You fumble through the dark tunnel, eyes peering in the darkness for the exit. This was certianly a turn of events you hadn't been expecting while standing in line for the noose. After three or four more minutes of outstretched arms in the darkness, you come to a dead end. Placing your hands on the rock wall, you feel around until your fingers come across a rift in the rock face, barely wide enough for you to squeeze out through; almost makes you wonder how your rescuer (or captor?) got in here in the first place. There's another few metres of cave once through the rift until you're finally standing underneath the shadowy sky, just a pinpoint of blinding light visible over the horizon as day falls into night.
You wander slowly through the cobbled streets, thinking over the conversation you had with the governor's lackey. You're a free man now; what's to stop you from running right now, and forgetting all about the governor's task? Then you remember; he had said that there would be many eyes on you. The governor had people on your trail, and probably would right up until you stepped foot on the gangplank to the Fortune. You decide that your best option is to find the dreaded Captain Rackham and get a place on his ship. Once you had the bearings (that is, if you manage to get them) there's no reason for you to go back; the governor had no way of reaching you. Once you've made it that far, you could make a descision of where to go from there.
So, where's the best place to go for information? You wonder; no use wasting time. First, you needed to know where the Fortune was to make berth. The next, was to figure out how in the name of davy jones you were going to score yourself a position with the crew.
First stop, you decided, the local sailors pub. There was any number of shady characters there that you might be able to squeeze some information out of.
You head over to the Sleepin' Pearl, the local pub, and settle down at the bar with a pint. After about an hour, you still haven't found any prospects for questioning. You could ask the bartender, a voluptuous woman with high hair, high cheekbones and high breasts, but there's no telling how many men would know of your quest by the next morning, if you did.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a figure in the far corner of the pub, smothered in darkness, you hadn't noticed before. Had they been there the whole time? The figure wore a dark hooded cloak, the kind that says, 'absolutely not interested under any circumstances', and was cradling a near empty drink.
You think to yourself, Now I'm getting somewhere.