by Andrea Jones
The taste clung to his mouth. He saw the bits of shattered glass, but he avoided them and scooped the stuff up with the swollen fingers of one bound hand, bending over it, mouthing it, then sucking at it, licking his fingers, the strokes of his tongue spilling it over his ropes, his wrists. It was so sweet, sweet as honey, but it crunched between his teeth. He dug for more and lapped it up. He didn’t think he could get enough, and his mouth was too dry to try. He straightened, the white sand sticky, coating his lips, his chin, and tumbling like a sweet snow to drift rising and falling on his bare chest.
Then, Rowan Life-Giver followed another instinct, and his friend. He stole from the house, marking the beads on the ground in front of it, and entered the wood. Searching for footprints in the earth next the stream, he determined the direction he would pursue once he had tasted water and broken his ropes.
He savored his tongue. He didn’t doubt his path, and he didn’t question why the moon had brought him here.
* * *
Nibs slid down the tree chute. “All clear, Wendy. I flew high like we planned, and the Jolly Roger is back in the bay with the pirates aboard her.”
“What did you see?”
Nibs paused to look Wendy up and down, blinked, then answered, “There was a pile of smoldering ashes on the harbor beach. Lots of broken bottles, and footprints all around. Looks as if they had a party last night. I found this, too.” He flashed her a bold smile and pointed to the kerchief he’d tied about his head— orange, and knotted at the back.
Tootles looked up from the grindstone on which he was sharpening knives. “You look just like a pirate, except that you have no boots. And a party sounds like fun. Wendy, can we have a party on the beach one night, with a big fire?”
“Only once it’s safe. So that’s where the pirates were! There are plenty of trees to hide them there, just off the beach. And they were celebrating?”
“There weren’t any boats left, I checked under cover of the brush all around. But what did they have to celebrate? You got away, we all did, and Peter only got a scratch. If I was a pirate, I wouldn’t carouse until all my enemies were stowed in the brig. Or until my sword had run them through.”
“I would!” Tootles declared. “I’d celebrate any time I survived a raid! And then I’d polish our boots and sharpen our weapons for the next.” He wiggled his thick, bootless toes and held up Curly’s shining dagger as an example. “Pass me yours, Nibs, I’m ready for it.”
Wendy reached for Curly’s knife. “Let me borrow this again, please, Curly.”
Forgetting to be a gentleman for once, Curly had been eyeing her. But habit was strong and he recovered his manners. “I was going to cut my hair this morning, but I can wait.”
“Thank you. You can make yourself another belt to hold it. Take down Michael’s old baby basket and use its strips to braid one. Michael can help you. Now I’m off to do some scouting of my own.”
Closeted within the niche, Jewel rose from her couch, yawning. She fumbled for a thistle and brushed her hair.
John had thoroughly studied his sister. He now stood up. “I’ll come with you.”
Michael wanted to come, too; so did they all, but Wendy waved them down. She had her secrets. “No, thank you. I have to go alone this time.”
Jewel poked her hand in a drawer, rifled it, and pulled out a tuft of dandelion. She buffed her nails— and listened.
Speaking slowly, John thought aloud, “Peter went to make peace with the Indians…” He scrutinized Wendy once more. “You’re going to be Red-Handed Jill again, and try to make peace with the pirates… aren’t you?”
All the boys watched for Wendy’s reaction, using John’s question as an excuse to stare at her. Curly piped up and spoke for the rest. “We’ve all been wondering that. It’s just the sort of thing mothers do, isn’t it? You did it yesterday.”
Behind the curtain of the fairy’s room, two little dresses were hanging side by side. Jewel held her head slantwise and examined them. Even so, her miniature ears listened for the Wendy’s answer.
“It’s not come to that yet today! Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back soon. And remember what Peter said. Stay close to home. And no bonfires.”
Still they stared at her, until Nibs took charge and forced them to pull their gaping gazes away. “Twins, go up with Wendy and stand watch. And you can make more arrows. We can’t be too careful. I know how those pirates think.”
Wendy raised one eyebrow and wondered if he did know. She tucked the knife into the belt she had made for herself while waiting for Nibs to come back. It wasn’t a tiger tail, but it would do for now.
