Wendy Darling: Volume 2: Seas

by Colleen Oakes

  “Oy! Wendy! Look at you!” Oxley burst out laughing. “Has being with the pirates changed you that much already? You’ve only been with them a few weeks! Bravo!”

  “Don’t come near me!” snapped Wendy. “Stay back!”

  Oxley raised both of his hands, the normally happy look upon his face clouding over with concern.

  “I will, Wendy. Do you think I would hurt you? Why would I ever do that?”

  “Peter did.” Wendy’s eyes flooded with tears that she quickly blinked back. “Peter hurt me. He hurts everyone.”

  “Wendy …,” Oxley implored as he stepped forward quickly and reached for her. Wendy brought her wine bottle down roughly across his palm before he leapt back with a yowl.

  “OWW! WENDY DARLING! You stabbed me! You feisty girl! OY! I was trying to give you a damned hug!” he chortled. “AH! That hurt!” Oxley’s hand was bleeding profusely, and Wendy let out a gasp.

  “I’m truly so sorry, Oxley, but please stay back. If you could just leave me here, I can find my way back to the Grove. Please don’t take me to Peter. We can both still just … go.”

  Oxley shook his head, the bright sun gleaming off the beautiful tribal markings that ran down his face.

  “See …,” he sighed sadly, “I can’t do that.”

  “You can,” she shook her head. “You can.”

  Oxley reached down and pulled a rolled piece of paper out of a tattered knapsack that was slung across his chest.

  “I can’t. Because then I couldn’t give this to Hook.”

  He handed Wendy the rolled parchment.

  “For the captain only, as soon as you can get it to him.” Wendy was speechless, the wine bottle at her side.

  “Oh good, I see you’ve decided not to stab me anymore. Wendy, Wendy, Wendy …” He tsked his tongue. “I miss having you on Pan Island, you know? It was so nice to have a lady around. Sort of balanced things out a little, right?”

  Wendy looked at the paper and then back at Oxley, the shakiness in her hands subsiding.

  “It’s you? You’re the spy?”

  Oxley laughed and rubbed his chin. “Yeah, best be keeping that to yourself for now. Only a few know. Hook, Smith, and Daa.”

  “Daa?” Wendy thought for a moment.

  “VOODOO?” Of course. Of course. How could she not have seen it?

  “That’d be the one. Though you best know that he hates that name. His real name is actually Nassor. Means victorious. Which we will be, someday.”

  Wendy’s head was swirling as she tried to sort out what she was hearing.

  “I thought … I thought Abbott was the spy. He helped us escape.”

  “The only thing you need to know about Abbott is that he’s caught on to the fact that Peter is a total arsehole. Most generals do, eventually, but then …,” Oxley’s voice caught in his throat and he coughed. “Then they die. Like Kitoko, still loyal to Peter even as he led him right into Smith’s knife.”

  “But why? Why you?”

  Oxley swallowed awkwardly.

  “My dad wasn’t always the nicest man. He got caught stealing from a merchant here in town. They caught him, and the penalty for stealing in Port Duette is a slow march off the Teeth—that is, after they almost burned his arm off.” Oxley grimaced. “Hook paid his debt to the merchant and then some, in return for a lifetime of service on the Sudden Night—half of the debt to be paid … by his son.”

  “Oh, Oxley, that’s unfair.”

  The Lost Boy shrugged happily, never a care on his face.

  “It’s not so bad. My dad loves the Sudden Night, and he will probably continue on with Hook even after the debt is paid, and I’m hoping that someday I can join him on that beautiful, bloated sea beast.”

  “But until then—”

  “Until then, I am Peter’s general and Hook’s spy, possibly the most-dangerous job in Neverland. It’s a good thing I’m clever.”

  Empathy flooded Wendy’s senses.

  “Oh, goodness, your hand. Let me see.”

  Oxley shot his palm out to her.

  “It’s nothing, it’ll heal in a week. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Besides …” He dropped his eyes. “I didn’t really know. About Peter, all of what he did to you. I know that Peter is wicked, but he can also be …”

  Effervescent. Like the sun itself. Like heat thrumming through my veins. Wendy cleared her throat. “Charming.”

