The Hook (1991)

by Terry Brooks

  They surged back and forth for a minute in front of the pub. Then the tablecloth seemed to fly up and when it came down again Peter was gone.

  Hook stared about in bewilderment. Then he stalked into the pub. Onlookers crowded up to the windows and doors and peered inside.

  Peter was leaning on the bar, calmly quaffing a glass of ale. Hook hesitated, then stepped up to join him. As they drank, the captain experienced a rare moment of doubt.

  Perhaps I was a bit hasty in issuing that last challenge, he thought.

  His mouth tightened into a thin line. It wasn't that he was afraid of Peter Pan. Not he, not James Hook, the man who had been Blackbeard's bosun. It was just that he was befuddled by him. No matter how thorough or careful his plans, Pan always escaped him. How could anyone be so lucky? It was ridiculous. Time after time Hook trapped him, and each time he found a way to get free. It was really very tiring.

  Hook sighed. And where was his trusty pirate crew? He couldn't count on a one, by Billy Bones's blood! Chaos had claimed them all. The rats sensed the ship sinking, so to speak, and were looking for a way off. Even Smee had deserted him. He tried to take comfort in the fact that at least he had his long-anticipated war. He tried to ignore the fact that he was losing it.

  He took a swipe at Peter, who ducked away. Down the bar they battled, slash and parry, cut and thrust, pausing every so often to take a drink. When their glasses were empty at last, they set them on the counter and backed out once again into the street.

  Down the length of Hook's pirate town they fought, twisting and turning from side to side, each seeking to gain an advantage. They reached the barber shop and Peter leaped over Hook and hung just out of reach in the air above him.

  Hook glared up at his nemesis, breathing hard. "You've come to Neverland once too often, Peter."

  Peter laughed. "Where have 1 heard that before?"

  Hook stomped furiously. "Stop hovering! Come down where I can reach you!"

  Peter landed in a crouch, the Pan sword extended. Hook surged to the attack once more. Toe-to-toe they battled, sword-to-sword, hissing and grunting with the effort of their struggle.

  As they reached the blacksmith's Peter switched hands, tossing the Pan sword from right to left and back again, barely losing a beat as he blunted Hook's attacks.

  "Confound you!" Hook raged.

  And then suddenly Peter's guard slipped just enough and Hook was through, bulling ahead wildly, too close to strike, but possessed of enough momentum to twist Peter about and force him backward against the grindstone table. Hissing with satisfaction, Hook pinned Peter fast and began to force his head downward toward the spinning stone.

  "You're so cocky, aren't you?" Hook sneered. His hook brushed the stone and sparks flew. "But, you know, you're not really Peter Pan. You know that, don't you? You're Peter Banning! Yes! Peter Banning, remember?"

  A hint of doubt crept into Peter's eyes.

  "You're Peter Banning," Hook went on hurriedly. "And this, Mr. Banning, is all a dream. It's not real. It's just your imagination. It has to be, mmm? Doesn't rational thought say it must? And aren't you a man of rational thought? It must be that you're simply asleep!"

  Peter's face was inches from the grindstone.

  "When you wake up," Hook continued with a sneer, "you will be fat, old Peter Banning, a cold, selfish man who runs and hides from his wife and children at every opportunity, who's obsessed with success and money! You have lied to everyone, haven't you? Yourself, especially. And now you would pretend to be Peter Pan? Shame on you!"

  Peter's strength was fading rapidly now, his fighting power flown away with the last of his happy thoughts, the reality of who and what he had been recalled by Hook's words. Was he really any different now? Wasn't he just playing at being Peter Pan?

  "You are a disgrace!" Hook taunted.

  The Pan sword fell from Peter's hand. At the entrance to the shop, the Lost Boys stared at one another helplessly.

  Then Jack leaped forward to crouch next to his father, just out of Hook's reach, his elfin face creased with sudden determination.

  "I believe in you, Dad," he cried out. "You are the Pan."

  "I believe in you, too, Daddy," Maggie repeated at his elbow.

  And then the Lost Boys took up the refrain, speaking it with such conviction that it could not be ignored. Peter glanced past Hook and saw the belief mirrored in their eyes. Ace, Latchboy, Pockets, Thud Butt, Too Small, No Nap, Don't Ask, and all the others, saying it over and over again.

