by Heidi Schulz
As if by magic, a stick materialized in each boy’s hand and studious coal prodding began. Roger, being a boy himself, was no exception. Not even Meriwether was exempt from the lure of the flames. A log popped, shooting out a small smoking cinder. The little fairy pulled a splinter from a bit of dry wood and sat himself in front of the ember, poking at his fire just as seriously as the human boys did theirs.
Not being thus occupied, the village girls and women took part in one of their favorite pastimes: directing the men in the placement of heavy furniture. First a bench was placed here—“No, that’s too close to the fire”—now there—“Oh no, that is too far back”—before they finally settled on a perfect arrangement. The benches were then piled high with layers of deerskin and buffalo robes, creating quite a cozy effect.
“Have you been to a Neverlandian feast before?” Evie asked Jocelyn.
“In a way,” the girl replied, thinking of the Karnapinae people. “Only that time I was the guest of honor.”
“That must have been such fun!”
Jocelyn remembered how the cannibals had held her captive. Only her wits had saved her from becoming the feast. “You know what?” she said. “It actually was.” The girls shared a smile.
Tiger Lily soon emerged from her tent, wearing a white deerskin dress decorated with seashells and tiny blue beads. A gleaming silver knife adorned her waist. She had loosened her hair from its braids, and it fell in dark waves, nearly to her feet.
I’m quite certain the only reason the Neverlandian mermaids kept themselves to the sea was to avoid an unfavorable comparison, for even they would have had to agree (begrudgingly, of course) that Tiger Lily was beautiful.
She joined Jocelyn and Evie, Snow silently padding along next to her. “The feast is nearly ready,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind waiting a short while longer.”
The smell of wood smoke and roasted meat wafted about, making Jocelyn’s mouth water. It seemed like ages since she’d had her midday meal. Still, something about Tiger Lily made her want to try something utterly foreign to her: politeness.
“I don’t mind at all,” Jocelyn replied. “I’m not terribly hungry just yet.”
Jocelyn’s mouth may have been attempting good manners, but her stomach had no new scruples. It let out a growl loud enough to be heard over the sound of the crackling fire.
Evie burst out laughing, and Tiger Lily joined in, her voice warm and rich. Jocelyn’s cheeks flamed, but she pretended that she had no idea what was so funny.
Roger looked up at the sound of their laughter. Seeing the three girls together, he abandoned the fire, though not his stick, and came to stand nearby. The boy didn’t say anything, but stood staring at Tiger Lily, his mouth slightly open.
“What are you doing?” Jocelyn asked him.
“What? Who, me? Nothing.” He glanced again at Tiger Lily, then quickly turned his gaze upon his feet. “I just thought I’d come join you in…ah…” He motioned to Evie. “Guarding our prisoner.”
Evie giggled. “Indeed. I am a fierce one.”
If anything, Roger looked even more uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should all just…er…sit down and wait for dinner.”
Jocelyn gritted her teeth. “Yes. Perhaps we should.”
Tiger Lily laughed again, though Jocelyn couldn’t see what was so funny. She was glad when the girl excused herself to see to final feast preparations.
Jocelyn, Evie, and Roger found a bench near the fire. The fur robes were even more comfortable than Jocelyn had expected. She sat between the other two, though Roger kept leaning around her to peer at their captive.
“Why are you staring at her?” Jocelyn hissed.
“What, don’t you see it?”
“See what? That she’s pretty?” She balled a wad of buffalo fur in her fist.
“She is, isn’t she?” Roger said.
Jocelyn merely said, “Humph,” and turned her back on the boy.
“No, I mean, she’s pretty because she…well, she looks a bit like…”
“Never mind. I don’t care.”
Roger laid a hand on her arm. “It’s just that she looks something like you.”
Jocelyn’s insides warmed. Was Roger saying she was pretty?
She turned back to face him, wearing a hint of a smile. “I suppose that’s why you are staring at Tiger Lily, too? Because she looks like me?” She raised an eyebrow.
