Disclaimer: Still own nothing from PotC.  Still wish that I did.

A/N:  Well, here it is finally, the next in my series.  I hope the wait wasn't too long, and I hope all my fantastic reviewers are still interested in my stories.  This series was started in "A Beginning" and continued in "Past and Present."  If you missed those, then you may not understand this story, so I'd recommend reading those first.  This story takes place about two years after "Past and Present," putting it three years before the movie.  Now, I won't bother you with anymore rambling, on to the story!

Prologue:

"Buried treasure? You have got to be kidding me," Prescott Tarret crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at his Captain out from beneath the brim of a hat that any pirate would envy. "Buried treasure is the stuff of children's stories, Jack."

Looking up, for the first time, from a stereotypical treasure map, complete with a large red "X," the pirate glared across the table. "Element of truth in ev'ry story, mate."

"Ah, so if I were to hear a story about a man who tied together a pair of sea turtles and rode them across the sea . . . Where exactly is the truth in that one, eh?" Prescott leaned back in his chair, throwing his hat on the table so that his self satisfied smirk was not hidden by its shadow. Jack unleashed a long suffering sigh. Rather than offering up a reply, he simply reached for the empty bottle of rum perched on the edge of his desk and hurtled it towards his unsuspecting shipmate. Ducking just in time, Prescott could not help but laugh. "This is folly, Jack, and you know it."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Scotty?" Jack questioned. "Why can't you see the beauty of doin' somthin' no one's ever done before? There's buried treasure in almost ev'ry pirate story the well to do townsfolk tell to frighten their children. Wouldn't it be great to actually find it?"

Tilting his head to one side, Prescott regarded his Captain thoughtfully. "Townsfolk make those stories up. They aren't real."

"Aren't they?" the indomitable Captain Jack Sparrow winked across the table, before crossing the room and rummaging through a trunk near the rear of his cabin. Most of the crew suspected that the choicest swag was kept in that trunk, for Jack never allowed anyone near it and it remained locked at all times. Prescott smiled ruefully, the crew may have been right, but not in the way they thought. Finally finding what he had been seeking, Jack stood up and let the heavy lid fall closed. Replacing the lock, he came back to the desk, setting a large leather bound book on it's surface. Not silver, gold or precious jewels. Books. The fact that he could read was one of Jack Sparrow's most closely guarded secrets. Sailors in general were a very superstitious lot. Pirates took superstition to an unforeseen level. According to the logic of the average buccaneer, men in the Royal Navy could read and write and therefore literacy was a trait to be feared and ultimately rejected. Jack had been a man betrayed one too many times to let slip the fact that he had the ability to decipher a book, and he certainly was not going to divulge the minor detail of his actually having served in the Navy.

"Ever 'ear of a man named Henry Morgan?" the pirate Captain asked, opening the book to an illustrated page and sliding it across the desk so that Prescott could see the picture.

Prescott stared into the pen and ink face of a man with long curly hair, an embarrassingly large moustache, and beady black eyes. "Privateer," he said simply. "Razed Panama City from what I remember."

"Aye," Sparrow nodded. "Knighted for 'is years of valuable service to the crown. Hid behind 'is commission and hanged 'undreds of his former crewmen and associates." A shadow descended over the pirates' face. Abruptly closing the book, Jack returned it to the trunk.

Prescott sighed silently. Although he feigned only a vague memory of the wildly successful privateer, everyone in the King's Navy knew exactly who Captain Henry Morgan was, Prescott included. The man had somehow obtained a commission to fight the enemies of England. His methods, though extremely cruel, were excused. His destruction of the Spanish held Panama City had gone on record as an unparalleled chaotic myriad of looting, killing, and torturing. To say nothing of the fact that he attacked the city after a treaty had been signed between Spain and England. Still, the man had the luck of the gods. Instead of being punished for his deeds, he was made lieutenant governor of the city of Montego Bay, on the island of Jamaica. He lived the remainder of his days working to suppress piracy in the Caribbean and thus betraying almost everyone who he'd ever known.

"Morgan's last request was that he be buried with his most valued treasure," said Jack, who had gone to stand in front of the window.