  “Yes, charming. In fact, I rather enjoy his company when he’s not being a murderous psychopath.” He paused before adding, “Besides, who else is going to protect those boys? Certainly not Peter.”

  With a hard tug, Wendy tore a piece of cloth from her shirt and tied it around Oxley’s hand. When it was knotted, she bent and kissed it.

  “Forgive me for hurting you, Oxley, you brave man.”

  Oxley blushed and glanced away before looking back at her with amusement. “I must say, you look …,” he gestured to Wendy, “absolutely terrible in that get-up. I could recognize you from even above.”

  He rubbed his head. “Hook’s good at a lot of things, but apparently dressing a girl like a boy is not one of them. You’re lucky I wasn’t Peter. He would have snatched you twice as fast.”

  “Peter is afraid of Hook.”

  “A bit, but sadly, Peter isn’t afraid of much else, and I’m not sure his fear of the Sudden Night will last.”

  There was a moment of silence as they both considered the grim implication of his words. Unexpectedly, Oxley grinned at Wendy.

  “Oh go ahead and ask already, I know you aren’t that excited to see me …”

  “John! How is John?”

  Oxley’s smile faded a bit. “John’s good. He’s still very loyal to Peter. They have been spending a lot of time together, preparing for something.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. Peter has shut Abbott and me out of his inner circle. Lately, he only meets with John, and they spend a lot of time flying around the island, out of our earshot. Peter is getting more dangerous, Wendy. He’s restless. More violent than usual—just this week, he whipped four boys for insubordination.”

  Wendy gasped. She ached at the idea of those young boys, so alone, Peter the only father that they’d ever known. The shattered heart inside of her wept for them, wept for John.

  “If you can get to him, get to John, remind him that …”

  “I can’t Wendy. I can’t reveal myself to John, or even to Abbott. To anyone. No one can know. It’s the only way to keep me safe.” Oxley looked around him. “Speaking of which, I should probably go, Fermina is probably losing her mind about what just happened.”

  He smiled. “What I wouldn’t do for an hour with that woman… .”

  Wendy laughed. “Oxley!”

  He gave her a wink. “We better go. Peter’s bound to be coming around here sooner or later. He’s obsessed with you, you know, and it’s driving him mad.”

  Cold fear crept up Wendy’s spine, its claws tickling as it went. She imagined that she could feel him, watching them, watching her. She turned back to Oxley, who was already pulling on his bag.

  “That note goes only to Hook, you understand? Not Smith, not Redd, not my daa, HOOK.”

  Wendy nodded. “Of course.”

  She reached out her hand to him, and they rose up in the air.

  Wendy was silent as he flew her back to the grove, staying low as he weaved through the jungle, out of sight from eyes above and below. He slowed down as they approached the outside of the stone whore house, gently setting Wendy down on a window ledge.

  “If you go through that window, you can make your way back to an angry Fermina. The crew is just around the corner in their respective rooms. No dilly-dallying.”

  Wendy smiled. She had missed Oxley very much without knowing it.

  “I won’t dilly-dally, you have my word.” She tucked the note into her blouse.

  “Well, that’s one place to keep it.” Oxley smiled before saluting her. “I’m off. A trait
or’s work is never done.”

  Wendy reached out and took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Oxley. Thank you. I hope that someday we can spend that day on the boat together, speaking as friends without a care in the world.”

  “I would like that Wendy—especially if wine is involved—but first, we have to save Neverland.”

  He crouched on the window sill before leaping into the air, leaving a tiny swirl of dust in his wake, quickly disappearing in the eaves and outcroppings of the jangled buildings. Beyond the buildings, through the thick jungle that slithered in between alleys and up the sides of buildings, Shadow Mountain loomed over the town. Its manifestation was like a benevolent god, the foothills like its small feet, pattering down to mingle with its congregation. Mist streamed off the top; a trailing pull of white filtered down the mountain and into the jungle. Here, in the quiet stillness, she could hear the peaceful roar of the waterfalls just beyond town, hear the twittering of the animals in the jungle beyond. If Wendy squinted, she thought she could make out a small patch of land, far out on the ocean on the east side. Pan Island. The thought shook her out of her fog, and ducked through the open window, covered with tiny lime geckos. Winding through an ancient building that creaked with her every move, Wendy found her way back to the portico, back to Fermina, and a seething Captain Hook. As soon as she saw him, Wendy turned her head away from Fermina and mouthed the word “Oxley” to him, and watched relief sweep across his face.

