The Untold Stories of Neverland: The Complete Box Set

by K. R. Thompson

“This is the woman I want. Her name is Mary. I’ve known her since we were babes. I’ve loved her my whole life.” His brown eyes misted. “I was on my way to ask her to marry me when Caesar hit me with that oar and brought me on the Queen Anne’s Revenge. I guess it was luck.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Archie looked at him, dumbfounded, wondering if perhaps he hadn’t meant to say, “bad luck.”

  “She comes from a rich family. My family was poor, just my mum, my little brothers, and me. I didn’t have anything to offer her. She wouldn’t have married me—I know that now. But now that I’m a pirate, I’ll have a chance.” Harper was talking to himself now more than to his friend, who was silent, listening to make sense of his story. “If I keep sailing with Blackbeard and save my share from our plunder, she’ll marry me one day… I know she will.”

  He turned his hopeful face toward Archie and repeated, “I know she will. She’ll have to marry me then, won’t she?” Realizing he was asking for an answer that only his Mary could give, Harper took a deep breath, and added, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  Archie’s smile was genuine as he looked at his friend, who still held on to hope in spite of life’s injustices. “Yes, she is, Harper. She’s very beautiful.” He handed the drawing back, “So we are off to get a tattoo of young Mary then, are we?”

  “Aye, I’m always fearful I shall lose this as it’s all I have of her,” Harper nodded, tucking the picture into his pocket. He held out his arm, patting the inside of his forearm as the future location for the tattoo. “Right here, this way she will always be in me arms until I hold the real Mary again.”

  So the two pirates made their way down the market street in search of a tattoo shop, finding odd things here and there that caught their attention along the way, including a tailor whom Archie decided to visit once the matter of re-creating the Mary girl had been resolved.

  They were nearly to the end and had yet to discover any shops that specialized in inking when a woman carting baskets of fresh bread walked by. They queried her and found that the best artist had a small booth set up in a back room of the tavern, so back they went, retracing their steps back to the very place Archie tried to avoid.

  While the tavern was lit adequately, the small room where the artist made his living piercing the flesh of willing patrons was ablaze with lanterns.

  A good idea to be able to see who and what he’s stabbing, I suppose, Archie thought, though he preferred not to watch as the burly man assembled his supplies in front of him and Harper bared his arm on the scarred wooden table. Still, he felt he owed the squirrel his presence and support, so he sat in the farthest corner and waited as the artist lifted his needles up to inspect their sharpness.

  I do hope the man has talent, Archie thought. The possibility of getting a likeness of someone who resembled Boggs’s dream woman instead of a young, innocent Mary on Harper’s forearm was rather unsettling. Not to mention it would be most difficult to explain to Harper’s beloved if some other strange woman happened to be stuck forever on the arm that ached to hold her. That is, if the poor lad should ever be lucky enough to see his Mary again.

  Nevertheless, the artist did at least appear to know what he was doing as he studied the photograph and then inspected the curved, hard muscle of Harper’s arm before he set to his slow, painstaking work.

  Archie sat until his bum started to fall asleep. If time was any indication of the man’s skill, Harper would have an exact replica of the real Mary etched in his skin at the same time that he passed on of old age.

  Shifting his weight from cheek to cheek alleviated some of the pins and needles prickling at his rear, though his legs were long since numbed from being curled beneath the stool upon which he sat. He was certain hours had passed since they entered the tiny cubicle. Many, many hours. He leaned back and tried to stretch as inconspicuously as possible.

  Harper was watching and seemed to notice Archie getting antsy. “Might ye do me a favor, Jameson?”

  “Yes.” Anything. Name it. Archie tried not to look too uneasy.

  “A drink from the bar, if ye would.” Harper rooted around his pocket with his free hand for a coin.

  “No bother.” Archie jumped up from his chair. “The drink is on me. I will return with it presently.”

