Author: Ebony
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: You/Jack
Categories: Action/Adventure, Romance

Disclaimer: You know the drill; PotC and all the characters, locations etc. belong to Disney and Bruckheimer Productions. Ebony (still) owns nothing, except the OC’s and her obsession over Captain Jack Sparrow.

Summary: You're a temperamental barmaid in Tortuga who happens to acquire a pretty golden coin one night while working. Suddenly there are ugly, mean pirates chasing after you, and they want your coin by any means necessary. And like that isn’t enough, there’s also a certain eccentric bird after the same coin, too… Pre-PotC.

Author's note: "There be the chest. Inside be the gold. And we took 'em all! We spent ‘em and traded ‘em and frittered ‘em away on drink and food and pleasurable company."

So, exactly where did Barbossa and his pirates got all the coins back from…? This is one scenario. I couldn’t get this bloody idea out of my head! So I had to write it, despite having No Quarter Given in the works as well. This will be a short story, around ten chapters or so, if even that. I think. Feedback is always appreciated, thank you.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 1 - All That Shines...

“That barrel ain’t gonna fill by itself, y’know!”

You give Jonah, your boss, a wry look and an unenthusiastic wave of your hand, signaling that you heard him and would take care of it. Sometime after your break, that is. Jonah huffs in annoyance and shakes his head so that his shaggy sideburns wave. Or are those actually part of his beard? Well, anyhow, you’re taking your luxurious ten minute break now, and you’ll be damned if you change any barrels during it!

Jonah obviously decides that he could stand there jabbering to you for the whole evening and you still wouldn’t lift your arse off the bench you’re sitting on, and trudges off to pester the other barmaids. You watch with a small amount of pity as Jonah berates the new girl with curly, dark blonde hair about something; the poor lass probably isn’t even nineteen yet. She was hired a few weeks ago, and she’s already all set to run away in tears, by the looks of it. She’s one of those oh-so-tragic young lasses that are, by some reason or another, “forced” to take up the occupation of a barmaid to make money so they can get away from Tortuga and pursue a better life.

Oh yeah, you’d heard that story more times than you care to remember. Another plausible profession here in the glorious pit of wretches, whores and thieves, also known as Tortuga, would be a prostitute. Not surprisingly, the girls always try the barmaid, first.

You’ve been a barmaid in the Faithful Bride for three years now, and you’ve lived in Tortuga for your entire twenty-four years. Really, you can’t understand what was so bad in the town. It’s not as wretched as everyone (everyone except the pirates, thieves, other assorted crooks and whores) made it out to be. All you needed was a bit of street-savvy, self-confidence and stubbornness, and you’d do just fine here. Luckily you had lots of all of them, especially stubbornness. That one you had maybe a bit too much in you… Some knowledge in self-defense was a plus here, too. You were not skilled with a cutlass or anything like that, but relied mostly on your wits and if needed be, fists.

You were usually quite easy-going lass, but when you got truly angry, the ones on your bad side needed to watch out; your temper was a bit fiery and when it really flared, one could almost see the sparks fly around. That’s why some people had started calling you “Sparks”, and the name had stuck. You thought the name was rather silly, but on the other hand there were worse names to be called, so you didn’t mind it overly much.

Anyway, your life in Tortuga wasn’t bad. It wasn’t tragic or depressing; on the contrary, you actually rather liked the unique ambiance around the town and especially the Faithful Bride tavern. You got so see a lot of interesting people and heard some amazing stories every night. Sure, you did get pinched and groped every once in the while, mostly by the drunken old sods, but a nasty glare or a stinging slap corrected the situation quickly. Although, that sort of thing had lessened considerably after you'd smacked one poor bastards eye black after he'd gotten a bit too friendly for comfort.

Exhaling slowly, you roll your neck a bit, rubbing the sore muscles with your hand. Your break was almost over and you’d have to get back to work soon. Your shift ended at ten tonight, and you still had a few hours left; it was nearly eight o’clock. Few more hours of serving drinks and wiping tables and you’d get to go home, where your comfy bed and a small potted plant with few lousy leaves left in it were waiting for you. There was no place like home, indeed.

“Yer break is over ye lout, git up!” Faye suddenly screeches somewhere next to you, making you jump slightly.

Faye was an older woman, somewhere around her late forties, who always wore much too small dresses and garish make up on her face. She was a regular slave driver and often bossed the other women around like she owned the place, even though she was but a barmaid herself. Yes, she made damn sure everyone was working, but lazed around herself all days. She just looked busy every time Jonah was around to keep up the illusion she was actually doing something useful. When Jonah was gone, she went on mocking and criticizing the other maids and ogling the male patrons of the tavern. It was quite the understatement to say that you didn’t much care for the woman.

“Alright, alright!” you snap with a glare at Faye’s retreating back, muttering less than flattering comments under your breath as you slowly stand up.

Remembering the empty rum barrel, you traipse unhurriedly over the short row of barrels behind the counter. Spotting the new girl standing near the barrels looking quite fidgety, you march over and tap her on the shoulder, beckoning her to follow you. “Help me with this barrel, will ye?”

The girl nods quickly in agreement and follows you mutely, though she doesn’t lose the nervous look. How in blazes has she survived for this long, anyway, being so timid? Curiosity gets the best of you, and you ask her how she ended up in the Bride as you two lug the empty barrel in the back room.

“Well, I- I met this lad a few months ago,” she starts quietly, fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress as she talks.

You can already guess the rest. “He got you to trust himself and promised to get both of you out of here to live a better life. Then he took what little money you had and disappeared, leaving you with nothing?” you say, leaning your elbow on the nearby shelf as you look at the smaller girl inquisitively.

“How’d you know?” she asks, awed.

You roll your eyes. “Same old story, only with new people,” you reply shortly. “What’s your name, by the way?” You’d been introduced when the girl had started working in the Bride, but you honestly couldn’t remember her name; she was so quiet you sometimes tended to forget she even existed.

The girl looks down and responds softly, “Sophia.”

“Well, Sophia,” you start, straightening up. “We’d better get the full barrel over there before Jonah starts warbling again.”

After some moments, you and Sophia manage to replace the empty barrel with the full, considerably heavier one, and you again feel like taking a break. You’ve been incredibly tired for the whole evening, and just want to get back home and collapse on your bed. Unfortunately, it’s only half past eight. With a sigh, you pick up a round, wooden tray under the counter and pile the tankards of ale and rum on top of it as Jonah fills them up.

“Those are fer table seven, and the ale is fer five,” Jonah grunts and you nod curtly, picking up the tray and navigating your way thought the crowd towards the tables while making sure not to spill the drinks.

Table seven is filled with half-drunken, bearded men who laugh boisterously at some raucous story one of them just told the rest, and you place the pints on the table quickly with a smile and hurry away before they manage to leer at you and make suggestive comments. Heading towards table five, you notice that only one grungy looking man is occupying the said table, leaning his elbow on the tabletop and resting his cheek on his fist. You approach him and set the ale in front of him.

“There ye go, mate,” you say cheerily, hoping to brighten the older man up a bit. He seems sad.

The man blinks and looks up to you, his eyes bleary and watery. His beard is shabby and thin but he has thick eyebrows. He’s face and hands are smudged with dirt. His clothing is also dirty and full of tears and holes. “Thank ye lass,” he says despondently, hanging his head slightly. “It be nice of you to bring drink to a dyin’ man…”

What was he talking about? Dying? He seems perfectly fine. Oh no, he wasn’t about to kill himself here, was he? Damn it! This was just your typical luck, a depressed, suicidal old man... at times like this, you detested this job. When people got drunk, they sometimes get the most absurd notions and ideas in their head.

“Now, now, sir,” you say, hoping to distract him from such thoughts. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. Why, you look like just dandy! There’s no need to be talking about dying, is there?”

“Nay, I’m as good as dead already, lass…” he man mumbles, but grabs the pint in his hand. “Cursed bastards...” he mutters before taking a drink.

You’re not quite sure whom he meant by that, and tuck the empty tray under your arm, unsure if you should leave the man alone or stick around for a moment to make sure he wasn't trying to do anything silly.

“Sir, are you feeling alright?” you ask after a moment, cocking your head slightly.

“Would ye do an old man a favor? Sit down with me fer a moment, will you?” the man pleads. “I’ll repay you fer the trouble.”

Ah, the magic word. “Of course,” you smile, seating yourself on the chair on the other side of the table. It may sound callous, but any extra income was very much welcomed to you. Your pay in the tavern wasn’t exactly huge.

“Why do you say you’re as good as dead?” you ask the man when he doesn’t speak, but just sips on his ale mutely.

“Aye, that be a long story,” the man finally says slowly. “They’re already lookin’ fer me. I stole from ‘em. But it don’t matter none, lass, I’m already dyin’ inside. Don’t matter at all…”

The man’s incoherent mutterings are quite confusing and frankly, you don’t really understand him. Still, you nod your head like you would.

“Who’s looking for you?” you coax, hoping to make something out of the man’s rambling.

“Those cursed bastards,” he replies, and you notice his speech is slightly slurred. The poor sod must be drunker than you initially thought and making things up.

“I see,” you say in understanding tone. “So, why are they cursed?” Hey, you might as well entertain yourself for a moment before Jonah or Faye notices that you were slacking off.

The man suddenly belches, and you scrunch up your nose. “This isn’t a particularly good day for you, is it?” you ask, mild amusement coloring your voice.

“The curse… is ‘orrible,” the man says, ignoring your attempt at levity. “Aye, that it is. Bones an’ skulls…”

“Right,” you agree with a nod. “Horrible. Quite right.” You bite your bottom lip to keep from sighing. The poor man was delirious. This was just one of those days, apparently…

“’Ere, lass!” he abruptly exclaims, digging something from his pocket. You follow his actions warily, suspicious of the sudden change in his mood.

