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The Only Rules That Matter: Afterlife (TheCorsair, Madam Mim)

TheCorsair

TheCorsair

Fruit Bat Vampire
Joined
Dec 17, 2013
Hag's Head, Ireland
September 12, 1757

Hand in hand with his wife, Johnathan Sparrow ran for his life through the sleepy village of Hag's Head. Once, adventures like this were a daily routine for him. But that had been decades ago, and his 78 year old body struggled as he labored for breath.

It wasn't a surprise that the redcoats had come for him, not really. The only surprise was that it had taken them so long. He'd grown to believe, as the years had passed, that he had escaped. Escaped his past, and his curse. That he would die as the wealthy and respectable apothecary and businessman he'd become.

But it seemed that the Company had never stopped looking for him. It had just been good luck that he and Jenny had gone for an evening stroll when the Redcoats had visited their home. They'd seen the smoke, black against the darkening sky, and found the soldiers standing before their burning home. Then one had spotted the elderly couple, she plump and grey-haired and still as beautiful to his aged eyes as the first day he'd seen her, and he with his scalp bald beneath a battered tricorn and leaning on a scrimshawed oak stick.

They ran, because they had never been willing to surrender to the caprices of fate. Ran, because the soldiers would have to earn the right to hang them. But they were running out of room to run. The cliffs of Moher lay ahead, and behind was only the tender mercies of the Company.

"Go... go left," John gasped, releasing Jenny's hand. "It's... it's me... they want. I'll... lead them... away..." It was a gamble, he knew, because the Company would want to hang them both. But, maybe, they wanted him more.

"I love you John," she panted, glancing over to her husband as they ran. "I'm in this with you. We belong together body and soul. Forever."

Love surged through him. Had he expected anything else, really? And then they found themselves on the edge of the cliff. Trapped.

"Surrender!" an officer shouted, drawing his sword. "Surrender, and you will be granted fair trials?"

John looked at his wife, squeezing her hand gently. He'd promised her this part of his life was over, and he'd follow her lead. All he saw in her leaf-green eyes was love and steely determination. Nodding once, he turned to face their pursuers. "Gentlemen! You will always remember this day!"

He grinned as Jenny wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. "It is the day," he continued, "that you almost caught the infamous Red Jenny, and Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Wrapping his arms around his wife, she kissed him one last time as they stepped backwards. Then they were weightless, as if flying together, until the water caught them. Like a jealous lover it tore his Jenny from his arms, embracing him as it did. He sank like a stone, too tired to struggle against the chill that enveloped him.

...jack...

The whisper was insistent. Familiar. A voice he hadn't heard since his Anne had died.

...jaaaaaack...

His vision began to go dim. It was like looking into a tunnel, and seeing a light at the far hand. As if from a great distance, he could see figures waiting. His mother. His daughter. Not his Jenny, but she'd be there soon enough. He knew that, welcomed it, allowed himself to drift towards the light...

A hand seized his collar, jerking him roughly from the water. Before he knew what happened he was lying on a wooden surface, coughing and spluttering and retching. Boots appeared before his face. "Well. Well, well, well. If it isn't the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow."

Weakly, he looked up to see a familiar face. "Will?" he coughed. "Will Turner?"

"That's Captain Turner, Jack," the man laughed.

"And..." he coughed again. "That's Captain Jack."

Will laughed again. "Maybe. But you're aboard the Flying Dutchman, Jack Sparrow."

John levered himself to his feet, looking around. "Where. where's Jenny?"

Will shook his head. "She's on her way home now, Jack - she's earned her rest. But you? You've got work to do, before you make port." He slapped Jack on the back, and gestured around. "Say hello to our newest recruit, lads! Say hello to Captain Jack Sparrow!"

As John stared, the souls of the dead cheered his name,

THE ONLY RULES THAT MATTER
[video=youtube]https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=27mB8verLK8[/video]
AFTERLIFE​
 
All around her was beautiful and bright, taking the form of a meadow a few miles outside of Dover where she'd played with her children. She could even hear the distant surf and there were so many faces she knew. Her parents and her brothers were there, Ion and even Laoch, and Brigid looking bright and healthy, not wan and sickly as she had before she'd passed in childbirth. There was Jack, whole rather than gutshot at 43 bleeding onto the deck of his ship. There was a young woman with dark hair and leaf green eyes, solemn and quiet as she had been in life and with a smile so like her father's Jenny instinctually knew who she was though she was older now.

"Anne!" She began to cry as she embraced her daughter and the rest of her family embraced her. "Oh my Anne! But..." she sniffled, "but where's Daddy?"

"I told you I'd ask Saint Peter to let him in," Anne said with a queer combination of mischief and sadness, "but he's got some extra duty to do first."

"Extra duty? For how long? What...?"

Anne shrugged. "Wouldn't say."

Jenny looked back the way she'd come--did this place have direction?--then back to her family. "But he said...I..." She faltered when they smiled but looked a little crestfallen.

"Go on then lass," Michael said, giving her a gentle push. There was sadness in the corner of her eyes. "We'll still be here when you get back."

"What? But Da, I wanna stay here with you," Jenny argued, though her heart wasn't exactly in it.

"We know ya do sweetheart," Mary assured her, pulling her into another hug. "But you won't be truly happy til yer man's here, so you won't truly belong."

"Go on," Jack chimed in. "Bastard's run out on us enough and it's always been your job to drag him back home, hasn't it? So go on! He don't get a pass on this one just coz he's dead."

After many tears of joy and sorrow, many hugs and promises of returning soon, Jenny turned and walked until she was on the beach. Then she walked into the surf.

~*~

She was in a boat. Jenny wasn't entirely certain how, but she found herself in a dinghy in the dark, floating along with so many other souls lost at sea. The last thing she remembered was hitting the water and losing grip of her husband's hand. Was this...was it Hell? Purgatory? Was it her punishment for technically committing suicide? If it was, then where was John? She looked around, calling for him out in the dark. Her voice didn't echo.

Something bumped alongside her dinghy. When she looked over the side Jenny saw that it was an enormous sea turtle with an oddly colored shell. The different muted colors on its back reminded her strongly of Scraps for some reason. Poor Scraps had faithfully served little Sparrows for twenty years before he finally fell apart beyond repair. They'd put his patches and what bits of his stuffing they could find onto a little raft of twigs and floated him out to sea by way of a burial befitting a sea turtle. Even though sea turtles weren't real, they were all certain that if they were that was what Scraps would have wanted. The giant turtle bumped her boat again and Jenny took the hint. Looking around to make sure no one was watching--no one was, all their eyes were fixed straight ahead--she clambered overboard and into the water with a splash that was smaller than it should have been then wrapped her arms as best she could around the turtle's shell, gripping the edges.

~*~

"Cap'n! Sea turtle off the port bow!"

"Sea turtle?" Will frowned and took several long strides to the side of the ship, looking overboard. "What's a sea turtle doing all the way out h--oh no. No this isn't...what...? No don't let her up!" He held out a hand to stop one of the crew from lowering a rope. "She's not supposed to be here and neither is that turtle!"

