POTC: Cortez's Uncharted Islands Chapter 1: Murder At The Docks, a pirates of the caribbean fanfic

A/N: You've waited, you've wondered, and now the next installment in the saga is finally here! Enjoy the first two chapters!

Pirates of the Caribbean: Cortez's Uncharted Islands

There is an age-old secret society known as The Clan Of Cortez, Their job was and still is to protect the secret of a group of uncharted islands that Cortezhimself discovered. It was on these islands that Cortez his his cache of stolen treasure and something else of greater value. One of the Clan's members is Elizabeth's father, and he's just been murdered.

Will & Elizabeth then discover a map hidden in the Governor's Mansion that leads to the islands. Hoping to avenge the former Governor and fulfill his dying wishes, the couple finds Jack, who knows of the Clan and claims that he knows a member. Jack agrees to help, his motivation obviously being the treasure.

But first, our trio must infiltrate The Clan and attend a meeting before searching for the islands. They then discover that there may be a traitor expertly placed within the Clan who is helping Captain Jonathan Barnet, our heroes' new East India Company enemy. Now, Jack, Will & Elizabeth are caught up in a web of lies, deceit, murder and espionage on the high seas. And all of it is inevitably leading up to a battle with a reincarnated Cortez, a fight to destroy the resurrected vessels of the Spanish Armada, and the reawakening of the sea goddess Calypso in human form.

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Chapter 1

A British Royal Navy Fort - 1697

The only audible sound was the distant howling of the low wind. The sun shone down as bright as ever upon the fort, despite the grim event that was about to transpire. Spectators of varying age and size were beginning to gather inside the fort, awaiting what they knew would inevitably happen. British soldiers either stood erect on the top of the enormous stone walls or marched back and forth dutifully. Flags bearing the symbols of His Majesty's army whipped in the little wind there was. Soon, the people began to talk amongst themselves anxiously.

The crowd stood dead still, save for one mysterious figure. This person had a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face and he was weaving in and out of different people, trying to get closer to the platform. Above this platform there was a wooden pole, from which hung four lengths of rope, each of which had a loop at the end big enough to fit around a person's neck. The person pushing his way through the crowd did not halt until he was directly in front of the platform.

Meanwhile, inside the small office that was reserved for high-ranking officials and captains of vessels, four scraggly and unclean men sat side-by-side in chairs, their legs and arms connected by long chains and shackles. Off to the right was a desk, behind which sat an authoritative-looking man who was revolving a gold coin around in his fingers. This man wore a stern expression that suggested he took his work seriously. On his head was a two-cornered captain's hat that sat atop a white wig worn by those of influential power in the English bureaucracy. This man's name was Bartholomew Smith, a captain who had devoted himself to tracking down any man or woman suspected of conspiring against the Empire or those who had committed crimes against the Crown.

Smith eyed the coin in his hand for yet another time. On one side was a small engraving of the world, which was partially encircled with a curved sword that clearly represented a capitalized "C". On the opposite side was a another engraving, this one of a Spanish Armada vessel. Smith knew what the coin was used for; it was something that every member of a highly cabalistic society with the name "The Clan Of Cortez" carried with them at all times. Smith's men had been caught in the town, clearly returning from some type of secret duty. Smith wanted to know what that duty was, so he had brought the prisoners here for a last-minute interrogation before they were hanged for treason.

Smith swiftly stood up from his chair, walked around it to stand in front of the prisoners, and held out the coin.

"I've done some research regarding your society, gentlemen. I must say, I'm quite impressed with what you've accomplished. Gathering at the bequest of Cortez himself and vowing to protect the location of the majority of the gold and priceless treasure he stole from different countries and ships...my, my, you all are quite loyal. You refuse to divulge the whereabouts of the treasure, when it rightfully belongs to The King himself. That is considered treason by our laws, so you all must pay the price: death by hanging."

A satisfied expression came over Smith's face as he observed the four men before him all look uncomfortably at one another.

"That is, of course," Smith continued, "if you don't tell me the identity of the person with whom you entrusted the map with."

Once again, the four prisoners exchanged nervous looks.

"Oh, yes," Smith smiled, "I know all about the ways in which your society operates. There is always one, one who is given the task of protecting the location of this vast collection of treasure. All I request is that you reveal who that secret-keeper is, and I may be inclined to let you walk free, clear of all charges."

The nearest of the prisoners glared at Smith. "What do you know of the secret-keeper?" he asked suspiciously.

"Merely that whenever one is appointed, that person must keep that secret until the day they die. But before that, they have to find a way to pass that secret on to their offspring, if they have any. Tell me, does the new secret-keeper have any children? After all, that must have been the reason why you lot snuck into the town."