The man is holding something in his closed fist, and before you realize it, he grabs hold of your palm that had been resting over the table. You startle and try to pull your hand out of his grasp, but the man quickly slants something cold on your palm and lets go hastily. You blink in surprise, holding out your hand and looking at the small, round object lying on your palm.

It’s a coin, made of pure gold as far as you can see.

Blinking again, you stare at the coin in wonder and turn it over in your fingers. Crafted on one side of the coin is a skull that looks almost malicious, like its sneering up at you. Decorative little symbols circles the edges of the coin surrounding the skull. You flip the coin over, curious to see the other side. The same engravings fill the other side as well, but there’s no skull in the middle; only some lines. Absent-mindedly you wipe your thumb across the cool surface of the coin, the uneven texture scraping lightly against the digit.

You frown, glancing at the man in question. “What’s this?”

The man smiles slightly, almost sadly. “Your reward fer sittin’ with me, lass.”

You arch your brows incredulously. “You’re actually giving me this?”

“Aye,” the man slurs, and starts to get up. “It’s yers now. I ‘ave to go… before they come…” he mumbles to himself. “Thank ye, lass… you jest did me a huge favor,” he says with a fleeting look at you, before starting to wobble out of the tavern.

You stare after the weird old man until he disappears in the crowd, the golden coin still weighing on your palm. Looking down at it, you flip it over idly a few times. The skull looks kind of eerie, but the overall design of the coin is rather beautiful. On a whim, you bring the coin up to your mouth and bite it. Feeling stupid, you quickly lower your hand.

A slow, victorious grin spreads to your lips as you realize that the coin is worth more than weeks (hell, try months!) of your regular salary in the Bride! Bloody perfect! Maybe you could sell the thing for a good price and get yourself a better apartment that the small rat hole you were living in currently. And maybe there’d even be enough left after that to buy some badly needed new clothes and other essentials like that…

With thoughts of what you might do with the money you’d get from the coin running through your head, you stuff the bit of gold in question inside the bodice of your dress, flinching slightly as the cold metal hits your warm skin. But that was a certain place to keep it safe. Feeling considerably more joyous than an hour ago, you get up and make you way back behind the bar, where Jonah is bossing the other girls around, even Faye. But not even his sour face could bring you down now; you just became rich!

Oh, if only you knew how much of a nuisance that little coin would yet turn out to be…

* * * * *

CHAPTER 2 - Winds of Misfortune

“Here ye go,” you say lightly with a quick grin as you give another man his pint of ale from your lace behind the counter. The man grabs the pint greedily from you and trudges off without so much as thanks, but then again you’re used to very few people here actually having manners.

After your meeting with the odd geezer who just gave you a valuable golden coin for sitting with him for a couple of minutes, your mood has lifted considerably. Not even Faye’s spiteful snarling has gotten you irritated and grumpy like they usually do and you were extremely gleeful to see the wicked witch falter and get puzzled when you didn’t proceed to counterattack, like you normally did.

Faye had gotten tired trying to get a rise out of you, and so she’d turned her attention to the other girls, mainly poor Sophia who was too sensitive to say anything back. You started thinking you had maybe done Sophia a disservice by ignoring Faye, seeing as Faye was now bullying her. You could take Faye’s bitchiness and retort just as stingingly, but Sophia obviously could not. Oh well… she needs to start sticking up for herself if she was going to survive, that was the harsh truth.

A moment of peace (if one was to be found in a tavern full of drunken, rowdy people) descends behind the bar counter as Jonah suddenly hobbles from the backroom where he usually tended to dwell while you and the rest of the maids worked. You watch in slight distaste as Faye immediately shuts up and wanders away from the distressed Sophia, starting to pick up empty tankards and mugs from the counter like she’d been doing that all along. You shake your head slowly; someday Faye was going to get what was coming to her, and you hoped to be around to see that particular day.

As Jonah starts to warble about something, directing his words to Sophie and another maid named Caroline, you turn back to glance over the counter, watching the people milling about the tavern. It was a normal night; mostly drunken men were littering the tables and floors, laughing, arguing, occasionally breaking things and then drinking some more, while few whores in revealing dresses were prowling about, in search of customers.

One of the prostitutes was making her way towards the bar, dressed in elaborate yellowish dress with frilly sleeves and plunging neckline, as usual. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head, and she wore perhaps a bit too much rouge on her lips and blush on her cheeks. But you made no comment about this as she seated herself daintily on one of the stools, sighing dramatically.

“’Ello, Gisele,” you greet her with a small nod of your head. “Busy night?”

“I wish it were, Sparks,” Gisele sighs again, her voice nasal and high. “That redheaded bitch has been stealin’ all my regulars, again! Can you believe it?!”

“Hmm,” you hum noncommittally, slightly amused by Gisele’s griping about a certain other prostitute, Scarlett, if you remember her name correctly. The two weren’t exactly best friends. “You want your usual?” you ask her, already picking up a small glass from the shelf located under the counter.

“I’d kill for one about now,” Gisele says with a roll of her eyes, and you pour her some of that disgustingly sweet liqueur she so adores.

“No need for that,” you reply wryly as you place the glass in front of her. “Just let me hear that merry clinking and everyone’s happy.”

In response, Gisele digs up a few shillings from her purse and drops them on the counter, the coins clinking gently as they hit the wooden counter. “That’s the tune,” you murmur to yourself and gather the coins as Gisele takes a sip of the dark brown liquid.

Looking around again, you see that Sophia is serving drinks to the same table as you did before meeting that old man. The table is full of leering men, and Sophie is looking ready to bolt as one of the men says something to her. She finally gets all the drinks on the table and tries to leave, but one of the men pulls her into his lap. She looks positively terrified, trying to struggle off of the man grasp. Damn it, you knew this would happen sooner or later. You’re wondering whether or not to go there and intervene. Forget it, you tell yourself. Just mind your own business, she can handle herself…

Gisele follows your gaze and smirks. “Ah, the new gal is already havin’ fun.”

You give Gisele a nasty look, but she doesn’t notice it, being too busy watching the scene.

Gisele snorts at the sight and turns back to look at you. “Though it looks like the fellow is havin’ more fun that ‘er.”

“No kidding?” you reply sarcastically, catching the fleeting look of pleading Sophia sends towards the bar.

With a sigh, you roll your eyes in frustration. Cursing in your mind, you pick up a pint and fill it with rum, knowing this’ll be taken out of your own pocket. Determinately, you circle around the counter and stride towards the man holding onto the squirming Sophia. You don’t really understand why you’re doing this. Maybe you’re going soft or something.

“C’mon girlie, give ole Barry a kiss!” the man holding Sophia laughs and tries to kiss her.

“Hey!” you bark, and the guy, Barry, actually jumps a little, his head snapping up to look at you. His eyes are wide with surprise, while Sophia looks relieved.

“The barmaids aren’t here for you louts to feel up!” you snap icily, leveling a glare at Barry. Before he gets to reply, you grab Sophia’s arm and pull her up from his lap, and she quickly steps behind you.

“Take a drink to cool down, but keep your damn filthy hands off of the girls. Am I making myself clear?” you demand with your best no-nonsense tone while slamming the pint on the table.

Barry looks completely baffled, opening and closing his mouth feebly a couple of times. “Uh, a-aye. Perfectly clear,” he stammers after a moment, grabbing the pint with one hand in subdued way.

“The same goes to the rest of you,” you remind sternly, sweeping your gaze over the rest of the men. Some men mumble something resembling agreement and some raise their hands in surrender, nodding. You shake your head and turn around, almost running into Sophia who had been cowering behind your back.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, her big blue eyes shining with gratitude.

“Yeah,” you just say noncommittally, giving her a light shove to get her to move along.

Dodging the patrons, you make your way back behind the counter, telling Sophia to stay there for the rest of the night if she possibly can and just pour drinks. She does so, thanking you again. You sigh and shake your head. That girl just wasn’t cut for this job, at all.

“Sparks to the rescue, eh?” Gisele giggles at her own crack, sipping at her drink.

“Gisele, do us a favor and just shut up,” you say while starting to clean the counter with a rag, fed up with her smirking and high-pitched voice.

“Touchy, touchy,” she huffs and quickly downs the rest of her drink before sliding down from the stool and trotting away without a word.

“Good riddance,” you mutter under your breath and put away the rag, glancing at the clock. Only half an hour until your shift would end, thank goodness. Ana was supposed to take over your place at ten o’clock sharp, and you could finally go home and get some sleep.

Remembering the coin, you slap your hand over your chest, patting the fabric as you try to locate the coin. Your heart skips a beat when you can seem to find it, and quickly stretch the neckline of your dress a tiny bit with you finger and peek down. You finally locate the coin and exhale slowly, relived. You notice that few guys close to the counter have taken a lot of interest in your behavior and you give them an annoyed look. They quickly go back to their drinks. Well, suppose it did look odd to feel your chest and gaze down at your dress… oh well, no matter. People already think of you somewhat odd, so who cares.

Seeing as nobody is requiring service at the moment, you get lost in your own thoughts again. A grin spreads to your lips as think of the coin and all the cash you'd get from it, and you don't even notice Ana coming your way until she pats you forcefully on your back in a friendly way that emits a cough from you. She honestly doesn't know her own strength!

"What's got ye so cheery, Sparks? Have ye gotten laid?" she grins impishly, cocking her head inquisitively.