"William Turner!" Jenny said sternly. She'd met him a few times throughout his career as a ferryman of souls and she found she still had the pull to make him wince when she used her "mom voice." It didn't matter that they didn't lower a rope: she found one and started climbing after leaving Scraps with a word of thanks. Once she'd hauled herself over the side, dripping and exhausted, she clambered to her feet and proceeded to poke her husband in the chest. "And you! What did I say? What did I just say? Body and soul didn't I? Try to ditch me again will you...!"

But Jenny's angry ranting slowly came to a standstill when she noticed her hands. They weren't wrinkled or spotted with age, but young and smooth. Her back didn't hurt now as it had for years and a great deal of bulk seemed to have disappeared. She even had all her original teeth back! And John...he was young! Fifty or more years had fallen away from them both so that they looked as though they could have been no more than twenty-five or twenty-six. She looked down at herself then back at her husband several times before laughing. "It's a miracle!"
 
"Cap'n! Sea turtle off the port bow!"

Still disoriented by the past few minutes, John barely registered the watch's call or Will's response. Instead he stared numbly about, taking in the realities of the Flying Dutchman and her crew. They looked, well, better than they had the last time he'd been aboard. Not that it would be hard to do, mind. But the dead looked... human. Solid. And no growths or barnacles to be seen. Clearly, Will was a better captain than Davy Jones had been.

She's earned her rest.. Was she dead? She couldn't be! Not his Jenny! But... was he dead? He didn't feel dead, but what would dead actually feel like? Experimentally, he pinched himself. It hurt.

But, what did that prove? He was aboard the Dutchman, after all. After falling into the sea from the heights. And he knew what the purpose of the ship was, and the duties of Captain...

"William Turner!" a stern, feminine voice snapped, and John's heart lept at the sound.

"Jenny!" he cries, racing across the deck and hugging her. "God, Jenny, I thought I'd lost you!" She was sopping wet and fuming, her temper up, and he didn't care. He'd thought her dead, and here she was!

"And you! What did I say?" she demanded, poking him repeatedly in the chest. "What did I just say? Body and soul didn't I? Try to ditch me again will you...!"

The rant died away as she began to stare at her hand. He looked as well, and it took him a minute to realize what it was she was looking at. They were young-looking. Smooth. She was young looking. In his mind she'd never stopped being the beautiful young woman he'd fallen in love with all those years ago, but now her hair was copper instead of iron and her body was young and strong against his and...

And his knees no longer ached. His back didn't hurt. His vision was clear, and he had all his teeth again. He stared down at her, grinning madly as she hugged him excitedly. "It's a miracle!" she laughed, and he laughed with her.

"It's a bit of a cock-up, actually," Will said, scratching his head. "Follow me, and I'll explain."

John gripped Jenny's hand as they followed Will. Inside his cabin, he lit a lamp that burned blue, then filled three silver chalices with a dark, amber fluid. "Rum," he said, lighting a cigar. "A gift from the Baron. Have a seat."

John started to reach for the rum, then stopped. He hadn't touched a drop since China, and he wasn't going to break his promise now. "Why is it a mistake?"

Will followed his own advice, sipping his run and puffing at his cigar. "Well, " he said, gesturing at John with the burning tip of the cigar, "you're supposed to be here. You've debts to dispose of yet, Jack Sparrow. Debts to Calypso and to Davy Jones, and to God."

"I paid my debt to Jones!" John protested.

"You reneged," Will corrected. "For good reasons, mind. But the debt still stands. And his office passed to me, and the debt with it." He stared at John for a long minute, then turned his attention to Jenny. "But you... you're no part of this. Hong Zhenni was a pirate, yes, but I've seen your accounts. No great wickedness, no murders... you earned your reward already. You shouldn't be here."
 
When John stopped himself from reaching for the rum Jenny's heart swelled with pride. Even now he wanted to stay on the straight and narrow for her. But she reached for both of the remaining chalices and held one out to him.

"Go on then," she said gently with a smile. "The dead don't need to set good examples anymore, do they? Can the dead even get drunk?" This question was more to herself, but she would likely need to ask Will later. It was an important question, after all. Will explained the situation and Jenny scowled.

"No great wickedness or murders?" she demanded, a little affronted. "Now that's the cock-up! I mean, I went to confession and I asked for forgiveness but that doesn't mean I didn't do them. Didn't want to, but I did." Jenny took a sip of her rum and looked at the chalice, a little impressed. "It's good. Still not better than Da's, but close."

"Yes, you asked forgiveness and you meant it," Will said, a little exasperated. "And you've no outstanding debts so there's no reason for you to be here."

"Well you can try to get rid of me but you won't," Jenny said stubbornly. "Got out of my boat once already, didn't I? And I'm sure Scraps would bring me right back here again. This old bastard's run out on me plenty of times, he won't get away with it again." She had, in recent decades, artfully made "old bastard" a term of endearment much to the perplexity of folk outside the village who weren't familiar with their marriage. "I'm stayin' right here, Will, until he's free and clear and you're just going to have to get used to that. And--I'm sorry your debt to who?" Her temper flared again when she realized just what the captain had said and turned to your husband. "You said Jones was dead! And you neglected to mention that you owed him anything. What was it?" She turned to Will for a more honest answer. "What was it? What's he owe him...er, you? And Calypso and...and God? You made a deal with God??" That was blasphemy and dead or no she wouldn't be having that.
 
"Jones is dead!" John exclaimed. Suddenly, the savor was gone from the rum. "And I didn't tell you about it because... well, because I was ashamed of the deal. And because I thought I'd escaped it."

"A hundred souls," Will explained calmly, making John wince. "A hundred souls for Davy Jones' Locker, in exchange for your life."

"I never intended to honor it!" John nearly shouted. "And then, when the Kraken came for me, I thought I could find a hundred men who deserved that fate. But..."

"But it caught you first," Will said, voice hard. "Because..."

"Because, at the end, I realized what I would be if I followed through!" John shouted. "Don't you dare claim to know my thoughts, Will Turner! You may be Captain, but even you aren't God!"

The two men stared at one another for a moment, then Will nodded. "All right. That's fair. But you still owe Davy Jones - me - a hundred souls. Your second death didn't relieve you of that debt."

John glared daggers at him. "I'll not do it," he spat.

"You will," Will replied. "Because You're right. I'm not God. But I'm his ferryman. And you will sail the seas, Captain Jack Sparrow, until you've fulfilled all your debts." He blew a smoke ring. "And that includes delivering a hundred souls wicked enough to deserve the Locker."
 
Jenny's mouth dropped open in horror. What had he gotten up to that he'd felt it was in any way okay to make such a bargain? There were some of his stories she'd taken with a grain of salt, but now she didn't know what to believe. They'd been too fantastic to be true, she thought, but...well, here she was, wasn't she?

"We," she corrected Will. "We will sail the seas until he's fulfilled his debts. I meant it Will, I'm not leaving."

"I didn't suspect otherwise."

