The Watch Dog

[Red Cat Jenny]

Captain Lasseter departed briskly to deal with the announcement of the Lieutennant's arrival. Taking physical inventory of her clothing and any obvious stains or bruises, Miss Ashcombe had returned fully to her senses. All had happened so quickly she only now realized how much propriety amongst strangers had been thrown aside. But the events of nearly two days past certainly warranted action over protocol. As she moved about familiarizing herself hastily with the Ward Room, Jenny was amazed at being taken in so quickly by persons foreign to her island and perhaps nervous about their own goings on. They had no reason to trust her other than the word of Miss McDonough whom she was now gaining even more admiration for. Jenny opened the heavy lid of the stern bench and lowered her parcel into it. She glanced over her shoulder and then back to the half open sack. Brushing her hair to one side she knelt more quickly this time, but with no less discomfort reaching deep within it's contents. She withdrew the purse and looked around the room standing as she did so. Jenny closed the stern bench and moved to the side cabinet loosing it's brass latch. The various labels were difficult to read in the recess of the lower shelf. She drew out one which fortuitously was French and shifting the rest stashed the purse at the back replacing the many bottles and closed the latch. Jenny located a pewter tray as well and arranged a number of glasses and the bottle on the cabinets top. As she looked for a cloth, she passed the Captain's glass on the wall. "Gracious!" Jenny brought both hands to her hair gingerly rearranging it into a loose braid and wiped a smudge from her face with the corner of her shirt sleeve. Embarrased at once by her state in front of both Captains she bit her lip. Conversation filtered in muffled tones from the deck again. Jenny cast her eyes towards the door running a hand behind her neck. She picked up a cloth and a glass and sat nervously on the bench planning to make as if she were polishing it. Praying they would simply pass by.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Heron

Quirion Charron tried in vain to think of some polite, less awkward way to interrupt the Lieutenant, but the young officer was standing quite apart from him and looking murderous again. The venomous look Turcotte had fixed upon him would not make this any easier, but on some level he appreciated the moment, despite the embarrassment it might cause his superior.

"Pardonnez-moi, Lieutenant..." He said, stepping forward.

"Oui...qu'est-ce que c'est, sergent ?" Turcotte said back through teeth that were barely parted.

"Mais ce n'est pas le bateau d'avant."

Lieutenant Turcotte flushed a little and turned back to Dorian with a passive look attempting a casualness that failed a little. "Is this not the small boat that was fired upon?" he asked, pointing towards the guard boat.

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William finished his work, gathered his coat and hat and went out of the Ward Room into the passageway forward. He passed Dorian's former quarters, wondering how soon they would be occupied again. He passed the private room of the ship's Doctor and wondered, not for the first time, where she might be. These thoughts were on his mind as he passed the open door to the galley and he just chanced to glance in. He saw Ned O'Flaherty bending to pick up a knife that had fallen.

William stopped.

"No." he thought to himself. "No." He turned his head in the direction of the young thief so recently come aboard. Ned was facing away from him and brushing flour from the overly large apron hung about his neck. It was a simple gesture, no more profound than retrieving the fallen knife, but William couldn't help the smile which spread on his face.

"O'Flaherty." He called. Ned jumped just enough to upset some crockery. "I'll see you in the surgery."

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Mab]

The day had simply flown by, as Ned bustled about making himself useful to the cook of the Watchdog. He'd been peeling potatoes, a mind-numbingly tedious task but one he was accomplishing with surprising speed, when the knife slipped out of his damp, slimy fingers. He'd just bent over to pick it up when he heard a step behind him on the wooden planks. Attempting to look casual, Ned straightened up and pretended to brush at some nonexistent stain on his apron as he glanced peripherally over his shoulder. Before he could discern the identity of the shadow in the doorway, the Watchdog's captain's voice boomed out, startling him.

"O'Flaherty . . . I'll see you in the surgery."

Ned's heart gave a leap - evidently right out of his chest and into a stack of pottery- which he barely saved from a disastrous spill across the floor. As soon as he had managed to gather his wits along with the dishes, he hung his apron on a hook and stuck his knife into the nearest potato. Gage indicated the route he ought to follow and, heart still beating loudly, Ned took a deep breath and crossed the passageway into the surgery to meet his Captain.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Meg Wardell was not surprised or alarmed to see Captain Brand come in at the door, but she looked a bit undone to see a stranger standing beyond him and by his request that she surrender the room for the moment. Meg had not left the room for days. Not since Tawny had put the fear of the Devil into her in the darkness of the holds. It had become her sanctuary. Her solace. Her Tomb.