"And?" Prescott prompted.

"The request was carried out by 'is most faithful servant who, upon completing 'is task, returned to Morgan's estate and promptly shot 'imself." Jack turned to face his shipmate, a slightly crazed look in his eyes. "No one knows the location of 'is body."

"Fantastic," Prescott said dryly. "So, not only are we chasing after some treasure that may or may not exist, we're going to be grave robbing as well."

"Man betrayed everyone who ever called 'im friend. Doesn't deserve t'rest in peace."

Prescott pursed his lips. In the two years since he had forsaken his life as Admiral of the Fleet, he had followed Jack Sparrow into many situations that seemed utterly insane. However, instead of finding the certain death that he expected, Prescott found wealth beyond measure, a life of enjoyment, and a brother he never expected to have. Though he acted daft and drunk, Jack was a man of vast intellect. A creative genius capable of amazing both friend and foe. Still, when it came to betrayal, Jack thought with his heart, not his head. His life's quest was to reacquire that which his former friend had taken from him. The deepest circles of hell were home to betrayers and mutineers, Jack would say.

Henry Morgan was a deceitful backstabber unlike any other. Robbing him of his treasure, even after death, seemed a worthy venture to Jack, no matter how steeply the odds were stacked against him.

"So," Prescott said, resigned to the fact that Jack would go after this treasure, with or without him, and hoping that Jack would be safer with him. "What makes you think we can find Morgan's grave. Others have tried, and I don't feel that I need to remind you they've all failed."

The Cheshire cat smile spread over Sparrow's face. "Remember the man I met with las' time we're in Tortuga?"

Prescott nodded.

"E used to work for Morgan. Said that Morgan drew up a map for is servant to follow so that 'is body was buried in a precise spot," Sparrow paused, gesturing to the map on the desktop. "The servant destroyed 'is own life, but not the map."

"You're telling me that 'X' really does mark the spot?" Prescott asked, gazing skeptically at the large red mark drawn on the map. "Alright, so where're you taking me, Sparrow?"

"Port Royal."

Rising from his chair, Prescott reaffixed his hat to the top of his head. "You are insane," he declared. "I never wanted to believe the rumors, but you've given me no choice." The former officer headed towards the door, but he stopped short of exiting the Captain's cabin. Turning, he crossed the room to stand before the pirate. "You cannot possibly be serious. Port Royal is the last place we should go. James Norrington is spearheading his effort to end piracy from that very city. I will not let you sail my ship into his hands!"

"It's my ship," Jack said, taking his seat and propping his feet up on the top of his desk.

"It's not," Prescott said placing his hands on the desk. "And do not change the subject."

"Relax, Scotty. The spot's well outside of town. We'll leave Loyalty out of sight, come to shore under cover of darkness, and be gone before Norrington even knows we're there."

"Those are inspiring words. I'll try to remember them at your funeral."

Jack laughed, uncorking another bottle of rum. Pouring two glasses, he slid one across to Prescott. "To our impending success," he said.

Prescott lifted his glass. "Impending success, or doom."

88888

"So happy you deemed it necessary to leave most of the crew on the ship," Prescott said, glaring up at his Captain from where he stood, waist deep in a hole he'd dug in the sand. They had put in for shore at sunset, four hours ago, and Prescott felt no closer to finding the fabled treasure of Captain Morgan than he had two weeks ago when Jack first put forth the idea.

"Scotty, if you'd like to congratulate me on me incredible foresight, I'd appreciate if you'd wait until we were safely back on board," Jack replied.

Prescott exchanged glances with Mr. Daniels. "I'll take a turn, if you'd like?" the younger pirate offered.