"So what's next? Apart from you two telling me the whole truth, everything that happened while you were out looking for a cure I mean." She looked at Will. "Do we sail with you?"

He shook his head. "You have a lot of work to do. Calypso doesn't think you'd be free to do what you need to if you sailed with me." Will gestured out the window of the captain's cabin where another ship was visible in the foggy dark. "You'll have your own ship and you'll be free to roam where you will. But you must do your duty, or...Well, you've seen what happens, Jack."

Jenny frowned a little. "How will we know where to go?"

He shrugged. "You will."
 
John stared out the windiw, across the fog-bound waters at the other ship. A ship he knew well, even after half a century. Without realizing it he rose, slowly walking forward until his hand touched the glass. It couldn't be, but... "The Pearl?" he asked, voice hushed and reverent. "Is it..? But she..."

"The very same," Will laughed, watching him stare. "I couldn't well set Jack Sparrow loose in the seas - or Hong Zhenni, for that matter - without a decent ship." He glanced at Jenny with a wink. "I mean, she's no Dutchman, but..."

There was excitement on John's face as he wheeled around. "The Black Pearl can outsail your..." A thiught struck him. "She went down off Madagascar, when Barbossa underestimated the strength of a Royal squadron. How..?"

Laughter. "The same way you came to be here, Jack! Did you think only people had souls?"

"No, I always knew that." John looked at Jenny, then looked hard at Will. "Is that what we are? Spirits? Ghosts?"

"No." Will sipped his rum. "You're alive, or at least you're flesh and blood. Ni longer quite mortal, but no t quite immortal. You'll live and live, and death won't take you. But you can still be hurt. Neither man nor angel - I've met them - but partaking of some of the qualities of both." He shrugged. "We're the ferrymen, collecting the souls of the lost dead and bearing them to their final port of call." He finished his rum. "And we serve, until we are released. Hiwever long that takes."
 
"Well..." Jenny said, taking a deep breath and tossing back the rest of her rum (she still didn't feel it), "I suppose we ought to get to work, oughtn't we?"

Battle at Chesapeake
1781

"It's always the French, isn't it?" Jenny peered through the spyglass at the battle. "Ever since the damned French got involved it's all just gotten worse and worse. Not that I'm not on the American's side, mind you," she added. "I'm still no friend to the crown, you know that. But the French? Of all the allies to make..."

Shaking her head she collapsed the spyglass and gave it to John, hopping over the rail and sliding down a rope. Carefully she held out her hand to the first of many to find himself suddenly in the shallows a few miles south of the battle. Once she'd helped the fallen soldier up to the deck she shook her head and motioned absently to him.

"See? This poor lad probably would've lived another forty years or more if it weren't for the French." She fell silent for a moment, watching the battle from a distance as more and more waded absently through the surf towards them. "Think we could take a vacation sometime?" she asked at last. "I mean, we've been working fourteen years straight. We're not bound by the same rules Will is--we already tested that--and you haven't found even a single soul you think's so bad they deserve the Locker. I'd say we've earned ourselves a little bit of a break."
 
"It's not always the French," John insisted, taking the spyglass. "Wasn't the French off the Barbary Coast now, was it? Or in the Straits of Magellan." He scrambled down the ropes after his wife, hanging down and hauling another of the bewildered dead men aboard. "There you go, son."

"Where... where am I?" the young man asked, peering around. "This... this isn't my ship."

"Nope. It's mine. Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, son." John grabbed the wrist of the man that jenny had pulled out, hauling him the rest of the way up. "We'll explain things in a few minutes, but there's a few of your shipmates to get aboard first."

The newcomer stared around perplexedly as Jenny pulled herself back up to the deck. "See? This poor lad probably would've lived another forty years or more if it weren't for the French."

"Quelle?" the newest arrival asked. "Où ... où suis-je?"

"You're probably right about that," John agreed, grabbing the first man before he could throw a punch. "And none of that now, mate. Whatever your allegiances were before, you've fulfilled your duties to them. Time to rest."

"But he's French!"

"Yes. And you're English, and that man my wife is hauling aboard now looks to be a Colonial, and you're all dead. So settle yourself down, and relax." He gently pushed both men towards a waiting cask. "Rum over there. Help yourselves."

"Dead?" "Mort?" Both men stumbled numbly towards the cask. John pulled the next man aboard, and the next, and the next. Finally, they were all aboard. A sad sight it was, too. A dozen men of two different nations, cut down before the age of thirty. The last he helped aboard was his wife, who looked weary and tired.

"Think we could take a vacation sometime?" she asked at last. "I mean, we've been working fourteen years straight. We're not bound by the same rules Will is--we already tested that--and you haven't found even a single soul you think's so bad they deserve the Locker. I'd say we've earned ourselves a little bit of a break."

John nodded. "A vacation sounds good, yes. Anywhere in particular strike your fancy? I mean, we can go anywhere. India, perhaps? I've never actually been there, but ma always swore I'd been baptized in the Ganges. Maybe we could go see that? Or..." A shrug. "We could go back to Ireland, check in on the grandkids - heck, maybe even great- and great-great-grandchildren, by this point. Might be a bit strange, but we don't have to tell them who we are. And it'd be good to see that they're getting along alright."
 
Jenny thought over her husband's proposal for a second, frowning. Finally, she shook her head. "Too soon," she admitted. "For me, I mean, to go home. I'd start crying and draw attention to meself then where would that leave us? Let's go see the Ganges. Knowing Teague you probably were baptized there. Hell, maybe we can even get you rebaptized while were at it." She gave him a crooked little smile and winked. She knew that John's views hadn't changed as he'd gotten older, that he'd stayed in the grace of God mainly for her sake.

"Alright lads, here we go," Jenny said in a louder voice, clapping her hands together and rocking onto her toes then back to flat feet. The men looked up, bewildered. "You're dead, all of you. It's not right and it's not fair, but that's how it is and we couldn't have saved you if we tried. And believe us, we've tried before. Now no need to panic!" She put her hands out to calm them as they started murmuring in alarm amongst themselves. "The place you lot're going is beautiful. It's clean and bright and all your loved ones are there waiting for you, promise. You all know where the rum is, there's some cured meats and cheeses somewhere around here too. Not that you need to eat anymore, but it's nice to. Sort of a habit, innit? Anyway, you're free to roam about the ship as you please, but the journey shouldn't be too long. Mostly we just need to get out to sea. Questions?" A young man who couldn't have been more than nineteen raised his hand. "Aye?"

"Comment savons-vous que vous n'êtes pas des démons nous volant en enfer?"

Jenny shrugged. "You're just gonna hafta trust us, mate. We don't decide who goes where, we just take 'em there is all." After making sure there weren't any other questions she helped John raise the anchor and catch in their sails a wind that didn't seem to stir the other ships. "Wish I knew I was tellin' them the truth," she sighed quietly, joining John at the helm. "About Heaven, I mean. Wish someone'd tell us so we wouldn't hafta lie to 'em, even inadvertently."
 