Roger ducked his head and mumbled, “I don’t know what you mean. Anyway,” he said, straightening up, “about Evie,” he went on, “you two could be sisters. You both have freckles and that nose that turns up at the end. Only she’s a bit taller, a bit older, and more, you know…girlish.”
Jocelyn’s smile hardened on her lips. “I’ll show you girlish.” She grabbed his stick, threw it into the fire, and moved to a new bench. Tiger Lily looked up from a conversation she was having with one of the women preparing the feast. Her face wore an expression of mirth. Jocelyn’s cheeks flamed.
There was something about Tiger Lily that Jocelyn admired and disliked all at once. It wasn’t only that she was pretty in a way Jocelyn felt she would never be. Tiger Lily also seemed so sure of herself, and her people obviously loved her. She didn’t look as if she worried about how to lead them; she simply led. It was irritating. Even so, or perhaps because of this, Jocelyn felt the need to impress her.
Jocelyn shifted in her seat and felt the crinkle of the map in her pocket. Perhaps Tiger Lily did have qualities that Jocelyn did not, indeed perhaps never would. But Jocelyn had something of her own. She had a map to Captain Hook’s greatest treasure.
She imagined the look of admiration Tiger Lily would give her if Jocelyn were to show her the map. Maybe she could risk showing it to Tiger Lily, only to ask if she knew where it led. Granted, Jocelyn didn’t really need to ask for help. Once she cracked the code, she’d know everything about the treasure’s location. Then again, asking might save her some time. Surely, that was a good enough reason to show it to her.
She struggled for a few moments, stuck between discretion and winning the other girl’s respect. After carefully weighing the consequences of each action, she chose what she felt was best. She stood and pulled the map from her pocket.
“Excuse me, Tiger Lily, do you know where this is?” Jocelyn shoved the paper in the older girl’s face. “It’s a map to Hook’s treasure. He left it for me, in a way. It’s my legacy, you know.”
Tiger Lily took it from her, but before looking she stopped to scold a group of children for playing too close to the fire. “Go find your nursemaid and tell him to pay closer attention.” The children ran off, giggling. They caught up to a man who was already burdened with a small child attached, starfishlike, to each leg, a baby strapped to his back, and two toddlers in his arms. The newcomers tackled the man, nearly making him fall. Tiger Lily smiled and shook her head at their antics, then turned her attention back to the map.
She stepped closer to the fire to get a better look and frowned, concentrating. “I’m afraid I do not. The memory of my people is long, and we are closely tied to the land here. I am surprised to say it, but I do not know this place.”
Jocelyn took the map back and returned it to her pocket, disappointed in both Tiger Lily’s lack of jealousy and her lack of knowledge. Having to wait to break the code was so frustrating.
“I’m sorry I could not be of any help to you.” Tiger Lily continued, “No one knows this island better than I, though Peter Pan would like to think he does. You could ask him, but I doubt he will tell you anything useful.” Her face darkened. “Besides, he’s likely off looking for a new mother to steal for.” Her hand gripped the knife at her waist for the briefest of instants. She relaxed her hand and straightened her back. “Shall we feast?”
Many people love surprises, though I am not one, as the friends and family who once attempted to throw me a surprise birthday party could attest. I don’t care what the magistrate said; when a group of people burst forth from hiding in a dark r
oom screaming “Surprise!” and throwing confetti, any reasonable person would have perceived it as a threat and taken measures to defend himself. I am nothing if not reasonable.
Speaking of fires (we were, weren’t we?), Tiger Lily signaled to the women to pull the meat from the flames and serve her guests. They carved hunks of smoking roast buffalo, piling them, along with sweet wild onion and some root vegetable Jocelyn couldn’t identify, into giant abalone-shell bowls. The meal was hot and rich, and Jocelyn felt it was the best she had ever eaten. She attacked it with gusto, relishing every bite and wiping the evidence on her new jacket sleeves. Meriwether perched on the edge of her bowl, finishing off her vegetables when she was too full to eat another bite.
