The Watch Dog

[Silkie McDonough]

"It is this ship that I am finding monotonous again. I am aching to get off of and explore. I spent my last evening ashore in a pub. It was enjoyable fresh meat, rum a plenty, and the wenches ..." he stopped "Now I wish to walk and explore see what lies beyond the walls of an inn. Perhaps even explore the countryside. Aye, I am called to the sea but there is no denying I was born on land." Argus was now standing in front of Alan wagging his tail and happily accepting the affection of the man.

[Black Syren]

Shook her head and grinned slyly “Men, always to the pubs and wenches first. Although I did attend a pub for victuals and grog, but then did I explore. Twas very beautiful, the farther in you go the older the city and there is a lovely church. There are small shops all along the streets, some streets are newly cobbled and others the stones roll. There are so many types of flowers, and the scent of food from the nearby stalls. And the people are friendly, I slept at a small inn and twas clean and airy and the landlady very nice and knowledgeable. The stables are rather large, and there is a paddock in the back and they rent horses and carriages, the hills behind the stables beg to be explored, the wildflowers were so colorful. And then it rained and Jacques and I had to run through the rain…” She broke off suddenly and looked to her hands.. “You must think me quite silly.”

“Nay not at all, I found it very intresting and see that I have missed much by my patronage to the pub..and wenches.” He grinned wondering why she was not always so open, instead of closed off from the others. “Mayhaps our next shore leave you could show me around?’

“I do not know..We shall see.’ Snd like that her wall had risen yet again leaving her aloof and distant. “Come Argus. Good night Mr. Woodington.”

“Goodnight…Treasure.” He grinned as she stiffened and scratched his chin, the lass definitely a mystery. But then were not most women. He watched her till she reached the mast moved her hands and watched as Argus sat, let his gaze linger upon her as she climbed into the rigging then went back to coiling his rope and looking out into the night and the city beyond.

But Argus soon spied the large shadow that limped across the deck and his hackles rose though he stayed as bid. Upper lip curled back to show fangs as Ajayi neared and growled low with menace the sound carrying over the deck.

Hearing Argus she glanced back down and spotted Ajayi and moved back down again. "Hello, I hope you are feeling better." she said and knowing he probably could not understand her. But he had saved her from a fall so she placed her hand atop Argus's head and chided him before shooting a small shy smile at Ajayi.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

Briar and Maeve spoke in soft tones over a bottle of warmed mead. They spoke on matters of personal import, of secrets, fears, and dreams as they made plans for the near future. Preston stirred occasionally, drawing their attention away for a brief moment until he settled back down.

The emotions of the day, as well as the mead, eventually began to take its toll on the two women as lids grew heavier. Despite the circumstances, Maeve was, at the moment, truly content. She was only just now realizing how lonely she was in her home. Briar’s company filled a hole she had not truly realized was there, and her contentment grew as they talked and the night progressed. She had always looked forward to the times when she would work side by side with Briar on patients at the church. They worked in tandem, falling into an almost hypnotic routine as they made their way through those in need. Each one learned from the other, and where one had a weakness, the other filled in seamlessly with her strength and knowledge. As of late, they were some of the only truly happy moments she had had. They smiled at each other, and then they giggled for no good reason. The giggles eventually left them breathless. Maeve finally stood up, wiping streaks of laughter from her cheeks.

“Alright ma dear. ‘Tis time, I think, fer us ta be headin’ fer sleep.” She stretched and almost lost her balance as Briar stood, a bit unsteady herself. After another small fit of laughter, they ministered to Preston one last time before helping themselves somewhat comically upstairs. They fell into bed, still in their clothes of the day.

[William Brand]

July 31, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's House

William and the others outside Maeve's humble shop spent equal turns in conversation and silence, sometimes pacing and sometimes leaning about the various doorways and windows of the narrow street. William thinned the crowds by degrees, sending men and women on their way to various duties and beds. By the time Maeve and Briar were gone upstairs to sleep, only a handful of people remained outside on the street. William sent the last of them away, but for Claude, as he and the chosen shipmate slipped into the dim light of the shop.

