Death in Neverland: Book 1 in The Neverland Trilogy (The Neverland Series)

by Heather C. Myers

  “And why is that?” She sounded as though she did not believe him, as though she were humoring him.

  “Because punishment is much more final here than it is there.” Nick cocked his head to the side. “If you are sentenced to death and then executed on Earth, you come here. It is like a second life, really; you have the option of staying in the Underworld for as long as you like, whether you are waiting for family members or simply aren’t ready to move on. Sometimes, it is required of a soul to occupy the Underworld if the lesson a person was born to learn was not actually learned during their time on Earth. They learn it here, in the Underworld. My crew, save for you and for myself, never learned their lessons on Earth. It is something that is required to be a part of my crew, to not have learned a lesson. I cannot, for example, have a soul who wants to wait it out or isn’t ready to move on yet; I must have one who needs to learn a lesson.”

  “Why?”

  “Because being on a ship forces you to learn a lesson?” Nick drawled with sarcasm. “I don’t bloody know. Those are the rules.”

  “And who makes the rules that you do not follow?” Remy asked. “And why follow this one particular rule when you seem to be so good at breaking all the others?”

  “You’re just full of the quips, aren’t you?” A pause before his eyes descended in order to look at his dirty fingernails. “I follow this rule because I have no other choice. Souls that are ready to move on are transparent, the kind you saw in the sea. Those that aren’t ready to leave just yet bring their physical form with them to the Underworld; they look like you and me. Transparent souls cannot step foot on my ship, even if I wanted them to, and before you ask, I don’t have a clue as to why that is. It’s just so.

  “When it comes to who makes the rules, I also have no idea. I know that the Creator created this place for the dead and the two places of finality – The Paradise and The Other World.”

  “Heaven and Hell,” Remy stated.

  “I’m not so sure the places down here are as black and white as the places they teach you during sermon,” Nick said. “Then again, I cannot cross over to those places because I have not yet died, so I can’t give you a firsthand account of what it is like to move on to either place. Nobody can really. Once you’ve moved on, there’s no coming out of it. You are gone for good.”

  “So the Creator makes the rules and he rules over the Paradise, correct? Does the Devil run The Other World? And why is it not called Hell?”

  Nick gave Remy a dry look. “You’re just bursting with questions, aren’t you?” He slid down onto the bench. “The Creator creates. Nobody knows if the Creator is a man or a woman so be careful how you address this being. Also, the Creator can transition from The Paradise to the Other World to Earth to the Underworld, wherever the Creator wants to go. The Creator does not rule, so to speak, but this world and its structure is because of him or her, as is The Paradise and The Other World. Both of which, by the way, are not called Heaven and Hell because those names were created by man particularly keen on alliteration.”

  “But they are the same places, correct?”

  “Again, I don’t know.”

  “But if the Creator rules over The Paradise and the Devil rules over The Other World” –

  “I never said they did.” Now, he had a small, knowing smile on his face. “No, you have it all wrong. You cannot assume that your religion has everything correct. The Magistrate rules over The Paradise and James Hook rules over The Other World. The Magistrate is not all-good and James is not…”

  “James is not all bad?” Remy finished when Nick did not.

  “I never said that,” Nick said. “I suppose he cannot be. Like myself, the Magistrate and James are technically still alive. They were humans that the Creator picked to rule their respective realm. Unlike me, they do not get another chance at going back to Earth. Unless the Creator personally dismisses them, they are here for eternity.”

  “Why?”

  “How did I know you would ask that?” Nick thought for a moment, before replying, “I can only speculate but I think it is because consistency is so important here. When you first die, you are frightened and unsure of the new environment you’re in. Even if you are ready to move on, people need to be ruled by a leader they can trust, a leader that has experience, that sort of thing. James has been here nearly the same time as humans have been around. When he was alive, he had been a Viking. The Magistrate has been around even longer. I’m not sure what she was, if I’m being honest.”

  “She?”

  “I’m sorry, do you have a problem with a woman being in control of something?” Nick inquired with a teasing smile.

