Port Royal had never been the ideal place to be during fierce storms.

Corwin's office had been bleak enough during the seasonal hurricanes that battered the Caribbean. It was even bleaker now, as Weatherby Swann downed his third glass of brandy in an hour and slumped over in his chair. "If only I'd left her at home..."

It was also the third time he had said that particular line. Corwin had spent the first hour assuring the governor that Elizabeth's capture was not in fact his fault, but now he simply stared out the window and watched the storm raging around Fort Charles. "Perhaps."

"Do you suppose they're dead?"

"I hope not."

"They should have ransomed her by now..."

"Governor, please. We've been over this before. Gerrarrd works by his own clock, to his own motives."

"Rather like Captain Sparrow, don't you think?" Swann belched. "Pardon me." Corwin had seen the man drink like this once before, the night Elizabeth had been taken. The bottle had been stowed away as soon as there had been a lead, and he had no doubt that Swann would rise as the occasion required and set aside the bloody drink. Until then, however - trapped in port with no leads and nowhere to go - the good Governor Swann would take his comfort from liquor.

If only we could all be so fortunate.

Corwin sighed, pulled the decanter and glass away from the Governor. "I have it on good authority..." Good authority? You have it on Pintel and Ragetti's authority, how is that good authority? Oh... pirates, of course. "...that Gerrarrd will likely find a use for your daughter, and..." He stopped when he realized Weatherby Swann had become more interested in picking lint off his jacket than listening. "I've been told the lands to the East hold more riches than a man can fancy."

"Very good, Commodore. I'm pleased you're on top of things."

Corwin smiled thinly. If the good Governor Swann had no intention of being a help rather than a hindrance - well, far be it from Corwin Norrington to force a man into something he didn't want. Repairs on Relentless might have been crawling along, but he still had Dauntless ready to depart at a moment's notice - well, a moment's notice without the storm battering itself against the island.

It would also help to know just where Gerrarrd and his Wickedry docked when they felt like returning home.

Pintel and Ragetti had been quite cooperative on most counts... except that one. Oh, they'd claimed ignorance, sworn it on everything from Barbossa's hat to their mothers' undergarments. Corwin had not encountered trouble from them before, and most of his mind argued that they had no reason to defend Gerrarrd, pirate or not.

The other part, the rational part - the Commodore - sneered. Pirates, always. Most of Barbossa's surviving crew had been hanged immediately - those that hadn't been set upon by angry sailors the moment they set foot ashore at Port Royal. Only Pintel and Ragetti had shown any kind of docile behavior... and he had been ready to hang them anyway, save Governor Swann's royal intervention. Perhaps it would be best to hold onto a pair... for... questioning? Corwin had glanced at the pair in the Dauntless' brig, eyebrows lifting. You could use a set of informants.

Much as he hated to admit it, they had proved themselves more useful than he would have imagined possible. Their clipped sentences and cautious divergences were beginning to stretch bits of lace across the gaps between the chunks of information Corwin had already compiled, and it was through these catwalks that he now shimmied.

'E stopped off in Rudder Bay some, Ragetti had confided when Pintel had said his part. But me's not knowin' if that were his permma-nint state o'residence.

Corwin looked down at the map he'd slapped on his desk and once more pinpointed the tiny settlement known as Rudder Bay. It lay between two larger islands, forgotten and largely-ignored by the major vessels - pirate and otherwise - that lumbered through the Caribbean. It simply had little to offer.

It's perfect.

Absolutely, strikingly...

...perfect.

"Has there been any word from the Black Pearl?" Sparrow would likely contact the Governor, rather than himself; it had been Swann who struck the fateful bargain, after all. The Governor shook his head.

"Nothing. Though you said yourself this storm would play havoc with our communication... the latest troops have not arrived from England..."

"So I did." England? Since when has England... Corwin bowed his head to Swann. "If you'll excuse me, Governor, I have to discuss something with my officers. Do remain comfortable."

Swann was already reaching for the brandy as he shut the door.

Gillette and Macey snapped to attention the moment he entered the mess, though he waved off their salutes. "As you were."

"Commodore Norrington, I thought you were discussing a course of action with the Governor," Macey said. Corwin resisted the urge to pat the young man's head - Macey had only arrived two days before the Sparrow/Barbossa debacle, and he had yet to settle into the routines and eccentricities that plagued Port Royal and its leaders. He was still so... young and optimistic. That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen, indeed.

It made one's stomach turn sometimes.

"The Governor is... not himself." Corwin gave the sharp-tongued Gillette a stare warning him not to make any of his famous remarks. "Though I did learn a few things of interest via the lower channels. Strictly out of curiosity, what do either of you know about Rudder Bay?"

Macey shrugged. Gillette, however, looked thoughtful. "Little thing, isn't it? Out of the way."

"It seems Gerrarrd may have used it as a port in the past."

Gillette stared at the ground as he tried to recall what he knew of it. "The town is... not much. There's a dock, some suppliers... but it's small. The bay itself is shallow, and the natives have some silly story about the dead coming out by the light of a half-moon." He paused, perhaps remembering the last time such a silly story had been batted around. "I suppose it's entirely possible Barbossa and his crew..."

Pintel and Ragetti didn't say anything about having been there... of course, he hadn't asked them; one did not gain valuable information from either of the two without a sustained verbal battle. "Lieutenant Macey, I've a question you may find peculiar, but I would appreciate an answer."

"Commodore?"

"Just what is the crown's interest level in the Caribbean?"

Macey gaped at him. "I--I was not privy to the--"

"In the opinion of yourself, of course."