William fetched a stool beside the bed of the sickly officer and sat awhile pondering the pitfalls of mortality and duty. He wondered that so many alterations should have come and gone as touching the office of Master-at-Arms. He himself had first held the office aboard ship when the Monsignor had started this enterprise. Mad Jack had been a thorough replacement for him, but had just as thoroughly departed the position. Now Preston lay on the fringe, just one more Master-at-Arms in a succession of puppets.

"The Caesars were less mortal." William said aloud.

"Pardon, sah...?" Claude said from the casement at the front of the shop where he had opened the windows to let in the night air.

"Nothing."

About this time, Captain Lasseter and Eric Franklin arrived and the three men sat about in congress, talking about the day's events and the morrow's expectations while Claude fell asleep under the casement.

Six bells of the Mid Watch

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe woke briefly, stirred by the scent of the candle's dying wick, as flame gave out into a pool of wax which was all that remained in the pewter sconce. She had fallen asleep in the chair nearest the window and the book still lay open in her lap. Jenny brought hands to her face and rubbed the sleep from her countenance. With a sigh she closed the tome and lay it at the bedside. The Inn had become still and voices which mingled with the clatter of dishes and faint music no longer filtered through the walls. She took in this silence as she quietly removed clothing down to her chemise in what little moonlight trickled through the shutters. As Jenny Ashcombe pulled the linens about her and sank back into the softness of the bed, a last thought of the evening was oddly of a cat she had rescued many years ago, who would always curl up against the small of her back. She smiled and relinquished to sleep.

[Alder]

A stealthy knocking penetrated the timbers of the well fashioned door to Murin’s room.

Still aroused by the specter of the two on the dance floor, Nathan raised his foot toward the barricade, but thought better of his actions and knocked again, somewhat louder.

Mister Bly offered his time with due appreciation that the lass may well be bound in dreams . . . or bound in the carpenter's arms. Again, his blood began to cycle warm with growing resentment. He raised a closed fist to the door, thought recalling the Captain’s hearty warning for temperance, rapped once more. Every nerve stood on edge in anticipation as Nathan overheard gently stirring and the creak of a loose floorboard as the party approached.

In her haste to cease the infernal knocking and not fully awakened from blissful dreams of dance, Murin clumsily unlatched her security, though opened the door only slightly. Blinking through still sleepy eyes, she beheld her visitor and opened the door slightly more having modestly gathered the robe to fully cover her chemise.

“Natan?” Murin cautiously looked down both lengths of hall but found them wanting. Thick candlelight flickered brightly from a sconce over Mister Bly’s shoulder offered little hint to his expression, thought she felt no undue concern. Murin did feel need for explanation, but this setting would not do. She stood across from him in the doorway. Unseemly as the time was, there was no good time for a lady to invite a gentleman into her chamber, and so they stood.

“Lass, wot ave I done?” Nathan continued “did ya not know, not see?” his voice plaintively rising in volume. Murin stepped in close beside him and lowered her voice to a whisper hoping that he may do the same and not cause alarm to those resting.

Upon the streets, a weary and somewhat disoriented Alder glancing heavenward to track the passage of constellations and in doing so appreciated fully the lateness of the hour, nay early hour. He would venture for news of Pew and have better vantage of the landscape in waiting the few hours till dawn to continue his quest.

Retracing well his dark path, Alder found himself closing in on the Inn. From a crest in the rutted street he calculated . . .up two over four, he recounted to himself the placement of the tailor’s room, reminding self of an intended vigil.

The faint light from but one of three rooms called to the streets below. He figured again, this time pointing to each window as he did, up two, over four. His memory could not be challenged, though his spirit most surely was. From the window he sought. the image of two souls became unmistakable in their movements. He had traced Murin’s silhouette at a distance often enough for it to be as familiar as his own. Aye, this was the room, and that was she. As for the shadow that moved closer, ever so closer, the height, and outline of hair and shirt lent it self to none other than Bly.

