Whatever horrors the afterlife might hold for other men, James felt his own personal definition of hell was being trapped in an open boat with Jack Sparrow. He rejected the idea that they were in the afterlife in any literal sense—however weird these waters were, they were only one more blank space on Beckett's maps. He also rejected the idea that being lost here was his fault for pursuing Sparrow again beyond the point where a reasonable man would have given up, because that was just too painful to contemplate.

He hadn't much liked the idea of returning to Beckett empty-handed, anyway, unless it was with the certain news that Sparrow was dead, or at least news that could not easily be disproved. It would certainly be more satisfying to deliver Sparrow alive and in irons. If he had any irons. If he could ever get out of this boat and this fog.

"I think we're going round in circles," he said.

"No, we're not," Sparrow said, rowing with what James felt was completely pointless determination toward a spot in the mist indistinguishable from all other spots in the mist.

"Yes, we are."

"I'm the one with the compass, aren't I?"

"Your compass doesn't work," James said. "Anyway, you're not looking at it."

"I don't need a compass to row in a straight line."

"No, apparently that requires a miracle."

"Fine," Jack said, dropping the oars abruptly. "You row."

"The one mercy of our situation, Sparrow, is that I no longer take orders from you."

"I'm the captain," Jack said.

"Of a rowboat?"

"It's my bloody rowboat, so I'm the bloody captain, savvy?"

"The incomparable Captain Jack Sparrow and his rowboat."

"Would you rather that we didn't have a boat? "

"It might be a mercy."

"You're such a pessimist."

"I'm a realist."

"Good for you," Jack said, leaning back and putting his feet up as if he were reclining in an armchair rather than sprawling in a cold, clammy boat. "Does that keep you warm on cold nights?"

"It's not your sense of optimism keeping you warm at night, Sparrow."

"Well, there's nothing else avails at the moment, is there? Unless you're suggesting we huddle together for warmth." Sparrow looks him up and down with a crooked grin. "You don't have Elizabeth's natural advantages, but I suppose you'll do."

James snorts. "When hell freezes over."

"It may do," Jack says, gazing out into the mists. "Stranger things have happened."

"We should row in some direction," James says. The boat is turning lazy circles in the water, and it's impossible to tell if it's being borne along by any current. They may be losing whatever progress they've made so far.

"Pick one, then."

"I thought we weren't lost?"

"Only in a certain sense," Sparrow said. He pulled out his useless compass and frowned at the needle, which was currently spinning in the opposite direction from the boat. It made the whole world seem like it was making lazy circles, turning them round with no hint of where they'd finally come to rest.

"The sense of not having any idea where we are?"

Sparrow put on a somewhat less convincing version of his earlier grin; it was easier to see his weariness underneath it. "Do you have a better idea for how to spend our time, here?"

For a moment, the idea seemed tempting, if only because there were certain things even Sparrow probably couldn't do without shutting up. On the other hand, it seemed like admitting that he'd once again lost his bearings entirely, and he found that he wasn't quite as much of a realist as that.

"Give me the oars," he said, and struck out into the fog.