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"Well then.. lead the way, Lord Morgan. I'll not hide my condition from the crew. They have every right to know as much as any of the officers. As for the Wardroom, it has it's potential... or at leat, it will, once we talk with the carpenter... we do have a carpenter, don't we?"

*Exiting through the cabin door, Jack mounts the companion ladder and heads through the small hatchway to the quarterdeck.*

(|Continued on the Maindeck|)

Turning to Miss Kale, Reginald sighed and softly replied, "Only time will tell. It is possible that he could recede even further into his youth as time goes on. The mind is still uncharted territory."

Baxter stood up and stretched with a loud gutteral groan. "Well, I'm going above. I would tell you to clean up and prepare for another patient, but..." The good Doctor looked about the Wardroom which was currently in shambles, "but what would be the point. Your free to do as you wish."

<>

As he left the deck, Dr. Morgan mentally checked his physical abilities. he had always been a quick healer, and it seemed his body had not failed him this time either. Though having been aboard only a short time, he had managed to heal his ribs to the point where he felt capable- stress had always made him heal faster. His body was responsive to his needs. That much he could be thankful for.

Dr. Morgan appeared in the shattered Wardroom, and removed his bag from under a pile of shrapnel. He rummaged around, and various items from the bag dissapeared onto his person. Bits of clothing were gradually done away with and replaced, and at one point he produced a brush and cleaned up his hair. Old clothes turned to new, his hat was cleaned up, and even his old battered coat was made to look dignified

By the time he was finished, he looked like a noble, as he had intended. His clothes had all been replaced with fancier variants, and the bag at his feet was totally empty save for his old clothes and the brush. He turned on his heel, and as he did so, a large amount of clinking and rattling could be heard from within and under his coat.

He reached underneath his coat and produced a pair of French dueling pistols, checked to see they were primed, and put them back away. After this came two pistols he had picked up in Boston, which he checked and put away. One had the name "Rescue" engraved upon it- this he kissed before it disappeared beneath his coverings. Next came his two most prized weapons, a pair of italian revolvers. Each had three barrels- a miracle of engineering that he only was able to own through theft from a powerful family.

He carried three knives, two where he could reach them easily and the last secreted away. He unsheathed his sword and checked it's edge- it gleamed even in the dim light of the wardroom. Buried in his sleeves were his last lines of defense- a set of eight throwing knives picked up from a portugese merchant who claimed they were from a magical island in the Orient, which due to their quality Morgan was inclined to beleive.

With an odd detatchment, the doctor spun a knife in his hand before sheathing it. He turned to look out across the sea at the "Bodicea". It was an impressive ship, likely with a supreme complement of finely trained crew. Morgan could only hope that his years of travelling and acquiring of weapons would pay off- he would not go down without a fight. He threw his now-empty seabag out the hole in the Lady's side and watched it bob over the waves, slowly sinking. He checked himself one last time and left the room, looking fully the part of "Lord Morgan" and as armed as he had ever been.

<>

She had followed the Doctor down to the wardroom to watch him pace around a splintered floor board before prying it up. Startled she saw what lay below. Chests of silver were pulled from the floor of the ship, eight in all. Hearing the Doctor's instructions she nodded and went about finding sacks to hold each crew member's gold in, counting 25,000 sterling pieces per bag carefully.