The Untold Stories of Neverland: The Complete Box Set

by K. R. Thompson

  Jack shook his head despairingly, trying to make the old pirate remember his story. “She was someone important to you—someone you wished to keep near you always. You’ve told me the story about her many times, Boggs. She is the one you love. You saved her once long ago in adventure you had in a Spanish port. She was named Natasha, but you named her Nessie. Don’t you remember any of it?”

  The pirate’s dark eyebrows met, creasing in a frown as he mulled this new information over. Out of everyone in the crew, Jack knew Percy Boggs would be the last to forget his life before Neverland. If he had indeed forgotten—and it seemed certain that he had—then it was only a matter of time before all hope was lost. It was time to leave the island again, before they became stuck there forever.

  Neverland had a way of making you forget. As long as you stayed close to its shore, you would slowly lose pieces of what your life had been before you came—your memories would vanish. The only exception to this so far had been Jack, himself.

  Brought to Neverland against his will when he was six years old, Jack had somehow managed to keep all of his memories—and now he was the only one who could remind the others on this ship of the world they once knew. The only way he’d found to do that was to convince the captain to sail away from the island for some reason or the other, but that was getting harder and harder to do. The hatred Captain Hook had for Peter Pan kept the Jolig Roger anchored as close to Neverland as it could be in hopes that the captain could catch a glimpse of the flying boy and find some way to exact his revenge.

  “’Fraid I don’t know what yer talkin’ about, lad,” Boggs finally answered. “The lass inked on me must have happened whilst I was havin’ a drink.”

  Well, you’ve got that much right. There wasn’t any reason to keep badgering him, Jack decided. The longer he spent sitting here trying to jog Boggs’ memory, the more time would pass…the more everyone would forget. Time to go try to convince the captain to sail around the island again. Jack got up from his perch on the barrel.

  “Where ye headed?” Boggs asked. “Stick with me and we’ll have a drink, eh?”

  Jack shook his head and smiled. “I have some things I need to attend to. Maybe next time.”

  “Yer loss, lad.” He heard the cook chuckle. “Never pass up a nip of never-right I always say.”

  The sound of the barrel scooting across the floorboards told Jack that Boggs would soon be on his way to a drunken stupor. He hadn’t said as much, but Jack had caught a glimpse of pain in the pirate’s eyes at the mention of the woman’ name, and while he might not have remembered the reasons for the tattoo or who she had been, her memory was seared into him deeply enough that Jack was certain he’d find his way to the bottom of several tankards of pixie-dusted liquor before the day was done.

  “If only we could find some way to leave this place,” Jack muttered, climbing up the steps to the open deck.

  “Pritchard!” the familiar voice of John Beckett shouted from the upper deck.

  He looked up to see the big pirate with rippling muscles gesturing for him to come to the top deck. Once there, Beckett continued, “I’ve been lookin’ for ye, lad. The cap’n wishes a word with ye below. Methinks he wants to send ye after Pan’s men again. Seems he might have more questions for ’em he forgot to ask last time…” Beckett stopped, then added in a quiet voice. “Take care, lad. He be in a dark mood today.”

  Jack held back a sigh. Ever since the day he’d chosen to leave Peter Pan’s troupe and join the pirates, Hook’s mood had grown blacker with each day that passed. Something more than his hand had been lost on that day. Jack often wondered if his soul hadn’t vanished once the hook was placed upon his wrist.

  As to questioning Peter Pan’s troupe, Jack was certain they didn’t know anything more than they had last time, or any of the other dozens of times he had brought them aboard. Still, an order was an order, so he turned back around and headed down the steps, making his way toward the captain’s cabin.

  Crossing the hold and down another set of steps found him at the captain’s door. He took a deep breath, lifted his hand, and knocked.

  Silence met his ears for a moment, then he heard a voice answer in a resigned tone, “Come in.”

  He gave the door a push and it swung open easily. The room was dark, but for a single candle sitting on a table in the center of the small space. The thick drapes over the small porthole had been pulled shut, blocking out every evidence that it was morning instead of the dead of night.

