Sing along everyone! You know the words… I do not own PotC or any of its characters. I am just playing with them and will put them back, relatively unscathed, when I am through with them.

Comments, questions, and criticisms are always welcomed!

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Chapter 1 – The Castillo

In the bowels of an ancient stone fortress, a prisoner sat in the shadows of a small, cold cell. His large hat was pulled down over his eyes and his tattered clothes had seen better days. There was a palpable air of authority, even intimidation, about the man. This sense had kept the other prisoners in the pens to either side of his from asking who he was or why he had been imprisoned. The questions, however, were almost unnecessary for his whole demeanor declared his occupation: pirate.

The Castillo de San Juan de Ulúa was an impressive display of Spain's authority in Vera Cruz. It had been built by Cortés himself to guard against pirates and now served as the last dwelling place for those buccaneers unlucky enough to be captured by the Spanish Royal Navy before their long walk to the execution dock. The pale light of a crescent moon spilled into the dungeons providing some light for the prisoners. The uneasy silence of the condemned only served to heighten the maddening close sound of the ocean, so often their salvation, as it broke against the small island upon which the fort had been built.

Most of the woebegone prisoners looked up with a mixture of hope and dread when the quiet was broken by the heavy groan of the prison's main door as it yawned open allowing two men to enter the close confines of the cell block. In the lead was a portly Spanish officer with a snooty yet dim arrogance that implied that he had risen farther than his intelligence would have allowed had he not been assisted by familial connections. His superiors had evidently realized his limitations and had given him the rank of captain and assigned him the menial task of supervising those who guarded the doomed criminals.

Following in his substantial shadow was a skinny, pallid fellow whose overlarge eyes took in every corner of the prison in a moment. His profession was evident for his hands were stained with ink, his back stooped, and he clutched a large bag filled with an assortment of papers and other writing implements. The scribe stood nervously to one side of the officer who peered in distastefully at the pirate with the large hat. He jumped slightly when the captain barked, "Di le a la pirata que haga su declaración (1)."

The scribe gathered his courage and stepped closer to the cell. "By the decree of his most Catholic Majesty, King Felipe V of Spain, those condemned to be executed for crimes against the crown are given the privilege of making a last confession before the sentence is carried out." Silence greeted him in reply and the scribe looked nervously from the prisoner to the captain. He stepped a bit closer to the cell and said, "Don't you wish to make a statement, señor?"

He jumped back again when at the sound of a harsh laugh came from the cell. "Aye, why not. Swing one, swing all I say. Sparrow left me here to die so he can be damned as well."

With these words he finally looked up at his two visitors and both flinched under the weight of the gaze. The man's eyes were clear blue, but dangerous and filled with steely determination. His face had been weathered like old leather and lined by wind, water, and sun. Dried blood from a fresh gash that had just missed his right eye had stained his once white shirt and blue coat. If the wound had been allowed time to heal, the result would have been a terrible scar but, as it was, it was rather surprising that the soldiers had allowed the man to clean his face. It seemed a pointless nicety given that he would be executed at dawn.

"Well are yeh going to take down me tale, boy, or are yeh planning to stare at my good looks all night?"

The scribe was startled out of his reverie and hurriedly began to set up his paper and quills on one of the guard's table. His hands were shaking and he barely managed to catch his inkbottle before it rolled off the stand. The pirate seemed rather amused with his unease.

"What's yer name, boy?" he asked.

"Malaquías Indalecio de García y Quentín."

"It seems that this is not yer usual occupation, Mister García," the pirate said with wry interest.

"N-no. I usually work in the courts dealing with lawsuits and estate settlements."

"I suppose this be not so different after all," the man laughed again. "Thievery and death are also part of a pirate's life, although we tend to be more forthcoming with the details than most respectable folk care to admit to."

García couldn't decide whether he should be scandalized or amused. He sat down hurriedly and picked up one of his quills trying to appear calm and professional. The Captain looked thoroughly bored by the whole procedure and as García dipped his quill into the inkwell, the officer said, "Estaré en mi oficina. Tráime el documento cuando esté completo(2)."

"¡¿Ya se va, Señor!" García exclaimed. "¡No puedo permanecer aquí solo con ellos!(3)" He looked back at the man in the cell and a cold weight settled in his stomach as he gazed at the pirate, who seemed to be enjoying his near panic.

Before the Captain could reply, the prisoner spoke again. "Don't be worrying, Mister García," he declared in all seriousness. "I'll not be killing yeh tonight although I make no promises about the future."

The notary turned back to the prisoner reluctantly and the pirate smiled wickedly as the door creaked close behind the retreating officer. "So where am I to begin?" he asked politely.

García swallowed hard and replied in a cracking voice, "Please state your name for the record."

"My name is Hector Barbossa and I am first mate aboard the pirate ship The Black Pearl."

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Author's Notes

Forgive me if I have made any mistakes in my translations.

1) Tell the pirate to make his declaration.

2) I will be in my office. Bring me the document when it is complete.

3) You are leaving, Sir? I cannot stay here alone with them!