Ah, the memories! - by Cunien

Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow is the property of no man but himself! I take full responsibility for The Man in My Hat though. Not that anyone would want to nick him anyway.

Mild cockney swearing, as befits a loveable rogue like Jack.

P.S. - I know very little about the Church of England, so this chapter is probably riddled with holes. Are there confession boxes in the Church of England. I didn't think so, and neither did my mum, but a friend of mine said there were. I tired to do a bit of snooping on the net but couldn't find much - I read there was confession but not confession *boxes*. Shame, but I've gone with what I could make from my search. Sorry if I'm all wrong!

Please overlook mistakes?

Also, Jack's views on religion are not mine, so please don't curse me to the 7th circle of hell!


Chapter 3 - Father Jack.

Once I'd slammed the door and stopped to catch my breath, I realised I'd still got the kid in my arms. He's stopped wriggling by now, and is just looking up at me in wide-eyed interest, his little legs dangling a few feet from the floor. I cringed. I don't like kids much. Not little tell-tale gits like this one anyway. So I open the door a crack, to check there are no Marines or random ruffians out for my blood about, and then chuck him out the door.

I wasn't sure if anyone had seen me go into the church, or whether they knew about the whole criminals taking sanctuary deal. Besides, the Tell-tale was bound to tell them where I was, so once I'd dumped him I started running again.

Luckily the Church was deserted. Obviously it wasn't a sunday.
I'm not too good on the days of the week me, when you're at sea they all sort of blend into each other anyway.

So I went tearing up the aisle and turned left behind the whassitcalled, you know, the bit where the priest stands and gives his sermon. There was this little wooden door that I went for, and as it's unlocked so I shove it open. Only for it to come flying back to hit me in the face.

I picked myself up off the floor when I came round, can't have been more than
a few minutes later. This time I open the door a little more cautiously. Again, it opens half way and then won't budge.

Still, there's enough room for me to stick my head through the crack, and there's this body lying on the floor, stopping it from opening full. I threw my weight against it until it opened enough for me to squeeze through, and then I take a look at the body on the floor.

It's a young man, a kid really, dressed in priest's robes and with a large purpling lump on his forehead like an egg. I reach up to my own head and feel an identical one there. See, we both went for the door at the same time didn't we, and it hit him and then bounced back and hit me.
So he's lying there dead to the world..... cept he aint dead. I checked.
Well, an idea hits me then, and it's a risky one but sounds like fun.

So I stripped the kid down to his unmentionables and put on his clothes. I must have looked a sight, especially since I was a few inches taller than the priest and his robes stopped short of my ankles.

Well, I'd already lost my hat, and wasn't planning on parting with the rest of my clothes, so I bundled them all up, took off my bandana and tied them all together so as not to lose them. As I'm doing this though, something falls out of one of my pockets, and I recognise a little trinket from the Tell-tale's stall. Ha! So I did nick something after all! I really didn't notice - the subconscious is a funny thing aint it?

Then I picked up the clerk. Here was a conundrum - I didn't fancy killing him just so he wouldn't give my little game away - especially while he was unconscious. Killing someone while they're in no state to fight back is about as low as..well.. as stealing a hat from an unconscious man.

So, I go over to the window, and outside there's this little road, and coming along it is a cart. It was empty, but it wasn't too long a drop, so I just dumped the priest out the window and he goes thump' into the back of this cart. Poor sod would likely have a bump on the back of his head to match the one on his forehead when he came to. Luckily the wheels were making such a racket clattering along the road the driver didn't even notice the passenger he's just
acquired.

I turned around, feeling pretty pleased with the way things were going so far.
But then I hear a door open and close, and realise that someone's just come in from outside. I stood beside the door that led back into the main part of the church and took out my pistol (which I'd managed to hide under the robes, along with my cutlas). And I waited, sure that Blondie or the Marines or both would come rushing through the door at any moment. My plan was to pick them off one by one as they came into the room.

But I waited and waited and nothing happened. I couldn't hear anything - I mean, those Marines are so bloody loud you can hear them coming from a mile off. So I open the door a crack and stick my head out, so it's just my eyes peeping round.
I saw someone, and unfortunately, they saw me too.

I pulled my head back in quickly and closed the door. They didn't look like a Marine, but they're crafty fellows they are, so I couldn't be sure. It had looked like a woman...... a rather nice looking woman - you know, quality stuff. Not like the strumpets that I'm more accustomed to.

After a while there's a tiny knock on the door, and a timid voice is saying
Father? Father are you in there? I should like to talk to you, if you could possible spare the time.

Bugger. See, it had sounded like a bit of a laugh at first, impersonating a priest hadn't it? But did I really think that I could pass myself off as a man of the cloth? I mean, look at me!

I just took a deep breath and opened the door. The woman on the other side had been leaning with her ear against it though, so she came falling into my arms, which I don't mind saying was rather nice.

She quickly extracts herself from my arms though, and is all flustered and blushing, and there I am leering away. She was a pretty thing, timid as a little mouse.

she says , Where's Father Dominic?

Well I assume that Father Dominic' is the kid I just deposited in a passing cart, so I said He's gone home, to see his mother. She's sick.

The girl frowned and said, Gone home? You mean, to England ? I thought Father Dominic's mother had already passed away.
Ah no. I says, A message just came, from England. She's not dead after all. Recovered....but still very sick.
Oh I'm sorry. Poor Father Dominic. she said earnestly.
Yes, and I'll be here for a little while, in his place. I'm Father Jack.

She frowned then, taking in my appearance.
You don't look very much like a priest, Father Jack.

Er...do not pass judgement on others...for tis only the Lord who can do so. I say. I grinned at her then, but this only scared her more I think, cos of my mouth being full of gold teeth you know. Not many priests have gold teeth I imagine. She took a little step backwards from me, and I stepped forward towards her.

I was once a sinner, and have reformed, devoting my life to the Lord's work. I offered in explanation, clasping my hands to my breast because it seemed like something a priest would do. She still looked wary, but was obviously too pious to think much of it. I find the pious are always the easiest to dupe.

Our appearances, our mortal shells are inconsequential ......my child.

She frowned a little again. I thought it sounded very like something a priest might say. Not that I make much of a point of becoming acquainted with men of the cloth, especially in my line of the work. I suppose the my child' was said in a bit of a lecherous tone of voice, that suggested I was trying to get under that voluminous dress of hers.
Because of course I was.

They say that the 7th circle of hell is for mutineers and betrayers. Now, I may be a lot of things, but I most definitely am not a mutineer or a betrayer. I always assumed I'd stop just short of the 7th circle, which wasn't too bad if you knew the kind of things I've done in my life.

But then, impersonating a clerk of the Church of England? That was probably worthy of one worse than mutinying in hell's hierarchy of punishable acts.

But I am certainly not the villain of this tale. I'm the rough diamond, the loveable rogue, a man of intrinsic worth but rough manners. No, we all know who the villain here is, don't we? Yes! The Man in my hat!
The very worst circle of hell is reserved for Hat thieves.
Hat thieves and donkeys.

I wish to speak to you, Father Jack..... I, I have sinned. The girl looked at me with big blue eyes sparkling with tears. She looked down, modestly.

Please, sit down. I said, indicating a chair beside a rough wooden table.

Oh I was going to enjoy this.

TBC...

heehee. Sorry. And again, this is not meant to offend anyone - please don't take it seriously.

Thanks again for reviews, especially my Bloody wench!