The Draw
Jack is the kind who would sail just about anywhere, simply for the love of seafaring and the feeling of chasing a horizon. Of course, sailing the Caribbean is his ideal - warm, bright blue waters, islands to explore, the promise of the sun every morning to warm his skin. Sailing to Scotland is not quite the same. He’s wrapped his coat so tight his body in an effort to stave off the frozen winds that he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to wander across deck with half his shirt torn open. But finally, blessedly, they dock in the port of a small island. Every sailor worth his salt kisses his crucifix as they leave the Pearl; this is a place for monsters, and Tia Dalma has sent them in empty handed on some bloody errand.
The men disappear into the tavern in search of a whore desperate enough to abide their rum breath, calloused hands, and pathetic pawing. Jack would congratulate them, if they could find such a woman on an island this small. Tortuga is by no means large, but the islands of the Caribbean are not the same as islands elsewhere in this world. Jack knew that for a certain.
Unlike them, Jack took off across the island looking for the cabin Tia had described. All he had to do was get a few feathers from a raven, and then he could drink to his heart’s content, stare at the stars from the deck of the Pearl, and be on his merry way back to warmth in a matter of days. It took him time, of course, to traipse through the wild, but he found the cabin. He pocketed the compass that led him to the destination and slowly wandered closer. The best tact here, it seemed, was to act the lost sailor - only half a lie, after all. So he straightened his hat and rapped at the door of the cabin.