Alder cursed his own resolve in having left her side. So certain was he that her emotions matched his, that Alder had not even considered her affection for the lad she had know and accompanied earlier this day. He waited in the street, begging confirmation that all was not as it appeared. There was no loudness, no sudden motion to propel him to flight on her behalf, only closeness . . .faces drawn close enough to bath in the scent of her. Alder struggled to banish the sense along with the view.

With no cause to defend and no need to protect, Alder turned the corner to find respite until the coming of dawn. At such time he would more fully resume his role as carpenter and be of what service he could to those attending Mr. Pew.

[Silkie McDonough]

Feeling a bit groggie although she had little to drink that evening Murin scurried to the door fearing the worse. Perhaps Mister Pew was ...she would not allow herself to think such a thing. She opened the door and upon seeing Nathan emotions flared, anger, guilt, fear, and empathy blazed and subsided again all in the same moments. Even after he did not utter the words about Mister Pew that she feared hearing her heart did not calm it's pounding in her chest. "Shhhhh!" She chided him. "Ya'ave dun nottin wrong." She looked apprehensively up the hall. "N'nil, I di'naw see," she whispered in harsh tones, "Twas Poul wot ad t'tell mae just this night after ya'left!" Nathans mouth opened to speak but her sort fingers quickly pressed against his lips to quiet him. "I needs t'apologize fer my bein tick skulled an I'ad every intention uv doin so soon as I seen ya" her tone was hushed and resolved "buot dis is nil d'time nor d'place!"

Suddenly Nathan was sobered. "I ..I'm sorry lass. I couldn't stop thinking of you and that ...that..." He stopped, he didn't want to hurt the woman, he adored her. "I should go." As he turned to leave and she caught his arm, "Natan, yev been notin buot god t'mae. I di'in know, please forgive mae?" she paused only a moment, she saw in his eyes that she was forgiven. "Promise mae we'll talk in d'mornin afore we go back t'd'Dog?" He longed to caress her cheek to tell her everything he had been feeling that night. Everything he had been feeling for the past few weeks but he knew she was right, knew that this was not the place to talk and knew that he would not compromise the ladies reputation by entering her room for the conversation even if she were to invite him. "I promise. When and where?" Murin thought for a moment. "At ten, at d'market. D end closest ere." "I promise." He said nothing more and walked away. Murin watched as he decended the stairs and when he was no longer in sight seh turned, latched the door and wiped her cheek before she laid back in the bed.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Brand, Lasseter and Mister Franklin talked into the wee hours while Claude Marchande snored lightly. Mister PEW occasionally stirred, which caused many a break in the conversation. When he settled, after a moment longer they would return to their talking, just to keep their minds off what may be. So much had transpired since they made port that it was hard to believe how short a time they had actually been here. Dorian eventually spoke of the averted incident in the tavern with the Tailor, Carpenter, and Mr. Bly. William looked thoughtful for a time, nodded once and filed the information in his head for future reference. It was discovered that neither captain had been to their ships in some time, and both wondered aloud how thing fared aboard each vessel. Neither were worried however, knowing that those left in charge would continue to follow the last orders given.

[William Brand]

July 31, 1704 - In the jungles of Martinique

Nearly eight bells of the Mid Watch

It was a warm night in the jungles of Martinique. Warm and alive. The jungle teemed with life of all varieties. Insects, snakes, lizards and wild birds all moving about in the half light of a creeping and purple pre-dawn. Everywhere there was life. Colorful. Beautiful. Natural.

Among all of these natural wonders of the jungle danced God's least natural creation, born the only son of Cormac and Aingeal Tenille.

Had anyone come upon this reedy and ghastly performer, what a sight they would have discovered. The fishmonger's son danced among the dark leaves of Martinique, naked but for a shoes and stockings. His two tone flesh, half sunburnt tan and half codfish, belied a long life in the sun, though he seemed to be more in his element lately. His face was a bruise of blisters and one ear was badly abused, though he smiled with the wide abandon of the lunatic. He limped a little, for reasons unapparent, and one hand was stained with veins that spoke of an infection. His hair, above and below was matted from the days unwashed and he was missing a fingernail, which made even his good hand look malformed.

