The Watch Dog

[Black Syren]

She choked on her laughter as she made her way to the door and spoke quickly "I will indeed sir..Oh..my shares Sir? I do not know what to do with them..Perhaps you could point me to a reputable dealer in arms? The small assortment I have should be expanded I think."

She smiled and then moved quickly beyond and up and moved to Alans side and bid him below.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Aboard the Dog

Alan Woodington arrived and departed, coin in hand, and the last of the Larboard Watch was paid, but for Mister Pew ashore. William placed the ledger and the remaining shares in the strongbox and cleared the table of parchment and quills. He ate what food remained in the quiet of the Ward Room before gathering his oilskins again. Then, as he was about to return to the weatherdecks, he turned back again to search the stern bench. He rifled through charts, bottles, bags and small parcels until he found the small, wrapped box he was looking for. He tucked it into a pocket of the great coat and went up to the quarterdeck.

Tudor Smith was there, standing where the quarterdeck met the poop deck. She knuckled off a salute and he called for a report.

"Storm appears to be abating, Captain. The recruits are settling in below and Mister Franklin is gone ashore by way of the Heron. He has Kampaert, Tuygertgen and the Russian with him."

"Very good, Miss Smith. Have the longboat swung out. I'm bound for the Heron."

"Aye, sah."

Two bells of First Watch

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

Once Mister Franklin and company had left, Captain Lasseter returned to his copying of names and amounts into the log. He stopped at one point and thought about Mister PEW, or Preston Whitingford, as he now knew him via his father’s letter. He mulled over several things on his mind. Those ashore doing work for him and not. Those whose acquaintance he had made and was not sure what might come to pass, and those ashore who he knew not what their intentions were. He sat with his chin in his hands, contemplating many things of the past and present. Here he was, Captain of his own ship, after being the Quartermaster of a fine Frigate. He had enjoyed every bit of time aboard both of these fine ships and hoped for many years more. His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge on his leg. There was the Pooka, the big ships cat, rubbing against his knee. Reaching down and giving his head a scratch, the feline began to purr loudly. Dorian smiled at the animal and petted him some more, until the Pooka rolled onto his side out of the Captain’s reach. Turning back to his work, Dorian took up the brass nib pen and dipped it in the inkwell. Finding where he had left off, he began transcribing again.

[Silkie McDonough]

Le Chateau Anse - Martinique

Miss McDonough's progress was slow as she ascended the stairs. She needed to rest and get off her foot. At the door of her room she drew out the key Alder had returned to her from her waistcoat pocket and slid it into the keyhole. There was a light click as the door opened into the room. She entered and shut the door behind her quickly in an attempt to keep hall light from disturbing her friend and room mate. Murin quietly slid the bolt in place and stood for a moment letting her eyes adjust to the poorly lit room. She found the hook that was meant for her oil cloak and hat, the had dried a while but still the hem of the coat dripped. She kicked off her shoes draping her waistcoat and slops on the back of the chair. Jenny slept soundly curled in the upper corner of the bed . Thinking further Murin moved the chair nearer the foot of the bed, hooked her sword belt there placed her knife and flintlock within easy reach. Rather than change and chance disturbing the slumbering lady in the bed she chose instead to sleep in her shirt woolen hose. Then crawled onto the bed staying to the opposite corner of the bed hoping not to disturb the lass whom Murin gladly assisted. She lay there for several moments trying to focus on how she to approach the captains with Genevieve's request but sleep came to her quickly and although on alert for whomever Jenny feared, Murin slept an uncomfortable sleep.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - On the Cul du Sac Royal

William called for Claude Marchande and Jacobus Casteel to meet with him amidships. They stood together under the weak rainfall in a quiet conference. William passed each of them coin, which drew the attention of some on deck, for Cobus was not privy to shares from any previous prizes and Claude had already received what was owed him. Still, William kept his voice pitched low as he talked to the two men. He removed several folded letters from the pockets of his coat and passed them over to the Dutch and French seamen. They tucked them quickly away, all the while answering what questions were put to them with mere nods and William was a long time in congress with them while Tudor saw that the long boat was swung out.

