George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was fascinated with the storm glass on the captain’s desk.
Turning the tube full of liquid crystals in the light, looking at the dazzling patterns.
Like a snow globe, but without the plastic Alamo or Eiffel Towel or whatever local landmark.
George shook the tube, and it fell out of his hand, shattering on the deck.
“Oops,” said George. “I’ll just get a new one when we get back to land.”
George told the captain, and they tracked a course to the nearest port.
Straight into the storm.