Hook: Dead to Rights (Captain Hook and the Pirates of Neverland Book 1)

by Melissa Snark

  While I'd been out, the current had pulled me down deep. It took a full minute of swimming for all I was worth to reach topside. The moment my head broke the surface, I vomited water until my lungs cleared enough to once again draw air. Coughing wracked my chest and rendered me helpless. To add insult to injury, an opportunistic breaker slapped me in the face and I inhaled a draught of fluid that left me gagging.

  In such moments, I must confess to being tempted to resume singing. Gills would've come in handy right then. What harm would there be in voicing the refrains necessary to nudge my physical transformation into merfolk along? Of course, I didn't—I mustn't. And so I was miserable as a result...

  Every now and then, fate tossed me a bone. Once the spasm subsided and I could breathe well enough to see again, I turned my face heavenward. Being an accomplished pessimist, I fully expected to discover nothing to greet my gaze but sea and sky.

  By now, I reckoned Starkey would've declared me dead 'n' gone. If he had a lick of sense, he'd claimed the captaincy—and Revenge. Any pirate worth his salt, myself included, would've done so without hesitation. The wind filling the sails of a fine ship—and total freedom—was every swashbuckler's dream. I wouldn't have begrudged him in the least.

  So imagine my surprise when a dark shadow fell over my face. I blinked salt water from my eyes and stared up in wonder. The sun shone behind the vessel, presenting the silhouette of a tall ship. No details, but I'd recognize her profile anywhere. My beautiful Revenge; she was the loveliest sight I'd ever laid eyes on. She rocked on robust swells. I swam to her bow and placed my palm against her ebonized oak hull. I wept with joy, tears which the ocean then swallowed whole.

  A strangled cry tore from my throat, a pitiful effort, too quiet to carry to the deck. I summoned the last of my reserves and released a bellow worthy of a wounded bear. This time, someone heard me. A figure gazed over the railing on the fo'c'sle, scanning the surf. I heaved my hook overhead and flagged him.

  Upon spotting me, he shouted, "Man overboard!"

  "Captain, you dunce!"

  "Oi, it's the captain! Captain Hook overboard!"

  The alert spread. A great ruckus aroused, the many voices joined together. The crew crowded onto the decks and a ladder was tossed down. I swam to it and grabbed hold. With the last of my strength, I hauled myself up the rungs. Once I reached the railing, helping hands seized my arms. They dragged me over and dumped me onto the deck, where I sprawled in a boneless heap on my back. Ah, but what a sodden, weary wretch I must've looked. In my aching misery, I didn't care a whit about dignity.

  "Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Starkey stood over me with his hands on his hips. His grin stretched from ear to ear. The crew had a good and hearty guffaw, and I joined them. Under normal circumstances, I'd have put the fear of Hook into them, but I believe they were genuinely glad to have me back, and I was ecstatic to be home.

  I raised my arm, reaching for Starkey. He caught hold of my hand and hauled me upright. Instead of letting go, however, he held on. Good thing, too, because I swayed like tall grass on a gusty day.

  "What's our status?" I asked.

  "The ship is undamaged. We had a few casualties among the boarding party who got knocked overboard or jumped. Broken bones 'n' fractured skulls, but no one died. You were the last one missing. "

  "Exactly how long was I gone?" I stepped away from Starkey, breaking his hold. I'd been on my feet long enough to have recovered somewhat. He let go, but his hands flapped in that nervous manner of mothers with toddlers taking their first steps.

  "You were under water over an hour."

  I hesitated because I loathed requesting bad news, but it had to be done. "What happened to Pan?"

  Starkey scowled. "Pan got away. While we were fishing our people out of the water, Pan bewitched the children and got the schooner airborne again. The ship flew away. I'm sorry, Captain. I could've tried to stop him, but—"

  "You chose correctly." I gripped his bicep. Without having to ask, I sensed the loss tasted bitter to him, too. Revenge's first mate reviled Pan almost as much as her captain.

  "We captured six Lost Boys. Two of 'em are underfed. Another had a nasty cut on his toe that needed tending. But Mr. Smee was pleased as punch that none of the children are carrying the pox."

