The Watch Dog

[Bloody Bill Flint]

The Lucy's Marines made short work of maintaining their arms and even shorter work of their meals. Bill Flint was a harsh task master and his drills worked up a hearty appetite. When they had cleared their places they began to file out the door of the galley. Ian Hatrick was about to leave when he felt a huge hand upon his shoulder.

"Mr. Hatrick stand fast"

"Sah?" the boy replied

The Master-at-Arms pushed the lad into the chair he had just occupied then seated himself across from him.

"Mr Hatrick as you well know marksmanship is the most important part of the Marine's trade and quite frankly I find your lack of aptitude in this regard unsatisfactory to say the least"

"But, Sah-" the boy started, but Flint merely held up a silencing palm.

"The Captain has decided that all in my power shall be done to correct this deficiency rather than replace you, your instruction shall begin at the next change of the watch."

"Oh thankee Sah, ye nil regret it!" Ian beamed

"Aye, but you may" Bill said with a smile "Now you're dismissed"

Hatrick knuckled brow and practically skipped out the door.

Flint returned topside.

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - At La cuisine de St. Martha

Tudor said nothing at first. She simply ate and smiled. Roldán made no effort to press her. He ate and smiled as pleasantly as one might with an old friend, enjoying the conversation and the silence equally.

Tudor pondered what she knew about Captain Brand, though having known him for only a few short months, that knowledge was not significant. She had heard of the shipwrecks from William's own mouth, for he had talked of running the Hamer Hoen aground on two occasions, once on accident and once on purpose. He had of course recovered the ship on both occasions, and had even bragged of it, but this knowledge paled in comparison to some of the horrors laid out by the Lieutenant.

The Tudor answered the only way she knew how, but in a way that placed the burden of explanation back upon Roldán. "You must first tell me where you learned of each rumor. I would know the bias of each tale."

Roldán smiled and raised his glass a little. "The lady understands retreats and advances."

First Bell of the First Watch

Elsewhere at the Fort Royal Prison

William and Dorian went in by the main gate of the Fort Royal Prison, and by the navigation of a few turns, they found themselves in the courtyard near the office of the Commandant. Louis de Mallevaud was not at the prison that night, owing to a dinner party he was attending in honor of a friend's birthday. His attache, Bénédicte Dufour, examined their papers once more before escorted them again into the bowels of the midnight cells.

The lower cellblock, which had been gloomy by daylight on previous visits, proved utterly inky by night. The one solitary and sputtering lamp which lit its central corridor, served only to cast shadows on shadows and the dim flame demonstrated how poor the air was below the prison. It made the walls glisten wherever ground water had seeped into the place. It punctuated the small, dark squares which served for windows on the cells doors along the left side of the corridor, and emphasized the deep open barred cells to the right. Despite the heavy gloom the lamp made of the place, it was alive with coughing, snoring, conversation and one poor singer, all trying to survive one more night cut off from stars and sky.

William felt both glad and guilty of the two lamps they carried into the place, for the light attracted thin, blinking men from the many corners and shadows. They seemed to emerge from deep recesses within the walls. They came up to the cell bars and the small windowed doors in a quiet shuffle that was unsettling, like waking dead. Among them was Doctor Arts Van Zandt, a regal man standing tall among the withering.

"No, Kapitein. I vill not go vith you." Van Zandt said, smiling and cutting to the chase before William could make the offer of escape once more.

William returned the smile, but shook his head. "Why would you remain in such a place?" William asked, though he knew the answer. The Doctor did not make a reply. "I have come again to ask, but this time with more earnest. Our Doctor is gone and I have three times the number that I arrived with, but now I have no one to attend to them."

"As you see, Kapitein, I 'ave no shortage of patients here." Van Zandt gestured about the barred cell and in the direction of the two further along the corridor. "Und some zere unseen." He added, nodding towards the many doors opposite, where only a few faces observed them threw the small, barred windows. William's eyes fell upon the last cell door there, where he expected to see the dour face of den Oven, but the former Captain was not watching the proceedings.