  “Absolutely not,” Remy said. “I just… have never heard of such a thing. I find it refreshing, really.” She pressed her lips together, another thought rolling around in her mind. “If the Creator is not around much – at all, even – then who does the Guard answer to?”

  “There is a port – Port Haven – with a governor, a commodore, a fleet, that sort of thing,” Nick said, gesturing with his hand. “But, they really answer to the Magistrate, who acts as the Creator’s right hand man, or in this case, woman.”

  “What about James?” Remy asked.

  “I don’t think he particularly cares much one way or the other what happens on Earth or here in the Underworld,” Nick said. “For the most part, he stays in The Other World doing whatever it is rulers do.” He looked at Remy for a long while. His brown eyes were searching, but it was another moment before he said something. “Any other questions, darling?”

  “Yes, actually,” Remy said, drying one of the last few dishes. “If you and the Magistrate and James and even me, if we are all alive down here then are we invincible?” she asked.

  “I cannot say,” Nick said. There was no amusement in his voice; for the first time since her appearance on the Black Star, Nick actually sounded serious. “All I know is that if a soul that has not yet moved on dies here, whether they drown at sea or somebody kills them, they do not get to move on. Their soul is lost forever, to some place not even I, The Magistrate, or James knows of. It’s gone, and I expect it’s gone forever.”

  “So…” Remy swallowed, forcing her eyes to meet Nick’s. “So I can die here, even though I am technically still alive?”

  “Yes,” was Nick’s cryptic response. “But I would highly suggest against it.”

  Chapter 8

  By the time Remy finally finished washing the dishes, Giselle appeared. She was still wearing the same outfit as she had been before, and her hair was still tied into a neat ponytail with the bandana ensuring that no stray locks of blonde hair littered her face.

  “And what will we be having tonight, hmm?” Nick asked from his seat as he watched Giselle head over to the cupboard where the food was kept.

  “I think stew, in honor of our guest,” Giselle said, smiling over at Remy, who was currently busy putting away the dishes.

  Nick rubbed his hands together as he licked his lips. “I love when you say that word,” he murmured. “Stew.”

  Remy rolled her eyes, feeling particularly exhausted. She did not know that washing dishes was such extraneous work. She desperately needed to wash her hands. It was as though she could feel all the grime from the soiled plates, bowls, and utensils crawl up and down her hands.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “but I would really like to wash my hands before I eat and would prefer to use soap to do so.”

  Both Giselle and Nick turned to look at her, Giselle with a soft, understanding smile on her face, and Nick with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’ll show you where you can get some soap,” Giselle offered when Nick still said nothing. “Nick, why don’t you chop up the onions?”

  “I hate chopping,” Nick muttered under his breath, but he got up in order to do so anyways.

  “Perhaps he should wash his hands as well,” Remy suggested but Giselle was quick to usher the young girl over to the cabinet of supplies.

  “How d
id your first day go?” Giselle asked. “Although it isn’t really over, is it? You still have to wash the dishes after supper.”

  “Do I?” Remy was shocked that her voice was tainted with a whine her parents had forced out of her system at a young age. Ladies never whined about things which meant Remy never whined. Until now. She realized it probably had to do with the fact that she normally got everything she wanted so there really was no reason to whine. Of course, she knew that getting what she wanted here, on this ship, would be impossible, but whining about it was not going to show these pirates what a mature young woman she was. Not that she cared what pirates thought of her.

  “Well, I suppose not,” Giselle answered, opening the door. “You could choose to wash them once a day, but I would suggest doing it after supper, so you can do them all at one time and there will not be stacks of them to do in the morning.”

  Remy rolled up on her toes in order to peek over Giselle’s shoulders and was surprised to find the cabinet was much larger than she had originally anticipated. In fact, Giselle could easily step inside and walk around a bit should she choose to. It reminded Remy of a smaller version of her closet back home.

  Home.

  She really missed her home, even if she was being forced to marry a man she did not love. Lord Huntington would have made a desirable husband, whether she loved him or not.

  “I’m afraid we do not have any soap,” Giselle said, stepping out of the cabinet. “But don’t worry. I’m certain Adele has placed it on her list of supplies. We’ll probably get some in a few days or so.”