  I believe in you! You are the Pan!

  And suddenly he was again-for the strength of belief in their voices had transferred itself to him and become his own.

  He surged back to his feet, throwing Hook off and tumbling him to the floor. Hook's sword fell from his hand and a look of shock twisted his angular face. As he tried to retrieve his fallen weapon, Peter snatched up the Pan sword and blocked his way.

  Hook blanched and froze.

  Peter hesitated, then reached down carefully for Hook's sword, flipped it about and offered it back, hilt first.

  "Curse your eternal good form!" Hook screamed.

  He attacked without a word. They fought their way out of the blacksmith's and through the soup kitchen, Hook gasping and panting with every step.

  "Peter Pan," Hook huffed in genuine despair. "Who and what art thou?"

  "I am youth! I am joy!" Peter cried and crowed wildly.

  Moments later they surged into Pirate Square. Swords clashed one final time, and then Peter zipped away to land in front of the crocodile clock. Jack and Maggie and the Lost Boys appeared at their heels, quickly spreading out to ring the combatants. Hook whirled guardedly, staring from face to face.

  And suddenly there was the sound of ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Hook cringed. Jack and Maggie and the Lost Boys had pulled out watches and clocks of varying sizes and shapes and kinds, all ticking and tocking and chiming and beeping. The sound became a cacophony, and Hook shrank from it in terror.

  Peter moved to stand before him. "Hello! Is this the great Captain Hook?" He glanced over his shoulder at the crocodile tower. "Afraid of a dead, old croc?" His voice became a child's. "Tick-tock, tick-tock, Hook's afraid of the old, dead croc."

  The Lost Boys were quick to pick up the rhyme. "Tick-tock, tick-tock, Hook's afraid of the old, dead croc!"

  Hook wheeled in fury, teeth clenched. He rushed at Peter to engage him, but Peter parried the blow easily and skipped away.

  "No, it's not the croc after all!" Peter shouted suddenly. Then his voice lowered. "I think James Hook is afraid of time, ticking away…"

  This was too much for Hook, who threw himself on Peter with a howl of anguish.

  The battle was joined anew, Hook and Peter crashing together, swords ringing. Hook thrust wickedly, but Peter was too quick. He turned the blow aside, twisting his own sword so deftly that the captain's was swept from his hand. A second twist, so swift the eye could barely follow it, and Hook's wig and hat were flicked from his head through the air to land atop an astonished Too Small. Weaponless and hairless, exhausted and broken, Hook fell to his knees.

  The point of the Pan sword came up to rest against his throat.

  Hook glanced aside to see his hat and wig resting atop Too Small's head. "Peter, my dignity, at least," he pleaded. "You took my hand. You owe me something."

  Peter stepped over to Too Small, retrieved the hat and wig, tossed aside the hat, and handed the wig to Hook, who clutched it before him in his hands in the manner of a disobedient child.

  Peter's sword came back up to Hook's throat. His voice was stem. "You killed Rufio. You kidnapped my children. You deserve to die, James Hook."

  Hook swallowed, then lifted his chin defiantly. "Then strike, Peter Pan! Strike true!"

  There was fire in Peter's eyes as he beheld his enemy helpless at last, and a fierce rush of exhilaration surged through him. All about, the crowd held its collective breath-Lost Boys and pirates alike.

  Peter's ar
m drew back.

  Hook closed his eyes. "Finish it!"

  But somehow Peter couldn't bring himself to do it. Neither the part that was Banning nor the part that was Pan could strike down a helpless enemy-even one as evil as Captain Hook.

  He felt Maggie's hands on his arm.

  "Let's go home, Daddy," she whispered. "Please? He's just a mixed-up old man without a mommy."

  "Yeah, let's get out of here, Dad," Jack agreed, coming up to stand beside her. "He can't hurt us anymore."

  Hook's eyes snapped open and tears welled up. "Oh, bless you, child," he murmured gratefully. He placed his wig back on his head. "Good form, Jack!"

  Peter lowered his sword and stepped back, eyeing Hook coldly. "Okay, Hook-take your ship and go: I don't want to see your face in Neverland again. Promise?"

  Hook swallowed whatever was threatening to choke him and with considerable effort managed a reluctant nod. Peter turned away, sheathing the Pan sword and taking his children's hands in his own. A cheer went up from the Lost Boys.

