The Watch Dog

[Silkie McDonough]

"Aye. I can't read the sign but I was told it was yellow with blue writing." He laughed once again. He liked being with this woman, no pressure to be anyone but himself.

They made their way to the inn. As they entered Alan stated. "I'll be sleeping in the common room. I suggest you rent yourself one. Things are different here than on the Watch Dog." He held the door for Syren and Argus and followed close at her heels. they choose a table and sat. Argus dropped to the floor with a hand signal from Syren and the afternoon began with a grand meal.

[Black Syren]

She allowed Alan to order for them both and most especially on the wine as he explained he knew of such. As Argus lay across ehr feet she noticed several look at the size of the dog and raised laughing eyes to Alan. "Seems Argus has quite a prescence."

The meal was indeed delicious, the wine even better and it relaxed her immensely, it had been long since she could just enjoy being herself around another, not having to be correct at all times, and not worry about motive. In fact it was great fun speaking with him of places he had been and things he had seen and done, her own experiences far to little to compare to his.

When he asked of her family she looked down and away, tensing up. So he poured more wine and changed the subject. She sent him a smile of gratitude but shadows lay in her eyes. "I suppose I shall see about a room, if you like I can have our things sent up so they are safe as we explore."

As his brow lifted she tilted her head and then blushed deep.."I meant.."

He laughed "I know what ye meant, I but tease, you turn so many charming shades."

Relieved she let loose a light laugh and moved off argus at her heels to the counter and had to wait to speak to the tavern owner for a room and paid extra for a bath later on. As the key was given she looked to Alan and waved the key, hoisitng her bag she pointed at his and waited to see what he wished to do.

[Silkie McDonough]

Not that he had much worth steeling there were a few things he would not wish to part with in his duffel and stowing it in a locked room would be much better than carrying it as they walked. Standing, he lifted his bag once again, slung it over his shoulder and followed Syren to the room she had rented. Once the door was opened Alan dropped his bag just inside the door and remained outside. "If you wish to change I will be happy to wait for you downstairs." he said as he stood in the hallway.

To his relief she declined saying it would be much easier to explore dressed as she was and that if she wished to change she would do so later in the evening.

[Black Syren]

However she did search the room and make sure it was clean, the window locked and then moving back to him she checked the lock on the door and satisifed with it she moved without and locked it. Then pocketing the key bent to rub Argus's head and as they moved downt he hall she wondered just what might they do.

"What are your intrests? I mean, do you wish to seek a trinket for your lass, or perhaps a walk into the hills?" As they moved back down the stairs and towards the door she hid a yawn, though tired she was not sleepy and she was eager to find something to do.

The tavern was dimly lit and a noisy affair and reaching outside the bright sunlight had her squinting till she could better focus on their surrounds. Several children raced through the streets, the smell of the sea mixing with the vegetation unique and much appreciated as it was diffrent than the salt of just that which she had grown accustomed. Though the sun was high it was not as humid as yesterday and the breeze was strong and cool. Again her gaze rove over everything with the enthusiasm of a child in a sweet shop, darting hither and yon and all the while Argus panting tagged at her side.

[William Brand]

July 31, 1704 - At Martinique

William reached the counting house of Charpentier and Goddu just in time to catch the two men stepping from the establishment for lunch. Both men were quite embarrassed to find Captain Brand on their doorstep, for indeed the two of them had forgotten their appointment with him and the discussion to be had concerning the Maastricht. William was very understanding and they found his graciousness most polite. Truth be told, William was half an hour late arriving at the counting house, but he let this remain a secret, for it painted him in the better light and the men were obliged to accompany him to the Maastricht by way of apology.

They arrived in short order across a bay so flat from the still afternoon air, that the sweeps had to be employed to bring them to the fluyt. William ordered out a good keg of rum for the men of the counting house and the rowers, but Charpentier and Goddu agreed that drink would only follow business concluded. William did not disagree.

Instead, he showed them about the ship, taking them deep into the freshly patched holds of the large merchantman. As they toured the prize ship, Monsieur Goddu asked if he might know what other men were seeking to purchase the great boat. William said that the matter was private, but Goddu insisted on knowing, stating that the ship was a fine one and he meant to have it.

"I cannot say," William insisted, "...but other men of business have expressed an interest in her."

"BELLEMARE!" Goddu exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. "Cantin Bellemare is one of them who seeks her." he added, probing for information.

"I cannot say." William repeated.

"The man is desperate! He lost two of his ships this last winter. He cannot afford to be without ships, Captain." Goddu continued, certain that the sugar baron Bellemare was also interested in the Maastricht. William said nothing. He merely gestured to the next unexplored section of the vessel.

