by Andrea Jones
They almost missed it. He was in motion, his rolling gait catching up to the stairs, the plumes on his magnificent hat rippling in his haste. His eyes bore the glitter his men had witnessed time and again before boarding to plunder a rich prize of a ship. Hook’s posture was supreme, his jaw jutted, and he barely smiled. He placed one foot on the stair and thrust his hand out, reaching to escort her. As she descended to the deck she smiled on him, and it was his answering smile— the one with a kiss that hung waiting— that finally gave evidence of his emotion. Clearly, he believed this woman to be his soul.
It was when she accepted his support that the inside of her right hand became visible, blood-red, stained, and in contrast to her beauty, a blot, like the mark that marred the captain’s own perfection. Barbaric, it appeared incongruous with her loveliness— a hint of the mysteries she cloaked.
Jill looked up at Hook. Her clear voice touched all his men, though her words embraced him alone. “Captain. Sir. I thank you for the jewels.”
“You honor me, Madam, by wearing them. You honor me also by your choice of color. I thank you.” His smile and something else matched her own.… “Forget-me-not blue.” Their identical eyes exulted.
Her expression shifted subtly then, as she settled her red hand on her gun. “And we both carry our pistols. Two halves of a perfectly matched set.”
Hook bowed. “Not unlike ourselves.” He moved to turn toward the assembled sailors. But Jill was a consummate storyteller; she knew her audience. She touched his shoulder and drew him back, and he fell into her kiss. The silence broke into cheers, and only afterward did she allow him to turn his back to her to address his jocular and expectant crew. Then, in habit born of instinct, she surveyed the surroundings for signs of peril while he stepped forward.
“Ship’s company! I would have you recognize yet another new shipmate. Your mistress, and my lady.” His hook cut an elegant gesture in the air, and his lip curled just enough. Even the new men didn’t miss the velvet threat in his voice. “And she will be respected as such.” He turned to present her. “Red-Handed Jill.”
The men snatched off their hats to wave them, they whistled and hollered. Their captain faced them all with both dignity and elation, experiencing for the first time in his legendary career the triumph of unity aboard his ship, his own Jolly Roger. These were his men, and they were ready to celebrate, stamping and shouting out their glee; but in the next moment they stuttered to silence, the expressions on their faces transforming from jubilance to horror. Nibs, Tom, and Lightly lowered their jaws in disbelief. Nothing in Wendy’s stories had prepared them for this. Rowan’s stolid frame went rigid. Mr. Smee, watching within the doorway to the cabin, marooned his grin there and lurched forward along the companionway, gripping the rail at last to hurtle his bulk down the stairs.
All eyes had turned toward Jill again, for behind the captain’s back, her face hardened to an icy satisfaction. Only her eyes flamed as she bared her teeth and yanked her pistol from her sash. Her pirate lover with his quick reflexes swiveled around, and his visage transformed from victory to astonished rage as he realized that the pistol with which he had gifted this lady now hung suspended in her scarlet hand— and pointed at his head.
Louder and more ominous than the stomp of Smee’s boots on the boards, the click of the hammer resounded through the waiting ship. And in the space of a heartbeat, before any man could stop her, Jill squeezed the trigger and fired. And as her captain fell away, she tossed her gun into her left hand, seized its companion from his own belt, and fired that, too.
In two blasting concussions, Red-Handed Jill had proven to the astounded company assembled there on the deck of her own fearsome pirate ship that her legend was true, as well. She was a crack shot, and she left terror in her wake.
* * *
With a vague realization that she had somehow learned to be careful, Jewel concealed herself among the root walls of the hideout. It was an unsettling feeling, matching the others she traded in her heart today.
In increasing distress, she watched Peter dig the two green apples from his pouch and position them on the table. He grasped the sword hilt, raised the blade to his face, straight up, and turned his back to the fruit, marching three paces as if preparing for a duel. Whirling back to the table, he impaled one of the apples. He grabbed it and twisted the sword, sliding the apple up and down the blade, watching as the tender insides oozed to the floor. Jewel could smell the tang of the juice. When Peter withdrew the blade, the sticky drippings ran down it, coating it with a film of fairy sleeping draught. He flicked the seeds off, laughing as they flew through the air. One hit the wall and stuck not far above the fairy. Her forehead furrowed while panic shoved every other feeling out of her heart. But she no longer feared discovery; she had taken care so he couldn’t see her. Rather, a bigger struggle grew within her small space of a heart, a conflict it had no room to contain, and Jewel was in agony.
