Compass - Island

He remembered a cay that Teague had used several times while he’d sailed with him, a smallish one, only two and a half miles long and a mile wide, but it boasted a good clear spring, and teemed with plant and animal life. Holding the image of the unnamed islet fixed in his mind, Jack took out the compass Tia Dalma had given him, back when he’d been younger than Chamba was now, and closed his eyes, concentrating.

When Jack opened his eyes, the needle of the compass was pointing firmly northwest. Smiling, he again concealed the compass, and went forward to take the wheel. Jack steered the ship for several hours, adjusting her course heading slightly as the compass needle indicated. The captain had to be careful not to reveal the compass to his helmsman or any curious crewmember. There was simply no way to easily explain what he had. Crews had mutinied before when they’d decided their captain had gone mad.

Robby, of course, knew about the compass; he owed his life to its ability to point the way to whatever the person holding it desired the most. But it had been years since he’d seen Jack use it steadily, as he was using it that sunny afternoon.

***

The Price of Freedom, Chapter 6