Goddu continued to pry at his seams with questions.

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny Ashcombe was not missed.

In all the plantation no one apparently had noticed her absence. Her uncle was still abroad as was the Governess and the children remained with their other aunt. If Darius had noticed her absence he neither cared nor saw it important to make issue. She walked along towards the meager residences of the field workers to check on a child, born to a younger couple who had been with them some 10 months. Jenny knew she risked her safety, but had defiantly assisted the few slaves who trusted her friendship. Providing counsel or assistance when she could with small family issues or the odd items she could spirit to them, hidden in her basket.

As she returned, Jenny came upon the first slave she had befriended. Jeremiah Asiais was a man of about 35 who looked older for his years. A product of long hours of hard work in the sugar cane fields and the ravages life wrought on the less fortunate. However, he always seemed at peace, adapting to whatever situation life delivered him no matter how grave. This gave her some comfort and they oft shared a word or two in passing.

He sat now in the shade carving and paused to greet her. He shook out the cloth he held on his knee and pushed his hat back wiping the sweat from his brow. "Miz Ashum" She replied "Jeremiah" As they spoke, he related to her that had one of theirs been hung for the murder of young Master De Mofras. Though she was shocked, Jenny realized that there was nothing she could have done. He uncles manservant had proven in his ranting that day, the small thinking of men who considered themselves superior to other men. Then proved they were not.

Jeremiah stopped her as she began to half apologise, half protest the whole issue of slavery in a torrent of emotion.

As he spoke J'miah's words came in the Jamaican creole blend so many of her Uncles slaves posessed.

"Me tell he" He tapped a long brown finger on the worn fabric of his shirt, just over his heart.

Je'miah spoke of his heart in the first person. He felt his soul and heart were inseperable even were he to die.

"Me tell he an he knows....can take a man, lock him up,...force him t' be loyal."... He looked up at her and his broad lips parted in a slight grin. His eyes squinted a bit as the sun poked through holes in the tattered brim of the straw hat he wore. "But ..." the finger tapped his shirt again "Him....him will always be free" His eyes lit by a streak of sun against the dusk of his skin unnerved her. They suddenly seemed filled with a knowledge secret and unexplained. They held each others gaze a moment longer and a chill ran through Jenny despite the heat of the day. He just as quickly albeit calmly, turned back to the wood in his hand. Transferring the knife to the other and began again to work it against the cloth on his knee. He started to sing a song which sounded older than the stones of the wall he sat in the shade of. Now appearing no more than a simple slave. She stood for a moment transfixed. Regarding the man, she noticed the lighter colored scars on his wrists from the heavy irons he'd worn on the slave ship that brought him here with his bretheren. Jenny suddenly realized that though he may be scarred outwardly and surely inside, there was a place deeper inside which he protected well against the temper of any weapon physical or otherwise.

She walked on realizing J'miah had gone back to his simple work to protect both of them as a groomsman approached on the path. She gathered her skirts and hurried back to the house.

Her uncle had returned.

[Silkie McDonough]

"What are your intrests?  I mean, do you wish to seek a trinket for your lass, or perhaps a walk into the hills?"

"The hills. I have something for my maiden all I need now is to find a ship heading that way and a trustworthy soul to deliver it. I have seen the town and although I know there is more to see here I would like nothing more than to explore the land that lays beyond? What say you to that?"

[Black Syren]

She paused to look in a small shop window and as he said he would love to find a trustworthy soul to deliver his gift she frowned and as he continued on she turned back to face him, before words could flee her tongue Argus barked and wagged his tail. Sha gave a laugh and knelt by Argus and tugged lightly on one of his ears before rising again.

"Well he seems to like the idea and truly that would be fine with me, beyond the stables they have trails, we could make our way up, I bet tis pretty as a picture from up there." She pointed towards the left and the stables that lay at the end of the street and to the paths clearly seen from where they stood. Already she could envision the ripe green grasses and the abundance of wildflowers, the view of the sea as they looked down upon it glistening in it's many shades of blue.

"Argus would enjoy a good romp, as for your gift, have you talked to the Catpain? He knows other captains and could tell you who you could trust. Or mayhaps he would sail in that direction." She shrugged as they walked. "Though Im not sure he would do the last unless it were a good port or some such. But still you could ask him about the other Captains, and Im sure your lass would be thrilled with a gift and think you have not forgotten her after all." She moved ahead pushing through a crowd of bystanders and swept her hair back from her bruised cheek and shoved the tendrils behind her ear and then spun to walk backwards. "Hurry up you are walking to slow and the hills are calling."