Peter had smeared the potion generously. Jewel knew that too much of this sleeping draught would make a fairy sleep forever. And she had never witnessed its effect on people. What might it do to a man? Her man!
The boy dropped the savaged apple and thrust the sword in his belt. He whipped his dagger free, plunged it in the other apple, and did the same to it. As Peter tucked the knife into its sheath, his sly smile spread across his lips, and Jewel’s worries compounded with his words.
“If I can’t use fairy dust, I’ll use fairy medicine. Oh, the cleverness of me!”
* * *
Red-Handed Jill held the pistol at arm’s length. Dirty gray smoke rose from its muzzle to twist its way into nothingness. The eyes of all aboard the Roger followed it upward as the echo of her shots resounded in staccato over the deck and across the water, diminishing until only the snap of whipping flags could be heard. It became the whipping of a monstrous tail beating the air, and a hiss of agony from an open throat.
Captain James Hook stretched out flat on the boards, rolling away from the beast. He abandoned his hat and its jaunty feathering to be crushed by the brutal weight that slammed onto the deck, at the spot he had fallen as he dodged the shots— his Jill’s redeeming shots. The ship shook with the blow, the animal grunted forcefully, and Jill stumbled forward to keep her balance. Now the tail of the crocodile slammed against the gunwale. The open jaws waved, lashing out with raking teeth toward Jill and the scent of her lover. Blood streamed from the sockets of its two empty eyes.
Jill backed from the swinging snout, shoving Hook’s burning pistol into her sash and drawing her dagger. It felt small in her hand, and she bent and parried, her eyes darting over the hide, searching for the strategic point to stab. But Smee finally stumbled to the bottom of the steps, and he reached out with both hands to snatch Jill off her feet, dragging her up the stairs and out of harm’s way. Clutching her knife and her pistol, she stared wildly toward her captain. On reaching the top step she strained against Smee, who, sure of the captain’s wishes, only gathered her more securely in his arms.
Hook sprang to his feet and he drew his sword singing from its sheath. The crocodile rose up and swung its head in his direction, smelling its irresistible prey, tempted even in its pain. It lunged at him. Hook’s eyes blazed red. Fixing them on the monster, he gripped his weapon in his one good hand with its sparkling jewels. Loosing a long wordless yell, he hoisted his blade and slashed it at last across the throat of the crocodile. He allowed the force of his motion to spin him around, his coat flaring about him, and he directed the bloody point forward to plunge it with all his weight into the heart of his surging enemy.
Skewered upon the blade, the crocodile belched and lurched again. Hook’s face contorted while he planted his feet wide and leaned, his hand edging close to the hideous teeth as in its lust, the croc drove the rapier deeper into its body. The animal lunged once more, then stopped. The thrashing subsided and it collapsed, its jaws snapping closed one last time, condemned to silence for all eternity.
Hook relaxed hi
s stance and straightened, inhaled, then with a gratified smile, dragged his blade from the carcass. In savage sensuality, he lingered over it, deriving pleasure from the yielding of his enemy’s flesh. When it was free, he raised his sword and looked up and down its length. Then he stared at the beast.
Mr. Smee released Jill from his hold. Hook swung around and, breathing again, raised reddened eyes to meet her earnest gaze. Slowly, their faces smoothed and their expressions cleared. Hook hung his rapier on his claw, lifted his hand, and with a graceful flourish, saluted her. And amid the uproar that erupted from the throats of their shipmates, relief sank into their perfectly matched hearts. Together, Hook and Jill had killed the beast— the beast that had stalked them.
Over the bobbing sea of congratulatory heads, they nodded to one another, once. And they read each other’s thought.
One left.
