by H C Storrer
“Why if you fink ’bout it, C-Cap… you ’as done the same, in a w-w-way.” Smee smiled, being one of only a few who could address Jack properly if he liked. “Although, I would b-be finken… well…” he said, leaving the subject hanging.
***
Jack turned from his own contemplation and braced his eyes against the glaring sun as he stepped onto the freshly swabbed oak planking. It was late afternoon as Smee helped him up to the quarterdeck near the wheel. Most of the men avoided him as they would a leper, their voices falling to hushed whispers as they passed. Jack absently rubbed his stump, bandaged at the wrist. He had seen plenty of amputees; his future with a bent hook for a hand was a near certainty.
“Pay no mind, Cap. They’s j-j-just superstitious w-what with you flying like a b-bird an fight’n tha’ angel an’ all.” Smee smiled to show it didn’t bother him, but his eyes gave him away.
“That weren’t no angel, Smee, and I’m nothing grand to look upon.” Jack held up his stump.
“B-b-begg’n yer p-pardon, Sir, b-but yer a legend.” Smee couldn’t keep the reverence from his voice, and that was more unsettling than the whispers and sideways glances Jack was receiving from the crew. Changing the subject, Smee continued, “Why in no time, we w-will gets you a f-fine ‘ook made up. On a s-ship, a gaff could b-b-be more useful than a hand I s-suspect.”
As they stood at the sterncastle, Jack put his good hand on Smee’s shoulder. “Have provisions been made?”
“Aye, Cap. Them we can trust ’as p-pistol and cutlass.”
“Attention on deck!” Sergeant Pierce barked the order and what was left of the Fox’s crew snapped to. The pirates in parallel, formed a less orderly group, gawking at the king’s men with amusement. Jack looked at each of their faces. Some were leery and some expectant. Smee was right—every man aboard seemed to reverence him as if he were the King himself. Above all it was obvious that the truce between pirate and honest man was nearly at an end.
“I am relinquishing my commission in the Royal Navy and taking command of the Jolly Roger.” The honest men gasped audibly. “Those that wish to join my crew are welcome to stay. If not, the island here has been provisioned, and we will send a message for your retrieval at the earliest possible convenience.”
“Who say’s yer the cap’n of the Jolly Roger!” a sneering voice cut through the murmuring. Jack shook his head imperceptibly as Talker pushed through the pirates. “I didn’t come all this way to bow down as one of yer ‘boy’s again. I’m a be’er cap’n than you. You is still a lad! Look at ‘im, ’es a cripple wif one ’and. I say we puts it to a vote!” He lifted his jaw in defiance.
Quick as viper, Jack drew a pistol from Smee’s waistband and fired, the ball catching Talker square between the eyes. As Talker smacked against the deck, Jack chuckled. “I never did like that tosser.”
“Any ofer m-man jack wish to be c-c-cap’n?” Smee shouted with a grin. Not an eye engaged his own, instead looking anywhere other than at the Captain. The fear and awe were palpable. “All in f-favor of Cap’n Ja—”
Jack cut him off, holding his wounded arm across Smee like a bar.
“Cap?” Smee looked back, confused.
“Captain James… James Hook, all you who are willing to accept me, Captain James Hook, as your captain, say aye!” Hook looked out in commanding form.
Gags was the first to shout, stepping forward making a great show. “Aye, Cap’n. Aye, aye!”
Quickly, others of the lost boys followed the lead. Then in unison every pirate of the former crew joined in.
“The v-vote’s unani-unimanious. . . they all agree Cap.” Smee grinned from ear to ear.
“You can’t expect the king’s men to stand idly by!” Sergeant Pierce bellowed, trying to calm his marines.
Jack looked out over the gaggle of honest sailors milling about nervously. “There is no need for bloodshed. All those who wish to stay loyal to the crown are free to go.”
“Are we to just walk away, then?” a sailor standing next to Pierce asked boldly.
“Mr. Smee.” Hook turned to his first mate.
Smee cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Ca-KA!”