He laughed and motioned to the bruises "How did you come by those." Again her eyes grew shadowed, "A long story, and one not worthy to mar the day." Again she smiled and turned back around to walk back at his side now hiding her bruised cheek. As he pulled her to the side and went to lift her face she shied away and he released her as Argus grwoled with menace. "Argus saved me." she said softly.

She knelt and reassured Argus that all was well "Shall we continue on?"

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin continued her trek to the docks then to the beach she would have waited for Nathan or Alder but time was growing short and she needed to stow her gear and report for duty soon. The Saint Kitt was waiting to take the next of the Starboard watch back to the Watch dog. She loaded her gear then climbed in. As she sat waiting she saw Nathan hanging back and allowing others from the crew pass him and load onto the Saint Kit. Her heart sank, he was avoiding her gaze. She closed her eyes, bowed her head and chided herself for her lack of vision. She wondered too if Alder was in the crowd near the docks. Would he be avoiding her also. She would did not know when she might see him on the Watch Dog again. Murin dug into her basket and pulled out the bundle of books. She tugged at the cord that bound them allowing her to slid the one Alder had named for her, "Asopes Fables" and began to flip the pages. She flipped a page found a word thet she recognized and stared at it. she ran her finger along the printing wanting ro read it. Then stopped thee closing her eyes waiting for the Kitt to launch.

She didn't move again until the call from The Watch Dog indicated they were near. Miss McDonough tucked the book back into the basket, handed her belongings to the boatman and boarded the Dog. Grabbing her things as they were handed up she trotted to her sea chest, stowed it all and came topside to report to Miss Smith before the noon bell was struck. Murin saw Nathan but still he would not look at her. So she went straight to the work of building the Mariners uniforms and tried to keep her mind occupied with the task at hand.

[William Brand]

Her uncle had returned.

Jenny's uncle was standing in the kitchen when she burst into the room with a rush of skirts. She had just enough time to place a loose strand of hair behind one ear and straighten up before he turned around. He did this with such deliberate slowness, that she braced herself for something awful. He was always deliberate when he was in a poor mood, which unfortunately for her and others, happened more often these days than not.

"The pantry seems fully stocked to me." He began, and not knowing where he was going with this, she agreed at once, nodding. "And yet..." he continued, followed by a protracted pause.

'Here it comes', she thought. Her uncle's 'and yets' were more notorious and unpleasant than his deliberate acts of slowness, though he said his 'and yets' with the practiced art of a man digging a very deep grave. Careful. Scraping. Final.

"...you are found in town often these days and for prolonged periods of time." He punctuated the sentence with a very distinct, full-stop placing a hardened 't' on the word time. "Frankly, I am surprised to find you here at all, as I'm certain you are to find me, though both of us live under this roof...together."

There was no mistaking the spite in his voice and Jenny went to speak, but he raised his hand. He did this not from the elbow, but from the wrist, like a pompous caesar. His arm hung at his side, but his finger tips came up ever so slightly. The gesture was so utterly diminutive and patronizing, that a backhanded slap in the face would have been more endearing, but she bore it with the removed servitude she was accustomed to.

"What were you doing with the Chattel?"

That word. That horrible word. Not laborers. Not workers. Not even slaves, but chattel. It was akin to verbal evisceration.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Chattel...the tingling sensation had been rising upwards from knees whos trembling she was grateful the fullness of her skirts concealed. It rose like a tide of fear begging every nerve to run, but her feet like iron would not move. She hated the man. Not a day went by that Jenny Ashcombe didn't curse the decision to travel to Isle De Generosite and become the unwilling victim to her uncles then unknown blackness of soul. Her cheeks flushed hotly at the very sound of this word from his lips. Martin Garaud excelled at the art of lacing his verbage with the vileist of acids. Speaking epithets that fell and met their target with crushing accuracy. Not only had he caught her dalliances away from the plantation, a reason for which her mind raced along with her heart, but he had slung the deepest of insults with deliberateness knowing she would be cut by his words."I.." She stammered. He did no more than to slightly raise his brows, but it was as if he'd taken a leaden step towards her. Not meaning to, she took a step back. Her hands going to the fabric of her skirts in nervous afectation. "I ..was meeting a friend for lunch..a ..social call..Everyone had left and I thought it would be no matter" She chose not to answer his latter query. Hoping the argument would start and die with this subject alone and he would have time for little else. Her uncle was a busy man and the scant time he spent at the house these days was taken up in solitude in his office, where she was sure he looked for any mistakes in accounting on her part, as Jenny was charged with the household expenses. She bristled at his use of that hateful word, a bit of fire intruded upon the fear in her eyes.