  He left the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet in an effort to restore his blood circulation, and walked into the bar, full of drunken and disorderly pirates. Chairs were being thrown about in one corner as two of his fellow crewmates were busy knocking one another over in the attempt to win the affections of one plump tavern wench. Another corner held Blackbeard with his boots propped up on a small table, seemingly giving legitimate interviews and hiring for new positions in his crew whilst Smee sat a few feet away at the bar, waiting and willing to give the illegitimate interviews and drug the ones that refused the captain’s nice offer. Either way, they were sure to have the souls they needed to sail both ships.

  Archie took the long way around the room, avoiding the old man as he dodged the lively crowd and made it to the opposite end of the bar and ordered two drinks.

  Naught but ale again. Archie sighed. He wasn’t sure what he hoped for, but the pale liquid that flowed from the keg wasn’t it.

  But beggars could not be choosy, he thought, and as soon as the tankards were filled, he threw the money on the bar and grabbed them, heading back the way he came, neatly avoiding Smee, though he ran directly into the path of a rather elderly tavern wench, who seemed set on earning his money as she tried to lead him upstairs. Archie’s eyes widened in horror. The woman had to be as old as his own dearly departed mum, but the similarities ended there. His mother wouldn’t have ever been so bold as to grab a stranger’s privates.

  Aghast, Archie yelped and backed up, drinks sloshing, as he tried to get away from the woman’s clutches.

  “Ye look a mite lonely, lad.” She grinned, giving him a great view of her discolored teeth.

  “No! No! I’m not! I assure you, madam.” Archie wracked his brain to find a way out. There was no way he was going anywhere near her, much less anywhere alone with the ancient wench. Inspiration struck him. “I am so sorry, my dear.” He gave her a slow, disarming smile, causing the icy blue of his eyes to sparkle. “I have a future engagement with another lass over in the back room. I just came out to get her a drink. If I had known there were more stunning specimens of femininity about, I would never had acquired her services for the evening. ’Tis assuredly the worst luck as I’ve already paid her.” He watched the woman’s eyes narrow and read her thoughts before she offered to accompany him and the phantom woman he had concocted. “I do apologize, my dear, that I am such a poor man that I can’t afford to hire you both, ’twould have been a marvelous evening with two such lovely lasses, I’m sure.”

  Realizing there was no money to be made from him, the old wench gave him a curt nod and went on her way, zeroing in on her next prey that looked to be in the vicinity of where Smee sat, sipping his ale, unsuspecting of the feminine wiles that were heading his way.

  More than relieved to have eluded certain tragedy, Archie rushed into the back room, where Harper looked startled at his sudden appearance.

  “Your drink, sir.” Archie plopped the tankard on the edge of the table, and then sat back down on his bench, not caring if he sat there until his entire body deadened. There was no way he was going to leave that room again until they left it for good.

  As luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait for any other body parts to fall asleep. A few moments later, the artist finished his work and patted the speckles of blood from Harper’s arm.

  The moment of truth, Archie thought, watching his friend inspect the new Mary on his sore arm. Harper studied the ink for a moment, looking at the silhouette of his love through the blotched and bloody skin of his forearm. Then he grinned, his eyes lighting up with sheer joy.

  “Look!” he exclaimed, showing his arm to Archie. “Beautiful, isn’t she!”

  The woman t
hat smiled back from the battered skin looked remarkably like the girl in the drawing. Archie uttered a quick prayer of thanks under his breath to any deity of body art who might be listening and gave Harper a warm smile. The lad paid the artist, still grinning from ear to ear.

  They made it through the tavern without any more proposals of indecent nature, though they did manage to catch the attention of the old wench, who looked up from her perch on Smee’s lap. She gaped at the two pirates hurrying by.

  She probably thinks I fancy lads, Archie suppressed a laugh as they stepped out into the cool, night air.

  “You know, we should go back in there and get a room for the night,” Harper advised, looking at all the closed shops around them. “There might be vagabonds about.”

  Archie burst out laughing so hard that tears sprung to his eyes. The hearty laughter echoed down the empty road, bouncing against the vacant buildings. Still chuckling at the dour expression on Harper’s face, he explained, “I do believe that we are the most vicious miscreants this island will ever see. We have nothing to fear, my friend. We are the vagabonds. Who would dare take on two of Blackbeard’s faithful crew?”

