The Navigator

by Sky, Erin Michelle; Brown, Steven;

  Of the British fleet, only The Tiger remained undamaged. It circled back toward The Dragon, prepared to render whatever assistance it could.

  A furious, inarticulate roar proved that Hook had survived the onslaught. Moments later, he stomped across the deck, vaulting over the debris and trampling the fallen sails beneath his feet.

  “Nicholas!” he barked as soon as he saw the boy. “Find Mr. Hawke. I want to see him in my cabin immediately.”

  “Aye, Captain!”

  Wendy was about to go look for her platoon when Hook’s next growl stopped her in her tracks.

  “What do you know about this?”

  “Me?” Wendy’s eyebrow jumped in surprise and then crouched dangerously low, followed immediately by the other. “Captain, I would never! We might not always see eye to eye, but I am no traitor!”

  Hook regarded her for a long moment in silence.

  “We shall see,” he said finally and then turned back to Nicholas. “Find Mr. Hawke, then escort Miss Darling to her quarters. Keep her there until I send word otherwise.”

  “Aye, Captain,” he repeated, refusing to meet Wendy’s gaze.

  “And fetch Smee while you’re at it.”

  “Aye, Captain.” He waited to see if there was anything else, but Hook waved him off. The captain tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Wendy to clear the hatch. Then he glowered at her ominously and disappeared below.

  Despite the slight rocking of the waves, Wendy stalked back and forth in her tiny room. The compartment could only hold three angry steps in any direction, which made her pacing seem all the more agitated by comparison.

  Nicholas stood by the door, looking apologetic.

  “I’m very sorry, miss,” he said for at least the fifth time in as many minutes. (Had he been much older than his twelve years, he would have stood outside, as a matter of propriety. But he hadn’t felt right about standing out in the passageway as though she were a prisoner.)

  Wendy was about to reply when there was a knock on the door.

  “Finally,” she muttered.

  Nicholas opened it to find Charlie on the other side.

  “Is he locking me in irons?” she demanded, having gotten herself well worked up while pacing back and forth. How dare Hook accuse her of conspiring to ambush the king’s ships! As if she would ever! “Or maybe I’ll be walking the plank for doing absolutely nothing wrong! I wish him luck finding the everlost without me.”

  “Neither of those,” Charlie said with a grin, “although the day isn’t over yet.”

  “Well, what’s it to be then?” Wendy placed both hands on her hips and glared at him defiantly.

  Charlie raised his hands in front of him. “Don’t shoot me. I’m just the messenger. But it’s nothing like that, I promise.”

  Wendy realized she was still wearing her pistols, and her hands were now dangerously close to their grips. She pursed her lips in chagrin and crossed her arms across her chest instead, but Charlie’s eyes were twinkling.

  “We’re reorganizing. The Dragon and The Cerberus are too damaged to continue, but the captain doesn’t want to turn back. He’s sending them home for repairs, and we’re transferring to The Tiger. To be honest, we were only slowing her down anyway. The Tiger is by far the best ship of the three for a scouting mission. The Dragon might be better in a sea battle, but I don’t know what any ship could do against an attack from above.”

  “I suppose he’s sending the rest of the Fourteenth back home as well.” Wendy glared at him, but Charlie shook his head.

  “No, they’re coming. The Tiger only takes one hundred for a full crew, but Hook made room for the whole platoon.”

  Wendy raised an eyebrow.

  “It surprised me too, but there it is.” Charlie shrugged. “I’d tell you more, but it’s not like he gave me his reasons.”

  Wendy sighed. “Of course not.” She glanced at her trunk, secured to the outer bulkhead. “At least packing isn’t an issue. When do we leave?”

  “You can make the transfer as soon as you’re ready. But …” He trailed off, obviously not sure whether he should continue.

  “Go on,” Wendy prompted him. “But what?”

  Charlie watched her for a long moment and then finally asked the question she had known was coming. “Did you know the ship could fly?”