Tawny paused in his dancing to pop a blister on his face with the care of one performing the act on stage, and indeed he was, for a little girl watched from her bonds near a palm tree. She stared in horrid fascination at this half burned, half bleached creature which kept her captive in the darks recesses of the island.

She wanted to scream. She had never in her life wanted to scream quite so much. The desire was so strong that it continually crept up in her throat like a bile of noise trying to usher forth from her. She could taste the terror in the back of her throat with every passing moment. It was a fountain of pure and utter horror that she continuously swallowed again and again and again.

Tawny had left her there tied to the tree most of the day and night, all the while speaking to himself and her in a kind of mad soliloquy. When he had gone earlier in the day, she had prayed for destruction, happy to die rather than see that scarred and oozing face once more, but Tawny had returned.

He smiled at her as the newest blister ran down his face and neck. The burns inflicted upon him by the ship's mess mate had destroyed a good part of the already awful features of his face. He had lost part of an eyelid to the searing solution and had very nearly lost the eye itself. One nostril was enflamed to twice the normal size it should have been and his ear, cut nearly in half by Robert Thatcher, was entirely the wrong color.

"Stop yer starin', gerl. Tawny's not so easily flattered by attentions..." he cooed. "Tawny's without a comb and mirror, he is...but this here ear...ohhhhh." he shook his head. "Tawny's looks 'ill be wasted."

Tawny made a 'tsk tsk' sound and shook his head again.

The little just girl stared at him. He was naked, and this alone might have scared a girl of her years, but she had seen her share of the human form in all the many forms of it, raised a slave as she was. It wasn't his nudity, but his proximity, and that dripping face that frightened her. The damage done by Constance had also robbed Tawny of his mouth on one side, for the lips were gone at the corner there, replaced by bad teeth, puss, drool and not a little blood.

'It's the face of death and madness', she thought, though she thought this in her own tongue and with words more terrifying.

"Tawny best fix this ear...eh gerl? Fix it fer good...aye. Fer good." He tittered and drew out a wicked looking instrument. Then, before she could grasp what he was about, he shaved off his own ear in one quick flick. Then he screamed and she joined him in screaming, letting loose the terror she had tried so hard to keep until the last.

Christopher Daniels would have understood.

[Red Cat Jenny]

As Jenny Ashcombe slept her unconcious mind filled with images of a ship. She felt again the worn wood of the deck against bare feet. It was warmed by the sun and smoothed by the salt and a good scrubbing. She knew this home as a young girl sailing with her family on the frigate Hester bound for the colonies. The smell of pitch and salt air and the ruddy face of a young boy named Johnathan Burton floated to the surface of her conciousness again. He had taken to looking after her and told her stories which never left her mind, of sailing and adventure in far away corners of the world.

[William Brand]

July 31, 1704 - The Chateau Anse

Eight bells of the Mid Watch

Miss Ashcombe's temporary lodging was as still and quiet as the rest of the inn, but for the fiddling of a key in the lock of the door. This small, but persistent sound continued as she slept, gradually altering from persistence to aggravation, for the person attempting to gain entrance to the room seemed undaunted by the fact that the lock and its tumblers were not giving over to the turn of this particular key. Jenny stirred more than once, due to this small disturbance, but only enough to escape those dreams she was privy to, not enough to wake. And still, the key rattled in the lock.

After a time, the interloper at the door began to press upon the door with some earnestness, hoping to do by force what the lock would not allow by finese. The door shuddered ever so slightly as the insistent individual threw a shoulder against it.

Jenny woke up in the dark, and for a moment she could register nothing amiss, but for being awake. The person at the door had halted the attempt to gain access, but only long enough to find better purchase. The pause between the first assault on the door and the second one was just long enough for Jenny to turn again from the door when it burst upon its framework.

Miss Ashcombe was as suddenly awake as she had been asleep, for looming in the door was a very befuddled looking man armed with a bottle, half drained, and an abused key, standing in the low light of a lantern set upon the floor of the hallway.

"Qui ou qu'êtes-vous ?"