The man continued to stare defiantly at Smith. "The new secret-keeper does not have any children at the moment, however his wife is expecting one soon."

"Give me the name," said Smith in a monotonous tone.

"No."

Smith sighed. "I offer you a chance for freedom, and yet you refuse it. Stubbornness may be believed to be an admirable trait in instances such as these, but I see it as rather a distasteful last attempt to spare a guilty soul." He turned toward four burly guards standing beside the doorway. "Take them away."

As the prisoners were led toward the gallows, Smith flipped the coin in midair toward the first one. The man caught it and held onto it as he balled his hand into a fist. Smith followed the death march and came to a halt beside a few of his men, prepared to watch the ever-approaching display of death.

The prisoners lined up beside each other on the platform, three of them hanging their heads in defeat. The fourth, the man who had spoken with Smith, kept his head held high however as the nooses were placed over each man's neck. The drumroll began to play, and as it did, the fourth man motioned for a guard to come close; the guard obliged.

"Tell your leader to look on an island just ten miles southeast of here. He may uncover something of interest to him."

The guard moved away and descended the steps, clearly indifferent to the words he just heard. But all the same, the man saw the guard come up to Smith and whisper something in his ear. Smith gave the man a nod of gratitude as the drumroll became louder.

The man looked down at a person whose face was hidden behind a large hat. The person looked up to reveal handsome features of a man nearing his mid-forties. This man in the crowd nodded at the man on the platform the way someone would if they had been entrusted with something important.

Next, the man in the noose looked at the gold coin in his right hand. He turned it over and grinned to himself. But before the man knew it, the ground beneath him vanished and he dropped a few feet, stopped only by the rope around his neck. Immediately, air seemed to escape from the man's lungs at a great rate and he struggled as the coin fell from his grasp and landed on the ground, almost in slow motion. The side bearing the sword and earth were facing up.

Minutes later, a younger Weatherby Swann abandoned his position at the front of the crowd and gradually began to make his way home, where his lovely and pregnant wife was waiting for him.

Days later, Bartholomew Smith arrived with his crew at the location that was given to him. They had found a cave and went inside, eagerly expecting to be met with the glorious sight of mounds of treasure stretching up as far as the eye could see, but they winded up being sorely disappointed.

What Smith did find in the cave was a note. A note which read:

Your mission of trying to uncover Cortez's treasure was a wasted effort. The Clan's penchant for secrecy has prevailed, as it always will.

Smith could do nothing except shoot a hole through the note with his pistol in rage.

Port Royal - 1727

The docks of Port Royal seemed eerily quiet to Governor Weatherby Swann as the carriage he was commandeering came to a halt under the luminescent light of a large lantern. It was the middle of the night, and the rest of the town had fallen into a deep slumber. Abandoned ships floated in the calm ocean, tied to the docks to ensure that they would not sail away. But none of these ships mattered to Swann.

He hopped down from the driver's seat and straightened his overcoat in a fidget, clearly impatient for something or someone to arrive. Swann rechecked his pocket watch for the fifth time that night, not one bit less anxious than he had been last night when he had received the letter that had alerted him of some type of forthcoming danger. Next, after storing his watch away, Swann pulled out a gold coin from his other pocket. The side currently had a symbol that Swann had come to know and understand all too well after he had been bestowed with it twenty-nine years ago. Back then, Swann had been an ambitious man, eager to accept any task brought before him; the one in question had been to keep a closely guarded secret, one that if revealed could jumpstart an enormous race for absolute power over the seven seas.

Governor Weatherby Swann was a veteran member of The Clan Of Cortez, a society that merely existed as a rumor amongst common people; a myth to others that had been concocted as nothing more than a bedtime story meant to fascinate avid children who would readily lap it all up as a form of entertainment. But the truth of the matter was that The Clan was indeed real, and it protected something more valuable than a cache of treasure.

Swann put the coin away and began to search the portions of ocean that were visible for some sign of the salvation he dearly hoped would come. As he did so, Swann recalled the duties of The Clan's secret-keeper. Being The Clan's current secret-keeper, it was Swann's job to make sure that The Clan's purpose was not uncovered by the wrong people. But if ever a situation arose in which the secret-keeper's life became an issue, it was their duty to explain in some form what their job was to any children so that they could pick up where the last secret-keeper had left off until such a time when The Clan either decided to entrust the secret to someone else or disperse after reconvening. Swann had made a point to write two letters before fleeing from his mansion; first, he had drafted and sent a letter detailing the situation to the leader of The Clan. The other one he had written was meant for Elizabeth. In this letter, Swann had put in writing his history with The Clan and the fact that Elizabeth would be made the new secret-keeper if Swann did indeed die tonight. In addition, Swann had scribbled down information about the rest of Elizabeth's family. Swann felt a lump rise in his throat when he thought about Elizabeth's mother and the twin of Elizabeth's whom had been taken away with her mother when she had decided to divorce Swann.

