The Watch Dog

[Bloody Bill Flint]

"Pew wants to leave", Bill said suddenly breaking the silence.

"Pardon?" Treasure replied.

"Mr. Pew is considering staying behind when the fleet weighs anchor." Flint repeated.

"Why in the world would he do that?" Treasure asked

"He's afraid his health has gone. Moreover it's his intent to put myself and Eric Franklin forth as his replacements."

With that he signaled for another pint and slipped back into his thoughts.

[Black Syren]

Treasure sat stunned, his words bringing a sort of shock for she had not expected this. It was apparent he had not either, as their food was served she thanked the wench and toyed with her food. As Bill ate heartily she too began to eat with gusto. The fare simple yet seasoned enough that it was actually wonderful and very filling, the fresh bread and sweet butter were her favorite. A simple ale to wash all down with as they had to watch what little coin they had left.

“Im sure he will stay, once he realizes his health is not failing.” She stated with conviction. Taking the linen napkin she dabbed at her lips and placed the linen next to her plate and smiled at Bill. “Tis late, I need to get back to my room, have you taken one for the night?” She tilted her head with a faint smile as musicians began to play from somewhere nearby.

She watched Bill still from the corner of her eye and looked back to him with a brow arched.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - St. Louis

William departed the company of Monsieur Molyneaux at two bells of the Second Dog Watch, and as was his custom to do so, he gave Paul his shares at once and they sought out a place to dine. William had been wont to return to the Watch Dog, but his business ashore had been such that a quick return seemed unnecessary now. Instead, he and Paul took supper at a small, but very comfortable establishment tucked back from the lantern lit streets. Here they discovered officers and gentlemen of several nations, many of them from ships at anchor on the bay. Paul and William chose a removed table and ate over a discussion of marines, England and women. Afterwards, they traveled to the Chirurgeon's with extra fare and spirits, there to cheer up the sequestered patient, Mister Pew.

The night was a comfortable one. Though no rain was found in St. Louis, the smell of it was carried there from some place inland, making the night fresh and not too warm. They had been at Martinique just long enough that the smells of the place were now most familiar and William was certain that he would return to the place often if life permitted. Paul even said as much as they arrived at the Chirurgeon's shop.

Between three and four bells of Second Dog Watch.

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

A very bone weary Maeve groaned at the sound of another knock on her door so soon. All of the walking and shopping she had done today had taken an unusually wearying toll on her body. Maeve was at the table, enjoying her 3rd cup of warming tea, and looked over at Briar from where she sat. Briar laughed softly, reading her look and returned it with slight concern as she got up to answer the door.

“Oh! Why Captain Brand!”, BriarRose exclaimed. “Please, do come in…and rest assured that Mr. Pew has been returned and is comfortably back on our care, sir”, she said quickly. The Captain chuckled as he allowed himself and his companion in through the doorway. “I see”, he said simply. “Thank you Miss Kildare”. He began to remove his coat, and BriarRose made to take it, hanging it on the hook near the door.

Maeve unwrapped the blankets around her person and stood, smiling, pretending that fatigue had no grip on her person. “Welcome Captain Brand…and friend”, she said. “May we offer you a cup of tea, or, perhaps something stronger?”, she offered.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's Shop

William bowed low and Paul did the same, though his bow was but a nod from over William's shoulder. "Miss O'Treasaigh." they said together, and she curtsied. "Please, allow me." he said, taking one of two bottles from Paul and passing it to Miss Kildare. "A gift from Oporto."

"Thank you, Captain." Briar smiled, accepting the bottle of brandy-wine with an appreciative and appraising examination of the label. She passed it on to Maeve.

"Portuguese...?" Maeve remarked with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye. Contraband of a grateful nation, Miss O'Treasaigh. It is not what I would describe as...remarkable, but it is sweet after the manner of most port wines." William explained. She nodded and placed it upon the table. "I am grateful to learn that Mister Pew is returned again to your careful ministrations."

"He is, sah." she replied. "Your Mister Flint brought him again."

"Excellent. And in the care of others I trust...?" William enquired.

"Only Miss Tribbiani, who waited here awhile." Briar explained. "A delightful woman, Miss Tribbiani."

"Aye." William agreed, and he exchanged a look with Paul on the matter of the others. Paul shrugged a little.

"The others are probably just bein' thorough, Sah."