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jarred awake by the sudden crashing of the door upon ints frame, Jenny struggled in the dark to bridge the gap from the images recently occupying her mind, to the present confusion which wore the distinct odor of rum and the need to bathe. She grasped the covers still about her upright form with one hand and felt about desperately with the other. Searching for anything with which to defend herself against the figure now coming into focus in the dim smoky flame flickering from the hall.

He spoke..but in her fright and the confusion of unfamiliar surroundings she could not find her voice..

[William Brand]

The man stepped into the room almost at once, leaving the lantern where he had set it outside of the room. This left him even less illuminated than he had been in the hallway. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, and he listed as if unsteadied by drink. He was heavily dressed, wearing many inner and outer raiments. His head was unadorned, even by hair, but the only immediate and discernible feature, even in the near dark, was the absence of his right eye. There wasn't anything particularly amiss about that side of his face, but even in the shadowy light his features seemed diminished by a solitary orb. This was not made obvious by any cavity there, but rather for a gleam that shown unnaturally from that side of his face. There was something almost animal-like about it and it had a mesmerizing quality that was disconcerting at once.

"Que nous ont ici ?" the man slurred, though he seemed to be sobering rather quickly to his surroundings. "Qui êtes-vous ? Venez, venez...Parlez vers le haut."

The man noted the woman's urgency to arm herself, though his bafflement seemed unabated. He looked down at the key and to the door itself, and back once more to Miss Ashcombe. Then he chuckled. It was a good sound. It rose from somewhere deep within him. Still, Miss Ashcombe seemed more drawn to the brace of pistols he carried with him, so he put off laughing at once.

"Mes excuses, manque. Il s'avère que je suis perdu..."

[Red Cat Jenny]

The words in French tumbled against Jenny's ears for a moment. It had become her native language living on Martinique, but the recent use of English and the hold sleep and fear had upon her faculties, caused translation to abandon her.

The man stepped closer. Jenny could feel his presence more strongly than see it, however in the alternating flickers from the lamp she discerned he had only one eye and was broad in shoulder and armed.

Pistols...slowly comprehending his insistent queries, Jenny wondered how quickly either of them would be able to grasp one of the pistols he wore about himself. She calculated that in his apparent and wavering state, she might have a chance..her hand finding nothing else but the slight pewter candlestick, now cold, on the bedside. She might also try to run past him into the hall, but he'd likely grab her as she passed.

He spoke again.

"Mes excuses, manque. Il s'avère que je suis perdu..."

realizing he must have come to the wrong room and was lost both in liquor and his way.

She brought her other hand to the covers about her and held her trembling chin up." Monsieur, c'est une erreur honnête"

His expression changed at her words and he chuckled.

"Oui" but he failed to move quickly enough to quiet her nerves and so she risked prompting his departure.

"Vous pouvez prendre votre congé, aucun mal fait

Jenny Ashcombe waited for response either spoken, or hopefully in his departure from her bedchamber.

[William Brand]

"Je suis désolé, jeune fille. Je ne suis pas où je devrais être." he said as graciously as possible, bowing low, though his good eye gleamed as much as the glass one. His smile was that of the surprised rogue then and he went to remove a hat from his head, but finding none, he made a clumsy gesture with the hand still holding the battered key. Then, noting the damaged casement of her door, he straightened again, facing towards the door opposite hers on the hallway.

"Ahhh." he said aloud, as if an idea of surpassing significance had revealed itself to him. He stepped over the lantern and slid the key into the lock there. It clicked so effortlessly that he gave over to another chuckle and turned to her again, brushing the opposite door open as he did so. "Votre nouvel appartement, jeune fille." he said, gesturing to the newly opened room. "Je prendrai la porte sans surveillance"

[Red Cat Jenny]

A wave of relief washed over her and some amusement took the place of fear as the lost and inebriated patron attempted a clumsy affectation of grace. He offered along with his awkward bow, the exchange of rooms seeing that he had rendered hers without privacy.