  Hook cleared his throat.

  “It’s fine, Fermina. She’s alright.”

  Fermina looked like she wanted to say more, but instead nodded her head, trusting Hook. He stepped forward to speak with her, but was interrupted by the low blast of a horn, its sound unexpectedly causing dread to rise inside of her.

  Fermina leapt up from her seat and ran to the end of the sea.

  “The Undertow has arrived.” She raised her pronounced nose to the wind. “I should have known. I can smell it from here, like the stench of a corpse.”

  Wendy stepped beside her and looked out at the Bay, her eyes finding the ship, like a dark blotch of ink in a gray sky. Though much smaller than the Sudden Night, the Undertow possessed a certain darkness about it. From the portico high above, Wendy could hear the creaking of the ship, of warped oak buckling under the pressure as the sea became shallower and the ship violently splashed its way to shore. The figurehead on the Undertow was a collection of headless skeletons, their bodies mangled together to form a star shape that ran down both the sides of the ship, their legs splaying out where the brown wood met the dark navy of the bulkhead. The boat swung port, and Wendy caught a quick glimpse of oars being yanked inside as it breached the shore. Fermina shook her head with a disgusted sound.

  “Animals.” She shook her head. “Maison battles the devil inside of him. He deserves nothing more than to drift at the bottom of the sea he calls home.”

  Hook’s eyes rested on the ship. “I couldn’t agree more.” He practically spat the last sentence, staring out at the Undertow as streams of pirates now poured off the deck, making their way swiftly into Port Duette. Wendy pushed back the leather hat she was wearing to wipe at the sweat underneath it. Harlot’s Grove was mouth-watering in its ripe abundance, but it was also hot as Hades.

  Hook turned to Fermina. “The winds are a’changin’.”

  She nodded at him, their eyes communicating without words.

  The captain curled his hands. “I guess we’ll see at the quorum. We best be making our way there now. Go untangle their bedsheets.”

  Wendy felt a twinge of disappointment that her time with Fermina had been so rudely interrupted.

  “I am so glad,” she whispered, “so glad to have met you.”

  Fermina smiled kindly before pulling Wendy against her side.

  “I am sure that we will meet many more times, young Moira, though hopefully under much happier circumstances. Keep your wits about you on the Night, deary.”

  Fermina headed back to the closed-off hallway, rapping her knuckles hard against each golden door. A minute or so passed, and then the pirates began pouring back out into the Grove, some half dressed and pulling at their pants, others completely relaxed and composed.

  “Maison’s here,” Hook announced. “Look alive, men! Prepare your pistols and your wits. It’s time to make our way to the Privateer.”

  The crew’s eyes shone with a barely contained excitement.

  “Aye, aye!”

  Fermina gave Wendy’s shoulder a firm squeeze before leaning forward.

  “I’ll see you soon, Moira.”

  She then pulled a large brass key from her cleavage and, with the crew of the Sudden Night waiting behind her, turned a lock on one of the boudoir doors. Hook went in first, followed by Smith, who motioned to Wendy to join him. She ducked her head into the room, which was unassuming—a bed draped with paisley red linens, a dresser with brass knobs and a small mirror.

  “Open the door.” Hook snarled, and Voodoo, Black Caesar, and Smith reached down the bed, shoving it violently upwards and flipping it towards the side of the room.

  “Softer! This is Fermina’s property!” barked Hook. “I’ll tear off your hands if you break anything.”

  The pirates grumbled their apologies as they slowly moved a grubby mattress to the side of the room, revealing a trapdoor in the floor. Hook yanked up the ring and the entire floor seemed to lift off the ground, revealing a decrepit winding staircase underneath. Voodoo reached into his bag, lifting out a short torch and lighting it with a match. The torch sputtered and flared, throwing light onto the staircase in short, flickering bursts. Silently, Hook and his men filtered into the hole. Wendy made her way carefully down the slick steps, Barnaby’s kind hand leading her down.