"If you will not accept freedom and employment, sah, will you accept a gift?"

"A gift...?" Van Zand returned, then shrugged. "I vill not refuse any good zing in zis place, Kapitein."

William looked at Monsieur Dufour as if to ask the attache if it would be allowed to give a prisoner goods. Dufour stepped forward an examined the parcels which William had purchased just that evening with Dorian. Dufour searched through each item, and as they were approved William passed them to Van Zandt. In this way, each parcel circled between the men, arriving in Van Zandt's surprised but grateful hands. For as he collected the items, it was apparent that all of the gifts were either tools of medicine or medicines themselves.

When all of them had been passed in to Van Zandt, Dufour reminded Captain Brand that such items might not remain in the charge of Van Zandt if the Commandant de Mallevaud should not approve. William acknowledged that the gifts might be short lived, but he felt confident that Monsieur de Mallevaud would be fair on the matter.

"Kapitein, I don't...I..." Van Zandt began, but William simply nodded.

"Men whom we have never met, in rooms we have never visited, made us enemies, Doctor. If strangers can cause us to fight strangers, then we may decide when to be civil without care of offending them." William explained. "They gave no thought to us when they caused us to be enemies, so I say we should give no thought to them when we decide to be friends."

William might have won Arts Van Zandt over then had it not been for the Doctor's oath not to leave the men in his care. Van Zandt would never leave them, come what may. He would stay to nurse every man to health or every dying man to his ease. William accepted this, though being without a surgeon, he was obliged to try. This done, he thanked Van Zandt once more for hearing him out and bid the good Doctor good health and the hope that he would one day 'practice medicine in a place of fresher air than this'. Dorian and William made as if to go then, but Van Zandt called them back again.

"A word, Kapitein. If I may."

William walked over to Van Zandt and the Doctor pressed his face to the bars to speak to him as privately as the bars allowed. "I do not know vat it can mean to you, but you have been fair, so I tell you zis zat perhaps it may help you."

"Yes...?" William prompted when Van Zandt paused.

"If you remember, you had me examine ze vounded und ze dead ven ve lost za Heron und Maastricht."

"Aye." William agreed. "I remember."

"I examined za dead from za Heron und Maastricht...und za injuries vere consistent vith za battle, save one. Kapitein Stoneburrows vas not killed by shot or splinter. He vas stabbed."

William looked at Van Zandt for a moment, and then shook his head. "He was shot. Kapitein Stoneburrows was shot. A wound of the chest if memory serves." Van Zandt shook his head, so William called Dorian over and explained the same to him.

Dorian agreed that Van Zandt was mistaken. "There was no such inj'ry given when th' Heron was boarded. Th' man was shot."

Van Zandt nodded, but repeated his discovery. "Kapitein Stoneburrows vas also stabbed." he said emphatically, then added, "In za back."

[Dorian Lasseter]

This news of the late captain Stoneburrows took Dorian aback. He closed his eyes and tried to replay the scene in his head, when he had boarded the ‘Heron’ and found the man in a state of near death. He had not been right near the man when death had overtaken him. In afterthought, the man was insulting to the last. Many of the men aboard the Heron were Irish and from what gossip Dorian had heard, the Englishman was as many others towards his brethren. None that returned to the service onboard the cutter could find kind words for Stoneburrows. He now wondered if one of the men who now served him had done the deed. He took in a deep breath, which turned out to be the wrong thing to do, for it brought the stench of death and disease into his nostrils. His eyes opened quickly and he tasted bile.

“Beg yer pardon, Gennelmen…. I…”

He turned and left them in the dark place, not at a run, but a controlled quick pace until he came out into the fresh air of the night. He gulped in the air and calmed himself, but the thought of one of his men stabbing their former captain in the back was unsettling, even if the man was of poor character. Dorian looked up into the dark sky and wondered how he might find out the truth.

