by Heidi Schulz
Bilge rats are notoriously large and aggressive. The ones in the Jolly Roger when Peter abandoned ship were, as Miss Eliza would say, no exception. And having been aboard for a very long time without any other food source, they had turned to each other. When the hatch opened, shining light down into its foul interior, it illuminated a single remaining rodent.
It takes a certain skill set to be the last surviving cannibal: above all others, one must be strong, cunning, clever, and ruthless. This rat had all those qualities in abundance. She was also abnormally large and fiendishly hungry.
The rat glared up at Jocelyn and Evie from the small square of light created by the open hatch. Jocelyn felt sick to her stomach. She did not want to be locked up with that creature. What she wanted and what she got, however, were two different things.
Bob removed Evie’s bonds, stripped the girls of their weapons, and threw them down into the bilge, one after the other. He slammed the hatch, casting them into near-total darkness. The two girls fumbled for each other’s hand in the blackness, then waded through the slimy, stinking water, searching blindly for something on which to climb up and out of the horror they were stewing in. Paddling legs in the water brushed up against Jocelyn. She felt sharp claws try to gain purchase on her stockings. The girl stifled a scream and kicked out, banging her shin on a large wooden crate. She scrambled atop it, pulling Evie up with her, and sat still, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the dark.
“Are you all right, Jocelyn? Did you hurt yourself?” Evie asked.
“A little, but I don’t think it’s serious. Not that it would matter now if it was.” She felt that certainty creep inside her, chilling her to her bones. She didn’t want things to end this way.
“Don’t give up,” Evie said. “We’ll think of something. I believe in us. I believe in you.”
In the dark, Evie sounded like the adult version of herself, the one that Jocelyn had met after her fairy wish: Jocelyn’s mother.
Decide what you want. Believe you can have it. Don’t let anything stop you.
Jocelyn knew what she wanted. She wanted the treasure, and the life it would give her. She had believed. But Krueger had stopped her anyway.
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I don’t see any way we can succeed. If I tell Krueger where to find the key, he will probably kill us anyway. If I don’t, even if we are somehow able to free Roger, and Meri—I won’t leave him behind—and escape, however unlikely that may be, he’ll still have the map. There is the barest sliver of a chance we will all survive, and I’m trying to hold on to that, but even so, the treasure is as good as lost.”
Evie scooted close to her, placing an arm around her shoulder. “Why is your father’s gold so important to you? I attend school with quite a few girls who are obsessed with wealth and status. You don’t seem at all the sort.”
Jocelyn thought of some of the spoiled girls she had gone to school with, particularly Prissy Edgewater and Nanette Arbuckle. She knew exactly what kind of girls her mother was talking about. “I don’t care about the gold for the gold’s sake. It’s just that…I think my father intended for me to find it. Krueger doesn’t deserve it.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
“And I want the treasure for myself, too. My grandfather has plans for my future that I simply cannot abide. He plans to see me well mannered and well married to a gentleman of fortune.”
Evie signed. “Your grandfather sounds just like my father.”
“You have no idea.” Truly. “But you see, if I had my own fortune, he couldn’t object to me doing what I like.”
Evie snorted. “Of course he could. If he is anything like my father, it’s not merely about wealth. It’s about what he sees as proper. It’s about the security gained by a high place in society. And on my worst days, I suspect it’s about being able to lord something over his gentlemen friends, over cigars. That’s why I’m not going back. Being the prim and stately wife of some rich but dull man would be worse than prison. I want freedom. I want adventure.”
“But you don’t have to do what he wants.” If only Jocelyn could tell the girl that she had married—or at least, she would marry—a pirate over a gentleman. Sir Charles hadn’t liked it, but he had survived. “You can make your own path. Your father will forgive you. I know it.” By now, Jocelyn’s eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark. She read the hunger on Evie’s face and wondered how often hers looked the same.
Evie sighed. “You can’t know that.” She nudged Jocelyn and a smile crept into her voice. “However, if it’s true for me, then it’s likely true for you as well. No treasure needed.”