  Despite their year apart, he still knew her better than anyone in the world. She hadn’t mentioned anything about the flying ship when she had told him about her adventures. She had been afraid even Charlie wouldn’t believe her about that. But it was one thing to skip over something while they were catching up with each other. It was another thing altogether to lie to her closest friend.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Hmm. I had a feeling.”

  They regarded each other in silence.

  “Did you know Pan was working with the French?” Charlie finally asked.

  “Of course not!” she exclaimed.

  “All right,” Charlie said, and he held up his hands in protest. “I believe you. But maybe you should tell me the whole story again. Without leaving anything out this time.”

  Wendy sucked gently on her lower lip and then sighed again.

  “Fine,” she agreed. “But let’s board The Tiger first. There will be plenty of time for stories once we’re back underway.”

  oarding The Tiger was not a simple affair.

  The decks of The Dragon and The Cerberus were in a shambles after losing two masts each. The Tiger was the only ship that could still maneuver properly, and there were three full crews to be redistributed. But the first complication Wendy encountered had nothing to do with any of that.

  She made quick work of untying her trunk from the bulkhead and was about to lift it when Nicholas stopped her.

  “Oh no, miss. You mustn’t.”

  “And why not?” Wendy snapped. “I’m a sailor, Nicholas. The same as everyone else. I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own things.”

  She liked the boy, but enough was enough. She was already annoyed that Hook had left her so long in her quarters. It hurt her to think even Nicholas might start treating her as though she were incompetent.

  She bent to grasp the trunk by the handles, without waiting for a reply, but Nicholas dashed over and sat on it before she could lift it. (He hadn’t wanted to grab her, and sitting on the trunk was the only other thing that occurred to him.)

  “A sailor, yes, miss. But not the same as everyone else. You’re an officer. You can’t carry your own trunk in front of the men. It wouldn’t be right. Hook would have my hide if I let that happen.”

  “I … what?” Wendy straightened back up and stared at the boy suspiciously, but his eyes were wide open, his eyebrows slightly knitted, betraying a clear mix of sincerity and mild panic.

  “You are the navigator, aren’t you?” Nicholas asked. “Mr. Hawke has you setting the course. And he calls you ‘Navigator Darling’ in front of the crew.”

  “Well … I suppose that’s true,” Wendy agreed.

  “Then you’re an officer,” he pronounced. “And officers don’t carry their own trunks. Just wait here, and I’ll fetch someone for you. Please, miss. Promise me you won’t land me in trouble.”

  After a long moment of hesitation, she finally relented. “Yes, all right,” she said. “I promise.”

  Nicholas stood up slowly, keeping one hand on the trunk and watching her all the while, as though he wasn’t sure he should trust her. When she made no move to pick it up, he finally let go, but he continued to watch her as he crossed the compartment and opened the door. He hovered at the threshold, narrowing his eyes, at which point Wendy couldn’t help but reassure him.

  “You have my word, Nicholas. As an officer.”

  The boy sighed in relief. “Thank you, miss,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.” He finally turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

  Wendy stared at the door a moment longer, then raised both eyebrows at once, uttered a tin
y mew of surprise in the back of her throat, and sat down on the very trunk she had only moments ago been about to lift.

  “Well, what do you think of that, Nana? Me! An officer!”

  Nana barked, once, and sat by Wendy’s feet to stare at the door too. She wasn’t sure what they were expecting, but she sensed from Wendy’s demeanor that something extraordinary was happening and she wanted to be prepared.

  Fortunately, Nicholas returned very soon indeed, followed by a thin, older gentleman with a gray beard and a prominent nose that suffered a distinct list to starboard. Despite his age (and his nose), he stood ramrod straight and walked with a sprightly gait, reminding Wendy of Monsieur Dumas. She stood, of course, for a more proper introduction.

