The church bells chimed five as Commodore Norrington signed the last of the requisitions. He added it to the other papers in the dispatch-case and set it aside for the courier.

Only one task remaining. The order for Sparrow's execution sat alone on his desk. There was no need to read it again; he could have recited it aloud if he chose. Norrington picked up his pen... and set it down again.

His chair scraped against the stone floor, loud in the silence, as he rose to his feet. He paced the room, hands clasped behind him, reviewing yet again the preparations for Sparrow's hanging.

The Marines and officers on duty had been hand-picked; he flattered himself he knew his men well enough to anticipate their reactions should the scene play out as he anticipated. The time, too, had been carefully selected, with due attention to the tide. The number of civilians present should be low; the fortnight of hangings preceding Sparrow's had sated even the most vengeful of Port Royal's inhabitants. The Governor hadn't been dissuaded from bringing Elizabeth with him, but that should not be a significant problem; it might even work in their favour. Turner....

The blacksmith, having been pardoned by the Governor, was the one piece in the pattern over which he had no influence whatsoever. If only Swann had taken his advice—but the man had proven unexpectedly intransigent, on that as on all other matters. Norrington still wasn't certain what had finally convinced the Governor to pardon Turner. Brown's pleas? Elizabeth's persistence? His own attempts at persuasion had had no apparent effect at all.

There was no question, of course, which of the men was more worthy of a pardon. Turner had, until Elizabeth's kidnapping, been an honest, upstanding citizen, guilty of nothing more heinous than the usual follies all young men fall prey to. While Sparrow—

Even if the theft of the Interceptor had been somehow set aside—and he could think of no plausible reason to do so—the man's other crimes were as numerous as they were legendary. There might have been a faint chance of commutation if Sparrow had shown sufficient signs of remorse, but the pirate had been cheerfully unrepentant from first to last.

The Commodore returned to his desk and picked up his pen, signing the order with brisk precision. Sanding it generously, he carried the document to the wide, unglazed window that overlooked the courtyard. A tip of the paper, and the fine white grains slid over the ledge, where the shore-breeze caught them and whisked them away.

The light of the rising sun struck the waiting gallows, sending its shadow stretching across the courtyard. There Sparrow would be taken at noon, to meet his undeniably well-earned fate. A rescue attempt was always possible, of course. If that should come to pass...

He'd done all he could, in conscience, to tip the odds in Sparrow's favour. If the pirate didn't seize the opportunity to reclaim his freedom, Sparrow was not the man Norrington took him for.

Continue to the Jack/James Series