What did he want most?
Jack stared at his compass, its needle spinning aimlessly.
He closed his eyes.
Riches?
Visions of the wealth of the Isle de la Muerta appeared. No, not that.
Women?
His lips curled up in a grin. He liked saucy wenches, but that meant port.
Rum?
He liked rum. Rum was good. But was that what he wanted most?
His hand rested upon the warm wood that made up the main mast. He could feel the pulse of the Black Pearl through his fingertips, then realized he had what he wanted most. He needed nothing more.