  “Pritchard, I have been waiting for you.” The quiet calm of the captain’s voice was deceiving. Jack knew better than to move any closer. There was a tension in the air, taut and foreboding, as if a snake lay coiled, waiting to strike, should he go any further. The very atmosphere had changed to accommodate the man sitting at that table and Jack had no intention taking another step.

  “Aye, sir. I am here.” The flickering candle sent dancing bits of light to play across the captain’s face and eyes. No warmth, no expression.

  “As Pan remains elusive, I would enjoy a visit from a few of his men. Could you arrange this?” It wasn’t a question, rather a polite order. If there was anything the captain had managed to keep of his old life, it was good form, though it could be fleeting at times.

  “Yes, sir. I will leave at once.”

  Cold blue eyes locked onto his for a full second, then the captain gave him a barely perceptible nod before turning his attention back to the map on the table.

  Taking that as a cue of dismissal, Jack spun on his heel and walked out the door, taking care to shut the door quietly as he left. He let out the breath he’d been holding. Beckett was right. Any day the captain sat in near darkness, staring at the maps of Neverland, was a black day indeed, for those were the days his hatred for Peter Pan grew.

  In all of the days following the loss of his hand, Hook had searched for Peter’s hiding place. The maps were the result of those searches, days and days of discovering new caverns and exploring the hidden places within the forest.

  Still, his hideout had never been found. By Hook—or anyone else. Not even the Neverlings knew where he disappeared to when he wasn’t with them. Only the tiny pixie named Tink knew where he was at all times, and this was because she rarely left his side.

  Jack made his way back up to the top deck and found Beckett waiting for him.

  “Figured ye’d want to get it o’er with,” he said with a gesture toward the small boat already bobbing beside the Jolig Roger. “He’s no’ in the notion to wait long when he has his maps out.”

  Jack didn’t bother to answer. He took hold of the rope trailing down toward the boat and jumped up onto the railing.

  “The water was a mite rough earlier. Take care with the boat. Last thing we need is for ye to tip o’er,” Beckett advised as Jack started down. His next words were mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough to be heard. “No need to deal with the sea witch today, too.”

  Jack rolled his eyes, but kept his opinions to himself. He wasn’t worried about breaking the rules. Even if he did manage to flip the boat over, he strongly doubted the sea witch was powerful enough to notice that one solitary human had accidentally landed in her ocean. Besides, he told himself, Nerida didn’t want to be bothered with anyone. If she truly cared about what happened in the Never Sea, she would be in it, not hiding within the small enchanted isle at the north of the island.

  After a couple more seconds of inward debate on what a sea witch would and wouldn’t do, he settled down into the boat, untied the rope holding it fast, and picked up the oars. He took one long look at the ship beside of him and began rowing, his thoughts moving on to the Jolig Roger.

  The ship was anchored in her usual spot in the widest inlet at the south of the island. She hadn’t moved in days—or had it been weeks now? Jack shook his head. He wasn’t sure. The Roger looked the same as she always did. Nothing on her rotted or became old so long as she stayed moored in the same place. She stayed the same, as if she had joi
ned her crew to be forever frozen in time.

  They would need to lift anchor and sail her soon though—or else she and all of her crew would be forever stuck there with no memory of who they were.

  Jack suddenly grinned and rowed with renewed vigor as an idea struck. The answer to sailing away from the island could very well lie with his bringing a few Neverlings onto the ship. If he could remind the captain that Jack himself had aged once they left the island, Hook might very well try to recreate the same effect on Peter’s men and sail away for a day or two in an effort to make them grow up. After all, Peter Pan most certainly had a healthy dislike for those who were grown.

  Happy with his plan, Jack rowed faster toward the island, his mind alive with new ways to keep the memories of the crew whole.

  The boat pitched abruptly to one side and before Jack could so much as utter a word, it nearly flipped him into the forbidden waters of the Never Sea, giving him only enough time to wonder what kind of curse Nerida had placed upon the waters. He clung to the side, a hundred possible deaths zipping through his head while he wondered what cursed ending would be his.