Luigi, Teeke Ranst, Drewes Viervant and the new recruit, Brenton Lund, were sent over to man the oars of St. Kitt and they were soon joined by Claude, Cobus and the Captain. The seven men crossed over to the Heron, and with the rain abating, the longboat slipped across the dark water between the two ships with greater ease. It was a short voyage of mere minutes, but William still had time to ponder on those subjects which pressed upon him as Captain. He watched the shoreline much more than the cutter.

"Ahoy the Heron!" he eventually called, when prudence dictated that he do so, and answering calls passed back and forth between them as they made their approach.

As they tied up to the Heron's anchor cable, William instructed Luigi to have Claude and Cobus rowed ashore and told him not to press the two men on the matter assigned to them, for the nature of their errand was to be kept a secret for the present. Luigi returned a quiet salute and an 'Aye-Aye' as William went up to the Heron's weatherdecks. Then the longboat crew made their way to shore.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Syren]

Taking a final stretch and seeing others milling about taking advantage of the rain she finished the plate William had given her, the liquor making her relaxed and warm and taking plate and glass to the galley returned to deck. As most were gathered in groups some occasionally breaking away as the rain lightened she turned to watch The St. Kitt depart with their Captain and decided to head aloft.

The sea was not as rough as it had been but it was not quiet either and she quickly grabbed for the lines and swung herself up and began the steep climb skywards squinting her eyes against the rain, feeling it run down her in rivulets as she lowered her face. Careful for the lines were still slick, she gingerly made her way to her post and settled in, her back against the wood. The ride was defintely rougher feeling at the top of the world as she felt she was. Cooler, the wind more chill at times, and the rain continued to come.

Raising one hand to shield her eyes she took a quick look about though as night had fallen and the rain still fell not much could truly be seen.. She glanced down and over catching sight of movement and caught Ciaran resuming his post as well.

“Yer in a chipper mood lass, wot has ye so?” She grinned at his curiosity and winked “Just feeling grand, tis a grand eve, tis quiet, all is well and we are alive.”

He laughed and took her words to heart..”Aye lass so we are.”

Her thoughts drifted a wee bit as Ciaran took a quick survey and she yawned and thought about planning her next trip ashore.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Captain of the Heron had just finished transcribing the last name into the log when he heard another hail and return hail at the gunwale of his ship. He knew the voices well, one was Captain Brand, the other Mister Brisbane on his ship.

“Ah… Cap’n Brand come a-callin’…”

He smiled and shut the logbook, stood and stretched, and took up the bottle on his table.

“Aye… good fer a chill night… clean glasses… need clean glasses.”

He took the glasses that the Sergeant-at-Arms and the Russian had used over to the cabinet and fetched up one remaining glass. He looked at it in the light, blew on and into it and brought it to the table. Setting it next to the bottle he stood and waited for the messenger to come, or William himself.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Aboard the Heron

William made his way aft and refused the formality of being announced to Captain Lasseter. This refusal came in the form of a dismissive sound and a wave of the hand as he proceeded to the ward room of the Heron. A small knock out of respect and a call from beyond were the least of the formalities exchanged between William and Dorian before they were behind closed doors again.

"I come bearing gifts." William announced as he shed his oilskins.

"More gifts...?" Dorian returned, gesturing to the shares still waiting to be handed out to men ashore while he passed a glass to William with his other hand.

"More." William assured him, and the two men took a seat at the modest table. William fished into several pockets before finding a folded paper. He took it out and checked the contents of it before handing it to Dorian. "You'll see some nine men there...recently of the Fort Royal prison."

Dorian perused the list with a definitive 'Ahhh' and asked, "Any craftsman 'mong this lot?"

"Aye". William returned. "Kine...he's a tinsmith of some experience. Dyer can shoot, if he is to be believed. And...Brenton Coles has...varied experience. I believe he said he was a glazier in a former life, though he is more the sailor now."

