough."

Although bowing politely, Alder never released his communion with her eyes, awaited the lyrical melody of the voice that accompanied such a fascinating name. Prompted by a fierce nudge, Alder began an embarrassed introduction of the lass he had all but forgotten, even as she stood uncomfortably close beside him. As she leapt over his formalities Alder instead returned his attention to the favored young woman before him. He absorbed the vision that was Murin taking no notice of the deepening furrow of Master Bly’s disapproval at Alder’s consuming glances.

She spoke . . . words tripped over themselves in the most charming accent he felt he had ever heard. There was wisdom in her young voice that belied the common verse, a delightful feminine ardor cloaked by wrinkled slops. Still, no avatar could long mask the transformation that took place between his eye and his heart. Aye, he listened intently, she would be staying at the Chateau. . . his mind began to dance with the diversion that sensibility bade not lay waste his plans. How best then to complete his quest, dislodge this stray and make his way back to the inn. Preparations grew with his ire as the whelp possessively alluded to an intimacy that Alder had shared with none since becoming outward bound. He felt a twinge in Murin’s expression and he wanted desperately to clarify, but was unable twice over in this mixed company. Although Bly was arguable closer to her age, his challenger lacked an appreciation for qualities Alder prized, and what had he to offer her, what sort of life might he provide. . . He bit his tongue at his ramblings, pride, envy, greed, three in mere seconds! He hardly knew the girl and knew even less of her interest in the likes of a carpenter nearly a decade her senior. Try as he might he had not been able to dampen his appetite for her acquaintance and this proximity only roused his hunger.

“Time, my dear. . . in due time,” he shouted thoughts to her from within his head and with his eyes, anxious that such locus might transcend space and make its presence known to her.

With the tug of his pretentious charge, he was set on a new path with urgent need to refocus his intent. Alder glanced only once over his shoulder and smiled as cascading locks, lifted by the breeze, faded into the distance. Had he seen the hand of Bly as it found Murin’s, his path might have taken an abbreviated course.

[Pew]

"Hire this boy and keep him far from my cabin."

"Aye Cap'n," I laughed. "Didn't think 'e was gonna let 's leave 'm b'hind anyways. 'e'd prolly take 's prisoner 'board th' longboat an' 'old 's fer ransom."

The young boy cracked a smile and showed a missing tooth. Jean removed his sailor's jacket and let the child try it on. Pierre continued to stand tall and as proud as he has ever been.

"A new crewman aye?" called the familiar voice of Captain Lasseter.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian walked up the Wharf and spied William and Mister PEW among others of the crew. Among them was a ragged boy, wearing an oversized sailors jacket. He smiled and called out to those standing there.

"A new crewman aye?"

All eyes turned to him as he walked up, even that of the whelp.

“Who drummed up this lad?”

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - The St. Louis Docks

Between three and four bells of the Afteroon Watch

“Who drummed up this lad?”

"The Devil." William said, with a raised eyebrow. "We'll put him on the Heron."

There were mixed comments on this subject, ranging from Pierre's youth to the danger in taking on buccaneers as crewmen. The discussion continued until Pierre looked utterly faint with excitement. The lad was so overtaken by the real possibility of being hired on as a crew member to a privateer, that his resolve to stand at attention threatened to give over to his shaking hands.

This conversation was eventually overlapped a little by the news of the cannon sales, which Mister Youngblood had returned to with the arrival of Captain Lasseter. Petee explained about the acquisition of the two brass sixes, as much to Dorian's surprise as it had been to William's surprise before. Dorian seemed delighted, and took the news with a brimming smile. One could almost see the calculations in his mind as he went over the weight and firepower of the new sixes, as well as the sale of the iron guns which the brass ones would be replacing.

William passed the heavy bag of coin to Mister Lasseter with a knowing smile. "Swivels and sixes."

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian hefted the bag of coins.

“Aye Cap’n… Swivels n’ Sixes… Master Youngblood… find me by tomorrow eve… I’ll ‘ave more work fer ye… Aye… fine work indeed… “

Petee gave a flourished salute to Dorian and smiled his quirky smile. Dorian turned his attention to the young lad named Pierre.

“Sooo… Pierre is it? A boucanier are ye?”

The lad replied with a confident ‘Oui’ to both questions, a harsh grin on his face, and a waggle to his head. Dorian nodded slowly.

“Well… if yer ta be on th’ Heron… gonna need sommat better ta wear… “

Dorian’s mood was such that he was feeling mighty generous. He pulled four unbroken pieces of eight out of his personal monies and held them in his hand, jingling them lightly. Looking at the assembled group he wondered aloud.

“This should be plenty ta rig th’ lad out in two sets o’ fine sailors trappin’s… “

The boy understood enough to know the coins were meant for him in some way and was almost vibrating in anticipation. He could not stand to be silent any longer and began speaking in such rapid French that not one of them understood a word. Dorian looked to William, PEW and the others, each wore the same expression. He began to laugh and put a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“Slow down, lad! In due time… in due time….”