Instantly, the screeching of metal and the cocking of firelocks accompanied his loyal boys; in a grand shuffle they formed an intimidating line. Hook looked out over his lost boys and then back to those left of the old crew. “I believe you have little choice, mate.”
Begrudgingly, the marines and sailors accepted the terms of the armistice. Under guard, those choosing to leave went to work, separating themselves from the pirates.
As they turned together, Hook handed Smee the spent pistol and aimed his stump at Talker’s body, “Get that traitorous dog off me deck, Smee.”
“Aye, aye, Cap.” Smee took the pistol in hand. “ ‘Ook… n-n-now that’s what I c-call independence.”
Sergeant Pierce climbed the stairs to the bridge, a pained expression on his face. “Jack. I mean Jame—” Pierce was struggling, his eyes kept shifting to the prone figure of Talker as he was hefted and drug to the side. “Captain… this is… well, it’s mutiny! Can you hear yourself? You’ll hang.” Pierce quickly shot out a powerful hand upon Hook’s wrist as the pirate gripped the hilt of his gladius. “It needn’t come to this. I am still your friend, but you must see, Jack. If you continue down this path—” The good sergeant started to turn the wheels in his head, mumbling a string of thoughts, “Benning, Davies… that was you?” The rattling of chain being clamped around Talker’s feet made him pause all the more, “You can’t expect… I can’t be a part of this.” A loud splash of the body being thrown overboard drew everyone’s attention.
“I see.” Hook hid his disappointment. “Very well. I wish it were a different choice, but I do understand, sergeant. I suggest you make your way to the beach. We will be getting underway soon.” Pierce grimaced and bowing his head, turned to go. “And, sergeant.” Hook drew his attention. “Safe travels.”
Pierce nodded again and joined a dozen or so men, mostly marines, that began to lower the long boats and then climb down out of sight. The last at the Jacobs ladder, Pierce took fleeting glances at Hook and the other men, knowing he would one day be forced to hunt them down as they had Nathan Rogers.
***
“Mr. Smee?” Hook stood near the wheel, watching as the long boats slowly rowed line astern to the beach in the distance.
“Yes, C-Cap?”
“What do you suspect those men will say when they make it back to London?”
“I think they w-won’t be able to keep a t-t-tale the likes of this one from s-spreadin’.”
Hook nodded thoughtfully. “Gags. Bring us around.” Slowly, the Jolly Roger began to turn a broadside to the boats under oar. “Smee, run out the guns.”
“W-what you got in that clever m-m-mind of yours, Cap?” Smee looked on with a smile.
“Mr. Smee, we don’t need no sparrows.”
Epilogue
“W hat are you doing here!” the silver ball buzzed in Tristan’s ear.
“Did you follow me through the portal again?” he whispered back, swatting at the nuisance.
Belle lit on the window ledge with a nod. “Someone has got to look out for you. You fell asleep,” she added as if that explained everything, and in a way, it did.
“I know. I can’t stay awake forever.” Tristan was exhausted. It had been more sunrises and sunsets than he could count since he fought Jack, and still the shadow was trying to get back to him. He had tried to remove the ring but found it to be an impossible task. As much as the shadow needed Jack, he found he needed the shadow—it was consuming. Besides, there was a greater worry. Jack was sure to come back. Worst of all, whenever Tristan let his guard down the shadow was dragging him through the portal to Anna’s house in London, searching for its former master.
There was no way to say the power couldn’t call another to fill its bidding; there were wild men aplenty on the island, and without the council there was l
ittle he could do to keep them in check. Even Hukupapa found it nearly impossible to keep her tribe under control. It was his duty and his curse to protect the world from this darkness.
He had come to this same spot in London many times. It was a ritual of sorts. Only when he could feel the shadow’s hope dissipate as they reached the home to find Jack still gone, was it then possible to regain control.
Belle began to pace, looking into the small child’s room with ill contempt. “You’ve told me that the shadow brings you here often enough, but what I want to know is why you stay? You are in control now, are you not?”