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - The Fort Royal Prison

William watched Dorian depart with a measure of empathy, for he too had choked down the smell of the place on his previous visits. William turned again to Van Zandt and tried to find words to bring the man out, but there were none, so he parted with a promise to move those in charge to some sympathy regarding the Doctor and his wounded men. "I will do everything in my power to see you moved to the daylight cells, Doctor." William promised, then added. "...and as far from den Oven as possible." William smiled as he spoke this last part, but his smile faltered, for Van Zandt looked troubled and made as if to speak. He opened his mouth but it was Bénédicte Dufour who filled the pause.

"Capitaine Brand...I..." Dufour began, and he paled a little as he began.

A cold feeling crept down into William guts and a chill ran up his frame that prompted an involuntary shiver. "Yes...?"

"Your men came again yesternight with aaaa...petition for Capitaine den Oven..."

William did not wait for Monsieur Dufour to finish. Instead, he bolted to the last door of the midnight cells and pressed his lantern to the small window there. The cell, but for one remaining man, was otherwise empty. William rushed back to the attache and the Doctor, crying, "What men were they that came here last night?"

Dufour shook his head. The blood had gone from his face. He looked the part of a man who had suddenly found himself removed from his position. "Mon dieuuu..."

"What men were they?" William all but shouted again, grabbing the man by the collar.

"Scymmelpenninck vas one." Van Zandt said, answering for the shaken attache.

William's eyes widened and he looked angry, bewildered and frantic all at once. He just stood there, still clutching Dufour by the collar. "Was Wellings the other?"

"No." Van Zandt returned. "A Frenchmen...I knew not his name."

"Your men came for him with petition, Monsieur" Dufour tried to explain again.

William turned on the man. "What angel in Hell would petition den Oven? Good gods, man!" William let go of him and paced a tight line along the corridor He seemed to speak only to himself. "A day gone. Already a day gone."

"My apologies, Kapitein." Van Zandt said quietly. "Ve knew of no petition. Ve thought den Oven vas ransomed."

William returned to himself at once. He nodded to the Doctor and grabbed Dufour up by the collar once more, too bewildered and angry to care if he had the power to order the attache around or not. "You will follow me this instant, sah!" then he turned an raced up the stairs, taking the precarious steps in pairs until he had reached the upper landing. Dorian could hear him yelling from the darkness long before he reached the open air.

"Dorian! Den Oven is gone!"

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter was brought from his thoughts abruptly by the shouts from Captain Brand.

“Den Oven is Gone!”

Dorian’s brow creased as he tried to surmise what exactly he meant by gone. Had the man gone to his maker? Or had he escaped? Been removed to another part of the prison perhaps?

As William came into the light, dragging Dufour by the collar, Dorian took that he had escaped in some way.

“He’s escaped? How?”

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - The Fort Royal Prison

"Perhaps you would explain it to him, Monsieur." William said roughly.

Bénédicte Dufour had already returned to himself a little and he shrugged off William's hand indignantly. He further gained his former aloofness with the arrival of several of the prison guards. "Barre outre de vos mains, capitaine!"

William glowered and would have shouted again, but the air outside was already clearing his head, and as his lungs replaced the foul air, his foul mood was also replaced. Still, he lost none of his momentum. "Monsieur, would you please explain to us what transpired yesterday evening?"

Bénédicte cleared his throat and began. "Your men, Monsiuer, came to the prison by lamplight and in a carriage."

"What men?" Dorian asked.

"Klass Scymmelpenninck and a Frenchman." William answered, and there was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone.

"Oui." Dufour agreed. "Your men..."

"Call them my men once more, Monsieur." William growled, stepping a forward. "Please. Just once more."

Dufour retreated a step, but with the guards there he retained a certain superiority. "These men came with letters from you."

"Which you read, of course." Dorian added.

"Well..." Dufour faltered. "No." William closed his eyes and walked away from Dufour in a wide circle, sliding the palm of one hand all the way down his face in slow exasperation. Dufour plowed ahead. "The Commandant was away. He had just left. I was busy with other matters, Monsieur." Dorian just shook his head. "Capitaine Brand is allowed some four score..."

