Summary: The most innovative detector in the 19th century meets the best pirate in the Caribbean. As the story unfolds, sparks fly between Ichabod Crane and Jack Sparrow, but when a sudden murder occurs, they find that they have to work together to solve the mystery. The thoughtful constable and the rogue pirate suddenly find themselves right in the middle of a dangerous situation that may very well be the death of them…

--

Chapter 1: A late Night Adventure

New York, New York. 1800

"Crane!" The annoyingly taunting voice echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings, making a man that looked to be in his early twenties jump. The man had dark brown hair, and a slight build, which was unusual for a New York constable. Most assumed that all members of the police force had to be thuggish, muscular brutes. What was most striking about the man, though, were his dark, intelligent eyes, that at the moment seemed both wary, and uncertain. His normally determined stride lacked its usual luster, and his shoulders were slumped slightly in defeat. The man also carried with him his ledger, which had served no purpose in his recent "battle" with the Burgomaster. "Ichabod Crane!" The voice called out again, this time more insistent. Constable Ichabod Crane closed his eyes in irritation as he recognized the voice to be Constable James Green's. Green had even less respect for Ichabod than the rest of his fellow constables, which was certainly saying something. Ichabod, against his better judgment, turned around. Sure enough, he saw Green walking at a brisk pace in order to catch up to him. Ichabod continued walking—hoping that Green was not up to the chase—but his silent pleas apparently went unnoticed. "What a show you put up back there Crane!" Green said, laughing raucously once he had caught up. Ichabod gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead, determinedly not looking back at the man who was following him.

"I'm really not in the mood for your antics tonight, Green," he said resignedly.

"You're never in the mood for anything, Crane. It's a wonder that someone married you!" Ichabod stiffened, his face reddening, and stopped walking. "All the other constables wondered," Green continued, completely unaware of the fact that the young constable's hands were clenched angrily. "We even thought that you had forced the poor young lady into the marriage, but good ol' Witherspoon reminded us that you couldn't even make that kid on the Brook Investigation let you into their house to do your 'deducing!'" The memory brought another chuckle from Green. "So Constable Shank just decided that the lady must have been blind, because no one in their right mind would want to marry a bookish constable with absolutely no money to support his—" WHAM! Ichabod's fist came flying out of nowhere and struck Constable Green on the chin. Green rocked on his heels and took a step back, rubbing his jaw, which was already beginning to turn red. There was a moment of stunned silence, then:

"Wow, Crane…I didn't know you had it in you!" Green laughed, eyes wide. But Ichabod, it seemed, was as equally surprised as the older constable, though his dark eyes still blazed angrily. Green, still chuckling, punched Ichabod in a friendly manner on his shoulder. The young constable winced. "Ah Crane, you take life so seriously. Sometimes you just need to lighten up!" And with that said, Constable Green left as abruptly as he came. Ichabod let out a shaky sigh, gripped his ledger in his hands harder, and continued to walk back home, his mind wandering back to past events.

"Constable Crane, that is by far the most outlandish tale that has ever had the misfortune to exit your mouth!" Upon his return from Sleepy Hollow, he had marched straight up to the Municipal Watch House, and presented his case confidently to the Burgomaster. He had not gotten so far as five minutes into his report, when the High Constable had interrupted him, pointing out that the likelihood of a single woman committing over fifteen murders was impossible: which was when Ichabod had decided to bring up the Headless Horseman. They had argued back and forth for countless minutes before the Burgomaster, for it was late at night, had announced that the remaining points of Ichabod's report would be given in three days time. So, three days later, Ichabod found himself in the same position. "You expect us to believe that Lady Van Tassel enlisted the aid of a dead Hessian Mercenary to accomplish these gruesome tasks?!" In the end, Ichabod's investigation of Sleepy Hollow had been dismissed, and labeled as a "failure." The Burgomaster had then sent him home, and stated that he did not want this matter to be brought up again. But of course, almost every constable that attended had felt the need to bring it up as he exited the building—all except Green, who had waited until they were alone those few minutes ago.

"Ichabod!" The cry startled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up just in time to see a flurry of golden brown hair; then he found himself in the arms of the former Katrina Van Tassel. He blushed furiously, then noticed that something was wrong: Katrina was crying.

"Oh Ichabod, thank God you're home! I was so worried that I wouldn't be able to do anything!" Tears were now flowing freely down her face.

"W-what happened?" Ichabod stammered, confusion crossing his handsome features. Katrina buried her face in his shoulder, and he held her awkwardly.

"It's Young Masbath," she sobbed, "I sent him out to find you. I was worried for you, Ichabod, it was getting so late. It's been hours now and he hasn't returned." Ichabod's eyes narrowed, and he gripped her arms suddenly.

"Katrina, you must tell me where you sent him! The streets of New York are dangerous this time at night, especially for a boy his age." Unbidden memories were flashing in his mind. A young teenager running through the darkened New York alleyways, a group of men chasing him. A man hovering over a dead woman, a bloody knife clutched in his hand, as a frightened child crouched behind a building. Ichabod shook his head to clear away his thoughts. He couldn't think about that—not now.

"I told him go to the Municipal Watch House that you report to. That's all I asked him to check, and I reminded him that if he couldn't find you, he needed to come straight home."

"And you said he's been gone for a few hours?"
"Yes," she confirmed, trying to compose herself. Ichabod mulled this over in his head, then made his decision.

"I'm going to look for him." Katrina's eyes widened.

"Then I shall go with you."

