"Don't tell me you expected me to be mourning the Company's loss of power, Commodore," Jack drawls, pointedly. "Not that I've a particular fondness for anything what's looking to take away another's freedom, but in East India's case--"

He waves a hand in the air, and the deep purple stone of the ring on his index finger gleams oddly in the light as he continues.

"-- suppose it's the natural result of dealing with their own devils, aye? So to speak." Sardonic humor coats his words.

"As for Beckett, he'd deal with a shark and come out even, most of the time."

Jack grins, wickedly.

"Most of the time. Still, he's cold as a dead fish, that one."