"Able seamen, all?" Dorian asked.

"Every one." William said, nodding. He drank down half the glass at a go and added, "I have already added to my starboard and larboard crews, but I'll keep those nine there a day longer if you would rather see them brought aboard by daylight."

[Silkie McDonough]

The Fort Royal Prison

He stood a full head taller than many of the inmates; just under six feet and nearly as thick as a main mast at the shoulder. His shaved head glistened with perspiration and his bushy blond mustache was lightly colored with blood from either his own lip or perhaps the fist of the opponent he had just put down. The burn scar that ran from the left side of his skull over his neck and down to his left hand made him look fearsome. He sat in his cell, nursing his knuckles once again. Benjamin Quigley usually enjoyed a good fight; it was almost a celebration for him at times. Now it simply provided exercise in this place of darkness that the goddess herself seemed to have forgotten. The fact that the “sport” would earn him extra rations and favor from the guards was not lost on the man either. This was his twentieth bout. He had marked the time spent in the darkness buy the number of times he was plucked out to face another opponent. As long as he won, which so far he had, he was treated mildly better by the guards. He had to keep them from knowing his true strength for he knew that once he lost a bout his civil treatment was lost also. Besides, they wanted a show; if he were to knock out someone without entertaining them the guards would likely put him up for another bout immediately. No, better to bide his time and hold back a bit longer.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian looked over the list again as he considered William’s last words. He then shook his head abruptly once.

“Nay William, keep ‘em til th’ dawn… Better they get a goode look at th’ Heron in full light. And better I get a goode look at ‘em in the daylight as well. So, nine more able seamen wi’ other skills… A goode start indeed. My thanks, Will…”

He brought up his glass and touched it to his and drank. Dorian refilled both their glasses, emptying the bottle doing so. He looked to the remaining shares to be given to the crew ashore upon their return. Gesturing at them he spoke.

“Lets hope that more don’t find ‘emselves so rich as to quit th’ life at sea just yet, otherwise we’ll be gatherin’ many more ta replace ‘em as well.”

He chuckled lightly.

“I’m still astonished at the amount ye got fer th’ Maastricht… Been told I were shrewd in gettin’ my monies worth fer somat… but you… I salute you, Captain…”

Again he lifted his glass to William and they both drank.

"So... wot's on yer agenda fer th' morrow?"

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Aboard the Heron

"I will go ashore, there to collect some thirty more men at least. I must also see the remainder of the Ilex fortune brought to market."

Dorian shook his head and William guessed at his thoughts, for they seemed to be gathering shares daily of late. Then William began fishing in his pocket for the small box he had brought over from the Watch Dog. Once found, he laid it upon the table, still wrapped in the piece of old linen it had been stored in for many years.

"What's this?" Dorian asked.

"A little something I've carried about these many years." William replied, and when Dorian simply raised an eyebrow, William pushed it closer to him. "I want you to have it."

Dorian set down the glass with a mixed expression. Part reluctance. Part curiosity. "You shouldn't have." he said even as he reached for it.

"I should have before now." William corrected.

Three bells of First Watch

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Pew]

I had finished the letter twofold and marked the wax sealing both completely.

A knock was at the door and opening it, found Eric and Luc behind it. A close hug between brothers was exchanged, and a strong handshake went towards the big Russian.

"Up 'n about eh?" Eric asked.

"Aye, Fekkin' tired o' lyin about. Feelin' nothin' worse than th' first night ashore 'ere," I laughed. A deep cough caught me off guard, and still lent a concerned look to Eric's face. I inhaled deeply. "So werd's gotten out th' 'eron's got a bit o' pop t' 'er, an' Dog's taken som' new faces."

"Aye," Eric agreed. He layed the familar leather satchel on the chair near the door as Luc leaned the musket in the corner. "Quite a bit Mister Pew. An' many a man wit' a skill t' sell."