"And ten, yes." William finished for him. "You kept me drilling on the cobblestones the better part of an hour when I came for recruits!"

"I..."

"Who was the Frenchman?" William pressed, too impatient now to care that Dufour was thronged about by armed men. This question utterly undid Dufour, for he had not known the man and could not say much about him apart from his name. Then he offered to fetch the books. "By all means, Monsieur."

[Dorian Lasseter]

As they followed Dufour to the office, Dorian ran what he had just been told over and over in his mind. False papers used by some men to take Den Oven from the prison. They reached the office of the Commandant and as they entered, Dorian stopped in the doorway, blocking the guards from entering, so only Captain Brand and Monsieur Dufour were inside. The Frenchman found the books he was after as William glowered at him as he paged to the entry.

“Ah, here…. Monsieur Leveque…”

He looked up a moment with a triumphant look. Before William could utter a word, Dorian scoffed.

“You imbecile… What made you think this man was of our ships? Did he speak with airs that impressed you? Or was it Scymmelpenninck? How did they persuade you so easily? A wave of parchment and you were otherwise occupied? I should send for your superior right now for your idiocy…”

Dufour stood speechless for a moment before his voice found him.

“How dare you?!?!”

Dorian was on the man in an instant.

“I dare because a fool should not be left in charge of such responsibility!”

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - The Fort Royal Prison

The guards would have pressed the door if not for two matters. One, they owed no true allegiance to Monsieur Dufour, apart from being posted to the prison, and two, William had already fixed them with that dread expression that warned,"Come not in by the door gentlemen. You are not sufficiently compensated for duty this threatening." William turned again to Dufour, who stood unable to answer Dorian. William went to ask him about the Frenchman, but an idea occurred to him then that gave him pause. "Moniseur...how seemed Klass Scymmelpenninck to you?"

"Seemed...?" Dufour started, and Dorian glared at him. "He was quiet, Monsieur."

"Aye, and not unlike him to be so." William agreed, but then added nothing himself, for his mind was already racing down the many avenues of possibility.

Dorian had the presence of mind to make one of the most important inquiries of the moment. "Describe Scymmelpenninck?"

"I remember him little." Dufour insisted, but something in Dorian's face invited him to be more specific. "He was dark...and, older."

Dorian looked at William. "Dark...?"

"Scymmelpenninck was fair and of some nineteen years." William explained and the look that he gave Dufour was so full of reproach that the man flinched, but it was nothing compared to the words Dorian visited upon his head.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The anger that raced through Dorian was of such speed that his mind caused him to speak in his native tongue, which might have been for the best.

“Ciach ort! Ní mórán thú! Damnú ort! D'anam don diabhal!”

His rage spent enough to regain control, Captain Lasseter realized he had been so close to the Frenchman’s face his hat had been pushed off. He took a step back and smoothed out his coat front, reached down and picked up his hat, brushing off the dirt towards Dufour.

“Go n-ithe na péisteoga thú, Cac ar oineach…”

It was then that he realized that he was not speaking a language those around him understood. Taking in a slow breath, he put his hat on.

“Monsieur… I know not who these men were… you have poor eyes for the man in charge…”

He noticed that Dufour was sweating and had turned pinkish. Dorian was sure his own face was red with the rage he had just put fourth. He further checked his anger and looked to William.

