The Untold Stories of Neverland: The Complete Box Set

by K. R. Thompson

  Tears welled up in Tiger Lily’s eyes as she dropped the knife. It clanked on the wooden floorboards. Archie’s brain registered a stinging sensation in the palm that still held her wrist, but he ignored it, because the largest tears he had ever seen began to roll down her cheeks.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  Archie bent his head down and kissed her. It wasn’t a possessive kiss by any means, but rather one he hoped would convey his feelings. For above all, he wished her to know what he felt for her and he hadn’t the words to tell her just yet. After a couple of seconds, he felt pressure against his lips, and the kiss was returned.

  Something was tickling down his sleeve, he broke the kiss and glanced at his hand. A bluish liquid was smeared around Tiger Lily’s wrist and was running in dribbles down his own wrist to spatter on the lace cuffs of his shirt.

  It took a moment for the shock to set in. His first thought was that the strange fluid came from Tiger Lily. Then, he turned loose of her wrist and the stinging in his palm brought him to reality. Her knife had somehow scored the meaty part of his palm, and that blue color was coming from the wound, where blood should have been.

  He realized then it was his blood. Stumbling backward, he began searching for his stool. He was lightheaded and knew that if he didn’t sit soon, he was going to land flat-out on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps if he didn’t look at it, it would go away and be plain, regular-colored blood when he opened his eyes.

  He heard a ripping sound, followed by pressure against his palm. “You hold this tight. I will be right back. I’m going to get the doctor,” Tiger Lily said.

  He managed a weak nod and listened to her footsteps run to the doorway. The door opened, and it became quiet.

  What causes blue blood? Archie wondered, refusing to open his eyes and look at his hand. He tightened the grip on the rag Tiger Lily had given him. It squished wet between his fingers and his stomach roiled, threatening to give up its contents. The last time he had seen his blood, it was a perfectly normal red color. And it hadn’t been that long ago, he reasoned, trying to ignore the moaning of his belly. When Smee shanghaied me, I had scrapes and scratches aplenty from the pier. Nothing was out of the ordinary then. And all the paper cuts from the print shop? It was red then, too. What has happened to me that my blood has turned blue?

  Footsteps returned, though he didn’t open his eyes to see who it was. If someone wanted to kill me, now would be the prime time to do it, he thought.

  “Let’s see what ye have there, lad.” Smee’s voice sounded curious. He felt the rag being pulled from his hand followed by the sound of a sharp intake of breath. “Saint Brendan,” Smee muttered.

  There he goes again. Invoking help from the patron saint of whales. Pray tell, what do whales have to do with anything?

  “Needs stitches.” At the sound of Smee’s voice, Archie chose to open his eyes, though he kept them on the old man’s fuzzy white sideburns. “Here.” Smee thrust a bottle into his free hand. “Looks ye might need it afore I get to workin’ with me needles.”

  Archie took a long drink, feeling the rum run like fire down his throat. His senses began to numb and he decided to look down and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Smee’s white head was bent over the hand lying in his lap, but it wasn’t the hand he was inspecting. He held one lethal-looking needle between his thumb and forefinger, poking it with another finger to test its sharpness. Apparently it passed the rest, as the finger disappeared into his mouth to suck off a drop of red blood, then popped back out as Smee threaded the needle and readied to sew him up.

  “Take another drink, lad, then pass me the bottle,” he instructed.

  Archie did as he was told, and began wincing at the thought of rum being spilled on his palm to clean the wound. It was going to burn like fire.

  “What are ye making such faces about? I haven’t even started yet.” Smee scowled at him before putting the bottle to his own lips. He gulped down half the bottle, and then set it on the table, his eyes watering as he peered at Archie over his spectacles. “Now ye can cringe, lad. I be ready now.”

  Deciding that not watching was in his best interest, Archie closed his eyes and tried not to pay attention at the jabs of the needle and the queer feeling as the thread passed through his flesh. A hand came from behind him to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance.

