The Black Pearl creaked softly as she drifted away from the dock, moonlight sliding across her dark hull like it was reluctant to leave. The port behind them faded into noise and distance, replaced by the steady breath of the sea.
Pintel leaned on the railing, arms folded, eyes bright with curiosity. He had been vibrating with questions since they left.
"So," he began carefully, "about what happened on the island—"
Gibbs shot him a look sharp enough to cut rope.
Pintel swallowed the rest of the sentence and pretended to find the stars fascinating.
Ragetti stood nearby, unusually quiet, arms crossed, staring at nothing in particular. This alone suggested something deeply traumatic had occurred.
Jack Sparrow shrugged and took a swig of rum.
"Island things," he said vaguely.
Pintel waited. No one elaborated.
He sighed. "Fine. Where to next, then?"
Jack paused mid-sip.
"Oh," he said, as if remembering something important. He reached into his coat and pulled out the compass.
The needle spun wildly, rattling against the glass. Pintel leaned closer, fascinated. Ragetti squinted.
"That thing broken?" Ragetti asked.
Jack tilted it slightly. The needle continued spinning.
"Ah," Jack murmured. "Still thinking."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Thinking about what?"
Jack didn't answer. He watched the compass intently as the needle slowed, wavered, then finally settled—pointing not toward land, not toward any known route, but straight out into open sea.
Jack smiled.
"There," he said.
Gibbs stared. "There where?"
Jack tucked the compass away. "That direction."
Gibbs followed the line of Jack's finger. "That's… nowhere."
"Exactly."
Gibbs rubbed his temples. "Captain, with respect, we usually go toward places."
Jack nodded. "That's the problem with most people."
Gibbs opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. He studied Jack's face—relaxed, confident, utterly unbothered.
"…Your instincts?" Gibbs asked cautiously.
Jack grinned. "My instincts."
Gibbs exhaled slowly. "Every bad decision we've made has started with that sentence."
"And yet," Jack said, spreading his arms, "we're still afloat."
Pintel perked up. "That's true!"
Ragetti nodded. "And alive."
Gibbs muttered, "Debatable about how long we are going to be alive."
Still, he turned the wheel.
The Black Pearl adjusted course smoothly, almost eagerly, as if she approved of the direction. The sea stretched ahead, empty and quiet, sunlight glinting off the waves.
Until morning, nothing happened.
Jack leaned against the mast, humming tunelessly. Ragetti attempted to scrub dried Sea King blood from the deck and only succeeded in spreading it around. Pintel climbed into the crow's nest with exaggerated seriousness, announcing every seagull like it might be a naval threat.
Then Pintel stiffened.
"Uh," he said. "Captain?"
Jack looked up. "If this is again about birds, I'm not interested."
"No, no," Pintel said quickly. "Ships."
Jack straightened. "Ships?"
"Plural," Pintel added.
Gibbs was already moving. He grabbed the spyglass and raised it to his eye.
His posture changed instantly.
"…Marine warships," he said quietly.
Jack stepped beside him, peering through the glass. White sails. Clean hulls. Organized formation.
A lot of them.
All heading in the same direction.
"That's," Pintel said slowly, "many."
Ragetti counted on his fingers, lost track, and started again.
Jack felt a prickle of unease crawl up his spine. "That's unusual."
Gibbs nodded. "That's not patrol numbers. That's… operation numbers."
Jack watched the distant line of ships cut through the sea with military precision. "Where are they headed?"
Gibbs checked the compass, the charts, the horizon. "Somewhere important."
Jack considered for a heartbeat, then smiled. "Follow them."
Gibbs stared at him. "Absolutely not."
Jack didn't look at him. "Keep a safe distance."
"Captain," Gibbs said carefully, "those are Marine warships. With Vice Admirals. They are very strong."
Jack's smile widened. "Yes."
"They will notice us."
Jack turned, eyes gleaming. "No, they won't."
Gibbs scoffed. "That's impossible."
Jack said nothing. He simply walked to the helm, nudged it slightly, and adjusted the Pearl's angle by a hair's breadth.
"Learn," Jack said calmly. "And watch."
The Black Pearl shifted.
She slid into the Marines' wake, positioning herself where the waves churned just enough to disguise her presence. Her sails were adjusted to catch minimal wind, her hull angled to blend with the glare of the sun on water.
They followed.
Minutes passed.
No alarm.
No signal flags.
No sudden cannon fire.
Gibbs' jaw slowly dropped.
"They… they don't see us," he whispered.
Pintel leaned over the railing. "Are the Marines stupid?"
Ragetti shook his head. "No. They're scary."
Gibbs stared at Jack. "How are you doing this?"
Jack shrugged. "I followed a pirate ship like this once. To Jaya."
Gibbs blinked. "Once?"
Jack nodded. "I didn't have log poses."
Gibbs stared at him, mind racing. "You followed… without them noticing?"
Jack tipped his hat. "It's about knowing where not to be."
The Marine fleet continued ahead, oblivious.
Gibbs laid the map out on a crate, hands shaking slightly. He began cross-referencing positions, angles, landmarks. Pintel leaned over his shoulder, pointing randomly.
"Is that us?"
"No."
"That?"
"No."
"That's definitely us."
"That's a fish."
Minutes ticked by.
Then Gibbs froze.
His finger stopped moving.
"No," he murmured.
Jack glanced down. "What?"
Gibbs swallowed. "This heading. This formation. The number of ships…"
He looked up slowly, eyes dark.
"That island they're heading toward," he said, voice tight, "is Ohara."