  “This is Mr. Starkey,” Nicholas told her. “Or Gentleman Starkey, as we like to call him. On account of his manners.”

  “How do you do, miss?” he said, and he bowed with a flourish. “Master Nicholas tells me you have a trunk in need of transportation.”

  Wendy couldn’t help but smile. “How do you do, Mr. Starkey?” she replied politely. “I appreciate your assistance. Though I must admit I’m not accustomed to the idea that I can’t carry my own things.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry, miss. This is the right way to do it,” Starkey assured her. “Officers got better things to do than haul trunks from ship to ship. I’m no officer, that’s for certain. I’ve seen more years at sea than most, but even if I could afford a commission, I wouldn’t spend the money. No, thank you. Leave the deciding to wiser men than me, that’s what I always say. Just let me do the lifting.”

  As though to demonstrate his position on the subject, he stepped forward and lifted the trunk easily.

  “Navigator Darling will be joining the crew of The Tiger,” Nicholas told Starkey. “I can show you to her new quarters.”

  “Aye, sir,” the old sailor replied easily. “Just lead the way.”

  They emerged beneath the bright blue sky to a racket of hammers and axes and heaving grunts as the men labored to clear the deck of debris. The sails of the fallen masts had already been untied and rolled for storage, and men swarmed over the remaining wreckage, salvaging whatever they could.

  One mast would be enough to get them home, but the destruction still brought a tear to Wendy’s eye. She loved all ships, and most especially this ship. Her first ship. She hated to see it so badly treated.

  But she swiped the tear away quickly. She was an officer, after all. She had to set a good example.

  They crossed the deck in a line—first Nicholas, then Wendy, then Starkey, then Nana—making their way toward The Tiger, which had been lashed to the port side. Wendy searched the men for any familiar faces and finally found John, who was overseeing the repairs to one of the ship’s railings.

  “John!” she called to him in relief, and his face lit up at the sight of her. He came to meet her in long, glad strides.

  “Wendy! Thank heaven you’re all right!” He started to reach for her hand but thought better of it while standing on deck, in front of Hook’s crew.

  “And you! But where are the others? Was anyone hurt?” She was thinking particularly of Michael, but she didn’t want to give John the wrong impression. (If she had seen Michael first, she would have asked him the same question, thinking particularly of John.)

  “Everyone’s fine. Nothing worse than a few bruises in the Fourteenth, I’m pleased to report.”

  “And you’re all transferring to The Tiger?” It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Charlie. She just wanted to hear it again.

  “We are. I’ve been given the order.” He glanced over his shoulder as he said it, and Wendy followed his gaze. Hook stood by the center mast, well out of hearing, watching the surrounding work crews with a vigilant eye. He had a scowl on his face, as you might imagine, given the circumstances. He wasn’t taking any risks with the one mast they had left.

  Just then, the watch at the top of the mast hollered out a warning and pointed toward the distant clouds. All hands turned to see a single everlost speeding toward them through the sky.

  The men still had their arms close at hand, and they raised them now toward the enemy, but Hook stepped forward, shouting at the top of his lungs.

  “Hold your fire!”

  Smee echoed the command from his own position farther to stern, the distinct tones of his whistle carrying easily across the ship even though Wendy couldn’t see where he stood.

  Everyone paused to watch as the everlost flew closer. He bore no white flag, but he held no weapon in his hands either. As for Hook, he stood tall and proud, his scowl intensifying as it found a target for its fury. His hair was tied back against the wind, but his long, blue coat flapped gently in the breeze.

  It was the only thing on the ship that moved.

  As the everlost approached, he slowed his descent, raising his wings behind him to catch the air. He landed gracefully on the edge of the ship’s railing, his legs apart, his hands on his hips, surveying them all with a look of disdain.

  His build and his posture reminded Wendy very much of Peter, but his wings were ragged and unkempt, and there was a cruelty in his features that Wendy had never once seen in any of Peter’s men. He leaned forward and addressed Hook, shouting loudly enough for them all to hear.