"For what it's worth," John said as he turned the wheel, "I don't think we're lying to them." Out of reflex he glanced towards the sun, even though he didn't need it to steer the Pearl. Not where she was bound right now, anyway. "Maybe we've got a few details wrong, but... well, you've seen Fiddler's Green. Hell, you could've seen more of it than I could, if you'd wanted to. And it looks clean and bright and peaceful." He smiled. "It probably isn't Heaven, mind. But I bet you it's an antechamber."

He'd thought a lot about that, thinking more and more each time they'd made port. He was bound to the Earth, bound to sail the Black Pearl until he'd fulfilled his debt. Bound to ferry the souls of sailors lost at sea back to Fiddler's Green and whatever lay beyond. Nothing bound him to the ship in any Earthly port, save the eventual call from the sea he could not ignore. But try as he might, he could not disembark on that far and lovely shore. And he knew, as surely as he knew that he could not, that jenny could. The only thing binding her to the Pearl was him.

Which was why he asked if she wanted to go ashore, each time they made port there. Because he wanted her to stay with him. But he'd be hanged if he'd let her feel trapped with him.

"India would be nice, wouldn't it?" he asked, bringing the subject back around to their vacation. "Whether I've been there or not, I... hey. Do you see that?" He pointed. "Three points to starboard. Sails."

It was unusual to see sails here - they'd left the mortal world behind, and were sailing great Oceanus into the uttermost West now. Sometimes they'd see ships in the distance. Longboats wreathed in ghostly flames, or great Egyptian barques of a type that hadn't been built since Rome had conquered the world, or even the Flying Dutchman about Will Turner's duties. But never a fleet - thirteen small, white boats sailing in formation. "Think we should investigate?"
 
"Yeah well if I went I doubt there'd be any sort of coming back," Jenny pointed out. "And I told you John Sparrow, you're stuck with me. I said body and soul forever and I meant it. Just turns out forever's a bit different than we planned, yeah?"

She gave him a smile, but there was something disquieting about the conversation. He asked her every time they made port in Fiddler's Green whether she wanted to go ashore. They hadn't been told but they both seemed to know without saying it explicitly that she was free to go Home whenever she chose, even though he was bound to Earth. But he was her home. It wouldn't feel right to go without him. They'd jumped off of the cliffs together, after all, and before that had rarely talked about what would happen should one go before the other. It had always been the two of them together as a team, even in those rocky years before Anne had died. She wondered sometimes whether he offered because he wanted her to be happy, or because he wanted a break from her before coming to his reward.

"Hm?" Jenny was pulled from her thoughts by John's mention of India. "Aye it would. And I've seen some of the dresses their women wear. They're absolutely beautiful." John pointed out the strange little boats in the distance and Jenny frowned. They'd seen a few ships and had passed Will a few times, but this was quite unusual. When he asked whether to look into them she shook her head slightly. "Let's wait til we've gotten this lot safe to shore," she said distractedly, watching the boats warily. "Can't afford to lose 'em. Don't think you'd look very good with tentacles."

As they sailed toward Fiddler's Green the formation...well, it didn't follow, exactly. They stayed at three points to starboard no matter how they steered, never getting closer nor going farther away. When they made port the little white boats bobbed out to sea as though waiting. Jenny ushered the men ashore, careful not to touch land herself, all while keeping one eye on the suspicious buggers. Once they'd shipped out again they managed to get nearer. Jenny squinted, just to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her.

"Why...they're eggshells!" she exclaimed. "Eggshells with little people in them! What'd you suppose they're on about?"
 
"Eggshells?" John produced his spyglass from his sash, and focused in on it. "Yeah. Little people in eggshells. What on earth..?"

Something about the sight tickled the back of his mind, and he watched as one of the tiny sailors gestured and pointed back at the Pearl. Were they tiny, he wondered? Or was it just a trick of his eyes. But, they were in eggshells, sure enough. They must be tiny. Musn't they? But then, the Pearl was a galleon. He and Jenny had to have a full crew, even though they didn't. Magic, he knew, got tricky like that. And this smacked deeply of magic.

There was a glitter, and he focused in on it. A banner, emerald silk shot through with gold threads. Whipping in the wind, it took him a moment to make out the details. Then he shot the spyglass shut with a convulsive gesture, and sprinted back towards the wheel. "I don't know what they're on about," he called as he spun the wheel and the Pearl heeled over to port and began to turn, "and I don't much care!" The memory of a golden apple he'd stolen decades ago, not very long in the memories of immortals, danced before his eyes. "We'll not meet them, if I have ought to say about it."

He glanced back, saw the eggshell fleet change course to pursue them. Light on the waves, they looked like they might gain on him. "It's the Good Neighbors," he gritted out. "Fairie has our scent, Jenny. They've been stalking us since Chesapeake, and I'll not make it easy on them to take us."
 
When John snapped his spyglass shut Jenny frowned. She knew his sharp gestures like that and didn't like it one bit. Putting her hands on her hips she scowled at her husband when he declared that they wouldn't meet them. "Who is it, John? What're you on about?" she demanded.

"It's the Good Neighbors," he gritted out. Fairie has our scent, Jenny. They've been stalking us since Chesapeake, and I'll not make it easy on them to take us."

"The Fey?" Jenny yelped. In the few years since she'd died she'd learned a little more about fairies, more truth than there had been in her books. She no longer believed them to be quite so simple or helpful as the lore had said they were. "Why're they on us? What did you do?"

Then it hit her that that must've been it. Storming up to the wheel she put a hand firmly on John's shoulder and made him look at her. "John," she said slowly, "what did you do?"
 
"It's not my fault!" John insisted, trying to concentrate simultaneously on steering and watching the approaching shios. "Well, not really. Not completely, anyway. I mean, well, you remember my father, and hiw he wanted me to sail with him?"

This was probably not going to end well, given that he'd never told Jenny about Avalon. In fairness, though, he'd thought that long past. Other than a tendancy for milk to sour quuckly at their home, the Lords and Ladies had never bothered him. "Well, when I ended up sailing with him? He, uhm, made carrying out his plan a condition of getting home. And we, uhm, stole one of the Golden Apples." He swallowed. "A dried slice is one if the rrasins Anne lived longer than she might have."

The eggshells were getting closer, close enough that he could see tiny warriors with tiny weapons of glass and silver. Tiny warriors who wouldn't be tiny, once they biarded the Pearl. "They, well, weren't really happy. But they never did anything after, and I thought I was rid of them years and years ago."

Closer, now. John swallowed. "If we heave to and present broadside," he suggested, "our guns'll cross the t. Might be enough for us to get away."
 
At the mention of Edward Teague her eyebrows shot up. The old bastard had helped her out in hard times and had had a relationship with their children, but this was before all that. This was when John had wanted nothing to do with them. She folded her arms across her chest expectantly, waiting for an answer. If it had been twenty years ago she wouldn't have believed him, would have put it down to another story he'd made up to explain where he'd been that he'd been repeating so long he'd started believing it. But now she knew better and sometimes marveled at how willfully ignorant she'd been in life.