"Thorough." William said plainly. "Of every inn and bawdy house..." he added, and Paul smiled a little.

"Captain Brand comes bearing gifts." Briar said, returning the conversation at once to the subject of drink and the prospect of conversation. "Please gentlemen..." She gestured to two unoccupied chairs.

"Thank you, Miss Kildare, but if you will pardon me, ladies, I would speak with Mister Pew before the hour grows too late. If time permits, I shall gladly share a cup and conversation." He bowed again and Paul nodded. "Miss Kildare. Miss O'Treasaigh."

[Bloody Bill Flint]

"No," Bill replied, "I have not, I may seek one later but for now I think another drink is in order."

"Surely your purse has become somewhat light," she countered

Flint merely grinned and produced another purse that he had obviously taken from the would be thief earlier.

"Care to join me for one more Miss Tribbiani?"

[Black Syren]

A soft chuckle escaped as he produced another purse, the clinking of coins within audible just slightly over the din. But perhaps it was the small corner in which they sat that made the din seem distant, as if it were far away.

Or perhaps it was the ale and her senses were a wee bit addled, and yet she found herself inclining her head, eyes twinkling. “Only one more, then I think I should seek my bed. The small Inn I am staying seems empty, I can show you where it is if you wish. But only if you call me Treasure, I insist.”

He studied her intently in the firelight, the jewels glinting at her throat, the dark richness of her hair like polished jet and he cleared his throat shifting slightly within his chair “Mayhaps I will.” He concurred, leaving her to wonder of what he mayhaps might choose , him seeking the same inn or the use of her given name.

As the tavern wench returned he ordered a bottle of wine and she hurried off with the coins returning shortly with a small bottle of wine and two clean tankards. Setting it all down she curtsied and left, the night was growing rowdy, wenches now settled upon laps throughout the room and roving hands startling laughs and slaps from the girls.

As Bill drew her attention back by offering her a tankard she lifted it to her nose swirling it slowly then sipping. “Thank you.” She said then settled herself and her skirts before toying with her tankard. “Tis pleasant here..with the exception of the pickpockets, unless they have pockets to let.” She raised her tankard in a toast to his farsightedness.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

"Well Treasure," Bill began "I suppose I'll need a room sooner rather or later, besides, if I don't go with you then who'll be around to guard your purse and virtue from all the rascals here abouts?"

He grinned devilishly at her and poured himself another tankard.

[Black Syren]

Boldly she faced him, his words mischievous and she raised her tankard sipping it thoughtfully, lips wet now she asked “Who will save me from you?” she sent him a wicked smile and leaned forwards slightly. "Perhaps you will need my protection.” She whispered playfully.

Bill's grin grew wider and he leaned back in his chair enjoying the flirtation "Think you?" He asked intrigued by this side of her his gaze falling to her wine wet lips.

Rising from the table she shook out her skirts and moved towards the door and paused once to look over her shoulder..”Coming?” Then she wended her way quickly through the throng and easily evaded the fate of the wenches and making the door moved into the shadows…waiting….

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill's blood roared in his ears. The little minx. What was she up to? Well he certainly wouldn't find out sitting here. He tore after her into the street looking about for her.

"Treasure?" he called out softly.

[Black Syren]

Her laughter was soft coming from the shadows to his left, the silk of her skirts swishing as she moved yet kept to the shadows. Her fingers trailed his arm then again did she shift within the shadows teasing him with her laughter and barely there touches.

As Bill spun about to face the shadows and where she had just been he was surprised to see nothing but shadow, no movement or shifting within. Narrowing his gaze he sought the murky depths and caught the glitter of her jeweled collar.

Playfully groping the shadows even though he knew where she was he watched her move again and her laugh teasingly came forth. “I thought you could see in the dark.” She taunted.

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - The Chirurgeon's Shop

William entered Pew's 'private prison of recovery' to find him looking more confined than any other man could be. Despite his expression, the room itself was very comfortable and fixed with a bed that would have been out of place in such half-inns as the Trough. It had an older mattress, but of a good make. The finish on the headboard and posts was well preserved. It was furnished with goose down ticking and pillows, the whole bed covered over with many painstakingly sewn linens and quilts. The room was also fixed with two comfortable but mismatched chairs, a dresser, a small table, two low weathered bed trunks and a bowl and pitcher. Even the one wall opposite the window had a painting, though forgettable.