“You may be right.” Jocelyn let the barest hint of hope settle on her heart. “But even so, I’d like to have the gold.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of scrabbling claws on the wooden box. This time it was Evie who kicked out. Jocelyn heard a solid thud and a squeal as Evie’s foot connected with the giant rat.
Jocelyn shuddered and gripped her hands into fists. “Even more than gold at the moment, I wish I still had my sword.”
Evie felt along the side of the crate and pried loose a couple of half-rotted boards, handing one to Jocelyn. “For the time being, perhaps this will do.”
The rat was undeterred by the difficulties she had encountered. How those girls must have appealed to her, the scent of their blood as delicious in her nostrils as a Christmas goose in yours. She had conquered all the other rodents, feasting on their flesh and sharpening her teeth on their bones. It was time to feed again. The rat drew nearer.
“I am sorry about all this,” Jocelyn said. “You being here is all my fault.”
“You must be joking! I have loved every moment of this adventure.” She wrinkled her nose. “Except perhaps the carnivorous forest. And the weeds for dinner.”
“If I hadn’t taken you prisoner, you would be safe, mothering Peter and the lost boys. But now…”
The rat attacked, launching herself over the top of the crate and directly for the pulse in Jocelyn’s throat. Evie leaped to her feet and swung her board, connecting solidly with the hideous rodent, sending her hurtling into the wall of the ship. The rat hit with a bone-crunching thud and slid into the slimy water.
“But now I’m having a different sort of adventure.” Evie set down the board and brushed off her hands.
Jocelyn stared at her, slack-jawed. “How did you know how to do that?”
“Dancing lessons.” She smiled and winked. “Now, back to our problem with Krueger. What are we going to do?”
“What can I do? I can’t beat him in combat—I don’t even have a proper weapon. No offense to your board.”
The smile in Evie’s voice was evident even in the dark. “Then outwit him. Your mind is sharper than your blade anyway.”
“How? He has Roger and Meriwether. He has my weapons. He’s bigger and stronger, and I have no idea how to defeat him.”
“We can come up with something together,” Evie said. “Let’s just think on it.” Jocelyn wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She was the captain. Wasn’t it her job to make the plans? Still, it wouldn’t hurt to at least listen. “All right, Evie. What are your ideas?”
“Maybe…” Evie paced back and forth on their crate, making a very narrow circuit. “No. That won’t work. But what if we…” She tapped her front teeth with a fingernail, thinking. “Ugh! I don’t know. If only finishing school taught lessons on how to steal from pirates and escape their clutches. That would be ever so much more useful than embroidery!”
Jocelyn smiled in spite of herself, remembering how her manners training had once saved her life. Still, she couldn’t see how becoming conversant in French, being light on one’s dancing feet, or having nimble sewing fingers would help in this situation. Unless…
An idea struck like a bolt from the blue. She wouldn’t be able to do it on her own, and even with Evie’s help they would be unlikely to succeed, but it was something. She laid
out the germ of an idea to the other girl, listening as Evie made some suggestions of her own.
Their plan was utterly outrageous. It was absolutely impossible. And it was their only chance.
When their plan was as solid as they could make it, they sat in silence together. Jocelyn leaned into Evie, taking comfort from her warmth. She believed they had a chance. That was all she could do.
The girl had just begun to doze off when Evie asked her, “Jocelyn, who are you?”
She shook her head, groggily, trying to understand the question. “I’m…I’m Jocelyn. Jocelyn Hook.”
“I know that. I mean, who are you to me? We have some sort of connection. My father’s song. The painting in your locket. We even look a little alike. Tell me the truth. Are you…”
Jocelyn’s heart thudded.
“…my sister?”
Jocelyn couldn’t help but laugh. “I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
Evie sat up and faced her. “It’s not so funny, really. I mean, we could be from different times. Maybe back on the mainland, I’m a lot older than you. Perhaps my father will remarry and you will become my sister. Or…maybe you are a secret sister he hasn’t told me about. From a woman in the village or something. Such things do happen, you know.”