"Did you not here me, Miss Wardell? I need the surgery for the moment. You may wait in the passageway if you wish, or even the galley."

Meg still didn't move. The idea of facing Lazarus was not an appealing one, though she thought she might have to in time. Meg might have suggested a tactical retreat into the Surgeon's private quarters, but William held the door open and he did not look to be in a bargaining frame of mind. It wasn't that he looked angry or even impatient. Quite the contrary. He looked almost... "What?" she thought. "Mischievous?" That wasn't it entirely. In fact, she was sure that she was quite wrong on this point, but there was something absolute about his body language, so for the first time in days she walked out of the surgery and passing between the two of them as she went.

William ushered Ned into the room and was about to speak, but then he paused. "Wait here. I shall be back momentarily." He went to leave, shutting the door as he did so, but then he opened it again. "Don't touch anything." He closed the door.

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Mab]

Ned entered slowly, letting his eyes readjust to the new light and was surprised to see another person, a woman, in the room with Captain Brand. She looked gaunt and pale, and equally nonplussed to see him, so he offered no salutation as Brand firmly ushered her from the room. Not knowing what to do, he simply nodded when the captain ordered him to wait and exited himself.

Utterly confused, Ned stood perfectly still in the middle of the room and tried to fathom these unexpected proceedings. He couldn't gauge Brand's mood at all - the man's commanding presence was nearly overwhelming to the lad, who was still concentrating on maintaining a non-threatening anonymity. It had, after all, been less than a day since they'd brought him on board and he was still not at all certain of the inscrutable captain's intentions.

Mind churning, Ned clenched and unclenched his hands. This reminded him of his previous work with the potatoes so he did his best to wipe the last of the vegetable goo off on his already-grimy shirttail. Re-tucking the shirt into torn breeches held up by a length of fraying rope, Ned abashedly realized what a sight he must be. His right hand rose automatically, brushing his long bangs away from his eyes and trying to smooth the tangles out of his dark brown hair. Thus occupied by the simple motions of grooming, Ned hardly noticed the passage of time as he waited for the captain to return.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Heron

The question was not unexpected, yet Dorian took it as if it was.

“I do believe it was… but as a point of fact I cannot be assured myself as so many boats were here at the time. It could have been a hired boat, or even the small boat from the Watch Dog….”

The slight smile returned to Turcotte’s face.

“Then I shall have to inspect the boats of the Watch Dog as well… “

“Aye… than you shall have to secure permission to do so, for I cannot grant it…”

“Capitaine Lasseter… My papers if you please…”

Dorian had the papers in hand, behind his back, which he produced quickly, handing them back to the officer with a short bow. The Lieutenant bowed back and turned to the sergeant and told him in French for him and his men to stay aboard until his return. Turcotte headed over the side and into the second boat, ordering those marines to make way to the Frigate beyond. Sergeant Charron watched the Lieutenant go and turned to Captain Lasseter. Not knowing much English he tried his best to convey why he and his men were still there.

“Monsieur Capitaine… Lieutenant… ‘e tell, to remain…”

Dorian smiled and held up his hand.

“Merci sergent, je comprennent.”

The Sergeant looked shocked for a moment as the Captain spoke to him in reasonable French. Then he chuckled a moment briefly shaking his head. He made a comment to the other marines with him and they all seemed to relax a touch while waiting for their officer to return. Dorian took a moment to excuse himself to the quarterdeck where he retrieved his cutlass, left there earlier. Returning to the waist he stood again easily with his hands behind his back, watching both the marines on his ship and those crossing to the Watch Dog.

