by Heidi Schulz
Nubbins tipped his hat. “Thank you!”
Sir Charles spoke over him. “And fighting. I saw you up there. I’m sure you didn’t learn swordplay at the school I sent you to.”
Jocelyn scowled. She hadn’t dared hope her grandfather would be proud of her, but she had rescued him. Shouldn’t that have gotten her out of a scolding?
He went on. “I’m speechless, really.” (For a speechless person, he certainly had a lot to say.) “I can’t help but wonder what your mother would think.” Jocelyn lifted her chin, defiance preparing to spill from her lips, but she bit it back when she heard, “I imagine, knowing her, she would be quite as proud as I am.”
“What?” Jocelyn wasn’t sure she had heard correctly.
“Your actions were unconventional, to say the least, but you did what needed to be done and you did it beautifully.” He turned to Roger. “You are not the friend I would have chosen for my granddaughter. However, it appears that she knows better than I.” He stuck out his hand. “You will be a fine man one day. I hope you will allow me the honor of knowing you.”
Roger took his hand and shook it, looking the man in the eye. “Yes, sir. If you will do the same.”
Mr. Smee pointed out the lights of a ship on the sea. “Calypso’s Nightmare is moored out there, with no captain to care for her.” He dabbed at his eyes with his wet shirttail. “I do hate to see a ship abandoned.”
Roger grinned at Jocelyn. “How would you feel about changing your title from captain to admiral? You could have two ships in your fleet.”
She sadly shook her head. “I wish I could, but I’m afraid my adventuring days may be over. I could never sack an innocent ship, but without some gold, I can’t outfit and supply one ship, let alone two.” The girl turned her head back toward the sea. “The treasure chamber is surely flooded now. My father’s gold is lost. If only I had grabbed some when I had the chance.”
“Yeah. But trying to carry a bunch of gold would have made it impossible to swim. Unless”—he winked—“you happened to have pockets.”
Roger started turning out the many pockets of his pants, emptying their contents in the sand. Gold pieces, pearl necklaces, jewels, even a diamond the size of a goose egg. He had smuggled a small fortune out in his wonderful pockets.
“I’m turning out to be quite a good thief,” he said. “I happened to snag a bit even before Krueger made it to the platform. Now, I’m no expert on treasure, but I’m sure there is enough here for us to sail off on at least a few more adventures. We could explore new lands, just like Magellan”—he saluted—“Admiral Hook.”
Jocelyn threw her arms around Roger and kissed him on the cheek. “That sounds splendid, Roger!”
Sir Charles cleared his throat. Jocelyn had forgotten he was there. Her face burned, but she did not bother to hide her grin.
“Young lady,” her grandfather said, “I have one request.”
“Yes, Grandfather?”
“Before you go off on all this adventuring, please sail me home. I have had enough adventure and am ready for my fire and slippers, hot tea, and a nice bowl of porridge.”
Jocelyn grinned, remembering the porridge fight she had had with Roger and Evie. Roger must have been thinking the same thing, for he said, “Porridge, sir? Ah, so you must be as skilled in exotic weaponry as your progeny.”
The old man looked on in bemused consternation as the pair of children collapsed together in hysterical giggles on the beach.
Mr. Smee shook his head. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I don’t understand it neither. Then again, not everyone can be as sound of mind as you, me, and Johnny Corkscrew.” He gave his sword a loving pat. “Isn’t that right?”
Sir Charles shook his head. “Quite so, I imagine, quite so.”
And that is the tale of how Jocelyn became best friends with her mother when the woman was yet a girl, defeated an evil foe, rescued her grandfather, fought and made up with her other best friend, and found, then lost, the greatest treasure known to man (but did not mind it so much after all). Good-bye.
Of course, Jocelyn’s story doesn’t end here. It’s not so much that her tale has come to an end as that my patience has. Her life and adventures went on and on and on, but this is as good a place as any to stop.
Get Out
You are harder to get rid of than lice in my sister’s mustache. More verminous, too.
All right, all right, I will tell a bit more. But you must know that when I am finished with the tale, I will also be finished with you—by any means necessary.
Certainly there was a celebration once they all made it back to the Hook’s Revenge. I think everyone was a bit surprised to find that Gentleman Starkey had not taken the opportunity to simply make off with the ship, though no one was more surprised than Starkey himself. In gratitude, Jocelyn offered him captainship of the Calypso’s Nightmare under her command as admiral. He agreed, and signed on the now-unemployed crew of the late Captain Krueger under his leadership.
