Lucien looked into the swirling, foaming waves as the wind blew the salt spray over his small body. He cried out with shock, dread, and pure helplessness. He gripped the rail of the ship only a moment before decision solidified into action. Ignoring the sound of shouts around him he quickly jumped to the rail and over, before anyone could stop him...

Lucien sat up with a start. He was drenched. He threw his blankets to the floor with disgust and stomped to the window; the shutters were clapping loudly as the wind blew Bermudan rain onto his bed. He shut them tightly.

Dawn neared. Rather than trying to go back to bed in the soggy mess, Lucien decided he might as well start the day.

Stripping off his night clothes, he berated himself for not securing the shutters before falling asleep.

Today he'd speak to his father about the ship and he wasn't off to a good start. After dressing in dry clothes he went to the kitchen and made himself porridge. At the worn table usually reserved for the staff's meals he sat with a Bible he'd borrowed from Johnstone. His Bible had sailed away with his ship. He'd briefly daydreamed about one of the thieves reading it, then feeling convicted and contrite as they returned his ship. Absurd.

He opened the Bible to the third chapter of Ecclesiastics. "To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven...," he began.

After his devotions, the morning dragged by. Lucien knew during the early hours his father would be busy with meetings and such so he'd planned to have their interview at the dinner hour.

Waiting for the time to pass proved difficult and he was becoming agitated.

When hours of pent-up energy threatened to spill out he decided to make his way to the courtyard used for sparring. This was yet another extravagance his father insisted on, since all of the best noble families employed their own private tutors to teach the art of swordplay and self-defense. But it was one of the few things Lucien was glad his father splurged on, unlike the fancy clothes and carriages; Lucien loved to spar and prided himself in his skill.

When he arrived he was disappointed to find the field occupied.

Opposite the instructor, sword poised to strike, was his hard-working father. Lucien felt a stab of irritation. He'd thought not to intrude on his father's busy morning and here he was, playing! Not to mention Lucien wanted the use of the field and Master himself.

As he turned to walk away his father called and stopped him. "Gear up son! Let's see how age and experience fair against the strength and endurance of youth!"

Lucien heaved a long sigh and smiled. His father was giving him the opportunity to vent his frustrations on their precipitant. At least one of them, anyway.

He strode to the shed housing the rapiers and chose a long heavy blade with a swept hilt, its point tipped with a leather button, and donned a padded vest.

His father dismissed the master as Lucien eyed his opponent speculatively. When Lucien was a child the man had seemed untouchable, but, things were changing.

Lucien stepped into the field of play and bowed to his opponent. His father returned the courtesy then took up a ready stance. Lucien did likewise, choosing one more aggressive than his father's. Lucien took a step forward–his father a backward step, preserving the distance between them.

Lucien circled right and again his father mirrored the movement. As they circled, Lucien inched closer, closing the gap imperceptibly. When he was within striking distance Lucien lunged, thrusting the blade toward his father's chest. His father pulled his shoulder back, turning sideways, and Lucien's point struck air. The older man quickly returned with his own lunge, trying to land the point before Lucien recovered but Lucien swept it to the side with a gloved hand.

Neither scoring, they separated, remaining wary as they both reconsidered their game plan.

His father remained too distant for Lucien to touch him. They locked glances, each trying to determine the others next move. Lucien edged his back foot forward in small increments, trying to conceal the movement and appear merely restless. When he was heel to toe Lucien took a long step forward, reaching out with his sword, dissolving the distance between them. Barely in time, the older man stepped to the side–the miss left Lucien exposed and scrambling to recover before his father could attack. Nearly too late, Lucien righted himself and raised his sword to parry a blow. His father continued to press him hard, never relenting, forcing Lucien into a dangerous backward defense. Lucien, being light on his feet, was able to ward off the attack. Soon the older man's aggressiveness waned; He was beginning to tire. Lucien took a risky step sideways, rather than backward, gaining a better angle to attack and thrust toward his father. The tables turned; his father was now on the defensive.

The older man barely moved his blade fast enough and, panting hard, sank to his knees.

Lucien immediately ceased his attack.

"Are you all right, father?" he asked with concern as he stepped closer.

Instead of answering, his father shot his sword forward, touching Lucien firmly in the side.

"I am now!" his father chuckled, holding his hand out to Lucien. "You shouldn't have let your guard down."

Lucien, slightly shocked at his sudden loss, frowned before grabbing his father's hand and helping him to his feet. "It's hardly honorable to attack a fallen man," Lucien argued.

"Perhaps. But to allow that same man the opportunity to attack you? Foolish. Besides, in a choice between honor and life which would you prefer?"

Lucien sighed but offered no response. He hated losing, but it might have set his father in an amiable mood.

