The Wendy

by Sky, Erin Michelle; Brown, Steven;

  “It is a kiss,” Peter insisted, pushing it toward her a third time.

  This time, Wendy took it and held it in her hand. On close inspection, it still looked exactly like a thimble. It felt slightly warm to the touch, if one was paying close attention, but otherwise it seemed perfectly normal.

  “And this makes the ship fly?” she asked, sounding doubtful.

  “It does,” Peter affirmed.

  “So the ship doesn’t need the dust?”

  “The ship is the dust!” Peter crowed. “The innisfay imbued every timber with its magic, from the masts down to the keel. Every last speck of wood or cloth.” He spun in place with his arms spread wide.

  Looking closely, Wendy could see that the ship was glistening subtly in the moonlight, as though every inch were cloaked in a sheen of the finest dew. “Oh!” she exclaimed, drawing in a sharp breath. “It’s beautiful!”

  Peter’s chest swelled in obvious pride.

  “But you were right when you said it can’t think. The ship, I mean,” he continued. “Or at least, not as far as I know. That’s why Tink made the kiss.”

  “Well, how does the … kiss … work then?” Wendy asked.

  “You just hold it in your hand, and then you can think for the whole ship, instead of just for yourself.”

  “Would it work for anyone? Or does it only work for you?”

  “Try it and see.” Peter’s smile was wide enough to reveal his fangs, which glistened in the darkness. Wendy shuddered, but she reminded herself to be brave. This was for England. And especially for the orphans.

  She closed her hand around the thimble, and very carefully, remembering her first flying experience with the roof, she thought up, to a distance about the height of a man, and with the slow pace of a casual stroll.

  Sure enough, she moved as she had intended, but now the entire ship moved with her. The wood of the hull creaked ominously as it lifted higher in the water, but the deck beneath her feet held firm. They had not yet broken free of the sea, but they were no longer resting upon it either.

  “Extraordinary!” she exclaimed.

  “Higher,” Peter murmured. He was standing close enough now to whisper in her ear, and she shuddered again, although for entirely different reasons.

  The massive hull continued to rise until only the keel remained submerged. But now the light, spring breeze, which had seemed so minor before, threatened to topple them. It caught in the sails and shoved at the body of the ship while the keel still anchored it from below, causing the vessel to tilt wickedly to the side.

  The crew began to shout, but their voices were more excited than fearful.

  “Get us out of the sea!”

  “Free the keel!”

  “Up! Up! Up!”

  Peter gripped her shoulders, steadying her against the pitching deck. “Higher,” he whispered again, and as she tipped ever so slightly toward him, his lips brushed lightly against her ear.

  In the blink of an eye they were a hundred feet up, and then the sudden halt caused them all to catapult through the air, accompanied by the whooping laughter of the everlost crew.

  “Aye, that’s it!”

  “Good form!”

  Their bodies tumbled every which way, but of course a flying man has no fear of falling. Those who found themselves above the sails fell harmlessly into the sheets, sliding down the cloth for fun. The rest extended their wings to glide back down to safety—or to fly back up to it, for those who had been tossed overboard.

  Wendy, having no previous experience with flying ships, hadn’t been prepared for either the sudden movement or the sharp halt that followed. Much to her embarrassment, Peter caught her in his arms as she tumbled through the air, saving her from herself for the second time that night.

  It almost made her feel guilty about what she knew she had to do, but there was no other choice. England could never defeat a flying ship.

  For crown and country, for all the orphans of London, Wendy Darling had to steal that kiss.

  (Or rather, that thimble.)

  o, the Wendy, where will you take us?” Peter set Wendy’s feet lightly upon the deck and then bowed gracefully. “The sky is yours this night!”

  Wendy’s eyes flew wide. A flying ship! To take where she pleased!

  It was not her ship, she reminded herself, and she was not its captain. But still, to navigate through the sky, if only for a few short hours—it was as though her childhood dream had come true for just one night, in a form more incredible than she ever could have imagined. Her heart swelled in her chest, and a single tear formed in her eye before she brushed it away.

  She could feel the ship’s magic deep within her bones, as though it were a part of her. Or she, a part of it. A low vibration buzzed through the deck, and there was a distinct thrumming sensation in the air. But that was nothing compared to the gyrations of the thimble itself. As long as she remained focused on flying, the delicate metal hissed and spat against her closed fist like a living thing, trying to break free.

  This made her think of Tinker Bell, and she marveled at the tiny creature—and all of her kind—who could harness such tremendous power. What wonders could England achieve if it could do the same?

  Wendy thought of the orphans, imagining the possibilities. If the innisfay could use the will of the mind to make a ship fly, could they use that same will to heat an almshouse though the winter? Or to grow a seedling overnight into a fruit-yielding tree? She had to steal that thimble. To study its magic. But how?

  She needed a plan.

  While she stood pondering her options, Peter opened his arms wide and spun around slowly, taking in the entire sweep of the heavens. Soft chuckles and hoots of anticipation rose from the crew, returning Wendy’s thoughts to her surroundings. Once Peter had completed the circle and faced her once again, he leaned in toward her and began to sing.

