The Navigator

by Sky, Erin Michelle; Brown, Steven;

  “Oh, well done, Charming! This is it! Michael!” She raised her voice toward the crew that was now working at the end of a heavy chain some distance from the ship. “Michael, are we ready?”

  “Still working on it,” he hollered back. “The anchor’s embedded in the trunk. We’ll have to chop it out. It’s going to take a while.”

  “Hurry!” she yelled. Then she turned back to Hook. “Captain, may I suggest we man the cannons, just in case?”

  Hook stared at her as though she had gone daft.

  “Please, Captain,” she entreated him, bouncing nervously from one foot to the other. Which was when they finally heard the croc crashing and splashing through the swamp, heading straight for them.

  “Man the cannons!” Hook shouted. “Man the cannons!”

  “Prepare to fire,” John added, addressing his own men, who stood shoulder to shoulder with him, their muskets raised toward the sound of the great beast.

  Vegard dropped the line he had just finished hauling in and raced to the deck cannon that faced the croc’s general direction.

  “There aren’t any cannonballs,” he shouted to them. “But there’s a whole keg of powder here.”

  “Load it!” Hook ordered. “Load the cannon with anything you can find!” He was starting to sound genuinely concerned. They still couldn’t see the croc, but they could see entire trees in the distance bending beneath the weight of it as it rampaged toward them.

  “It’s too big, Captain. The cannon might not kill it,” Wendy said in a rush. “Fire at the anchor chain instead. Free the ship! It’s our best chance!”

  She held his gaze for a long moment.

  “Do it!” he finally ordered, and he turned his attention toward the crew. “Stuff that cannon with anything you can find! Target the chain! All hands on deck!”

  Michael and his small crew abandoned their efforts and slogged their way back toward the ship as fast as they could. Meanwhile, the rest of the men scrambled to shove anything they could find into the cannon. A line of men formed a kind of bucket brigade, handing things from one man to the next out of a cache someone had found inside the ship. Jewelry, coins, trinkets.

  The beast came into view, and, for a moment, Wendy couldn’t move. It was a crocodile in the same sense that a land cannon was a gun. It was massive, with red, glowing eyes, green dragon scales for its hide, and teeth the size of Wendy’s entire forearm.

  She gathered her wits and tried to raise the ship, but the anchor line groaned and held.

  “Hurry!” Hook yelled.

  Peter flew back to the croc, trying to stab its tail with his sword to distract it, but the effort was obviously useless. The croc’s attention was focused on Hook and Hook alone.

  “Fire!” John shouted to his men. Every one of them fired his musket at the speeding demon, but the creature didn’t even slow down. Hook was standing directly behind the cannon now, and the croc was heading straight for Hook.

  “Fire!” Hook ordered.

  The cannon fired, and the world disappeared in an explosion of gray smoke.

  or the briefest of moments, Wendy wondered if they had somehow been transported through another portal. But, unfortunately, the world hadn’t really disappeared. The smoke was just obscuring her view. The croc had been thrown from the ship by the blast, but she could still hear it, not far away, thrashing in the swamp. And as the smoke dissipated, she could see it shaking its massive head. It did not appear to be damaged in the slightest.

  Wendy tried desperately to raise the ship, but nothing happened. It still held fast, trapped by the anchor’s chain.

  The croc’s nose found Hook and its eyes refocused, snapping toward the captain with single-minded purpose.

  “Miss Darling?”

  It was all he said, but Wendy knew what he was asking. Will you be raising the ship anytime soon, Miss Darling? Or am I about to meet my demise, eaten alive by a demon crocodile in this Godforsaken sulfurous swamp?

  “I’m doing my best, Captain,” she told him through gritted teeth. The chain groaned under the strain, but it did not break.

  “Trying your best is not what I need, Miss Darling. I need you to make it happen. Now.”

  His eyes never left the crocodile, which had gathered its wits and was clearly about to charge again. There would be no time for a second shot. Wendy thought up as hard as she could, with the intention to move much more quickly than was probably safe. The chain was attached to the ship by a heavy iron ring that was, in turn, bolted to the deck, and the surrounding wood creaked against the pressure, but it did not give way.