"Avalon," she repeated, eyebrows still raised. "That slice of apple you gave her...I remember it." The constantly-setting sun glinted off of something in the eggshells. Weapons. When he said that he'd thought he was rid of them she sighed and rubbed her face. "Knowing our luck they probably just got the wrong Jack Sparrow was all," she groaned.

"If we heave to and present broadside," John suggested, "our guns'll cross the t. Might be enough for us to get away."

Jenny sighed. "Right. I'll get on it."

"Oh you will, will you?" A tall, graceful woman stood less than a foot from Jenny when she turned around, causing her to gasp and stagger backwards. The woman was dressed in the deep greens and browns of the forest and her dress and hair seemed to flow in an unseen wind. There was never any wind in these undying lands. Most disturbing, to Jenny anyway, was the large, translucent butterfly wings protruding from her back. She regarded Jenny with an imperious look before seeming to dismiss her and turn her gaze to John. "You owe a debt, Jack Sparrow."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How many debts do you owe?" Jenny demanded, rounding on her husband.

The Fae's wings fluttered in irritation, but she acted as though the woman hadn't spoken. "Years ago and miles away, you took something from us," she said in a deep, melodious voice. "You made many enemies in those years and incurred many debts. Now it's time for you to begin to clear those debts."
 
John stared at the woman on the deck of his ship, clenching his jaw in helpless frustration and fury as he did. She returned the expression with utter unconcern, dismissing Jenny with a glance. "You owe a debt, Jack Sparrow."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How many debts do you owe?" Jenny demanded, rounding on her husband.

John held up his hands. "Woah! I don't owe her anything!"

The Fae's wings fluttered in irritation, but she acted as though the woman hadn't spoken. "Years ago and miles away, you took something from us," she said in a deep, melodious voice. "You made many enemies in those years and incurred many debts. Now it's time for you to begin to clear those debts."

"I don't think you heard me quite right," John said slowly, as if talking to a simpleton. The fae stared at him with a sort of amused irritation as he swaggered out from behind the wheel, adopting his "Captain Jack" mannerisms. "See, I owe you exactly nothing - your folk failed to stop me, so I took it fair and square."

She smiled indulgently at that. "Is that so?"

"That's so," John declared, crossing his arms.

"Then, by your own logic, you owe me whatsoever I demand." She gestured grandly. "Unless you can stop me."

He could feel the footsteps on the deck. After a moment's hesitation he turned, to find a half-dozen warriors on the sterncastle. Improbably and outlandishly dressed, yes, but they were the Fae. He could feel the power rolling off them, and knew without being told that they didn't need armor the way mortals did. With a sigh, he lifted his hand from his rapier. "Parley?" he asked with a grin.

"Ah. Parley," replied the Fae Queen. "No. I do not think so. As you said, you failed to stop us. Now, we may take what we wish. And what we wish..." John tensed. If they tried to name Jenny, then outnumbered or no, he'd... "Is for you to rid us of a witch. A coven of witches, to be precise."

John blinked. "What? Witches." He cocked his head quizzically. "Why... why me?"

The Queen smiled. "Because we know of your doom, John Sparrow. And we know what you seek. And you have bested this witch before."

"I have?" He scratched his head in thought. "I... don't really recall any witches."

"Really?" The Queen stared at him. "Not even Josephine Sumner?"
 
Jenny held her hands out where the could be easily seen, not wanting to cause any of the warriors who had just appeared on their ship any sort of alarm with any sudden movement. Of course she was already dead, but she had the feeling that getting killed by a fae weapon might end poorly. Who knew where she might go if she died again? She tensed when her husband did.

"Witches?" Jenny burst, quite forgetting in the moment the gravity of their predicament. "I'm there trying to keep together a good Christian home and you're about consorting with witches?"

But the Queen ignored her again, choosing instead to answer John's question. "Because we know of your doom, John Sparrow. And we know what you seek. And you have bested this witch before."

"Oh." Well that was quite different, wasn't it, if he was out defeating witches. But John didn't seem to remember work as important as this.

"I have?" He scratched his head in thought. "I...don't really recall any witches."

"Really?" The Queen stared at him. "Not even Josephine Sumner?"

"Who?" Jenny frowned and looked at her husband. There was a look of recognition on his face, but Jenny turned to the Queen and demanded again, "who?"

"She and her sisters have been running rampant both on the mortal earth and in the fae realm." The Queen was really starting to piss her off with ignoring her. "Her horseman has massacred hundreds, and now they've come to the New World. They terrorize the good people of New York, who blame it all upon the fae. Our grip is tenuous as it is in the New World, away from the old tales, and now they're costing us these too. It is utterly unacceptable." She gazed evenly at the captain. "I imagine, Captain Sparrow, that taking three more souls aboard your ship destined neither for Hell nor for Fiddler's Green may hold some appeal to you."
 
"Josephine... Sumner?" John wracked his brain in an effort to place the familiar-sounding name, accidentally ignoring Jenny as she demanded to know who she was.

"She and her sisters have been running rampant both on the mortal earth and in the fae realm," the Queen declared. "Her horseman has massacred hundreds, and now they've come to the New World. They terrorize the good people of New York, who blame it all upon the fae. Our grip is tenuous as it is in the New World, away from the old tales, and now they're costing us these too. It is utterly unacceptable." She gazed evenly at the captain. "I imagine, Captain Sparrow, that taking three more souls aboard your ship destined neither for Hell nor for Fiddler's Green may hold some appeal to you."

Horseman. Horseman... John's eyes went wide as he made the connection. "Shit! She's alive? How is she... I mean, she must be my age, at least. And I'm a hundred and two!" He caught the Queen's expression and snorted. "And you might not think that's particularly old, but that's a lot for a human!"

"And what, Captain Jack Sparrow, makes you think that Josephine Sumner is truly still human?" The Queen smiled faintly, mockingly. "She has bargained with beings beyond human ken, for power and long life. Bargains not unlike what you once sought..."

"I did not make any such bargains!" John snapped back, before looking around the Pearl. "Well, all right. One bargain, and a bad one. But not for power! For my daughter!"

A graceful shrug. "As you say."

John stared at her, then glanced at Jenny. "Still, Queen Mab here has a point." He ignored the angry, offended expression on the Fairy Queen's face. "Remember the black book? The one you made me burn? That was Sumner's book. And if anyone is like to be headed for the Locker, it'll be her." He sighed. "So, Jenny. Shall we go and do something about her?"
 
Jenny raised an incredulous eyebrow when John claimed to have not made bargains with immortal beings. That's why they were here and not with their children in the first place! Lucy had finally been the last to pass--last year--and she had been sorely tempted to step ashore on Fiddler's Green...but she couldn't. Not until they were all together, and it sounded like this Sumner woman would be a good place to start to get that accomplished. When John pointed out that the book he'd brought home those years ago belonged to this woman Jenny's eyes hardened. That woman's black arts had entered their home!

"So, Jenny. Shall we go and do something about her?"

"What're our headings?" Jenny asked solemnly, taking the wheel. "How do we get to New York from here is what I mean."