[William Brand]

A sound rustled in Martin Garaud. It was a husky thing, uneven like a condition of the lungs. Most people would have mistakenly called it a chuckle, but it had no life to it at all. It was one moment there and the next gone and Jenny did not mind the going of it.

"How will you survive when I am gone...?" he asked, mockingly sympathetic.

'FREE!' she thought, but said nothing. This was one of her uncle's usual tacks. He would often remind her that she would wake up one day to a world without him and be utterly lost to take care of herself. This was a lie on so many levels, for she served herself and many, but Jenny could never make him see her worth, abilities or daily accomplishments any more than she could make him shed 'chattle' from his vocabulary or soul.

"I but suspected you of long travels to town, silly girl...but now that I know the truth of these suspicions, you will confine yourself to the plantation."

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny's cheeks went from hot to cold. She couldn't stay away from Cul De Sac Royal now! Her life felt for once as if it had promise in the friendship of Murin McDonough and the others she had met. Freedom in the form of two ships which had sailed into her world so unexpectedly. She knew not how long they might stay or if they might move along the coast and be gone. She sputtered "But..I've done nothing wrong sir..I must.." again the hand waved off any importance of her existence. She stood horrified, fearing that the longing she only now recognised as a plan to rescue herself from this prison, would be dashed as a vessel upon the rocks. Her mouth opened, but no words came, such was her upset. Only a small sound angry and shocked emanated.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Onboard the Heron

Two of his marines reported to Captain Lasseter, Bill Flint told of how he had found the two sailors in the midst of brawling. Dorian nodded slowly while he told the tale. When he finished with an apology of being late returning to the ship, the captain smiled.

“Mister Flint…. Yer duty ta keep th’ peace on shore is admirable… Ye’ve no need ta apologize fer doin’ such. Take yer post on deck.”

Flint hinted at a smile, knuckled his brow and was off to walk the deck. Dorian paced the quarter with a furrowed brow. He was happy at the work done by half his crew, glad that those coming back on duty were mostly in good spirits, and aggravated at the two men confined to quarters. After a short while he made a decision to let the men confined suffer a bit while the rest of the crew had some enjoyment. He planned to sail the Heron about the bay, seeing how she handled with her new armament. As he arrived earlier, he noted how she sat in the water. Nigel had the supplies stowed well, balanced well. They would see how she ran.

As Mister Brisbane was now ashore, Dorian turned to the Boatswain.

“Mister Tucker, prepare ta weigh anchor an’ make sail, once ‘round th’ bay… keep close ta th’ Dog, well… within th’ range o’ the guns.”

“Aye-Aye Captain!”

Tucker turned and began to bark orders to the men, who set to the job at hand. Most manned the capstan to begin the task of pulling the anchor from the floor of the bay.

[William Brand]

Martin Garaud shook his head at Jenny. This was oh so common of him, treating her like a child that didn't understand his wise ways of the world. "We will talk about this again very soon, but I have pressing business." he went to leave, then turned to her again. "Stay away from the chattle. They shall be locked in when they are not at work and I do not want you near them. One of them has killed a good man up North of here and I will not let you put yourself in harm's way. Do you understand?"

[Red Cat Jenny]

She considered lashing out at him. She wanted to pound her fists on his chest and scream until he understood. To crack the edifice of his soulless shell...But this was an exercise most useless. For any heart the man still posessed, had been hardened by the ugly trade which he now plied. Adding human cargo to that of molasses and rum. That he would speak to her so condesendingly. Treat her like a mere child when she had replaced the wife who's loss also embittered him, as well as shouldered much responsibility in the household, though he consistently chose to overlook it. She intended to speak a simple sentence and ecape his presence. But then it slipped...her anger had just been fueled by the desperation of losing her new found interests. " You may lock them in..but I am a blood relation and I'll not be your...chattle.."

Jenny had said this as she turned to go. She'd have never been able to be so bold as to speak such words had she been facing him. She almost clasped a hand over her mouth as she heard the words tumble forth. Spitting the last as if she had been a student of his own well honed ability.

[William Brand]

"You will keep your tongue and my council!" he said, and neither his tone nor his movement were slow or deliberate this time. Jenny had a moment to wonder how much of his self control was a wall or simply a veneer painted over too much power for this one man. "I have taken you under my wing and you will do what I say." He loomed over Jenny and she was reminded that he was a large man, capable by his size of doing harm if he had a mind to. His face was ruddier than normal and he squinted, making his eyes look piggish. "Do not tempt my patience." he whispered overly loud, so that patience came out in a hiss and it did not sound like patience at all.