“My apologies Cap’n Brand…”

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - The Fort Royal Prison

"For what, Captain?" William returned, his eyes still firmly fixed on Dufour. "Had you struck Monsieur l'imbécile and dashed an eye, my good Captain, no apology would be necessary." He stepped closer to Dufour. "I will now explain to you your orders, Monsieur Bénédicte Dufour." If Dufour wanted to protest at this, he did not. "You will remember your failings with care when asked what happened yesternight. You will take as much blame as you think you may and keep your place. I care very little how you avail yourself before your superiors." William continued to advance until he was almost toe to toe with the man. "As for me...I will forget the long and tedious inquisitions you visited upon me when I came with proper papers. I will forget the disdain you showed towards me and my men when I twice visited the prison seeking to find recruits with true petition. I will forget how you caused us to stand in the rain. I will forget all, but forget not me, Monsieur. Forget not me when you speak of this, for if you should place this trespass upon me or my men, I will come again without title or script and explain myself in a fashion beneath civility. Beneath Heaven and Earth. I will come armed with rage and purpose with Capatin Lasseter as my second and no second, third or fourth that you might call for will be enough. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Monsieur?"

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor laughed to herself quietly. "I never retreat - only advance, and perhaps advance to the rear when I need to regroup." She lifted her glass to him, then took a sip. "But please, do continue. I absolutly can give no insight into these reports until I know who speaks them, for every man has his own agenda."

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - At La cuisine de St. Martha

"Perhaps we should speak plainly. The Navarra requires an escort for the ship and her goods to Trinidad. It is rumored that the Watch Dog means to travel there, and the...excuse me, Lucy...?"

"Aye, the Lucy."

"Thank you. The Lucy means to travel with her. My Captain will pay for the escort and protection of two such vessels. Can you say with a certainty that such an arrangement would not prove ill for us? Do you know your Captain well enough to speak for him?"

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Taking a moment to process the blunt statements and questions, Tudor looked at the lieutenant unflinchingly. "Well, to such a plain speaking, I can only respond in kind." She paused to take a small bite of food. "The most I can say is this. That if you and your crew do no ill by us, that the Captain would do no ill by you. But that being said, I will state clearly now, that I do not speak for Captain Brand in regards to where we will sail to or if we would make any agreements as escort."

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - At La cuisine de St. Martha

Roldán smiled and raised his glass again. It was a fair answer, plain and straight forward, and for a time he was content to eat and listen to the music played by a solitary flute which seemed to come from another room. To add to this, the church bell rang the nine bells of the hour, though not overloud. Over time Roldán watched Tudor less like a Lieutenant and more like a person across a dinner table. Several questions appeared subtly on his face, but were not asked, and the course came and went with few words spoken until the arrival of a flaming dessert. It had the ominous, though unintentional appearance of a ship on fire.

"If I may make an observation..." Roldán began and Tudor nodded. "Some of these tales of Captain Brand seem new and unknown to you, Miss Smith. You are his Steward, but one would think that you do not know him well. Many of the stories I have mentioned tonight are fiercely repeated as gospels in the book of your Brand."

Larboard Watches on Duty

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"I have been aboard the Dog only a short three months, and was not made Captain Brand's steward right away. Most of this time has been spent on the seas or in ports where we were so occupied that there was no time for idle chatter. To that, I am only recently arrived to the islands." She shrugged. "And I myself have a bit of a history attached to my time before arriving at this juncture, of which the Captain has never pried. I extend him the courteousy of doing the same." She looked at him, a fierceness in her eyes, as if daring Roldán to challenge criticize her actions or loyalty. It was not the first time that he had seemed to question why she bound herself to such an ill reputed captain.

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - At La cuisine de St. Martha

Roldán accepted this with a nod and nothing more. His eyes betrayed no other emotions. He made no effort to press the point. Instead, he refreshed her glass, and openly proclaimed, "If Brand should be accused of little else, it can be said off him that he breeds loyalty in a gathering of amazing fellows." Then he quickly ammended. "And amazing women." He said this last part with a genuine and guileless tone, and the compliment, while it took in Tudor as well, was honestly meant for all of the women aboard the Watch Dog and Lucy. Still, he made a point of complimenting Tudor herself. "I'm glad of the errand tonight."

