Chapter 5: The Compass Pull
I woke to pain in my chest.
Not physical pain—nothing sharp or stabbing. More like pressure. A weight pulling me in a specific direction, demanding attention. The sensation had been faint last night. Now it throbbed like a second heartbeat.
The harbor district, I knew without knowing how. That's where I need to go.
I'd learned not to ignore impossible things. This world had already shown me that impossible was just another word for Tuesday.
Pierre gave me an odd look when I said I wouldn't be working today. I didn't offer an explanation. He didn't ask for one. Tortuga operated on don't-ask-don't-tell principles.
The morning streets were quieter than I'd expected. Most of the nighttime revelers had collapsed into beds or gutters. A few early merchants were setting up stalls. Dogs fought over scraps in alleyways. The Caribbean sun beat down without mercy.
I followed the pull.
It led me through winding streets I hadn't explored before, past taverns still closed and brothels just waking up. The sensation grew stronger with each step—not quite pain, but impossible to ignore. Like a rope around my ribs, drawing me forward.
What is this? Why am I—
I turned a corner and saw him.
He stood at a fruit vendor's stall, gesturing expansively with one hand while the other held a suspicious-looking banana. His clothes were elaborate and ragged at once—a captain's coat that had seen better decades, a tricorn hat at an angle that defied physics, beaded hair clicking softly in the breeze.
Jack Sparrow.
I recognized him instantly, even without the movies as reference. There was something unmistakable about the way he moved—that calculated swagger, the appearance of drunkenness masking something sharper underneath.
The pull in my chest stabilized. It wasn't dragging me forward anymore. Just... pointing. Confirming.
Him. It's connected to him.
I stood frozen, watching him argue with the vendor about the ripeness of tropical fruit. Part of me wanted to run. Whatever this connection was, it couldn't be good. Nothing in this world came without a price.
But a larger part needed to understand. Needed to know why I felt tethered to this stranger like a ship to its anchor.
"You've got a look about you, mate."
I jerked. He was looking at me now—those dark eyes far too sharp for someone who swayed like he'd been drinking since dawn. The vendor forgotten, the banana still in hand.
"The look of a man who's seen something he shouldn't," Jack continued. He moved closer, that rolling gait eating the distance between us. "Or possibly smelled something he shouldn't. Hard to tell with the general... ambiance."
He gestured vaguely at Tortuga itself.
"I'm just looking for work." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "Heard Captain Sparrow might be recruiting."
"Did you now?" Jack circled me slowly, examining like a buyer at a horse market. "And what makes you think I'm Captain Sparrow? Could be anyone. Could be his identical twin. Could be a very convincing impostor. Could be a hallucination brought on by too much rum and not enough sleep."
"Are you any of those things?"
"Absolutely not." He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the rum on his breath. "I am Captain Jack Sparrow. The genuine article. Accept no substitutes."
He thrust the banana toward me.
"You look hungry. You should eat something before you collapse. Collapsing sailors make for poor crew."
I took the banana. My hands were shaking slightly—from hunger or nerves, I couldn't tell.
The first bite was heaven. Sweet and soft and real. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed simple pleasures until that moment. The fruit dissolved on my tongue, and I had to blink back unexpected moisture in my eyes.
Get it together. He's watching.
He was. Those sharp eyes missed nothing.
"Interesting," Jack murmured. "You eat like a man who's been dead and come back. I've seen that look before. Not pleasant, coming back."
My blood ran cold.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Course you don't." He smiled—too wide, too knowing. "What's your name, sailor-looking-for-work?"
"Micke. Micke Balmond."
"Swedish?"
"Something like that."
Jack hummed thoughtfully. "Well, Micke-Something-Like-That-Balmond, you have a very peculiar air about you. Can't quite put my finger on it. Like you know things you shouldn't. See things you can't."
He leaned in. His voice dropped.
"The Caribbean is full of men like that. Some of them are blessed. Most of them are cursed. Which are you, I wonder?"
I didn't have an answer.
He stepped back, the intensity vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by theatrical lightness.
"Find Gibbs. He's doing the actual recruiting—I can't be bothered with paperwork and assessments and all that tiresome nonsense. Tell him Jack sent you."
He waggled his fingers in something approximating a wave and sauntered off, disappearing into the crowd before I could respond.
The pull in my chest didn't diminish with distance.
If anything, it grew clearer. More defined. I could sense his direction now—could have pointed to him blindfolded. The connection was permanent.
Why? The question burned. Why him? Why me? What the hell is this?
I finished the banana and went to find Gibbs.
[JACK SPARROW]
Jack watched the strange sailor from the shadow of a fishmonger's stall.
Something very wrong with that one. Very wrong indeed.
He'd met cursed men before. He'd met blessed ones too—rare as hen's teeth in the Caribbean, but they existed. This Micke fellow was neither. Or both. Or something else entirely.
Like someone wearing another man's skin, Jack thought. Like someone playing a part they don't quite know.
Interesting.
Jack had built his life on interesting. On oddities and exceptions and things that didn't fit the normal rules. A man who ate like he'd just escaped the Locker, who moved like he was still learning his own body, who looked at Jack with recognition that made no sense...
That was worth watching.
He resolved to keep the stranger close. Close enough to study. Close enough to exploit, if opportunity arose.
And close enough to throw overboard if he turned out to be more trouble than treasure.
Jack adjusted his hat and headed for the docks.
There was recruiting to supervise. Whether he'd told Gibbs about it yet or not.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1