Just before Eight Bells of the Afternoon Watch

[Red Cat Jenny]

Ward Room of the Heron

The glass was held so tightly it threatened to break, saved by a noise from outside which caused her to flinch and Jenny realized she'd been tensed with fear. Polishing the vessel once again she spoke softly to the air. Practicing once or twice addressing Captain Lasseter as he entered so as not to seem unfamiliar with his name. . She would need to appear collected should they indeed come into the Captain's quarters. Jenny turned and looked out the stern windows, trying to ignore the discomfort of her inury or the trembling in her stomach. The suns rays were weakening in the late afternoon and a few gulls followed local fishermen bringing in their haul for the day. She saw nothing to light the lantern with and hoped someone would arrive before she was in the dark without explanation. Jenny strained to see but could not make out whether any boats were headed to or from the Heron's side.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William was below and forward for a short time, but in that time he collected many items both specific and random. He stuffed all of these into an old snapsack and added to them an ill used sailor's knife discarded among the extra shoes kept in a barrel outside the cable tier. This accomplished, he made his way aft and then up, stopping only to see those recruits who were still stowing their newly acquired gear. He soon arrived on deck and before he could enter the passageway aft, Eric Franklin intercepted him. "Sorry, Sah. French marines on approach."

"Now?" William turned that direction and then went to the rail. The French longboat had all but arrived.

"They've kept some of theirs aboard the Heron." Eric added, handing over a glass to William, but William refused it. He could see by daylight enough to recognize the color of the uniforms.

"That is Lieutenant Turcotte." William explained, gesturing to the man at the head of the longboat.

"Ahhh...The Fort Royal Frenchman." Eric shook his head. Mister Badger joined them at the rail even as Turcotte called out to the Watch Dog.

"What news, Lieutenant?" William returned.

"Capitaine. I must see the boat which was fired upon." Turcotte said, and while his papers lent him no such permission in regard to the Watch Dog, he did not phrase his request in the form of a request.

"That would be our jollywatt, The Samson. A moment, sah." William turned to Mister Badger. "What men were they that manned the barge?" he asked, knowing full well who each and every one of them had been.

Mister Badger looked about the deck, his eyes resting on several men as he called their names. "Owen there. Henry. Smit." The men began to gather as they were named.

"Shall I have her swung out?" William asked, looking down on Turcotte.

"No." he said. "I should come aboard, with your permission."

"What can you mean to find in the jollywatt, sah?"

"My man tells me there was blood, Capitaine."

William turned to Mister Badger, who nodded. Jacob explained that there had indeed been blood, but he had seen it washed out already. There had been little of it to speak of and all of it was gone already, washed away with so much water and scrubbing. Turcotte was close enough to hear all of this, so William simply gave him a look as if to say 'What now?', but the Lieutenant was undaunted.

"Which man bled, Capitaine?"

William looked about as if to ask the men there, knowing full well that Miss Ashcombe had provided the blood in question. He wasn't completely sure what to say on that point, but before he could say aught, Owen Monahan drew out his sailor's knife and cut his own hand at the heel. "Monahan." William said, trying to make this sound like an answer and not surprise, for Owen had wounded himself quite casually. Owen plucked a scarf of plain cloth from Paul Mooney's neck and was wrapping his hand quickly as he crossed to the rail.

"I'll see this wound, Capitaine." Turcotte demanded.

"Here it is." Owen called as he reached the rail and held out his hand. "Bled some six bandages to death." he said, surly. "Cut meself on a boat hook when a lout knocked me down in the scuffle."

William and Turcotte exchanged a look. William's expression was plain. Aloof. Turcotte's face was flat, but dark for such a bright afternoon. The business of Fort Royal had stalled once more. What more could the Lieutenant say or do? All was explained here and on the Heron and yet the mystery remained. The Lieutenant removed his hat in a formal gesture of gratitude and farewell, never smiling once. William sent him on his way with a slight inclination of his head.

Then, turning to Owen he said, "You had best get something for that hand, Mister Monahan. An extra ration of rum these three days next should do the trick."

Owen smiled his bent and broken smile and William repented a little that he had not liked the man more before now.

Eight Bells of the Afternoon Watch

First Dog Watch Begins

Moments later William entered the surgery. He found Ned standing almost exactly where he had left him. He smiled, friendly enough and placed the snapsack on the surgery table. then he spilled out some of the contents, explaining the benefits of the rag bin aboard the 'Dog.

"We keep the old clothes forward for use as work clothes for tarring and pitching. Sometimes the tailor can make new ones from these that were once new. A little needlework and resurrection." William said with a smile. "I'm sorry that you should be aboard so much of the day and kept at work in those rags." He gestured to the clothes which Ned wore and shook his head. Then he held up a shirt and then another until he was satisfied which shirt might best fit the lad. "These will be yours then. We've no tub to speak of aboard the 'Dog, and with the Doctor gone we cannot make an examination of you for lice and fleas, but you seem clean enough for a boy and you may wash when ashore next."