  “A few days?” Remy yelped.

  “Pipe down, would you?” Nick asked, throwing an annoyed stare over his shoulder at the young girl. “I know it’s hard to believe, but you will survive without the use of soap.”

  Remy opened her mouth to retort, but ended up closing it. Another thought struck her mind, this one much more pressing than soap. Would her new-found task cause her delicate hands to be plagued by calluses?

  ***

  Surprisingly enough, the food served at supper was not only edible but actually delicious, despite the fact that it was a simple stew recipe. Remy had to agree that for a pirate, Giselle was a grand cook. Instead of being sent off to bed after eating, as her parents would have done, the crew stayed sitting and began to tell stories of their life when they were alive. Apparently, Edward and his brother had been boxers from Ireland, Calum had been an actual physician in London, Giselle had six younger brothers and sisters and they were from New Orleans in the Americas, and Adele was the daughter of a wealthy tradesman who had a high ranking in the East India Company. Like Remy, she was from an English port in the Caribbean. Nick seemed to be the same person here as he had been on Earth; he frequented brothels in Tortuga, sailed around on a ship, and looted whomever it was he could.

  “But they always deserved it,” he clarified.

  Remy rolled her eyes. Wicked actions could not be defended, at least in her mind.

  When it was time to go to bed, everyone placed their dishes in the sink – Remy stifled a groan, knowing she would be washing them tomorrow – and headed off to their respective rooms.

  Remy was surprised that Calum had actually done Giselle’s bidding, that her hammock was already laid out and two trunks were underneath it. She knelt down and found that he had also placed her slip and corset in one of them. They were not folded properly, but it was the thought that counted, was it not?

  After Remy had changed – she managed to quickly throw off Nick’s clothes before pulling on her slip without Giselle or Adele seeing her – she sat on the hammock and yelped when felt herself drop. Adele turned, prepared to strike whatever it was that had startled Remy, but when she saw what it was, she started laughing.

  Rather obnoxiously, in Remy’s opinion.

  Giselle picked up Remy’s fallen pillow and handed it to her. “You get used to it,” she said. “I promise.”

  Adele was still laughing as she stood on her toes in order to blow out the lit candelabra. Remy tried to pay the redhead no mind. Instead, she focused her attention on getting comfortable in a hammock with no back support and actually falling asleep.

  It was a long time before the latter happened. It would seem that Remy’s mind would not quiet.

  ***

  The sunlight that peeked in through the circular window ended up directly on Remy’s face. So this would be how she would wake up each morning then, with the sun’s rays forcing her eyelids open unless they wanted to burn.

  At that moment, the door was thrown open and in walked Calum. It was not until this very moment that Remy realized she had not yet seen him up close before. For someone much older than she – perhaps seven-and-twenty or eight-and-twenty – he was sort of handsome, in a rough-around-the-edges way. He was tall, the tallest man on the ship surpassing Edward by merely an inch, with whiskers scattered across his face. He had short, dusty brown hair and the clearest green eyes Remy had ever seen in her life. His shoulders were not as broad as the other men, and he was lankier than they were, but Remy was certain that he made up for it with his obvious intelligence. He was wearing a blue tunic that fit him just right and beige pantaloons. Calum’s clothing actually looked… clean.

  “Oh good,” he said in what Remy believed was his naturally dry voice. “You’re up. The captain wanted me to fetch you.”

  “Fetch me?” Remy asked, trying to get out of her hammock without falling. “Whatever for? And have you not heard of knocking? What if I had been changing?”

  “You weren’t,” he said. “Anyways, let’s go lest you want to miss it.”

  “Miss what?” Remy asked, managing to stand on her feet. She yawned before whimpering at the kink in her back.

  She missed her bed.

  Calum did not answer only because he had already left. It was only then that she realized her cabin mates were gone. She was alone. Where had everyone gone? Remy felt her lips tug into a frown as she closed the door in order to change. When she opened both trunks, she realized that she had nothing new to wear, save for Nick’s outfit she had worn the previous day. She could not remember ever wearing the same outfit twice on Earth and she had hoped she would not have to start now. The fates were against her, it would seem.