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Fort Royal Prison

While William had given a tongue lashing to Dufour, Dorian had looked to the guards who had the sense to move just far enough away to be able to claim no knowledge of what came to pass. He gave a wry grin and turned back as Captain Brand had finished. The look on the Frenchman’s face was a mixture of anger, fear, and embarrassment. He stood there, trying to regain his former aloofness, tried to calm his nerves and act the man in charge, but to no avail. The charade was over in front of the two captains. Dorian looked around the room and spied the spirits cabinet. He walked over and opened said cabinet, selected three small crystal goblets, then selected a bottle, rejected it and selected a second. Filling the glasses he set one on the desk in front of Dufour and handed the other to William and kept the third himself. As he passed by the cabinet he took up the bottle and set it on the desk, with the intention that the man would need a second or even third drink.

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - The Fort Royal Prison

William drained the glass at a go and said, "Wait here." He went out and down into the midnight cells once more and was gone but a few minutes. The guards did not follow him there and they did not block his way when he returned to the world again. He made his way back into the room. "Van Zandt never once saw Klaas. He but heard the name from the Frenchman when he fetched out den Oven."

"Then your man is absolved of the matter." Dufour attempted cheerfully.

William gave him a look. "The men who came had the presence of mind to use his name. How do you imagine that they knew the name of Scymmelpenninck and that he was not aboard the Watch Dog when they besmirched him?" Dufour shut his mouth again. William went out into the night air to clear his head and to be free of the company of the attache. Dorian joined him there and they mused aloud about the possibilities. "He has whole a day on our discovery."

"And any point of th' compass." Dorian added.

"Aye." William agreed, gravely. "How many ship left the Cul du Sac Royal in that time, do you think?"

"Two at least that I took notice of...." Dorian returned. "...t' say nothing of St. Pierre."

"And the Eastern ports." William added, removing his hat and running one hand through his hair in a slow, tired gesture. "We must fear the worst now for the missing men." He looked up suddenly. "Eric and Jean may have reached Aube Sucré by now. Damn."

"Den Oven..." Dorian spat. "He'll have gone t' ground by now."

"Aye." William agreed, but he was at a loss as what to do about it, so not knowing what to do, and with no obvious action before them, they took to questioning the guards who had been on duty the night before. They managed a few details, but much of what they gleaned was forgettable or vague. Then William had a thought. It was something Dorian had said about the man 'going to ground'. "I have an idea, " William said at once and they left the prison bound for other apartments.

[Dorian Lasseter]

After questioning the guards and finding very little out, Dorian’s mind was exhausted. None of what the guards said the two men looked like bore any familiarity to him or William. Finally they left the prison, William having what Dorian hoped was an epiphany of a sort. Once through the outer doors of Fort Royal his mind cleared some and began working again. Had Den Oven and his conspirators found passage on a ship outbound? Had they found passage across land, having a carriage at their disposal? He hoped the others who were out this night on errands were more fruitful then they had been thus far. Dorian found that his earlier anger at Dufour was settling and being replaced with the need to find out where those men were who had falsified papers and taken the Kapitein from the prison. He had violent thoughts of what he might do to those men. At one point he realized his inner thoughts had caused him to slow his pace and when he realized this, William was some twenty paces ahead of him. Shaking his head, Captain Lasseter picked up his pace and caught up to Captain Brand.

“Where are you of a mind ta be going Will?”

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Lucy

He was awakened by movement very near to him. Thinking it one of the ship cats Ben Quigley looked forward only to be surprised by the dark form of a man sitting at the head of the ship at a most private moment. Mister Quigley sitting silently in the dark remained unnoticed by his fellow crewman. The sailor disappeared towards the waist but Ben remained as he was allowing some minuets before moving. Then keeping to the shadows he casually made way amidships to join the others.

Within moments of stepping from the shadows to join in the end of a tune with his not so pleasing baritone, a voice at his elbow spoke just above a whisper. “Saw you skulking in the dark at the head.” It was Anthony Dyer, “Promoted to shite inspector this evening?” Ben pretended not to hear him. Dyer continued. “Perhaps lookin for a place to drive in your spike?” Quigley remained silent as Dyer pushed the issue. “Something more suited to your skills …as a mans man.”

