“That’s none of your concern!” Wendy was very angry at being made to look the fool and was not about to tell him any of her happy thoughts. Not even one.
“Well, you looked very lovely thinking them anyway,” Peter said. “Standing there in the moonlight. I just wanted to see you smile. That’s all. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
It wasn’t the first time Wendy had been surprised by Peter’s mercurial nature, but somehow, this seemed like a very different side of him than she had ever seen before. Suddenly, she didn’t feel angry with him at all.
“So the fairy dust doesn’t work?” she asked, sounding more than a bit disappointed.
“Oh, it works,” he assured her. “Just think in the direction you want to go. Up, down, sideways. Loops and swirls and as you please. It’s as simple as that.”
She narrowed her eyes, not sure she should trust him after the last time, but still, it would be such a lovely thing, to be able to fly. To really fly.
If it were true.
She closed her eyes again, and this time she imagined jumping into the air, just a little. And when she opened them back up, it was as though she had jumped, all at once, without moving her legs at all—because she found herself hovering steadily, with nothing to catch her, about knee height off the ground.
h! How extraordinary!” Wendy exclaimed, and then she giggled like a schoolgirl, clapping one hand over her mouth when she remembered that John and Michael and Colin and Nana and Poppy were all still watching.
“Extraordinary?” Peter replied, sounding less than impressed. “Why, you’re hardly flying at all! I do ten things more extraordinary than that before breakfast!”
To prove his point, Peter launched himself into the night sky and performed several fast loops through the air, twisting and spinning all the while.
“You’re right, of course,” Wendy called up to him, lowering herself back to the ground so she could think. (Flying was a brand new adventure and therefore terribly distracting.) “I’ve seen you fly plenty of times. It really isn’t very impressive.”
“Now wait just a minute—” Peter started to say, but Wendy interrupted him.
“A flying ship, on the other hand,” she clarified, “that would be extraordinary. But this proves nothing. This would never work on a ship.”
“It most certainly does,” Peter shot back, sounding even more put out.
“For one thing, a ship is far too big,” Wendy continued, as though Peter hadn’t even spoken. “You couldn’t possibly fit enough dust in that tiny pouch of yours to cover an entire seagoing vessel. And for another, a ship can’t think. So even if you did manage to cover the whole thing, it still wouldn’t lift even one inch off the ground.”
“It would so!” Peter declared. “It would and it does!”
“It couldn’t possibly.” Wendy was careful to sound very firm on the subject. “You’re just making that up.”
“I’d show you, but I doubt you can fly far enough yet,” Peter said, suddenly looking smug. “It takes a lot of practice to fly well, and to maintain one’s concentration for so long.”
“For you, maybe,” Wendy countered. “It seems easy enough to me.”
She looked up at the roof of the estate house behind her and focused on moving in that direction. Without any physical effort whatsoever, she did exactly that, traveling much faster than she had intended. She tried to slow down, but that only distracted her from her target, and she ended up catching her foot on the edge of the roof, tripping, and sprawling face first onto the steep slate.
Unfortunately, there was nothing for her to hold onto, and—reverting in her surprise to her lifelong habit of not flying—she slid right back off, falling rapidly toward the ground below.
Three things happened then at the same time, or at least in such quick succession that it was hard to be sure afterward which had happened first and which had happened last.
One was that Wendy screamed in fright. Another was that John and Michael and Colin and Nana and Poppy all burst from the bushes at once, yelling and barking like mad. And another was that Peter Pan, having anticipated this sort of accident, flew to Wendy’s rescue and caught her somewhere between the first floor and the ground. If he had intended to deposit her gently in the garden, the sudden ruckus below made him reconsider, and instead he rose into the air with Wendy cradled in his arms.
This gave Wendy just long enough to compose herself and regain her wits, quickly inventing an explanation for her friends’ sudden appearance.
“Oh no! Peter! They’ve found me!” she yelled, much more loudly than was necessary since Peter’s ear was now located mere inches from her mouth.
John and Michael, staring up at them from below, could only watch in horror. But Colin had never heard anything about kidnapping or blood drinking or the like. As far as he was concerned, this was yet another of Wendy’s rollicking escapes, and he knew a thing or two about helping her with those. So he was the first of the three to understand what she needed them to do.
“Come back with our prisoner!” he shouted, waving his fist at Peter. “Bring her back this instant!”
Nana and Poppy were already barking as loudly as they could, so Colin ignored them, aiming a stern look at John and Michael while he continued to shout.
“Come back, I say! She’s our prisoner! Do you hear me?” He added this last bit while staring intently at the two men, who finally came around.
“That’s right!” John shouted halfheartedly. “Bring our prisoner back here!”
“You can’t have her!” Michael yelled, sounding a lot more like he meant it.
Peter looked down at them and then turned to Wendy, his ice-blue eyes locking onto hers.
“Are you ready to come with me to the ship?” he asked, his voice more gentle than she had ever heard it.
“But you were right,” she pointed out. “I can’t fly well at all.”
“You’ll learn,” Peter assured her. “I can show you how. In the meantime, I can carry you, if you like.”
“You have to promise me something first,” Wendy said.
