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The Only Rules That Matter (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

"And we'll miss you, John. But what's a month when compared to a lifetime?" Jenny looked up at him, unending depths of love in her eyes. "Especially when that can mean the difference between our daughter walking and being a cripple for the rest of her life?"

"Nothing," he murmured, meeting her gaze with his own. "Nothing at all. It's just... hard, being away from you."

She pushed a lock of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. "I love you so much, John Sparrow."

"And I love you, Jenny Sparr-"

Jenny wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a long, deep kiss as she pressed her body against his.

He met her kiss in kind, putting all of his fears and longing into it, drowning himself in her lips and the softness of her body against his. His hands roamed over her, sliding up her back and down, cupping her rear. He broke the kiss for air then returned again, suddenly unable to taste or touch her enough. He shifted her around a little, then bent his knees and lifted her in his arms, still kissing her. "Kids are still playing," he murmured, voice thick with need. "And I need you."
 
When John met her kiss it scared Jenny even more. He needed her just as much. He was just as scared as her, possibly even moreso. It only made her kiss him harder. She made a small noise against his lips, grabbing his hips and pulling him more firmly against her. By the time he had lifted her in his arms, she had already unbuttoned his vest and was pulling at his shirt even as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Kids are still playing," John murmured, voice thick with need. "And I need you."

"I need you too, John," she murmured back, kissing desperately every part of her husband she could reach. "Oh God I need you. Please."
 
John was shaking with need as he kicked their bedroom door shut, then laid Jenny across their bed. His lips found hers again, his kiss hard and desperate and demanding. "God," he groaned, one hand sliding up her thigh to start pulling her underclothes down, "I need you..."

He shifted a little, giving himself enough room to throw her smallclothes aside, then fumbled with his own breeches. "We've got... all night.. for slow... and gentle..." he gasped, covering her lips and face and throat with burning kisses. Then, kneeling between her thighs, he thrust his erect cock deep into the wet velvet heat of her pussy. "But... not now. Just... want... you..."
 
"I need you too John."

Jenny was just as desperate as their door was kicked closed and she was laid across the bed. John threw aside her underclothes and fumbled with the fastenings of his own pants as she pulled her skirts up around her hips. Even as he spoke to her she pulled him down for hard, desperate kisses. He was right; they had all night for love-making, right now they needed to fuck.

Jenny gasped loudly as her husband thrust into her. "Take me hard John," she begged, reaching down his back and pulling at his hips. "God...hard and deep...I need you so much..." Tears fell down her cheeks as she buried her face in her husband's neck, breathing deeply his familiar smell before leaving desperate, needy kisses and hard bites along the side of his neck.
 
God, be needed her so much right now. His wife and his lover, his heart's desire... needed her so badly that words failed him. They'd been so busy, ever Anne had gotten sick. So tired, physically and emotionally, that it had been all the could do to kiss good night as they collapsed into bed at the end of the day. And now, he needed her, needed the heat and closeness and primal closeness that only sex seemed to bring.

There was no gentle lovemaking here, but none of the rougher games they'd played either. There was just her mouth on his throat and her fingers digging into his flanks as she sought to mark him as hers. Just the sound of the bed creaking, and of the involuntary gasps and cries as he thrust fast and hard, seeking to feel her deeper as flame and a glorious madness filled his blood.

His right hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into her ass, pulling her close and tight as he fucked her. His left hand caught her hair, tugging until her body arched beneath him and his lips found her throat. "Mine," he managed to gasp, breath coming in explosive gasps as his cock slid in and out. "Fuck... Jenny… close... mine!"

He didn't know how long he could last. Every stroke threatened to be his last, but every thrust built his pleasure higher. He didn't care. All he wanted was his woman, screaming and wild beneath him, bearing his mark and his scent as he filled her with his seed.
 
A few years ago Jenny would have thought herself stricken with madness. But now in the throes of passion she understood the primal urge, the firey need that consumed her in her grief and her hope. Sex had always been wonderful and as their children had each begun sleeping through the night it had always been plenty, but they had found themselves too exhausted and hadn't touched one another for nearly two months. She had secretly begun wondering whether John still found her attractive after two children, but now as he took her passionately, carnally, possessively, there was no doubt left in her.

"John!" So lost was she in the feeling of them that it sounded like someone else crying out her husband's name. Even then, it wasn't a name so much as an indistinguishable cry. She gasped as his fingers dug into her and pressed her nails into his flesh, marking one another as belonging to them. Her teeth grazed his throat but John's fingers tangled in her hair and pulled until her neck was exposed, her body arched. Jenny felt her inner walls convulse once as he heightened her arousal just that much more. She was close.