"Ha ha, Anamaria, you're a real riot," you say wryly while crossing your arms over your chest, looking at the mulatto woman you've known for years. She was dressed in a simple white shirt and a black, slightly tattered skirt, as Jonah didn't allow the maids to wear pants, which was annoying; you'd rather wear pants and shirts than dresses, as well.

Anamaria worked in the Bride from time to time. She had her own boat, and mostly did some fishing and selling them in the market, but she sometimes she worked a shift or two in the tavern if other business was slow. Anamaria was also a fair thief, and the best pickpocket you knew. She was one of your few friends you really respected; she took no bullshit from no one, especially from men. Everyone in the tavern knew not to mess with her, for they knew Anamaria would waste no time to slap them silly if they did. Not even Faye dared to bad-mouth her as much as she did everyone else.

Yet, you sometimes wondered why Anamaria bothered with fishing and all that, when she could've easily become a pirate or something alike; she was a good sailor, and knew how to use a cutlass. Plus, she certainly had the correct attitude for it. But you were really grateful that she was around.

"Aye, I know that. So did you?" Anamaria persists, her dark brown eyes narrowing slightly.

"No, I didn't," you give up, knowing that either one of you had to, and it wasn't going to be Anamaria. You dig up the golden coin from your bodice and show it to Ana. "It's something better. Some old man gave this to me earlier. Pure gold, Ana."

Anamaria takes the coin from you, frowning in thought as she inspects it. "That it certainly is… and he gave it to you, just like that? Why?"

You shrug. "He asked me to sit with him for a moment when I brought him his drink. I did, and the started babbling some nonsense about curses and bones, and odd stuff like that. Then he gave this to me and left."

Anamaria glances at you, and then looks at the coin again. "Curses? Y'know, something about this thing feels familiar, like I've heard of it before… can't remember what exactly, though."

"Oh?" you ask as Ana gives the coin back. You glance fleetingly at the skull sneering up at you, before looking back at the other woman. "But curses are just fables! Ghost stories to scare kids, aren't they? I mean, what harm could this bit of gold do?" you say with a small smirk, stuffing the coin back in your bodice.

"You're probably right 'bout that," Anamaria agrees. "Still, it's pretty strange the man just gave you a valuable piece like that."

You have to agree with that, but who were you to argue with the man's wishes? "Aye. But anyhow, it's mine now. I was thinking about selling it and buying a better apartment with the money…"

Anamaria nods. "Sounds sensible. Though, buying a ship might be more reasonable, y'know…" she trails off nonchalantly, and you roll you eyes.

"Anamaria, haven't we been through this?" you ask with a small smile, amused.

"Just think about it! You and me, we could make a whole lots of money with a proper ship."

You snort. "Yeah, especially when I don't know the first thing about sailing or fishing for that matter."

"I'd get us some help, you wouldn't 'ave to sail."

You give Anamaria a wry look. "Then what would I do? Sit around and idle? Besides, fishes stink."

Anamaria sighs. "Well, there's always pirating?"

"Anamaria, I repeat; I don't know the first thing about sailing. Or how to wield a cutlass. Or any blade at that," you reply wryly. "And I'd probably get seasick."

"You're hopeless!" Anamaria exclaims, throwing her hands up.

"Funny, that's exactly what my mum said the last time I saw her…" you say in amusement.

"Aw, get outta here already!" Anamaria snaps humorously, giving you a light shove on your shoulder and smiling. "I'll see ye tomorrow."

"Gladly," you say with a meaningful glance towards Faye and Jonah. "Just so you know, Faye's snappier tonight than a bear shot in the ass."

"Interestin' analogy," Anamaria grins. "Don't worry, I can handle that bitter old wench anytime."

Just as you're about to leave, Caroline, one of the barmaids, comes up to you and Anamaria.

"Have you heard the news?" she asks, both excitement and trepidation in her voice.

Anamaria merely arches her brows in question, and you ask, "Heard what?"

Caroline glances around quickly, lowering her tone. "They say someone spotted the Black Pearl near Tortuga!"

You raise your brows, glancing at Anamaria. "Are you sure?"

Caroline nods, her green eyes wide. "So they say. Oh, what if they come here?"

You could understand Caroline's worry. The Black Pearl was the most feared pirate ship in the Caribbean that had been preying on ships and settlements for years, and her crew was merciless. You'd heard many tales of Captain Barbossa and his miscreants, as well as the rumors of Barbossa committing a mutiny against the original Captain. That struck you as somewhat of spinelessness on Barbossa's part, but suppose pirates were a lot with no morals. And now that said lot had been sighted near Tortuga.

There were stories of the Black Pearl being crewed by the damned, but you'd never really believed such outrageous tales. You persisted on the fact that there were no such things as curses. But you did believe that the crew of the Pearl was cruel and heartless, and you didn't exactly wish to run into any of them. But what did they want from Tortuga? You doubt that they were about to attack the town, that would make absolutely no sense. Supplies, possibly? But would the so-called damned crew need supplies, then… shaking your head at the stupid idea, you glance at Anamaria for her opinion.

"If they come, then they come, who's going to stop 'em? I would think they're no different than other pirates, they're after drinks and whores," Anamaria replies evenly, shrugging her shoulders. Obviously she neither believed in the stories about the curse.

Caroline still looks a bit uneasy, and you almost sigh again in frustration. "Do you want me to stick around for a bit longer…?" you offer, unable to believe what a goody two shoes you've turned into tonight.

"No," Anamaria says adamantly. "You're going home to get some sleep, you look like you could use it."

"Damn, I was hoping you'd say that," you grin, thankful.

"Aye, aye, now go," Anamaria shoos and you laugh, starting to make your way towards the entrance after bidding good night to the other few maids you liked. For some reason, that didn't include Faye.

* * * *

It's windy as you step outside in the dark night, turning left and starting to walk along the sandy streets. All the signs of rain were in the air and you quickened your pace, wanting to reach the shelter of your home before that. However, the prospect of bad weather did nothing to subdue the general Tortugan nightlife; people kept on swaggering drunkenly, fighting, laughing and just being loud. Gunshots, blades clanging together and the sounds of bottles being broken could be heard every now and then, mostly coming from the numerous bars and taverns cluttering the island.

A sudden, cold gust of wind blows from the sea, howling eerily as it shakes the branches of different trees and tears at your hair, penetrating through the fabric of your black dress and making you shiver. The flaming torches it along the streets flutter and some nearly die out totally as the wind rushes through the city. What a bloody wretched night it was turning out to be!

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you keep going, fighting against the rough gusts that sweep over the town. A stray cat runs across the street in front of you, making you startle slightly. Wondering if it was the news about the Black Pearl or the creepy weather that suddenly had you so edgy, you shake your head tiredly and keep walking. As you make your way along the streets, you suddenly have the most peculiar feeling, as if somebody was watching you.

Stopping, you quickly glance over your shoulder to look behind you. Nobody is there. In fact, the street is deserted all the way down to the remote junction where the street split in two, to left and to right. The street was oddly quiet, considering this was Tortuga. Only faint noises carried down to where you were standing from the other parts of the town. The houses alongside the street are mostly dark, with only some windows on the upper floors illuminated by flickering candlelight. There were some shops in the floors on the street level, but those were all closed by now, the display windows dark.

Uneasy shiver runs down your spine, and you pick up your feet again, quickening your strides. You turn right from the next intersection, passing another dark store. Something in the air is making you feel very perturbed, and you have a feeling something is about to happen. And you're not at all sure if it's going to be good.

Suddenly, you feel pain on your left upper arm as someone grabs it tightly, and before you can even comprehend it, you're pulled in the dark shadows of an alleyway you were passing, your back slamming forcefully against a cold stonewall of the building on the other side of the alley. A gasp of pain escapes your lips at the contact, but that's all your mouth manages to produce before a large hand is clamped over your throat, squeezing hard enough to hinder your breathing. Out of instinct, you grab the assailant's wrist with both hands, trying to pry it off. Two dirty, smelly men clad in tattered clothes are standing in front of you, the shorter, stockier one of them holding you down. Angered and worried for your safety, you try to kick them and scratch the man's wrist with your nails.

"Feisty lass," the taller, lanky man with wooden eye giggles, glancing at the shorter, half-bald man.

"Wouldn't do tha' if I were ye," the man holding you growls warningly, tightening his grip of your windpipe slightly and lifting his hand so that you have to stand on your toes to relieve the pressure around your neck.

You cease struggling, but keep grabbing his thick wrist. "What the hell d'you want?" you manage to rasp out, feeling your circulation being cut off and the blood going in your head.

The taller man giggles again, obviously liking the show. The shorter one gives his companion a quick glare that silences him quickly, and turns to regard you again.

"I think ye know what we want, poppet," he says slowly with rather unkind smile, giving you a glimpse of his disgustingly brown, decaying teeth. "And if ye want to keep yer head on your shoulders, you'd best give it to us without a fuss."

You struggle to draw in breath, having absolutely no idea what the men want from you. What 'it'?

"I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about, you scurvy bastard," you hiss brokenly, glaring at the man who does the talking. You notice faintly that you're swearing quite a lot, but then again you think you're entitled to in a situation like this.

The stocky man narrows his sickly, yellowed eyes at you in evil manner, and the lanky one fidgets a bit. "Let's take 'er to the Captain! He'll make her talk," he suggests eagerly, glancing at you with glee.

Captain? You puzzle at this for a moment, but the uncomfortable, painful squeezing isn't making your thought process run very smoothly.

"We don't need the Captain fer this!" the shorter one hisses in fed up manner to the taller man, who cowers back just a bit by the scold. The stocky man turns his head to look at you again, smiling. It's not a nice smile.

"E'eryone knows people are easier to search when they're dead, aye?"