It was the tail of the lion with which she had slept the night before, dreaming of drums.
* * *
In spite of Nibs’ all-clear, and maybe because of it, Wendy was cautious on her flight through the trees. She remembered too well the pirate colors blossoming within the wood as Michael and John spirited her from the house. Curly’s knife in her belt didn’t make the memory any less potent.
She alighted at the edge of the clearing. All was still. Walking toward the house, she pieced together in reverse the events of that day as she came across its remnants. She stopped to pick up Curly’s belt, with its jagged scar. She ran her fingers over it, over the edge of leather both sharp and tender, and wondered if a scar of flesh would feel this way. Absently, she folded the belt and held it close. It was supple in her two hands, and the sun’s kiss awakened its leathery scent. Would a patch of new skin feel tough like this? Would it grow to cover bone?
Another few steps. Here were the remains of the vine Peter had cut away. She didn’t have to touch them. She already knew how they felt. Ivy was beautiful in the forest. It spiraled upward if left to thrive. She conceived an image of ivy twining up the mast of a ship, green, thick, and clinging, surging toward the sun. She began to sway as if on board, then remembered herself and looked down at her feet planted in the grass. Uprooting them, she moved to the next reminder.
The beads.… His hat had lain here. Its jewels couldn’t rival his eyes. Wendy’s own eyes narrowed. She angled her head. Where was the basket? He had swept it over here… the first time he’d touched her. Right here, with these beads spilling out.
Looking around for the basket, she saw something that shouldn’t have been there, something that played no part in the scene enacted here. It lay on the bench, next to the book and two leather pouches. Her lips parted, and the rhythm of her heart was disturbed yet again.
It was polished and shining, made of both wood and metal, and very welcome. She dropped the belt and ran to kneel before it. Her hands hesitated above it for only one instant, then seized it and embraced it. Immediately, she felt a wave of power wash over her. Before she could think, she whispered fervently, “Thank you.”
But who was she thanking, and for what? Her enemy, for lending her the means to destroy him? What arrogance, to place in her hands a weapon to use against him! Or was it confidence? Or was it… care?
Was he not her enemy? Wendy felt angry now. What was he to her, bringing her heart’s desire, in whatever form? For Hook had read her heart; it was she who was the open book. Her tension relaxed as she searched within herself for the answer. She had longed not for golden apples, not silly flowers even. He had given her that which she truly craved, regardless of how she might use it. From any other man, that would be an act of love.
Wendy breathed carefully. What, really, was the link between them? How could he use it to suit his purposes? She didn’t have to know right away, she was free of Time and its demands. She would discover truth as it was revealed. And now she had a tool with which to handle it, the one thing she had asked of Peter, and been denied. The return for one kiss.
She lowered the gleaming pistol to her lap, and fondled it. It was smooth, its fine wood mellow like honey and warm from the sun. As she turned it over she stared, and it began to tremble in her hands. Inlaid on the stock were three initials in flowing script. Two were crafted
of the shifting colors of mother-of-pearl… J.H.
The third initial was black, branded with iron between and over the first two, burned right into the exquisite handle. She smelled the acrid odor of charred wood, inhaled it to smolder next to her heart as she read his message, written to her in fire— his love letter… R.
J.R.H. Very slowly, Jill Red-Hand raised the stock of the pistol to her lips and closed her eyes. And she answered his letter, with a kiss.
* * *
It was a hard lesson for Jewel, but she was learning it. Patience. Believe in Time, that’s what he told her. And he was always right. He always knew what to do. Even when he hurt Peter, it was the right thing to do. Pain brings him closer to you, he said. She believed him. It was part of the lesson.
He never caused Jewel pain. His voice alone could bring her to bliss. But it was never his voice alone.… His fingers were gentle, velvet. She would have flown to his hand even if she had never gifted him with the secret of her slavery. But now she was inescapably his creature, and content to be so. She closed her eyes. Peter said he was a black man. But when he touched his fairy to make her wings radiate their rarest light, when she beheld her master then, she saw a rainbow.