"Yours!" Jenny gasped back, lips actually forming words this time. "Body...soul...forever yours!" She didn't have time to warn him. The creaking of the bed and the heavy banging of the headboard against the wall weren't loud enough to muffle her cry as her warm cunt clenched hard around John's cock slamming into her.

"Jooooooohhhhn!" It was only in the very back of her mind she hoped it wasn't loud enough for the children to hear outside. "OhGodpleasecomeawayJohn!" Jenny gasped all at once, words tumbling to get out as her body already worked up to its second orgasm. "Oh fuck John please!"
 
Jenny's antiphonal responses to his words merely fueled the animal lust that drove him. He fucked harder, the sweet friction of her walls gripping him making him want to lose himself in her forever. Even the pinpricks of pain, as her fingernails dug into his flesh, merely served to amplify the pleasure he found in her body.

She was gasping now, her voice a rising chant of lust, urging him on. The chant became a scream, sounds that he barely recignized as his name, torn from her throat by the same convulsions that wracked her body and clenched her cunt like a wet vise around his cock. He drove himself harder, riding her orgasm as he slamed into her. And then he pulsed within her, his cock driving deep into her channel as he threw his head back, howling a wordless cry of triumphant pleasure as his seed erupted into her waiting body.
 
Jenny cried out with her husband as he slammed into her a final time. She felt something in her back pinch as she arched her back awkwardly, riding through her second orgasm. John's seed pumped into her body, pulsing against her womb. She gasped out for breath beneath her husband, breasts heaving as she struggled for air.

"Oh John," Mrs. Sparrow gasped at last, several long moments after they had cum together. "I...I think we really needed that." She slid her hands from John's hips and up into his hair, burying her face in his shoulder. Tears had come slowly as they had fucked like animals but now in the flush of emotions they overcame her like a flood.

"I...w-we should c-c-call the children in for din-dinner," Jenny sniffled, trying to control the tears and keep herself from sobbing.
 
Gasping for breath, John slowly collapsed down onto Jenny. He lay there, acutely aware of stinging pain on his hips and aches in his back and thighs, of her skirts bunched up under his stomach. "Oh John," Mrs. Sparrow gasped at last, several long moments after they had cum together. "I...I think we really needed that."

"Always," John gasped out, fighting his own emotions. "I'll... always need you, Jenny."

"I...w-we should c-c-call the children in for din-dinner," Jenny sniffled, trying to control the tears and keep herself from sobbing.

The extremely physical act of love they'd shared had been like the bursting of a dam, a way to express things they hadn't been able to say. Had been afraid to day. His own tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto her face as he kissed her gently. "In... in a... little while..." he sniffed, holding her close. He nestled against her, seeking and offering comfort. "In... a... little..."

And then his voice cracked, and silent sobs wracked his body as the fear and sorrow and even anger - at God for letting this happen, and at himself and his wife for not being able to do more - escaped.
 
Jenny blinked as John's tears dripped onto her face. He sniffed and nestled close and that was it. Jenny no longer had to hold back, she no longer could hold back.

"John..." Jenny murmured, her eyes flicking over his face before she pulled him close.

Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow cried together in their bed, holding one another. They still couldn't say it, but they knew what it was, and that they were both feeling it. They were sad, angry, afraid...helpless. So, so very helpless. They sobbed, unashamed in their catharsis and united in their grief.
 
Three days later...

"My darling Wife, Jenny...

"I hafe arrifed in the city of London & hafe procured Lodgings in a respectable establishment at 184 Fleet Street, confenient to both a barber and a pie shop. Despite my comfort, I find that I already miss your loving arms and the attentions of Jack and Anne, who I trust are behaving as they should in my absence.

"I hafe already received an appointment with Doctor Robert Chamberlain of the Royal Academy, the day after tomorrow, Master Christopher's letter of introduction hafing profed most adfantageous. I hafe not yet been able to obtain the same from Doctor Erasmus George, as I hafe also been busily pursuing my negotiations with the East India Company, but I remain hopeful.

"Gife my lofe to the children, and know that you possess it always and forefer.

"With best lofe,

"John Sparrow."