"Sail into the sun and you'll find your way," the Queen said, finally acknowledging the presence of another human aboard. In a blink she and her warriors were gone.

~*~

"Sail into the sun, she says," Jenny groused. "You'll find your way, she says. Well they only thing I've found is bloody fog!" She glanced over at John, who had been navigating, then craned her neck over the wheel to try and see where she was going. They were back in the mortal world, but God only knew where. "Er...have we ever tried to navigate up a river before?" she asked uncertainly, for it was clear even from the low visibility that that was what the bay they'd been in had become. "Will she run aground?"
 
"I don't think she will," John replied, peering into the fog. "And not just because this is - right now, at least - a navigable river. As a mortal ship, the Pearl's[/i] draft was 15 to 18 feet, so I always aimed not to get any shallower than 20 if I could avoid it. But now?" He shrugged. "She's mortal as we are, love, and I suspect she'll take us where we need to go."

And she did. By the time the sun rose behind them, burning the heavy fog into this wisps and scattering them, the Pearl was a hundred and fifty miles upriver, sails filled with otherworldly winds that drove them against the current until they reached their destination. It dudn't look like much, just a sleepy little town that wouldn't have looked out of place on the road between Dover and London. Cobbled streets wound between cozy cottage houses, with a church on a hill overlooking the town.

John tied the Pearl off on one of the pilings of the town's river dock, discovering as he did that the Pearl could change her appearance. From the outside, she looked to be nothing more than a nondescript single-masted small boat. "This simplifies things," he commented to himself.

Strolling back up the gangplank, he stretched and considered his clothing. They wouldn't do. Sleepy river towns in New England weren't prepared for the loose trousers and shirt if a seaman, or the sash and swordbelt round his waist. He might be able to get by with his tricorn, but he'd have to wear a respectabke suit. "So," he asked Jenny as he headed backto their cabin. "Any thoughts? Because my typical strategy of 'hit the tavern and ask a bunch of questions' might not work here."
 
"Perhaps we can pose as a couple from the City," Jenny suggested, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. Her dress was simple but not homespun, neither fashionable nor old-fashioned. Practical was how she'd always liked her clothes, and they always seemed to have enough money on hand to keep up with the local fashions for the time. It was incredible to her how quickly one had to buy new clothes after a lifetime of patching and re-patching the same two dresses. "You know, get away to the country for some fresh air. Local color. Things like that. Then we say we've heard there's been some mischief with the fae and I'm sure they'll be keen to tell us city folk all about it."

Once she'd finished pinning up her hair and had selected an appropriate hat Jenny took her husband's arm and strolled down the gangplank to the bank of the river. She raised her eyebrow and remarked, "handy" at the Pearl's outward appearance. They hadn't gotten on at first, Jenny and the Pearl, as each blamed the other for taking away her man. But finally they seemed to be starting to understand one another. The little boat bumped against the dock as though in reply before they turned to walk toward the town. They hadn't gone very far, however, when a harried-looking man met them.

"Mister Crane, I presume," he said, shaking John's hand distractedly before mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'd heard there was a strange boat at the dock. We weren't expecting you for weeks, you know, but you've come just in time. It's madness in the schoolhouse!" He shook his head in disbelief before motioning for them to follow. "This way then. Once your master's got his position, young lady, I'll show you where to take his things."

Jenny exchanged a look with her husband behind the man's back. She'd carried a suitcase ashore as a prop to lend credence to the idea that they were tourists out for a country holiday, but apparently she'd been mistaken for his servant. Still, if they could take this Crane's place for a while they might be able to find out what was going on without arousing suspicion from the residents of the sleepy little town. If Jenny had to play the servant instead of the wife then so be it. On their way to the schoolhouse they learned that Mr. Crane ("May I call you Ichabod?") was to be the new schoolmaster after the old one had died and had been given lodgings in the valley on the other side of the hill. Well this was convenient indeed, and if they had to pose as Protestants for a few weeks she was sure God would understand. The man's name was Nicholas Hardwick and though he was usually the magistrate the township's first citizen--one Mister Baltus Van Tassel--had sent him rushing to meet the new schoolmaster as soon as they'd heard he arrived and they'd been planning a more welcoming reception and he was so sorry but wouldn't Mister Crane be so kind as to join Mister Van Tassel and his family at supper this evening?

When they arrived at the schoolhouse they could hear the ruckus before the saw it. Upon opening the door they saw a frail-looking, whey-faced old man attempting to teach some students their letters and other students their arithmetic simultaneously. The students, however, were uproarious: shouting, throwing things, fighting, a pair of girls were even pulling at each others' braids. When the old man noticed the door open he gave them a look pleading for help before rushing over to them and shaking John's hand exuberantly.

"Oh thank you Mister Crane, thank you! And God bless you!" he cried before all but flying out the door. The other three looked after him then back to the task at hand.

"Well, I think I should leave you to it then," Hardwick said blithely, "and show your girl where to put your things."

Jenny bristled but didn't say anything to being called "girl." Years in the tavern had taught her to ignore the disregard of little men. "I've faith in you Mister Crane," she said with a bright smile. "Not like you haven't got experience disciplining naughty children before, eh?" She was trying to remind him, discreetly, that he'd raised five beautiful children and so these children shouldn't frighten him in the least. And with all of his traveling around the world it wasn't like he had nothing he could teach them. With that she followed Hardwick over the hill, past the church, and down into the next valley where stood one lonely farm and, a mile or two beyond that, one lonely little cottage. They were apparently to have the lonely little cottage.

"Mister Crane didn't say he would be bringing a servant with him," Hardwick mentioned as they passed the farm, "and so I'm afraid we've furnished him with a cottage with only one room. Usually it wouldn't be a problem, but to have a servant woman with him..."

"Oh not to worry, Magistrate," Jenny assured him cheerfully, playing the chipper dolt. She'd noticed he hadn't even asked her name. "Grew up together, Mister Crane and me, like brother and sister. I won't think nothin' of stayin' on the floor."

"You don't worry it will cause a scandal to your master?" Hardwick raised an eyebrow, but Jenny waved him off.

"He'd never touch me, sir. And even if folk's tongues started to wag, God knows the truth of it." She put a finger to the side of her nose and nodded. Hardwick's eyebrow didn't lower but he nodded.

"Very well," he acquiesced, "so long as you both realize it to be at your own risk. We're a good Christian town, Miss, and we don't tolerate people living in sin. Especially not the man who's supposed to be educating our children. Grew up with him, you say?" Jenny nodded. "Forgive me, but you appear to have quite a different accent than Mister Crane."

"Well, your home don't never really leave you, do it?" she chirruped. "Left Ireland when I was a girl, m'family did, but never really did get rid of the accent. Happens, y'know, when ya don't hardly talk to no one but your own people."

"I see."