"And how is it with you, Sah." William asked, trying to be friendly, but not overly careful. Mister Pew did not make the best of patients, having no patience for recovery. William could tell that he hated the coddling of being in a doctor's care, but as it was necessary, he was doing the best that he could under the circumstances.

"Well, enough. Cap'n." Pew returned, and he brightened a little as William collected the second bottle from Paul Mooney and presented it without a word to the ailing man. "Ahhh...apothecary in a bottle."

"Aye." William agreed. "I had a tavernkeep prescribe this particular medicine."

"Surgeon of spirits." Paul added.

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Focusing on the glint of her collar Bill lunged forward and swept her into an embrace.

"Why of course I can, and now I've caught you, beg for mercy" he said with a laugh.

[Black Syren]

She gave a playful squeak as he caught her up and she shook her head fighting her laughter…’I never beg nor surrender!” She poked him in the shoulder for emphasis. Taking one of his hands she slipped from his hold and motioned down the street dimly lit and yet intoxicating. The shadows shifted created myriad patterns upon the cobblestones, the scent of flowers was softer now that the sun had fully fled the sky leaving the moon in his place.

A wild enchantment of beauty and mystery, the night had always been so for her, enthralling the senses, captivating her with it’s beauty. “My room is that way.” She told him and as she led he followed.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

He followed with out hesitation. His blood pounded louder in his veins. His mouth was growing dry from anticipation of what might come. Just to be certain he was reading her signals correctly he stopped in his tracks. She turned and began asked why he stopped.

"I need a drink" he said with a mischievous grin and pulled her into an embrace and gave her a tentative kiss upon the lips.

[Black Syren]

What she was about to say never reached her lips, his upon hers had her falling into him, her lips softening, deepening the kiss. As they pulled apart she said nothing further but took the lead and reaching the Inn where she was staying quietly entered and taking note of the full tables hurriedly led Bill up the stairs.

Opening the door she paused looking up to him, slowly she drew him inside and closed the door.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Heron

As darkness settled in around the ship, those crewmen returned from shore leave were settling back into the shipboard routine. Styles was on the lookout perch as Roche walked the deck. ‘Lucky Tuck’ occasionally paced the quarterdeck, not as much as he usually did due to the fact that Miss Moore had informed him that the young woman brought aboard was sleeping below. The new crewmen were spending time on deck, wanting to be in the open air after being confined in cells for longer than they wished, even on their enemies. At one point there were harsh words up forward, some in English, some in Dutch. Tucker went forward to see what it might be about. There he found two of the new men arguing, an argument hard to follow as a third man was translating between the two. Charlie March and Tjaak Cuyleaburch were arguing about the galley. Charlie was the Heron’s cook before she was captured and still felt it was his galley and his alone, Tjaak had been told that he was to be cook when he was transferred, but was happy to share the duties with another. Charlie was resistant to the idea and was less than nice about it. After some translation back and forth, some finger-pointing and counter-arguing, Tucker intervened and told them that when the captain returned it would be settled. Things quieted down and the men went to different areas of the small ship. One of the crew remarked that Charlie was just sore that a woman had been in his galley and wasn’t too good about it. Most of those within earshot silently agreed, but not one spoke a word, not wanting to hurt feelings or fuel the fire within Mister Marsh. Slowly calm came about the ship. Conversations picked up and the smell of tobacco smoke followed the lighting of pipes.

[Black Mab]

August 2, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

The sun was setting as Moira checked the loaves browning in the stove and gave the thick, hearty stew simmering over the fire one last, solid stir. The kitchen tidy and the supper well on its way to complete, the lass hung her apron on a peg and looked about her. The Watchdog's cook was still ashore and he'd left her no further jobs for the day. Deciding she'd toiled in the galley long enough to warrant a short breath of fresh air abovedecks, Moira left the warm room and, following the half-remembered route of the night previous, found her way to the main deck of the 'Dog.

The lamps had already been lit, revealing a riot of humanity packed between bales of cotton, great bolts of silk and woolens and boxes and barrels of all sizes. It looked for all the world like a village market. Moira paused in surprise then moved along the edge of the crowd, instinctively drawn to a sheltered vantage point from which she could watch the proceedings.

