Notes from the Author: Seems like Jack has got himself into something of a fix...but he'll get out of it, right? Read on, maties!
Ascent into Legend
Chapter III
"Unlucky fer you, mate, Cap'n Ironsides ain't no man."
Jack scowled heartily into the tanned face of a short, bow-legged man who was trotting alongside he and his giant warden. The bow-legged man, whose shaggy black hair strongly reminded Jack of an mangy dog's, only grinned toothily in response.
Jack turned his eyes back to the woman at the head of the little procession. Some time after she and her goons (who had appeared in his Jenny's room, as if on cue, at the sound of her name) had drug him bare-arsed from his Jenny's bed, shoved him in a much too short and somewhat moldy shift, and marched him from the brothel, the hostile woman who called herself Black Mary had turned into an empty alley between a pub and the local chapel. She had reappeared without the gaudy adornment of previous description, but her new attire was almost as ridiculous as the peacock-hat had been before. Never in his life had Jack seen a woman dressed in such clothes, though his manly eye didn't fail to notice the charms of such an outfit: knit black pants clung deliciously to Black Mary's firm thighs above a pair of unusually tall leather boots, and her breasts strained against the material of a poet's blouse, full, high, and proud.
Jack found, much to his surprise, that neither Mary's long legs nor her tempting breasts held his attention for long. Jack was a clever businessman and he knew fine Arabian silk when he saw it, and he saw it in plenty swathed low around the hips of his kidnapper and tied round her head, holding back a torrent of ginger curls. Rich, delicate, and deliciously expensive red Arabian silk, shot through with so much gold embroidery that the fabric had to be heavy as a treasure chest. Jack's mouth watered at the sight of it --- mayhap he would have to get to know this Black Mary better. He'd let this little ruse play out (he neglected to note in his mental wanderings that he had little choice in the matter, what with the iron grip of the Negro behind him), and maybe he'd let her keep her fancy belt if she pleased him. Not the headband, though --- such hair was meant to be kissed by the winds.
Jack was staring so boldly and completely at Black Mary's lower quarters that he hardly registered when they stopped suddenly in front of him; in fact, he would have run his slobbering, money-eyed face right into her red-draped derriere had not his "bodyguard" held him fast. Jack staggered in a somewhat-abbreviated version of his usual style (what with being detained and all), slung a cockeyed grin on his lips, and whistled to compensate for his distraction. His sharp eye noted that Black Mary's little party had reached the docks.
Jack couldn't help but let out a little sigh at the sight of the noonday seashine, the glittering lights that sparkled up from the water in the bright sunlight. He felt the familiar tug of the ocean tides on his heart, smelled the salt of sweat and seawater, heard the shrieks of the wheeling seagulls above him. Lord, but he was a sentimental ninny. The sharp bark of a confident captain came to Jack's ears, and he briefly imagined himself aboard his first vessel, stumbling over himself to impress his commander and instead tripping him up with a stray mop.