Only now you notice that the both carry blades on their hips, and the stocky man unsheathes his. It's a cutlass. He brings the tip of the blade closer to your face, and your eyes are drawn to it. The man tightens his hold of your throat again, and you close your eyes in pain, gasping and sinking your nails in his wrist in a last feeble try to save yourself while you wait in shocked numbness for the fateful assault. There's nothing you can do, the man is holding you so tightly you're moments away from passing out from the lack of oxygen, and your feet only barely touch the ground. Damn, hell, shit! You should've just stayed in the Bride for a while longer… this wasn't exactly the way you imagined you'd be leaving this life.

What happens next throws you completely off guard. Suddenly, there's a sound of a bottle being broken somewhere very close to you, and a distinctive slumping as someone falls down. Almost immediately you hear a loud thump and a sickening crack of something hard hitting flesh, and the pressure around your neck vanishes. You fall down on your knees and cough, your lungs greedily gasping for air, your head dizzy from the strangling. Glancing up, you blink rapidly to clear your slightly hazy vision. You frown in puzzlement as you see an odd figure standing only some feet away from you, sheathing his blade.

"Twisted logic, mate," the stranger remarks in low, smooth voice while glancing at the two very much unconscious men with distaste. There are shards of glass littering the ground around lanky man, and the stocky man has a visible bump already forming on the back of his head.

At loss, you look up at the mysterious man who most likely just saved your life, and realize that he's actually peering down at you inquisitively with dark eyes, his downright outlandish hair seemingly protruding out under the confines of his hat and hanging down his shoulders in what look like long, thick strings in the darkness of the alley.

"You alright there, luv?"

* * * * *

CHAPTER 3 - Sparrow, Starling, Whatever

"Huh?" you hear yourself grunt in confusion, your voice hoarse from the abuse of your throat.

The man shifts his weight on one foot in restless manner. "I asked you if ye were alright," he repeats slowly.

Coughing, you rub your sore throat with your hand a bit. You're only now starting to understand that you weren't going to die after all. You have no idea where did the mysterious man suddenly appear in a nick of time to aid you, but you're damn grateful he did. He smashed a bottle of some sort over the taller man's head and apparently hit the stockier one with the handle of his cutlass.

"I'm... still alive," you finally rasp out, clearing your throat. "So that's alright enough, I think..."

The stranger chuckles quietly, the hems of his long overcoat swaying as he steps over the stocky man lying between you, his booted feet coming to rest in front of you.

"C'mon. Up ye go," he says, grabbing your arms gently and helping you stand up.

Regaining your footing, you give the man a quick once-over. What you could make out in the dark, he certainly had a unique style to him. Long boots, dark overcoat with a white shirt underneath, messy dark hair that you couldn't quite figure out, (it seems like there's a bit of something extra in there) and a tri-corn hat perched on his head. A scarf that's tied over his forehead peeks out slightly under the hat, and his eyes are probably brown (then again, it's dark in the alley so you aren't sure) and there seemed to be something dark smudged around his lids; kohl, you guessed. Facial hair; dark moustaches and a bit of a beard on his chin that is seemingly divided into two tiny plaits. Again, rather odd style.

He's noticeably taller than you, but then again most men and even women were; you weren't exactly a giant, having only barely grown to reach around 5'4 during your teenage years. Your strange savior beats you there with at least five inches.

Suddenly remembering the blade hanging on his hip, your gratefulness turns into suspiciousness. Sailors used kohl around their eyes to cut down the glare of the sun, as did pirates. And this man didn't look anything like a normal sailor, that one was damn sure!

"You're a pirate," you state, unconsciously taking a wary half step back until the cold wall is against your back again. "Aren't you…?"

"Good guess. That'd be correct, luv," the eccentric man replies evenly, and your slight trepidation is replaced with irritation at the way he addresses you.

"I'm not your 'Luv.' I have a name," you say rather breezily. You wonder why had a pirate saved you from the two men who, you presumed, were also pirates. Something in this situation seemed a bit off.

The man only grins at your tone, his surprisingly clean teeth visible even in the dimness as he crosses his arms over his chest. "That ye probably do, but if I recall rightly you haven't yet given it to me. Therefore, I have nothin' else to call you but 'luv'. Luv," he adds as to irritate you further. What a bloody smart aleck…

You pay attention to the unusual accent in his deep, gravelly voice. Actually, it's not really an accent, but more like a slight slur in his voice, as if he's slightly tipsy. He drops off some ends and beginnings of the words here and there, but others he pronounces perfectly. Rather unlike way of speech for a pirate.

You cross your arms as well, feeling your habitual stubbornness creeping out. Raising your eyebrow skeptically, you ask him, "Why would I give my name to a pirate?"

"Well, if we bear in mind that I did just save you from gettin' beheaded, we might consider it your way of repayin' me," he answers glibly and smirks in decidedly smug way.

"I see," you say. "Well, as thankful for your help as I am, I'd be more interested to know exactly why did you save me, in the first place?"

"Why did I save you?" he repeats, slightly disbelieving edge in his tone. He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for you to elaborate or make a comment. When you keep quiet, he goes on. "I have me reasons…"

You hum in unimpressed manner. "Name one."

"I might just do that if ye play nicely, but not 'ere," he retorts, glancing down at the unconscious pair. "Wouldn't want these nice fellows here to wake up, now would you?" he states rather than asks.

He unfolds his arms and takes a step towards the opposite end of the alley, but not before grabbing your wrist and pulling you with him. Damn, he sure is stronger than he looks!

"Hey now, whoa! Wait just a damn minute, mister!" you protest as you're dragged along with him.

You dig your heels in the ground to slow the grabby pirate down. It doesn't exactly work like you hoped it would; he keeps going as if nothing's happened. With a frustrated growl, you reluctantly allow yourself to be dragged along, but not without trying to pry his grasp off of your wrist.

"If you think I'm going anywhere with you, you're sorely mistaken! How the hell do I know you're not going to kill me or rape me or something?" you gripe, your logical mind arguing with this point but you pay no heed to it. You could never be too careful in Tortuga, after all.

The odd pirate stops, turning around to face you with dry look. "Answer me this; if I wanted ye dead, do you really think I would've bothered to knock out those two heroes over there?" he demands, letting go of your wrist and motioning with his hands in rather flamboyant way towards the two pirates.

"Maybe you just wanted to do it yourself," you counter, as unlikely as the notion is.

The man lets out a grunt of frustration, rolling his eyes. "Luv, I don't get me kicks out of killing women. Or men either, for that matter. As for the raping…" he trails off and his features morph into a sly grin. "I have never once had to force a woman in my bed. See, they come willingly on their own accord. Besides, that just wouldn't be very nice of me."

"Oh, so you consider yourself a nice man?" you ask, slight sarcasm in your voice.

"I like to think so, luv," he replies pleasantly, paying no heed to your tone.

"I already told you-"

"Not to call ye luv, I remember that. But the question of your name still stands," he replies as he again grabs your wrist and starts to pull you along the alleyway.

You suddenly notice his peculiar gait even in the darkness. There's a noticeable sway in his steps that derives somewhere around his hips. He looks as if he's walking across the deck of a ship that rocks over the waves. The trait is in actuality quite... charming?

"Maybe I'll let you know it if you'd let me in on what the heck is going on here," you reply after a moment, snapping out of staring at him.

"Why do you think those two wanted from you?" he asks instead of answering your rather demanding question, while keeping his eyes straight ahead as he leads you down the alley. You're coming closer to the end of the dark lane, and you can see some people bustling about on the street the alley is leading.

"That's what I'd like to know, too!" you cry out in frustration.

"You actually mean you don't know?"

You let out a small, flustered growl, and reply sarcastically, "If I knew, I don't think I'd be asking you about it."

"You wouldn't be the one they call 'Sparks' in the Bride, now would you?" the pirate suddenly asks out of the blue, glancing at you briefly. "The one that gave ol' Sanders that mean black eye some time back?"

You're surprised he knows about that. "Well, I had no idea I was that famous. Yes, that would be me. And Sanders deserved it!"

The pirate lets out a rather suffering groan, closing his eyes for a moment. "Of course! This is just my bloody brilliant luck…" he mutters sourly under his breath, but you still catch it.

"Hey, watch it there, mister," you say, slightly snubbed. Did you really have that bad reputation?

"It's Captain, not mister," your pirate companion immediately corrects.

You raise your brow curiously. "Captain what of what?"

He glances down at your again momentarily, amused smile on his lips. "Captain Jack Sparrow," he replies, looking ahead again.

You wonder why he didn't mention what he's supposed to be the Captain of, but dismiss this for the time being. That name sounds vaguely familiar, but you can't seem to make the connection to anything. Still, there is something about it that makes you feel like you've heard it before. Nothing, however, comes to your mind.

"Aha," you say finally, obliged to acknowledge him somehow. Sighing, you relent and finally tell him your first name in return. Well, he did save your life, so suppose he deserves that much.

Jack glances at you, this time with a full-blown grin on his features. "That sounds too nice. Sparks definitely fits you more."

You blink, taken aback. Your name was 'too nice'? How was that possible? Did people really see you as a mean, malicious tavern wench who liked giving out black eyes? Sure, you were a tad temperamental when angry, but you weren't like that all the time! You were stubborn, yes, but not spiteful. And you had only once given a black eye in your life, and Sanders knew he was pushing his luck when he pinched your ass like that. It had hurt, damn it! It was an instinctive reflex, really…

Feeling a bit disheartened over the revelation, you don't even realize to struggle or question his actions when Jack stops at the end of the alley and takes an attentive look to both left and right before pulling you into the open street. Snapping out of your gloominess, you glance around. Jack was leading you in a complete opposite direction from your home, which was where you wanted to be right now.