Swann had always told Elizabeth that her mother had died during childbirth, but Swann was not entirely certain that she was dead. For all he knew, she could still be out there somewhere along with Elizabeth's sister; he remembered the children not being identical twins. Swann could only imagine what Elizabeth would think after she found out all this from a letter and not directly from her father himself.

A sudden sound from the shadows attracted Swann's attention. He turned in the direction of the noise, his eyes trying to penetrate the blackness that managed to evade the light of the lanterns hung at different locations on the docks. Swann stared for a few more moments before shaking his feelings of worry off and turned back to face the ocean.

But unbeknownst to Swann, a figure had just emerged from the shadows behind him as if the person were a ghost. Managing to be as silent as if he were walking on air, the cloaked person reached into his robes and swiftly pulled out a silver knife. The handle of this blade was unique; it was in the shape of a snake's head with its mouth wide open. Encrusted into the spots where the eyes were meant to be were two red rubies that gleamed ominously in the light of the small fires inside the lanterns. The man approached Swann from behind and came to a halt. He then spoke in a deadly low voice that was like silk.

"Evening, Governor. I must say that it's not a good night to be wandering about. Never know when you might run into trouble."

Swann whipped around rather suddenly, startled by the voice. He let his eyes travel up and down this stranger, absorbing every physical aspect of him there was to know. When he was finished, Swann let out a deep sigh.

"So, my day of reckoning has come at last. I have to admit, I certainly did not expect it to end this way."

"Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself; Jacob McGivens, mercenary for hire. I see there's no need to explain my presence in Port Royal. After all, I can gather you're fully aware of why I'm here."

"Absolutely," answered Swann in a shaky voice. "But I can tell you this: whatever you are planning to do to me...it will do you no good. I shall never give up the secret I've sworn to protect."

"Admirable sentiments, Governor," said McGivens, "but obstinate words such as those will not save you. Now is the time when judgement on the sins you've committed in your life will be passed. Are you prepared for it?"

"Quite."

"Well, I believe you haven't outlived your usefulness quite yet. There's still the matter of the location of the map and the purpose behind those gold coins to discuss. You and I both know that the coins are used for more than just recognition amongst the members of the peers. What is the meaning of them? Are they able to do something when collected and put together?"

"Do you honestly think I would tell you such a thing?" retorted Swann.

"Ah, but methods such as coercion can be powerful tools when used to their fullest extent. Shall I give you a demonstration?"

"Coercion," Swann was able to scoff at the word. "That is just a bureaucratic term for torture. And trust me, the bureaucracy of Port Royal does not condone such methods."

"Correct," agreed McGivens, "but what if I were to put it in much more civilized terms? Does 'persuasion' sound better to you?"

"I hear nor see no difference."

"Pity. I was rather hoping you would cooperate willingly."

As comprehension of these words dawned on Swann, he pushed past McGivens and ran straight for the road leading back into town, completely forgetting the carriage that had brought him here. But before Swann could reach the archway, two black horses suddenly emerged from either side of the exit, blocking the route. The riders of these horses were masked, everything but their eyes hidden from sight. Around their waists were silver sword sheaths.

Swann backed away, his lower lip quivering in fear. From behind, McGivens roughly grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him up against the horse-drawn carriage; most of Swann's air was knocked from his lungs. Quick as a flash, McGivens whipped out his snake-themed knife, its razor sharp point beginning to cut into Swann's skin.

"Where is the map to the islands? Where does The Clan Of Cortez convene when they gain wind of their secret-keeper being murdered? Tell me now, and I may be tempted to spare your life." These words were like venom.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Swann was surprised at his own courage in the face of such danger.

"Do not test me," McGivens spat. "If my employer does not gain this knowledge soon, then all hope will be lost for the cause I've been paid to ensure success for. You, Governor Swann, are all that stands in the way."

Swann gave McGivens a cold, hard stare. "You can do whatever you wish with me. I will never tell you what you desire to know."

McGivens glared at Swann for a few more moments before eyeing the elderly man's sleeve. He used his knife to cut open the fabric just below the shoulder to reveal an old, yet clear tattoo. This tattoo was of the exact same picture on Swann's coin; a curved sword halfway encircled around the world. McGivens stared at the tattoo and sneered.

"Ah, the crest; the symbol every Clan member has on their arm. How is it you are not sure of what I'm discussing when you bear the mark of the very group." McGivens placed the blade back at Swann's throat. "You are not a very good liar."