  Harper looked less than convinced, so Archie added, “I see lights up at the end of the street. I believe we would favor better a good bed at an inn rather than a rough cot in the tavern, wouldn’t you agree?” He noted the serious expression, the lines drawn deep around Harper’s toothless mouth, so he added solemnly, “I promise to keep you safe, lad.”

  Harper rolled his eyes at the promise and set off down the lane, not bothering to wait for Archie as he ran towards the welcoming lights of the two-story house. The squirrel was quick on his feet, arriving on the porch of the inn in record time. Then, he turned and waited for Jameson before he set to knocking on the door.

  The woman who opened the door wore a frumpy-looking hat that fell down to her eyes. “Yah? What want?” she demanded, lips turned down in a ferocious scowl.

  “A room, if you please, madam,” Archie made his way up the steps, an imposing figure backed by moonlight.

  “Hmm?” The woman leaned back to look up at Archie. She peered at him from beneath the hat, obviously not impressed. She turned and looked at the little toothless man who stood near Archie, and scowled as if she didn’t care for either of them to so much as stand on her porch, much less in her establishment. “Two rooms, yah?”

  “Most certainly, madam. I have no intention of sharing my bed with yon wee bugger.” Archie grinned at Harper as he dropped some coins in the woman’s open palm. She pushed back her hat and stared at the money with a wide grin, as if changing her mind about the two gentlemen who wished to rest in her abode, and opened the door wide for them to enter, and then took them upstairs to settle in.

  Archie bade Madame Frumpy Hat and Harper a good night, leaving them staring at him in the hallway as he shut the door in their faces. He was tired and more than determined to get a good night’s rest in a real bed, even if he bordered on rudeness.

  Kicking off his shoes and pulling off his clothes, he crawled into the bed, blissful sleep taking over the second his head hit the pillow. He slept the sleep of the dead, never moving nor hearing a thing until the next morning when the sun streamed through the window to play on his face.

  He awoke refreshed and renewed, ready to explore the island and have his own adventures. He met Harper on the way down the stairs and the two left to find their breakfast, stopping just long enough to secure Archie’s room for the rest of the week.

  “I think I’ll be going back to the Queen Anne’s Revenge tonight, so I won’t be needin’ a room,” Harper announced, looking down at his scabbed arm as if the tattoo was his only reason for coming to the island.

  “How did you sleep?” Archie asked, wondering if the preference to sleep on the ship came from a rough night at Madame Frumpy’s or from the need to save his hard earned money.

  Harper shrugged. “Slept fine, I suppose.”

  Ah, he was saving up for Mary, Archie noted. He decided not to embarrass the lad and he let the subject drop. After all, who knew? Maybe one day Archie would find someone for whom he would wish to provide. Perhaps there would be a reason to save his coins one day.

  But not yet. Right now, his money was burning a hole in his pocket. He was ready for some breakfast and more than ready for a trip to the tailor shop he spotted the previous day. He was in dire need of clothing. His own simple attire was ruined from being drug across the rough planks of the pier the day Smee shanghaied him. The slopchest on the ship hadn’t contained clothing he preferred to wear. The pants were baggy and ill-fitting and the canvas shirt chafed everything he had. Oh yes, he might make that tailor a rich man by the time the week was done, but by golly, he would have clothes that fit before they cast off into the unknown again.

  They found a girl selling bread on the street corner and they ate. Harper left afterward, anxious to save his money and be back aboard the ship, and so Archie was left to himself as he made his way to the tailor.

  Archibald never cared about his clothing before his days as a pirate, but now that he had a chance to purchase whatever he wanted, he found himself being fitted for finer clothes than he imagined.

  “I have a nice blue over here.” The tailor pointed out a bolt of fabric. “’Twould make a good coat.”

  Archie fingered the cloth, noting its sturdiness. “Yes, I’ll have two made of this.”