With a sigh, John folded the letter and tucked it into his envelope. He'd given a slightly more glowing report of the... establishment in which he had taken lodging than it deserved. It was a dive, but it was cheap and the door on the individual room he'd let locked. Perhaps he could have afforded better, but he was of a mind to economize. Anne still needed medical care, and that was not cheap.

Still, it was hardly as if he'd fallen in among thieves. His fellow patrons were largely working men, visiting London for a few days on business or taking leave from their ships. The sort of men he'd encountered at the Black Anchor, and among whom he felt comfortable. So why worry Jenny needlessly?

He dribbled a little wax on the envelope to seal it, then tucked it into his coat as he rose. Time to take breakfast, and then to return to the offices of the Company and haggle over the price of poppies.
 
"I'm sorry Mister...Sparrow, is it?" Mr. Beckett looked up over the edge of the paper at the man before him. "These are preposterous prices. Master Halliwell has tried some cheap tricks before, but this is by far the lowest he has ever sunk."

Cutler looked over the requests again. Christopher Halliwell of Dover was, in his opinion, little more than a small-time tincture peddler who fancied himself an actual pharmacist. He had become more of a nuisance than anything over the years and Cutler had long been asking his superiors to cut off his supply. Perhaps this bit of nonsense--a pound of poppy for only three crowns (three!)--was the push the company needed to sever this tie once and for all. Besides, their interest was better served overseas anyway. The colonies, after all, had no choice in the price they set.

"I'm sorry Mister Sparrow, but this just won't do," he repeated, setting aside the paper and shaking his head. "I can give you poppies for a pound seven--per pound--or not at all."
 
"I'm sorry Mister...Sparrow, is it?" Mr. Beckett looked up over the edge of the paper at the man before him.

John met his gaze without flinching. "Yes, Mr. Beckett. Johnathan Sparrow."

"These are preposterous prices. Master Halliwell has tried some cheap tricks before, but this is by far the lowest he has ever sunk."

"You wound my employer, Mr. Beckett," John answered. "I assure you that Master Halliwell believes three crowns a pound to be a legitimate offer." He paused a beat, watching.

"I'm sorry Mister Sparrow, but this just won't do," he repeated, setting aside the paper and shaking his head. "I can give you poppies for a pound seven--per pound--or not at all."

"And that," John said, "is exactly Master Halliwell has sent me. Because I've a better idea of costs, these days. And I recognize that three crowns isn't a good ofer. Why, that's barely more than the twelve and threepence your company pays for the poppy flower!"

He smiled. "But you have to admit, a pound seven is mighty dear for unprocessed flowers. You make... what? Seven pounds, ten on a shipping ball bound for China, but that's nearly twelve pounds of unprocessed flowers and that only realize it after months of shipping."

A pause. "But, I have to acknowledge that you're the supplier. If I wanted to grow poppy myself, I could let myself have it for twelve and threepence as well. But... how about this?" He leaned forward. "Master Halliwell is the largest apothecary in Dover, which is the largest port on the south of England. Can you go a guinea a pound, with a contract to acquire a set quantity - to be determined later - of medicines for your ships at four percent above cost?"
 
Cutler laced his fingers and rested his chin on them, elbows on his desk, as Mr. Sparrow did out the math of the trade. His eyes narrowed, considering the man. He had a dizzying intellect for someone of his...social standing. Mr. Sparrow offered a guinea a pound and a contract and Cutler raised an eyebrow. This man might actually go places in the world, if he could find the proper channels.

"You are quite the negotiator, Mr. Sparrow," he admitted at last. "But I'm afraid the lowest I can go is a guinea three, and the contract." Cutler watched Mr. Sparrow to see his reaction. What was a man with skills like this doing with an apothecary like Halliwell? "Do we have an accord?"
 
"You are quite the negotiator, Mr. Sparrow," he admitted at last. "But I'm afraid the lowest I can go is a guinea three, and the contract."

Now it was John's turn to try and play it cool, although that was slightly harder to do with a representative of the East India Company than with the usual cluster of Dutch and Flemish merchants he dealt with. Still, he forced himself to sit back in his chair, acting as if he were doing the math.

"Do we have an accord?"

John smiled. "Can you give me a pound, three and six? It's only sixpence difference, which you'll have to admit isn't such a great sacrifice. Particularly not with the contract I've offered."
 
Cutler scrutinized Mr. Sparrow's counter offer. With a raised eyebrow, he finally inclined his head. Taking his elbows off of the desk he held out his hand to shake.

