Disclaimer: Pirates? Not mine.
Between Ship and Shore
Behind him, the safety of land grew closer with each stroke of the oars. Before him, his Pearl shuddered beneath another punishing blow from the kraken. It grieved him to see his ship be treated so, but there came a time in every pirate's life when he had to cut himself loose from the tatters of his careful planning and run. He'd had a plan. And it had been a good one, too, a plan where everybody got to live, even Davy Jones, until some ambitious fool (he suspected one rum-pot deckhand of a former commodore) had nabbed the heart from his jar of dirt, leaving Jack with no leverage and a powerful fear of death and the Locker.
The remaining crew scrambled to hoist netting and barrels out of the hold. It was a desperate plan, Jack thought, but a bold one. Will Turner's idea, then? Or Elizabeth's? Jack allowed himself a heartfelt wince in honor of his poor, soon-to-be-departed rum. Most likely, the both of them had come up with it together. If they were very lucky, the beast would be stunned long enough for those still alive to make it over the side and swim for shore. The boat in which he sat alone suddenly seemed accusingly vast.
Musket fire flashed on the deck of the Pearl, and one of the kraken's tentacles writhed angrily and crashed into an already-splintered section of the railing before retreating into the sea. Jack pulled in the oars and fumbled for his compass. He flipped open the lid and looked down at the traitorous red arrow, expecting to see it vacillating wildly between the safety of shore and the battle on the Pearl. But the arrow pointed unerringly, without hesitation or wavering, behind him—towards the shore.
Jack snapped the compass shut, lowered the oars into the water again, and began to row with long, quick strokes back the way he had come. The Pearl grew larger again, and the land receded. The compass may have pointed the way to what he wanted most, but it said nothing of the price to be paid if he followed where it led.