As for Starkey, that moment reversed in him a lifelong-held belief that all children were terrible. No, from that day on, he knew the truth. Though most were noisy, sticky, whiny little blighters, Jocelyn was…less so.
Truth be told, she had already offered the captainship to Roger but had been turned down. It seemed the boy preferred to stay close to her. And he didn’t mind being under the girl’s direct command, so long as she agreed to listen his ideas, at least a portion of the time.
Roger returned her father’s logbook and Jocelyn flipped to a new page. She titled it Admiral Hook’s Pirate Code. The entry was this: There is more than one way to be a real pirate.
She slipped the book back into her pocket and shouted, “As commanding officer, I demand one thing of you all tonight!” The men awaited her instructions. “Enjoy yourselves!”
Nubbins crafted an amazing meal from the galley stores—even without a crepe pan. The party enjoyed their feast to the sounds of Jim McCraig and his parrot singing a completely comprehensible duet. Jocelyn had never gotten over how easy it was to understand the man while he sang. She now marveled that the parrot had the same quality.
One-Armed Jack surprised everyone by withdrawing yet another prosthetic from under his shirt. No, not another piece of kitchen gear or sporting equipment, but a proper arm of leather and steel. “I just couldn’t help myself,” he said, “when I saw it in the cave. It spoke to me. Besides, that skeleton in the puzzle room wasn’t getting much use out of it.”
Jocelyn merely laughed and helped him tie it on.
Jack waved it around as menacingly as he was able. (Not very.) Having had the original bitten off by the Neverland crocodile was impressive enough on its own, but to then be the bearer of a new claw hand, stolen off the remains of a pirate who had been killed by the great Captain Hook himself? It was almost too much. Truly, Jack was in danger of becoming a living legend, at least to himself.
Not everyone could have even a fraction of that luck. Jim McCraig’s fortunes took a turn for the worse when, during a break from their singing, his parrot plucked the sliver from Jim’s big toe, effectively removing his wooden leg. His complaints were long, loud, and, as to be expected, unintelligible.
Sir Charles spent the evening discussing matters of import, and port wine, with both Mr. Smee and Gentleman Starkey, thrilled to find that both men were, like himself, aficionados of the finer things in life.
In a night filled with surprise and amazement, perhaps the most dramatic moment came when Blind Bart stood and declared, “After all the aquatic exercise tonight, I have triumphed over my intense phobia of the water. Indeed, I feel I need no longer rely on my eye patches for protection.”
For the first time since any of them had known the man, he uncovered his eyes and blinked upon the world. At that very moment, however, poor Meriwether—who seemed to have contracted a cold from becoming too damp—broke forth with a mighty sneeze. A shower of fairy dust sprayed Bart in his tender, wondering eyes. To hear him scream,
the pain must have been something like looking into the heart of a thousand blazing suns. He firmly clapped his patches back over both eyes and never could be prevailed on to remove them again.
Jocelyn took Meriwether to her cabin and fed him a thimbleful of Nubbins’s best cold-cure soup. He drank it up and made a nest in her hair. The girl sat quietly on the bed, her fingers playing over her locket, thinking of her mother. She missed her.
Jocelyn pulled the logbook from her pocket again and opened to the first page. She ran her fingers over the note Evie had scrawled just before leaving the Neverland. It had all happened so fast, Jocelyn felt that she hadn’t gotten to say a proper good-bye. But even if there had been more time, it would have been impossible.
Some good-byes are altogether improper—indecent, even.
The girl’s musings were interrupted by another sneeze from Meriwether, and a shower of fairy dust that coated the book. Jocelyn went to wipe it on her sleeve but pulled back, wide-eyed. Glowing words appeared, floating to the surface of the page.
Dear Jocelyn,
Oh, how I wish you were here to talk to in person. I’d love to tell you all about the things that are happening in my life, and hear about what is happening in yours. Who else can I speak to of all this? Instead, I’ll talk to this diary, which I know you will one day find. (I had it embossed with J. H., for Jocelyn Hook.)
I saw him tonight, Jocelyn: Captain Hook—James. He was talking to Gentleman Starkey in the gardens, but I pretended not to notice. Instead, I let drop the fact that my father has bought a new ship and intends to send me on a pleasure cruise. It is my hope that we will meet at last, for how could a pirate resist a new ship?