He followed his father to a small table which held a pitcher of water where his father poured them each a glass.

Lucien took his gratefully and chugged the cool, sweet liquid down. He returned the glass to the table and, after wiping the sweat from his brow, undid his padded vest and threw it aside.

He plucked his sweaty shirt away from his chest absently, trying to think out a winning verbal tactic. "I spoke with the shipwright earlier. He told me how you favored the plans for my sloop." Lucien began.

"Yes, they were well thought out." His father gave him a nod.

Lucien continued cautiously. "Actually, I was there to discuss building a replacement for the one I lost."

"Naturally."

"The thing is, Blackwater said he's worried about drawing undue attention from the Company, what with the stolen ship, so he's limited his production for a time."

His father shook his head. "They're going too far these days. The islanders won't put up with it much longer. They cannot force people to grow crops that continually fail."

"You're absolutely right, father. I only wish some of their members had your sense." Lucien hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick. He steeled himself to ask the question, but before he could his father spoke.

"Did you hear one of your guards turned up on the south side of the island?"

The unexpected shift caught Lucien off guard. "Say again?"

"A fisherman found him washed ashore. He'd been stabbed."

"Stabbed?"

"So they said. Such a shame. T'was a bad night all around. What with your ship, the guard, and then the poor Wainscots." He shook his head slowly.

Lucien was thrown off by the information. He'd resigned himself to thinking the guards turned pirate. Could he have been hoping that was the case so as not to think of the girl and her friend as killers?

"Son?"

"Yes, a—a shame." Lucien recovered from his wandering thoughts and then realized he'd missed something. "Did you say something about the Wainscots?"

"Certainly Miss Wainscot told you about the robbery at their estate the night your ship was taken?"

He hadn't heard. "Father, I told Ysabeau I was no longer available for calls."

"I see."

Lucien sighed inwardly. Disapproval was written clearly across his father's face. But, once Lucien started on a course, he'd not be diverted, win or lose. In one breath he said, "Father, I wondered—if it were possible—if you'd consider allowing Mr. Blackwater to build the ship for me and hold off on yours." Lucien glanced up to gage his reaction.

"Well now." His father paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Do you have the funds for another ship?"

Lucien let out the breath he'd been holding, disappointment filling the place where hope fled. "I don't. I'd consider it a great favor to borrow the sum from you."

"Ah."

"Please, Father. I hate to ask but I've only enough to cover costs for my medical supplies and, without them, my going would be pointless."

His father appeared unmoved.

"Father, I know you disapprove of my pursuing this at all, but I feel it's God's will, and," (this was a low blow), "you wouldn't want to stand in the way of that would you?"

His father raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at his son. "God's will? Son if you simply put that medical degree of yours to use, which was also God's will, if I remember right, you could earn what money you need for the ship. I think you're confusing His will with yours." He paused, intentionally hanging up his fencing vest and putting the sword away. "The truth is son, I'm hard pressed for money myself right now. Many of my shipments are being stolen by pirates and the Company's monopoly on trade from this island is making it difficult for us to survive here. I have to do all our trading off these shores and with pirates roving all over the Indies I'm hard pressed to find captains with the tenacity to outwit them. I've been considering moving to one of the more lucrative islands. Perhaps Barbados, or Jamaica."

"You won't find fewer pirates there."

"No, but at least I won't have to compete with the crown for trade. And it'll be easier to oversee my ships."

Fully in disappointments grasp, Lucien's shoulders sagged. The verbal match hadn't gone much better than the physical one.

"Son," his father approached and put a hand on his shoulder, "I know you don't want any part of the business I built," Lucien felt like he really had stuck a blade in him, "but I really do need your help. I did find someone to captain this new sloop, and I'd like you to sail aboard her on the trade route. I don't know the man well, but I feel he may be just the person I need to keep clear of pirates. But he's well on in years and his health is not something I find reassuring. Come aboard as physician. I will pay you £120 per annum for your services. And I'm not opposed to you're going ashore and doctoring the communities you cross on the route, so long as you don't interfere with business. Only keep in mind, I'd rather offer you a much larger sum, as a partner."

Lucien considered the offer. The money equaled what he'd make ashore as a regular physician. Sail aboard someone else's ship, go where someone else decided, stay as long as they said. God is this your will? It seemed like the only way he could come close to his calling of ministering with medicine and the Good News to the poor. Less than ideal, but tolerable. Lucien resigned himself. He'd take his father's offer, at least until he raised the needed funds to once again start on his own—and maybe, just maybe, he'd catch that pirate and get his ship back in the interim.

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Anyone alive out there? I'm trying to figure out an upload schedule so if anyone's reading this, let me know whens good for you?

Til next time,

x zuz