  "What good fortune!" I forced false cheer, but my heart wasn't in it. Between the exhausting ordeal and my injuries, staying upright proved a challenge in and of itself.

  Starkey's tiger ears were tightly pressed back. He spoke so quietly I had to read his lips to understand. "I saw you hit Ariel's side. It looked like you'd broken your neck, and I thought for sure I'd lost you..."

  He swallowed convulsively.

  I grasped his shoulder tightly. "You should be so lucky, my friend. You should be so lucky. "

  After Dr. Chopp attended to my injuries, I adjourned to recuperate and nurse my wounded pride. The great cabin had long been my sanctuary. Now, great cabin had a grand and pretentious ring. It opened the imagination, conjuring images of a vast and lofty hall. Allow me to provide some dimensions to establish a sense of scale.

  The great cabin spanned the width of the stern, and was located beneath the navigation room and above the galley. Arched multi-paned windows overlooked the ocean. The entire level had once been the captain's quarters, but it'd been far more space than I required. I'd had an interior bulwark constructed along the beam, dividing the area into two separate, equal-sized rooms adjoined by a connecting door. My quarters were portside; the starboard chamber served as the library, conservatory, and officers' conference room. Crowded built-in bookshelves lined the interior walls. Dead center, there was a mahogany table cluttered with maps and logbooks, a brass compass, sextants, and drawing implements.

  There, Mr. Brown joined me for a light supper of grilled swordfish with sautéed garlic and shallots in a white wine sauce. Virgil wore a cloak of sobriety. We dined in silence, trading only a few necessary words.

  In a move that surprised me, Mr. Brown proposed a toast. "Here's to the good we accomplished today."

  "What good? Pan got away." I scoffed from bitterness, but raised my glass anyway. The encounter with Peter constituted yet another defeat in a long, drawn-out war. At times like those, in the depths of depression, I wondered what deity I'd mortally offended. Was I cursed to endless and ruinous failure?

  Virgil's hands were rock steady. Candlelight glittered off the uncut ruby in his pinky ring. "Ah, but we saved the lives—and arguably the souls—of six boys."

  "I suppose." I granted him the point, but begrudgingly.

  The glasses clinked and we drank. The burgundy was rich, but a tad too sweet. I appreciated his kindness, though: words which provided immeasurable comfort. Mr. Brown was right. Today's accomplishment had to count for something. Losing constantly was taking its toll on the crew's morale... and on my spirit.

  We claimed our victories where we could.

  Chapter 9

  A Bit o' Geography—Rackham's Cay—The Smee Home for Lost Boys

  Neverland is the largest island in the archipelago known as the Neverlands, which is composed of many delightful isles born from children's dreams. Islands, by definition, are small bodies of land surrounded by water, thus one could reasonably extrapolate that the Neverlands exist in some distant, poorly explored corner of the world.

  That would be wrong.

  Contrary to good logic, the Neverlands are found in the night sky amid countless moons and stars. Those heavenly bodies hold a character in common that is both bohemian and capricious. Upon occasion, a lunar body will simply change its mind about where it wishes to go and alter its course. It makes for tricky seas and sailing.

  The fae call our world the Ever After, and the mundane home of men the Otherworld, or simply, the Other.

  Time. It exists, but its passage is unpredictable. Clocks refuse to keep accurate count, so we depend on star charts and sundials. Once upon a time, an accurate time-teller existed, but the artifact had be
en lost, and become stuck in the belly of a crocodile... along with my left hand.

  Following the fateful encounter with Pan, Revenge set sail for Rackham's Cay, a bustling port and the home base of Captain John Rackham, a pirate of some repute who was also the governor of the township...

  Once we weighed anchor, Revenge required restocking and minor repairs, but truth be told, her captain needed the recovery time more than the ship or crew. In the meanwhile, Mr. Smee offloaded our precious cargo and attended to seeing the children settled into their new residence, the Smee Home for Lost Boys. From there, the maternal Mrs. Eleanora Smee took those misguided youths under her maternal wing and assumed responsibility for their well-being and tutelage.

  The newest additions brought the number of boys under her care to thirteen. Someday, I intended to return the Lost Boys to their parents and families, though thus far my ambitions had proven nothing more than a pipe dream. I had never found the means to escape the Neverlands. The failure haunted me. The rescued children lived, however, and that served as some consolation.