"Monsieur, évitent svp vos yeux"

The man did as requested and turned away towards the hall as Jenny gathered her few things and walked to the somewhat shattered doorway.

She felt a measure of appreciation and even empathy for the poor drunkem soul who was trying to best right an unfortunate mistake and afford her as much comfort as possible. He must have realized how frightened she was.

She opened the door to what would be her room for the remainder of the night and turned to thank the man who now seemed rather plain in the brighter light of the hall. "Merci..merci beaucoup monsieur" She held out her hand and he took it briefly in his. He kissed it with a slight bow an deposited the key in her palm. With a smile and another throaty chuckle, the man turned and headed into the darkness of his room.

Jenny Ashcombe stood for a moment. A slow smile crossed her face. She thought of how aghast Saint James, her uncle or her other friends might be at the happenings here. However, in it Jenny found humor..delight in something interesting parting the blandness of daily life. She closed the door and headed back to sleep and dream.

[William Brand]

Jenny was in her new apartment but a moment, when a knock, polite but with an air of irony, came at her new door. She opened it once more to reveal her recent assailant who wore the smile of the apologist. "Vous...demander pardon..." he said, gesturing to several parcels tucked away at the window. She understood at once and allowed him entrance to fetch his things. He did this with a grace previously lost in drink, gathering up everything in his arms and going out again.

Then he paused and turned in the doorway. "J'insiste sur le fait que vous dinez avec le demain." he stated, and it was not a question. "Par des...excuses." he explained.

[Red Cat Jenny]

No excuses...

Jenny wasn't altogether surprised at the invitation. She could attack the man for such a breach of propriety. After all, he had burst into her room, seen her less than appropriately dressed. Then again in his drunken state he would likely be less than a gentleman. Suddenly tired and wishing to escape the situation, at least for the moment, she simply replied.."nous verrons" with a warm smile and closed the door as he opened his mouth to protest the vaguery of her reply.

[William Brand]

Donatien Larue Durand stood regarding the closed door but a moment before returning to his new environs. Clearly he had traded down in comforts, for the new room with its broken door was almost half the size of the one he had slept in the night before. Also, the bed was smaller, and for a man of his stature it presented itself like a coffin.

He made a dismissive sound and kicked off the heavy boots which had served him all day in the jungle. He also shed the heavy night coat and his brace of pistols. He worried his good eye with the heel of his hand, yawning as he did so. He undressed to the waist and bathed his face in fresh water. Then he appreciated the nearly blackened coals of the fire a moment before measuring himself against the bed.

It was half a foot too short.

He chuckled again, sober enough to wonder if he would remember all of this in the morning. Then he remembered the door and he got up to push a heavy chair against it for the night. This served to keep it closed, and satisfied that it would offer privacy if not security, he went to bed.

He was rewarded by bedcoverings recently occupied and comfortably warm, though with the night as warm as it had been this was not the reward that greeted him with the most delight. Instead, it was the subtle perfume on the pillow which caused a smile to spread across his face. It was not a strong or heady perfume, as a woman of high status might have worn. Artificial. Costly. No. This was the gentle, clean, soaped skin scent of a more approachable woman. Humble. Genuine. Real.

"Parfum de chair." he said quietly in the dark and thanked his lucky stars to have been a fool.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The hour grew early and the conversations grew short. Soon Mister Franklin had joined Mister Marchande in sleep, though not so noisily. William and Dorian spoke of the ships a bit longer, debating what they would do in as much as the reorganization of officers, and additions to the same. As the fashion dictated, the crew would have a hand in the appointments of new officers, it was not just a hard fast ‘laying of the law’, brought down by the captains. While casting a still worried look upon Mister Pew, Dorian voiced a thought to make him his QuarterMaster aboard the Heron when, not if, he recovered. He also voiced that the men that had been assigned to the Heron remain with her, with an addition of men they might receive from the jailer to make up for gaps in the work force. Questions were asked between the men, just to find where each sat in regards to who would make the best Master-at-Arms on each ship to who would replace Dorian as the QuarterMaster of the Watch Dog. Sleep deprivation and no lack of sprits consumed finally took their toll on Captain Lasseter, so he bid William a break in the conversation until some rest was to be obtained. William nodded and stifled a yawn, knowing he to was near exhaustion as well. Both men settled into their chairs as comfortably as possible and soon their breathing matched those in slumber around them.