  But they had missed the treacherous glint in Hook's eye. Something clicked within the sleeve of his weaponless hand, and a razor-sharp blade sprang forth from its concealment into his palm.

  "Fools!" he cried. "James Hook is Neverland!"

  Then he was on his feet, rushing to the attack. Peter barely had time to shove Jack and Maggie out of the way before the captain was on him. Hook slammed Peter back against the crocodile tower and pinned him fast.

  "You lied, Hook,'' Peter declared through clenched teeth. He could not reach his sword. "You broke your promise."

  There was a madness in the captain's red eyes. "Forever-more, whenever children read of you it will say, 'Thus perished Peter Pan!' "

  And he thrust his claw at Peter.

  But just as it seemed that all was lost, there was Tink, darting out of nowhere to deflect the blow just enough that it missed Peter and lodged instead in the belly of the crocodile. Gasses and dust spewed forth in a cloud, blinding Hook. He struggled to pull free and could not. The crocodile began to shake and shudder, and the clock tumbled out of its jaws, barely missing Hook as it struck the ground behind him with a thud. The tower began to rock, then to teeter. A moaning rose, as if a ghost had been awakened. The Lost Boys drew back. The pirates who still remained began to scatter, fleeing with wild cries. Peter pulled Jack and Maggie away.

  Hook flailed, making the crocodile clock rock dangerously. He screamed like a madman. Finally he wrenched free, but his efforts snapped the last of the crocodile's fastenings and it began to fall toward him. Hook tried to run, but ended up stumbling over the fallen clock. He lay thrashing, horror mirrored in his red eyes. The crocodile was descending, its jaws cracked wide.

  Hook gasped. Down came the crocodile with a crash.

  And Captain James Hook disappeared down its throat with a gulp.

  After the dust had settled, they all walked forward to peer into the crocodile's jaws. One after another they bent down for a look, amazement on their faces.

  Captain Hook was gone.

  "Where'd he go?" Maggie wanted to know. But no one had an answer.

  Then the cry of "victory banquet" went up again, and everyone began to parade about the fallen crocodile, shouting and cheering, "No more Hook!" and "Hurray for the Pan Man!"

  Peter led the procession, caught up in the celebration, unaware that time was catching up to him once again.

  "Let's go sink some mermaids!" Don't Ask suggested. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

  "No!" Latchboy said. "Let's draw a circle in the ground and dare lions to cross it!"

  "I want to bake a cake and feed it to the Neverbird!" No Nap said.

  "But we've got to dress up like pirates and sack the ship first!" Ace declared.

  They all joined in, each with his own suggestion for what they should do next. Peter began shouting suggestions of his own, a little boy himself again for just a moment.

  But then he glanced over to where Jack and Maggie stood watching, Tink hanging in the air above them, and he knew that his adventures were over for now and it was time to go home.

  He held up his hands and the cheering died. Lost Boy faces peered up at him.

  "I can't stay," he told them. "I've done what I came to do, and now I have to go back." The joy faded from their faces. "I have to go home."

  "But Peder, this is your bomb," Pockets insisted.

  "Yeah, this is where Peter Pan belongs," Thud Butt agreed.

  Peter smiled. "No, not anymore. You see, I've grown up. And once you grow up, you have to stay that way. You can keep a little part of what's inside a boy; you can remember what it's like. But you can't go all the way back."

  He turned from them and walked to where Jack and Maggie waited. He knelt before them. "Tink, dust them," he ordered. "A little traveling magic." He took their hands in his. "All you have to do is think one happy thought, and you'll fly like me."

  Tink flew past in a sweeping arc, scattering pixie dust as she went. It settled over Jack and Maggie, who closed their eyes.

  "Mommy!" said Maggie, and she smiled.

  Jack's eyes opened, and he looked at Peter. "My dad, Peter Pan," he whispered.

  Then up they went, all three, as light as feathers on the summer air. Tink led the way, a bit of spinning brightness in the sunlight. Below, the Lost Boys stood gathered, staring solemnly skyward. A few hands lifted tentatively, waving good-bye.

  Peter glanced behind, hesitated in mid-flight, then placed Maggie's hand in Jack's and called Tink back.

  "You know the way home, Tink. Take Jack and Maggie on ahead. I'll be right behind."