“And what’s that?” Peter asked with a grin. (He found it amusing that she was making demands, given the current situation.)
“You must promise to take me wherever I want to go after I’ve seen it,” Wendy told him. “I refuse to be anyone’s prisoner again, especially so soon after the last time. I’m sure you can understand.”
“And when you refused to be their prisoner, how did that go for you?” Peter asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Not very well at all, obviously,” Wendy retorted. “But I believe you to be a better man than Captain Hook. Am I wrong?”
Peter’s face darkened considerably.
“You’re not wrong,” he said. “I accept your terms, and I give you my word.”
“Then yes,” Wendy replied. “I’m ready to go.”
So Peter sped off into the night carrying Wendy in his arms, and there was nothing that John or Michael or Colin or Nana or Poppy could do about it.
here you go!” Peter exclaimed. “Now you have it!”
Wendy was already flying much better on her own, although she still wasn’t ready to try the acrobatic loops and spins that seemed to be Peter’s habit. She had to think specifically of both direction and speed to navigate properly—a detail Peter had failed to mention at first—but with a little practice she was starting to get the hang of it.
“How much farther is it?” Wendy asked, although she certainly wasn’t flying as though she were in a hurry, taking a leisurely moment to circle a tall tree before moving on.
“Farther than this,” Peter said helpfully, “but not as much farther as it could be.”
They had passed by London some time ago. Wendy had seen the glow of the city’s lamps off in the distance to her right, but then they had crossed over the Thames. It was much harder for her to tell exactly where they were after that. All the farms and small villages looked very similar to one an
other, especially at night.
Whenever the moon peeked through the clouds, she amused herself by flying low over the tall grasses of the hunting fields that they passed from time to time, allowing her fingers to brush along the delicate tips of the greenery below. But eventually the clouds would hide the heavens once again, and it would be too dark to take the chance of running into a tree. Then she flew higher, pulling her coat tightly around her shoulders against the cool spring air.
“Peter?” Wendy asked.
“Yes?”
“How do you stay warm on the ship?”
“You mean on the flying ship?” Peter asked.
“That remains to be seen,” Wendy replied, and Peter chuckled.
“The cold makes little difference to me,” he told her, “but the boys often keep a fire going in the stove.”
“Oh,” Wendy said, shivering a little. She had forgotten about Peter’s crew, but of course they would be on the ship, as would Tinker Bell, who was probably still cross with her. Wendy had forgotten about that too, until now.
“Peter?”
“Yes?”
“What should I say to Tinker Bell, do you think? To apologize properly?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Not really. I don’t think she’ll forgive you no matter what you say.”
“Oh.”
Wendy waited to see whether he might elaborate on the subject, but apparently he had nothing further to add.
“Well, why is she so angry?” she finally asked. “Can you at least tell me that? Is it really because I asked her to go find you?”
“Ordered her to go find me,” Peter corrected her. “But no, I don’t think that’s it. Or not just that. I think she finds you too beautiful. Tink doesn’t like humans to be as pretty as she is. It offends her.”
“You think I’m as pretty as she is?” Wendy asked, suddenly feeling shy.
“Tink thinks you’re as pretty as she is,” Peter said.
“Oh,” Wendy said again, but if she sounded disappointed, Peter didn’t seem to notice.
“Look there,” he said suddenly, and when he pointed ahead, Wendy’s breath caught in surprise.
“Dover!” she exclaimed. The distinctive walls of the keep coalesced out of the night as they drew closer. “It’s so beautiful!”
She had never in her life expected to see it from above, and the very sight of it brought tears to her eyes. She remembered how badly she had wanted to come back. But of course that had been to see John and Michael and Nana, and now all three were behind her in Hertfordshire along with Colin and Poppy and Mrs. Medcalf and even Huxley.
But still, the rest of the Fourteenth Platoon lay asleep in the castle, just beyond those walls.
“I wonder how poor Reginald is doing,” she mused, speaking mostly to herself.
“He was fine the last time I saw him,” Peter said.
“You saw him?” Wendy echoed in surprise.
“Of course! When I came back to see you again. But you were gone, and they wouldn’t tell me where you were. They shot at me instead.”
“I’m sorry,” Wendy told him, and she realized that she really was.
“I didn’t kill him,” Peter added quickly. “Or any of the others either. I knew you wouldn’t want me to, after the last time.”
“Thank you,” was all Wendy could think to say.
They passed Dover Castle and continued out over the water, veering left and then right after a long while and then left again, turning in places Wendy could only guess at, with nothing obvious below except the vast expanse of the straits and then the wide open sea.
And finally, just as Wendy thought she might drift off to sleep—and wondering whether she would keep going in the same direction or suddenly fall out of the sky if she did—the lights of a ship emerged out of the darkness. A perfectly normal, seafaring ship, resting peacefully upon the water like any other.
Showing no signs of flight whatsoever.
hey were hardly within sight of the vessel before a shout rang out from the crow’s nest.
“Peter! Peter’s back!”
Within moments, the cry had been taken up by a dozen voices, and the everlost crew poured onto the deck in various states of dress (and undress), making Wendy blush before they had even properly arrived.