"No Katrina! I need you to stay here, it's too dangerous." Katrina opened her mouth to comment, but he cut her off. "Please, don't argue," he said softly but firmly. She nodded, and whispered;

"Be careful." Ichabod gave her a brief smile, then rushed into their new house, (Katrina had insisted on allowing her to buy them a new home, for he was rather embarrassed to show her his small flat) and hurried up the stairs, changing into more suitable clothes for the occasion. He barely even noticed that the clothes he donned were the same that he wore to Sleepy Hollow—that is, until a small blue book fell out of his inside pocket. He glanced at the title:

A Compendium of Spells, Charms, and Devices to the Spirit World. The book still had the late Lady Van Tassel's bullet lodged in its center. The gift had saved his life before, he mused to himself as he tucked it back inside his pocket. He only hoped he wouldn't need its protection again. Within seconds he was dressed, and hurried down the stairs where he found Katrina waiting for him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, then proceeded to give him a fierce hug, which, despite the situation, made him blush once more. "Find him, then come straight home. I do not have a good feeling about all of this, Ichabod, so please be careful," she said quietly, brushing the stray hair out of his eyes.

"I will," he promised. Ichabod gave her another one of his rare smiles, then walked quickly out of the front door. To have someone care for him again; care where he went everyday, care whether or not he lived or died…it was almost overwhelming.

--

Ichabod spent the next half hour striding up and down dark alleyways, and searching around the Watch House, fully attentive. But there was no one out tonight, not a single person. He paused to rest beneath a badly weathered street sign, leaning against it. Ichabod stared at the ground hopelessly. He would never give up searching for his young companion: he cared for him too much. But it wasn't the prospect of what he wouldn't find that scared him—it was what he might find. A sudden voice broke him out of his dismal reverie. He stood up straight, listening intently. He couldn't quite understand what the voice was saying, due to the apparent distance between them, but whoever was out this late at night probably had a good reason for doing so. Ichabod walked quietly in the direction of the voice, and by the sound of things, it seemed as though the person was hidden in one of the darkest alleyways New York had to offer. Just my luck, he thought dismally. Once he was able to get close enough to discern some of what the person was saying, he put his back to the wall of a building, and stood listening.

"…Look, it's not that hard, kid, just hand it over, and we can all go home safe."

"How do I know you won't shoot me as soon as I hand it over? I'm not an ignorant little kid, you know!" Ichabod's eyes widened, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as he recognized the kid's voice. It was young Masbath! He inched around the corner, and to his dismay, he saw a frighteningly large man standing in front of Masbath, holding a pistol loosely at his side. The man was focused completely on young Masbath, but all the same, Ichabod took extreme caution in stepping around the corner. The man continued talking.

"Kid, if you weren't ignorant then you would've handed that book over by now." Ichabod inched closer, as silently as he could manage. Masbath looked up, and their eyes met, but Ichabod gave a slight shake of his head, and reached slowly for his pistol. Then, quite suddenly, the moon appeared from behind the clouds, illuminating the alleyway, and casting Ichabod's shadow right in front of the large man.

"What the…" he muttered, then turned around and saw Ichabod standing a few feet away. Ichabod hurriedly reached for his pistol, but the man reacted faster, pulling out a second gun from his jacket, and pointing it directly at Ichabod's heart. The constable froze, and noticed that the man's first pistol was likewise pointed at young Masbath. "Ah, young Constable Crane, so nice of you to join us!" The man laughed. "As you can see, though, we are rather busy at the moment, so it might be best that you leave…" Ichabod stared at him angrily.

"Who are you?" The man sighed and cocked both pistols.

"Drew," he said dismissively, "but you wouldn't know me. The only reason I know you is from listening to…ah, talk, you could say." Drew turned back to Masbath. "So kid, have you decided to cooperate yet?" Young Masbath glared at the man defiantly, which made him sigh again. "I suppose I could always glean the information from another source," he said, with mock exasperation, "which means that you no longer serve any purpose to me." And before Ichabod had any time to react, the man pulled the trigger of his pistol and shot Masbath directly in the heart.

"No!" Ichabod shouted. But even as he started to run towards the boy, young Masbath's lifeless body had already hit the ground, his crimson blood starting to stain the cobblestone streets. In his anger, the young constable tackled the man, forgetting that he was at a disadvantage, being both shorter and less muscular. Ichabod had never been in a real fist fight before, but the circumstances seemed to give him more strength than he knew he possessed. He punched Drew in the face, which sent the man reeling back. The constable drew his fist back and swung again, but Drew ducked, and dealt a vicious blow to Ichabod's ribs with his boot. Ichabod heard something crack, and gasped for breath. The kick sent him careening into the building's wall, and he slammed into the hard bricks. The pain, though intense, cleared his mind, and reminded him to act logically. The young constable grabbed his pistol off of his belt, and waited until the man was close enough. His arm shook slightly as he aimed, but it did not prevent him from missing his target—at least, not exactly. The bullet shot from the gun with a loud crack, and embedded itself in the man's arm. Drew screamed in pain, and fell to the ground, his arm bleeding profusely. Ichabod grimaced, and clutched his side, shoving the smoking pistol back into his belt. He walked over to young Masbath, and kneeled down. He remembered his words to the boy when shortly after they arrived in New York, having seen more than enough murders in Sleepy Hollow. "Don't worry young Masbath," he had said confidently, "you will be staying with us. We have to be like a—a family now, and look after each other. Katrina and I won't let anything happen to you." Ichabod's eyes watered, and his hands clenched. He had failed his young friend, failed Katrina….failed himself. The young constable was barely aware of anything around him, and did not hear Drew come up behind him until it was too late. The butt of Drew's pistol smashed into the back of Ichabod's head, and his vision started to fade. The last thing he remembered was hitting the ground hard, and Drew's hand reaching down to pick up his fallen pistol…

--

A/N: Like I mentioned before, I'm currently sorting through my older chapters, and correcting some of the sentences and grammar. I don't think that any of you will be able to tell the difference, but…I will. :) For those of you who have just started reading this story, feel free to review!! Thanks!