He turned to leave for good then and he was almost beyond the doorway of the kitchen when Jenny spoke. She hadn't meant to speak, it just bubbled up from the bricked up and muddy well of her own self determination. She had not known until this moment that she had any true will of her own, but then her lips parted.

"Patience is a virtue." she said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear it, then before she could stop herself or fathom why she said it, she added, "I wonder...that you should have any."

He turned towards her slowly, but this time his movement was motivated entirely by shock. He went to speak and failed, not once, but twice. "How...you...how dare you." His face was awash with several emotions at once and the veneer that was Martin Garaud cracked. He crossed the room in two strides. His hand went up, not in with the usual subtleness in degradation, but with all the force his broad hand possessed. Jenny stepped back only a little as he came and she never new how she managed it then, but instead of hiding her face, she raised her chin ever so slightly and took the blow as it came.

One moment she was standing with more defiance then she would have thought possible for her position, gender, age or any other characteristic weighed against her uncle, and the next moment she was sprawled upon the kitchen floor she had stooped to wash a thousand times. The left side of her face stung from the attack, but her heart felt an odd elation. She also noticed, laying across the well worn bricks of the kitchen as she was, that a solitary coin of silver lay under the cook stove. She had never noticed it there, and like her new found defiance, it lay beyond her uncle's accounting.

"You will never speak to me in this manner ever again." he said in a dark and low voice before he strode the kitchen.

It was the first absolute truth he had ever spoken.

[BriarRose Kildare]

After everyone had left and the dishes and kitchen were clean, Maeve went upstairs to tidy up the bedroom. BriarRose was just starting to sweep the downstairs front room when she heard a shuffling noise from the surgeon’s room. Quickly putting down the broom she hurriedly walked to the doorway to check on the patient. There he stood by the window swaying back and forth. The sheet although wrapped around him was showing more of his backside than not. Briar moved quickly to grab him as he tumbled sideways down on to her. With a loud crash they both fell to the floor. He looked down at here with bleary light brown eyes.

“Sir, are you alright? And may I ask you to please roll off of me so I may help you back to the surgeon’s table?”

He looked at her as if stunned for a moment. Grunting, he rolled over onto the floor. Sitting up, Briar turned to him to make sure he was alright and asked, “And what were you thinking might I ask?”

He gave her a sheepish look as she said, “Alright, now up with you and back to bed.”

BriarRose helped him up struggling under his weight. Hoisting him back on to the table Briar, fixed the sheet and blanket back on him. “Now, sir, we will have no more of that.”

He mumbled a bit and tried to clear his parched throat. Pouring water in to a cup she held up his head to help him drink. He gulped it greedily then cleared his throat once more. In a hoarse whisper he asked, “Where am I?”

Briar answered in a sweet and comforting tone, “You are at the Chirurgeons House. You have been very ill with the Marsh Fever. Maeve and I have been taking care of you.”

Taking a cloth and placing it in the bowl of water and lavender, Briar, rung it out and placed it upon Preston’s forehead. “You are not out of the woods yet, dear sir, so you must take care not to over exert yourself.” With that he closed his eyes and fell back in to a deep and restful sleep.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Onboard the Heron

He looked from his perch down at the two beings that had been brought below and made to sit. They smelled strongly of many things. The cat shifted himself and then decided to remove himself from their presence. Jumping down, he startled both of the men. McCormick raised a hand as if to strike the animal.

“Yer bloody cat! I aught ta give ya what’s fer!”

O’Madden grabbed his wrist and pulled it away.

“Don’ e’en tink o’ doin’ tha’! ‘E’s a Pooka! Bad, bad luck strikin’ a Pooka…”

McCormick snorted a laugh at O’Madden

“Yer believe all that? Tis a buncha hogwash!”

The Pooka had sat and watched the two men argue with a look of genuine interest. Both men stopped arguing and looked at the animal as he looked at them with such intelligence. O’Madden gingerly reached out and rubbed the Pooka’s ears.

