James walked to the corner and pulled the jacket off its post, then draped it over his shoulders. He set the hat atop his head, quite unaware of anyone else around him. Then he made his way over to the floor-length mirror on the other side of the room and stared at himself.
His hair was long and wavy, much longer than his mother had ever let him keep it back home in London. And he was already taller than he’d been just hours before. He reached up to touch his face. There were small whiskers there, stubble really, where they had never been before. Despite only having been aboard the Spanish Main for a short time, he already smelled like the sea.
It struck him then that he was staring at a mirror image of his father. And that affected him deeply. He suddenly choked back a deep sob and turned away from it, breathless. James stood that way for a moment, chewing on his knuckle to ward off any threat of emotion, and then turned around to face the mirror once again.
He was his father. But he was also a captain, and he believed that to his very core.
“Starkey,” he said.
“Aye, Captain?” Starkey peeked into the room, at the front of a crowd of pirates. He seemed inordinately delighted at the simple address.
“What is it that we do aboard the Spanish Main?”
“Plunder, sir. And pillage, and sail.” He belched loudly, then, and raised a hand to cover his mouth. It seemed odd that he was embarrassed at all. “And drink, sir.”
“What do you plunder and pillage?” James said, eyeing the mirror once again, adjusting his hat upon his head.
“I, er, I don’t rightly know.” Starkey’s eyebrows knit together, leathery cheeks stained so little that no one but the boy who’d known him all his life would notice. “It seems to me that we’ve been planning to plunder or pillage something or other for quite some time. But, more often than not, we end up just waiting here.”
From the corner of his eye, James saw Jukes start to laugh and Smee shift his weight nervously.
“That will have to be remedied,” said James, chin in the air.
“Aye!” Starkey said, eyes lighting up once again, furrow disappearing.
The crew behind him echoed him with a thunderous, “Aye!”
Those with goblets raised them, and a good amount of alcohol was wasted in the general sloshing that followed. Slowly, the band of pirates dispersed back out onto the ship and resumed carousing, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary going on that night. Perhaps there wasn’t. Perhaps James being there in his captain’s quarters and in his pirate garb was the most perfectly natural and ordinary thing that had gone on since he’d got to Neverland.
James sat on his bed—he’d never been so happy to hear that word—and kicked off his ratty shoes. They were really more like hastily sewn together leaves than shoes, and they fell apart almost immediately upon contacting the ground. He lay back then, allowing himself to be enveloped by the bed’s softness.
He hadn’t realized until then just how exhausted he was. Adrenaline will do strange things to a boy’s—man’s— body. There was tiredness that seeped into the marrow of his bones, the kind of tiredness that does not come from a day’s run, but from years of hardship.
He touched his face again, trying to get used to the strangeness of whiskers. Whiskers and a hard jaw line. He hadn’t had those even that morning. He wondered, not for the first time that day, just how much older he’d gotten since the suns had come up. It was difficult to say. Perhaps as much as a year, perhaps a bit more. He swallowed down the grave fear that welled up inside him at that undeniable truth. He was getting older, and the acceptance didn’t give him any sort of freedom or peace, only a heavy, terrifying knowledge. Back in England, everyone was moving slowly toward death together. But here in Neverland, it seemed he was hurtling toward it faster than anyone else, and there was something frightening, and strikingly lonely, about it. He shut his eyes.
His fingers trailed down to the angry, swollen stripe across his throat, and he opened his eyes once again. It was a clean line; the sharp stroke of the dagger had seen to that. And he doubted heavily that it would become infected; Tiger Lily had seen to that. But he could feel the depth of it and knew that it would be a scar he would always bear. On the outside and in his very soul, a stain that would never be lifted. It was another defining moment in his life, like the murder of the pirate. The face of a Pan staring at him, desiring his blood, affected him in a way that no other murderer’s face ever would. For somehow, in the darkest depths of him, as Peter was trying to murder him, a piece of James wanted to give him whatever it was that he wanted.
His fingers left his neck, and he turned over on the soft bed. He’d liked the idea of the pillowy mattress at first, but just as it had been impossible to sleep without one the day he’d come to this wretched place, he found it infeasible to sleep in one now. No noises of wildlife, no shivering in the cold. It was a strange thing for him to have to get used to comfort. But, as time (if you could call it time) wore on, the pirates’ singing became a coarse lullaby, and he drifted into sleep.
TEN
JAMES DID NOT AWAKEN TO SOUNDS OF THE WOODS or to Peter barking orders at him to eat a breakfast that wasn’t there. He awoke to a gentle rocking and the sound of the sea lapping against a boat. This boat. His boat.
He felt his face again, noting that it had hardened further since he’d fallen asleep, and the stubble had grown into a small beard. James rose from his bed and searched for a blade somewhere in the room. He found one in the top drawer of his desk, along with a container of cream meant for shaving, and a brush. He thanked his younger self for being so carefully detailed in his growing-up fantasies, then dipped the brush into the cream, slathering it on his face. As he slid the edge of the blade across his cheeks and chin, down his neck, he jumped when he cut too deeply, and a small bit of blood trickled out from him. It drew his gaze to the swollen red gash at the base of his throat. His eyes darkened, and he shaved the rest of himself more slowly.
