James flushes at Sparrow's last comment. Not that he has any doubts as to the fact that it's complete and utter fantasy, but the insinuation in the pirate's voice... he shakes that thought away before he can further contemplate it. No. He'll humour him and look at the compass, but he knows it's useless. There's no way a compass can do anything but point to the magnetic north, or, if it's broken, as this one is, point... somewhere else. To think that it has some kind of magic to it is nonsense, absolute nonsense.

'My heart's desire,' he mutters, 'of course. Because it makes perfect sense that a compass should be able to figure that out.' But Sparrow makes no comment, so after a moment's more hesitation, James flips open the lid.

The needle is already spinning as the lid opens to reveal it, but when he trains his gaze upon it, it seems to waver and come to a halt, before starting in the opposite direction. Its movements are jerky as James's eyes follow it; for a moment, the needle comes to rest pointing at Sparrow over his shoulder, before twitching away. For several moments, the point swings back and forth; towards the cabin door, to the east, to what James thinks is the direction he and his men came from, back to Sparrow himself, and then to rest on the pile of charts in front of them. He thinks for a moment that it's going to stay there, but it swings back again, and he snaps shut the lid with an irritated sigh.

'You see,' he says, 'broken.'