((I suppose you, my dear readers, can expect at least a monthly update from me. I am thankful for the enthusiasm and patience you've shown me thus far, I hope this simple update was worth the wait. Oh, you will/may want to research the people and seemingly random information mentioned in this chapter. It/they could give you hints as to what is to come…or maybe not…))

To hear such news after the revelation he'd already had regarding the past was a sharp juxtaposition. It was a reminder that no matter what he may feel—in this case a desire to drop everything and run to Tortuga to see if Ashlynne was there as he now suspected—he still had a duty to uphold. His identity was his duty; his life was built carefully upon logical precepts that could not "bend with the winds" or shift with the tides—as Miss Davenport advised they should. That didn't mean he had to appreciate it, or crave the "punishment" that upholding justice often brought. But if he did not make this sacrifice, or if others like him did not make equal sacrifices, then the world at large would descend into a chaotic madhouse like Tortuga.

Still in his formal uniform, James made his way to the inn where he was able to not only study the scene of the crime for himself but also interview what few witnesses there seemed to be. The most seemingly reliable was a weeping girl—the innkeepers niece's cousin or some such distant relative—from the inn who had been less than helpful with information and it had taken him nearly two hours to get as much from her as he did—surprisingly this had been the first brutal violence she'd ever witnessed in her lifetime, as she'd not been in Port Royal when the pirates had attacked all those months ago, and because of such was next to useless.

All she could offer was that the assailant who murdered the innkeeper had been male, around James' height and James' build, and that she'd glimpsed only a moment of his profile but that from what she'd seen in the lamplight he'd resembled James' coloring and face shape as well—as far as James could remember he had NOT killed the innkeeper but if this ineffectual woman had anything to do with it he'd be strung up for a murder he didn't commit. The only thing that set the attacker apart from James was that, according to the girl, he'd been wounded and James was unharmed.

Feeling fatigue scratch at the edges of his mind, James thanked the woman for what she had managed to give them and with his officers made to stand and leave. A hiccup and intake of breath from the woman had him pausing at the door; something in her mannerisms made him instinctively feel that she had more—hopefully not as inadequate—to say.

"He kept saying, 'they took it from me,' as he lay there," the girl's voice sounded haunted and James truly did wish she'd been spared such an ordeal, but now was not the time to block a memory, "He said, 'they came back and took it from me."

James frowned, tapping his hat against his leg, "Do you know what or who he meant?"

"No sir," she shook her head, causing unshed tears to streak down her cheeks, "since he'd come back from his trip abroad he's kept mostly to himself and not said much to the rest of us." She suddenly took on a far off look and James waited, far from patiently, until she spoke again, a memory having been jarred somehow in the girl's rattled brain. "A few days ago I saw him in his room, he'd left the door open and I came up to ask him about something, I can't quite recall what right now…" she trailed off as if she were trying to remember the useless information along with the useful.

"What did you see him do in his room?" James prompted as gently as possible, hoping to keep her from detouring in the story.

"Oh, I didn't mean to pry, I know, or knew, he liked to keep to himself and all. But I did notice something peculiar. He had a small box, around this size," she held up her hands to make the size of a box perhaps the length of James' forearm, "not terribly ornate or special looking but he seemed to be very interested in whatever was in the box. He was," she glanced to the other officers in the room then looked back to James, "well it seems even more strange saying it but he was talking to it."

"Talking to what?"

The girl shook her head, "I never got to see whatever was in the box. I stepped on a creaky board near his door and when he saw me he yelled for me to get back downstairs and then he kicked the door shut." She sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. "I reckon whoever 'they' are took whatever was in the box."

James looked to his men and nodded and the men quickly left and made his way up the stairs, understanding the task of finding the described box. James again thanked the girl and offered his condolences before he too bowed out of the room and joined his men upstairs. The innkeepers room looked untouched, so whatever 'they' had been looking for had either been on the innkeeper when he'd been attacked or the attacker had known exactly where to look and thus had not thrashed the room.

"Sir." Another man entered, holding what looked to be a key on a chain, recently discovered on the innkeeper's corpse.

