It troubled Jack, greatly, the not-a-single-fucking sight of the Flying Dutchman when there were men dead and dying on the sea. Not even a flicker, a spell. Not even the a hallucination, to which Jack had accustomed to during the last few months, in his hope.
Granted, it had been a while since Jack had last talked with Will, seeing that he'd done something, again, to earn the grudge of Calypso, hence her effectively cockblocking the men's affairs, which explained why Jack had to hear about the Pearl having sunk from bloody Barbossa.. But this, it had to run deeper.
It couldn't be the Smokey-Beard's doings. Had the Dutchman confronted the Queen Ann's Revenge, there wouldn't, couldn't … Shouldn't, be a fight there.
The shock of it, when it finally dawned on Jack as the doors to the cupboard opened and the miniature version of the Dutchman greeted him flowing and bobbing gently in a bottle, while explaining everything, turned Jack into and amicable fellow. He'd acquired the Pearl, somewhat. It would take more than the casual flirt to get back the Flying Dutchman. And damn it all to hell if that wasn't what he was going to do.
Anything.