"Very well, Mr. Sparrow. A pound, three and six, and the contract." Once they had shaken hands, he pushed forward a piece of paper. It was the purchase agreement, waiting for a signature.
 
"My dearest Wife,

"I hafe been in London for two weeks now, and hafe grown weary in my Soul of this wretched town. I hasten to assure you that this is no fault of the city itself - my lodgings remain comfortable, the barber is a delight, and the meat pies remind me faforably of home. And yet, for all the attractions of this great Metropolis, my heart yearns for you and I long to hear the voices of our children.

"My business with the Company has been completed, and satisfactorally so. Should you have cause, please assure Master Christopher that I hafe secured the merchandise at £1.3s.6d per pound, and hafe obtained an exclusife contract for the benefit of both the Company and his Apothecary.

"I fear that Doctor Chamberlain was unable to assist us, hafing only heard of an illness like unto that which afflicts our Daughter. I remain hopeful that Doctor George will be of more and greater aid to our family.

"It may be that I shall be compelled to remain yet a week or two longer, both in the interest of obtaining an appointment with Doctor George and finalizing the contracts with the Company. The days I am seperated from you are a burden upon my soul, and I look forward to being folded once more in your lofing arms.

"Remember me to Jack and Anne, and assure them that their father will return home as soon as his business is completed.

"With eferlasting lofe and deep longing,

"John Sparrow."

John scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and contemplated tearing the contemptable thing he'd written into shreds. Oh, most of it was true. He had acquired the contracts he'd spoken of, and would be sending them directly to Master Christopher by seperate post. And Doctor Chamberlain hadn't been able to help him. But he had already seen the learned Doctor George, and that worthy had also been unable to offer any hope.

He'd never lied to Jenny before. Not like this. But... how could he dash her hopes like this? Particularly since he'd found one more possibility. A long shot, it was true, but he'd cast the die for his daughter. One of the clerks at the Royal Academy had approached him, as he was leaving Dr. George's office, saying his own daughter had been similarly stricken. And that one Goodwife Millicent Peal, residing in Acton, had been able to cure her when the doctors failed.

"Some say she is a witch," the clerk had said, "but she's a good woman. Take her a gift of sugar, and be prepared to render her a little service, but she cured my Maggie. I've every reason to believe she'll cure your Anne as well."

What could he say? "I won't be home for a few days yet, as I'll be consulting a woman believed to be a witch?" Jenny would travel to London, just to drag him home and berate him for jeopradizing his soul. But... if she could help...

Anne was his daughter. He'd walk into Hell itself, if he could find a cure. And so he packed up his belongings, and settled his bill, and started walking east towards Acton.
 
Millicent Peal was a kindly-looking woman. She answered the door to John and smiled. He looked like a man in dire straits, and he almost certainly had been told she was a witch.

"Come in, son, come in," the woman ushered John in without any explanation of who he was or why he was there. She could tell a soul in need by the look of it. The cabin was cozy, fragrant with the smell of the rabbit rubbed with rosemary and roasting on a spit over the fire. Various herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling. She sat in a rocking chair and gestured to a small sofa nearby. "Have a seat, lad. Sit down and tell me your troubles. What brings such a healthy young man like you to my door?"

"Twenty-sefenth of July
"Year of Our Lord Christ Sefenteen Hundred and Fife

"My Dearest Husband John,

"I was fery sorry to read that you are not fond of London anymore, but at least the food seems to suffice. Just so long as you do not forsake my own cooking and like those pies better than mine! I pray you, do not let the longing in your soule sour the city for you, for though the children and I long to see you it would make future business for Master Christopher most unpleasant.

"I told Master Christopher of the deal you had made when he was down the tafern on Tuesday. He seemed displeased at the terms of the deal, but told me it was 'just fine.' I do not know what to make of it, but he would not talk of his business with me.

"I showed your last letter to Jack. His reading is still fery slow but it improves with practice. He says he misses his Papa and cannot wait for you to tuck him in goodnight again. Anne misses you also, and asks in her way where you are and asks for you. We cannot wait for you to be home again, John, for it is a burden upon our soules as well. But go to Doctor George, for if Doctor Chamberlain cannot help us then surely he can.

"My heart years for the comfort of your embrace. Godspeed, my lofe.

"Eternally yours body and soule,

Jenny"

The letter was delivered to 184 Fleet Street, though the postman left before he could be told that tenant no longer boarded here. He would have to be told in the morning and the letter sent to the forwarding address.
 
