Really, Tia Dalma's story has made the pressing dark of night-time just that bit more spooky. The air feels warm to Ragetti, but it's the stifled warmth of some kind of underground tomb, only so because the heat can't escape to the living world.

He shudders slightly. This whole Davy Jones thing is, he reflects, making him unseasonably morbid.

Suspended in the dark and the fog, so that it was impossible to judge size or distance, he spots something. A lighthouse?

Then another. And another and another and another. And finally, the long low forms behind them, indistinct. "Now there's boats coming!"