Skilled sailors unfastened lines from polished cleats and heaved, shifting to harness the wind with the pearl-white canvases that now shrouded the port side at ten o'clock in shadow. They carried westward against the wind, leaving the morning sun behind them where colours of the British East India Company pointed toward the ship's churning wake.

Ahead, another cloudless day led them toward crystalline waters that encased the jewels of sea life, a most natural display where corals glowed ruby red, sapphire beads of fish trailed after one another, and emerald kelp sashes swayed in the current. Yet, the face of that sea was as barren and desolate as the sahara, glittering sharp like diamonds was the burning gaze of the sun's silver reflection, among bright turquoise dunes that cascaded into opal whitecaps with precise patterns- the pulsebeat of the earth: magnificent and dangerous.

Not so fortunate is the land, more valuable than jewels or stones, where the Caribbean was seized and color coded, mere spots on a map of the colonial powers; where freedom is scarce and abused. There are the ever-Enlightened Westerners who sail across the celestial gaze to take on the New World and to find God in which death follows, and sailors who labor in it's judgement, for better or worse, in the everchanging weather that tells of the divine uniformity of nature and you may, therefore, find proof for or against His existence. You may see a symbol, a sign, a fact, a thing without meaning or a meaning which includes all things.

For Jack Sparrow, the ocean was the obvious choice. The East India Company seemed a smart option, really. It wasn't pirating, after all. Jack almost smiled at the memory of his father slapping him with a fish for taking some of the family bounty.

"Bugger", Jack mumbled in his sleep, then jolting awake at the memory of being whacked upside the head. He sat up drearily, holding his head by the bandana, before opening his eyes in recognition of his shadow that lay outstretched on the bedsheets before him. He had overslept!

"Oh. Bugger!" Captain Jack Sparrow leapt from the comforts of bed and fumbled to retrieve his effects. He tied his vest on inside out, threw his strap over top, set his tricorn hat on sideways, and left his boots noticeably wonky as he rushed from his cabin and onto the deck. The soles of his shoes rested at the sides of his feet, causing him to fumble momentarily before righting himself against the painted banister; twisting each foot into its boot properly. He was beginning to wonder whether or not they were on the right feet. The crew was already well at work and his first mate was stationed calmly at the helm. Thank pinnacles, Jack regarded. He made his way to the upper deck, his navy blue coattails prancing in a gale of morning wind.

"Morning, Captain." The first mate greeted, opting to overlook the captain's habitual tardiness.

"Allo, Joshamee." Jack regarded, asserting himself at the helm.

"Do we 'ave a heading, sir? The Company should like to hear back from us soon, I figure it. Not sure Beckett and his lot would be pleased to learn of our extra day of English debauchery." Joshamee Gibbs huffed at the memory of their unscheduled playday. London had a few of the best brothels in Europe, Jack recalled with a smirk.

"In due course…" Jack patted his pockets for his trusty magic compass, grin glued in place, "We should reach Kingston today." Jack spun around, not seeing that compass on his person. He tilted his head down toward his missing device with what was now a deep frown.

"What's the matter?" Gibbs grumbled, knowing the captain's behavior all too well.

"Ah, I seem to have forgotten my compass below…" Jack's voice caught in a pitch of nervousness, motioning for Gibbs to resume his place at the helm, "I shall return."

Jack made haste back to his quarters, pushing past a sailor along the way. Entering his room, he searched high and low, turning out his drawers and searching between the scrolls of maps that occupied his shelves. With every overturned pillow and drawer and pocket where he did not find his compass, his fear heightened. He himself stripped down and searched, well, everywhere for his precious device. He'd have turned the Fair Wind upside down if he could.

Jack stopped on his bed, panting after having thrown all of his pillows onto the floorboards. He urged himself to think patiently, recalling the events from the night before. He resumed a standing position and quite literally retraced his steps around his quarters, scanning the room thoroughly from his cluttered bookshelves to a dusty writing desk. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi…" his strut ended when he reached the end of his immediate memory. "Damned tosser," he berated himself, slumping his shoulders in defeat. It was simply gone. Someone must've taken it. Jack's eyes narrowed and he leapt to his feet in epiphany.

"GIBBS!" Jack stalked back up to the helm and where his arms would swing in natural opposition to one another, they were firm and unyielding.

"Aye, Captain," Gibbs approached him worriedly, following Jack up to the top deck.

Jack began in a whisper: "Uh, Joshamee, it seems as though my trusty compass is missing. Neigh, taken, perhaps?"

Gibbs looked disappointed. "Sir, I can't imagine any amongst the crew would take your compass. No one else knows of its ability, I'm certain of it."

Jack's expression was a grim one. "We'll make landfall for more reason that I had expected. It seems I am in need of a new, erm, compass." A lump formed in this throat as he found his words became more difficult to speak.

Gibbs made to reply but decided to refrain from furthering the captain's ire with hollow words of assurance.