Chapter 27
Duel on Deck
Of all the emotions battling through her heart today, Jewel had only one left. The problem was she felt it for two people. And very awkwardly, she was feeling it for both of them at the same time. Her master, and her boy. She acknowledged it; she needed to love them both. But her heart hadn’t burst apart yet. It was expanding. It hurt.
Peter had kicked the lion hide to the floor. Now, while Jewel spied from the cavern wall, he snatched the pelt and bundled it up. He slipped behind the tree chute, and Jewel’s jaw dropped in surprise as he pried the back of the hollow trunk open to reveal an unsuspected cupboard. Peter stuffed the hide into it, and before shutting the door, he pulled out a knife. Watching shrewdly now, Jewel supposed this hiding place was where her master’s rapier had been stowed for so long.
The boy grasped the knife in one hand and a hank of his hair in the other. He sawed at the hair, cutting until it was roughly the length he kept it before. It was untidy, but it was Peter. Straddling a pile of golden clippings and mutilated apples, he shook his head, satisfied with the feel of it. At last he was ready. Peter drew back his fist, then flung the knife. It spun through the air, striking the wall with a thump and a shower of dirt. Jewel shuddered as the knife quivered, the point inches above the opening of her niche. Peter stared at it, puffing out his chest. Setting his face in a grim smile, he swiveled and swept up the chute, a golden, green-eyed fury, the sword at his side scraping wood as he went.
Jewel flickered out of the tangled roots. With a spate of music, she shivered her shoulders, then reached out to catch the cascade of fairy dust. Trying to calm her anxious breathing, she hesitated before blowing on the powder. Within moments she controlled herself and sent the warning to her master. As she blew, her wrinkled wings illuminated, and the hedonistic heat began to pump through her veins. Her eyelids wanted to close to indulge in its rapture, but she couldn’t stop to luxuriate. She had to move. But first she clapped her hands together, trapping the dust. None must be found here in Peter’s lair. She blinked and forced herself into action, her aching heart fluttering as madly as her wings. Hoping Time would be with her, she launched herself toward the entrance.
She inhaled moist air from the woods, dispelling the lingering languor of her summoning, then she streaked over the trees toward Neverbay as if her own life depended on it. Maybe it did!
Once upon a time, Tinker Bell would have taken poison for Peter. Today, Jewel would take it from him, if she had to.
* * *
The celebration aboard the Jolly Roger was cut short. Hook tore at the air with his claw, and his boatswain hollered, “Avast, lads! Let the captain speak!”
Jill tucked her weapons away and swept her skirts aside, making her way down to the deck to take her place at the captain’s side. Still on guard for her, Smee followed at her heels. Nibs, Tom, Lightly and Rowan approached too, more cautiously, to stare down at the dreaded crocodile and look in awe upon its slayer. He presented his bloody rapier to Tom, who pulled out his oiled polishing cloth and wiped it clean.
Hook raised his head, commanding more loudly than necessary so that all hands— below and above— would hear his order. “Mr. Smee. Change the watch.”
“Aye, Sir.” Smee turned to Mason. “Up you go!”
Jill startled as a clang of metal hit the deck. It rolled, sending shards of glass spinning toward her feet. The spyglass.
Hook didn’t blink. He’d seen it coming. He was still staring at the crow’s nest.
Mr. Cecco was looking down, clutching the ratlines, the bracelets on his arms glaring in the sun. He swung out and descended, moving quickly but reluctantly. Mason passed him on the way up, shaking his head. “Bad luck, mate.” By the time he set his feet on the boards, Cecco’s swarthy face was sallow. His jewelry jingled as he made a sweeping bow. He dared to speak first.
“Captain, I apologize. I deeply regret my failure to watch for the crocodile. I should have given warn—”
“Mr. Smee.” Hook turned his back on the sailor. “Kindly have the carcass removed.”
Not one of the company could deny that Cecco was a strong man, but at the captain’s words his striking features blanched. Jill’s color deepened, and her face set as she addressed the captain. “Sir.” She spoke through her teeth, staring at Cecco. “I want the hide.”
“Very well. It shall be yours. Mr. Cecco. You may do my lady the favor of flaying this beast. She has need, I believe, of a pair of boots for her lovely feet.”