"Now look, Captain Starling, I-" you start, but Jack cuts your off.

"Sparrow!" he corrects indignantly.

"Sparrow, Starling, whatever," you say, slight irritation creeping in your tone.

"No, not even nearly whatever, luv," he says with finality, looking at you with narrowed eyes. "It's Captain Sparrow, keep it in mind."

"Alright, alright!" you exclaim, a bit stunned. Not by his tone, but by his face.

Now, in the torch-lit street, you can finally see him properly, and the sight is most definitely not bad. His eyes are indeed brown, very dark brow; his cheekbones are high and his skin tanned. His equally dark brown hair has some thick dreadlocks and small braids in it among the free hair, decked with beads and other little baubles woven into the strands, the most noticeable string hanging down the left side of his face. There's also a thin bone of some kind sticking out under the rim of his hat on the right side of his head, flanked by a little tail of hair. The scarf tied around his head is red. When he spoke, you noticed that his teeth are, surprisingly enough, quite clean, and some of the ones in the front are capped with platinum. All in all, quite fetching for a pirate. Certainly the finest looking one you've ever seen.

Shaking off your little stupor, you formulate a reply. "For heaven's sake, no need to get all huffy over it… and where exactly do you think you're taking me?"

"Some place where we can have a bit of a chat without any uninvited guests," Jack replies in distracted manner while keeping an eye on his surroundings and the people. "Pick up your pace, will ye? Neither of us should stay out in the open like this for too long."

You're puzzled by his cautiousness, but nevertheless comply and quicken your strides a bit. This whole cloak-and-dagger business was however starting to grate your nerves, and you're incredibly tired. You just want to go home, sleep soundly and forget about the whole night. That's just a tad bit hard when you have a pirate with eccentric taste in fashion attached to your wrist, and you don't make a habit of bringing home men you've known for less than half an hour. Never mind that the said man is the only reason why your head is still firmly on your shoulders.

"Fine, Captain Sparrow, then. Look, I am truly thankful that you intervened with the untimely decapitation attempt, because it would've really been especially unpleasant for me if you hadn't," you pause for a second to put emphasis on your next words. "But I would really, really just like to go home now and get some sleep instead of running aimlessly around the town with you!"

Much to your slight annoyance, the pirate only chuckles blithely at your longwinded explanation. "For a Tortugan barmaid, you sure use some fancy words, luv."

You narrow your eyes at his back. "Yeah? Well, for a pirate, you sure are…" What? Clean? Well-spoken? Kind? Aw, damn it. You couldn't find a negative trait from him at the moment. "…Weird," you finish, sounding lame even to your own ears.

"Ac'ally, I'll be taking that as a compliment." Jack grins broadly, glancing at you behind his shoulder. His grin is so wide you see that in addition to the platinum, he also has some gold-capped teeth that glint faintly in the torchlight. …It's not at all an unappealing image, really.

You roll your eyes. "I just bet you will."

You're suddenly struck with the absurdity of the situation. When you went to work today, you certainly had no idea you'd end up acquiring a valuable coin, nearly getting killed by pirates, saved from the clutches of the pirates by another pirate, and being dragged along the streets of Tortuga by the said pirate. Just when you thought your life had actually gotten rather boring lately. That couldn't be further from the truth this time!

You still had no idea where Jack was taking you, and you're just about to ask him the very question when Jack unexpectedly whirls around and, quicker than you realize, pushes you bodily in the shadows of another alleyway between two buildings you were just about to pass. He pulls you down behind a few crates that are lying useless on the ground.

"What the-!" you start, but get nothing more out when Jack clamps his palm over your mouth to silence you.

"Shh," he hisses from his place next to you, glancing at you warningly. You glare at him and look pointedly down where his hand is still over your mouth. Taking your hint, he slowly removes his hand, his eyes telling you to keep quiet. You frown, wondering what's going on, but nevertheless do as he says.

Jack looks back towards the street you were walking along just few moments ago, his eyes narrowing. Following his gaze, you see that he's staring at two men. They're both average height, dressed in dirty, frayed clothes like the two pirates trying to kill you. One of them is a black man, with thick dreadlocks hanging down on his face. There also seems to be scars or something crossing his face. The other man is just a bit shorter, with scarf tied around his head. He has a short, dark beard. They both carry cutlasses, and you just know they're in a lot with the two previous pirates.

You glance back at Jack, surprised by the coldness in his eyes as he glares at the men with stony expression. Looking back at the men, you notice they're standing in the street, glancing around in attentive way, as if looking for something. Or somebody, you add in your mind, discomfort filling you.

Jack pushes you closer to the wall as the pirates edge closer to the alley. You oblige, pressing your side against the cold surface and keep as still as possible. Faintly, you hear some bits of their conversation as they walk past the alley you're hiding in.

"…'e'll be mighty cross if we don't find it," the first voice remarks, slow and rough.

"Aye. Let's hope Pintel and Ragetti 'ave better luck," the other responds, his voice even rougher that the first.

"They'd better! I'm bloody sick o' walkin' around 'ere!"

The rest fades away as the two pirates pass the alley and are out of your hearing range.

"Damn it," Jack mutters to himself in distracted manner, thinking for a while. You glance at him as Jack seemingly comes to a decision, looking at you. "Alright, here's how it's going to be. You are in serious trouble, missy," he starts and you snort.

"No, really? Yes, those dirty pirates trying to kill me were a good pointer about that, thanks very much."

"They probably will finish that little task if they get their hands on ye, luv. At the moment, I am the only one who can keep you relatively safe, so you'd best be sticking with me fer your own safety, savvy?" he says while looking at you straight in the eyes.

The seriousness in his tone is enough to convince you about this, and you sigh, nodding your acquiescence. "Right…"

"Now, I can't be certain how many of 'em are in the town, but we can't let ourselves to be seen," Jack ponders aloud, mostly to himself.

"Why's that?" you ask, not wanting to be quiet.

"Well, for one, they probably got a good description of ye from ol' Caleb before killing 'im," Jack replies, and you frown.

"Old Caleb? Who the heck is he?" you ask, puzzled.

Jack gazes at you solemnly. "That would be the old man who gave you the coin that got ye in this mess in the first place."

"The coin?" you repeat, reminding yourself of a parrot. "They're looking for my coin? And how'd you know about that, anyway?"

"Believe me, luv, I know more than you do at the moment."

"Then would you mind sharing those bits of knowledge with me, perchance?" you ask, frustration in your voice again.

"Y'know Sparks, ye haven't corrected me in the last four times I've called you 'luv'," Jack abruptly says, grinning broadly.

You blink, caught off guard by his impromptu observation. "You're counting? For heaven's sake, Jack! Don't you think we have more important things to worry about?"

"Not we, you." Jack corrects with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and sigh. "Thanks for reminding…"

Jack just grins, before getting up from his crouching position. Helping you up, he again grabs your wrist. "Don't worry. I'll help ye out," he grins again, starting to pull you along the dark lane. That was exactly the question; why was he helping you out?

"This way, luv. I know a great shortcut."

"Let's hope so," you reply wryly, trailing behind him.

"That was fifth!" Jack exclaims, sounding so inanely pleased that you can't help but to grin a little in amusement behind his back.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 4 - Stalemate

Jack's so-called "great" shortcut had at least been interesting, if nothing else. After slinking down dark alleys for a while, he'd led you across a few backyards of some of the houses, through a few small, sleazy taverns, along some alleyways again and another yard before you finally reached a little less frequented road you were traipsing along. Not everybody was happy about your route of choice, though. Actually, you'd pissed off quite a few people on the way. You blamed it all on Jack, after all it was his "shortcut."

"Bloody hell, that woman could throw hard!" Jack exclaims in disbelieving tone, rubbing his left upper arm with his right hand carefully.

"Well, you did trample all over her flowers," you remind. "Two years of growing them and then some dirty scoundrel comes and squashes 'em all," you repeat the woman's loudly wailed scream with a smirk, remembering how you'd practically run away after she'd started throwing various things after you two.

"How was I supposed to tell in the dark that they were flowers?! They looked like bloody weeds to me," Jack replies defensively.

"Aw, I'm sure she's already sorry she threw that brush at you," you say in consoling tone.

"…Ye think?"

"Sure. Sorry that she lost her brush in the process, that is," you reply, snickering.

Jack looks at you wryly with narrowed eyes, but makes no comment. Shaking his head so that the trinkets in his hair jingle slightly, Jack apparently physically brushes your jibe off. "Sorry that ye almost got that dirty dishwater tossed at you. I swear she wasn't there the last time I dropped by."

You scrunch up your nose in disgust, thanking heavens that the older woman who was washing dishes in the kitchen of that first tavern had a lousy aim. She wasn't very pleased when you and Jack had burst in, run across the kitchen and supposedly dirtied the floors in the process. You only barely managed to escape her wrath through the backdoor before she hurled a bucketful of dirty water at you.

"Yes, that was before I nearly got accosted by that drunk at the bar side while that black-haired strumpet with huge lips slapped you…" you recall the events of the past twenty minutes or so.

Jack cringes at the memory, his palm rising from his arm to rub his cheek. "Aye, that was Dora. Apparently she was still upset. We didn't exactly part on friendly terms the last time, although I 'ave you know that it wasn't really completely my fault."

You shake your head. "I don't want to know more."

"Probably best for both o' us," Jack decides with a nod, before exclaiming cheerfully, "Ah, there's our destination already!"