The cottage was dark and cold. It was one room with one small bed and one small table which played host to two chairs and an oil lamp. In one corner was a wood stove and in the other a wash basin and a chamber pot, but it was otherwise unfurnished. Once Hardwick had left Jenny lit the oil lamp and got the stove going to cut the chill of the early Northern fall, but found that there was hardly any wood to keep it going and no pots or pans or anything at all to cook with. The quilt was threadbare and the pillow flattened by previous tenants. With a harumph Jenny got to work. She would have to fix the quilt--or make a new one--when there was a bit of leisure time. For now, she made her way back over the hill to the Pearl and back again, carrying cooking supplies in their one suitcase. The farmer with whom they shared the valley was kind enough to lend her an ax to chop wood into logs from a large tree trunk which appeared to have fallen in a storm and been dragged to the cottage some time this past summer. Sweating and aching but no stranger to this sort of hard work, Jenny fished through the pantry to find ingredients enough to make lard biscuits, which she aspired to have done by the time her husband returned.
 
John scratched his chin, looking around the schoolhouse as the temporary teacher fled. This was, without a doubt, the strangest thing he'd been called on to do. Add to that the fact that he'd clearly been mistaken for the real teacher - one Ichabod Crane - and that his Jenny had been mistaken for his servant, and things took on a surreal air.

"I've faith in you Mister Crane," Jenny said with a bright smile as she turned to leave. "Not like you haven't got experience disciplining naughty children before, eh?"

"Oh, I've no fears in that regard," he replied. Then, as Jenny and the magistrate left, he slowly walked towards the front of the classroom. He was aware of a calculating, speculative silence as he did, and knew the students were sizing him up. It was uncannily like the way a pirate crew sized up the new recruits.

Ignoring them all, he picked up a piece of chalk and began to write. "My name," he said, "is Ichabod Crane. I am an apothecary by training, a sea captain by training, and a teacher by necessity. And I am here..."

Suddenly he spun, snatching a bit of thrown chalk from the air. The children gasped. "And who threw this?" No one answered, but he didn't miss the eyes that singled out a lad of some thirteen years. So he held that boy's eyes as he picked up a long, slender rod. "You. What is your name, son?"

"Ah... Henry. Henry James."

John stared at him. "'Henry James, sir'," he prompted.

"Henry James... sir."

John swayed over to a notice on the wall. "I see here, Mister James, that the punishment for disrespect to the teacher is...". He peered at the page. "Five strokes of the rod. Is this correct, Mister James?"

The boy swallowed "Y-yes. Sit."

John turned to face him. Then, with a serpent-quick motion, he threw the bit of chalk back. It struck the boy between the eyes with an audible thump. "Your aim is atrocious, Mister James, and you will spend a half hour with me after school practicing, until it is not." He glanced at the board. "Now recite your five times table for me, and let us see if your scholarship is any better..."

Things settled down after that, as John settled into the role of Ichabod Crane with the same panache he'd brought to being Captain Jack. He swaggered around the room, working through maths and language with a combination of humor and showmanship and bloody-minded force of will that both enthralled and terrified them. By the end of the day they staggered out, better educated and unsure of what had happened.

After, John wandered the streets of the town, nodding to passers-by as he looked for the little cottage that was his - well, Ichabod's - new home. It took longer than he'd anticipated, but that was all right. It gave him an opportunity to check out the lay of the land. Not that there was much to see, really. A dry goods store, and a barber that was also the town doctor. A church, and a small city building. A carpenter and a blacksmith. And a number of prosperous looking homes.

Finally, he found his - Ichabod's - new home. A smallish, half-timber half-stone affair with a sturdy wooden door that smelled of baking bread as he walked in. "Where's my drink, girl?" he called with a laugh as he hung his battered tricorn from a peg on the door.

Still laughing, he joined Jenny in the kitchen. "That smells wonderful," he said, hugging her from behind and kissing the back of her neck. "And the biscuits smell good, too." Grinning, he squeezed her tightly then released her. "It's a pity I have to call on Magistrate Van Tassel for dinner, because I'd rather eat with you. But, maybe he'll know something about the witch or her horseman."
 
"Where's my drink, girl?" John demanded as soon as he stepped through the door.

"On the other side of a proper fonging with that tone," Jenny replied with a smile. She stood in the kitchen--which was less a kitchen and more a corner of the one-room cottage--keeping a careful eye on the biscuits lest they burn. She turned her head to kiss John back and grinned at his mood. "Teaching seems to suit you," she commented. "And it's just as well you're eating with Van Tassel; flour and lard's the only thing I could find in the pantry. I'll have to go about town tomorrow for proper supplies. Not like we haven't got the money for it. The last school master seems to have not cared much what his lodgings were like, as I'll have to patch up that quilt and stop all the gaps with rags, too. Lord knows if this town's even got a thatcher; don't fancy finding out the roof leaks first time it rains. A servant girl's work is never done, is it Mister Crane?" She turned with a smile to hug him and sighed. "I'll make this drafty old place a home yet."

As the biscuits baked Jenny filled in John on the outline of their alibi she'd provided to the magistrate and they worked to flesh out their story since they weren't to be husband and wife this time. What a scandal they'd cause when they got caught kissing in the corn crib! Finally it was time for John to leave so he could find Van Tassel's house in time for supper, leaving Jenny alone. She picked at the lard biscuits--which were dry because she'd had no milk and didn't know who to ask for any--but reminded herself how often she'd gone hungry before. This wasn't so bad. About an hour after John left there came a shy knock at the door.

"Please Miss," said the little pig-tailed girl who couldn't be more than ten, "my Pa said you were the new schoolmaster's servant girl."

"Yes, that's right," Jenny confirmed gently. The shy little brunette reminded her strongly of Anne.

"Well he saw Mister Crane go out earlier, and he said Mister Van Holt--that's the old schoolmaster what died o'er the summer--usually et at other folks' house so he probably didn't leave much a stocked pantry behind. So...so he said as you probably worked up an appetite choppin' all that wood he gave you the ax for, you'd probably be hungry." She had problems with succinctness, didn't she? "So he said you should oughtta come sup with us."

"Well that's awfully generous!" Jenny replied with a gentle smile. "Gimme just a mo' and I'll leave with you." She scribbled a quick note to John so he shouldn't worry if he returned first, then grabbed up the ax and left with the little girl.

"You can write?" Her eyes were wide and she sounded a little envious.

"'Course I can," she answered cheerfully. "Mister Crane taught me how, and how to read too."

"Pa says a girl don't need to know how to read or write if she can work the land," the girl said, sounding a little dejected. Jenny shrugged. She was familiar with the sentiment, but at least her father hadn't actively stopped her from learning.

"Oh I dunno about that," she said casually. "Knowing how to read and write can serve a great many purposes. No one can do you a bad turn on contracts if you lease or sell your land, for instance. And they can't forge your signature neither, if you know how to write your name. How come you can't read? School's just over the hill there."

"Pa stopped sending me to school a couple years ago. Said I knew my numbers and my verse and that's all I needed, and he needed more help on the farm besides." She kicked a rock, sending it rolling through the grass, then kicked it again when they came upon it. It made a sort of sense; if it hadn't been for John then Jenny would have never learned how to read and wouldn't have been the worse for it by working in the family business.