“Tha’s a good Pooka… No ‘arm done to ya… Next bit o’ vittles I gets, I’ll save ya some…”

The Pooka began to purr and gently swatted at his hand when he stopped rubbing. He sat for a moment longer then hopped down to the deck and wandered away. McCormick watched the cat go and looked at O’Madden, smirked and shook his head. Above them on deck they heard the strain taken up and the pawls begin to clank as the anchor cable was brought to bare the weight of the hook.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Isle De Generosite

Martin Garaud was furious beyond measure. He had the pressures of a bad alliance in his darker dealings to unravel. He had his children to consider if possibly the slave was not the murderer. He was behind on matters which needed his attention alone. The last thing he needed was this..neice. This insolent girl who had become increasingly difficult. Seeming to work against the barricade he had so carefully built, to separate those who might want more than their share from his hard work. As well as those whose intentions however altruistic..he did not trust. When one dealt in the trade of both great value and great risk, one could not afford to be too friendly. Yet she was always collecting these..stray dogs who would eventually come to beg at his table. He assumed whomever she was meeting in town would simply number one more. As Martin Garaud strode towards the doors to his parlor, his hand ached. He had struck her so hard he felt the bone of her cheek through the small flesh which covered it. A feeling he would long remember..and somewhere deep within regret.

~~~

Her eyes stung with tears that wouldn't come. Defiance held them back. He'd never struck her physically before, but somehow it hurt less. Jenny Ashcombe made to get up, but her head ached suddenly. She felt the imprint of all five of his fingers was surely burned into her cheek. She lay back again for a moment on the cool bricks. That's when Jenny noticed a silver shilling..under the stove. Waiting until his footfalls became distant and no other approached, she reached for the coin..but fell short. A whole shilling! It was a months wages for some! Suddenly the pain in her face faded and all concentration was on this small piece of freedom. Jenny slid forward and pressed her arm further. The cast edge of the stove dug into the flesh of her shoulder and she reached, fingers outstretched, expression knotted in concentration. There were sounds in the hall. With one last grand effort she caught the coins edge. But her nail only tipped it, causing it to skate further away. Voices trailed closer accompanying the steps of the servants arriving for the afternoon meal. Jenny stood wavering, her head light and ears ringing from the sudden shift in her circulation. She grasped the edge of the table and with the other hand retrieved the hearth brush. Quickly she scooted the coin forward and tucked it within her pocket as the cooks assistant and one maid gasped at the sight of her. Realizing but not seeing what her face may look like, she grasped her skirts and ran out the door and carefully trod up the stairs.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Onboard the Heron

The hook had been brought up from the depths and cocked. The sails were about to be shaken out when a small boat with three men aboard, one of which was yelling at the Watch Dog came around the stern of the Heron.

“Ahoy the ship, Captain Lasseter! Ahoy!”

As the boat passed, Dorian stepped to the rail and cupped a hand to his mouth.

“Ahoy the boat, I be Cap’n Lasseter! What business have you with me?”

The man on the sweeps was ordered to head for the Cutter by the redheaded man who called out.

“Captain Brand gave us orders ta report ta you!”

“Oh? That so? Come aboard then so I c’n ‘ave a look at ye…”

“Aye-Aye Captain!”

The boat bumped alongside, the man at the sweeps paid and the two men climbed aboard and made their way to the break in the deck. Dorian looked down at them for a moment, then stepped down to the deck beside them.

“And who might you be, gentlemen?”

John Black explained himself and of Adam, the mute. Dorian nodded every so often and looked over the men, noting calloused hands, weathered skin. Just to satisfy a curiosity, as John had said Adam was ‘the best man he’d ever seen with knots’, so the captain had a line given to Adam and he told him to tie several knots, from Bowline to Sheep-shank and then some. Each knot, bend, etc was done with speed and accuracy not seen before by the captain, and John Black just beamed with pride at his friend’s skill. Dorian nodded his approval and turned to John, so he might explain himself further. He did so to Dorian’s approval, and the captain sent them forward to take up lines and show their worth immediately. Both knuckled their brows and were off. Soon the sails were full of the light breeze and Dorian had the Cutter directed across the Watch Dog’s quarter. When they were very close he hollered to Miss Smith.

“Miss Smith, I’ll be takin’ th’ Heron round th’ bay, not far from ye, just ta see how well she runs with ‘er new rig! If Cap’n Brand comes aboard while we’re off, fire a swivel ta let me know!”

Miss Smith nodded and knuckled her brow to Dorian, not bothering to voice a reply, which suited the captain just fine. Off they went then on their pleasure trip. Dorian even stripped down to his shirtsleeves and took the tiller for a time, feeling the old girl under his own hands. His eyes were everywhere, yet held a far away look in them as he remembered such a time in his past. On the tiller of another ship, at another time.