The girl turned the page, plucked Meri from her head, and shook him over the diary. More entries appeared, detailing the very exciting adventures of a young woman experiencing first love. Jocelyn read them all—only slightly disgusted at the mushy parts. She missed her mother all over again, but felt grateful for another chance to hear her voice.
The final entry was short. It read:
Dear Jocelyn,
My adventures are drawing to a close. Yours are about to begin. I have no regrets.
Love, Mother
Jocelyn thought back on their adventure together. She had made mistakes, to be sure, but things had worked out as they were meant to. And who knew, perhaps she would see Evie again, somewhere, somewhen. The Neverland was filled with impossible things, after all. It was conceivable that other places were as well.
The girl snuggled down into her bed and drifted off to sleep, rocked by ocean waves in uncharted seas. Roger had suggested that once they returned Sir Charles to his home, they should set a course for someplace altogether new, in neither England nor the Neverland, and Jocelyn had agreed. They would let the wind decide.
The girl was excited for what the next day might bring—and the day after that. Her whole life was ahead of her, thrilling experiences waiting just over the horizon. She would meet them as they came. Growing up would be a grand adventure.
The End
ANSWER TO THE SKELETON RIDDLE
I am extremely grateful to the many people who have helped me continue Jocelyn’s adventures. Raising my mug of grog (or rather, root-grog) to each and every one of you.
Especial gratitude to:
Keith and Chenowa Egawa for reading and advice on my Tiger Lily chapters. I also owe a debt of gratitude to Gary Dawes and Loretta Three Irons in the Crow Tribe Education Department. I very much wanted to write Tiger Lily and her people sensitively and with respect. If I have made any errors, the fault is mine.
My fearless editor, Rotem “Mo the Wild Spaniard” Moscovich. It is a joy to be edited by you. Additional thanks to Mary Ann Zissimos, Julie Moody, Karen Sherman, Tyler Nevins, and the rest of the black-hearted rogues at Disney • Hyperion.
John Hendrix, a most talented rapscallion, who surely mixed his ink with blood and sweat (most likely his own) in creating this book’s beautiful artwork and cover.
Emma “Emmy Two-Buckle” Trevayne, Claire “Silvertongue” Legrand, Black Becky Albertali the Oreo Plunderer, and Annie “Big-Fat-Ugly-Bug-Face-Baby-Eating” (and fan of Muppet Treasure Island) Cechini for the sanity-saving calls, texts, FaceTimes, and Gchats. I’d sail with you swashbucklingly fierce ladies anywhere.
Brooks “Blue-Bearded Bartleby” Sherman, a true scoundrel and blaggard. Thank you for always believing I can, and reminding me when I forget.
One-Eyed Walt for making me better at everything I do. Is it too corny to say I’m thrilled to have you as both my co-captain and first mate? It is? Don’t care. I love you.
Red-Handed Hannah. It’s such a privilege to be both your mother and your friend. Thank you for teaching me and inspiring me every day. Sorry about the giant hair-bows. (Not sorry.)
All the indie booksellers who have championed Hook’s Revenge, particularly those that have hosted me and my shenanigans: The Book Bin in Salem, Oregon; Powell’s Books, A Children’s Place Bookstore, and Green Bean Books in Portland, Oregon; Rediscovered Books in Boise, Idaho; Tattered Cover in Denver, Colorado; Mockingbird Books in Seattle, Washington; and The King’s English in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Additional gratitude to the Salem Public Library—which is both my childhood and current library—for lending books and support, and for so often providing me a quiet place to write.
And to you, dear reader. Thank you for joining me here again.
ARRRRRR!
THE KEY TO THE CODE
HEIDI SCHULZ is a writer, reader, giraffe suspicioner, and the author of Hook’s Revenge. She lives in Salem, Oregon, with her husband, co-captaining a crew made up of their teen daughter, a terrible little dog, and five irascible chickens. Visit her website at HeidiSchulzBooks.com or follow her on Twitter @HeidiSchulz.
JOHN HENDRIX loves to draw. In fact, he’s drawing right now in St. Louis, Missouri. He lives there with his wife and two children, and teaches at Washington University. His drawings have been featured in numerous publications, and he is the author and illustrator of many acclaimed children’s books. Visit John online at johnhendrix.com and follow him on Twitter @hendrixart.