William placed the sailor's knife aside and explained that good shoes might be found below when Ned was ready for them. Then he brought the better of the two shirts around to Ned.

"Let's have them clothes. We'll see them washed...or even burned if need be."

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Mab]

Ned could do little more than blink in surprise. This, of all things, was not what he had been expecting. He eyed the shirt which the captain extended to him. It was certainly cleaner than the tatters he was currently wearing, which really did very little to cover his lower arms and shoulders, for the sleeves were so tattered they barely reached his elbows and the neck was so stretched it was constantly sliding off.

Slowly, he reached out to take the shirt, examining it. It had a slight rend along one side seam, and would require a few extra stitches here and there. Any fool with a needle and bit of thread could have made short work of it. Unfortunately, Ned had neither. And really, his breeches were in an even worse state than his shirt. By the end of the day, he'd be walking around holding them up with one hand when the rope belt finally gave out.

Summoning his courage, Ned began,"Sah, ye've been fahr too kind tah me. Ah do hate, sah, to ask for any more than ye've already offered but sah . . .these drawahs . . .

He gestured to the tattered and muddy pants.

"Ah don't think they'll last much longer. If ye've a needle an' thread among those things, sah, might ye also have an awld pair o' trousers ah might hem up tah go wit' this shirt, what will need a stitch or two a'fore wearin'?"

Ned looked down at the ground, embarrassed. He scuffed his (very tattered) toe against the polished wood of the deck, as boys do when they're at a loss for words, and finally muttered, "an' new shoes, sah, it's really more than ah've any right tah accept . . .

". . .I mus' be payin' ye back somehow, sah. Ye have been more generous than the likes 'o me 'ave any right to a'tall, sah. Ah've spent me day in tha' galley an' if that's where ye want me ah'll be glad to continue peelin' potatoes but sah, just say tha word an' ah'll do anything ye ask of me . . ."

The lad trailed off, blushing a fierce red under the thin layer of dust darkening his cheeks. Unused to kindness such as this, and certainly not expecting it from this quarter, Ned had no idea whatsoever how to properly proceed.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

"No need for any of that." William assured him, fetching out slops that were almost new, but for a patch over one knee. "Those that give a day's work are given clothes to that end and can expect hot food and a hammock. I'll not see threads in the bread because the galley is filled with ragamuffins. You can show your gratitude in your work and cause for us to keep you aboard. If you decide not to say, the clothes won't go wasted when you leave with them."

William lay out the slops and gestured again for the old clothes. "Come on now. A physician I am not, but I've seen scurvy, yellow fever, boils and the black death. I've also read a little Harvey and Boyle so I know a sign or two, so let's have them clothes off and see what sort of sailor we might make of you. I've clothed some sixty men in the last two days."

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Mab]

Ned eyed the slops dubiously, gauging the waistband. Well, Brand must have met some skinny sailors in his day; the slops would be loose but there was no protesting that they would not fit. Ned turned his doubting gaze on the captain who, far from inscrutable now, seemed to be greatly enjoying the joke. Ned chewed his lower lip for a moment, stalling.

"Ah can assure ye, sah, I've ne'er been sick a day in me life. Right strong lads me mum raised, rest 'er soul."

The captain just cocked an eyebrow at him and Ned looked away, realizing that he'd more or less just disobeyed a fairly straightforward order.

"Ah . . .um . . .sah, is't proper? A workin' man undressed a'fore tha' cap'n?" This Ned was genuinely unsure about. It seemed uncouth.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William just looked at the lad a long time, saying nothing at all. He had smiled less as the conversation continued until none was found on his face at all. William stood there, as did Ned.

"Are you shy, lad...?" William asked, finally and incredulously. "Mister O'Flaherty, I assure you, I've seen more pizzles flogged about these two days than on a whore's birthday, now off with those tatters." William said impatiently. "The 'Dog is not a counting house. Live here long enough and you'll see every sort of man that God has made and just as he made them. Upright dogs all. Not one of them squeamish enough to hide what he's been given or foolish enough to think his alloted privacy will long escape the notice of the five score men soon to be aboard the 'Dog. Every man has eighteen inches for his hammock and counts himself lucky to be dry...but modest...? No."