Jewel opened her eyes and shook herself. Finally, the Wendy was gone. The master had been right about that, and he knew where she would go. Would he take the girl today? She clamped her lips together. Patience, Jewel.
And he was right about the boys, which ones to choose for today’s adventure. As she primped her hair one last time before the mirror, she tinkled as alarmingly as possible, then zipped out of her room to work the wiles she’d recently acquired.
She buzzed over Nibs.
“What, Tink? What’s the matter? I thought you were asleep.”
She nodded, then traced a circle above her head.
“You had a dream? About Peter?”
“Who else?” Michael asked, looking up from the basket he was dismantling and rolling his eyes. But Jewel shook her head and dashed to Wendy’s lion skin. She grasped two hairs and tugged.
“You think Wendy’s in trouble?” John’s eyebrows went up, then came down. “Or are you just making trouble for her again?”
Jewel seized Nibs by the knot of his pirate kerchief and dragged him toward the tree shaft.
“All right, all right, I’ll come!”
She dropped him and selected Tootles, jabbing at him with her elbows.
“Here’s your knife, Nibs. Looks like I’m coming with you. Where, Tink?”
Pausing for effect, Jewel made sure all eyes were upon her. She smoothed her skirt, then she danced a hornpipe in mid-air.
The boys stared at her, horrified, and shifted to look at one another. It was what they had suspected, and all too easy to believe. John spoke first.
“Wendy’s never lied to us before.”
“But she never met a pirate before, either,” Nibs countered. No one had to say, The pirate.
“You saw how different she is today,” Michael said. “She’s wearing Jill’s belt. Or one very like it!”
Lifting the strands of his own new belt, Curly indicated his missing weapon. “And carrying a knife.”
Jewel waited, drumming her fingernails on her shoulder. It was Tootles who said it. “She’s gone to parley on the Jolly Roger!”
Grabbing up his knife, Nibs issued his command. “You three wait here for Wendy. We’ll send Tink with news. If Wendy comes back, tell her we’ll—”
“…be careful.” They said it in unison. Nibs’ grin held no cheer as he followed Jewel and Tootles up the chute.
Jewel sparked them through the trees, flying fast. They swept through the thick of the wood, stomachs knotted with anticipation, Nibs and Tootles at once elated and fearful. The mere mention of the pirate ship made their blood flow faster. Of all the Lost Boys, Nibs and Tootles were the most bloodthirsty. They were the ones who craved attack on— or indeed, attack by— pirates. Nibs pulled the knot at the back of his head tighter. Tootles ran a finger down the edge of his knife.
The sound of breakers burst between the last few trees, and Jewel paused at the end of the forest. The boys righted themselves to settle, tense and erect, on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Neverbay was still out of sight, but the smell of the sea blew in, stinging their noses. The boys inhaled, scenting adventure. Jewel let them revel in the atmosphere, then prodded them to jump off the cliff. She took the lead again, hugging the rock face, anticipating the view when the cliffs would fall away and the bay would open up— There!
Neverbay looked luscious. Its sparkling waves and featherbed clouds, its circling seabirds surrounded its prize. The sails, though bound now, were long and rippling, the crow’s nest hung like a jewel upon her ear. Her flag beat the breeze, the skull over crossed swords grinning welcome. Carved and decorated, her decks lay adorned with gilt, and her figurehead held out a sickle, reaching toward the waves to reap the wind.
The Jolly Roger, that beautiful ship, sat sweetly in the center of life, every boy’s dream.
Jewel performed a somersault in the air and flew backward to see their faces. Her light flamed. Their rapt expressions confirmed it. He was right about that, too!
* * *
When Wendy opened the door of the house, her pistol sat snug at her waist, alongside the dangling bags of powder and shot. The gun was hot from its trial, and she still smelled the tang of gunpowder. Her hand spread on the pistol. She half expected the swinging door to reveal a man in black sitting at the table, stirring her tea with an iron claw. She thought nothing would surprise her, but she made a new discovery, and this one was not a gift, but a loss.
She found the teacup on the table, untouched. The sugar bowl lay broken in splinters. Sugar covered the table, rifled, pawed, its sweetest property stolen. Although she sifted it again and again with her own fingers, someone else’s had unburied her treasure.