I nodded in agreement. Eric reached into the bag and withdrew a dark bottle similar to those we recieved from Jean Doublet's brother. "Is it..." I began. Eric simply smiled that impish grin I had seen many times before. We passed the bottle for a few rounds as Eric brought me back to the Dog and told me of the many men making their mark. He even made it a point to discuss Argus and his acclamation to the cats aboard. Luc laughed and even remarked he had seen the hound slide headlong into a larboard cannon while chasing Anubis about the deck.

We all laughed more to the point of Luc's storytelling than the story itself.

How I missed being aboard the Watch Dog while at anchor.

Eric had replaced the bottle and grabbed the familar leather bound tome that included the log of the armoury and it's many notations. "Ah yes, th' good book, m' brotha. Been a while since I inked a page 'r two." Eric nodded and moved to the bed. He and I sat near each other on the bed as Luc pulled a chair close. The tome was opened and the many folded letter fell silently to the floor. Eric looked at me awaiting a response. I offered none.

The letter sat on the floor awaiting recognition. None was given.

"Cap'n Lasseter recieved 'is arms I assume?" I offered as the silence was broken. Father's letter had been read. I could expect nothing less. Eric's face told me all.

The sergeant-at-arms nodded. "Aye Preston, th' load 'ad..."

"Mother has passed Eric."

Eric stopped.

"Preston, I.."

I held my hand up. "No matter Mister Franklin. It was time 'n coming. Th' bottle my good man," I asked. "I know there's an'oer." I smiled. Eric's face showed a relief of a weight thirty-stone weighing upon him being suddenly released. Luc stood, suddenly silent.

Eric tried to fumble for words. "I, I..."

I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him slowly, "'s awright. Yer t' buy th' next round." He smiled as well as the Russian. A cough erupted again and then went away just as quickly.

"Th' Heron Preston," Eric changed the subject, "She' loaded f'r bear." Eric handed me the armoury log. I paged through to the current roster of arms and began to read through his list:

Small Arms found through the taking of the Maastricht

Boarding axe, aboard the Heron, 32, aboard the 'Dog, 75

Doglock Muskets, aboad the Heron, 34, aboard the 'Dog, 80

Brace of pistols, aboard the Heron, 37, aboard the 'Dog, 85... the list continued through the grenadoes, grapples, and even the shell guard cutlass.

"A fine bit o' work Mister Franklin."

Eric nodded. "Aye, e'en better tha' th' lass y' tried t'..."

"Ye c'n shut yer mouth where y' stand brotha, 'r I c'n shut 't fer ye," I bruskly told him. He looked at me slyly, gauging my seriousness.

"T' HELL WIT' YE!!" he yelled as ran and he levelled a shoulder into my ribs. I dropped an elbow heavily onto his back and we collapsed onto the floor. Several punches were thrown as we rolled about laughing as hard as the blows were landed.

Luc watched helpless as the two of us rolled and fought like brothers over the last piece of Mother's pie. I realized the Russian hadn't moved from his spot since the brouhaha erupted. Lying on the floor with Eric's face trapped under my forearm, I looked to him and shouted, "An' yer t' be th' next sergeant-at-arms?!"

Eric suddenly stopped. He pushed me off and sat up on his knees, "EH??"

I lay still for a moment, then exhaled heavily and stood. Walking to the small desk, I retrieved the letters and handed one to Eric Franklin, former sergeant-at-arms of the Watch Dog.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Heron

Dorian’s brow wrinkled and one side of his mouth curled into a grin as he pulled the object closer. It appeared to be a box, roughly eight inches by four inches by one and a half, maybe two inches. Pulling off the linen covering he revealed a finely inlayed box. He had seen one or two like it, but never one as finely made. It was a game box.

“Backgammon and Draughts… This’ exquisite Will… “

He turned it over in his hands, marveling at the intricately inlaid outside, made up for Draughts. The pearl inlay flashed in the candle light and the other squares were quite detailed in black, white, and red. Finding the latch he carefully opened it to reveal the lovingly worn pieces, including several small dice. The interior was even more detailed with the backgammon board. Varied shades of natural wood, greens and black. Dorian touched all the pieces and carefully shut and latched the box. Staring at the box he slowly shook his head.