  Yo ho! Yo ho!

  Where’er you wish to go,

  Adventurers of land and sea,

  Put down your burdens! Follow me!

  Yo ho!

  His voice began softly, but he moved away from her to stalk about the deck as the song’s energy increased, rising to a hearty bellow by the final “Yo ho,” which the crew gleefully shouted out with him. Peter stomped his right foot twice on the deck at that part for good measure. Grinning over his shoulder at Wendy, he launched into the second verse.

  Yo ho! Yo ho!

  Where’er you fear to go,

  Unafraid of moonless night,

  We’ll sail without a lick of light!

  Yo ho!

  This time every member of the crew stomped twice, yelling the final words as loudly as they could. The sound of so many everlost boots slamming into the deck at once pounded through Wendy’s chest, making her feel in that moment as though her heart were as large as the night itself.

  Yo ho! Yo ho!

  Where’er you dream to go,

  Commanders of both sea and sky,

  We’ll break the bonds of earth and fly!

  Yo ho!

  The crew had worked themselves into a fever pitch, breaking into swordplay all around the deck and high up into the rigging as they sang with him at the top of their lungs. After a final stomping “Yo ho,” they all burst into a raucous clamor of cheers and laughter, and more than one was bold enough to fly up and clap Wendy on the shoulder before returning to his post.

  As they settled down, their glittering eyes watched her in the darkness, eager to know where she might take them.

  “How can I decide where to go when I don’t even know where I am?” Wendy asked.

  The question was genuine enough, but it also occurred to her that she was supposed to be pinpointing the location of the ship for the Home Office. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that particular mission at the moment, but she could always decide what to do with the information later. The key was to have the information first.

  “You do know where you are,” Peter said. “You’re between tha
t star … and that one.” He pointed into the night at two different stars when he said it, one over the port side and one off to starboard.

  “But that doesn’t tell me anything!” Wendy protested.

  “Of course it does,” Peter assured her. “Look, Dover is obviously that way, directly toward the Dover star, there.” He pointed at a third star, this one lying low over the horizon. He smiled down at her fondly, but if he expected her to smile back, he was sorely disappointed.

  “There’s no such thing as a Dover star!” she all but shouted. “The stars move all night long!”

  Peter frowned and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Hmph,” he grunted. “I didn’t know you knew that.”

  Wendy straightened herself to her full height and glared up (nonetheless) at Peter, who was still a good bit taller than she, no matter how angry she might be at the moment.

  “Of course I know that!” she snapped. “I’m not a fool, Peter Pan, and I’d advise you not to treat me like one!”

  “You said she was a smart one, Peter,” one of the twins interjected.

  “Aye, you did, and that she is,” the other twin agreed.

  “That she is,” Peter echoed, staring directly into her eyes in a way that made her blush from head to toe.

  Wendy was suddenly glad it was still so dark, but the very thought made her realize she needed to do something quickly. She couldn’t fly back over the pastures of England in the light of day. With or without a ship. Not while keeping her vow to prevent the general public from learning the truth about magic.

  If she was going to steal that thimble and leave the ship floating helplessly upon the sea, preferably somewhere the Home Office could find it, she was going to have to do it soon.

  “I miss the cliffs of Dover,” Wendy blurted out.

  “I’m sorry?” Peter asked.

  “You asked me where I wanted to go, and I miss the cliffs of Dover. I’d like to see them again.”

  Peter’s features brightened once more into a smile. “Of course. Dover really is that way, at least for the moment.” He pointed toward the same star he had earlier.

  “Thank you.” Wendy held the thimble tightly in the palm of her hand and concentrated as hard as she could. Accelerating carefully this time, without any sudden starts or stops, she began to fly the ship toward Dover.

  “We can’t really see them from here, can we.” Wendy did her best to sound disappointed. “They’re too far away.”

  “What?” Peter asked. “The cliffs? Just fly closer.”

  “No! We mustn’t! They keep sentries posted up and down the coast. We can’t let them see the ship. It’s too dangerous.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Peter said softly, “to look after my ship—and her crew. Good form, the Wendy. Good form. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were different from the others.”

  “Yes … well …”

  Suddenly, Wendy couldn’t quite meet his gaze. She had meant, of course, that it would be too dangerous for the sentries. Not to mention for the Fourteenth Platoon, which was still stationed in Dover Castle even if John and Michael and Nana were no longer with them. “Perhaps it would be best to return the ship to the water and fly up to the cliffs ourselves,” she finished quietly. “Just to be safe.”

  “That’s good thinking,” Peter affirmed.

  Fortunately, landing the ship turned out to be far less harrowing than taking off had been. Wendy was already learning to keep it steady in the wind. She descended smoothly but definitively, without hesitation, and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail they were floating once again upon the sea.

  The sudden absence of magic almost took Wendy’s breath away.