Climbing out of the hole, Prescott left Daniels with the shovel, and went to stand next to Sparrow. The Captain's gaze was fixed to the east, across to the Blue Mountains. Built into the sides of those cliffs, less than five miles away, lay the city of Port Royal. The lights from the town could be seen reflecting on the water. Behind the two pirates, Loyalty lay anchored in a hidden bay. Hidden that is, until anyone decided to sail east from the harbor, then Loyalty would be a sitting duck for the Navy, East India, or even another pirate vessel.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you looked nervous," Prescott said, noting aloud the other man's rigid posture and constant fidgeting.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sparrow answered, forcing his body to relax and his fingers to be still, but his tone gave him away. The close proximity to Port Royal, and his old foe, Norrington, weighed heavily on the pirate Captain's mind. Jack often looked danger and death in the face, and laughed, but the real possibility of imprisonment and the hangman's rope were no laughing matter.

"No worries," Prescott offered. "Said yourself that we'd be gone before anyone even knew we were here." He smiled, doubting that Jack found anymore comfort in those words than he'd found when Jack said them two weeks ago.

A loud thud behind, halted any further discussion. "Found something," Daniels announced.

The three men, working together, made quick work of unearthing an ornate wooden box nearly six feet in length. The dark wood was covered with carvings, patterns from Morgan's Welsh homeland. The hinges were pure silver, imbued with tiny garnets. A silver plaque was engraved with the simple words "Rest in Peace, Captain."

"Unimaginable," Prescott breathed.

"Believe me now, mate," Jack said, as he set to work prying open the lid.

"I have to admit, Jack, that I never thought we'd find it . . . " Prescott paused, a chill suddenly entering his bones. Looking around, he suddenly felt eyes on his back. Seeing nothing, he shrugged. Probably just the Lord looking down from on high and shaking his head in seeing to what level the once honorable Prescott Tarret had been reduced. "Do you really intend to disturb the man's final resting place," Prescott said, as Jack broke one of the hinges.

Jack stopped and laid his ear to the lid of the coffin. "I don't hear 'im rollin' over," he said in mock seriousness.

Daniels laughed, despite Prescott's sharp glare.

Prescott rolled his eyes. "Fine, desecrate his grave. Don't let me stop you."

The second hinge broke beneath Sparrow's blade. "I have no intention of lettin' you stop me," he said, triumphantly. "Now, 'elp me get this top off."

Sighing, Prescott stepped forward. He, Sparrow, and Daniels pushed the lid from the box down to the ground, swirls of sand swirled up from the beach, momentarily obscuring the contents of the coffin. Grimacing, Prescott covered his nose with his arm. The stench that immediately filled the air left no doubt as to what was contained in the box. Waving away the clouds of sand, Sparrow reached into the box. Rising to his feet, the Captain revealed his treasure to Prescott . . . a bottle.

"That is a bottle of rum," Prescott said, his voice low and feral.

The pirate nodded.

"Sparrow if you dragged me across the sea, mere miles away from a pirate's worst enemy, for a bottle of rum, Norrington will be the least of your worries because I'll kill you myself."

Holding the bottle out to his shipmate, Jack said, "taste it."

"I don't want to taste it," Prescott growled.

"Just try it."

Snatching the bottle away from his crazed Captain, Prescott was surprised not to hear the sloshing of liquid. Instead, something within the bottle rattled. Raising his brow, Prescott eyed Sparrow. "Break it open," the pirate instructed. Shrugging, Prescott threw the bottle down against the coffin. The glass shattered into countless pieces and disappeared amongst the sand, leaving behind the largest gemstone he had ever seen. "The Heart of Captain Morgan," Sparrow said.

"Ruby?" Prescott asked.

"Aye, the largest in the world," the pirate picked up the stone and held it up in the moonlight. "Priceless."

"Not true," came an unfamiliar voice from behind. "You lads'll pay for it with your lives."

TBC

a/n:  Yes, yes another note.  Just in case anyone is wondering, all the stuff about Captain Morgan is historically accurate, except the part about the ruby, that I made up.  I didn't do exhaustive research, but the location of Morgan's grave is/was unknown.  He was rumored to be buried in Port Royal.  In 1692, the city was destroyed by an earthquake.  Morgan's tomb was lost beneath the rubble.  It's location was forever hidden to everyone but those who already knew where it was :-)  Anyway, as always, I live for feedback, so please let me know what you think.  And, stay tuned, Anamaria returns next chapter. --Ariana/Holliday1081