“Buzz off!” Tristan swatted at her, chasing her past the uppermost chimney before turning back to his favorite window. He knew the answer to her question but resented her asking it all the same. “Stupid fairies.” Without thinking, he reached back and felt the scars where his wings had once been, then caught himself and pulled his hand back. He also missed his golden glow as well as the chance to grow and shrink, as he wanted. He had begun to notice other changes as well. His angular, fairy-like features had rounded and softened. He still looked odd compared to humans, but he no longer looked like a fairy as well. If anything, he was the image of a boy, younger than even Jack.
The small child began to whimper in her sleep. Hesitantly, Tristan used the shadow to move the latch and then open the window while he glided silently into the room. Landing softly next to the bed, he bent and lifted the infant and whispered an old fairy tune until she fell back asleep as he continued to rock her. “I’ll be here every night, my little Wendy. One day I will take you back to my Island of Never where you can live without the suffering of humanity.” His mind filled with Jack’s past. Blinking the sadness away, he smiled once more. “Like your father.”
Softly, he laid her back down and slipped out the window into the night air, feeling lighter than he had in a while. Out of nowhere, Belle joined him. “Are we going back now?”
“Almost.” Tristan glided on over the rooftops, past the old church and portal.
“Almost?” Belle huffed, pausing in midair, yelling as he continued on, “This place smells, Tristan!”
It was a short journey to the darkest portion of the city, the one most common in Jack’s memories, when he came to a stop with Belle at his ear. Pulling up a satchel slung about his shoulder, he retrieved a loaf of bread and a large hunk of cheese. It was a meal he would have gagged at only a short time before; now the aroma of the cheese was inviting.
“Where did you get all that?” Belle huffed.
“It’s amazing to just think, and then there it is.” Tristan smiled back.
“The island magic?” Belle followed closely as he descended into an alley. It was then that a sense of worry broke her awe. Tugging on his sleeve, she warned, “Tristan, it’s not safe here.”
“Will you stop that, Tink.” He yanked his arm free. “Besides, I don’t remember asking you to come along anyway.”
“I didn’t ask you,” she mocked, following warily from a distance.
Sliding down a ditch near the old road, Tristan came to a stop above a brick tunnel. Inside, a group of small boys sat huddling about the orange glow of a feeble fire. Taking the bread in hand, he flew to where they huddled against the wind and dropped the food right in the middle as he landed in the dark. Instantly, the fastest boys struggled with the largest for a bite. In a corner, a very small lad just looked on, his sunken eyes eager for a crumb.
“Boys, boys! Stop fighting. There’s enough to go around.” Tristan shot into the middle of them, taking one by the ankle and holding him upside down. In wonder, the small group of boys broke apart, one still holding the heel of bread like a treasure.
“Is you an angel?” one of the more courageous children spoke up, his eyes constantly moving as they followed Tink’s silver orb.
Tristan smiled, putting the boy back down. “No, no.” None of these children could have been more than ten cycles old. “But I live in a place like heaven, where you’ll never grow old and have more food than you could ever eat.”
“Go’on!” another boy quipped, swiping the air with his hand.
“You ain’t much older than us!” one said, the rest chimed in with laughter.
Tristan shrugged his shoulders and leapt into the air hands on his hips. The boys cried out in shock as he hovered. “Well perhaps you’re not brave enough to handle my Neverland.”
One of the older boys stepped forward. “I’ll go. It’s gotta be better than this filfy stinkin’ city. Treats us worse than dogs they do.” A few others stepped forward as well. Tristan could feel that the shadow’s interest was piqued, coming out from its depression.
‘This could be fun.’ Tristan smiled to himself, then pulled out his pouch of gold dust and tossed it on the small group before him. Instantly, they began to rise, whooping and hollering, a few swimming through the air.
“What’s your name?” Tristan asked the oldest one as he slowly spun head over heels.
“They calls me Nibs.” He began to turn green from the motion. Taking pity on him, Tristan reached out to stop the spinning.
“What’s yours?” the boy asked.
Tristan looked skyward with a knowing smile. Swooping through the tunnel, he sank to the ground and lifted the tiny boy with sunken eyes to his shoulder, handing him a fresh loaf from his sack. Turning to the others, his face beamed as he said, “I’m Peter, Peter Pan.”
