CHAPTER 1

Standing on the deck of the ship, faint shouts could be heard from below. Most of the crew was busy doing last minute checks on the cargo they were smuggling in and making sure that their cannons were well hidden. Up top, however, there was almost an eerie calm, like a dank and heavy cloud that crept along the rigging and seeped up through the sturdy wood of the deck.

Elizabeth Turner stood at the bow of the ship, staring with a strange sense of horror and incomprehension at the glowing city that was Port Royal just a few miles ahead. Isolation. The feeling of isolation was pervading the night air and carefully wrapping itself around the young woman. She had thought that returning to her old home would be simple. A task to be completed and, once carried out, forgotten and left behind.

However, she was struggling desperately with the dread growing in the pit of her stomach. Seeing the city lights, the familiar high walls that surrounded the port, the many proud ships in the harbor... all of it was forcing memory after memory upon her. Once, comforting and familiar, they had become distant and disquieting.

Her old manor house, beautiful and serene... never truly repaired after that first pirate attack, the land was probably occupied by someone else.

The gallows, located just over the high wall of the port, where Jack had almost hung... where countless other pirates had dropped to their death.

The Interceptor, flags waving proudly in the morning breeze... now lying at the bottom of the ocean.

James Norrington... merely a young man lost in the changing world. Dead...

Her father. Her friend. One of the best governors Port Royal had seen. Dead, left in the care of The Flying Dutchman.

Will...

"I love you. I miss you."

The wind blew her newly cropped hair into her eyes and suddenly, light spilled out onto the deck from the hatch at the back of the ship. "Captain," came a familiar voice from behind Elizabeth, "we're all bolted down. Baines is in the crow's nest and Kern has his directions about entering the harbor."

Elizabeth turned to face her crew member. "Good, Anamaria. Everyone at their stations; we're almost there."

The two women looked in unison toward Port Royal. "When Will and I escaped," said Elizabeth softly, trying to keep the pain out of her voice, "in my heart, I never expected to return here."

Anamaria looked at her captain. "You never know where the wind will take you."

Elizabeth nodded distractedly. Then, her eyes refocused and she turned away from the glimmering coast line. Glancing up at the half moon, she said, "We have 4 hours at most. I want us gone well before dawn."

They had glided into the harbor without any mishap and their forged papers were cleared by the drowsy guards of the docks. Several crew members had stayed aboard the nondescript vessel while the others disembarked, each heading purposefully in different directions to complete their assignments.

Elizabeth knew that actually returning to Port Royal with a crew of only half-decent citizens was ill advised, not to mention the threat it posed to her own safety. Even before the ship had stopped at Tortuga, their had been word of the upheavals wracking the once tranquil town. The disappearance of the governor who later was reported to have been killed was more than a little disquieting. However, when word leaked throughout the Caribbean of the destruction the East India Company's fleet, which had been based in Port Royal, chaos had erupted.

As Elizabeth walked aimlessly through the familiar streets, she glanced around nervously, uncomfortable with the silence. Mentally, she shook herself. Get a grip! This isn't Tortuga for God's sake. There aren't thieves waiting in every shadow, ready to slit your throat. Besides, you're wearing a cloak and no one is ever out at this hour to see you. Yet she could not shake the feeling that there was some unknown menace lurking just around the next turn in the cobbled street.

Then, she stopped dead in her tracks. As she gazed at her surroundings, she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Whether it was her thoughtless wanderings or a subconscious need that had driven her there, she found herself standing at the gated entrance to the governor's estate.

The young woman was startled to see that the gates, although closed, had neither guards nor even a lock. Automatically, Elizabeth stepped forward, feeling a great weight pressing on her heart. She took a deep breath.

What's the point in delaying? It will only make the moment worse when you decide to enter.

Face set, she strode forward and gripped the cold iron in her hands. Pushing determinedly, they swung inward, creaking slightly from disuse. Slipping between them, she quickly shut them again.

As she made her way up to the shadowy house that loomed ahead, Elizabeth wondered, What happened here? Why hasn't the new governor moved in?

But nothing leaped at her from the overgrown bushes to answer her question. When the arrived at the front door, however, movement a little ways to her left caught her attention and she immediately put her hand on the sword hanging at her left hip.

There was more movement and she could see a small, strangely hunched figure lurking in the shadows. Trying not to make any sudden movements, Elizabeth stepped forward slightly. "Who's there?" she asked in a fierce whisper.

There was no response but the figure seemed to recoil slightly, as if in fear. Elizabeth took another step forward, softening her voice. There was a whimper from the shadows and she stopped short. A woman?

Stepping into a milky patch of moonlight so her face was slightly more visible, she raised her hands in a gesture of peace. She knew that revealing her face was a risky move but her instincts were telling her that this stranger posed no danger.

After a few moments, the distorted shadow moved forward and stepped into the same blotch of light. At first, Elizabeth had trouble figuring out what the figure was. Then she realized that it was not, in fact a woman; it was a young man hunched over in a stooped position, one arm hanging loosely at his side, the other clutching his chest.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply and the man flinched. Keeping her hands in the air, she slowly and deliberately stepped towards him. He flinched again but stood his ground. She stopped moving but kept her hands up.

"It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you." The man didn't move or say anything. "It's all right. Who are you?"

Again silence. The two gazed at each other for a few more seconds. Then the man groaned and fell to his knees. Elizabeth rushed forward, desperately trying to figure out whether the man was in pain or mentally unstable. Dropping to the ground, she gently reached for him, trying to ease him to the ground before he caused any more harm. He lay on his back, not seeming to notice her, gasping heavily.

Kneeling by his side, she reached forward and tried to pry the man's hand away from his chest and collarbone, which he was still clutching. Moving aside the neck of his shirt, Elizabeth saw a horribly inflamed purple and green bruise spreading from his right collar bone to the shoulder.