[William Brand]

July 31, 1704 - In the jungles of Martinique

He was gone and she celebrated his absence in tears.

The night had been a long one, for in the wake of his self surgery, Tawny had cried, laughed, moaned, rambled, shouted and sung a variety of half mad songs. He had slept a little, but this had been the worst of it, for in dreaming he would speak aloud in a voice at times that threatened to push her soul to the precipice. His nightmares became her nightmares and he would cry aloud, "Don't hurt me!", and it frightened her, though she did not understand it.

This mantra of terror woke him so often that he would yell at the darkness awhile before going to sleep again, and then only to mumble half dreamt phrases. Adding to this unpleasantness, Tawny would twitch. His whole body would jerk at once and she would cry out in half choked gasps.

Still, his dreaming had not been the worst part of the night, for quite unexpectedly, in the middle of a dream he had jumped up. He paced awhile then and sang to himself. The singing had evolved into loud protestations regarding pigs and angels. Then all at once, Tawny had stopped to look at her. One moment he had been singing, and the next he was still as a ghost. He stood looking at her as though he had never noticed her at all. He did this with such a genuine look of surprise that she almost screamed, realizing that his realization of her might mean terrible things. She wasn't wrong.

He had walked up to her then with a smile so endearing that she had fixed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. Then he had touched her cheek and caressed her hair, and it was awful. Snakes and earthworms would have been more welcome, but she had borne the touch. It had last only minutes, but they were the vast seconds of eternal damnation.

Now he was gone and the sun was high overhead. He had been gone since rediscovering her in the dark. He had left with a look of elation and he almost skipped as he went away. She had been left alone the remainder of the night, and had awoken to sunlight and the noise of the jungle. The morning had been a long one, with insects and thirst for company. She sat huddled against the tree to which she was bound and prayed to gods both ancient and unknown for deliverance. She knew not the gods of her people, having left the Yorubans too young to know their teachings, and the god of the French was a stranger to her, though her name implied otherwise. She tried not to think of this, for her name was a gaul of bitterness to her. It was a mockery to her plight. Poison in a word.

Adebanke. God is taking care of her.

"Tuez-moi...un dieu." she whispered in the frailest voice she possessed, hoping in despair for salvation.

"Qu'est-ce garçon ?" Tawny answered from the trees as he returned with a bucket sloshing with water.

"Il parle français..." she thought terrified, ignoring his misuse of gender. Her heart ached with dismay. He had never spoken French once since her abduction, and this had been a blessing. She did not want to understand his ramblings. She did not want to be familiar with his declarations. His English had been a removed thing and this had been her sole comfort. Now he smiled and she could see that he would speak to her in a language too familiar.

"Tuez-moi...un dieu." Adebanke said again, but only in the corner of her remaining self.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Heron slid through the water swiftly, even with the light breeze. Dorian played the tiller, maneuvering the cutter through the water traffic with relative ease. He furrowed his brow on occasion, and would yell ‘Have a care!’ just before making some quick adjustments, tossing the ship about. At one point he chuckled, seeing the ships cat on deck with his claws dug into a rail during one such maneuver. He cut the trip short and headed back to the spot they had up anchored from and had the hook dropped again. He called his officer over.

“Mister Tucker… She’s light on the tiller…. See if ye can shift some o’ th stores aft. With th’ wind pressin’, she’s light aft an’ th’ rudder ain’t bitin’ enough. While yer busy wi’ that, I need at make a trip ta th’ ‘Dog…”

“Aye-aye Cap’n.”

‘Lucky Tuck’ saluted and stepped down into the waist, grabbed a handful of the crew and unbattoned the main hatch as Dorian shrugged into his coat and placed his hat on his head. He called over to the Watch Dog for a boat to be sent over. Jim Warren complied and over the Samson came. The Captain stepped into the sternsheets and they headed back to the Frigate. Dorian climbed aboard and was saluted by the Mister Warren, the officer of the deck, and by Miss Smith, who had been relieved yet still stayed on deck, eyeing up some of the neighbors. Captain Lasseter inquired of where the Carpenter might be at present. Jim directed him foreward into the bow. Thanking the Coxswain, Dorian walked to the bow and found the man in question. He was putting the final touches on some rework. When he looked to be finished, Dorian cleared his throat. Mister Wenge looked up then stood, knuckled his forelock.

“Sorry Sir, didn’t see you there. “

“S’alright… I didn’t want ta disturb ye… fine work… I’ve a job for ye if I may…”

Alder stood with a look of anticipation to what this job might be, so Dorian continued.

“Ya see, the Heron, she has no figurehead… so, I purchased one. However, it ain’t quite what I had in mind… needs some changes made…”

“Aye sir, I can do whatever ye wish.”