  “The Privateer staircase. Only crew and captain of the Sudden Night get to use it.”

  “Why not the other crews?”

  “Because it’s a privilege of the commander of the Scorned.”

  The staircase ended at another locked door. This time Hook pulled a key from around his neck, its top a skull and crossbones, surrounded by swirling waves of metal.

  “Only one key like that in all of Neverland,” whispered Barnaby. Hook turned the key and with a hard push, the door to the Privateer swung open.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Wendy didn’t know what she had been expecting—piles of treasure, perhaps, something like Peter’s battle room, but she was surprised to see a very large, perfectly square room, with stone walls in a cool gray. Hanging from the low ceiling in the center of the room, a large bone chandelier—easily larger than a carriage—protruded out in every direction, its crooked arms reaching towards all who dared to enter. Beeswax candles dripped onto a gigantic wooden table, carved into a five-sided polygon, the dimensions of a compass burned into the wood. On the table was a single decanter of red wine, and five clear glasses. The room was filled to the brim with pirates.

  “Come with me,” whispered Smith, his beard brushing her cheek, “And don’t talk.” He shoved Barnaby roughly away from her.

  Hook walked slowly to the table, pushing out his coat before taking his place at the head of the table, sitting at the largest chair. Wendy thought he looked quite regal, his hat curling over one of his eyes, his medallions gleaming in the candlelight. He looked straight ahead, his gaze unflinching as the other captains made their way to the table. Their crews all gathered in the divided deep eaves of the room, standing and silent as their captains assembled. The air was thick and dangerous. Smith’s hands rested roughly on Wendy’s shoulders, his hands a little too close to her neck for comfort. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, his fingers pointing to various men.

  “There is Captain Reed Bonney, captain of the Coral Plunder. He’s loyal to Maison. A soddy git, the glutton that he is.” Wendy watched as Reed Bonney took his seat at the table, the chair creaking under his weight. He was a barrel-chested man with set-apart piggish blue eyes and a tuft of blond hair combed over a balding h
ead. His muddled orange waistcoat and brown pants were bursting at the seams, and when he sat, his eyes lingered greedily on the wine. His short, squatty hands, however, didn’t move, and he turned his chair away from Hook to avoid eye contact.

  Smith’s voice continued, “That man in the gold standing next to him is Jaali Oba, Captain of the Vicious Sea.” Wendy watched as Jaali pulled out his chair and settled swiftly into it, his fingers tapping violently on the table. He was tall and lean, his skin golden brown, his long dark locks wrapped in green and gold beads. He laid a gigantic golden scabbard on the table in front of him.

  “Jaali’s Hook’s man through and through, and a fine captain. Hook saved his life once, from a Lost Boy with a spear.” Abbott, thought Wendy. Smith continued. “A good man, though he has a taste for gold and women that is unsustainable. Rumor is that he sails with a harem of seven different women. Why you would want seven women aboard your ship is a mystery to me. If you ask me, one is too many.”

  He squeezed her shoulders impossibly hard, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping.

  Another captain sat down at the table, Smith explaining that this was Xian Li, captain of the Viper’s Strike—a terrifying man who towered over the other three, one of his bloodshot eyes replaced with a crystallized white jewel. He was completely bald, and an irritated red scar ran from the center of his forehead straight to the back of his neck. Once Xian Li had settled, the four pirates waited in silence, Hook sitting perfectly still, his eyes betraying nothing, Jaali angrily running his hands up and down his scabbard as he stared at the door. The crews of the respective ships stayed silent, but Wendy noticed that every member of the Sudden Night rested their hands gently on their weapons. The danger in the air was palpable, and just when it seemed to settle into a simmering calm, the door slammed open and Captain Maison slithered into view. His face was narrow and snakelike, predatory in its very construction. Slicked black hair was pulled back from his slender face by a ponytail, his hollowed cheeks lined with pock-marks and tiny scars. Upon entering, his lips pulled back in a gruesome sneer and Wendy felt revulsion rise up inside of her. His teeth were all sharpened to points, his gums rotted and black. He was missing an ear on the left side, and his hands were covered with black gloves.