  As if the boat had taken a mind of its own, it righted itself and pushed a safe distance from the rock he had never even spotted, with Jack still sitting safely inside.

  Once he gathered his wits and realized his vessel wasn’t possessed, but rather being guided by something below, he leaned over to see what had saved him. His breath caught as he found himself staring into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Every thought of curses, forgotten memories, Lost Boys, Peter Pan, and the sea witch left as he gazed into her deep green eyes. In the next instant the face vanished, disappearing into the dark water as if she had only been a figment of his imagination. A wall of bubbles was the only indication she had been real.

  A mermaid, Jack thought numbly. I’ve not seen a mermaid since Nerida cursed the Never Sea.

  The name of the sea witch brought the realization that if a mermaid was this close, then the witch herself may be nearby watching, so he picked his oars back up and rowed toward the shore in earnest.

  2

  A Visit with The Hook

  “RUNT YOU LOOK worse every time we find you,” Patch informed him, his hands on his hips. “You’ve got hair growing on your face this time. Quite a lot of it, in fact.”

  “It’s his own fault,” Beetles said in an imperious tone. “That’s what one gets for growing up. If he’d stayed with us, it never would’ve happened. Now he’ll be ugly forever. Mark my words, it can’t be undone. Once ugly happens, you’re stuck with it, I’m afraid.” The short, round boy gave Jack a knowing look, as if he was all too familiar with the irreversible repercussions of those who dared to grow up.

  Jack rolled his eyes and fought the childish gesture of sticking his tongue out at the boy, resisting to call him by the name Tink had given him—Round. “My name is Jack now,” he reminded Patch, then he glared at Beetles for good measure “—and I’m not ugly.”

  “No, you’re still Runt.”

  “And yes, you’re ugly. Face hair is ugly, you’ll have to accept that, Runt. You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

  Jack decided to ignore them. Even though he had aged over ten years in his first night as a pirate and now towered over the boys, it didn’t matter at all to them. He knew all too well how stubborn these two Neverlings could be. As the first two boys Peter Pan had brought to Neverland, Beetles and Patch believed themselves to know many things—whether they were true or not.

  “Where are Tootles, Morbert, and Scuttle?” The other three of Peter Pan’s troupe tended to be easier to deal with.

  “Off building a new house,” Beetles said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “Yes, for the mother Peter is bringing,” Patch chimed in.

  Peter Pan had been promising to bring a mother to the Neverlings for as long as Jack could remember. In fact, six year-old Jack’s memories had been the reason for Peter’s promises.

  “Are you sure he’s bringing a mother?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  Patch frowned at him. “Why else would he order us to build some place for her to stay if she isn’t coming? Fat lot of good that would do for anyone, I’d say.”

  Beetles nodded his agreement and crossed his arms.

  Something was definitely happening. Something new. They were right. While Peter was known to make flighty promises all the time, he’d never order his men to do something this concrete unless he had something planned.

  “Why did you leave the ship this time?” Patch asked, changing the subject. “Did the Hook send you to collect us again?”

  Jack only shrugged. Having done this many times, there wasn’t a need to explain why he had come.

  Beetles sighed. “A visit with the Hook beats helping to build a house, I suppose. Maybe if we stay captured long enough, it’ll be finished once we get back,” he said, sounding hopeful. “And you promise to bring pirates for us to capture next, right? Best bring better ones than last time. The last ones were slow. That white-haired one sat on a stump and fell asleep. He snored so loud it was a wonder Tic-Tock didn’t eat him while he slept.”

  Constantly in the mood for adventure, the Neverlings always agreed to this exchange. Lost Boys for pirates, then pirates for Lost Boys. However the captured party was treated, the next exchange would be dealt likewise. Jack always made certain the Neverlings were never hurt—no easy feat at times whenever the captain’s mood was dark. In return, the Neverlings waited until Peter was gone before they captured the pirates. Within a day or two, hostages were released and with luck, so far, no one had been harmed.