"Just kill me," Swann muttered miserably. "Any pain you cause will be more than bearable if it means taking this secret to my grave."

"Tut, tut Governor. You seemed to have misconstrued my threats somewhat. You see, my methods of persuasion do not involve physical pain, but rather psychological warfare."

"What do you mean?" Swann asked nervously.

"You have a daughter, am I correct? Elizabeth, I believe her name is. Married to a man named William Turner and the mother of a boy named Michael."

"How do you...?"

"I have intelligible resources, Governor." McGivens paused for effect. "So, if I were to kill you right now, I believe I would still be in the clear. After all, if my knowledge of The Clan is sufficient enough, it is an obligation of yours to pass along the duties of secret-keeper to your kin. And that would be Elizabeth Swann, or wouldn't it be Elizabeth Turner now?"

"If you lay one finger on my daughter..."

"You'll do what? Most likely, you'll be dead anyway, so you intervening in those matters would not be an issue."

"If you were to kill the Governor of Port Royal in cold blood, you've no idea of the serious repercussions that will follow for you."

"I'm prepared to face any repercussions. The more pressing matter here is if you're prepared to die for a cause that you still foolishly believe in."

"Belief can be a powerful thing."

"But is it powerful enough to stop death itself?" McGivens placed his knife at Swann's gut. "To die from a wound inflicted upon this part of the body will be slow and painful. Now, I say to you again, tell me what I need to know about The Clan Of Cortez and I may be willing to spare your life."

Swann took a deep, steadying breath. He then gazed into McGivens' eyes defiantly. "The Clan always stays true to it's cause, no matter what the consequences. You will never hear what you wish to know."

Cold fury darkened McGivens' eyes and without warning, he plunged the blade deep into Swann's chest unmercifully. Swann opened his mouth in shock and pain as McGivens pulled his head closer and whispered into Swann's ear.

"I'll give your regards to your daughter when I have my men take care of her as well."

McGivens shoved Swann down to the ground, ripping the knife out of the Governor's chest at the same time. The blade was soaked in fresh blood that shined under the torchlight from the surrounding area. McGivens pulled a white handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the knife clean, staring down at Swann in morbid amusement.

Each breath Swann now took seemed to cause him a great deal of pain. Blood had stained the front of his shirt and traveling coat, which made for a graphic sight. The wet blood continued to spread as the seconds passed, Swann's eyes never leaving McGivens.

McGivens turned around and motioned for the two cloaked horsemen to come closer; they obliged. The moment the men were at the proper distance, McGivens spoke to them in an undertone.

"I want you to thoroughly search the Turners' household for the map and the letter explaining The Clan. I don't need any loose ends."

"But, sir," the first man said, "how do we know where the Turners reside?"

McGivens sighed and went over to where Swann lay, bending down beside him. "Where does your daughter live?"

Swann screwed up his face as though he did not wish to answer, but his gaze still shifted to somewhere behind McGivens. McGivens followed Swann's eyes until he was able to spot a large house on the shore of Port Royal's beach illuminated by the moonlight some miles away. McGivens smirked.

"Thank you."

McGivens returned to his men. "Very well, you know where to go. If you run into any trouble, you have your orders."

"What makes you so certain that either the map or the letter are in that house?"

"It's merely logical sense. But in any case, I would advise splitting up. One of you take the Turners' residence while the other handles the Governor's mansion."

"And what of you? Where shall we meet up with you after we acquire what we need?"

McGivens smiled an evil smile while he placed a hat on his head. "I have matters to attend to in Tortuga concerning a lost Cortez coin, which reminds me...," he bent over again and searched Swann's pockets until he found what he was looking for, "...these coins are of the utmost importance. Once we discover where The Clan will gather, we will have the opportunity to steal them all at once." He held up Swann's coin, flipped it into midair, and caught it in the palm of his hand. "Now, gentlemen, I must depart. I shouldn't keep my vessel and my crew waiting." He turned to the docks, began to walk toward them, but halted in his tracks and slightly moved his head to the left. "If you should happen to fail, I trust you'll take the proper course of action?"

The two men looked uneasily at each other. Finally, they answered. "Yes, sir."

McGivens nodded before promptly disappearing into the shadows. The moment he was gone, the two henchmen mounted their horses and ushered them forward to their destinations.

Governor Weatherby Swann was left lying on his back, blood still seeping out of his wound as he gazed up at the starry sky above. The pain soon became overwhelming and Swann soon became aware of the blackness that was slowly enveloping him. Before he knew it, he could see his whole life flashing before his eyes. And just as the final thread of life that Swann had been desperately hanging onto was severed, he managed to weakly utter the final word that he would ever speak.

"Elizabeth..."