John’s and Michael’s baby teeth were gone.
* * *
Nibs and Tootles flew slowly toward the ship, skimming the water. The waves sent up a greeting of salty spray that they licked off their lips. As the fairy led them nearer, they saw that her hunch was correct. Wendy was aboard the Roger.
But there would be no need for parley. Every inch of their mother belonged exactly where she was.
She leaned off the prow, smiling woodenly at Nibs and Tootles. Her breasts were bare and her hair clung to them. Her mermaid’s tail looped along the keel. Her arms were raised above her head so that her elbows framed her face. Her right hand grasped the sickle. Her left was open, beckoning to them, Come aboard! Her smile, so regal, kissed the wind.
Tootles couldn’t resist touching her lips. Nibs fingered the sickle. Jewel sat on her nose and tweaked it. A rapping sounded above their heads. The boys flung a look at one another, then their eyes turned upward to behold the scar-covered face of Gentleman Starkey. In his fist, a ruler threatened.
“Don’t let me catch you late for lessons again, mates, or you’ll get ten of the best!”
He winked.
Chapter 19
Dark Hunting
Rowan rapped his hands against his thighs, clenching his teeth as the blood flowed into his fingers. It had taken time to free himself of his bonds, but the trail was clear. Willow branches prickled his face as he followed Lightly and the Golden Boy. Two sets of feet had made their impressions. One set was firm, the size of his own, one set lighter and the size of the boy’s. They led him up the creek to the apparent end of its journey, then vanished into rock. Other, older tracks, those of a beast, and much larger, hung about. Rowan’s face stiffened.
Like the air here, the waters appeared to be stagnant, but Rowan discerned a hint of current where the core of Lightly’s apple floated. It bobbed ever so slightly among willow blades and scum, as if something bigger than fish lurked below the surface. He watched a little longer to be sure, frowning, then turned his attention to the end of the trail. The branches drooping against the rock were crippled. He brushe
d them aside to reveal a wall of stone, and studied it.
The odor alone told him more was here than could be seen. It smelled dank, the stench of swamp and decay, and it oozed from an opening low in the rock. The footprints were obscured by smudges where bellies had rubbed against the earth to wriggle into the opening. The hole’s upper edge was jagged. It was wide as the span of Rowan’s arm, not quite as tall, and half as thick. Easy enough for a boy to enter, if he could stomach the stink.
He saw the smaller footprints leading away again toward the water, where a deeper impression showed the toes of both feet had pressed down before disappearing. The Golden Boy had flown. Inside the rock, Lightly was alone. Rowan didn’t like the feel of it, the smell of it. Like an entrance to the Dark Hunting ground. Wasting no time, he dropped on his belly and slithered in to find out what he didn’t already know.
In the darkness he paused, his hand reaching to feel for his tomahawk, emptily regretting its loss. He allowed his ears to explore while his eyes adjusted, hearing nothing but the water outside trickling into its groggy pool. Daylight from the hole didn’t penetrate the grotto; the only source of light was a flickering within a shell. It glowed on a ledge of rock to the right, at Rowan’s waist level. Next to the shell sat a wooden bowl, and a circle was painted in what appeared to be mud on the craggy wall above, with daubs of more mud at regular intervals around its inside. He counted twelve daubs, evenly spaced around the inside edge of the circle. Rowan cocked his head. He thought the image might represent a spirit, but one only vaguely familiar to him. One sacred to white men, who strove to divide the sun’s day.
He could stand. The roof arched well above his head, and he stepped several paces toward the light. Now he could dimly see what was in the bowl. Teeth? Or small white beads, unevenly shaped. Perhaps they were the pearls he had heard his mother describe in her stories of pirates. Yes, it might be pirate treasure, for next to the bowl a tawny footpad lay, severed from a lion’s pelt, one of its claws stuck through the hoop of a finger ring magnificent with jewels. Rowan recalled the legend; the crocodile had swallowed the Black Chief’s hand, rings and all. And Rowan had seen jewelry like this only once before. On one single hand. Yesterday.