Judging from the way he was curled over, it's probably broken, she thought as she expertly scanned his body for other signs of injury. There were minor cuts and bruises along his torso and what she could see of his limbs along with a makeshift splint around one of his left fingers. His collar bone seemed to be the worst of his injuries.

He seemed to be on the verge of passing out and Elizabeth did not want to leave him lying on the ground. What is he, though? she thought, trying to think fast. He could be an outlaw or a thief of a common beggar. Then she laughed at herself silently. Of course, because a pirate needs to worry about thieves aboard her ship. Oh well.

She glanced up at the manor again. I won't get another chance to come back here. As soon as the officials begin clearing out the place they'll take it all away... I should at least take the valuables.

She quickly glanced up at the moon. I still have time. Half carrying the man into the shadows of the house, she made up her mind. It'll take quite a bit longer to get back to the ship. Elizabeth lay him down as carefully as possible, noting his wiry build and how frail he seemed. Straightening up, she made her way to the front door and entered slowly, the door croaking.

The sight of her old home, the grand entrance hall, the double doorways leading towards her father's study and the dining hall, presented itself to her as though made of gray and silver and black shimmering fabrics. Another wave of unexpected nostalgia washed over her as she carefully made her way up the staircase, noting the rotting boards and pieces of shattered porcelain and glass that littered the floor. Wondering if anything at all would be salvageable, Elizabeth reached the top of the stairs and turned immediately right, heading towards her own bedroom.

She glanced curiously at the wreckage throughout the hallway. There are plenty of broken things here... but it looks as though barely any of it has been cleared away or disappeared. You would think the first thing they would do is to confiscate anything valuable from the estate. She reached the door and cautiously opened it.

As Elizabeth wandered about the room, opening drawers and her clothes chest, looking for useful possessions, small snippets of that fateful night when the Pearl attacked flashed before her eyes. The feel of the medallion against her skin, the gorgeous dress given to her by her father, cannon fire, the shriek of her maid trying to escape from the marauders.

I never found out whether Lydia made it to the Fort, she thought sadly.

Then she shook herself. She didn't have time for sentimental thoughts. She had a mission to accomplish and a half unconscious person rolling around on the ground outside. She did a cursory sweep of the bedroom and stuffed the few precious jewels that she had owned and a few favorite books into the nondescript bag slung on her shoulder. She did not give a second glance to the large wardrobe that held all of her old clothing. I know I won't miss those things.

Walking quietly and swiftly through the door, she passed the staircase and made her way down the left wing hallway, heading towards her father's private study and rooms, where he had conducted all of his personal, non-govenor related business. This door stood slightly ajar and Elizabeth wondered as she entered whether some unknown person had indeed ransacked the house. Perhaps they were officials looking for important records, not just common thieves, she thought as she stepped onto musty carpet.

She made her way to the wooden cabinets and drawers where she knew her father had kept his personal files. Rifling through them, she found nothing too amiss. As she had gotten older, her father had consulted her on the smaller, less important business exchanges and let her help with the organization of personal correspondence and the like. She had made it her business to become very familiar with all of the goings on in the household, Port Royal and their estate in England. A good many of these files, at least those that pertained directly to the Swann family, were kept here in this study.

A few files were missing but Elizabeth was not worried. Pulling a couple of files that contained correspondences with the Prime Minister in London, she closed the cabinets and turned to face the door. Crouching down, she lifted up the carpet and carefully loosened the knobbed floorboard. Underneath, in the small cavern, was a small metal and wooden safe box. Pulling it up, she absent-mindedly dusted it off and pulled out a long, thin strip of metal from an inner coat pocket. Fortunately for Elizabeth, the local locksmith hadn't been very inventive.

She lifted the dusty lid and carefully lit a match, holding it above the small box. Inside were several correspondences, several of them signed personally by His Royal Majesty. Beneath the sheets of paper was a small, velveteen pouch which, when opened, contained 3 thumbnail sized diamonds. There was a also a miniature of a family portrait which Elizabeth knew had been painted when she was one year old. On the right was her father without his silly wig, before they had moved to Port Royal and he had become governor. To the left was a beautiful woman, with long, honey colored locks that had been artfully curled and pinned. The portrait was a serious one yet the onlooker could tell that the woman was smiling through her eyes. On her lap sat a tiny baby girl, dressed in a frilly frock and gazing ponderously at whoever the artist had been.

Elizabeth smiled sadly. She remembered this picture but had not seen it in many years. Looking back into the box she also found a few trinkets of her mother's: her wedding ring, her favorite pair of pearl earrings and an elegantly carved hair stick made of ivory.

Knowing that she had already spent too much time lingering, she carefully closed the box, locked it, slipped the key onto the chain around her neck and slid the box into her satchel. Satisfied that she had collected anything useful that could easily be transported, she exited the room, walked down the hallway and stairs and made her way to the front door. One hand on the cold metal knob, she turned around and gave the house one last sweeping glance before stepping outside into the moonlight.

She strode over the young man who was still lying on the ground. He seemed to be little better and was still only half-conscious. Wary of his injured collarbone, Elizabeth slung his arm around her neck and easily lifted him off of the ground. Groaning, he made an effort to stand but only slouched over when he tried to stand up straight.

"All right," she told him softly. "We have to walk quite a ways and I can't carry you the whole way. So start moving your feet. We'll heal you when we get there but for now, we can't stay here and we must be extremely silent on the streets."

Elizabeth wasn't sure whether the motion he made with his head was a nod or spasm. However, when she gently pulled him with her, he willingly took steps forward. Without a backward glance, she led him down the dusty road, through the gate and out into the night.