“I can’t accept it Will… tis grande indeed an’ I see you’ve taken much care with it. Much like a part o’ ye.”

Dorian placed it on the linen and went to slide it across the table to William, who in turn placed a hand on the opposite edge.

“Yes, you can accept it and you will… It is mine to give and I give it to you.”

He kept it stationary until Dorian gave up. Again The captain of the Heron shook his head at the captain of the Watch Dog. Taking it up he opened it and carefully emptied the pieces on the table.

“A’right then, we’ll have a game fer it… I challenge, you pick th’ game… winner takes all – no… you’d throw th’ match… Winner decides… Aye…”

William chuckled and took another drink. Dorian waited for his choice of what game would be played. The two men sat as brothers across the table.

[William Brand]

William shook his head. "I haven't played backgammon for some six or seven years at least, and to be perfectly honest, I never cared much for draughts. I thought...perhaps it would see more use aboard the Heron. Also..." William stopped. Dorian was still looking at William as if waiting for a choice of games. William smiled, resigned. "Draughts."

Dorian began setting up the pieces while William made conversation. "How is Miss Moore?"

Dorian shrugged. "Improving..."

"Improving...? That won't do. I could send over Tjaak Cuylemburch. He was a cook before we made him a seaman."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian stopped placing pieces and looked at William.

“An actual cook ye say? I’d happily take him on in that case, long as it won’t cause issue.”

He continued placing the pieces while William looked on.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Aboard the Heron

"I'll see Cuylemburch sent over with the recruits in the morning. I should think him a better cook than any that might be improving." William chuckled softly. Dorian finished setting up the small, round pieces on the checkerboard face of the box and gestured to William to make the first move, which he did without much thought. He did however press forward on the subject of crew members. "I have an odd number of lads for fetching powder. Seven to your...three?"

"Aye." Dorian agreed. "I have Patrick, Liam and Hindrik."

"I'll speak with Petee and see which one of the boys I can send over with the cook."

"Thank you."

"You'll tell me of course, if you need some particular tradesman before I go again to the fort." William said, then added. "I found a carpenter turned captain in that lot I brought over today. A Mister Jonah Greene. A very capital fellow."

"Jonah." Dorian mused aloud. William said nothing. "A carpenter, you say...? Very good."

"Aye. William said even as Dorian took the first of William's pieces. "I may keep him aboard the 'Dog and let you have our Mister Wenge for the Heron, as he knows the cutter already."

"Aye." Dorian returned and they traded conversation and draughts for half an hour. The conversation slowed as the pieces vanished from the board, each man focusing more on the game than the company. Both of them grew quieter and the pauses between plays grew longer as the game played out. Finally, in an act of self assured victory, William jumped several of Dorian's pieces, only to realize with a sudden dawning sheepishness, and no small amount of disappointed cursing, that he had lost the game. He had failed to calculate the placement of all the pieces still in play.

[Black Mab]

Abovestairs, in strack contrast to the light and noise of the spacious common room, the narrow hallways between sleeping chambers were cloaked in complete darkness broken only intermittently by guttering lamps. Barely enough light touched the corners to illuminate a narrow strip between door and floor. Yet, enough for sharp eyes and sharper ears to note – clear as day – when a slow, awkward step passed by and, at the same time – just for a moment – the light under the cabinet door dimmed.

Some time afterwards, long after a door at the far end of the hall had opened and shut and a key had clicked in the lock, the ghost in the closet finally stirred. At first, only a soft squeak was heard, then a shuffle. If anyone had been listening, they would easily have mistaken the soft noises for nothing more than a mouse evading prowling tavern cats. A shadow, darker than its surroundings, flickered between the lamps. No mouse, then, but something larger – more humanlike.

The door to Miss McDonough’s room was opportunely situated in one of the darker parts of the corridor. Even so, a passerby might have observed – but only for a moment- a form crouched before the door. And then, a click, muffled by the storm. A bolt of lightening struck outdoors, quite close, and the eves fairly rattled with the percussive thunder that followed. In that moment, Murin’s door swung open ever so slightly and that dark form slipped through.