Despite the dim light, Moira could make out the figures nearest her. They appeared to be wealthy men, shopkeepers and landowners from Martinique. Moira thought she recognized one, whose unguarded purse had fed her for a fortnight. She ducked deeper into the shadows just as a ruckus broke out along the far side of the ship. Amidst the shouting, she could hardly tell what had happened, though the whisper of "scoundrel" and "thief" filtered back to her.

The market continued despite the interruption and Moira watched with interest as men bartered between themselves, bargains were struck and cargo and gold exchanged hands. She was particularly interested to note that a woman seemed to be holding a prime position in the goings-on. She had the look not of a merchant, but a sailor. Yet she moved among the tradesmen confidently, carrying herself proudly about her business. Retreating back to the galley and the business of distributing supper to a hungry crew, Moira wondered who the woman of her observations was, and what quality she must have that had led the captain to place her in such a position of consequence, in his stead.

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Heron

Benjamin Quigley sat watching the sun set, others were near but he concentrated on the night sky that dusk was giving way to. The stars shone. He smiled as he looked to the sky naming constellations and noting where in the sky they hung. Yes, he was home, on the sea under the stars. Today and yesterday ran through his head distinct from those of the past months. His clothes still new from the shop, the smell of fresh linen made way to his nostrils. The rough feel of canvas slops against his legs. Shoes so new that he could not tell which belonged on which foot, his smile nearly split his face as he closed his eyes thanking the gods that brought him from the darkness and stench of the cell. Mister Tucker walked by, Ben stood straight and knuckled his forehead he had been a navy man for far too many years to break the traditions of respect towards officers. Besides he had seen boys younger than this young man pull rank in his past. Tuck smiled as he nodded and tapped his fingers to his forehead.

An argument broke out between the two cooks on the other side of the ship, which was not far at all. Ben found it humorous that the argument of two should take three and that these two men would be fighting so soon after finding freedom. Benjamin Quigley laughed out loud as he breathed in the combined scents of the sea and tobacco. His muscles ached from his labors this past day but it was a healthy ache from muscles gone too long without proper exercise. And the pain in his hands was from honest labor not from contact with the jaws of yet another opponent.

Again he began to contemplate his loyalty to his country of birth. He had been English all his life, served in the royal navy for the better part of his existence. How could he now serve under the French flag? He swallowed hard. He would have rotted in that cell and been literally fighting for his life daily. However, could he fight against his countrymen? Possibly against men he had served beside? Broke bread with? His stomach tightened threatening to expel the meal he had finished not a half hour ago. He turned his gaze once again outward and to the skies praying for guidance.

[Alder]

As they wound their way toward the recesses of the chandlery, Mr. Lasseter and the shadowed companion that followed, stepped unannounced into the lamplight.

“Sir!” Alder leapt to attention upon realizing of the identity of the first intruder.

The carpenter knuckled his forelock expressing his willing fealty and awaited acknowledgement, masking a sneer at the keeper and his lack of decorum. Reconsidering his status alongside that of the covert visitor, he quelled his disappointment with both the keeper and his own awkwardness.

Captain Lasseter nodded in an amused, then formal acceptance as he observed the unsettled poise of the otherwise meticulous craftsman. The captain’s demeanor returned as he slowly circled the cloaked form and rubbed his hand across his chin.

He scanned the balance of the wrapping and reached toward a familiar, though, haplessly tied knot that would be its undoing, paused and turned toward Mister Wenge.

“May I” he requested of respect and not necessity.

Alder nodded expressionless and swallowed hard in anticipation.

Robert’s tongue could be still no longer. “More ‘n a bit o sweat n soul went inta tha sweet lass…” he tipped his head toward the art.

The Captain turned from his task to acknowledge Robert, but spun back around, transfixed as the cloak met its languid rest upon the floor. His eyes; scintillate, not unlike the bliss of renewed acquaintance. Not a sound pierced the silence, no motion distracted his view. He drank in her beauty as her flowing gown drew his eye upward.

“Ahhhh, yes” Captain Lasseter exhaled in satisfied voice, just above a whisper.

His strong features had left no measure of speculating his approval until his gaze fell upon the outstretched hand that would guide and advance their journey. The seasonal rituals, abundance, regeneration and stability all embodied in as fine a representation as the Captain could have wanted.