You look in the direction Jack flicks his hand extravagantly towards, and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of the particular tavern looming ahead. "The Inn?" you say incredulously. "That's the most pricey tavern in all Tortuga! Are you daft or something?"

Jack looks at you with a thoughtful expression. "Aye, that seems to be the general opinion," he says slowly, and grins almost proudly. "But then, every genius is a bit daft in one way or another, luv."

You just stare at him for a moment before blinking and shaking your head. This Sparrow has got to be the most peculiar person you've ever met. "So why exactly are we going there?" you finally ask him, trying to bring some sense into the matter.

"Simple enough. Nobody would think to look for a simple, poorly paid barmaid from Tortuga's finest tavern," Jack says and quickly raises his hands in placating manner as you glower at him, hurrying to elaborate, "And by 'simple' I referred only to the fact that there are several barmaids in this wretched pit of a town, I didn't imply that your smarts would somehow be dim, savvy? I wouldn't dare," he smirks, slight undertone of amusement in his voice.

"Nice save, Sparrow," you reply dryly.

"Cap-tain," he corrects slowly, exaggerating the syllables. "Captain Sparrow, would you please!"

"Not if you don't tell me what you're supposed to be the Captain of! So where is your ship? You never answered me the first time around," you counter, glancing at him curiously.

"All in good time, luv. All in good time…" he drawls in response, glancing around the street attentively. Seeing nothing alarming, he takes you by your right elbow. "Come on, let's get off the streets," he says and leads you inside the tavern that's bustling with people.

* * * *

The very creatively named tavern, The Inn, was a fine place in Tortuga's standards. That meant that the place wasn't quite so shabby as the others tended to be, and the women who offered pleasurable company here weren't exactly your average whores. No, they possessed enough looks to actually be able to pick the one that pleased them the most from the wide variety of willing to-be-customers, and their favors didn't come cheap. One could also get a bit different drinks from the bar that weren't available in other taverns, but those tended to cost a bit extra. However, the bar-area was just as full of people (mostly drunken ones) than the rest of the taverns on the island.

The rooms were nicer than in the normal inns as well, you decided as you glance around the one you were in, sitting on the edge of the comfortable bed that was large enough for two.

"What was the deal with you and the manager downstairs?" you ask Jack, recalling how the slightly chubby owner had taken one look at Jack downstairs and promptly given him a key to the room, without so much as asking for payment for it. All he'd said he'd keep quiet and thanked Jack for keeping his word.

"Oh, he owed me a tiny favor for keepin' me mouth shut about one certain incident a while back. See, the owner has a wife who keeps him very much in line, if ye get me drift…"

You raise a brow in question, wondering what that had to do with anything. "So she keeps him under her boot, so to say. And?"

"Well," Jack goes on as he checks that the door is locked, "She'd clout the poor sod in a heartbeat if she ever found out her dear husband visits the ladies downtown quite frequently. Well, I 'appened to accidentally walk in on him and his lady friend in one tavern as I was a wee bit drunk that night and mistook their room for mine. Although, I tell ye, only a bloody idiot fails to remember to lock their door before gettin' down to business," he comments distastefully, and you roll your eyes. "'Cause no matter the state of intoxication I was in, I would've still liked to avoid that sight. Anyhow, I was willing to forget about the whole matter, but the poor bastard was so 'fraid I'd tell his wife - as if I had nothin' better to do - that he insisted to be left in debt. Debt that I collected tonight, obviously."

"So he bribed you to keep your mouth shut," you state dryly.

"'Ey, the man insisted, who was I to argue?" While explaining the little tale, Jack had been striding around the room, checking all the windows and the bathroom, as if someone unwanted might be lurking in the shadows. You shake your head in amused incredulousness as you watch the eccentric pirate sway about.

"Someone's a bit paranoid," you finally say aloud wryly.

Finishing his sweep of the room, Jack glances at you briefly. "One can never be too careful, luv."

"And how many times exactly have you found someone hiding in the bathroom, for example?" you ask pointedly with a raised brow.

"Apparently you've never visited Singapore before," he mutters, mostly to himself as he takes off the wide, belt-like leather strap with large silver buckle that goes over his right shoulder, holding the scabbard of his cutlass.

You roll your eyes, definitely not wanting to know more. Glancing around the room again, you take in the lightly colored walls, few cushioned chairs in the middle, and the large, wine red carpet on the floor. You've never seen a carpet in any other inn room before, and you wonder how it has kept so relatively clean. You jump involuntarily as something suddenly lands next to you on the bed, and you snap your head to left to look at the cause of the disturbance. It's Jack's long, dark overcoat, his sheathed cutlass, and some odd, box-like thingy. The small item sparks your interest, and you get the strongest urge to pick it up and examine it.

"Do us a favor and keep your hands off me things, luv," Jack drawls lazily, apparently catching your interested gaze, while making his way to one of the windows again.

You narrow your eyes at his retreating back and quickly reach over to poke the box with you finger a few times before pulling away, sticking out your tongue in Jack direction. Childish? Yes, but highly gratifying, you decide with a smirk.

Jack saunters back, gazing at you with narrowed eyes. "You just simply 'ave to do the exact opposite of what I tell you, don't ye?"

You smirk and shrug your shoulders slightly, masking the surprise you felt over the fact that he actually caught your little jesting deed. Does the man have eyes on his back? Nah, he probably just a darn good hearing. But, he still hadn't given you a plausible reason for helping you, so you deemed you had the right to vex him a little. This Sparrow seemed to be a bit egotistical man who liked to throw his witticism around, so it would be interesting to see if could he handle a little taste of his own medicine.

Jack rolls his dark eyes, but sits down on one of the chairs across from the bed, about seven feet away from you. He leans back in the chair, crossing his legs in masculine manner and props his left elbow on the armrest while gazing at you calmly, wrist and grimy fingers drooping limply. Even his way of sitting is just a tad arrogant. "Now, my dear friend, we should probably 'ave a bit of a chat."

"Indeed?" you shoot back sarcastically. "What should we chat about, then? Oh, perhaps you could start with answering a few simple questions for me. First of all, who the hell was that old geezer in the Bride? Second, who the hell are those nasty pirates that want me dead, and third of all," you pause for emphasis, leaning forwards a bit, "Why the hell are you helping me?"

Jack regards you with an amused smirk. "Ye really should watch yer mouth, luv. Ain't fit for a lady to swear so much."

"Oh, excuse me, kind sir," you reply acerbically. "But I don't really see any ladies in this room. Unless you consider yourself one…"

"You always quite this peppery?" Jack asks, genuine interest in his tone.

You're slightly puzzled that he still seems to be taking absolutely no offense from your acid-laden speech, like most others would in his stead. Not that you're like this all the time, but something in this whole situation is a bit unnerving for you and it has put you on the edge, which causes you to try to unwind the tension within by shooting your mouth off. You're still not willing to completely trust this pirate in front of you, even if he did save your life. He still probably has some ulterior motive of his own. Pirates only cared about themselves and their plunder.

"Most of the time, yes. Though I like to mellow down a bit on Sundays, since it's the resting day and all that," you respond unflappably.

Jack grins in response, flashing the bits of gold and platinum among his teeth. "Hmm. That's interesting… quite fascinatin', in fact."

You raise an incredulous brow. Fascinating? Your excessively fiery temper? Yeah, maybe it's not. "Well, that's certainly the first!"

"What can I say? I like spirited women," Jack murmurs, smirking slightly.

You narrow your eyes. "I'm willing to bet you like every kind of women, Sparrow."

"Not necessarily," comes the enigmatic reply. You just stare at him in unimpressed manner, challenging him to elaborate. He doesn't, but instead just smirks smugly.

"A'right, let's talk. The old geezer in the Bride, as you put it, was by now very much deceased Caleb. A petty thief. Executed a very unfortunate career move when 'e decided to nick one of the coins from the nasty pirates, as you so called them," Jack says in his deep voice, slanting his head to the side a little. "See, those coins are very important to the said pirates, and they don't take kindly to that kind of thing. So, ol' Caleb has pirates on his trails, and in desperation the poor sod does the only thing he can think of; gets rid of the stolen goods," Jack finishes, twirling his hand in a small circle as he speaks. "In other words, he shoves the coin on the palm of the first unsuspecting barmaid he comes across, who just happened to be you."

"I remember that, thanks very much," you reply steadily, looking at the pirate seated in front of you in slight suspicion. "How do you know all that about him?"

Jack shrugs. "I'd been followin' the feller for a moment before he stopped by the Bride," he replies casually.

"And why's that?"

"As for your second question, those nasty pirates who tried to behead you," Jack starts, ignoring your question completely. "The taller one is called Ragetti, whereas the other obeys the name Pintel. The other two near the alley were Koehler and Twigg," he informs you, and you detect a slight trace of contempt in his voice.

"Well, how nice to know," you say dryly. "I'll keep those in mind if I get the urge to invite them over for tea."

"You do that, luv. Oh, you might also want to keep in mind that they're part of the Black Pearl's crew, so do keep a sharp eye when setting up the said party," Jack drawls with a raised brow.

You blink, for once forgoing the sarcasm. "The Black Pearl?"

"Aye, the Black Pearl…" Jack confirms with a strange note in his tone, sounding almost… wistful?

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger briefly. "Wait, wait… so what you're saying is," you pause, raising one forefinger absently, "That the pirates of the Black Pearl killed this Caleb, who was supposed to have the stolen coin. But he didn't, because he gave it to me. And now the pirates know that I have the coin, since they squeezed the info out of Caleb before butchering him, and now they're naturally chasing after me. Do feel free to correct me if I'm wrong," you summarize, casting a sardonic glance at Jack.

Jack purses his lips slightly. "No, so far it's been spot on, luv."