“Peter!”
“Welcome back, Peter!”
“Good form!”
The one in the crow’s nest spread his wings and flew ahead to greet them, shouting as enthusiastically as the rest. This turned out to be Curly, who had killed poor Reginald. Which Wendy had not forgotten.
“Curly,” Peter called out, “why are you on watch? I left Tootles in the nest!”
“I got in some trouble after you left,” he replied easily, once he had reached them. “On account of Slightly’s sock. Someone used it as a handkerchief.”
“While it was still on his foot, I’d wager,” Peter said.
“Aye,” Curly replied.
“Was it you?”
“I don’t think so, but you know how it is.”
Peter nodded sagely.
“What do you mean?” Wendy wanted to know. “Why would they punish you if you didn’t do it?”
“Oh, I’m always doing something,” Curly admitted, “so I might as well stand forward. I’m used to it. Some of the others get upset when they’re in trouble.”
“So you take the blame for everything?” Wendy asked.
“Sure.” Curly shrugged in midair. “Besides, I knew if someone else took Tootles’ place, there was a better chance we’d see Peter back tonight. Nothing exciting ever happens when Tootles is around. He misses everything.”
“It’s true. That’s good thinking,” Peter agreed, and without any warning he dove for the deck of the ship, touching down lightly amidst the everlost, who swarmed to greet him. Curly followed, but Wendy continued to hover in the air, trying to stay out of the way.
“Listen up!” Peter shouted. His wings disappeared so he could clasp his hands behind his back, strutting before his crew in a captain-like manner. “I have returned with the Wendy! She is our guest and is not to be harmed! Nor is she to be pushed off the deck, forced to drink seawater, dangled over any crocodiles, or challenged to any duels!”
He said this last bit about the duels while bending forward at the waist and staring pointedly at a set of twins, who pursed their lips in a disappointed fashion.
“Nothing like any of that,” he finished, “or you’re off my ship for good!”
When the crew began to mutter, Peter removed his hands from behind his back and pointed at them all with a wide sweep of his arm.
“I mean it!” he declared. “You are to treat her like your own mother!”
“A mother!” they whispered reverently, their attitude transforming in an instant. One of the tallest, standing in the back, looked like he was suddenly fighting off a tear.
“Tink!” Peter shouted. “Where’s Tink? I don’t want any trouble out of that one.”
“She left with Tootles to look for sheep,” Curly reported.
Wendy thought that they really ought not to be stealing England’s sheep. But she also thought this might not be the best time to mention it.
“All right then. Back to the crow’s nest, Curly,” Peter ordered. “If they return, bring Tinker Bell to me immediately. Don’t let her anywhere near the Wendy until I’ve told her the rules myself. Is that clear?”
“Aye, Peter!” Curly saluted smartly and flew up to watch out for Tootles and Tink.
“So,” Peter said, turning toward Wendy with a proud lift to his chin, “what do you think of my ship? You can come down now, you know.”
Wendy floated down to settle on the deck next to Peter as the everlost crew backed away, making room for her.
“The ship is lovely,” Wendy replied, trying to be polite, “but resting decidedly upon the sea, I’ve noticed.” And then her left eyebrow (which had always bee
n the more outspoken of the two) lifted itself into the air and added silently, “You promised it would fly.”
Peter smiled.
“To your stations!” he shouted, his eyes never leaving her. “Tonight, we sail among the stars!”
Preparing for flight turned out to be a boisterous process, full of much yelling and racing about, but as far as Wendy could tell, there was nothing magical about it. There was a grand unfurling of the sails, and special attention was paid to the security of the hatches. There was also a good bit of swordplay on deck that seemed to have little to do with anything useful.
Eventually the crew settled down to their various places amidst the rigging, and a stillness fell upon them, by which Wendy understood that everything was ready. When Peter moved toward the ship’s great wheel, Wendy followed him. She thought he looked quite grand, standing at the helm with a light of adventure in his eyes. But she already knew him better than to say so.
“How will you make it fly?” Wendy asked.
“With a kiss, of course,” Peter replied. “Here, I’ll show you!”
“What? No!” Wendy exclaimed. If she had perhaps been daydreaming of a kiss only a moment ago—just if she was, not saying anything for certain—being faced with it as a real possibility was a different thing altogether.
She took a step away from him, but even as she did so, she realized he was not making any move to kiss her. Instead, he had reached forward through the spokes of the wheel and opened a small, unadorned compartment that lay hidden behind it. From this cubbyhole he had retrieved a tiny metal bauble, which he was now trying to hand to her, his face full of confusion.
“Don’t you want to see it?” he asked.
“See what?” Wendy demanded suspiciously.
“Why, the kiss! It makes the ship fly.” Peter shook the small thing in the air between them and tried again to hand it to her.
“But that’s not a kiss,” Wendy protested. “That’s a thimble!”
“It’s called a kiss among the innisfay,” Peter told her haughtily. “Tinker Bell made it. It’s quite extraordinary.”
“Tinker Bell made it,” Wendy repeated, a light finally dawning. “And she gave it to you, and told you it was a kiss.”
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