Quigley glowered at Dyer, “Fecking arse. You know more of thet then most.” His tone was filled with venom his voice carried across the ship in a moment of silence. Ben moved away and began to bellow with the chantie that had just begun, he would not let Dyer have satisfaction.

[BriarRose Kildare]

London, England

The day was balmy with blue skies and white fluffy clouds. His Lordship sat eating a late breakfast of kidney pie, ham, eggs and buttered bread while he read the update he had received earlier once more. His hard chiseled face broke in to a small but brief smile. Putting the down the letter he began to enjoy his breakfast with more fervor. He was pleased that Johnson finally had a lead to the where abouts of his intended bride to be.

The Chiurgeon’s

After BriarRose had applied the ointment to her newest patient she insisted that Marie, take a well deserved nap.

Just as she was done preparing that evening’s dinner of mutton, potatoes and carrots there was a knock at the front door. Wiping her hands upon her apron and then removing it and placing it on a peg she went out to answer the door.

Opening the door she looked up to see a very tall young man standing upon the front stoop.

“Can I help you sir?” she asked

His small squinting brown eyes looked at her with confusion. His hands scrunched nervously at the hat that he held.

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Preston watched the scene slowly and then retreated to the Ward Room. He closed the door behind him and poured himself a glass half full with Madeira from Captain Lasseter's own stores. As the cap was replaced, a gentle rap at the Ward Room door startled the Ship's Master. A door slightly ajar found Patrick O'Hara and Cyrus O'Madden peering in for permission to enter.

A wave of his hand brought the men to the table. He penned a quick note and blew gently on the ink to dry. He offered the men a drink and they refused, politely. Preston gave them instructions to retrieve his things from the chirurgeon's home. They looked as if they had a long day and merely wanted some victuals and a hammock to rest. Preston noted this and added several more coin from his leather pouch.

"A bite o' food an' a cot fer y' both t'night." Their manner perked a bit. "Have m' things 'ere t'morrow morn'. A loaded pistol an' cudgel o' some sorts f'r y' both. See t' these things from Mister Flint." Preston folded the note over once and again and handed it to Patrick, followed by a handfull of specie.

The young men knuckled their forelock.

"Thank y' boys."

"Go raibh maith agat, sirrr." They left slowly, closing the door behind them.

The heavy Irish brogue from the boys made Preston smile. Caught by a sudden coughing fit by trying to mimmick the lads, Preston quickly downed the rest of the Madeira.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe feared briefly for the ship's Master. She had been told of his illness and recognised the coughing fit of one still recovering. Many times she had seen members of the house taken ill without warning. The illness arriving and leaving in the same manner..or worse. She stood quietly from the bench where she had remained.

"Sir, are you well? " Mr. Pew turned towards the voice as if he'd forgetten she was sitting in the near darkness behind him. His eyes watered a bit from the coughing but Jenny was relieved to see the color of his face was mostly normal. He paused catching his breath. "May I bring you something sir?" she asked.

Miss Ashcombe was still unsure of protocol as steward in the absence of the Captain, but she reasoned the Ship's Master would be within her responsibility. In truth, she would be happy to be assigned any small task. Unused to so little activity, she longed to walk on the Lucy's deck and moreso for someone to talk with. She had sat upon the stern bench for what felt like hours staring hard into the darkness, joining vicarously those on the shore and the wharf as they mingled and went about their way unawares of her silent companionship.

[Silkie McDonough]

Ashore at Fort Royal & at La Chateau Anse

Moira offered little of her story as the two women made their way through the day. Murin did not press her for information; there would be time for that once underway. The two had spent that afternoon running errands both for the Watch Dog and themselves. Murin took Moira to several merchants where the lass could spend the coin provided her by Captain Brand. She purchased the items needed, a new pair of slops, shirt, belt, a few pouches, stockings, shoes …and soap. Moira’s attitude changed notably when she was fitted for shoes. Choosing to carry them out of the shop waiting until she had finished the bath Murin had informed her she was to have.