"Oh, fucking hell," you groan and slap your palm over your forehead in frustrated way. This was not your bloody night, at all.

"Such language," Jack tsks while wagging a finger at you, probably just to annoy you.

"Shut it, Sparrow," you growl. "I think I'm allowed to be just a tad bit upset, here!"

Jack lifts his hands up in the air in sign of surrender, widening his eyes slightly. Although, you don't fail to miss the amused smile that's tugging the corners of his mouth. Well, it's good someone thinks this is amusing! You're certainly not feeling like laughing at the minute. Forcing yourself to calm your temper that's threatening to flare again, you take a deep breath.

"Okay. Alright," you say slowly, nodding to yourself as you take all this in. Suddenly, you think back to something Jack said earlier. "Wait a freaking minute. Coins? As in plural?"

"Mm-hmm," Jack hums in agreeing way while studying his grimy fingernails. After a moment, he flickers his dark eyes back to you, but doesn't lower the hand held in front of him. "Ye didn't think it was only that one coin, did you? Oh no, there are quite a few of 'em. Eight hundred and eighty two, to be precise."

You blink. "Eight hundred…?"

"And eighty two," Jack adds, returning his gaze back to his fingertips.

Staring at him blankly for a moment, you expect him to say something else. When he seems more interested in the current state of his nails, you sigh quietly and look away towards one of the windows, wondering why the hell you of all people were suddenly in the middle of this odd fix. Honestly, how did you always manage to get yourself into such predicaments? Although, you had to admit you'd outdone yourself this time.

"So, why are the coins so important to them?" you finally break the silence, glancing at Jack. "You'd think they would have enough plunder not to bother running after my bit of gold if they have so many already... supposing they do have the rest of the coins? Because that would be just greedy, but suppose pirates are a bunch lacking the moral fiber of that sort," you finish sarcastically, causing Jack to lift his gaze back to you and quirk an eyebrow.

Jack narrows his eyes at your comment, speaking with a sharp edge in his tone, "For your information, luv, blurtin' out hackneyed generalizations like that can get your feisty self into loads of trouble one fine day."

You purse your lips lightly and mimic his earlier acts, slanting your head to the side a bit and arching your eyebrow. The biting edge in his voice fails to intimidate you, but only served to spark your curiosity better than anything.

"Well, well!" you utter in hushed, meaningful tone and widen your eyes slightly, before smirking smugly, "What's the matter, Sparrow? That one hit too close for comfort?"

Jack keeps his narrowed eyes on you, dark irises flashing warningly at your mocking tone. "Annoyin' me will get you nowhere, lass. You'd best keep in mind who you're dealing with."

His belittling tone causes your irritation to flare like a wildfire, and you scoff at the pirate in front of you. "Oh yeah?! 'Scuse me if I have trouble taking your word for it, you damn ruddy pirate! You haven't even told me why you're doing all this, and I sure as hell won't stick around to wait another bloody minute longer!" you spit out venomously, making a move to get up.

The next events happen so quickly you barely have time to comprehend they even happened in the first place. Jack suddenly springs nimbly up from the chair he'd been lounging on, and you feel slight pain on your upper arm while hearing the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked echoing in the room, flanked by the metallic whoosh of unsheathing a blade. You abruptly realize that Jack is gripping your arm tightly with one hand, having hauled you up to stand in front of him. His other arm is held in level with your head, the barrel of a pistol pressing against your temple. It's the pistol Jack had left tucked in his sash as he'd sat down, one that you'd already foolishly forgotten about. But some instinctive reflex hadn't left you inert, either; you had somehow grabbed the handle of the cutlass lying next to you on the bed, pulled it out of its scabbard and now holding the blade horizontally between your bodies, pressing it lightly against Jack's throat. Neither one of you moves a muscle, stuck in the stalemate.

Jack stares down at you, and you return the glare just as defiantly, although inside you're still feeling a tad shocked that you managed to get the blade between Jack and you even though you really have no proper previous experience on handling such weapons. The silence seems to be stretching on for ages, but still neither of you moves or speaks.

"As pretty as you are, you're still starting to vex me just a little, Sparks," Jack finally says in low tone, sounding almost dangerous. "Just so you know, I don't like to threaten women with firearms, but since ye apparently chose to take the hard way out, I'm left with no choice. You wished to know what I wanted from you. A'right; I need that coin of yours. Now, be a darling and just hand it over. Savvy?"

* * * * *

CHAPTER 5 - Yanking Some Chains

You stare up at Jack in stunned silence. So, he wants the darn coin for himself, as well? You should've guessed. So how does this turn of events make Jack any better than the pirates of the Black Pearl? Granted, he hasn't killed you yet, but now it seems like that won't be too far from the picture, either. Well, you sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight, that one was for certain! Although, the fact that you'd somehow managed to unsheathe Jack's cutlass still shocked you to no end. It had to be some kind of subconscious reflex and some absolutely incredible amount of unadulterated dumb luck.

"The coin," you repeat bluntly. "Should've known pirates aren't very trustworthy... And no."

Jack arches his brows, looking vaguely amused. "No…?"

"No. I think I'll be keeping the coin. It's mine. I earned it," you stress defiantly.

"May I remind you that you do have a gun trained at your head, missy?" Jack says, sounding somewhat bored.

"And may I remind you that I have your own blade at your throat, mister," you counter swiftly, narrowing your eyes a fraction.

Jack smirks, seeming to be completely untroubled by that little fact. "Ah, yes… I must admit I wasn't expecting that one, quite a brilliant stunt. But I have just one question, if you don't mind; do you know how to use that particular weapon?"

You bristle slightly at his ridiculing tone, but manage to quell the rising irritation and reply in sweet voice, "Enough to know that the sharp side pressing against your throat would do some nasty things if I press a little and pull sideways," you tell him, pressing the blade just slightly more firmly against his skin to show him you mean business. Oh gods, you don't want to do it, you really do not, but if you must to survive, then what options have you got?

Jack just chuckles a little, regarding you with what you deem almost curious glint in his eyes. "You can always try, but I guarantee you I'll pull the trigger faster than you can manage that."

"Probably," you agree evenly, tipping the blade slightly to the side of his neck, "But if you shoot me, I might accidentally nick some artery when I die, and then you'd bleed to death yourself, if the worst should happen. At any rate, you'd lose a lot of blood, which is never a good thing."

Jack narrows his eyes at you, regarding you thoughtfully. "I see you've done at least some of your homework, luv. Well, then, it seems we're in a bit of an impasse here, doesn’t it?" he mutters, apparently coming to see that you're not as easy to con as he might have initially thought.

You raise a reserved brow, admitting slowly, "So it would seem."

Jack suddenly lets out an impatient huff -actually it sounds more like a throaty growl of frustration- and bobs his head peculiarly to one side while doing this, the baubles woven in his hair jingling out a tiniest tune. Nevertheless, his slightly narrowed eyes never leave yours even though his head doesn't stay still; the sight almost makes you crack an amused smile despite the situation. The man the most unique ways of movement, certainly unlike ones you'd ever witnessed before.

"Now look here, it'd be a lot easier for both of us if you'd just give me that bloody coin. That way, we can both get on with our lives and put all this past us. So what d'you say?" Jack states persuasively, gazing down at you with just a tiny hint of pleading in his dark brown eyes.

Steeling yourself against the influence of those pretty, deep brown orbs (curse your feminine appreciation for such things!) you shake your head a bit, mindful of the gun still resting lightly against your temple. "No. That coin is my ticket to a bit better living, and I won't give it up just like that!"

"So you'd rather die than lose your chance of 'better living', is that it?" Jack shoots back, a sardonic edge in his tone.

"I'm not saying I necessarily want to die, but we all inevitably kick the bucket sometime," you respond rather evasively, attempting to stall. "Though, I thought you said you fancied yourself as a nice man, Sparrow."

Jack looks indignant. "I am a nice man, luv,” he counters, pausing slightly before elaborating, “Mostly, in any case. Be that is it may, I'm not going to be the one to end your days, no matter how this little divergence of ours is concluded."

"…You're not…?" you say hesitantly, for once at loss for words.

Small smirk tugs the corners of Jack’s mouth. "I may be a pirate, but like I told you before, I don’t get my thrills from harming women. Besides… when you only have one shot, it's best to save it to the one who actually deserves it," he replies somberly, clicking the safety of the pistol back on and pulling the barrel away from your temple. Bending his head just slightly closer to yours, Jack speaks up again, only this time with a trace of smugness in his tone. "But I had to stop you from leaving somehow, didn't I?"

You frown derisively, not really appreciating his methods of delaying your leave. "You could've tried a verbal way, first."

"Aye, I could've." Jack agrees pleasantly, grinning abruptly while tucking the pistol back in his sash. "But I figured you wouldn't have listened to me even if I tried. And I admit, that comment of yours about pirates ticked me off just a teensy bit," he goes on conversationally. Jack glances pointedly down at the blade you're still holding against his throat and then darting his eyes back to yours, raising his brows expectantly.

"Oh," you utter quietly in realization. Swiftly, you pull the cutlass away from his skin and let your arm hang limply at your side. Jack raises one pointer fleetingly in the air, waving it just slightly before lowering it to pry your fingers off the handle of the blade.

"I'll be taking that back, luv. Just for me own safety, naturally," he adds cheekily with a smirk.

The abrupt change in the man in front of you from a dangerous pirate to this good-natured, witty fellow frankly baffles you a bit, and so you let him take the cutlass from your numb hand, watching as he picks up the scabbard from the bed and slides the blade back in it with practiced ease.

