The maiden voyage of The Explorer was a revelation even for Hugo.
The single-masted sloop, forged through a combination of his modern maritime knowledge and the System's precision, completely outclassed every vessel in its category. The hull lines were so optimized that the ship seemed to slice through the waves rather than push against them. Even against a headwind, the specialized rigging allowed the crew to maintain a speed that would have left a standard merchantman dead in the water.
A maneuver that usually required five or six men frantically pulling at the halyards could now be accomplished by three, thanks to the mechanical advantage of the new pulley layouts.
"Commodore! Look at the log!"
Gibbs ran toward the quarterdeck, waving a simple speed-measuring device Hugo had designed. His single eye was wide with a fervent, almost religious glee. "I've spent forty years on the brine, and I've never seen a single mast move like this! We're outrunning the trade winds, sir! We're faster than a two-masted brigantine!"
The crew on deck let out a collective gasp as the news spread. They could feel the difference in the soles of their boots. The Explorer didn't wallow or creak; she vibrated with a tight, high-frequency energy, leaping over the swells.
"If we catch a real tailwind, we'll be flyin'!" Billy shouted from the gun deck, stroking a brass cannon with a foolish grin.
"Steady, men," Hugo said, waving a hand to calm the excitement. "This is standard procedure for a ship built with proper geometry. Don't make a fuss."
Inside, however, Hugo was beaming. It felt like he had brought a modified racing yacht to a regatta of wooden tubs.
Just as the sun reached its zenith, the lookout in the crow's nest let out a strange, high-pitched shout. "Commodore! Ahead! There's... there's a man in the water!"
"A castaway? From a wreck?" Gibbs asked, squinting at the horizon.
"No... he's... he's standing on a mast, sir," the lookout called down, his voice trembling with confusion. "And the ship beneath him is sinking. Fast."
The pirates crowded the rail, muttering in disbelief. Hugo picked up his telescope and adjusted the focus. One glance through the lens, and he nearly dropped the instrument.
In the middle of the empty, azure sea, a pitifully small sampan was foundering. The water had already swallowed the hull, and it was disappearing at a visible rate. Standing atop the single, bare mast was a man striking a pose like an eagle with outstretched wings.
He wore a tattered tricorn hat with a single, bedraggled chicken feather stuck in the brim. His coat was a faded, flashy velvet, and his hair was a chaotic mess of pigtails adorned with beads, coins, and bone trinkets. Even from this distance, the heavy kohl around his eyes was visible, giving him an air of eccentric, cynical madness.
Jack Sparrow.
Hugo's heart skipped a beat. He knew that silhouette from a dozen legends. This was the man who walked between the raindrops of fate, the trickster who always held the winning card even when he had no hand.
"Is he an idiot?" Billy asked, looking through his own spyglass. "The boat's under, and he's still posin' like a king?"
"I think he's a drunkard who's lost his way to the tavern," Silas laughed.
As the crew watched, the sampan finally gave up its last breath of buoyancy. With a soft gurgle, the mast sank into the sea. Captain Jack Sparrow didn't panic. He simply stepped off the sinking wood as if he were stepping onto a pier. He stood in the water with an elegant, absurd posture, the waves reaching his neck, while his hat floated stubbornly on the surface.
The pirates on The Explorer erupted in laughter.
"I'm dyin'! Is he hopin' to walk home?"
"Leave him be, Commodore! Let him soak his head!"
Hugo didn't laugh. His mind was racing through the tactical implications. This was Jack Sparrow, the man with the compass that didn't point north. If Hugo was going to find every cursed coin, if he was going to unlock the Medieval and Industrial Eras, he needed the kind of luck and the kind of direction that only Jack provided.
"Steer the ship over," Hugo commanded.
"Sir?" Billy looked skeptical. "He looks like a bag of trouble. We've got a schedule to keep."
"Execute the order, Billy," Hugo said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The Explorer banked sharply, her dark hull gliding toward the man in the water.
Just as they drew close enough to drop a line, Gibbs, who had been standing beside Hugo, suddenly went rigid. He stared at the figure in the waves, his single eye bulging as if he were seeing a ghost. He rubbed his eye, looked again, and then rushed to the rail, his voice cracking with a mix of horror and joy.
"Jack?"
The man in the water looked up, blinking through the kohl and salt.
"Jack Sparrow! You damn, thrice-cursed old dog!" Gibbs roared. "Is it really you?!"