"Well...er, what's your name?"

"Kaylee. Kaylee von Kalt."

"Well Kaylee van Kalt, on days you get your work done early you come across the valley here and I'll teach you."

Kaylee's eyes widened. "Really Miss? Promise?"

"Promise. So long as your Pa says it's alright. Bible says you should honor your father and mother and God comes above reading."

By and by the reached the farmhouse, which compared to their closest neighbor was a mansion. It was about the size of the Nest in Dover though with not so many bedrooms as there were only two children in this household. Mr. and Mrs. von Kalt were cheerful and hospitable enough, true Christians to share what they had with a new neighbor. Once they had said grace (Jenny worked hard to keep from crossing herself and singling herself out as an outsider in more than one way) everyone began to pass around the food and Mr. von Kalt started asking Jenny questions about herself; where she was from, how she'd come to take up with Mister Crane, and were they...? No of course not, they were both good God-fearing Christians! How silly of him to ask! Oh like brother and sister you say? (with a less than subtle glance at his wife then at their boy) Jenny noticed the elder son--who must have been nineteen or so--sneaking peeks at her between bites. What the poor lamb would do if he knew she was old enough to be his great-great-grandmother!

"So Mister von Kalt," Jenny said between bites after complimenting Mrs. von Kalt copiously on a meal well-made, "what's the village like? Seems quiet enough, but on our way up we heard rumors of trouble recently?"

~*~

The large, well-appointed home of Baltus Van Tassel--wealthy gentleman-farmer and First Citizen--was over the hill and quite on the other side of town. On his way there John passed by a cemetery then over a bridge which spanned a little brook. Then past the main street with the barber and the dry goods store, past the carpenter and blacksmith at the more sparsely-populated end of this cobblestone path, up a paved drive and past a carriage house he finally came to the Van Tassel mansion. As soon as he knocked the door was answered by a butler of sorts and there seemed to be a bit of a celebration beyond. People danced and played games and overseeing it all was a rotund, older man looking about as a king overseeing his kingdom.

"Mister Crane!" he boomed once he spotted John. "Come in, come in! Do have yourself a drink! We weren't expecting you for another couple of weeks but I think we've put together a very lovely reception on such short notice wouldn't you say?" He tapped his glass--crystal by the look of it--with a fork to get everyone's attention. The music and games stopped and all eyes turned to John. "Ladies and gentlemen it is my absolute privilege to introduce our guest of honor tonight, our new schoolmaster Mister Ichabod Crane." There was polite applause before Van Tassel waved his meaty hands at the band. "Well go on then! Don't stop on my account!"

The band struck up again and Van Tassel laid his heavy arm around John's shoulder. "Now then my boy, you will eat and drink and be merry, and I shall introduce you to everyone who's anyone," he insisted. "Magistrate Hardwick tells me you brought a serving girl with you, but no matter. You'll forget all about the help when you see the flowers which bloom in every season here upstate. Ah, and none so lovely as this!" He steered John toward a pretty blonde of sixteen or seventeen. "My daughter, Katrina."

"How do you do Mister Crane?" Katrina smiled charmingly and curtsied, the fashion of the day making her cleavage more easily visible when brought below eye level.
 
John smiled and offered a little wave as everyone turned to look at him. He'd always thrived on being the center of attention, a fact that had served him well when he'd turned to piracy, so the attention of a dozen or so couples didn't bother him. Although old habits seemed to die hard, as he caught himself sizing up who was likely to be the wealthiest by the cost of their clothes and the jewelry on display. "It is an honor to serve as your new schoolmaster, good gentles," he declared with a bow, doffing his cap as he did. Then he handed it off to the butler as Van Tassel waved at the band and encouraged everyone to return to the festivities.

The band struck up again and Van Tassel laid his heavy arm around John's shoulder. "Now then my boy, you will eat and drink and be merry, and I shall introduce you to everyone who's anyone."

"I'll be looking forward to it," John assured him, before making a show of hesitating. "Before you do, though," he murmured, directing his question to his host's ear alone, "I have a... delicate question. About... well, about current events. I find myself somewhat apolitical, myself, but..?"

Van Tassel nodded, and clapped his shoulder. "I understand, yes. We're mostly of Dutch ancestry, here, so it's all one and the same to us if the King or the Congress win. Just so long as business returns to normal, you understand?"

"Perfectly," John agreed.

"Now," Van Tassel continued, "Magistrate Hardwick tells me you brought a serving girl with you, but no matter."

"No matter?" The words sounded puzzled, mostly because he was puzzled.

Van Tassel chuckled, and led him around the room. "You'll forget all about the help when you see the flowers which bloom in every season here upstate. Ah, and none so lovely as this!" He steered John toward a pretty blonde of sixteen or seventeen. "My daughter, Katrina."

"How do you do Mister Crane?" Katrina smiled charmingly and curtsied.

John tried not to stare, as the implications of what Baltus Van Tassel had said finally sank in. They thought him single, and eligible! And the Van Tassel was quite pointedly presenting his daughter. And the daughter in question was... well, John had prided himself on having been faithful to his Jenny for the 82 years they'd been married now. Not that he hadn't been tempted, mind. And Katrina Van Tassel was temptation made flesh. Very attractive, very smooth, pleasantly curved flesh - much of it tantalizingly on display thanks to her decolletage. "Ah... very well, thank you Miss Van Tassel," he replied with a bow, and he was certain it wasn't accident that made her shift so he got a better look as he did.

Her smile was inviting as she looked at him with large, sapphire eyes. "Oh, please, you must call me Katrina, Mister Crane. And may I call you Ichabod?"

"Yes, of course," he found himself saying on autopilot.

The dazzling smile became warmer as he said it, and she caught his hand. "Father, please excuse us. Another waltz is beginning." And before John could stop it, he found himself on the floor with the lovely Katrina in his arms.



"Troubles?" Mister von Kalt sounded genuinely confused. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"There were the British," his wife suggested.

"Well, there were the soldiers, yes," he conceded. "But that was... oh, six years ago, now. Near the start of the rebellion. Nothing since then."

"There's the Horseman," interjected his son.

Mister von Kalt sighed. "Adam, that's nonsense."

Adam shook his head fiercely. "Jacob and Vincent saw him, three months ago," he insisted.

"Those no good friends of yours?" his father scoffed. "Saw the bottom of a pint or three, I shouldn't wonder."

"And there's old Van Holt," Adam insisted. "Said he'd go out to the hollow, and show everyone it was just a story. Look what happened to him."

"Heart failure," the elder van Kalt stated, flatly.

"With a look of fear on his face, pa?" Adam countered. "That wasn't..."

"Well," Mrs. von Kalt said, raising her voice pointedly, "I'll fetch out the dessert. Karl," she gave her husband a pointed look, "would you help me carry it?"

"I'll help, ma," Adam said, starting to rise.

"Oh, no, that's not necessary," Mrs. von Kalt assured him as she took her husband's hand. "Why don't you keep Jennifer company for a few minutes? It won't take your father and I long, and she's our guest after all."
 
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