James accepted the key and then turned around slowly, taking in all the details of the room. It wasn't until his eyes fell on the bureau by the far window that he stopped. There was something askew about the position of the piece of furniture. He signaled two of his men and waited until they moved the aforementioned object aside before he stepped closer. As he'd suspected there was a cutout in the wall, only barely disguised. Kneeling down he leaned forward and using the edge of the key he pulled out the wall cutout to reveal a small chamber containing a medium sized box.

James quickly retrieved the box and set it on the bureau. With his men looking on he used the key, which thankfully fit, to open it. Inside were jewels, pieces of eight, and a tattered piece of paper—but nothing that looked significant enough that James could imagine any man would speak to it. As it stood out as the most mundane, James took hold of the paper and carefully unfolded it, stepping closer to the lamp in order to read. It was a list, that at first meant nothing, but then when his eyes caught sight of two names he recognized he felt his blood freeze.

Edward Lowe—carnwennan*

Charles Vane—caledfwlch

John Rackham—draupnir

Henry Morgan—víðarr

Bart Roberts-ascalon

Henry Every- Andvarinaut

Jack Sparrow—desidero circuitus

Ashlynne Fitzpatrick—Harmonia's necklace

On a seemingly random list of notorious names and items he had never heard of was Ashlynne. What was this list and why were all these men, and Ashlynne, lumped together as they were? James knew two of the other names, Every and Morgan, though not personally—he'd been told stories by his father enough to remember notorious pirate names when he saw them. After a moment longer of studying the list and frowning, not coming up with any sort of theory, James folded it up and tucked it away. He'd be sure to peruse what few books Port Royal had to offer at the barracks, and perhaps at the Governor's mansion, in hopes of piecing together just what this could possibly mean.

"Give the rest of the items here to the innkeeper's wife," James nodded to his men, "she might need to use it to arrange for the man's burial. Ask around one more time down in the tavern area to see if anyone saw anything. If they have nothing more to say now then assure them that we will return on the morn." If the attacker was in fact one of the patrons of the inn then they would make their escape tomorrow no doubt. With that in mind James turned to the highest ranking officer, "Bring me the list of names of all who petition to leave tomorrow and alert the harbor master of these events; tell him that he and his men are to report immediately to you or any other naval officers if someone tries to leave who appears to have a fresh knife wound."

His orders understood and carried out, James felt that there was very little left that he could do at this time. His mind unsettled, regarding both this event and the earlier discussions with Groves and Miss Davenport, James returned to his quarters and settled in for a few hours of fitful sleep.

"What do you mean?" Ashlynne growled at the harbor master. "We can't leave on this ship? We have paid our fare and have a written agreement with the captain."

As the harbor master flipped through his roster in his efforts to stall a response, Ashlynne glanced at Parlan. He was leaning against a dock pillar, half in the shade of the harbor master's shack and half in the morning sun. Even in the bright sun and fresh air he looked positively ill; his skin had a bright sheen of sweat, even though the air was far from humid, and his pallid color spoke of either heavy sickness or blood loss—thus far he'd not bled through her thick bandaging and so onlookers would assume the first. If they were unable to find a place to rest soon, however, Ashlynne was assured of the fact that he would bleed through and not only that but would also most likely collapse.

"I understand the predicament Miss Davenport," the harbor master looked up and peered at her over the rim of his glasses, "however I have orders to not let anyone leave at this time. I need to take down your names and report to the authorities. It seems that there's been a murder," the harbor master quickly crossed himself, obviously a man not of similar religion to most of his fellow countrymen, "and they want to ensure the safety of all residents by catching the murderer."

Ashlynne ground her teeth together and, sparing another quick glance at Parlan, tried a different tactic. She softened her voice and lowered her chin, peering at the harbor master through half-lidded eyes. "But you see sir we just received word that our aunt is deathly ill. She is in desperate need to see us. We did not have a good parting and she was at ill odds with our own father before he died. I believe she wishes to absolve her past sins with us before she passes to the other side." She even managed to mist up in the process of explaining to the witless older man. "So you see, sir, we really must get on that ship."

Before the harbor master could either bend to her whims or call her bluff Ashlynne heard her name, or at least her disguised name, called from somewhere behind her. Turning, she spotted Theodore rapidly making his ways towards them. He stopped by Parlon only momentarily to touch his good shoulder and say a few words to him. Parlan nodded and managed a weak smile, Theodore nodding in return. After this Theodore joined Ashlynne with the harbor master. Without speaking directly to Ashlynne, Theodore pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to the harbor master.