  Better orphans than corpses, eh?

  Chapter 10

  Return to Neverland—A Quest of Trust

  We spent ten days in port. On the eleventh, we departed Rackham's Cay for Neverland. The return voyage took twice as long as the trip out because of an inclement headwind and shifting tides. Our course brought us into the Devil's Deep, the waters northeast of Neverland. We dropped anchor at a favored haunt, the formidable bulk of Devil's Rock between the ship and the mainland. The position provided concealment and ready access to the eastern end of the island.

  During our sojourn, I'd devised a plan for rescuing the girl in the periwinkle frock and plucking Ariel from Pan's grasp. But first, both must be located, which meant going ashore. To that end, I had the dinghy readied.

  Amidst the hustle and bustle, Starkey followed me into my quarters. While I packed, he argued against my plan, forcing me to close the cabin door to ensure our privacy. When a first mate and captain disagreed, it incited the crew to unrest. For the umpteenth time, he asked, "Why can't I come with you?"

  A heavy sigh hissed past my lips. I took a break from packing and straightened. By now, Starkey had made it clear he wouldn't simply let the matter go. "You're the first mate and I'm the captain. When I go ashore, it's your job to remain on the ship. I only anticipate being gone a day, but if it takes longer, I need for you to ensure a bunch of restless fools don't stage a mutiny and sail off with my vessel."

  "And if something happens to you?"

  "Then Revenge is yours, and I'll die knowing she's in good hands."

  Starkey clearly disliked the compliment. He worked his jaws and jutted out his chin, adopting a stubborn pose that bore a striking resemblance to the thirteen-year-old tiger-boy I'd first met so many years ago.

  "I want to go with you," he said.

  "Duty and desire seldom intersect."

  "You could use my help. I know Neverland better than you. I lived here longer." Truth—the isle had almost turned him into a tiger.

  "Maybe so, but you're needed here. Even with my limited capacity, I imagine I can find my way around the isle to get where I'm going," I said through clenched teeth, because I was ill disposed to repetition. The onset of a headache throbbed in my temples. There were two members of the crew I'd tolerate such a blatant challenge from: Smee, who I needed, and Starkey, my oldest and dearest companion.

  "Mullins can manage the ship for a day. If," Starkey had sarcasm rife in his tone, "it'll really be that quick."

  "Mr. Mullins is a competent second mate, but I don't trust him—"

  "But you trust me?" Starkey growled low in his throat. He leveled a glare, bared his fangs, and brought his fists up.

  The muscles in my face hardened. The taunt thrust straight past my guard and struck its target. Needle-thin cold lanced my heart. Of late, I'd questioned Starkey's loyalty, but only in the privacy of my own thoughts. Up until that moment, I believed I'd kept my doubts hidden from him. Obviously, I was mistaken. That familiarity he and I shared, it went both ways, a fact I must never forget.

  "I trust you."

  Starkey sneered. "Are you sure about that? I've seen the distrust in your eyes. It started the day we first sighted Ariel and I admitted to admiring her. For the sin of looking at another ship, I've become a suspected traitor."

  I almost swallowed my tongue and choked. A coughing spell ensued before I managed to clear my throat. "That's absurd."

  "Is it?"

  "Absolutely," I said, lying through my teeth. Paranoia... she was such a twisted, lovely creature. She had me jumping through hoops, treating my faithful first mate—and best friend—with mistrust.

  In all honesty, I'd been holding Starkey at a distance with both arms, but not for the reasons he thought. The truth was far uglier...and pettier... than concerns of backstabbing and mutiny. Selfishness had sunk its claws in deep. The specter of Starkey leaving—just as John had done—haunted me.

  I needed David.

  Starkey wasn't having any of it. "You know, I've been wondering what it'd mean to have my own ship. Can I be my own man while I'm living in your shadow?"

  "You can't flourish under a woman's command?" My tone grew churlish. Starkey was the last man I'd expected to spout sexist rhetoric.

  "What? No!" Starkey sneered, then scoffed. "You're no woman!"

  "I'm not? Malarkey!" My eyebrows tried to leap clean off my face. I wondered if he spoke in jest, but Starkey's ears gave not the slightest tremor.