Still, Ned stood and William shook his head. He placed the shirt back on the pile.

"The sea will test a man, young or old, but I'll..." William paused. "I should like to see what modesty you would argue before our Doctor, Mister O'Flaherty, being a woman."

[Black Mab]

But the captain's words had made an impact on Ned. Besides that, he'd had days while the 'Dog and Heron were in harbor to watch the crews and he'd seen a good bit more once aboard. Setting his jaw firmly, Ned reached out and caught the hem of the shirt, snatching it back just before it settled into the pile.

"Ah am not shy o' man nor woman, sah. Ah'd once fancied me secrets me own but as ye say, sah, there're tae be no secrets here. Ah swore tae tell ye the truth this morn an' now ah shall, but let there be mercy among thieves, or may God hi'self see ye ta hell!"

His outburst terrified even him. Ned wanted nothing more than to take to his heels, dive overboard and let the tides cool his shame as they carried him far from the Watchdog and its too-insightful captain. His legs were shaking too hard for that kind of action, though, so the lad only jerked what remained of his shirt straight forward away from his neck, violently ripping the garment to tatters as he tore it away from himself. The abrupt motion broke the rope around his waist, dropping his loose breeches around his ankles. Face flushed red, eyes burning, the lad stared defiantly up at the captain, wearing little more than what he'd been born in, plus the more recent addition of a dingy pair of linen underdrawers and a great length of muslin bound tightly around his upper chest.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William's expression changed very little. He thought he had a good idea what Hell was, but he said nothing. He was not rewarded by the discovery before him. In fact, his suspicions had only been mild at best, and he had hoped himself wrong. When he began speaking, his voice was quiet.

"The lads will abide a great many things. Storms at sea. Loss of life. The daily threat of a hemp knot caught under their chins..." William paused a moment, then continued. "Dedrick Van Buren served aboard this ship but a month. He gave good service and worked as well as any other seaman aboard the 'Dog. He was not once seen drunk for duty, asleep on watch or missing in time of need. Then a storm blew in and we were three days under rain and wind. We lost two men in the storm. John Sons and Dedrick Van Buren. Sons was not recovered, but Van Buren was plucked from the sea drowned. When we went to dress the lad in his hammock, we found Van Buren the woman, not the lad."

William waited for this to sink in a little and continued.

"Van Buren had come aboard to learn all she could of me...William Brand. Pirate. Vagabond. Murderer. Van Buren came aboard to sew treachery. She wanted revenge on me for a death I had no part in. She was a month among us as a man. She ate our bread. She drank our rum. She plucked out our secrets. She planned our destruction. She probably killed John Sons and she murdered two men aboard the Danzig Trader. Good men." William removed his hat. He scratched at his temple and smiled an empty smile. "The lads will abide a great many things, but they think none to kindly of one thing pretending to be another. Tell me plain. Who are you?"

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Mab]

The lass, for she could no longer be called 'lad,' nor 'Ned,' swallowed hard at Brand's solemn words. She'd thought her life was in the balance last night. She'd had no idea.

Taking a deep breath, and drawing the new shirt she still clutched in her shaking hand about her shoulders, the lass took a step forward. Looking Brand right in the eye, unflinching, she said, "Cap'n, me name is Moira O'Flaherty - that much ah tole ye was true enough. Ah was born nigh on seventeen years ago in Galway. Ah worked half me life, wit' me good-fer-nothin' drunken whore of a mother, in tha' house of an English landowner. Ah had a brother, long dead, named Edward an' ah took his name more'n two years ago when ah left . . .nay, when ah fled Ireland."

Moira hesitated then, though her gaze remained steady. He didn't need her entire family history, it wasn't really important anyway. But here she was standing practically naked in front of him, so why bother to hide anything else?

"Sah, I swear tae ye that ah have not come aboard tae make trouble fer anyone, though ah think Miss McDonaugh's frien' fears something about me, ah knae not what. Please do'na press me as tae why ah ran from me home - t'wasn't much tae leave anyway, an't has no bearing on why ah'm here now. I never hurt anyone, never stole naught but bread to live on, an' that only once ah was on tha run an' starvin . . .ye have other women on yer ship - ye know how hard a woman can work and ah'm no differen'. Ah will earn my keep, sah, doin' anythin' ye ask of me. Ah can cook, clean and sew a bit. Ah . . ."