With the window shuttered against the driving rain, the interior of the room was not quite lit well enough to make out Miss McDonough’s shape as she reclined on the bed, resting her ankle. So the shadow entered cautiously, eyes darting furtively as it searched for . . .what? Making barely a sound, avoiding a large puddle on the floor, it slipped to a chair over which a waistcoat had been draped. A hand darted out and with practiced speed tested the pockets and lining for telltale lumps. No coins to be found there, no treasure at all. A blinding flash of light, and the shadow in the room resolved itself into the shape of a man of medium height and slender build, clothing and coloring equally blurred in the murky darkness that again blanketed the room. Finding nothing of worth in Miss McDonough’s waistcoat, the scoundrel moved on, his dark mission now as clear as his form. Very few surfaces in the room, very few possessions at all. His eyes adjusted slowly, enough to see the form in the bed, the lady’s head turned away from the door. Her breathing was soft and even – she was quite asleep. Even so, the thief’s pace as he approached the bed remained a snail’s crawl. He’d seen her arrive at the tavern with a bag. She must still have it. She’d made purchases this day, yet her compatriots had been far freer with their gold. She must have coins aplenty secreted away . . .

He was no more than a few feet from the bed at this point, his back to the door, still free to run the moment she stirred. He moved forward, so close now he could reach out and touch her. Rain drummed rhythmically on the roof, masking his smooth footsteps and measured breathing. Thunder continued to rumble. Lightening flashed and he caught a glimpse of a thong about the slumbering woman's throat, perhaps connected to a bag? He hesitated to move – the storm seemed to be holding its breath and even the rain seemed to have silenced. Temptation, greed, perhaps simple desperation drove him forward. . .

Too quickly! As careful as he’d been to place his feet, the weathered boards under his badly-worn leather shoes betrayed him now. The softest of creaks, but loud as a trumpet blast in the impossible silence. He jumped backwards, but Miss McDonough had entered the room exhausted and cast her shoes aside haphazardly. Stepping backwards onto one of those same shoes now, the thief lost his footing completely. He tripped backwards, making even more noise in the progress, instinctively reached out to catch himself, and in that moment she had him.

[Pew]

Luc cocked his head to the side. Eric slid his thumb under the seal and broke the still soft seal. Eric's eyes moved over the letter.

"We'll set th' new marines," I said, before he had a chance to speak.

"Bu', bu', why?"

I crossed my hands behind my back and looked out the window. "Mister Franklin, you 'ave gone 'bove an' beyond y'r duties 's sergeant-at-arms. Th' small arms logged an' shipped aboard th' Heron, my duties you 'ave duly taken under during m' sickness."

"No." He simply stated, and "no" again.

"Th' new marines, Mister Franklin?"

Eric didn't move.

"Th' list Luc?"

A small piece of parchment was handed to me. I unfolded it and read the list:

Assigned to the Heron:

Brenton Coles

John Kine

Anthony Dyer

Jeffrey Elijah

Zachary Howard

David Leigh

Godfrey Bicknell

Francis Thomas Roundtree

James Abraham Sandefur

Assigned to the Watch Dog:

Larboard-

Robert Hollis

Gabriel Edward

Oliver Randall

Samuel Standiford

James Standiford

Brenton Lund

Moses MacTigue

Blaise Wallace

Gavin Montgomery

Christophe Lefevr

Starboard-

Richard Tollervy

William Dash

Thomas Crips

Ulrich fon Sandt-Thorvald

Jonah Greene

David Henry

Robert Elmer

Andrew Light

Martin Gadd

Keven Norman

"What 're y' t' do then?" Eric asked.

I placed the list down. "Mister Flint will take o'er th' duties 's Master-at-arms aboard th' Heron. You are t' take o'er my duties aboard th' Watch Dog. Luc 'll report t' yerself, 's Jean 'll b' 'n second 'n charge o' th' marines," I paused to let the last statement sink in.