"Thank you kindly," John said, taking the offered seat. "I... ah..." He licked his lips and started again. "One of the clerks at the Royal Academy gave me your name."

He hesitated, feeling foolish. This was the eighteenth century, after all. Not the twelfth. "My daughter, Anne. She's ill, and there isn't a doctor I've foubd thzt can help her. But... but I was.. was told that, that you might be able to."
 
"Mister Hotchkiss," Millicent said, nodding when John told her about the clerk. "I remember the name of every person who comes to me for help."

"My daughter, Anne. She's ill, and there isn't a doctor I've found that can help her. But...but I was...I was told that, that you might be able to." The young man seemed very nervous.

"Your daughter? A young man like you already with little ones to care for?" Millicent smiled gently, a smile which widened once her eyes had flicked briefly to John's left hand. "And you're nervous because you think I am a witch and your wife would kill you if she knew you were here." She chuckled as she stood. It wasn't mind-reading, but simply years upon years of experience. She had gotten offended at first, but now she just had to laugh. "So your Anne, what sort of sick is she?"

Millicent crossed to the kitchen, looking up at the ceiling where several bundles hung before looking through her cabinets. She came back with her arms full of several jars, setting them on the small table between them. There were jars of ginger and licorice root for pain as well as oregano and peppermint oil for Anne's lungs. She set them on the table and motioned to the jars and bottles.

"I can give you a good price for any combination or all four," she offered with a friendly smile.
 
"Your daughter? A young man like you already with little ones to care for?" Millicent smiled gently.

"Two, actually," John said proudly, smiling back. "A son, and a daughter."

"And you're nervous because you think I am a witch and your wife would kill you if she knew you were here."

"Uhm... yes." He sighed. "She's... more devout than I am. Not for lack of trying on my part, you understand. Just..." A shrug. "But then, you're not exactly what I imagined a witch would look like."

"So your Anne, what sort of sick is she?"

"A terrible fever, and pains in her limbs when she was first stricken," John answered, giving the same tale he'd told over and over. "And difficulty breathing. The fever broke after the fifth day, but the breathing problems remain. And..." His face contorted in a rictus of pain. "And she can barely move her legs. She'd just started walking, and now she can't even crawl without dragging her legs like dead things."

Millicent crossed to the kitchen, looking up at the ceiling where several bundles hung before looking through her cabinets. She came back with her arms full of several jars, setting them on the small table between them. John leaned forward, examining the jars and the bundles of herbs with a professional eye. Ginger and licorice root, oregano and oil of peppermint. All of them things he'd compounded himself, working from what he'd learned and from recipes in his books or that he'd copied from Master Christopher's libraries.

"I can give you a good price for any combination or all four," she offered with a friendly smile.

"I'm sure you can," John agreed, unable to keep the disappointment fully from his face. "And... they're fine quality." He sniffed the ginger, inhaling the lemon-pepper odor. "This must have just been harvested recently. But..." A sigh. "I've tried these, and they help a little, but Anne's legs still don't work and she still labors for breath. Unless..." Sudden hope flared in him. "Unless... you know some new way to prepare them, some way I don't? I've only just completed my apprenticeship, a few years ago, and I admit I don't know everything."
 
Millicent looked somewhat disappointed as John refused her offer. Her heart fell when he insisted he'd already tried these. Her eyebrows raised when he mentioned his apprenticeship was over and apparently mixing herbs.

"Your apprenticeship? You're an apothecary." It wasn't a question. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, young man, but I'm not a witch. Most people who come to me are from the city, where the good of simple herblore is long forgotten. All I have to offer are things you probably have already tried."

With a sigh she returned the herbs to their kitchen. As she put up the ginger she paused. "There is one woman I know of. Dill grows wild around her house and she lets me pick it. Her name is Josephine Sumner and she lives in the woods." She turned to John, as though hesitant to tell him of her. "If you want a real witch, if anyone can help your Anne, it would be her. There is nothing you can bring to her that she will want, but be prepared to pay a price. All magic comes with a price."
 
Her answer was crushing, but it was one he should have expected. "No, you've nothing to be sorry for, Ms. Peal. I'm... that is, I'd just hoped..." He looked away quickly - she was just a herbalist. It wouldn't be fair to heap his disappointments on her.

And then she said it. "There is one woman I know of."

Despite himself, hope flared anew. He listened, hanging on her words as she hesitantly talked about Josephine Sumner. Her final words held a note of grim finality, but John's face was set. "Anne's not even two, and... the doctors say that if she sees four, it will be a miracle." He paused. "For my daughter's life... I'll meet her price."