[William Brand]

July 31, 1704 - Aboard the 'Dog

Between one and two bells of the Forenoon Watch

The hours slipped by both ashore and aboard the three ships at anchor. Morning came and passed with its usual rituals of mess and work. Just another morning in the life of the 'Dog and the Heron.

Tudor Smith had come and gone from the quarterdeck, lending as much attention to her post as she might between sleep and fatigue. She enjoyed the quarterdeck and anyone who watched her there could see the delight she took in it, despite the circumstances which had brought her there.

Boats which had not previously visited the frigate came by to pay their respects throughout the early hours of the day, as they had the evening before, and most of these were merchants eager to purchase goods from far away in exchange for Martinique sugar and rum. Many of these men were surprised to find a woman on the quarterdeck, but more surprised still to see that she was more than a pretty face among the rigging and railings. Indeed, she proved to be a good barterer, trading out some small trinkets for large quantities of rum and the white gold refined from so many of the island's plantations.

One particular fellow took an impertinent stance, utilizing poorly chosen words, and an overconfidence in his own charms, to 'woo her' to a better deal. She sent him away smarting of words and more than a few laughs from the larboard watches. No one else dared to treat her in such a manner thereafter, though she did note a distant onlooker from the great merchant ship laying at anchor not too far off from the 'Dog.

The unknown and removed observer seemed interested in her or the ship to the extent of spending long moments watching her and the crew by use of a spyglass. She made a point of not noticing him too much, all the while as she examined the onlooker peripherally. She managed a to send word up to the larboard marines high aloft to make note of the of the marked voyeur. She did not like being watched by strangers with so many of the crew gone and under such uncertain circumstances.

"Look on stranger..." she muttered softly. "...and mark my many guns."

[Black Syren]

Siren nodded as Tudor called up and looked out to the ship that sat within the waters, it seemed high to her which would indicate it held no more than necessaries within it’s hold. This would enable it to move fast if circumstances called for it.

She hid a yawn and scratched at a small cut upon her arm from her run in with Argus and Alan and then lifted her face to the seabreeze before looking back to shore. Drumming her fingers upon the rails of the nest she enjoyed the slight roll of the sea but she turned back to the other ship as well, and bored of watching the Isle let the ship hold her intrest for a wee bit. Down below she could see Argus sitting and wagging his tail all but begging for attention and shook her head at his antics.

Humming quietly she looked once more to the Isle then let her gaze sweep the coastline and the horizon.

[Red Cat Jenny]

This part of the trail back to Isle De Generosite was a favorite of Genevieve Ashcombe. She took her time guiding her horse along the higher cliffs on this side of the island. The brush broke in many places affording spectacular views of the cliffs below and the endless blue of the ocean.

As a rare cool breeze trifled with her locks, Jenny slowed Chataigne to a halt and looked out to sea. She had tied her hair only in a loose que with a broad ribbon of raw red silk. The wind tossed it about like her own personal flag as she stared out at sails nearing or passing from land. It was another moment of rare freedom for the gerl who would have to primp and tuck herself back into propriety before reaching the main road to the plantation. She breathed in the early morning air and wondered how Miseur Donatien Larue Durand would feel when he found his breakfast would be shared only with his extra pair of forgotten shoes, she'd left outside the broken door where he slept. She had suspected he would sleep well into the day given the hour and state of his arrival last night. The desk clerk had answered her query on the man who would be found in her room, and while he accepted her note for Murin, explainined he was a regular guest and a personage of some import who had business in town. After awkward explanation she had bid the clerk a good morning and headed out into the dawn. The last of her skirts followed by his gaze which reflected both confusion and consternation that such events as she told had ocurred unbeknownst to him until late in the morning. Mr. Satir fancied himself an important man and one who knew every happening and secret amongst the comings and goings in his place of employ.