Roger only picked at his food, distracted, but across the fire the rest of Jocelyn’s crew seemed to be having a wonderful time. They had a group of young women gathered round and were no doubt regaling them with tales of their exploits and cunning. One-Armed Jack had replaced his prosthetic arm again, trading his butterfly net for a short spear decorated with intricate beadwork. He seemed to be in the midst of some exciting tale, and he gesticulated wildly, nearly taking off the nose of an older woman trying to serve him more meat. Jocelyn hoped he got the hang of it before he injured someone.
As the meal wound down, the village boys added more wood to the flames and took up their poking again. Roger watched them mournfully until Jocelyn brought him a peace offering by way of a new stick. Roger grinned, their skirmish all but forgotten.
Meriwether, on the other hand, developed a sudden foul mood. The fairy gave the boy a jealous pinch on the arm and flew to the top of a nearby tipi. The spot afforded him a perfect angle for flashing his light in Roger’s eyes.
Jocelyn laughed off his bad behavior and reclaimed her seat between Evie and Roger. “Look at him! Jealousy is such a ridiculous emotion!”
Before Roger could reply, Tiger Lily stood and walked to the center of the circle of benches. The fire was at her back, darkening her features until she looked more shadow than girl. A sudden hush came over the camp. The flames danced higher and higher, and a feeling of expectation hung in the air. Somewhere outside the camp borders a wolf howled. Tiger Lily’s pup answered with a howl of her own. Jocelyn’s blood pumped. She had the wild urge to raise her voice and join in.
“It is time for the evening’s entertainment,” Tiger Lily announced. “First, we will have Two Bears reenact today’s battle in song and dance.” A drum beat out a rhythm, and Jocelyn’s heart kept time. The warrior’s movements were smooth, fluid. Jocelyn felt as if she could read the entire fight in the motion of his body. He flicked his hand and she saw Peter scratch a man with his short dagger. He spun in a circle and Jocelyn saw her own arrival, leading the pirate crew. He swayed and bent, and Jocelyn saw an arrow graze a lost boy’s backside as he retreated. His skill was mesmerizing.
No one applauded when he finished, but the silence held more awe and respect for his performance than a standing ovation. The very wind through the trees cried bravo, and the stars above cheered.
The girl was startled from her enraptured state when Tiger Lily motioned toward her. “And now our guests will entertain us.”
Jim McCraig jumped to his feet and said something unintelligible. His parrot translated by repeating it more loudly.
“Quiet that infernal chicken,” Mr. Smee said. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, but Jim is volunteering to favor us all with a song.”
Jocelyn liked Jim’s singing, particularly because it was the only time she could understand a word out of his mouth. Yet, after that magical performance, she couldn’t offer something quite so ordinary to Tiger Lily’s people.
“Thank you, Jim,” she said “but I think I would like to do this one myself.” After all, her voice had tamed a mermaid, and that was not something just anyone could say.
She got to her feet and faced Tiger Lily. “This is a song that my grandfather sang to me at night when I was young.” She cleared her throat and began to sing in her clear, high soprano:
Over the mountains
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves…
Evie stood and joined her, adding a rich alto harmony that blended beautifully with Jocelyn’s voice. Even so, Jocelyn glared at her in irritation. This was supposed to be a solo! She fumbled over the next word but, not wanting to disappoint her audience, recovered and sang on.
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune must obey,
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
Both girls slowed their tempo and repeated the last line, imbuing the song with a sweet tenderness, just as Sir Charles always had. A sudden longing for home, to see her grandfather again, pricked Jocelyn’s heart.
The last notes echoed through the air. The music had been so transporting that Jocelyn had forgotten her audience, but she saw them now. They smiled at her, respect for the music showing on their faces. More than one person had been moved to tears. Jocelyn gathered Evie into a quick hug. She felt a sudden kinship with her, born of their harmony.
They rejoined Roger on their bench, and the next performance began. A group of men, with bells strapped to their wrists and ankles, danced in the moonlight. It sounded like an entire crowd of fairies, all clamoring for attention.
Meriwether settled onto Jocelyn’s head to watch, softly ringing in appreciation.
Roger leaned over and whispered, “Your song was amazing.”
The tinkling bells of the dancers kept Meriwether’s attention so well, he didn’t attempt to retaliate.