That wound. He desired not to look at it. The memories it conjured were too ugly, too recent. James suspected that no matter how much time passed, that would always be true. So, he pulled on a shirt and quickly yanked the regal red and gold jacket from its hanger. Then, he fastened it across himself, buttoning it all the way to his chin. Now, though his mind knew the gash was there, his eyes would not remind him every chance they got.
He reached over to his desk and took a sip from the already-filled goblet he’d dreamt up. It was early in the morning, but who would judge him for drinking here? He choked on the bitter liquid at first, then cleared his throat and set it down, eyes watering slightly.
He pulled a pair of oiled black leather boots over his pant legs and smiled. They were much more comfortable than those leaves he’d been wearing for the past several years.
With his hat, his jacket, his boots, today he was really and truly a pirate. No one who saw him could deny it. And not just a pirate—a captain. He smiled a little wistfully, then wiped the smile from his face before he opened the doors to the deck, wishing to appear menacing. In a band full of pirates, that was no easy task.
When he pushed open the doors, the men stopped what they were doing and looked up at him, one by one. He scowled.
“Captain,” Starkey ventured, “what will ye have us do today?”
James hadn’t yet thought of that. He was much more preoccupied with his status as captain than with the details of it. “I, um…” He knew that sounded less than captainly.
“Captain?” stammered a small voice from the midst of the group.
“Speak.”
“If you have no objection, of course, we were thinking on starting the day with a spot of breakfast.”
The rest of the men behind this portly, nervous fellow nodded heartily, and grumbled their approval. James had no semblance of an objection to this; what his stomach was doing couldn’t truthfully be called growling. It was roaring.
“I will allow it,” he said, feeling very adult. “W
hat is your name, sailor?”
“Smee, Captain sir.”
Smee. He remembered him from the previous night, as well as many more London nights before that. A gentle fellow, for a pirate.
“Well, Smee, what have we to eat?”
Smee smiled broadly and tottered away, beckoning James to follow. He did, with reservation. He was halfway looking forward to a meal and halfway afraid that these pirates couldn’t tell the difference between fact and fiction either, and he would wind up with an empty stomach yet again. He grinned broadly when he discovered that such was not the case.
Smee led him to a splintered wooden table spread with breads, cheeses, fruits, meats, and bottles and bottles of rum. James could feel himself salivating and wanted to dive onto the table and shovel the stuff into his mouth. After that, he thought he would like to bathe in a vat of rum. Instead, he sauntered easily to the table and pinched a small piece of chicken between his thumb and forefinger. Then, he nibbled at it and nodded. The rest of the crew took this as permission to dive in, and dive they did. James tried to maintain decorum for a moment longer before his stomach won out, and he joined the rest of his fellows in the scarfing.
After he filled his stomach until it bulged, James sat at the ship’s hull, crossing his feet over one another. The black leather of his boots was supple and shiny, flexing with his feet. Then, all at once, he uncrossed his boots and leapt up.
“Starkey?”
Starkey charged toward him. “Aye.”
“Is this vessel seaworthy?”
“Aye. Should be, Captain.”
James set his jaw and observed his surroundings, scanning the glittering sea and the cotton-candy horizon, and tried to think of the most piratey words he could say.
“Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Hoist the mainsail; pull in the anchor! We’re leaving port.”
Then, there was a flurry of activity, men pulling ropes and turning wheels and running about, wherein James assumed they were avasting and hoisting the mainsail. James returned to lean over the edge of the ship and stared at the endless blue. It made him feel idiotic. How could he not have seen this before? Of course he didn’t have to fly out of Neverland. He could sail out of it.
“Captain,” Starkey said.
“Yes?”
“Where do ye be planning on sailing this day?”
James gripped the railing until he could feel every grain of the wood on his palms and fingertips. Breathed in the salt air that for once, tasted nothing like vanilla or blasted gingersnaps. The taste of the sea was overpowering. He smiled, still gazing out over the open water, heart twisting around and filling to the brim. “London.”
Starkey frowned and scratched at his head. “I’m unfamiliar with a London.”
“I’m not.” James returned to staring out at the sea, imagining the look on his mother’s face when he returned home, the strong shake of his father’s hand when he came back a man. He grinned when he felt the ship moving under him. Though he had no idea as to the direction they were heading, he expected it wouldn’t much matter. As long as they could get away from Neverland, he would find a way to walk on England’s foggy shores again.
It was a trick to be sure, as he was fairly certain they weren’t even on the earth, or perhaps they were, but it was a different version than the one he’d been born on. A little piece hidden, tucked away, that no one in London or across the Atlantic would ever be able to see. But he and Peter had flown here. He had to believe that he could sail back.
The crew looked both in and out of place, somehow. Like this was what they should be doing, but they had no idea how to do it. A pirate ship that never pirated. Strange, like everything else in this place.