  “What of the red behind it?” the man asked, sounding hopeful. “I would sell it to you at half the price of the blue, should you take some of it. It hasn’t sold well, and I need rid of it to make room for the more popular colors.”

  The bolt of oiled silk was as bright as blood. Archie bit his lip as he tried to keep the look of distaste from showing on his face. It wasn’t a color he would ever pick, but then again, he was a pirate now. He thought of Blackbeard and the smoking, beribboned beard that struck terror in every man who sailed the seven seas.

  One never knew when one might have need of strange attire. He smiled. “Yes, two great coats in the red as well, if you please. And I’d like lots of brass buttons on the front—large ones—if you have them.”

  The tailor’s eyes widened, whether from calculating the profit he was making from buttons or from the odd request of not one, but two, splendid red coats, Archie didn’t know. The man started measuring, taking note of Archie’s height and girth, and set to planning out the young pirate’s wardrobe. Shirts of billowing white, black, and blue fabric with thick lace cuffs were ordered, along with several pairs of breeches, a half dozen silk waistcoats of various colors, and a few neckerchiefs edged in lace.

  He was going to look quite the dandy, Archie realized with a smile, his order completed.

  His visit finished with the tailor, Archie stopped by the next shop and purchased a new pair of shoes now that his new position of navigator allowed him to more or less stay off the rigging.

  Another shop, which sold hats, caught his eye from across the street. Every man should own a respectable hat, he concluded, as he opened the door. A bell jingled as he went inside. Hats of every possible size lined the shelves, though one in particular caught his eye.

  “’Allo.” The man behind the counter greeted him. “Might I be helpin’ ye?”

  “Yes,” Archie said, pointing, “I’m interested in that hat on yon shelf.”

  “Ah, a fine choice.” The man took the hat down and handed the black pirate’s hat to Archie for his inspection. Two great feathers, one white and the other black adorned one side. Archie settled it on his head, looking at his reflection in the mirror on the wall.

  “It will do well.” He smiled, taking the hat off as he turned to pay.

  “Will ye be havin’ anything else?” The man gestured to the opposite wall where wigs made of yak and human hair rested on fake, wooden heads.

  Archie shook his head. His own dark locks would serve him well enough. He was a pirate after all. A newly converted, dandy of a pirate mayhap, but still a
pirate, nonetheless. Besides, he doubted that Blackbeard would give him time to powder his wig before they went into battle. He grinned at the thought as he laid his coins on the counter, “No thank you. The hat will be more than enough.”

  THE NEXT FEW days were paradise. Archie spent his days exploring the island, though he didn’t buy much else in the stores since he’d given the tailor most of his money. Through his strolling about, he discovered that Madeira’s main source of trade was wine. The grapes were grown on the island, the juice put into casks and then sold to the vessels that came into port. If the ship were to keep the wine in its hold for a long journey, the rocking of the boat would age it while giving it an exquisite taste, making it the best money could buy.

  It was a great investment, Archie decided as he bought a cask, ordering it to be taken to the dock when he found that Blackbeard purchased a few dozen barrels to be placed in the belly of the Anne. Archie doubted that the captain would allow the wine to replace the rum, should their rations ever run out. Blackbeard might be a cutthroat pirate, but he was a savvy businessman, too. The crew wouldn’t be allowed to drink his profits.

  They can keep their rum. I shall have my own wine. Archie smiled to himself, though he made certain to mark the wooden cask as his own.

  He meandered down Market Street, deciding to stop in at the tailor and check on the progress of his clothing. Luck was with him and he walked out of the shop looking like a different person, smartly dressed in his dark blue coat and new breeches with several paper-wrapped parcels containing the rest of his order, tucked under his arms.

  He spotted Harper running about in the middle of the street in an obvious, frantic search for something. Worrying about the lad’s strange behavior, he shouted, “Harper!”

  He turned at the sound of his name, and looked at Archie twice before recognition dawned on his face, followed by instantaneous relief. “Jameson, I’ve searched the entire island for you. We have to go. We’re casting off with the tide.”

  “What are you talking about?” Archie asked. “We have two days before we set sail.”