It had taken nearly a full day of walking to find Goodie Sumner's house. "Follow the Thames upriver until you come to three old oak trees. Follow the path north to the woods. About a mile in, turn right at the large stone shaped like a skull. But don't follow that path by ought but the sun, if you value your life."

The sun was setting as he found the stone, and he eyed the trail. The moon would be nearly full tonight, and time was something he feared more than those shadow-haunted trees.

"ssssooooooooooonnn..." he thought he heard something whisper, behind him.

Maybe it was his mood. Or the twilight. Or the talk of witches. But he smiled. "Well," he said, "if you want a chance at me, then you'd best be keeping whatever waits in there off from me."

A dry sound, like snakeskin on sand. "leeaarrrninnnng...." And surely it was just a trick of the light that made it look as if a part of his shadow slithered off into the gloom?

Setting his pack and taking a better grip on his stick, he tramped past the skull and into the woods.
 
The small cabin in the woods might have looked inviting during the day, but at night and seemingly guarded by what was locally known as the tree of the damned it was foreboding at best. A light was glowing inside and smoke came from the chimney as though the insides were aflame, and the door swung open as though of its own accord, inviting John in. The woman at the fireplace sat as though she were expecting him.

"You're early, Jack Sparrow," she said with a smile as he walked in. The door shut behind him automatically. "Ah but you've always been a clever one, haven't you? Still learning...but you're learning." She chuckled low in the back of her throat. Notably different from Millicent Peal's house, Josephine's was home to all manner of unidentifiable objects in jars though most of them looked as though they had once been alive or belonged to living things.

Josephine gasped and looked toward one wall. A slow grin spread across her features as there was the sound of horse's hooves very near the outside of the house. The horse screamed and broke into a gallop, and Josephine clapped her hands as though excited. She leaned her elbows on her knees as she leaned in to look at John.

"You just barely made it, Jack," she informed him. "But then again, that's you, isn't it? Just barely escaping danger by the skin of your teeth. The Horseman rides to the Hollow tonight; dreadful that would have been if you'd been in his path." She cackled a toe-curling laugh, obviously finding something dreadfully funny about the whole thing. Just as suddenly as she had started she stopped, looking sharply at the apothecary. "State your business, Jack Sparrow. Tell me out loud what it is you want from me."
 
The light from the moon was not the comfort it might have been. As John followed the path, he could hear scrabbling sounds to either side, claws that sounded like creatures not quite comfortable moving on two legs or on four. And noises uncomfortably like speech. Steadfastly he refused to listen, and he focused on the crumb of firelight at the far end of the path.

"You've done some daft things, John Sparrow," he muttered. "But... never as daft as all this."

The cabin came into view, door swinging open as if he were expected. Behind him, in the distance, he heard the sound of hooves on dead leaves. Stretching his legs he reached the door and stepped inside, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the light.

"You're early, Jack Sparrow," said a figure, sillhouetted against the fire.

The door slammed shut.

"Ah but you've always been a clever one, haven't you? Still learning...but you're learning."

"I'm sorry," he responded. "But... you seem to have mistaken me for someone else. My name's John Sparrow."

He shivered as something he felt more than saw slipped under the door, snickering like scales on sand. "jaaaack...." the voice of the Shadow Thing whispered, sounding... terrified. And then he heard the hooves, and the sounds of the horse pawing at the ground for a minute before the animal cantered away.

"You just barely made it, Jack," she informed him. "But then again, that's you, isn't it? Just barely escaping danger by the skin of your teeth. The Horseman rides to the Hollow tonight; dreadful that would have been if you'd been in his path."

"I'd have just yielded the path, and let him ride on," John answered, trying to sound confident in the face of the mad cackling laugh of the witch.

The witch.

He had assumed she'd be... older. Uglier. Not... well, not someone who could have been around his age. Or someone who, with her figure and immodest blouse and shocking red hair made him long for the arms of his own darling Jenny. I'll have to find Jenny a blouse like that...

"State your business, Jack Sparrow. Tell me out loud what it is you want from me."

"John Sparrow," he stated, reflexively. "I've never gone by Jack in my life. And... I take it you are Miss Josephine Sumner?"

He hesitated just an instant, and pressed on. "Well, then. What I want is simple. My daughter has an illness, and no doctor I've consulted can cure her. And that's what I want. A cure."
 
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