***
“What c-c-course Cap?” Smee stood next to Gags at the helm.
“Find me a storm, Mr. Smee. Find me a storm and then point us towards the blackest part of it.” His eyes closed, Hook could feel the call of the power—of the dust. He didn’t know how he knew, but the memory of the terrible thunderstorm that washed him upon Neverland’s shores was the only way to get there.
“A storm, Cap’n?” Gags looked at Smee, exchanging a nervous look.
Hook stood against the railing, lightning blue eyes on the horizon while the polished, sharpened blade of Nathan’s karambit, fixed to his healed stump, carved aimlessly into the wood. “Aye. It’s time to get me ring back.”
Sneak Peek:
Book 2
The Seraph of Khartoum
Chapter 1
“I thought it was all in hand. You told me it was all in hand!” Darling hissed, trying to crush the crystal glass in his heavy palm.
John’s lawyer leaned closer so none of the other guests could hear. “With the pronouncement of Michael’s death, John had me put another benefactor in the will. There is nothing for it. Besides, you have your family’s money.”
Darling shoved the poor man farther into the corner with his considerable gut, pinning him. “My fortune is nearly spent, mostly on lawyers who are supposed to give me advice on how to increase my accounts! Besides, those two delinquents of hers are of no relation to me—they are castoffs of her first marriage.”
“Our deal was for me to keep you informed—I have.” The lawyer slipped from Darling’s trap and disappeared into the throng milling about the ballroom of the great mansion of the Peters family.
Embittered with the entire situation, George Darling’s eyes panned over the gathered mourners, coming to rest on the congregation circling about his wife while she once again played the spectacle. As if fish hooks pulled at his cheeks, a glib smile formed beneath his heavy, greying mustache. Straightening his back, he brushed back what hair he had left over the balding crown of his head and reminisced upon better days. It was his memories that allowed him to place a mask of serenity over the boiling anger inside. Wendy Peters Darling had been the rapture of youthful exuberance and a fine companion to an aging bachelor. For George, Wendy’s golden beauty had been a fine asset, but more importantly, with his own fortune having dwindled, the infusion of the Peters’ family hoard allowed him to live the gentlemanly and workless life to which he had grown accustomed.
Granted, he had not cared one wit about the two brats the young widow had brought into the marriage. After all
, military schools had been invented to remedy such problems long ago. At once his happy stroll darkened with the clouds of reality. Michael and John seemed to have more power over him from the grave than they’d had when they were alive, and that was nothing compared to Grandmama Anna. The dame had been gone for almost thirty years and still her last will and testament reached from the tomb with its boot upon his throat, and there seemed to be no escape. The old bat had not been indifferent when she’d learned he was the grandson of Talamge, walrus of the Bow Street Runners. He hadn’t understood the feud. Some to-do with her late husband, but it was only now that he could feel how deep she had sunk her venom into his future.
“...and that was when I watched them fly over the rooftops, John, Michael, and Peter, like angels they were. I was sad not to go, but I had already had my adventures in Neverland. It was their turn, but you know Michael, he still lives with Peter and his lost boys.” Wendy’s voice, flighty and shrill, gouged at Darling’s ears as he approached.
“Come now. No one wants to hear fairy tales at a wake,” George grumbled as he drew close, his malevolent glare returning as he looked to a tall, slender girl with chestnut hair piled upon her head, standing to Wendy’s left. The mere presence of his step-granddaughter made him ill. To him, she was a conspiring demon, and he had made a practice of ignoring her as best he could.
Pulling back her fly away blond hairs, Wendy smiled indifferently. “Peter, he is a wonderful boy. I do hope you get to meet him.”
Darling ignored the dingbat, holding his hands behind his back and focusing upon the interloper and her guard dog. The girl may have been a demon, but her Scottish guardian, Anselm, was the devil incarnate. Loath to even address the bloke, Darling tried his best to ignore the blood rushing to his ears. “I have heard that the will has been changed yet again.”