  “I promise different pirates,” Jack said, remembering Smee hadn’t been happy to accompany him last time. It would be in the best interest of everyone involved to leave him on the ship for the next adventure.

  “Well, let’s be off then,” Beetles said, marching off in the direction of Jack’s boat.

  “Yes, let’s, before the others discover we’re gone,” Patch agreed, running to catch up him.

  Jack shook his head and followed. It was a good thing neither the captain nor Peter Pan knew about this arrangement or this game would grow dark, indeed.

  HOOK CIRCLED THE two bound boys in what must have been his hundredth trip around the main mast. Regardless of the ship’s ability to stay whole, Jack was sure the floorboards would be wearing out soon if he continued to circle them like a shark out of water. With each step, he tapped his hook against a small knife held in his other hand. Tick, tick. The knife by itself wasn’t nearly as scary as the thin rapier sheathed to his side, but the sound of metal against metal had both boys’ eyes glued to the captain each time he passed by.

  “You are certain you have no new information on Pan’s hideout?” Hook’s voice was so calm, one would have thought he was inquiring as to the weather had they not seen the cold, calculating look in his eyes. Tick, tick.

  Patch and Beetles shook their heads vigorously. A definite no from them both.

  Tick. One final step and Hook stopped directly in front of them and stared.

  Jack was sitting a distance away, propped against the side of the ship, watching, hoping Hook wouldn’t lean in any closer with either hook or blade. The boys’ eyes widened, as if they were wishing the same thing.

  A long moment of bated silence ensued. The captain turned to fix his cold stare on Jack. “Our guests will stay the night with us. I release them to your watch, Mr. Pritchard. They are not to leave this spot until daybreak.”

  Jack gave him a short, curt nod and waited. When they had returned to the ship, he had told Hook of his strange plan to make their captives grow up. The captain had listened, but he hadn’t said anything, only stalked to the upper deck to question the boys.

  “Beckett, have the lads take up anchor. We’ll sail away once more from this cursed island,” Hook instructed.

  Well, that got a response from the Neverlings. Never had their game involved leaving Nev
erland and they wasted no time telling Jack as much.

  “Runt, this isn’t what we agreed on,” Beetles said, straightening. Though tied to the mast, Jack was certain the boy was attempting to put his hands on his hips, the pose he’d always used to push the other Neverlings around when there was something he wanted.

  “He’s right,” Patch said worriedly. “Pan won’t like this one bit if he knows Hook is taking us away.”

  Those words brought a slow, dark smile to the captain’s face. “How clever you are,” Hook said, taking a step toward Patch. A gust of wind ruffled the fur on the boy’s hat. Noticing Hook approach, Patch leaned back against the mast, trying to melt into it to evade the gleaming silver hook pointed at him. As his back pressed against the wooden beam, he quivered, sending the two ears on his hat to tremble, giving him the appearance of a frightened rabbit. “The Pan will certainly not be happy that I’ve taken his men,” Hook told him, then his smile widened. “He will be even less enthusiastic about it when morning comes and he sees what you’ve become.”

  The two Neverlings waited until the captain turned and headed back below the decks before they began peppering Jack with questions.

  “What does he mean?”

  “I’d better have everything I came here with.” This, coming from Beetles, who had somehow managed to wriggle so that his hands rested on his hips. “If the Hook thinks he’s taking my fingers or toes off—or anything of the like—he’s got another thing coming!”

  Not bothering to answer either of them, Jack stood and grabbed the web of ropes nearby, preparing to climb up to help loosen the sails. There was no way he was going to even attempt to explain that the captain was going to try to take something greater than a finger or toe from them. Or that, if he succeeded, while it was true their leader wouldn’t be pleased, he also wouldn’t let them be his Neverlings any longer. In Peter’s eyes, once you were grown, you were of no importance to him. That was the thing about being one of his troupe. Even though it was never said, you always knew you were replaceable. The only one he truly seemed to care for—other than himself—was Tink.