“I believe you can and will. I’ll write up a note for ya… she’s at a chandlery in town, take what ye need and I’ll give ya some coin too, for supplies. Finish up what ya got here and then ye may head ashore. Thank you…”

Alder smiled and knuckled his forelock again. Dorian tipped his hat to the man and smiled in return. He headed aft and informed Mister Warren of the details of what he wished the carpenter to do so all would know, no surprises. Dorian headed to the wardroom and wrote out some details to the chandler, sealed the note and wrote the address of the Chandlery on it, along with addressing it to Alder. He handed this off to the Coxswain and made his way back to the Heron. It was time to see to his two sailors in confinement. Time to deal with them.

Three Bells of the Afternoon Watch, 31 July 1704, Thursday*

*Monday on the Julian calendar

[Red Cat Jenny]

Isle De Generosite Plantation

Jenny Ashcombe had slept. There was little else to do with being confined to the main house for having fraternized with slaves. Sleep had been a welcome relief from both the discomfort of her situation as well as her cheek upon which a large bruise was now well set.

She avoided the glass upon the small chest and instead moved towards the window. The world looked different to her now. The cane fields seemed distant, almost as if she were moving away from the scene before her. Manicured gardens skirting the plantations residence blurred into a sea of color as her mind filled with visions brought by the coin still secreted upon her person.

Such a small item in size, yet larger by far in its value and reach. She pondered on humanity..vast armies stretching miles, large ships and kingdoms larger still who fought and died, who rose and fell for such small items. Unequal in size, but not in their ability to change men's hearts as well as their lives.

The distant palms to the South shimmered in the heat of the afternoon sun and the house became still, but for the endless motion in the fields which would only end at dusk.

Jenny crossed the room to an ornate desk adorned simply with two books she held dear, quill and ink in a bottle of fine crystal. She paused a moment, then sat and took up pen and parchment.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Arriving aboard his ship, Captain Lasseter nodded to the Coxswain who saluted him and reported.

“We shifted th’ spare guns, sir. They was dead amidships. Now they be th’ farthest aft in the hold, I think that’ll do it.”

Dorian smiled and nodded.

“Aye… that much weight that far aft should do th’ trick. Well done… You ‘ave th’ deck, I ‘ave business b’low…”

He wore a grim look when he said the last, and Mister Tucker knew what it was about. The two crewmen caught in a drunken brawl by Mister Flint were confined to quarters foreward. ‘Lucky Tuck’ nodded and knuckled his brow as the captain headed down into the fore crews’ quarters. Andrew Smyth came to full attention as he came foreward, and the two lads in custody stood quickly. Dorian said not a word. He looked the men up and down. He noted their torn and stained clothes. He noted the smell of alcohol and filth about them. He noted the fat lip on O’Madden and the blackened eye of McCormick. Both had scraped knuckles and bloody noses. He watched as they fidgeted under his eye. Dorian turned away for a moment before speaking.

“Do I want ta know the reason fer yer brawlin’ ashore? Were it o’er a woman, a wager, or just fer th’ joy o’ scrappin’?”

He stopped and looked at them, expecting an answer. They both mumbled some, stammered out an answer that Dorian ignored.

“No… I care not what the reason… If you value yer place aboard this ship, you’ll not do it again. Do you understand?”

Both men stood ramrod straight and shouted “Aye!”

“Good… Now… since you understand me, an’ this is a first offense. Yer punishment is time served in confinement an’ yer spirit ration taken away til we leave port. I hear of either o’ you e’en arguin’, their’ll be hell ta pay…”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

“That is all… now… get topside, get cleaned up, get to work… save yer fight for wote’er enemy we may face next…”

Dorian stood in place as the two men saluted and gathered their wares to clean up and change into better clothing. He stepped to the side and let the pass as they headed topside. Once they were gone he turned to Mister Smyth.

“Did they have words wi’ each other while confined? Any more fight betwixt ‘em?”

“No Sah… well, ‘sides arguin’ about th’ ships cat… th’ Pooka…”

Dorian chuckled.

“Goode…. Mayhaps all will be well enough between ‘em from now on… Head topside yerself fer some fresh air.”

“Aye Sah…”

With that, Captain Lasseter headed topside into the light breeze and sunshine. He stepped to the quarterdeck and took in his ship. He admired the fine job done shining the new guns and decided to exercise the crew some more. He called all to the waist and had them break up into two gun crews. They were to practice running guns Number three and five, as they faced the Watch Dog. No one would react poorly around them for running out the guns there. No shot nor powder was to be used. Just going through the motions was all they would do, but he promised the men that once they were out to sea that they would do it right with everything. There were grins all around at the notion of firing the brass sixes in a broadside. So, under the command of Captain Lasseter, two gun crews were put through the paces on the great guns of the Heron for a time.

Four Bells of the Afternoon Watch