  The croc charged.

  “Now, Miss Darling!”

  The beast sped toward the ship. Wendy pulled against the chain with the full force of her determination. The croc’s nose breached the cannon. Hook stood his ground in silent defiance and fired one final shot at the monster, knowing full well it would do him no good.

  The croc opened its jaws, and then Wendy felt it—the opportunity she needed. The anchor chain, weakened by the blast, screamed one last, defiant protest and snapped in two.

  The moment the ship was free, it catapulted into the sky. Several of the crew were thrown to the deck, but Wendy was careful to slow the ship gradually, making sure none of them were tossed overboard.

  Hook inhaled, his breath sharp and deep, and he exhaled slowly. He rolled his shoulders. Then, as calm as you please, the right corner of his mouth curled into a small, satisfied smile.

  “Return us to the valley, Miss Darling.”

  He did not raise his voice to issue the order, but Pan heard him nonetheless. The everlost was hovering just off the side of the ship (having followed it mostly to be sure Wendy wasn’t hurled into midair by the speed of her own escape), and he hollered out a long, joyful whoop. Vegard picked it up and their voices blended into something greater—a cry of victory that lit a fire in the chests of the crew.

  Soon they were all shouting at once, and even Cecco, the handsome Italian (who was dark and brooding by nature), removed the kerchief from his neck and waved it through the air.

  “A celebration is in order,” Hook added, raising his voice to address the men. “England’s fleet of flying ships has just doubled in size!”

  That started the cheering all over again, and one or two of the nearest crew members might even have considered clapping Wendy on the back, forgetting in their enthusiasm to treat her like a lady. They might have, that is, if she had not been an officer. Not a single man among Hook’s crew would ever clap an officer physically on the back—no more than they would have dared to touch the captain himself.

  But for one shining moment, it was her status rather than her gender that prevented it, which was a small victory in its own right, even if Wendy had no idea what she had accomplished.

  Hook, on the other hand, saw the whole thing. He noticed everything about his crew. He saw that they were becoming more comfortable, if not with her exactly, then at least with the idea of her. It helped, he supposed, that her platoon respected her. And it helped even more that no one could fly a ship better than she could.

  She seemed so natural at the helm. When Charlie flew The Pegasus, it clearly took everything he had just to keep the hull off the ground and moving in the right direction. But Wendy flew as though the ship were an extension of herself. First The Pegasus and now this new vessel, salvaged from the swamp, likely full of holes and still reeking from the fumes that had infused the wood with their stench. Despite everything, Wendy flew as easily as if she had known the ship all her life. She flew it like she loved it.

  Which was the moment when Hook first realized something about himself—something so surprising that even his glorious hair took issue with it, whipping him about his face with the force of a stiff wind and an even more righteous indignation.

  He actually wished he could give her the new ship.

  He frowned. And then he narrowed his eyes. But the feeling remained. In some ways, it even made sense. The ship would need bo
th a pilot and a captain. As first mate, Charlie was next in line for a ship of his own, but there was no way he could pilot a ship and command it at the same time. Flying took too much of his focus. He just wasn’t capable of keeping the ship in the air while maintaining the crew’s discipline, let alone directing a battle.

  But Wendy could. Hook was sure of it. That is, if she had a crew that would take orders from her.

  Unfortunately, his crew would not. He was sure of that, too. It was one thing for them to accept her presence. It was another thing altogether for them to accept her leadership. Most of them would start planning a mutiny the moment they set foot on any ship under her command, and, by definition, Hook wouldn’t be there to stop it. Her own platoon wasn’t big enough to sail a ship on its own, and, even if it were, there wasn’t a single trained sailor within the entire useless lot of them.

  Which, of course, made Hook think of Peter. At the moment, the everlost was hovering in the air in front of Wendy, lying down on nothing at all. His face was no more than a foot away from her own, and he spun slowly, like a pig on a spit, so that first he was lying on his back, and then his stomach, and then his back again, watching her all the while.