James clacked along the ship’s wooden planks, playing with his hand, pacing nervously, anxious to be out on the open sea, to disappear from view of Neverland’s shores forever. Eventually, the chaos of the ship quieted as each crewmember fell into his assigned role. The ride was smooth, like sailing on glass. James found that he could hear nothing, and he wasn’t sure if it was because everyone was silent or because his mind could only see and hear and touch the thought of England. Finally, a bellowed cry broke into his consciousness.
“Land, ho!” called Bill Jukes from the crow’s nest.
Everyone was running this way and that, pulling on this rope and moving that sail. James felt a great excitement stirring in his gut. Every muscle quivered with anticipation as the ship moved closer. He was quite sure the shore was not England’s—they hadn’t been sailing long enough—but that didn’t matter in the slightest. What mattered was that it was land, and that perhaps that land had no allegiance to Peter.
The amount of water between the ship and the landmass started to shrink considerably, and the ship slowed as James’s heartbeat quickened. Closer and closer, until James could see every tree outlined, and eventually every blade of grass. The twinkling lights darting in and out of the forest, and the dock at the water’s edge. The faint taste of vanilla and gingersnaps. The dock. James furrowed his brow and leaned harder over the ship’s frame.
“Starkey, where are we?”
Starkey shrugged. “Captain, I’d say we be in Neverland.”
James shook his head quickly, like he was trying to empty it of something pesky. “That cannot be right.” Then he turned on his crew and scowled. “You incompetent mongrels. What have you done, turning us right back ’round? Get your heads on straight and steer this ship away from Neverland!”
The pirates moved with great urgency, quickly leaving Neverland’s dock once again. After what couldn’t have been more than an hour at sea, Jukes once again called, “Land, ho!” And James once again looked on with tightly wound muscles and wide eyes as they once again approached the dreadful shores of Neverland. James was overcome with a black rage, and his muscles began to quiver. This was impossible. These impotent men were turning the ship around. He would fix it and be back home within a fortnight, drinking tea and milk, and laughing with Mother and Father about all his adventures in Neverland.
Despite the happy thought, a great panic was quickly welling up in him. He rumbled toward the man who was steering the boat and threw him forcefully out of the way, denying to himself that he’d picked up this particular habit from Peter.
“Fool,” he muttered and took hold of the wheel himself. It was to no avail. On and on throughout the day, he commanded the ship’s tenants to steer it away from Neverland. And on and on throughout the day, he ended up exactly where he’d started—resting on the very shores he wished he’d never laid eyes on in the first place.
James grew more and more panicked with each glimpse of Neverland, denying with everything in him that the place was refusing to let him go. No. He was a man. A pirate captain, no less. He could steer a bloody ship. He could do this. He could.
Night fell, and the stars spun and leapt around the moons in the sky. The crew was dragging along, exhausted. All but James, who was in a frenzy. His eyes were wild and frantic, bloodshot, and he was rapidly losing control of himself. Cursing up at the stars, who were moving too quickly for his liking, swearing at every person who came near enough to him, James grumbled again and again, wrenching the wheel this way and that, every thought, every emotion swiftly replaced with desperation. He ran a hand through his hair, nails scratching his scalp, coming away with little red flecks beneath them. James cared very little about that. His muscles abuzz, his nerves electric, he jumped when he felt a small hand on his shoulder.
“Captain,” said a gentle voice.
James did not wish to answer.
“Captain, if I may.”
James closed his eyes heavily, and his shoulders slumped. “What is it, Smee?”
Smee set his rounded fingers upon James’s shoulder. “It doesn’t seem that we will be leaving the dock tonight, sir.”
“Is that so?”
“Perhaps you should be getting some rest in you,” Smee said, speaking gently, like a mother coaxing her child into naptime.
James Hook did not have enough wits about him to concoct original words, and as such, was relegated to simply repeating Smee’s, so defeated a man was he.
“Why don’t you let go of the wheel, Captain?” Smee said, glancing around at the ship, which, James barely had the awareness to note, was populated by tired, unmoving men.
“Why don’t I?” he said, sighing, and he did as the portly, genial pirate suggested.
“And go have a rest.”
He didn’t answer. He just stalked off to his quarters. Without thinking much, he removed his jacket and hat and boots and shirt and lay in his soft bed. It didn’t seem all that soft now. Though he couldn’t see it, the blasted scar was there, breathing right along with him, and eventually it was just he and his scar, alone in the dark. No hope or dreams of plunder or longing for England’s shore. Just he and the silence and the beating scar, left to spend the wretched night together.
ELEVEN
BY MORNING, JAMES HAD COME TO HIS SENSES. HE was pacing rapidly, crossing his room and crossing it again. Now that daylight had broken and he had his wits about him, James had the good sense to be embarrassed. Yesterday, he had shown terrible form, especially for a captain. And he hadn’t really been a captain, had he? He’d been a lunatic. He half-expected that the whole crew would mutiny when he showed his face, and they would maroon him somewhere in the darkest part of Neverland. Then, in the middle of the night, some horrible child’s conjured Neverbeast would gobble him up.
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