Disclaimer: POTC doesn't belong to the masses. Luckily. But doesn't Johnny look gorgeous?
A/N: Where are the ninjas? There should be ninjas by now. :P
"Can I see your invitation, sir?"
The man turns around, trying to keep the frown from his face. "Why, certainly." He hands it to the guard, who examines it briefly. The man turns back to watch the slow, graceful dance under the marquee.
"This your first time in Port Royal, Mister Smith?" The redcoat asks.
The man looks back, distracted. "What? Oh. Oh, no, not really. I've been here before. Beautiful place."
"Yes, it is, isn't it." The guard hands back the invitation. "Sorry to bother you, sir. Enjoy yourself." The guard salutes, and moves on.
'Mister Smith' turns back to the crowd, scowling. "It's not working." He whispers to himself. "Why isn't it working?"
He watches a pair of dancers for a moment, then turns and goes back into the crowd.
Norrington frowns. "Murdered?"
"Aye," Gillette nods, concerned. "Late for his post, he was. He was on his way here, apparently. Poor devil nearly made it."
Norrington's frown deepens even more. "But why?"
Gillette shakes his head. "I've no idea, sir."
The Commodore nods. "Post sentries. I don't want anything ruining Elizabeth's wedding." He sees Gillette hesitate. "What are you waiting for? Tell every man to be alert. There's a murderer somewhere in Port Royal. Make sure he doesn't come here."
"Aye sir." Gillette salutes, then marches off to alert the guards. Norrington, alone now, casts his eyes over the crowd. Any one of the guests could be the next victim. Even Miss Swann… No, she's Mrs Turner now... Norrington sighs. Suddenly, his eyes widen as he sees someone he recognises.
"Not on my watch, Sparrow." He mutters, and heads down into the marquee.
A/N: Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun-dun-dun-dun-dun DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN:D