"I let th' Cap'n know o' my decision. As I 'ave wit ye," I picked up the second letter and tapped it on the desk. I reached for the bottle, "I signed on t' th' Watch Dog 's a gunner's mate. I' sure th' Captain has a position open 'tween th' Heron o' th' Dog."

[Silkie McDonough]

Miss McDonoughs room, Le Chateau Anse - Martinique

The shoes were not placed carelessly at all, Murin had been afraid that whoever was after Jenny would try this sort of thing. Miss McDonough felt uneasy as soon as she laid down. She had not been able to sleep soundly, waking at every noise. This slight figure of a man was easy to keep down once he had fallen and easier to hold in place with the cold steel of her knife at his throat. On one knee she straddled the stranger, who was no more than a boy, thanks to God. Jenny made little noise and seemed to freeze in place. “Jon-v-ev!" Her voice was low and huskie “Light d’candle, n’grab m’pistol!” she snapped in a hushed voice. Murin knew that the powder was likely to misfire due to the dampness in the air but the intruder did not. “D’naut move n’inch lad!” she hissed at her captive. “Who er ya n’wot’ya wont?”

[Black Mab]

The slender figure pinned beneath Miss McDonough struggled at first, an automatic reaction to entrapment, but froze at the touch of cold steel against his throat.

His eyes widened when she spoke, “Light d’candle, n’grab m’pistol! D’naut move n’inch lad!”

Flinching, he gasped out, "Please! D'na shoot me!"

Miss McDonough could feel him trembling as he spoke again, this time barely above a whisper, his tone one of desperation and fear,"I mean yeh an' yer frien' no harm. . .truly . . ."

Unable to turn his head away from Miss McDonaugh's piercing glare, he averted his eyes to stare at the wall as he murmured, defeated, ". . .ah was jus' hungry . . ."

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe had sat bolt upright in bed uttering only a small gasp, so deep was her exhausted slumber. Sure her worst fears had been confirmed, she froze unable to react. Murin it seemed, had moved like lightning, pinning the cloaked figure to the floorboards. As she lit the candle with trembling hand, Jenny saw the glint of a blade held steadily in the grasp of the Watchdog's tailor and was pressed to action by the young woman's commanding tone. Jenny searched for the pistol quickly her eyes roving to the chair as she threw back the covers. The reticent young sailor was now all business and Jenny saw her in a completely different light. Even as she grasped the firearm and passed it to Murin, she was astonished by the sudden change in her friend. The figure, still prone begged to be released.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Heron

The game had been a good one, Dorian knew Will was playing in earnest, especially with the last set of moves. He hid a smile as he jumped the last piece the Captain of the Watch Dog had on the board and sat back.

“Ya play a mean game, Will… I look forward to more of ‘em… an’ mayhaps when I c’n remember all th’ rules, we’ll be more inclined for backgammon.”

William smiled warmly.

“I look forward to that Dorian, truly I do.”

Dorian yawned, looking surprised as he did so.

“Pardon me… Hmm… Alright… I’ll keep th’ box fer now… next time, winner keeps it an’ so on…”

He spoke authoritatively, not as if he were asking for a comment in return. Dorian picked up all the pieces and deposited them into the box, shut it and clicked the clasp in place. He left it in the center of the table, as if a piece for display. Its craftsmanship lent to such a thing. Both men stood, as if reading each others thoughts that it was time to retire.

“Well William, on the morrow I will return to shore yet again. The storm prevented me from gathering some items in town, and completing other tasks. I hope to check in on some of the others ashore as well.”