Upon their arrival at the La Chateau Anse earlier in the evening Murin was greeted with a smile from Monsieur Ferland but as he recognized the lad Miss McDonough had in tow his smile faded and he looked with concern to Murin, “Mademoiselle McDonough, I comprehend your wish to be accompanied after the events of this evening past but surely you can find someone more suited to attend you than this miscreant.” He did not pretend to keep his opinion of O’Flaherty from hidden from the boy. “To take up with one such as this thief and trouble maker is likely unwise.”

“Monsieur Ferland, I tank ya fer yer concern uv ma’well bein, I’ll bae fine goode keep." Murin voice was soft as she spoke to ease the mans concerns but her attitude changed quickly and her eyes danced with mischief. "O’Flaherty has signed on d’Dog.” His look was dubious but he remained silent on the matter, eying the boy as Miss McDonough proceeded to request a room, an extra sleeping mat and a bath for O’Flaherty. While Murin stood waiting for the help to escort them to the room movement across the room caught her eye. Crew from the ‘Dog gathered, Monahan and Bly had stood and followed a woman from the inn staff out of the room. Nathan left the room without seeing Murin, she had been glad of that. She could feel the tension when he took notice of her. He blatantly avoided her these days. If she would have gone to join the others he would have left mid sentence.

Some time later as Murin and a decidedly cleaner Moira descended the stairs. Once again Miss McDonough wondered if Nathan was there how she would handle his outward disdain of her. How was she to bear his scrutiny upon the ship when they set sail, so close for many days at sea? Perhaps one of them will be reassigned to the Lucy, the Lucy …where Mister Wenge was assigned, she sighed to herself. Nathan and Owen had not returned, Murin breathed a sigh and the two women joined the crew in the common room.

[William Brand]

August 3, 1704 - La Montre De Nuit

Dorian's question was answered almost immediately as William stepped towards a nearby drinking house called La Montre De Nuit. He held the door open and gestured for Dorian, who proved tall enough that he had to remove his hat to duck through the low doorway. They found themselves in a room that was evenly as deep as it was wide. William had the distinct impression that the place had not begun as an alehouse, but he couldn't reason out why. It may have been the strange way in which the bar sat, almost central to the room. There was something clumsy about the placement of it, but as the alehouse was close to the fort, this mattered little, for La Montre De Nuit enjoyed its share of soldiers.

"Perfect." William said smiling as a woman gestured them to the only open table. Both men dropped their hats onto the wide sill of the neighboring window and William called for pen, paper and a proper lamp.

"Oui." she said smartly, and she fixed Dorian with a smile so forward, that William paused to raise an eyebrow as he was removing his baldric.

"Sending word to Preston?" Dorian asked, watching the woman pass into the throng.

"No, actually." William said, "Though perhaps we should. No, I mean to send a different correspondence. I have an idea which may turn past misfortunes...or rather suspicions, into fortunes."

"Eh?"

"It was something in what you said about den Oven. How did you put it? He's gone to ground...?"

"Aye."

"Have you ever hunted rabbit or foxes with dogs?" William asked, then amended. "Or perhaps more appropriately...hunted rats?"

"Aye." Dorian conceded as the woman returned with a small box with paper and quills. "Do you mean t' use our dogs?"

"Perhaps, but we have not the resources to chase den Oven on our own. What we need is a Terrier." William explained as he drew out a quill. "Albiet a French one."

"Not Durand."

"Yes and no." William returned. "I'm thinking of Turcotte." Dorian raised both eyebrows a little. "Lieutenant Turcotte has a terrier spirit and reason enough to pursue the matter. He has already demonstrated his persistent and stubborn willingness to use man like Durand. Or misuse."

"True." Dorian agreed, but there was no mistaking the 'but' in his voice.

"We can lay the shooting on the Cul du Sac Royal at the feet of den Oven." William said, smiling wickedly.

"And...remove one pursuit for another." Dorian agreed, nodding.