  “I come on behalf of the great Captain Blackheart! Surrender your ships, or else!”

  Or else what, they would never know. Hook’s reply was simple but effective: He drew his pistol in the blink of an eye and shot the everlost square in the chest.

  Wendy expected the winged man to laugh, but instead, he looked down at the wound in surprise. His face had just enough time to register pain, and then shock, and then fear, before he toppled backward into the sea.

  cheer erupted from Hook’s crew, but Wendy was so startled that all she could do was stare at the empty railing where the everlost had been. She kept expecting him to burst out of the water at any moment. To laugh and fly away. But nothing happened.

  Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer, and she sprinted to the railing. She leaned out as far as she could, and sure enough, there was the everlost man, lying in the water on his back, his eyes open and empty, staring at nothing.

  His wings had held him afloat for a moment, but now their edges curled around him as he sank into the sea. In his final moment of surprise, his face had lost its cruelty, and Wendy couldn’t help but be reminded of Peter.

  This was exactly how she had imagined him on that terrible morning in Dover, when she thought Hook had killed him.

  She watched as the everlost sank beneath the surface. His hair fanned out around his face. The water closed in over his eyes. Over his mouth. Over his nose. And then he faded away.

  Literally.

  Wendy blinked. The everlost hadn’t sunk until his body disappeared beneath the waves. He had just disappeared. Period. There one moment, shimmering ethereally just below the surface, and then gone. Vanished as though he had never existed at all.

  And then a voice pulled her attention back to the ship. The crew had quieted, and Hook’s calm pronouncement carried easily through the stillness.

  “From now on, officers and other designated defense personnel will carry muskets and pistols with them at all times. Not just on The Tiger, but on the ships returning to England as well. Mr. Smee, see to it.”

  Wendy spun toward him.

  “Aye, sir!” Smee responded. He had obviously moved toward the commotion while Wendy had been looking over the railing because he stood next to the captain now.

  “How did you do that?” she blurted out. “All you did was shoot him!”

  Hook stared at her coldly. “As I told you in London, Miss Darling, I do not tell you everything.” Then he turned his eyes to the distant clouds.

  “Smee,” he continued, “I shall be in my quarters. At the first sign of trouble, I am to be alerted at once. Make sure the officers are armed immediately. Assign defenses for each ship. Set up watches. You know what to do.�
��

  “Aye, sir,” Smee repeated. He offered Wendy a smug leer before turning away to bark orders of his own.

  Hook left the deck through the nearest hatch, never once looking back. Apparently, he thought that was the end of it.

  But, of course, it wasn’t.

  Wendy knocked on Hook’s door, quickly but firmly.

  She had known the everlost could die. Hook had told her so, and she had believed him. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. She had imagined the secret to be some elaborate ritual. An incantation beneath the stars, perhaps, chanted in seven voices while drawing ancient, mystical symbols in the ashes of a fire.

  It had never occurred to her that the key might be shooting them. Especially not when she had seen it tried so many times, with such a complete lack of results.

  “Enter!” Hook barked.

  Wendy opened the door to find him writing in his journal at his captain’s desk. Chronicling the day’s events, she realized. It was an important duty, and she almost felt sorry for interrupting him.

  Almost.

  Hook glanced up to see who it was. When he had his answer, his face darkened considerably. He glowered at her for a long moment and then turned his attention back to his journal, starting to write again even while addressing her.

  “Yes, Miss Darling. What is it now?”

  It occurred to Wendy that demanding information was not likely to get her very far, so she decided to begin politely and see how things progressed. (It is much more effective, after all, to sound rude later, after first being polite, than it is to sound polite after first being rude.)

  “Please, Captain,” she said, “I would like very much to know how you did it.”

  “I’m sure you would,” he replied, but he said nothing more, continuing to write in his journal without so much as glancing in her direction.