Again she hesitated but plowed on, "ye said ye have read a bit o' tha doctors literature. Ah canna' understand such language as that but ah have a bit o' tha letters in me head . . . ah can read a very small bit, sah, though a scrap o'newspaper's all ah've ever had ta' look at. Ah promise ye ah'll be useful to ye."

Moira stopped there. There was nothing more to say. Either he believed her or he didn't. She'd come aboard a thief, caught stealing from one of his own crew. She knew little enough of ship's articles but suspected that wasn't a glowing mark on her record already. But hell if she'd go back to stealing and starving in the sweltering, godforsaken streets of some miserable tropical village. She didn't like the trick he'd played on her - she didn't like being taken for a fool. But Brand was clearly intelligent. He seemed as fair judge as any she was likely to meet now, and the thought of a privateer clapping a pickpocket in irons was enough to make her crack a small smile as she stood waiting for his verdict.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

"Lies are sometimes a truth we create for the moment. We want them to be true." William picked up his hat. "I have lied often enough these eight years that I might live them."

He walked to the door and stood a moment looking back at her. He replaced his hat and straightened it in place. "Get dressed. You are needed in the galley. Mister Gage should have been ashore hours ago and the fore and aft watches will need feeding." William tipped his hat as he went out.

"Miss O'Flaherty."

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[BriarRose Kildare]

BriarRose had tried her best to put the young lass at ease. She could tell that the young woman was in a hurry to leave. Working diligently she had Murin soak her ankle and foot. Instead of pasting on the poultice she found a jar and placed the contents in to it. Taking another bottle she measured out some vinegar.

Turning she looked at the young lass nervously sipping her tea and quietly munching on a biscuit. Smiling BriarRose said, "Ah, I can see that you are in a hurry. So I will not prolong your agony any longer only if you promise to follow my instructions later today."

Murin nodded and said, "Aye, Miss."

"Tonight before you go to bed I want you to mix this vinegar with the poultice I have prepared for you. Spread it evenly over your foot and ankle and then take a stocking or bit of cloth and wrap it up for the night. Now remember you must stay off of your feet while the poultice is working. In the morning, gently remove the material and rinse in cool water. After drying off your foot and ankle for the next several days in the morning and in the evening place this ointment on it. Also, I can see your hand is in need of a bit of healing too. So you can use some of the poultice and do the same with your hand as I have instructed with your foot and ankle. You may also use the ointment on your hand as well. If you follow my instructions your foot, ankle and hand will be well with in three days."

Blinking Murin looked at her as BriarRose continued, "Next I have prepared a mixture to be put in with some weak tea. It will help the discomfort as well as help you sleep. Now I must insist that you do take it because it will also help aid in your healing."

Bending down, BriarRose took Murin's foot out of the soak and dried it off. "Good a lot of the swelling has already gone down. How does it feel?"

Murin looked down at her foot and ankle and said, "Aye, Miss, it feels much bet'er it does. Ow' much do I owe ye?"

BriarRose could tell the young woman was proud and would not accept no charge as an answer so she replied, "Well, how about we say what ever you see it worth your cost?"

"Thank ye Miss." Murin said as she finished up the last of her tea. She quickly donned her stocking and shoe back on to her person. Pulling out a pouch of coins she placed a fair sum upon the table.

"Be well and have a good day." BriarRose said as she held out her hand.

Murin took her hand and shook it soundly as she said,"Thank ye a gain'." Picking up the contents BriarRose had wrapped up for her she turned and went out to the main entrance and left the shop.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Heron

As the men were stationed at general quarters and the officers stood on deck along with the French marines left by the Lieutenant, eyes occasionally wandered over to what was happening over at the Watch Dog. From what Dorian saw, Turcotte was not allowed to board and all communication was done over the side to him. Soon enough the boat of marines headed back across the expanse. As the boat neared the Heron, Lieutenant Turcotte hollered across to his marines to return to their boat and follow his to the fort. The sergeant ushered his men over the side and gave a knowing look to Captain Lasseter, who in turn touched his hat and wished him well.

“Bonne chance, sergent.”