He turned and nodded his great approval as the wind’s whistle punctuated past a cracked pane. And in this song of the sea, Alder heard the voice of the Heron begging union with the embodiment of her constancy.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Chandlery

Captain Lasseter continued to marvel at the work done to the figurehead by Mister Wenge and Mister Thatcher. He walked slowly around the piece, noting every detail in the light given there.

“She’s perfect… A fine job… very fine indeed.”

Both men nodded humbly as Dorian continued circling. His companion stood slack jawed in astonishment for a time, then recovered himself.

“Bloody hell, she’s a beauty! Best lookin’ gal I seen in a long time!”

At his comments, Captain Lasseter stopped his movement and turned to the man.

“Mister Wenge, Mister Thatcher… this is Kevin Norman, newly aboard th’ Heron. Captain Brand tells me he’s a fine able seaman…”

Nods and greetings were made between the men, but before the new man could continue his rough praises Dorian spoke again.

“You’ve done a fine, no and extraordinary job here. I’ll be havin’ the Heron moved ta th’ public wharf by mornin’… I’ll have a short ceremony afore tis time for ye ta put ‘er on th’ bow. Sadly I cannot stay an’ marvel some more, as last eve’s storm shortened my time ashore, so now I must hasten ta finish what I hadn’t gotten done then.”

Dorian fished into his pouch and withdrew several large coins.

“Here, for a job well done and more, have a fine meal and a soft bed. I believe we may be soon to leave port.”

He handed the coins to Alder who made to protest, but a look from the Captain quelled it.

“Now, I must away… I shall find you both well on the morrow…”

Alder and Robert saluted with wide grins and wish the Captain and Mister Norman well as they left them to their evening. Dorian wended his way out of the warehouse into the fire lighted streets with Kevin in tow. They made one more stop at a wood carver and Dorian left his companion outside as he did business there. Not fifteen minutes later he returned and they were on their way, heading towards a final destination ashore. Along the way as they found others of the Watch Dog and Heron, Dorian asked if any had seen the Master-at-Arms, Mister Pew. He got no satisfactory answers, but many tried to draw them into a pub to drink the officers’ health. Dorian begged off each time and each time had to draw Mister Norman away. In time they came to the residence of Miss O’Treasaigh, Surgeon.

[Pew]

August 2, 1704 - The Chirurgeon's Shop

I cheered the Captain and Paul for the most gracious of gifts.

"Surgeon o' spirits indeed Paul," I emphasized. I placed the bottle on the dresser and walked slowly to the small table. Upon it were two wrapped packages tied tightly. I picked the larger of the two and peeled back a section of the paper to confirm it's contents.

"Cap'n, a gift f'r your Ward Room." William Brand took the package and inspected it as he slowly unwound the sisal. The first volume fell on the surface unexpectedly causing a solid "boom" to reverberate throughout the room. Willam smiled and continued to unwrap the books. He picked up the first and smiled moreso.

"Ah yes, La Primaudaye's encyclopedia. A wonderous find Mister Pew. Thank you."

"Aye Cap'n. The French Academy. The seller said 'e, 'e, now 'ow did 'e say, ''n outline o' knowledge wit' an emphasis on th' natural sciences', o' somethin' like 'at." I completed my explanation accompanied by a dainty prance about the room as Paul Mooney nearly fell over laughing. Even Captain Brand had to catch himself.

"I see you've kept up your dance Mister Pew," Paul jabbed.

"Aye Mister Mooney, can t' take a spin? Dinnot 'ave much 'n me, but for a few minutes," I coughed for an uncomfortable second, but then washed it down with a long sip from the tavernkeep's present. Smiles turned serious, but then went away as quickly as the cough.

"Will they be sufficient for ye Cap'n?"

[William Brand]

August 2, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's Shop.

"Aye. Sufficient, indeed...and welcome." William said as he thumbed through the first few pages. He had ever loved a good book and Pew's gift was no exception, especially as it offered an opportunity to expand upon his experience with French authors. He stopped upon a page and read aloud.

"But what need we search in antiquities for testimonies of the fruits which commonly proceed from breach of faith, seeing examples are daily before our eyes to our cost? The distrust that one hath of another, which is so great amongst us, that it hath been one principal cause of kindling the fire of division so often in this desolate kingdom."

"I will make good use of this work. Thank you, Mister Pew."