  He watched them fly away, then settled down once more amid the Lost Boys.

  "Don't leave us, Peter," Thud Butt pleaded. "Stay in Neverland."

  He saw the confusion in their faces. "I have a wife and children who need me," he said quietly. "I belong with them."

  "But we need you, too," Too Small sniffed.

  Peter picked him up and hugged him. "The Lost Boys don't need anyone," he told them. "You have each other and Neverland, and that's more than enough."

  "You'll forget us again," Ace declared solemnly.

  "Not this time," Peter promised. "Never again.''

  "But you're our leader," Thud Butt insisted.

  "Not anymore," Peter told him. He handed over the Pan sword. Thud Butt gasped. "You're the Pan now." He tried a comforting grin. "At least until I come back."

  "Will you comb back?" Pockets asked in a small voice.

  Peter met the sad, dark face and nodded, "One day," he whispered.

  He went to each of them then, to Latchboy, Don't Ask, No Nap, Ace, Thud Butt, Pockets, Too Small, and all the rest, giving each a handclasp and a hug. Some cried. It was all Peter could do to finish.

  "Thank you," he told them. "You helped me save my kids from Hook. You helped me to become Peter Par) again. 1 won't ever forget."

  Then he lifted away into the cloudless blue sky. He rose, dipped, and swung back again, passing one final time over the gathered Lost Boys. Thud Butt raised the Pan sword in salute. Ace blew the antler horn. Don't Ask, No Nap, and Latchboy raised their hands and waved.

  Too Small was crying. "That was a great game, Peter!" he called.

  Peter gave a crow in reply, long and piercing, then turned toward the setting sun and flew away.

  Thud Butt put his arm about Pockets and gave him a quick hug. There were tears in the other's eyes.

  "Imb miss hib alreddy," Pockets whispered.

  Farther out, close to the mouth of the harbor and facing back toward the smoking Jolly Roger, Smee looked up from the dinghy he rowed. Resting his oars momentarily, he watched Peter Pan fly past and disappear into the distance.

  "Aye, doesn't it jus' send ye o'er the moon," he said, and sniffed. "Poor Cap'n Hook, he alwus 'ated 'appy endings."

  He shifted to a more comfortable position amid the piles of treasure he had appropriated. The trio of mermaids settled at his feet smiled up at him, playing
with the gold bracelets on their wrists and the silver rings on their fingers. A fish tail lifted and tickled his chin, causing him to blush.

  "Ah, well." He sighed, picking up the oars and beginning to row.

  As he did, one of the mermaids found the spare concertina he had scavenged and began to play. Smee sang.

  "Yo, ho! Yo, ho! Yo, ho, for a pirate's life!"

  An Awfully Big Adventure

  And so we come to the final chapter of our story, the one in which we tidy up all the loose ends much in the manner of mothers who straighten up their children's thoughts while they sleep. Traditionally it is not a chapter in which a great deal happens, all the excitement having taken place earlier, but is instead a time for settling back and reflecting. It is also a time for coming home from wherever one has gone, for taking delight in the simple pleasures that ends to journeys bring. So while some would skip on to the beginning of a new tale, those who understand the truths that embody Peter Pan will want to stick around to share in the Banning family's well-deserved garnering of warm fuzzies.

  Peter and the children flew all night through the stars that led homeward, guided by Tink's small light pulsing like a beacon. Once or twice Peter was tempted to deviate from his course just long enough to sneak up behind a star and attempt to blow out its light (for old times' sake), but it would have meant staying his homecoming that much longer, and he was too anxious to suffer further delays. He spent his time holding his children close and telling them all the stories he had never shared, the ones that had disappeared from his life over the years, locked away in the adult that had no time for such nonsense. He hugged and kissed them frequently, as if afraid he might never get the chance again, and they laughed at silly nothings and foolish looks. At times they spoke of where they had gone and what they had seen and done, but yawns and the wind's lullabies made recollection difficult, and the words seemed to stray off by themselves like sheep from an untended flock.

  Toward dawn, with most of the stars disappeared into the brightening sky and the moon dropped below the horizon, Kensington Gardens came into view, steepled roofs and brick chimneys shrouded in tattered winter mist. Peter's eyes grew so heavy then that he could no longer keep them open.