  “I am sorry,” Tiger Lily said softly. “But I couldn’t think of any other way that you would let us go.”

  Smee harrumphed and grumbled something under his breath. The only word that Archie caught was “women.”

  A short time passed, before the old man said in a conversational tone. “Knew a man once, I did. He had a bit of silver dust like that on our deck, used to put it in his tea. Said it helped his bowels. Kept him regular, though it turned ’em an odd blue color. Since ye breathed it, looks like yer bowels be safe enough…” he broke off as he dropped the needle, muttering a curse under his breath. The tugging commenced a few seconds later, proving the needle had been located and restrung. A moist, warm breath of air blew against the new stitching as if Smee were inspecting his work before a fresh bandage was wrapped around his hand. “’Tis done, lad. Take care not to pull me stitches free. I’m off to have a drink with the lads.”

  With that, Archie opened his eyes in time to see Smee walk out the door. He sighed, daring to look down. His hand was swathed in a clean bandage with no trace of strange blood to be seen.

  He sighed in relief, feeling better. “If I never see another drop of my own blood, I will be a happy man for the rest of my days,” he said, looking at Tiger Lily as she came around, pulling up a stool to sit opposite him. “Remind me that I need to maroon Caesar as early as possible,” he told her solemnly.

  “I won’t forget,” she smiled.

  “Now,” Archie said, prepared to handle the problem at hand, so long as the young woman in front of him hadn’t rearmed herself. He took a quick look at her hands, which lay empty and folded in her lap, before he continued, “I wish to ask you why you thought it necessary to kill me to gain your freedom.”

  The smile left and a frown took its place as she stared at her hands. “My people are from the mountains. We are accustomed to living on land. This new life on this ship has been hard for us, especially our old ones, though the rest of us aren’t faring well, either. When I saw the mountains on the island, I knew we could live there if you would let us go free.” The words had been coming quickly to this point, but she stopped as she looked up, gazing into his eyes. “I wouldn’t have killed you, I only planned to threaten you with the knife until you promised to let us go. If there is anyone on the island, what will become of us?”

  The emotion playing in her eyes tugged at his heart. He leaned forward so that his forehead rested against hers. “I promise you that should we find anyone on that island, you have nothing to fear. Even if it takes the trade of my soul, I will always keep you safe.”

  THE MORNING CAME with a mist that rose up from the water, obscuring the island, though Archie knew they were close as the mermaid’s rock was within sight. Three longboats were lowered into the water, and he took his place in the first at the stern. He ordered any man able to hunt (or fight if the need arose) into a longboat, leaving a handful on board the Jolig Roger to keep watch and fish.

  Archie glanced back at the ship. In a strange moment of pity, he’d ordered Black Caesar to be tied to the mast in order for the man to get a bit of fresh air. The former boatswain stood there, shackled. His face was emotionless as he stared straight ahead at the mist in front of them.

  I hope he causes no trouble while we are gone, Archie frowned. Archie’s goal was a simple one, restock the ship as best they could, pray not to encounter anyone, and leave Caesar on the island. After he had talked with Tiger Lily for the better part of the night, he hoped the island to be vacant, though he knew that wouldn’t fix all of his problems. Something would have to be done with the tribe of Indians—something th
at would both protect them and satisfy the crew, no small feat by any means. He didn’t have a clue how he was going to accomplish that. However, if they were lucky, they would at least be short one mutinous, evil boatswain once the trip was over and finished.

  The mist lifted as they passed by the mermaid’s rock. No sign of the dark-haired beauty was anywhere to be seen. Stay gone, Archie thought, do not show up while we are here. He could imagine one of the remaining nitwits on board blasting another cannon as they bobbed along in its path.

  He glanced back at the ship. It was shrouded in mist. One figure was barely visible, up in the rigging.

  HARPER WATCHED AS the fog enveloped the boats and listened as the final whispering splashes from the oars ceased. Jameson and the others were gone to the island and the Roger was his to command in their absence.

