"Is it ready then?" Jack Sparrow peered over the man's shoulder. "You know what the man's like, longwinded and such, but that won't hold the fate of my ship back for long."

The young man poked the pirate's hand off of his shoulder with the end of the ink-stained quill. His name was Connor Fĕit, a self-proclaimed master of trickery and deception as far as the law was concerned. Not that it really needed his help for that.

"Hold yer blinkin' horses, Spug! I'm almost blinkin' done." Connor's hand paused for a moment above the parchment, quill in midair. "Er, what blinkin' date did ya have in mind, eh?"

Instead of asking why the irrepressible fraudster obliged to call him 'Spug', Jack held his index finger up uncertainly, and then he answered. "Ah, the fifteenth of October of… that year. You know."

Connor looked up at Jack Sparrow quizzically, noting the annoyed expression that had appeared on his face. "I know what you're talkin' about. The year blinkin' Becky sank the blinkin' Wi-"

Jack hastily took the leisure of slapping the man's mouth shut in mid-word. "Shut it. Just forget the history and get the bloody thing done before I have to do it myself."

"Fine then." Grumbling huffily, Connor set his eyes back on his desk. "Don't see what the blinkin' problem is. So what if yer ship was sunk, Spug? Becky is dead, deed's done and dusted. Besides that, ya have her back, don't ya…"

The foolish young man was wise enough to shut his mouth upon observing the pirate's silent stare.

"Do I now?" Jack narrowed his eyes. "Then why am I here when I could be there? Answer me that, Master Fĕit."

Connor nervously fumbled to dip the nib into the inkwell.

"Right, then." He pointed to several places for the pirate to put his signature, and then he surrendered the quill.

Once Jack had given these, Connor flipped open a rusty old rectangular tin box and rummaged through its contents. He removed from it a wooden stamp.

"Some of these are stolen, but the majority are handcrafted by myself," the wily man commented in a businesslike manner, as he sealed his work with a flourish (and not to mention melted wax). "There. It's done. Guard it with your life."

Jack Sparrow examined the letter briefly as it was handed to him before tossing a tiny sack of coins onto the workbench. "Well done."

"As always." Both men stared warily at each other as Jack stood to leave, willing the other to make a false move.

"You still have much to learn," Jack said, cocking his head slightly with amusement at the younger man. "Perhaps, some day, you'll be able to fool me with a good swindle. I'll be waiting."

"I've been blinkin' learnin' from the best," Connor replied, smiling thinly.

When at last the pirate had gone, Connor let out a collective sigh of relief. He undid the string around the neck of the bag and tipped his payment onto the table. One by one, the trickster discovered that only one out of the entire pile of coins was genuine. The rest were shams.

"Run out of femme fatales, eh, Spug?" Connor said aloud, resisting the urge to ground his teeth together in frustration.

He glanced at his list of signatures. No longer could he remember the number of times he had successfully forged unknowing victims' signatures to achieve an advantage over someone. At the spot where he had furtively pointed for an unnecessary signing (which was entirely the point) Jack had left the words bugger off, mockingly underlined twice. But this failed attempt at stealing the signature did not get him down. For on another pad, the imprint of his real signature had been left clear where the pirate had pressed with the quill on the letter.

"Told ya I would get it one day," Connor said, with a deviant smile on his face.

So it was possible for a trickster to trick a trickster.