Thread: The Only Rules That Matter:  Afterlife (TheCorsair, Madam Mim)

John scratched his chin, looking around the schoolhouse as the temporary teacher fled. This was, without a doubt, the strangest thing he'd been called on to do. Add to that the fact that he'd clearly been mistaken for the real teacher - one Ichabod Crane - and that his Jenny had been mistaken for his servant , and things took on a surreal air. I've faith in you Mister Crane, Jenny said with a bright smile as she turned to leave. Not like you haven't got experience disciplining naughty children before, eh? Oh, I've no fears in that regard, he replied. Then, as Jenny and the magistrate left, he slowly walked towards the front of the classroom. He was aware of a calculating, speculative silence as he did, and knew the students were sizing him up. It was uncannily like the way a pirate crew sized up the new recruits. Ignoring them all, he picked up a piece of chalk and began to write. My name, he said, is Ichabod Crane. I am an apothecary by training, a sea captain by training, and a teacher by necessity. And I am here... Suddenly he spun, snatching a bit of thrown chalk from the air. The children gasped. And who threw this? No one answered, but he didn't miss the eyes that singled out a lad of some thirteen years. So he held that boy's eyes as he picked up a long, slender rod. You. What is your name, son? Ah... Henry. Henry James. John stared at him. 'Henry James, sir', he prompted. Henry James... sir. John swayed over to a notice on the wall. I see here, Mister James, that the punishment for disrespect to the teacher is.... He peered at the page. Five strokes of the rod. Is this correct, Mister James? The boy swallowed Y-yes. Sit. John turned to face him. Then, with a serpent-quick motion, he threw the bit of chalk back. It struck the boy between the eyes with an audible thump. Your aim is atrocious, Mister James, and you will spend a half hour with me after school practicing, until it is not. He glanced at the board. Now recite your five times table for me, and let us see if your scholarship is any better... Things settled down after that, as John settled into the role of Ichabod Crane with the same panache he'd brought to being Captain Jack. He swaggered around the room, working through maths and language with a combination of humor and showmanship and bloody-minded force of will that both enthralled and terrified them. By the end of the day they staggered out, better educated and unsure of what had happened. After, John wandered the streets of the town, nodding to passers-by as he looked for the little cottage that was his - well, Ichabod's - new home. It took longer than he'd anticipated, but that was all right. It gave him an opportunity to check out the lay of the land. Not that there was much to see, really. A dry goods store, and a barber that was also the town doctor. A church, and a small city building. A carpenter and a blacksmith. And a number of prosperous looking homes. Finally, he found his - Ichabod's - new home. A smallish, half-timber half-stone affair with a sturdy wooden door that smelled of baking bread as he walked in. Where's my drink, girl? he called with a laugh as he hung his battered tricorn from a peg on the door. Still laughing, he joined Jenny in the kitchen. That smells wonderful, he said, hugging her from behind and kissing the back of her neck. And the biscuits smell good, too. Grinning, he squeezed her tightly then released her. It's a pity I have to call on Magistrate Van Tassel for dinner, because I'd rather eat with you. But, maybe he'll know something about the witch or her horseman.