  That was the other reason Hook couldn’t give Wendy the ship.

  Pan.

  Wendy might be capable of serving as both captain and pilot at once, but Hook couldn’t afford for her to do either. He needed her on Pan’s ship to keep the everlost on target and under control. Which meant Charlie would have to fly The Pegasus, Wendy would fly with Pan, and Hook was back to his original problem: what to do with the new vessel.

  He wasn’t about to turn it over to the everlost. He’d rather rot in hell. But perhaps one of the Viking men. At least long enough to defeat Blackheart. Vegard, maybe. He had kept his head well during the battle with the croc and obviously had some knowledge of the ship’s cannons.

  “Captain! Look!”

  Wendy’s voice interrupted his musings. The ship was passing between the mountains into their safe “harbor,” such as it was, and Wendy was leaning around Peter to point straight ahead. Hook turned to follow her gaze and was shocked to discover a brand new ship’s cradle waiting for them, just the perfect size for their new vessel.

  “But … how?” was all he could think to say.

  “How what?” Peter wanted to know. He sat up in midair to see what everyone was looking at.

  “We’ve only been gone a few hours!” Hook exclaimed. It staggered the mind, but there it was. There could be no denying its existence as Wendy brought the ship in to dock, settling her down gently onto the timbers that stretched beneath.

  “This is its home,” Peter said, and then he added, “obviously.” As though the fact that the ship fit perfectly into the new cradle explained anything at all.

  With considerable effort, Hook managed not to respond. Instead, he raised his voice to project it over the deck.

  “Mr. Starkey!” he shouted. “Would you be so kind as to tell us the name of the newest ship in the British fleet?”

  The crew cheered anew, and Starkey called back a jaunty, “Aye, Captain!”

  He slung a line over the stern and disappeared over the edge, letting himself down hand over hand while the crew rushed to watch. They fell silent, waiting, and then Starkey looked up toward the deck, saying nothing.

  “Well?” Hook leaned over the edge. He couldn’t imagine what was making Starkey so reluctant. “What does it say?”

  “Uh … begging your pardon, Captain. But it says, ‘Death to the King.’”

  “Does it?” Hook let the tension build for a moment, just for, well, fun, if you can imagine that, and then he broke into an easy grin. “Right. I don’t think we’ll be keeping that one.”

  The crew roared with laughter and then immediately started calling out suggestions.

  “The Penelope!”

  “The Sarah!”

  “The Margaret!”

  Smee growled back, “We’re not naming her after any wives!”

  “Wait a moment, Captain,” Starkey called up again. “This is a new board on the top, but there’s something else under here.”

  “All right. Let’s hear it, Starkey. What’s her real name then?”

  Cecco dropped a pry bar down to Starkey, and the crew fell still while he worked at the board. Finally, the new one fell away, exposing the original name plate beneath.

  “Not sure it’s much better, Captain,” he hollered up. “Might not be worthy of her, if you know what I mean.”

  “It certainly can’t be any worse,” Hook called back, which elicited a new round of chuckles. “What is it then?”

  “Her name’s Jolly Roger, sir. She’s the Jolly Roger.”

  olly Roger?” Smee sneered in disgust. “What kind of name is that?”

  “It’s a terrible name!” Cecco declared. “We should call it the Da Vinci!”

  “We’re not naming it after some stupid Italian any more than we’re naming it after some stupid wife!”

  Smee was considerably shorter than Cecco, but he walked straight up to him and stared him down nonetheless. (Or, technically, stared him up, crossing his arms over his barrel chest and glaring at the larger man in a distinctly challenging way.)

  “Da Vinci was a genius, you ignorant heathen!” Cecco placed his hands on his hips and leaned forward, towering over Smee.

