Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Author's note: See, I didn't keep you hanging on that cliff for too long! Some notes on highwaymen: the main ones I refer to are real. A Google search will bring up a number of sources - the Newgate Calendar is particularly interesting. I wanted to use Dick Turpin, but he lived much later. As a timecheck, we're now in spring 1678, and Jack has been away from the Black Pearl for three years.

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The highwayman's eyes glittered beneath his hat. "You on the roof. Get down."

The other three men looked at each other, panic in their gazes, and then they began to climb down from the coach. Jack loosened the knife which he kept concealed in his sash, and followed them. As his feet touched the road, he allowed himself to stumble and to bump against the young student, his fingers slipping inside the lad's pockets to emerge with a heavy leather money pouch. Jack stowed the pouch away in one of his own voluminous pockets, and then stood next to his fellow travellers trying to look harmless.

The leader of the highwaymen dismounted from his horse, passing the reins to one of his comrades before approaching the coach. With a quick slash of a knife, he cut the harnesses of two of the horses, and led them to the side of the road where he tethered them to the fence.

"Sir, I beg you!" the driver protested. "I cannot drive further with only two horses!"

"Exactly," said the highwayman, and he might have smiled beneath his mask. "Now, if you'd be so good as to hand over what money you have?"

The driver looked down the barrel of the pistol, and dug into his pocket to bring out a purse. Taking it, the highwayman nodded his thanks, and moved on to the passengers.

Those inside the carriage - the elderly couple, the priest, and the mother and child - had already climbed out, and were standing trembling in the road. The highwayman bowed slightly to them, and held out his hand. Evidently, the elderly couple had been expecting this, for they passed over a purse and several items of jewellery.

"Father?" The highwayman looked quizzically at the priest.

The old man shook his head. "I have very little, sir, that I can give you."

"Very little is better than nothing. Come, Father, give me what you have."

Jack, looking sideways, thought he saw a brief flicker of defiance in the priest's eyes, but it faded quickly and the highwayman soon had another pouch to add to his winnings. The mother and child did not dare to defy the robber, giving him more money and jewels.

Now the highwayman, his pistol still cocked and ready to fire, approached the final four travellers. Wordlessly, the two job-seekers gave him what little they had, and the highwayman moved on to Jack.

"Well, well," he said. "An unusual sort of passenger, sir."

"So folk keep telling me," Jack agreed.

"But like everyone else, you'll have possessions," the highwayman said, eyeing Jack's braided hair. "That sword, for example - nay, do not try and draw it!"

"It has sentimental value," Jack said. "Been a long way with me."

"No doubt. But I can sell it for more worth. What else do you have? Come, man, I don't have all day. Hand everything over."

"What if I had a better solution?" Jack asked. "See here. You've taken the horses, ain't no way this coach is going anywhere else today."

"That's true." The highwayman's eyes showed some interest. "Go on."

"So how about," Jack pursued, hands fluttering distractingly, "you take not only my effects, but me as well?"

"I do not need a handicap," said the highwayman, scornfully.

"Oh, mate, I'd be no handicap to you," Jack said. "For a start, I know our good friend the driver over there has a stash of coins under his seat."

Everyone turned to stare at the driver, whose mouth had dropped open. Eventually he closed it, and said: "How the blazes did you know that?"

"Watched you count it the other morning," Jack said.

The highwayman laughed. "And what if I said no? If I simply reached into your pocket, like this ..." he reached out a hand, and Jack moved, whipping out his knife and stopping the hand with it.

"Then, I'm afraid I'd have to do something like this, savvy?"

There was silence. Jack met the shadowed gaze of the highwayman, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then, the other man took his hand away, and nodded, sharply.

"Very well. You can ride one of the coach horses."

Jack slid the knife away, and bowed. "Thanks." He walked away until he was behind the protective range of the pistol. "By the way, no point searching the lad - I've got his cash already." He dangled the stolen pouch in the air.

The student felt his pocket, and looked up in horror. Jack grinned, and went to mount one of the coach horses. The leader of the highwaymen mounted his own steed, and with Jack following, the robbers rode off.

Jack's horse seemed glad to be out of harness, and cantered along quite cheerfully behind the highwaymen. But their journey was not long; in less than half an hour they stopped, in a forest clearing. One of the highwaymen took hold of Jack's horse, and the leader motioned to Jack.

"Get down."

Jack did so, relieved to be off the horse. The highwayman folded his arms.

"Now, I don't know whether you consider yourself our prisoner or ..."