  It felt a bit like losing one’s hat to the wind in the middle of winter. The vibration throughout the deck was present in one moment and simply gone the next, its memory alive only in a soft, vague thrumming of her feet. The hum in the air fell deathly silent, and the thimble came to rest in her hand all at once, with nothing but its subtle warmth to remind her of its power.

  “How extraordinary,” she whispered.

  “Did you like flying the ship?” Peter asked.

  “Oh, very much!” she exclaimed, and tears of joy threatened to fill her eyes again, just for a moment.

  “Then you must come back and fly it again.”

  Wendy started. Fly it again?

  A subtle excitement rippled through the crew, as they waited for her answer.

  “Yes … well …” she said again. “I’m sure I shall be back very soon.” It was true enough, but it was not the entire truth. Wendy was feeling worse about her plan by the minute. The sooner she could get back to John and Michael and Colin and Nana and Poppy, the better.

  But the crew cheered at her reply, and she used the sudden outburst of flying acrobatics as a distraction, pretending to put the thimble back in its place while palming it instead and dropping it into the pocket of her riding coat.

  “Shall we go see the cliffs?” she suggested to Peter.

  “It would be my honor.”

  They flew together above the white cliffs of Dover, far enough from the castle to minimize the risk of being seen. Wendy even managed to perform one loop-the-loop while holding her arms carefully against her sides, protecting the tiny treasure in her pocket—although it left her feeling a bit dizzy. She landed at the top of the cliff to catch her breath, and Peter touched down lightly next to her.

  “Will you really come back to us soon?” he asked, taking her hand gently in his own. “Do you promise?”

  “If you want me to, then I shall do my best.” I shall do my best to move quickly, she thought, so you don’t realize the thimble is missing before Hook can come for your ship. It was not a happy thought. In fact, it left her feeling even more queasy than flying loops in the night sky.

  “I do want you to,” Peter said. “Very much.”

  “Yes … well …” she said for a third time. “Goodbye for now, then.”

  “Goodbye, the Wendy,” he replied.

  Whatever that look was in his eyes as he let go of her hand, Wendy didn’t stay to investigate. Instead, she lifted off the ground at once and flew as quickly as she knew how toward Hertfordshire. If her eyes filled with tears, she told herself it was nothing more than the windy chill of flight, and she resolved to fashion herself a pair of goggles. Just in case she might need them again.

  endy flew alone through the cold night, following the main road so she wouldn’t have to think about navigating. She knew Peter would have escorted her back to Hertfordshire if she had asked—away from the towns and crossroads, across the fields and over the hunting woods where no man lived. But she didn’t want his company. Not now. Not after what she had done.

  She finally had what she needed: the location of the everlost ship—the ransom Hook had demanded for her freedom.

  No, not her freedom. Their freedom. John and Michael and Nana had lost their posts at the Fourteenth because of her.

  But what would their freedom cost Peter?

  And why did it have to bother her so much?

  She should be glad to have the advantage, shouldn’t she? The everlost were the sworn enemies of England. This was what she had signed up for! To fight the blood drinkers! The kidnappers! The murderers!

  Not that Peter was letting her see their true colors. Oh no, he was too smart for that. But she had no reason to doubt the reports. And she had seen firsthand what he was capable of.

  She thought of Hook’s missing right hand. Of the curved steel that had taken its place, flashing in the firelight. And she thought of poor Reginald. Lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, his leg severed through. He would be dead and buried if it weren’t for her. The everlost had done that.

  But then again, the everlost had saved him too. Peter had saved him.

  The confusion and frustration of it all finally overwhelmed her. She clenched her fists and yelled at the sky—a single cry, as sharp and plaintive as a h
awk’s. Then she hurtled herself at the empty road beneath her, wanting more than anything to slam her knee into the ground like Peter would have done. It was only at the last possible moment that she bothered to control the impulse, landing hard enough to send needles of pain through her feet but not hard enough to break any bones.

  She stood there in the darkness, her heart racing, her lungs heaving with every breath. More than anything she wished she could fight her way out of this mess. Swords were so much easier than intrigue.

  Why did it have to be like this? The everlost treated her with respect. They kept their word. They let her fly their ship! It was so much more than she could say for her own countrymen. She had studied harder than any man she knew, from the time she was only ten years old. And for what? Hook was never going to let her set foot on The Dragon, let alone sail it.

  Unbidden, the taunting voice of Mortimer Black echoed through her memory, singing all those years ago at Bartholomew Fair.

  If women ever sail the sea,

  They’ll scrub the decks for men like me!

  They’ll marry none but Davy Jones,

  And for their children, only bones!

  It had been cruel and hurtful even then, but the grown men she reported to now were no better. Hook had treated her like an imbecile from the moment they had met, just because she was a woman. He had imprisoned her in his home, demanding information she didn’t have. And now he had practically kidnapped John and Michael and Nana. To punish her for her disobedience, as though she were nothing more than a child.

  She hated giving him what he wanted. She hated it. But she didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t leave her friends stuck in Hertfordshire. Even if she had been willing to give up her own dream of serving on a ship to live at Hook’s estate forever, just to spite him, she couldn’t do that to the others.