Jocelyn turned to look at Evie. No. You’re my mother. If you go home, you’ll grow up and marry Captain Hook. But then you’ll die shortly after I am born. The words were there in her mind, but how could she say them? “I’m not your sister.”
“Oh. Right. Because Captain Hook was your father. But then who are you? You know something, I can tell. Please don’t keep it from me.”
“But if I tell you, maybe you won’t want to be my friend anymore,” Jocelyn said, knowing how much that would hurt.
“Don’t be silly. It’s not like you’re a murderer or some such thing.”
“But…what if…” She was going to tell her. It was time to face this. “What if I—”
The hatch above them banged open, bathing the hold with light. Dirty Bob poked his head into the rectangle of sunshine. “All right, girlies, come on up. The captain wants to see ye.”
Jocelyn squinted in the glare above deck. The bright morning sun glinted off Krueger’s sharp teeth. “Did you enjoy your evening, ladies?”
“Quite. Thank you,” Jocelyn replied with a smirk.
He stepped to her, raising his hand as if to strike, then wrinkled his nose, coughed, and gagged. Here in the fresh air of the deck, Jocelyn could tell how terrible they smelled. He took a step back and placed a handkerchief to his nose.
“You stink of bilge and failure. Tell me what I need to know so I can be rid of you. Unless”—he pulled his sword and pointed it at Roger—“you are in the mood for a show. I think I’ll start with cutting out his tongue so he won’t even have the satisfaction of a proper scream when I move on to his eyes—”
The thought of Roger being tortured stole the smirk from Jocelyn’s face. “Stop!” she cried. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but please let Roger and Evie go. You can kill me after if you like, but they are no threat to you. I beg you.”
“You beg me?” he replied. “I like the sound of that. I think I’ll add it to our deal. You tell me where to find the key, and throw in some begging, and you’ll all be free.”
Jocelyn didn’t believe him. It would be far easier to do away with them than to worry about them knowing too much about the treasure. But what could she do? “I’ll tell you.”
Roger sagged against the mast where he was tied—out of relief that Krueger had lowered his sword or disappointment that Jocelyn had given in, she could not tell. Evie began to cry.
Krueger ignored them, intent only on Jocelyn and the information she would provide. “I’m listening.”
“It’s…it’s…” A small tear leaked from Jocelyn’s own eye. Sadness at losing the treasure was written all over her face. “It’s etched inside the barrel of Long Tom.”
Krueger regarded her tear with unveiled suspicion. “Bob. Go inspect that cannon.”
Jocelyn wiped her face and arranged it into the picture of innocence. “Yes, Bob. Go do that. But do be careful.”
Dirty Bob spluttered and pointed at the girl. “It’s booby-trapped, Cap’n! Look at ’er face. She knows it is.”
Krueger snarled, baring his razor-sharp teeth. “Enough of this foolishness, girl!” he commanded. “You can both go. Bring back that code, and be quick about it, before I get bored.” He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and motioned with his head toward Roger.
Evie flung herself on Krueger, falling to her knees and clutching at his jacket. “Please,” she cried, “don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt any of us. Jocelyn will give you what you need, won’t you, Jocelyn?” The pirate tried to pry the girl off, but she clung harder. “I wish I had never come here! I want to go home,” she sobbed.
He shoved the distraught girl roughly from him. Evie fell backward, landing at Roger’s feet. She scrambled up and wrapped her arms around the boy, mast and all, her cries turning to wails.
Krueger smoothed the front of his waistcoat. “I’m losing my patience!” he yelled over Evie’s hysterics, looking at Jocelyn. “Go. Now!”
Jocelyn obeyed.
I’m quite an expert when it comes to betrayal. My life has been filled with treacherous so-called friends, disloyal family members, men I once loved as brothers and women I gave my heart to. In one way or another I’ve double-crossed them all.