Chataigne whinnied, eager to have a run which he had grown accustomed to along the rougher dirt trail and Jenny apologised for lingering. She patted the horse and leaning forward urged the chestnut mare to his own fancy down the hill towards town, red ribbon flying again in the breeze.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Onboard the Heron

The crew had worked all night setting the new guns, rigging the new lines and cables and all around stowing and setting up the supplies that had been delivered to their ship. All were weary as first light appeared and Nigel let everyone have their rest. Only O’Hara, Godfrey, and he remained awake. As the light strengthened it reflected off the shiny brass six pounders, almost blindingly so. The three of them smiled at each other and Mister Brisbane chuckled a little.

“Wait til th’ Captain sees all this… “

The other two answered with a proud ‘aye’ and nodded. They looked about the deck of their proud little ship and out into the bay around them. Young Patrick let his mind wander, thinking about what it would be like in battle with this nimble ship under his feet and the more powerful guns thundering. Even though they were rather small compared to those on the Watch Dog, they were still powerful enough to thrill the young man. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the question asked him by Mister Brisbane. Patrick O’Hara elbowed Godfrey and brought him back to the present, where Nigel was looking at him with slight annoyance. He grinned sheepishly and ducked his head.

“Er… pardon me sir, I was… er what did ye want sir?”

The Coxswain shook his head slightly.

“I was gonna have ye head up inta th’ riggin’ as lookout, but if yer gonna daydream, best have ye stay on deck. Mister O’Hara, yer on lookout duty.”

“Aye-aye Sah!”

O’Hara went and found the ships spyglass and lithely jumped into the shrouds, quickly taking position at the lookout’s vantage point.

Thursday, 31 July 1704*

*Gregorian calendar, as opposed to the Julian, making it Monday

[BriarRose Kildare]

BriarRose stretched a bit as she slowly opened her eyes to the morning light coming through a small split in the curtains. Quietly getting up so as not to wake Maeve, she walked over to a small dresser were there was a basin and pitcher of water. Pouring some water in to the basin, Briar wiped the sleep from her eyes. The cool splash of water revived her senses. Fully awake she straighten her clothes and hair and silently walked down the steps to check on the patient.

In the front room she could see four men in various positions sleeping. One man snored in a continuous rhythmic sound. Stepping off the stairs she went in to the back room where the patient lay sleeping. His color was no longer gray, but he was still very pale. His fever was not as hot to the touch as she placed her hand upon his forehead. Just then Maeve came down the stairs. Turning Briar said, "Ah, Good Morning to you. And how are you feeling this morning?"

Maeve, placed her hand upon her head, "Ay, Good Morn, dear Briar. I fear I have me a touch of a head ache." Their eyes twinkled as they looked at each other both remembering the night before. Just then the patient stirred a bit drawing their attention immediately to him.

Maeve asked, "How is he doing today?" Briar shook her head a bit and said, "His fever is down and he is sleeping. However, he is still restless. I am going to give him some more of the ground cinchona tree bark in wine." She poured more wine in to the goblet and added more of the ground powdered bark to it. Mixing it, she once again raised his head. He opened up bleary eyes to her as she held the goblet to his cracked lips. Briar softly spoke to him, "There now dear sir, you are doing much better. Have some more of this to drink it will ease your aches and fever." He drank greedily from the cup. Once he had finished she lay his head back down upon the pillow. Turning to Maeve, she asked, "Do you have a basin and some more water? Oh, and I will need a cloth too?"

"Aye, that I do, let me go and get it for ye." As Maeve left the room again Briar rummaged through her apothecary chest once more. Pulling out two bottles she stood there trying to decide which would be better to use. "Mmmm, perhaps the lavender would soothe him better."

Maeve returned with a basin of water handing it to Briar. Briar placed it on a side table next to where Pew lay. She added some of the contents of the bottle into the water stirring it with the cloth Maeve had given her. The sweet pungent aroma of Lavender filled the air.

Ringing out the cloth she placed it upon Pew's forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat. He stirred a bit, moaning slightly, but then settled back down into a deep sleep.