They engaged in small talk for a time, speaking of little more than his health, his shares and that business which kept the ships at anchor there and would soon see them leave. Mister Pew had just broached the subject of his internment and the matter of him staying at Martinique when Captain Lasseter arrived in the room, escorted by Miss Kildare. There followed a short interchange among all present and Miss Kildare excused herself to matters elsewhere.

"Mister Pew means to remain behind, Captain Lasseter. What think you of this?"

[Silkie McDonough]

Martinique - St. Louis

Murin went through the city with determination and purpose, two days now she has been trying to accomplish her errands for herself and now her time was limited. Nearly running from shop to shop she quickly made her purchases and was surprised when she found herself at the chandlery where Alder Wenge and Robert Thatcher were working. Standing at the back door of the warehouse she debated with herself. “Perhaps I am being too bold. Mister Wenge would be happy that I had been given advice by the apothecary. We are friends. I want so to see the figure head that he was working on. I long to see his work, be near him …” at that the voices from inside reached her ears, Mister Wenge, Mister Thatcher …and Captain Lasseter. Miss McDonough’s debate ended with that. The captain had chided them just two evenings past to “not make such a show”. She feared what the captain might say if she was to make her presence known with him there. Should she wait in the shadows for the captain to take his leave?

Murin walked back around to the store front. Happily the shop door was open. Upon entering she was greeted by the young shop clerk. When she asked after mister Wenge he offered to escort the woman to the rear of the shop but she declined. Instead she asked that the lad deliver something to the carpenter. From her haversack she pulled the book she had purchased Aesop’s Fables the Pink Heliotrope he had placed behind her ear now pressed between the cover and the first leaf of the book. Handing the lad the book she asked him “Please, when d’capin leaves frum Mister Wenge, could ya please see det d’carpenter gets dis.” She then took his hand and turned his palm up; “Please.” and placed a coin the lads hand to ensure the delivery. Turning quickly she headed to finish her errands.

Making her way to Le Chateau Anse Murin stopped into many shops the last being an Accoutre. There she picked out a new pistol, small pretty little thing that she could keep in her use when dressed as a lady. She also choose a small knife that she would keep in her stays and another pretty knife that she could keep at her side in her pocket. After hearing of Syren’s attack she wanted to be prepared. Today’s errands completed more quickly than she thought she hurried towards the inn once again anxious to dress for the evening and hoping that Alder would call on her.

Miss McDonough was greeted by the friendly smile of the clerk Monsieur Satir who always remembers a good customer. He offered her a bath, Murin requested only a basin and warm water she hurried up the stairs. Her ankle was aching a bit but the poultice that Miss Kildaire gave her would have to wait for later. Washing quickly, fighting with the blasted stays, she managed to dress in a few minuets. Once done she realized …she hadn’t eaten since morning. The scents from the kitchen wafted up the stairs to her room and suddenly she was reminded that she was rather hungry. She did not glide as she made her way down the stairway on her slightly swollen ankle but she felt contented and wearing the trappings of a lady she felt beautiful once more. She hopped that Alder would make his way to Le Chateau Anse this evening. Sitting alone she ordered a meal and reminded herself that there was a distinct chance that Mister Wenge had plans for the evening and that she should not count on him joining her.

[Dorian Lasseter]

August 2, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's Shop.

"Mister Pew means to remain behind, Captain Lasseter. What think you of this?"

Dorian looked from William to Preston and back before he could speak.

“I’ll hear no such thing… Mister Pe—oh ta hell with it, Preston ol’ man, You couldn’t stay on land fer more’n a fortnight b’fore goin’ mad… Much th’ same as I would… No… you’ll not be doing such a thing. I just finished refittin’ th’ Heron an’ th’ Dog’s about there as well.”

Preston chuckled at the display made by Dorian, which turned into a cough, barely suppressed.

“I ain’t fit t’be Master’t’arms, not in my health.”

“Rubbish, hogwash… You’ll be fit in no time…”

Preston gave Dorian a look that said otherwise, to which a stern yet confident stare was returned.

“Besides, I had a mind ta offer you a different position, if William would oblige me… I need a QuarterMaster aboard th’ Heron… “

There was a pause in the conversation as Preston coughed again. When he recovered he gave a questioning look to the captains. Dorian turned to William and spoke as if Preston was not there.

“What say you Will… I’ve a mind ta make Mister Whittin’ferd th’ QuarterMaster o th’ Heron… Think he’d do?”