He looked up at Dorian and quietly responded “Merci, Capitaine” before dropping into the boat and the men therein pushed off. Dorian watched them go until they were half a cables length off before he headed below, again giving the deck over to the Bo’sun, and giving the order to stand down from general quarters.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William went out into the afternoon sun to get some air and to see what business had transpired aboard ship and on the Heron nearby. He could see Turcotte's boat and men departing the Heron, but his immediate attention fell on Meg Wardell. She had come out into the sun and looked much rewarded for the effort. She was standing with her eyes closed at the rail facing West. She looked...relieved.

Most of the crew was avoiding her, or at the very least, too occupied to care about her one way or another. The business of the ship was greater than one woman's fears or recovery. Few men or even women aboard could truly sympathize with Meg anyway, for the sea was a hard life and too many of them had seen worse. Some of them much worse.

One of these was Owen Monahan.

At the ripe old age of seven, Owen had witnessed his first murder, not as a participant, but as a young boy hidden in a pantry cupboard. He had snuck into a bakery to steal something sweet for himself and his baby brother. He had thought the kitchen deserted, for the shop on the front street was busy and the day was well along. A maid or cook in her early teens had come in by the side door, entering the kitchen with several large bags of flour and Owen had hidden in a cupboard to escape detection. While there, a young man not much older than the maid had come into the shop and an argument had ensued. The conversation had been lost on Owen, taking place in German as it had, but in the end the young girl had thrown a bowl of heavy cream in the young man's face, and armed with a rolling pin made of heavy oak, the young man had struck her, dashing her to the floor. Owen had watched all this with an evolution of fear. First worried that he would be caught. Then troubled by the argument. And finally, lost in the confusion of so much blood ushering forth from one young girl.

Owen was looking at Meg now trying to understand why some distant part of his memory kept itching. Ever since meeting Meg he had felt this itch, wondering daily what it was. He stood on the fo'c'sle deck nursing the ache in his cut hand in an absent minded way when he suddenly understood. It was something about the belaying pin in Paul Mooney's hand as he stood nearby. It was something about the way the afternoon light struck Meg's face as she turned it to the sun. It was also something about Miss Ashcombe as well, laying in her own blood in the boat earlier that afternoon. All three people had awakened that day buried under fifteen years of Owen's life. A day he thought he had forgotten, and truly had until this moment.

William watched this mysterious epiphany from the quarterdeck. He watched as it painted many things on the oft plain canvas of Owen's face. He wanted to go and ask Owen what he was thinking then. He wanted to hear the story behind that waking face. He didn't of course. The man's business was his own, and as a private man himself, William let his eyes fall elsewhere and left Owen and Meg to their personal revelations. Finding all in order, he went below.

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Mab]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

After Brand had taken his leave, it took Moira another several moments to compose herself. As her ire wore off, she found herself trembling and blushing fiercely.

"ach, me . . ." she murmered to herself as she tugged the new shirt over her head, after readjusting and tightening the muslin wrapped around her torso. She was surprised how good it felt to put on comparatively clean and new clothes.

The slops provided to her fit surprisingly well. She hadn't realized she'd gotten so tall. Her old rags she folded into a neat pile and carried back to the galley, stowing them under a stool near the waiting mound of potatoes. No sense wasting scraps, she might get a patch or two out of them yet.

Using a polished silver platter for a mirror, Moira did her best to pull her tattered locks into two braids. She'd been hacking off her dark hair with a blunt knife for the last two years, trying to keep it in some semblance of a boy's cut and length. It will grow back soon enough, she consoled her doleful reflection.

After that, it was back to business as usual. Gage raised an eyebrow but in his typical taciturn manner, made no comment. Apart from new clothes, she didn't look that much different anyway. The cook left her strict instructions to remain in the galley, finish the potatoes, prepare a crate of chickens, refresh the coffee, and so forth before departing for his time ashore. Moira bent to the work with vigor, slowly relaxing as the mindless labor dulled the confused emotions still rushing through her.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

William returned to the weather decks, the Ilex fortune in hand once more. His intentions to see it sold ashore that day were quickly running out with the day. Tudor was bound for the Watch Dog once more and the merchants would follow shortly on her heals.