Only now do you notice your legs have actually started to tremble somewhat, the adrenaline in your system waning. The true extent of what just occurred suddenly hits you full force, and you realize that you could have died only minutes ago. For the second damn time tonight! For the sake of all that's holy, you were stupid enough to actually threaten a PIRATE with his own blade! He could've shot you right there, hell, he probably could just snap your neck with his bare hands if he wanted to! You weren't exactly the strongest lass in Tortuga, and you certainly couldn't fight back a full-grown man. One who was a pirate, at that! Holy hell, how stupid could you get!

Swallowing your dry throat uneasily, you glance to your side to look at Jack, slightly surprised to notice he's actually watching you closely, a small frown on his face.

"Are you feeling alright, luv? You're looking a bit pale, there," he states, the question evident in his tone.

You nod, forcing a quick, rather unnatural smile on your lips. "Yes, I'm fine. Perfectly fine," you assure quickly. "Just need to sit down for a bit," you go on slowly, seating yourself back on the bed, thankful to get your weight off of your shaky legs.

Casting your gaze downwards to the tips of your boots peeking under the frayed hem of your dress, you just keep quiet for once and concentrate on pulling yourself together again. Boots with a dress was a rather unusual combination, but you refused to wear those awful, high heeled shoes most other maids tended to use, but instead opted to pull on your worn boots everyday you went to work. They were comfortable and didn't make your feet ache, unlike the smaller shoes did. Besides, you could be rather clumsy sometimes, and didn’t want to risk falling flat on your face with a full tray of drinks.

From your peripheral vision you can see Jack shift his weight from one foot to another and, after a moment, back again in unquestionably restless manner. Finally he sighs, and you catch something akin to flustered uncertainty in the soft noise; he's probably wondering the best way to approach shaken females, you think wryly. A bit more audible huff of reluctant surrender is the next sound to come from the eccentric pirate, and he crouches down next to the bed, close to where you sit, resting his forearms over his thighs.

Frowning a little in puzzlement, you tilt your head to the side just a fraction to look towards Jack, finding that now it's your turn to look down at him. Not by much, but enough to make you feel a petty, passing moment of superiority.

"Now look…" Jack starts tentatively, pausing while his gaze darts quickly from his grimy fingers to the floor, anywhere but on your eyes. "I'm sorry if I frightened you, but I just couldn't let you leave just yet and…" he pauses again and grunts uneasily. “What I mean is that I never intended to harm you or scare you, but apparently I did anyhow. So, sorry. …Savvy?"

The whole change from a witty, self-confident pirate to a hesitant, slightly nervous man trying to calm an upset female (something he obviously doesn't do very often) suddenly strikes you as so amusing you have to chew the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling at Jack's frustrated countenance.

Raising your brows slightly, you level Jack a semi-amused glance, speaking up wryly, "You're not really practiced with this kind of thing, are you?"

"Yeeeaah…" Jack admits quickly, drawing out the word. "So are we going anywhere with this, by any chance?" he asks curiously while tilting his head a bit to one side and sweeping his hands in circles a few times, the gesture all-encompassing.

Try as you might, you simply can't stop the small smile that passes by your lips, quirking the corners of your mouth upwards. "Yes, we're going somewhere. Apology accepted."

"Splendid!" Jack exclaims cheerfully and slaps his palms together with audible 'clap', his whole demeanor again chancing in split seconds from hesitant to pleased. "Well then, now that that's settled," he pauses for a moment and hauls himself up from the swatting position, the action accompanied by the gentle jingle of his beads and trinkets, "We can finally get down to business again."

You crane your neck and look up at Jack, who's smiling like a little kid in a sweet store. "We can?"

"Aye, that we can." Jack confirms decisively with that golden grin you’re starting to get very used to.

"I see," you reply near emotionlessly, recalling the reason for your standoff moments ago with the rogue pirate. "That damned coin."

Jack's grin recedes into a smirk, hiding the glint of gold and platinum behind a pair of undeniably well-formed lips. "Precisely, darling. If you only knew how precisely, actually…" he trails off enigmatically.

You arch your brows inquisitively. "And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?"

Jack keeps on smirking down at you for a moment before clucking his tongue a bit, creating a peculiar noise. "It means exactly, on the dot, precisely, just what I said."

Stifling the groan of frustration that threatens to spill from your lips, you grit your teeth together for a moment. The urge to growl out loud is almost too strong to ignore. Oh gods, grant me strength to handle this man and his bloody witticism! You think to yourself, pleading any deity in hearing range to gift you with more patience.

With a small sigh, you glance up at Jack as you hear him moving about, watching as he saunters back to the armchair he occupied a moment again with the scabbard in his hand. Once again you idly wonder at the outlandish way he moves; they’re just as mishmash as his outer appearance. His hips seem to lead the way slightly before the rest of the body, joined by the gentle swaying of his steps. The swaying and the waving hands seem vaguely feminine, but yet he pulls them off in some odd, indisputably masculine way. It’s controversial, really. Yet the aura of confidence around him demands respect, allowing him to have his weird quirks and still be taken seriously.

“So are you meaning to tell me the coin is damned, then?” you ask with arched brow, skepticism clear in your tone.

Jack whirls around in front of the chair, the ends of the worn sash around his waist fluttering at the move. Slumping down to sit on the chair in oddly graceful way, he again throws one leg over his knee and smirks, dangling the hand holding onto the scabbard over the armrest lazily. “Aye, that would be exactly what I mean. At least that’s the word around.”

You blink, staring at the smirking pirate incredulously. “You’re truly are daft!”

“As we already established earlier, yes,” Jack agrees with a thoughtful nod. “But the matter of that coin which you are currently in possession of remains as this; that bit of gold you’re carrying around in gods only know where unfortunately is cursed.”

Cursed? Did he really say cursed…? You have a cursed coin stuffed inside your bodice. A bloody cursed coin!!

“That ruddy bastard! Yellow-bellied mongrel!” you spit out angrily, the image of the old man who gave you the coin in the first place forming in your mind. Jack raises his brow in semi-amused way, but keeps quiet. “That geezer that gave me the coin… he knew it was cursed, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Jack confirms with another nod.

You growl in irritation, adding under your breath, “Bloody thrice-damned, scabby swindler…”

Jack grins in apparent amusement at your colorful language when you’re not looking, but wipes it swiftly from his face as you glance up at him in suspicion. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Jack assures, quickly changing the subject. “Now, I trust you still have that coin somewhere safe?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah, you could say that… but about this coin… is it cursed as in ‘take this and be doomed to damnation and hellfire for all eternity’ kind of cursed or more like ‘oh damn this cursed coin, I keep dropping it’ cursed? ‘Cause there’s a big difference between those two.”

Jack purses his lips slightly in thought. “We-lll…” he drawls hesitantly.

“Well? Well?!” you cry, impatient and nervous. “I don’t like that tone at all, Sparrow! Well what?”

Jack’s hesitant features suddenly turn into a broad grin. “Oh, calm down, will you? I’m just yanking your chain a bit.”

“Then stop! I don’t appreciate having my chain yanked! Or any other thing at that,” you mutter. Why did that man have to be such a bloody brat?

“Alright, alright, I will try to curb the impulse,” Jack promises in mock-solemn tone, touching one palm fleetingly over his heart.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “Okay, now that you’ve yanked my chain, we’re even. Now… tell me why those pirates want the coin back so badly.”

Jack regards you soberly for a moment, with no trace of the earlier levity. There’s seriousness in his eyes, and you mentally prepare yourself for the worst.

“The reason they need the coin back is because each of the pieces must be returned to the chest they were taken from in order for the curse to be broken,” he finally says. “See, the coins were originally blood money the Aztecs paid to Cortés in order to stop the slaughter of their people Cortés and his armies instigated. But, turns out Cortés was a greedy bugger and had no such intentions. So the heathen gods cursed each of the 882 pieces.”

You’d heard of such tales about Cortés’ loots of the Aztec cities, but not quite anything like this.

“And so, the treasure was buried on Isla de Muerta. It’s an island that cannot be found, expect for those who already know where it is,” Jack goes on, a small, mischievous glint in his eyes as he said this. “Anyone who takes but one coin from that chest, will be cursed to life of immortality. They will not die, but neither do they truly live, either. Well. Barbossa and his cads found the island, and the treasure. They took it, and they spent it, not believing the tales. After that, they found out they were indeed cursed. And now, they’ve spent nearly ten years trying to search all the lost pieces of the treasure. Each of them needs to be restored in the chest, and the blood repaid.”

You worried your lower lip with your teeth slightly as you listened. “I see… So Barbossa and his pirates are basically undead for now. Great. So that would mean I’m not cursed even if I do have the coin since I didn’t take it from the chest, right?”

Jack nods. “Aye, no worries about that, luv.”

Relieved, you sigh. “Well, that’s good, at least.”

Suddenly thinking of something, you glance at Jack with a frown. “So how did they exactly find the island if it’s supposed to be found only by those who already know where it is?”

Jack’s face grows hard for a moment, something dark flashing in his eyes. “They got the bearings from their Captain,” he says finally, his voice slightly subdued.

You raise your brow. “The one they mutinied against?”

Jack mimics you expression, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. You shrug. “I’ve heard stories about it. I always thought it was pretty spineless of Barbossa.”

You’re surprised to see Jack smirk a little, perhaps in amusement. “Aye, that was Barbossa alright… In hindsight, I should’ve seen it coming all along. Would’ve saved me from a lot of bother.”

You frown in puzzlement. “Come again…?”

Jack shoots you a look that’s a mix between amusement and resignation. “The Captain they mutinied against and left to die on a deserted island…” he says at length, pausing. “That would be me.”

CHAPTERS 6-10

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