"Guest," Jack put in.

"Guest. If you wish. Nevertheless, I would ask that you hand over that money pouch you stole."

"But I stole it," Jack pointed out.

The highwayman pulled out his pistol, and cocked it. "We are the thieves, here, not you."

Jack grinned. "We're all thieves, mate. I'm in the same line of business as you, you might say."

"You're not one of us. I'd have heard." The pistol was lowered an inch.

"Pirate," said Jack. "On leave. You rob the roads. I rob the seas."

The highwayman raised his eyebrows. "Pirate? Well, that explains the ... unusual ... outfit. Got a name, sir?"

Jack swept him a bow. "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, mate. You got one? Or a face?"

"Hah." The highwayman laughed, shortly. "You have a point, Captain Sparrow." He raised gauntleted hands to his mask, and took it off, revealing the handsome, chiselled features of a man in his mid forties. "Richard Dudley. Gentleman of the road." He held out his hand, and Jack took it.

"Pleased to meet you."

Richard Dudley smiled, briefly. "Likewise. I think. This is highly unusual, captain. We've only ever taken goods before now."

"I came along of me own volition," said Jack, pointedly. "I was heading south to look for a ship, but it strikes me that I wouldn't mind helping you gents out for a while. I can hold my own, Mr Dudley. Won't be a burden to you."

"We'll see. You have a pistol, I notice."

Jack touched the butt of his pistol, secure in its usual place, the single shot still loaded. "Aye, but I won't use it. I'll need to borrow one of yours."

Dudley threw him a quizzical look.

"It's a long story, mate," Jack said. "One I'll be glad to tell you, at some point. But we can't be resting here the night?"

"No." Dudley made his pistol safe and holstered it. "No, we're not. It's another short ride to our resting-place."

They mounted their horses once more, and headed further into the forest. The highwaymen seemed to know exactly where they were going, even in the dark, and Jack's horse followed the others obediently.

At length, the light of a fire showed through the trees, and they dismounted and led the horses the final distance.

In a new clearing, spacious and canopied by several large oaks, was a group of five men. They were seated around a campfire, wrapped in cloaks and blankets against the evening chill. As Dudley, Jack and the other two men arrived, the group looked up and greeted their fellows.

"Good hunting?"

"Not bad," said Dudley, tying his horse to a tree. "A reasonable haul of coins, some jewels, and a pirate."

"A what?" Five pairs of eyes swung around to Jack.

"A pirate," Richard Dudley said. "Gentlemen, let me present Jack Sparrow."

"Captain!" said Jack. "Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," repeated Dudley. "Who carried out as neat a piece of pickpocketing as I ever saw."

"You didn't see it," Jack said, cheerfully.

"Which is why it was neat," Dudley agreed. "George, have we a spare pistol?"

"Aye, we've one from that haul from Lord Fanshawe the other week," one of the men said. "Why?"

"Captain Sparrow needs one," Dudley said, "if he's to join us and be of any use."

"Captain Sparrow has a pistol," someone pointed out.

"Not one I'll use," Jack said.

Dudley pulled a blanket from a pile, threw it around his shoulders, and settled down by the fire. "You promised me a story."

"Then," said Jack, "you shall have it." And he was off, telling the tale of Barbossa's mutiny, weaving pictures with words and gestures. The highwaymen listened intently, laughing as Jack impersonated the characters in his story with outrageous accents, but they fell silent as he reached the climax of the tale and ended with himself marooned and alone.

"Waste of a good pistol," opined George, eventually.

"No," said Jack. "It'd be a waste of a good shot were I to use it on anyone save Barbossa."

"But you can use a pistol?" Dudley asked, passing him an ornate, enamelled example and some powder and shot.

Jack took the weapon, squinted down the barrel, opened it up, loaded it, and cocked it. "I can use a pistol," he said. "I'm a pirate. Knowing how to use a weapon is what you might call important."

"Knowing when not to fire is just as important," Dudley said.

Their eyes met. Jack smiled, slightly. "Aye. That's true enough."

"Then we understand one another, you and I," said Dudley. "Come, take a blanket, sit down. I think we owe you a tale, Captain Sparrow."

Jack wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and settled down by the fire, the highwaymen making room for him.

"James, give him the tale of Swiftnicks," Dudley said. There was a chorus of approval, and James - a stout, dark-haired man - began the story of a daring ride between London and York. Jack listened with interest as the flickering firelight illuminated the faces of his new companions, and wondered what would happen next.