Being young, Jocelyn was not as finely acquainted with those who deal in perfidy, the low and untrue. Like most children, she divided the world into those who were good and those who were bad. She believed in those assigned roles, in fairness and justice. Dirty Bob was giving her quite an education.
Evie’s sobs followed the two of them as they climbed down the steep ladder to the gun deck. There were twenty cannons lined up, ten on each side of the ship, but it was easy to see at a glance which was Long Tom. It was third from the end on the starboard side, pointed toward the mountain’s summit. The gun was at least ten feet long, and crafted to look as if the cannonballs would shoot from a gargoyle’s mouth. At any other time, Jocelyn would have marveled at it, but at the moment Dirty Bob’s treachery overshadowed everything else.
Her voice shook, not with nerves but with rage, as she asked, “How could you do this? Why did you do this?”
The man turned his head one way and then the other, taking in the ship around them. He caressed one of its support beams with an attitude that bordered on reverence. “All these years, she should have been mine,” he said. “Your father stole her from me.”
Jocelyn frowned. “Who?”
“The ship herself! Look at her beauty. She should have belonged to me.”
Jocelyn shook her head. “I thought my father stole this ship from Blackbeard.”
“Aye. That he did. But he stole the idea to steal her from me. We were bunkmates, you know. Your father was bo’sun and I was quartermaster—both positions of trust. Positions of power. I got a taste of that, but like with a good grog, one taste wasn’t enough. Blackbeard, he was a hard man to serve. He demanded respect and bought it with our fear. Ever so often, for no reason at all, he’d just up and kill someone. It kept the rest of us in line. He was a fine pirate captain—almost like a father to me. Jimmy and me both aspired to be like him.”
“So you planned to betray him?”
“How else could you show a man like that the depths of yer feelings but by becoming like him? I decided that the Queen Anne’s Revenge—that’s what the old girl was called then—should be mine, but I couldn’t do it alone. I made the mistake of trusting your dad. I laid out the whole plan for him: how we’d get the men on our side, how we’d get a message to the governor, and how I’d demand the Queen in exchange for Blackbeard’s head. It was perfect.”
Jocelyn peered into the mouth of Long Tom. “I think there is something in there,” she lied. “I just have to reach it.” Sh
e put her arm inside and Bob stepped back, tensed for an explosion. “Well, go on,” Jocelyn said as she felt around. “What went wrong with your perfect plan?”
“We went ashore, sent the message to the governor, and took ourselves to a local rum swillery to celebrate. Old Jimmy musta put somethin’ in me grog. When I awoke, I was doing a turn in the stocks, punishment for drunken and disorderly conduct. By the time I served out the rest of my sentence and paid my fine, Blackbeard was dead, the Queen was gone, and Jimmy was no longer Mr. Hook, the bo’sun. He was Captain Hook, the terrible. I loved him like a brother—and hated him like one too.”
Jocelyn reached farther into the cannon, her arm buried nearly to the shoulder. “So you betrayed me for revenge?” she asked. “Or out of respect, like for Blackbeard?”
“Neither.” Dirty Bob spat on the deck, then mopped it up with his handkerchief. “When you saved me from being marooned, I thought I could start fresh and remember, through you, what it was like when Jim and me were young.”
“So what happened?”
Bob reached in his pocket, pulled out a fistful of tiny objects, and scattered them on the floor. “This did.”
The girl removed her arm from Long Tom and stooped to look. Springs and cogs and bits of twisted metal…they were all that was left of Dirty Bob’s pocket watch—the first thing he ever stole. Jocelyn had smashed it in order to silence its ticking after a nightmare about the crocodile. Seeing the pieces on the floor brought back her feelings of white-hot shame. “I apologized. I gave you my father’s silver double cigar holder!”
“This?” He pulled the holder from the same pocket. “Aye. And I thought it was so special, until Smee told me it wasn’t even his only one. In fact, this one was his everyday holder: tin, covered in silver leaf.”