Macey stopped his stammering. "Strictly speaking, sir, so long as the trade remains fairly steady they've other things to worry about. There's talk of... well, the King has issued a Declaration of Indulgence for--"

"--so what goes on in the Caribbean is of no great concern?"

The young lieutenant nodded. "Aye, sir... well... aye. I can't speak for the crown, but there are other matters they must concern themselves with."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Gentlemen, if you will permit me to excuse myself, there's something I need to look into." Corwin saluted both of them before striding out of the mess, well aware that the two of them would no doubt discuss the peculiar questioning as soon as he was out of earshot. Gossip went hand-in-hand with sailors, particularly those trapped in port with nowhere to go.

Corwin Norrington, however, did have somewhere to go - one last stop before purgatory.

"Weeeeeeeeell, if it isn't bein' the nice Commodore again," Pintel said as Corwin stopped before their respective cells. "I don't see any offerin's on ya this time, sir."

"Did Barbossa or his crew ever have anything to do with Rudder Bay?"

"No," both men said when they saw the look on his face.

Corwin's lips curled into a feral sneer. "Answer me something, Ragetti, and answer it well if you wish to see tomorrow. The pirate Gerrarrd, what was his contact level with those outside the Caribbean?"

Ragetti curled up into a ball, his fingers squeezing into shaking fists. "I--I--" He kept looking at Pintel. Corwin slammed his hand against the side of the wall and moved closer to block his view.

"Ragetti, TALK!"

One did not become a successful officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy without some form of highly-evolved intimidation tactics. Ragetti - starving and jailed - gave in. "I don't know sir, please don't be beatin' me, 'E always had a man in port, to tell him--to tell him things!"

Corwin looked over his shoulder at Pintel, but the stout pirate seemed as surprised to hear the news as he was. "Something to say, Pintel?"

"'Ow'd ye know all this nonsense?"

"I talked wif' a man when we was trompin' through--"

"You went talkin' to strange folk?!"

Ragetti cringed. "I's sorry, Pintel, 'tweren't nothin' but a quiet word or--"

"I thought t'would be I could be trustin' ye, Rag..."

"Ye can trust me, Pintel! It were just a quiet talk!"

"Ragetti," Corwin said, "are you certain of this information? If it's wrong, so help me, you'll swing."

"I swear it t'be true, swear it on me eye! Me good eye! Don't be hangin' me!"

"Thank you, gentlemen." Corwin left them there in their dark little cells, Pintel's roaring and Ragetti's cowed pleading carrying up through the winding corridors of Fort Charles.

Ragetti may have gotten himself yet another reprieve. But if his information was correct...

"If I'm right..." Corwin mumbled aloud. "That means..."

He stopped in the corridor and stared at the stone floor, worn smooth by countless pairs of boots. It was a wild theory, a foolish one.

One that might actually be correct, if his luck continued as it had recently.

Capture a person of wealth, take the money, and put together something... something... the thought drifted away before he could grasp it, but he knew it was there - knew it by the sour taste in his mouth, knew it as he looked over his shoulder as though something watched him from the shadows.

But how could Gerrarrd have known about Relentless?

Weatherby Swann opened one eye when the book dropped, and another when the Commodore hustled him out of his chair. "Oh... my head... how long have I been asleep for... Commodore, what are you doing?"

"Arming you." He had pressed a rather impressive-looking sword into Weatherby's hands. "I'm posting double shifts of guards, and--"

"What is the meaning of all this?"

"When the ransom note comes from Gerrarrd - I beg of you, Governor, do not acquiesce to his wishes."

His jaw dropped. "But Elizabeth--"

"--is, I fear, part of a far larger plan that your money will undoubtedly be financing if Gerrarrd gets his way. Governor... I am not entirely certain as to what is underfoot - but I know - I know something is not right. I ask that you give me one week, after this bloody storm blows itself out - one week - and I will take Dauntless and get to the bottom of this."

Weatherby could only nod, baffled. The sword the Commodore had deposited into his hands was well-balanced; probably one of Turner's newer blades. His brain still slightly clouded from the nap and the previous alcohol, he saluted the younger man with the swordtip.

The Commodore ran out of the room.

Sword in-hand, Weatherby reached for another brandy, only to find the decanter drained.

"Oh, bloody hell."

The Commodore ran back in. "And Governor--"

"Yes, what now?"

"Speak not of this to anyone." Commodore Norrington shifted from side to side, as though wondering just how much to tell him. "I've reason to believe there's a traitor in our midst."

And then he was gone again.

Weatherby stifled a groan. First pirates... now traitors. What else could go wrong? No, Weatherby, don't think that, you'll jinx yourself.

The Commodore ran back in, startling Weatherby into dropping his sword. "One more thing, Governor."

"Yes?"

"You were quite right about keeping on the pirate pair. They've been... invariably useful." The Commodore inclined his head. "My compliments to you for thinking of it."

"You're welcome," Weatherby said.

With that, Commodore Corwin Norrington ran off to wherever it was he intended to go, and this time he did not come back.

Weatherby sank back into his chair.

Traitors.

A traitor...

"By the spirits, Sparrow, if you don't bring my daughter back safe..."

He closed his eyes again, but this time he folded his hands together. Please, let her be safe... let... all of them... be safe.

(Hi guys! I apologize for the lack of updates, but we've been having cable modem issues that seem to converge as soon as I try to use the internet for anything meaningful. I have 11 ready to go after this, and hopefully 12 stop fighting me and be written. I must say - you guys are amazing reviewers! I want to thank you for your support. I am going to continue this story and I hope we all have a good time on the ride. May the Force be with us!

UPDATE 8/16 - 'real' version uploaded - apparently I had two ch10 files. Who knew?)