"These two have permission to travel wherever they need be." His voice warbled a bit and he swallowed quickly. Ashlynne felt her heart stop for a moment. Theodore was lying, for her and Parlan, he was lying. "This comes down from on high." He tilted his head backwards, indicating the barracks and far beyond that the Governor's mansion.

The harbor master studied the paper for a few tense moments before he sighed and nodded, bending over his roster and jotting down a few notes. He signaled to his black slave boy and whispered some instructions to him. The boy trotted off down the dock after a moment.

"He will signal the captain of the Desdemona to send a boat for the two of you. From what I can tell they should be heading out with the change of tides within the hour."

Ashlynne curtsied her best and offered a sickeningly sweet smile before she placed her hand in the crook of Theodore's arm and allowed him to lead her back to Parlan.

"Where the hell did you get gumption like that from Theodore?" Ashlynne asked once there were out of earshot.

Theodore winced, "Now before you praise me for lying you must realize I never actually named names nor did I outrightly lie."

Ashlynne thought carefully over the words Theodore had used and sighed; he was correct. He'd used general terms and through assumption had gotten what he'd wanted. But then there had been the paper.

"What was that paper?" Parlan asked before Ashlynne could. Ashlynne edged closer to him, hearing the fatigue in his voice.

"Before the Commodore returned last night I was able to relieve him of one too many papers that happened to have fallen onto the floor due to an untimely breeze from a window left open." Theodore shrugged, an uncharacteristic motion for the man, signaling his discomfort. "I merely happened to be in the right place at the right time."

Ashlynne smirked, "With the right skills for forging signatures eh?"

The slave boy cleared his throat and they turned to find him gesturing for them to follow. Ashlynne moved closer to Parlan's side and took hold of his arm, trying to subtly support him without calling too much attention to his wound and pain.

"I fear I must leave you now." Theodore was looking back towards the barracks, a dark look crossing his face. "Please, don't come back." He reached out and quickly squeezed Ashlynne's shoulder. "Be safe my friend," he nodded to Parlan, "live well."

Without further explanation to headed away from them, disappearing amongst the increasingly crowded dock. Ashlynne signaled the slave boy and carefully handed Parlan off to him before she turned to see what it was that had Theodore moving off so quickly and abruptly. Her breath caught in her throat when she spotted Norrington and a group of his officers, all armed, coming down the hill towards the dock.

"It seems, my dearest friend," Ashlynne moved to Parlan's side and though she knew it would cause him pain adjusted his weight more firmly against her body so that she could hurry his steps, "that you have one chance to get out of here and we shan't waste it."

Parlan looked at her in confusion, "What do you mean by that Ashlynne?" He tried to look over his shoulder but couldn't manage both that and walking forward at the same time. "What's going on?"

"I need you to get back to Hope, make sure she's all right, and I need you to heal up as well. You're not nearly as invincible as I'd like you to be." She reached into her valise and withdrew the pouch that held the dagger. Discretely, she tucked it into the folds of Parlan's coat. "When you are able, come back for me."

By this time they'd made it to the end of the dock where the boat for the Desdemona was waiting. Before Parlan could question further, Ashlynne had the slave boy and one of the sailors from the ship help her deposit Parlan into the boat. At the sailor's inquisitive look she shook her head and instead handed him the rope that had tethered the boat to the dock. He shrugged and signaled to the others to start rowing.

Parlan struggled to stand but the sailors kept him from throwing himself into the water when he cried out, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm savin' yer life ye idget." Ashlynne smiled at him, secretly praying that she'd see him alive and well and soon. "Ye need to learn to just say thank ye."

She allowed herself one last look at her friend's confused face before she turned and made her way back. She moved quickly, confidently despite the fear that began to gnaw at her innards. What did she really have to fear anyway? Not death, she already knew that wouldn't bother her. When she finally saw Norrington's eyes through the moving mass of people on the dock, the quivering inside only worsened. No, she didn't fear death. That would only be a welcome embrace compared to the hatred she knew she was about to reap from the man she knew she still loved despite her better judgment.