  "Don't go making this about that. It's never been about that."

  "Do you have a point, man? Or do you aim to win this dispute by confounding me speechless?"

  "My point is this! Either you trust me, or you don't. I'm sick to death of your hooded gazes and long silences. If you don't, after all these years, then I might as well call it quits. Maybe I'll take Revenge out for a joy ride while you're away!" He pounded his fist into his palm.

  Explosive tension permeated the air, Starkey and I locked together in an unwavering standoff. The lit fuse on the bomb burned down, releasing its bitter, ashy fumes. Comradeship drew us together while stress tore us apart.

  "Is that your plan?" I asked.

  David blinked. "What?"

  "Are you planning on mutinying while I'm gone? It's relevant. There are belongings I'll take with me if I should expect to discover the ship missing when I return."

  He fell silent, then his ears twitched. Amusement swept over him in a visible wave—the lift of his whiskers and the curve of his mouth into an irrepressible smile. "No. I've considered it, but only to spite you for thinking I'd do it."

  "Well then, I have what I need." I tightened the drawstrings of the sack. I turned and grasped his forearm. In return, Starkey's hand locked about my bicep in a fast hold.

  "Does this mean I can come with you?" he asked.

  "No." We traded grins and dissolved into laughter.

  "Jayden..." He shook his head, still chuckling.

  "David, you were correct to challenge me and you are right to be angry. I have questioned your loyalty, and without cause. The fault is mine, and mine alone. I'm a damaged, distrustful creature. There will always be times when I need reminding—you're my brother."

  Starkey shook his head, sighed, and regarded me with a look which could only be described as pitying. "You're my captain."

  "Take care of my ship while I'm away. Keep her safe."

  This time, he didn't argue.

  Chapter 11

  Devil's Rock—Blackberry Bluff

  Mid-morning sailing conditions proved ideal. I navigated the dinghy, a small craft equipped with a mast and sail, into the shoals. The Scythe Strait was a treacherous canal that ran between Devil's Rock and Albatross Cay, a barren stretch of sand and grass where sea birds nested. After I lowered the sail, the powerful current swept the dinghy straight past the gaping, toothy maw of Devil's Rock.

  Devil's Rock—an oxymoron if ever I've heard one—wa
s neither devilish in origin nor composed of stone. The merfolk told the legend of a titan who'd engaged a mighty battle with Poseidon. The titan had sustained egregious injuries and attempted to flee onto land. He came within two miles of shore when Poseidon's triton pierced his back. The titan toppled and sank to the depths. His skeleton rested on the ocean's bottom, concealed beneath the waves. His head, however, planted chin first atop a rocky outcrop—and there it remains to this day. The elements had long ago stripped the skull bare of skin and sinew, sun had bleached the bones, wind and water had worn them smooth. Seabirds nested in the nasal cavities, and the jutting jawbone concealed the entrance to a sea serpent's lair. In a final, lingering irony, Poseidon had cursed the titan to an eternity spent gazing through his empty eye sockets toward the main island... and the escape that had eluded him.

  The waters south of Devil's Rock concealed untold hazards, including coral reefs, shifting sandbars, and cagey outcroppings that could eviscerate a vessel. Treacherous conditions stretched for miles well past the narrow mouth of Mermaid Lagoon. It'd have been suicide to sail Revenge into the shoals, but the dinghy skipped across the breakers, evading lurking dangers. When the Scythe Strait current weakened, I raised the sail again. Another couple hours of easy cruising, and I reached my destination well before sundown.

  Blackberry Bluff: a fingertip peninsula located a few miles south of Devil's Rock and north of Mermaid Lagoon. Patches of tough vines covered in wicked thorns crowned the cape. Biting insects swarmed the swampy air and crawled along the twisted creepers. Dense brambles concealed stinking sinkholes that would swallow a person whole in a matter of seconds, leaving no trace but a fat, bubbling burp. In summertime, the bright green stems drooped beneath the weight of shiny black fruit. Needle-sharp prickles lacerated the flesh of an unwary picker. Swollen drupes burst at the slightest touch, sticky and staining. The ripe fruit attracted birds, bears, boars, and pixies in droves.