  “Whose wife are you calling stupid?” This was uttered by Jukes, one of the men who had confronted Wendy when she had first come on board. (But he had also been one of the first to stop glaring at her.) He moved to stand next to Cecco, clenching his jaw and flexing his tattooed arms, making the ink ripple along his skin. A giant squid waved its tentacles with the movement, and a ship floated up and down, riding its tattooed waves.

  “We’re not naming it after an Italian,” Smee growled again, ignoring Jukes.

  “She needs a name of power,” Vegard chimed in. “To protect her in the skies. I’d call her Odin’s Eye.”

  “We’re not naming any British ship after your false gods!” Poor Reginald had always been a pious man. Vegard, with his muscled physique, easily outweighed the lean redhead by at least fifty pounds, but Reginald shook his head to clear his hair from his eyes and glared at the Viking in obvious contempt.

  “We’re keeping the name!” Hook roared. “If it’s going to cause this much trouble, she’ll remain the Jolly Roger. Stop arguing and be glad we have her. All of you. Stand down.”

  Cecco stood up straight, Smee uncrossed his arms, Jukes let his hands drop to his sides, and Vegard shrugged. (After all, Vegard had never threatened anyone. He had only made a suggestion.) Reginald gave Vegard a final suspicious glance, then shook the hair out of his eyes again and retreated through the crowd that had gathered, parting the larger men with a sharp wave of his hands, like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  “We have a lot of work ahead of us,” Hook declared. “Today was a victory, but we have a long way to go before she’s battle ready. We have to get our Jolly Roger back in top shape, worthy of the British fleet, and we only have days to do it. Even now, Blackheart is preparing to fly against England. Are we going to let him do it?”

  “No!” the crew shouted at once.

  “Are we going to let him reach England’s shores with his army of abominations?”

  “No!” they shouted, even more loudly.

  “Then let’s get to work! Smee, I need a damage report on the hull. Cecco, we have one mast missing. Take a team and go find me a tree worthy of the king’s service.”

  “Aye, Captain!” Cecco shouted.

  “Starkey! Starkey, are you back aboard?”

  “Aye, Captain,” Starkey acknowledged. He stood next to the stern, having just climbed over the railing.

  “The sail from that mast has been lying on the deck in that rotting swamp for who knows how long. See if you can save it. If not, talk to Vegard. I’m sure his people can help.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Starkey said again, and Vegard nodded. />
  “The rest of you, start cleaning her up. I want this deck gleaming, is that understood?”

  “Aye, Captain,” the crew replied, this time with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

  Hook turned to head below, opened the hatch, immediately scrunched up his face in disgust, and spun back toward the deck. “Lieutenant Abbot,” he said, addressing John, “take your platoon below and assess the ship’s condition. Make a note of any holes or rotted planks. And, while you’re at it, try to get rid of that God-awful stench.”

  “I found it. That makes it my ship. And I’m making Curly the captain.”

  They were standing in Hook’s quarters, clustered around his map table: Hook, Charlie, and Wendy; Pan and Curly; Tigerlilja and Vegard. Pan had just made this pronouncement with a triumphant grin, as though finders-keepers were the be-all and end-all of arguments.

  “Thanks, Peter!” Curly exclaimed.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Hook growled. “The Jolly Roger was salvaged in the name of England. She is the king’s ship and part of the British fleet.”

  “Why is it ridiculous?” Peter demanded. “It was on my land. If you want my ship, you’ll have to duel me for it. That’s the law.”

  “It most certainly is not the law,” Hook informed him. “And your argument presupposes that the ship is yours to begin with, which it is not.”

  “It is.”

  “It is not.”

  “It is.”

  “It is not!”

  Negotiations, as they say in matters of foreign affairs, were rapidly breaking down. Fortunately, Wendy knew Peter much better than Hook did, so she saw the solution at once.

  “Peter,” she said, interrupting, “the ship was not found on your land.”

  “Explain,” Peter demanded. He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes at her in obvious suspicion, but at least he was listening.

  “The ship was in the swamp, which was clearly the domain of the crocodile,” Wendy began.

  “Ha! But the swamp is on my land!” Peter argued.