The compass was broken. How droll. Perhaps its misdirection had guided the filthy pirate to Jamaica's shores, directly into Port Royal - and Norrington's clutches. A smirk tugged at the new commodore's lips. A hanging - of one of the most notorious seafaring criminals, at that! - so soon after his promotion would only increase his standing among the masses.
Captain Jack Sparrow would be dangling from the gallows come dawn.
Norrington looked up into the pirate's dark eyes. They were lined with kohl, which had smeared and mixed with sweat and dirt and seawater to create an ungodly concoction that caked his face. Norrington fought off a shudder of disgust. How did these people live like this? So… unclean!
Aloud, he said, "A compass that doesn't point North. Hmm!" He chuckled to himself, but couldn't resist taking another peek at the useless article.
To his surprise, the small red arrow was moving. Spinning, in fact; circling round and round without stopping. It slowed, swung first one way, then the other. Norrington snorted quietly. Small wonder the pirate had lost his way.
As if in answer, the arrow suddenly swung itself round with violent force and stopped, vibrating slightly with the momentum. Norrington eyed it, waiting for it to move again, and shook the compass when nothing happened. Still the arrow refused to budge. He cast a surreptitious glance in the direction in which it pointed, and scoffed at what his eyes found there.
The compass was broken. Nothing more.
He snapped it closed and tossed it back into the pile of assorted items belonging to the pirate, and reached for the sword. A long, slender blade - of a better quality than he'd expected - slid from the sheath.
Grudgingly admiring the craftsmanship, Norrington adopted a forced smile and turned to the pirate. "And I half expected it to be made of wood," he quipped. The pirate offered a pitiful smirk.
Disgusted, Norrington slammed the sword back into the sheath and snapped, "You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of!"
Sparrow, nonplussed, held up two fingers. "But you have heard of me."
Damn him!
Grabbing the pirate's arm, Norrington hauled him over to his second in command, who stood patiently waiting with a pair of irons dangling from his hands. Protests fell from Elizabeth's lips, but the commodore ignored her and issued instructions to the lieutenant. Captain Jack Sparrow would hang. He must.
As Gillette snapped the cuffs into place, Norrington cast another glance over his shoulder. The compass is broken, he reminded himself. Broken.
And soon, its owner would hang, and Norrington would be rid of him - and that blasted compass - once and for all.