  He climbed down the rigging, took a deep breath, and turned to the crew. Everyone was keeping a wide berth of the man tied to the mast. Couldn’t blame them, really, as they all knew how evil Black Caesar was. Harper ran his tongue along the rough edges of his gums, the places where his front teeth had once been. He knew first hand of the bo’sun’s black heart.

  Pirates were pressed against the railings, safely away and mingling with the Indians, crammed in every possible corner. As he watched, the women and children scooted back below the deck, freeing up a few spots.

  “Best we do our part,” he told the crew, “If the cap’n comes back and we’ve not caught a single fish, he won’t be happy.”

  Harper wasn’t sure if it was fear or respect of Jameson that put the men to action, but whatever it was, he was relieved. They had begun to ready their nets, when a soft, sultry voice began to sing.

  “My love sails on the dark, black sea. While I watch from below…” the words were haunting, echoing through the mist.

  The voice is beautiful. I haven’t heard anything like it since I last heard my Mary sing, Harper thought, as his hand went to touch his tattooed forearm. A soothing sensation clouded his mind as if he were being sung a lullaby.

  “My love sails on the dark, black sea. While I watch from below…”

  A small part of Harper’s brain registered the lack of movement on the deck, as if everyone else were as entranced as he. He felt as if his insides were made of butter, but that didn’t matter. As long as the song continued, he would stay where he stood to listen.

  “As time goes by, I wait for my love. My love sails on the dark, black sea.” A light splash blended with the words and was followed by a smattering of cool droplets that sprinkled across his face.

  A beautiful woman, unlike anyone Harper had ever seen, appeared, sitting on the railing. Her hair hung in wet, dark tendrils, framing a perfect, heart-shaped face. Streams of water ran down to her bare waist, as if she had just sprung from the sea, but where her legs should have been, a scaly, grey tail, much like that of a fish, curled to the deck instead.

  A mermaid. But not like the evil things in the songs that I know. She’s too beautiful to be a terrible creature. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Harper’s hand fell from his forearm as the last bits of Mary left his mind. There was no one else for him in this world. None, but this one who sat before him.

  The tail was starting to fade, much as if it had been a dream that hadn’t truly been there, and two slender legs took its place.

  “One day he shall return, for that I will wait. My love sails on the dark, black sea…” Harper never blinked as he watched her rise and walk about on deck, taking time to look into each man’s eyes as she passed.

  “Fools.” The word stuck out in the middle of the song and shook Harper out of his trance just enough that he noticed Caesar baring his pointed teeth at the woman who had walked toward him. “Have ye no sense enough not to listen to her words? She’s bewitched you all.”

  “My love has returned, has returned to me…” Caesar was struggling, as if he were trying to break free of his bindings to attack the woman. From the angle in which she had stopped, Harper could see the curious expression on her face, as if she were trying to figure out what was wrong with the man before her.

  Good luck with that, Harper thought as the woman began singing the song from its beginning. She stood close to Caesar, as if singing it only to him, though Harper felt the soothing effects start all over again and his thoughts were washed away.

  “My love sails on the dark, black sea. While I watch from below,

  As time goes by, I wait for my love. My love sails on the dark, black sea…”

  Caesar’s words cut through the muddle in his mind, sounding frantic as the woman circled the mast, continuing her song. “She’ll kill us all. Wake up, you fools! Can’t you see through her?”

  “One day he shall return, for that I will wait. My love sails on the dark, black sea…” The woman stroked Caesar’s muscled shoulder, tracing a scabbed welt from the flogging, and then drew her fingers along the lines of ropes that held him fast.

  “My love has returned, has returned to me…”

  Harper watched as the woman ripped the ropes free as if they had been only string. She sprang up from the deck and wrapped her arms and legs around Caesar’s body, as if in an effort to cover it with her own. The scream that came from the boatswain etched itself on Harper’s mind, even in its foggy state. In the next instant, the mermaid leapt from the deck with Caesar still in her clutches, and disappeared over the railing, the ending to her song echoing with the splash.