  After changing, Remy slid on her boots and headed up on deck. She saw the rest of the crew crowding at the bow of the ship and went over to join them.

  “What is going on?” she asked in a hushed whisper. The environment seemed to call for quietness though Remy could not explain as to why.

  “Just watch,” Nick murmured in a low voice from beside her. He pointed ahead, at the thick fog that surrounded the ship.

  Remy’s eyes followed where Nick was pointing, but for the life of her, she could not see anything. This reminded her of that one time her parents took her back to London when she was eleven. Fog followed them everywhere they went, and it was hard to appreciate the place in which she had been born, before her father was assigned to live in Port George.

  Unlike in London, the fog here started to break and Remy was able to begin to make out more ocean. However, the ocean broke off into two parts, still littered with fog though not as thick as before; one direction went to the left and the other went to the right. The ship could continue sailing straight ahead, or at least that was what Remy assumed, but Nick called for Edward to anchor the ship where it was.

  “This is where we leave the souls,” Nick told Remy. “Something inside them, they feel motivated to leave the ship and go either left – to The Paradise – or right – to The Other World. I can’t explain how it happens, but watching them reminds me of a sunset: each time is different but it is always beautiful.”

  Remy felt touched by Nick’s words, and she felt herself swallow. She did not know pirates could appreciate something as simple as a sunset. Her eyes watched the water, though she could not help taking a step forward to get a better view of what would take place in mere moments.

  “Captain,” Adel
e said, running over to Nick’s side. “We have company.”

  Remy craned her neck over her shoulder, watching as Adele handed Nick the spyglass. The redhead was pointing to the right. Remy looked in that direction but could not see what it was that had gotten the young woman so riled up.

  Until the ship emerged from the fog.

  Nick placed his palm flat on Remy’s stomach and pushed her back from the edge. The young girl was prepared to open her mouth and lecture him for numerous reasons including touching her without her permission and touching her naval as though he owned it, but the look on his face stopped her. Remy would not say Nick appeared to be scared because she felt that such a thing was impossible. But there was a caution that tainted his chiseled face, a caution she did not know existed inside of him. As such, she allowed him to draw her back from the bow of the ship.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he whispered to her, his voice low and demanding.

  Once again, Remy frowned, this time at the assumption that she would do something stupid.

  “Who is that?” she asked him.

  Nick did not answer.

  “Captain,” Edward called before appearing by Nick’s side. Remy could tell his blue eyes were the same as Nick’s, cautious but hard. Any tension that had been stewing between the two men – at least on Edward’s part - had temporarily vanished. Business, it would seem, was more pertinent than exasperation. “Should I lift anchor?”

  “No,” Nick said, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the oncoming ship and shaking his head. Remy noticed him fiddling with the lace around his wrist. He must be nervous, she realized. But why? Her eyes narrowed as she abruptly realized that the lace looked particularly familiar… “We’ll see what he wants.”

  “What who wants?” Remy asked, but her question went unanswered once more.

  Clenching her jaw together in order to stop herself from demanding an answer, she turned her eyes back to the ship and tried to find clues as to who it belonged to. It was much grander than Nick’s ship. There had to be at least four levels to it, not including the deck that held men wearing the exact same attire as everyone on the Black Star: a tunic, pantaloons, and boots. The ship appeared older than Nick’s but in just as good, if not better condition. The mast was nearly double the size and instead of white (and quite dirty) sails, these ones were a smoky grey. If one did not see that they belonged to a ship, the sails could be mistaken for the smoke from a fire or a heavy storm cloud. The bow had the statue of a nearly naked woman – a mermaid, Remy realized – with long flowing hair and details of the scales on her tail. Her lifeless eyes looked ahead of her and her left arm was stretched in front of her, reaching for something just out of her grasp. The name of the ship was Draumr Vándr. Remy did not know what it meant, but she felt herself take a step toward Nick, who had since dropped his hand from her belly, nonetheless.