[Silkie McDonough]

Miss McDonough's room, Le Chateau Anse - Martinique

“Cawk it” Jenny held the fire arm out to Murin. She had hoped the woman would be able to hold the pistol on the intruder but it was apparent that the Jenny was too shaken. Miss McDonough switched the knife blade to her bad hand and reached for the pistol. Pointing it at the lad’s head she slowly pulled back the cock and said nothing taking a moment to catch her breath and steady her nerves. She wished that she had changed out the powder before lying down. “Naw t’sound” Raising herself onto her good ankle she again barked at Jenny. “Get d’curtain ties.” Pistol still aimed at the stranger, her eyes locked on his she kept her weight on her good ankle. “You, on yer feet.” Instinct made the lad move slowly, trembling he stood, shoulders slumped and head down but eyes wide and locked with his would be victim. “Sit.” She indicated the chair that her clothing was hung over. The lad turned his head towards the chair, backed up to it and slid into it like a frightened child. “He’s not but fifteen years.” Murin thought, “but why would he be about to take Jenny by the throat if he was only hungry? “Now tie im ta d'chair lass. Make it hold gerl.”

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - On the Cul du Sac Royal

William departed the Heron at four bells of the First Watch, crossing to the Watch Dog in short order, and found upon arrival there, that he was too tired to sleep. Too many thoughts rolled about in his head. Too many ideas hemmed in by doubt or expectation. He made himself known to Tudor when he arrived, relieving her of the deck. Then he went aft and up to the quarterdeck and stood awhile at the helm, watching all of the other ships at anchor on the dark bay.

On Martinique

Meanwhile, equally tired, but also awake, the wounded and threadbare Tawny made his way along a cart road on the Eastern side of the island. He had travelled all of the previous morning and all of the afternoon and evening in wide arcs, hoping to discover what had become of the boy. His need to rediscover Adebanke was absolute, obsession notwithstanding, for if 'the boy', as he thought of her, were to escape his clutches, then Tawny might become the hunted and he preferred the self proclaimed role of predator.

Tawny was almost past the point of collapse when he came across something which stirred his instincts more than his intellect. He walked back and forth across a line of cart tracks running along the road trying to decide which way that they had come from. He was so weary that it did not occur to him to check the direction of the horse hooves which had proceeded it. Instead, he noted how the clay had been pressed away by the cart wheels, and on this and this alone, he chose to march Southward, hoping his reunion with the once captive boy would be a warm one.

He was soon rewarded by the sound of domesticated animals and dogs just one generation removed from domestication and the wild. Like Tawny, they were part of civilization, but only as a matter of course. They barked as Tawny approached, for they recognized him for what he was.

He slew the first dog as easily as one might squash a bug or close a door. One moment he was walking up to it as it warned him off with growls and spit, and the next he was on the animal as it realized too late that Tawny was the larger predator. The more aggressive omnivore. He twisted its head so far around that he broke its neck not in one place, but several. This put the second dog in a frenzy, but Tawny dispatched it with a well aimed hayfork. A face appeared at a nearby window moments later accompanied by a shrill voice which told the dogs to 'still their gobs'. Tawny enjoyed hearing this and smiled to himself in the dark of the stables. A shadow among the shadows.

When the figure was gone again, he familiarized himself with the contents of several outbuildings. Most of them were empty but for grain and a few unremarkable tools, but the last came with implements of various obvious purposes which might be misused. He was particularly delighted to find a machete and a devilish looking hooked knife, perhaps meant for grapes that would never grow well in this place.

Out in the night, another dog barked.

"Tawny hates dogs, he does. Hates 'em." he murmured as he armed himself.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter bid Captain Brand farewell for the evening. Once he saw William off he made a round on deck and below, making sure all was well. Returning to the Ward Room, he cleaned up the glasses and bottles, acting as his own Steward. He was pleased at the new crew he would be getting, pleased that there might be more too. He sat at the table and looked at the game box again and smiled, wondering where it came from in William’s travels. He yawned again as he wondered and decided it was time for some sleep. He headed out and told Mister Brisbane, then prepared himself for sleep. Tomorrow he had to accomplish all he hadn’t today, plus what was planned for the morrow as well. Busy was the word for the morrow… very busy. He resigned himself to it as he climbed into his hammock and pulled a light cover over himself. He still wore his knife and laid a pistol across his chest beneath the cover, just because. A little caution never hurt.