Jocelyn smiled. “Thank—”
“Thank you, Roger.” Evie spoke over her. “It was pretty good, wasn’t it?”
“It was.…I mean…Jocelyn sings all the time—”
Jocelyn sent him a murderous look.
“And I like it! I really do, Jocelyn! It’s just that the two of you together, well, that was something extra special.”
Any feelings of goodwill Jocelyn had felt toward Evie popped like a soap bubble. “Yes, well, Evie appears to be good at stealing the show.”
“Oh, Jocelyn, I’m sorry! That was awful of me, wasn’t it? But when I heard that song, I couldn’t stay silent. My father sang it to me when I was a little girl, telling me his lullaby would keep any bad dreams away.”
Sir Charles had said the same thing to Jocelyn.
The dancers picked up the pace, the rhythm of their bells and their pounding feet beating a staccato tempo that Jocelyn felt all the way to her bones.
Evie reached over and pulled Jocelyn’s hand into her own. “If I had had a little sister, I think I would have liked her to be someone very much like you.”
“I’m not sure a sister could look more like you than Jocelyn already does,” Roger said.
Ringing filled Jocelyn’s ears.
“And she could even be named Jocelyn! I’ve always loved that name.”
Thoughts started to tumble in the girl’s mind. She and Evie did look similar—very similar. And they knew the same song, sung to each of them to keep bad dreams away. Evie…She couldn’t be. Could she?
“Your name…is it…” Jocelyn swallowed, her throat dry. “Is Evie short for something?”
Evie flashed the dimples in her cheeks. “It is! My full name is Evelina Helene Hopewell. How did you guess?”
Jocelyn stared at her, caught in a war between fascination and horror. A fitting reaction, I think, to standing face-to-face with a young girl—only a year older than yourself—who also happens to be your mother.
Now that was a surprise.
“I need to get some air.” Jocelyn said, stumbling backward. “The campfire smoke is making me feel ill.”
“I’ll join you,” Roger said, his voice sounding as shocked as Jocelyn felt.
“I think I’d rather be alone.” She leaned in close and added in a lower voice, “Don’t say anything. Please.”
Ro
ger nodded and Jocelyn fled from the fire, barely registering where she was going. She reached the edge of the circle of tipis and stopped, looking out into the night. There she stood, fingering her locket, lost in thought. The distant wolf bayed again, but this time it sounded less wild and free. It simply sounded lonely.
How could her mother possibly be here? And frolicking about with that obnoxious Peter Pan? What could Evie—Evelina?—possibly see in that boy that was worth mothering? Jocelyn ground her teeth. It wasn’t fair!
The girl was so wrapped up in the shock, the injustice, the very ridiculousness of what was happening that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching. Even so, her reflexes were sharp; when someone grabbed her arm, Jocelyn had her sword out before she even turned around.
The nursemaid she had caught a glimpse of earlier held her loosely by the arm. Up close it was apparent that the man had not been born into Tiger Lily’s tribe. Even in the moonlight Jocelyn could see that his skin was too pale, his build too stout. Nautical tattoos peeked out from his sleeves, and his eyes were squeezed into a perpetual squint, the result of a life spent under the sun, wind, and waves.
This was no nursemaid. This was a pirate.
Isn’t that just the way life is? It throws something in your path, something momentous, something that must be pondered, mulled over, and truly considered in order for you to make sense of it, but before you have a chance to do so…Snap! A wild-eyed pirate has caught hold of your arm.
Jocelyn jerked hers away from the man and leveled her sword at him. “If Krueger sent you, his sense of timing is as terrible as his breath. I’m in no mood to be tangled with.”
The pirate scowled. “So you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with Captain Krueger, have you? I might have guessed it, the way you’ve been waving that map around.”
Jocelyn was no novice when it came to looking innocent. She had played far too many pranks on tutors and governesses for that. “What map?” she asked with wide eyes.
Likewise, the man was no novice in the ways of children. He narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that just like a child? Presented with irrefutable facts and they want to play pretend! The map in your pocket, missy. The map to Hook’s gold.”