Cecco’s face relaxed in relief. “Aye, Sir!”
But among his crew, Hook’s treacherous courtesy was legend. He smiled. “And by all means, take your time, Mr. Cecco. Because all the while you are performing this admirable service for your mistress, it is my especial wish that you should anticipate the flaying you will receive. At the hands of our very capable, very thorough Mr. Smee.” The captain’s chilly regard transferred itself to his boatswain. His jaw clenched. “The instant the job is finished.”
Mr. Smee’s nod was curt, his lips a frozen line. “Aye, Sir. It’ll be done.” He was just the man for the job. Cutting and stitching.
“Mr. Tootles,” Hook commanded. “Fetch the cat.”
It lasted only an instant, but Cecco saw it. So did Hook. Out of habit, Tom looked to his mother for sanction of the captain’s command. It had become second nature for the boys to seek her approval of Pan’s more dubious orders. But now Jill regarded Tom impassively, even coolly, yielding to him no indication of her opinion. In the next second, Tom checked himself and hurtled away to the armory, making up for his mistake by speed.
Bowing again, the handsome Italian seized his opportunity, applying every ounce of charm at his disposal. “My lady. Bellezza. As the captain says, you are my mistress. Such a fair one must have a heart to match her countenance. You will surely demonstrate your compassion, and speak for me?”
Hook’s eyes narrowed. He watched Jill closely. Tom’s boots pounded the deck in his haste to return, and a moment later he offered the handle of the cat-o’-nine-tails to Mr. Smee.
Jill shifted her gaze from Cecco to Tom. Slowly, she opened her crimson hand and held it out. “Mr. Tootles. Thank you.” Her hand closed on the cat and she smiled on Cecco. “Mr. Cecco. Your words are beautifully chosen. And you are correct; I have every intention of acting fairly. I will speak for you.” No one dared utterance, but the sailors rolled their eyes to observe the captain’s darkening displeasure. Only Mr. Cecco’s dread was allayed.
“Grazie, my lady.”
“I speak for you when I say I feel certain you do not mean to question the captain’s authority.” The lady’s smile turned cold.
Relief vanished from Cecco’s face. He demurred, gesturing. “No… no, Lady. I meant only—”
“Because if I believed you did, before seeing you excused I would request that our captain allow me to administer your punishment— myself.” She paused for effect, then lowered the whip so the knotted ends dangled on her feet. The leather tingled on her flesh, sending a thrill surging upward. She turned pointedly to Hook. “Sir, you are most kind to promise me those boots.�
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A murmuring arose to die down just as quickly, and although Cecco’s broad shoulders slumped, his dusky eyes followed her like all the others’, and fired with admiration.
Grim but satisfied, Hook removed the cat from her hand. “Not at all. And there will be no need for you to exert yourself.” He tossed it to Smee. “Our boatswain will handle it.”
“Yes, I trust Mr. Smee. His loyalty is beyond reproach. I also trust that he and all my shipmates know, if they didn’t before, that the thing I hold most dear is my captain’s life.” She sent a questioning look to Smee, who nodded firmly.
“Aye, Madam, my apologies. Force of habit.” Smee’s gaze traveled purposefully among the men and he raised his voice. “We’ll none of us doubt it again!”
“Nor will I, my love.” Hook wound his arm around her waist and swept her toward the companionway, indicating to the four young men that they should follow. They obeyed, shaking their heads and breathing freely again as the tension aboard the Roger found release. Jill heard Smee bellowing as she ascended the steps.
“Back to your stations! We’ve yet another battle to fight!” And amid the jumble of aye-ayes and the hurrying footsteps, the odd-assorted family adjourned to the captain’s quarters.
* * *
“And so I ask you again. Would you have me kill him?”
Jill sat in the captain’s chair leaning her elbow on the warm, silky surface of the desk, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and her red hand on her forehead. She had remained calm throughout the telling of Lightly’s tale. She listened in silence to every word, accepting her own role in its unfolding horror. But she refused shame. She garnered its lesson instead.
Hook had sent her sons away, his sober young crewmen to their duties and the Indians with their black-painted faces to their people. They had all fulfilled their obligations, and more. They were good men.