  “My love has returned, has returned to me…

  And now he will die in the dark, black sea.”

  PIRATES AREN’T A hunting lot, Archie decided, disgustedly staring into the blank eyes of a deer. There was one other, much like the one lying at his feet with its tongue protruding, in the boat behind them. Add three squirrels and a barrel of fresh fruit, and that made up the cache of this hunt. It was pitiful. The dreaded, fearless band of pirates under his watch were complete pansies when it came to searching for food. He’d watched several of them run after game, screaming as if they held hopes that it would surrender should they manage to frighten it sufficiently. The ones smart enough to stay silent were poor shots, missing nearly everything they aimed their pistols at. And some of the game they had seen was slow, moving nearly at human speed through the forest. How they’d managed to shoot not one, but two, deer was beyond his comprehension. It must have been luck, he decided, though he knew if he said those particular words to Smee upon their return, the old man would insist that it had been a blessing from Saint Brendan, keeper of whales. Archie sighed. He was willing to ask Smee’s saint for help at this point, however pointless it might seem.

  If we never find another port, we’re doomed, he thought. We’ll starve. I hope Harper and the others had better luck fishing, else our stomachs will be empty before we leave sight of this island. His gaze rested on the Jolig Roger, a short distance away. He concentrated on the sides of the ship, looking for any sign that the skeleton crew he’d left aboard was indeed doing their part in trying to obtain fish. No nets were to be seen.

  He scowled. Laziness would not be tolerated under his watch. If he found they had done nothing but lounge around on the deck, while he had to go trouncing around after the rest of the non-hunting dingbat crew, they were going to pay—dearly. He squinted up at the railings, but didn’t see anyone. He raised his eyes to the rigging, but found it empty, too. That was strange. Though he had left Harper in charge, he still expected to find the lad up by the mast, watching for their return. So far as he could see, there was no one near and he didn’t hear anything but the sounds of the ocean as they came alongside the ship.

  With fear roiling through his gut, he grabbed the rope and climbed up to the silent deck. The sight that greeted him made him feel worse. He was staring into the barrel of a musket. The fact that Harper was the one holding it was the only thing that made the situation better.

  Archie lifted his hand and pushed the barrel away from his face. The lad’s hands shook. “Wh
at has happened?”

  “A mermaid happened.” Harper’s dry tone implied he had better control of himself than his hands had led him to believe, so Archie took a quick look around. He found that the pirates had banded together in the middle of the ship. They were crouched, back to back, and were armed to the teeth with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses pointed in every direction.

  “Only one mermaid?” They looked ready for an army of the fishy creatures.

  “It only took one.” Harper turned and pointed to the empty mast with a circle of loose ropes around its base.

  “Where is Caesar?” Archie felt foolish asking the question, since it appeared he was no longer on the boat.

  “She took ’im. Came aboard and bewitched us all… all but Caesar.” Harper frowned as he said the words, then added, “She seemed taken with him. Next thing I knew, overboard they went.”

  “I suppose that saves us the trouble of marooning him.” Archie shrugged and turned to watch the others that had gone with him, pull up their kills. He pulled an apple out of his coat pocket and offered it to the young woman standing nearby.

  “Fruit?” Tiger Lily asked. “I thought you were going to hunt.”

  “It’s coming up.” Archie’s tone sounded defensive, even to his own ears.

  One dark eyebrow arched upward and she left him to peer over the railing. When she turned back, Archie caught the sarcasm in her eyes, before it made its way to her lips. “Three longboats of men to catch two deer and a handful of squirrels. One of my people could do as much in an hour. You were gone all day.” She brushed past him and made her way below the deck, not impressed enough with their trip to shore to ask if they had seen anyone.

  “Not the grateful sort, is she?” Harper said, watching Tiger Lily’s retreating back. “You did well, Jameson. Two deer. The men haven’t ever hunted so well.”