"So much left to do." William said to himself as he looked across the bay to the Navarra. She still lay at anchor, though the activity aboard her was more pronounced today. No word had come from that quarter since the dinner and William was beginning to wonder if his suspicions regarding the merchant ship were accurate. Perhaps Capitán Avendano was hedging his bets and selling some of his cargo at Martinique, rather than risk the journey to Trinidad unguarded.

"Do you mean to go ashore, Cap'n?" Mister Badger asked at William's elbow and William nodded.

"I have some business there that I hope to do with speed. You shall have the handling of the auction, should I not return before the watch is up. Bring up the Maastricht goods in order as you see fit and be stern on the price. The goods should fetch a high market price and we would be acting fairly to demand such."

Jacob nodded. "Aye Cap'n. We'll sell it all away." he said, smiling. "Should be enough t' fill coffers an' innkeeper pockets."

"Thank you, Mister Badger."

William found himself in good spirits again and perhaps it was the work and the necessaries of his position that made him smile a little. He also laughed inside to know what use the men made of their shares ashore. He went to the rail where Lazarus Gage stood prepared to go ashore. He invited the cook to join him in a boat bound first to the Heron and then St. Louis and Lazarus accepted. He also called for Tjaak Cuylemburch and Geoffery Wayne and those men meant for the Heron that were not already brought there, apart from Roundtree and Sandefur who were still doing nightshirt duty at the bow.

Tjaak Cuylemburch was glad of the calling meant for him on the cutter and Geoffery Wayne was glad to be returning to the company of his close friend Patrick Godfrey. Both would miss the 'Dog for it's comforts, but the Heron looked very smart in the light of the waning day.

"Have the jollywatt swung out, Mister Badger!" William called.

"Aye-Aye!"

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Red Cat Jenny]

Tense and posed glass and cloth in hand, like an actress waiting for her que until she could no longer, Jenny took a moment to feel where she'd been struck. The area was tender, swollen but did not feel hot. Still it was quite painful to the touch. Wincing, she was grateful that it needed no stitch. Wishing to be relieved from the tension which was tighnening the muscles in her neck, she set down the linen rag and glass and perched one knee upon the stern bench. Leaning against the Heron's aft side windows Jenny pressed her face to the glass. It fogged ligthy as she closed her eyes and breathed out a long sigh of relief. The view afforded her most of the Southern shore, and headed towards it were the lieutennant and his party in two longboats. Jenny ran to the cabinet retrieving the purse hidden there and quickly stuffed it within her belongings. She closed the bench settling upon it once again and waited for the Captain to return. Hoping he would bring news that the inquisition had ended.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Flint grabbed Treasure by the elbow and began to lead her away.

"I think we'd best be going now my dear."

He paused momentarily to scoop up Pierre's dagger.

"A gift for you m'lady" he smiled brightly as he handed it to her.

"Now, let us be on our way to the Surgeons to inquire after our dear friend Mr. Pew"

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Ward Room of the Heron

Dorian had opened the Ward Room door and entered, seeing that Miss Ashcombe sat waiting he closed the door easily behind him.

“Well, th’ marines ‘r gone fer now… Nothin’ more fer th’ leftenant ta poke about…”

He saw her visibly relax and smiled at her. Taking his hat off and placing it on the table he removed his cutlass and shrugged off his coat, placing it back on the hook. Lastly he removed his pistol once again and set it on the table as well. Walking to the stern windows he stopped and looked out, then spoke again without looking at her.

“I’m glad we did not have to entertain th’ officer for long. I still need to be sure ye don’t have anything ta hide, anything that might cause further issues.”

Seeing her out of the corner of his eye, some of her nervousness returned. He waited to see if she might offer up something on her own, but nothing came.

“ Tomorrow mornin’ I hope ta warp inta th’ common wharf. I ‘ave something ta do concernin’ this ship an’ we may be there fer some time. There be a couple things that will be done, a refit of sorts… I’ll be headed ashore soon enough this night ta finish up some business.”

Again he waited to see if anything might be divulged. He very much was enjoying the view at the moment, however he could wait for only a short time longer as the daylight was soon to be done. Still she was silent, so he stepped over to the cabinet and opened the top drawer, took out a small box and headed to the table where he withdrew the items needed to make fire. Within moments he had a small flame and lit his oil lamp on the table, sending its soft glow outwards. Putting the tinderbox away he again returned to the stern windows and waited.