The Navigator

by Sky, Erin Michelle; Brown, Steven;

  “What?”

  “He didn’t say ‘everlost blood.’ He said, ‘the blood of the winged men.’ So whatever you don’t know has to be part of that specific answer. Assuming your premise, I mean.”

  Wendy stared at him for a moment, saying nothing, but then her face lit up like the sun itself.

  “Of course!” she exclaimed. “Winged men who aren’t the everlost! Just as I was hoping!”

  “What?” Thomas asked, but Wendy had already turned back to the imp.

  “Will the blood of an innisfay heal him?”

  “No,” the imp said glumly, and he sat down with a sigh, looking positively sullen. “No, it won’t.”

  o the blood of an innisfay would heal Nicholas. Wendy was thrilled beyond measure until Thomas asked, innocently enough, “What’s an innisfay?”

  “Why, I’ll show you!” she crowed. She leaped for her pack and opened it with a flourish, only to find herself staring down at the angriest creature she had ever seen.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered.

  “Is something wrong?” Thomas asked. He had turned toward her, waiting to see what an innisfay was, but he was still crouched in front of the imp and couldn’t see into the pack.

  Well, you can imagine how horrible Wendy felt when she realized her only hope of saving Nicholas had been chained at the wrist, stuffed in her pack, and carted off to a ship like the victim of a kidnapping—which was the same thing Blackheart’s pirates had done to him, come to think of it—but that was nothing compared to the innisfay’s feelings on the subject. Very few creatures are inclined to help those who chain them up and stuff them into sacks, and the innisfay are no exception.

  When Wendy opened her pack to discover the tiny, wingless innisfay with his arms crossed over his chest, a terrible scowl on his face, and the reddest hair Wendy thought she had ever seen, she realized immediately what she had done. Her heart crumbled into pieces and fell into her stomach, filling the hollow of her belly like a pile of rocks and making her want to throw up.

  She wondered whether there was any hope at all of persuading him to help, and it occurred to her then, in that dark and terrible moment, that she might just grab him, prick him with a needle, save Nicholas, and sort the rest out later. But Wendy, as we already know, hated cruelty in any form. To do such a thing would have been expedient but heartless—just the sort of thing Hook would have done—and she was mortified that she had even thought of it.

  No. She would set the possibility aside until she felt it was Nicholas’ last and only hope, and even then she wasn’t sure she would do it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know whether she would do it.

  She had to find a better way.

  All of this happened in the space of a few moments, so Wendy stepped away from the pack and left it open, silently inviting the innisfay to explore a little—at least as far as the silver chain would allow—while giving herself time to think of something, anything she might do that could possibly make things right.

  The innisfay, surprised to be left alone, stood cautiously, and then, when nothing happened, he floated slowly to the top of the pack so he could peek over the edge.

  “Why, they get smaller and smaller,” Thomas commented in wonder. He rose to his feet for a better view, but he made no move toward the creature, content to watch, at least for now.

  The innisfay shied away and ducked back into the bag, but when he saw he was still being left alone, he reemerged and floated up above the pack, looking around, the delicate chain trailing gracefully from his wrist.

  “Extraordinary!” Thomas exclaimed again, and Wendy turned back from the infirmary cabinet to see the innisfay’s hair changing color slowly (almost reluctantly) from flame red to a shimmering, pearlescent silver.

  Wendy couldn’t help but see this as progress, no matter how faint.

  “Are you thirsty?” Wendy asked him. She spoke in a quiet, soothing tone, and she placed a cup she had retrieved from the cabinet on the desk next to her bag. “I’d like to reach into the bag, to get you some water, but I don’t want to scare you. Is that all right? I promise not to hurt you.”

  The innisfay’s hair turned bright red again, and he chimed at her angrily.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand you,” Wendy told him, “but I can see that you’re angry. You have every right to be, of course, and I’m very sorry for mistreating you. We didn’t know until we found Blackheart’s cove that he was holding the innisfay as prisoners. We intend to save them, now that we know.”

  The innisfay crossed his arms over his chest in midair, and he stuck out his lower lip to blow a lock of hair away from his eyes. This simple action put a few strands of gold into his red hair, at least for a moment.

  Like most innisfay, he was proud of his appearance—or he wanted to be. But this particular innisfay, having lost his wings, was the subject of frequent ridicule by the others. Remembering his loss all over again, his hair turned from red to blue. This made him angry, which only made his hair turn red all over again.

  “Red, then gold, then red, then blue, then red,” Wendy said out loud. “You must be very angry, to keep returning to it like that.”

  The innisfay eyed her coldly but made no attempt to chime at her.

  “I know what it’s like, you know. To feel angry all the time. That young man lying over there,” and Wendy pointed toward Nicholas as she spoke, “was shot because of me. He jumped in front of me to save my life. I should have seen what was about to happen. I should have stopped him. But I didn’t. And now he might die because of it. I’ve been angry at myself every moment of every day since, and I don’t know any way to fix it except to save him.”

  Her voice broke as she said this last bit. She had to stop speaking to wipe away a tear—more than one, actually—and she found she couldn’t speak at all for several moments. Thomas took a step toward her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, unsure what else to do.

  Now, this innisfay, whose true name you wouldn’t understand even if I could tell you what it was, had been stashed in Wendy’s pack; that much is true. But he had been listening carefully to everything the humans had said ever since.

  He knew Wendy considered Blackheart an enemy, and he knew she intended to attack his harbor. He hoped that meant she would free the rest of the innisfay, but he couldn’t be sure she would.

  He had also surmised that most of the men who knew her were somewhat enamored of her, but he didn’t think that counted for much. She was the only woman on the entire ship, as far as he could tell. It was only natural that they would be interested in her. That didn’t mean she was a good person. (It didn’t mean she was all that pretty either, he decided. He was much prettier than she was.)

  And the captain didn’t seem to like her at all.

  On the other hand, she had cried out in distress when she thought he had been eaten by a fish, so she clearly had some sympathy for his kind. And it might be nice to live among these wingless people, at least for a while, where he would be the best looking one by far.

  That is, assuming they could be trusted.

  Narrowing his eyes, his hair still red, he held out his wrist—the one encircled by the silver cuff that bound him—and he shook it at her.

  Wendy knew that if she released him he could turn into anything and slip away, and that they would risk losing him entirely if someone opened the door. If that happened, there would be no more chance of grabbing him and pricking him with a needle, and she hadn’t realized until that very moment that she was still considering it, for Nicholas’ sake.

  It was no wonder the innisfay didn’t trust her.

  “All right,” she said quietly. “Just a moment.”

  She found a tiny pair of shears in the cabinet, and she held out her other hand to him. He winced a little, but he let her take hold of the tiny silver cuff, and then she used the shears to snap it carefully away.

  She thought she had never been more frightened in all her life.

  The innisfay wat
ched her for a long moment, hovering in midair, then darted away.

  Wendy sucked in her breath, but he had only flown to Nicholas, alighting on his pillow. He nodded to her and gestured toward the boy.

  “Oh!” Wendy cried. She ran back to the cabinet and brought him a needle, which she placed carefully next to him so she wouldn’t hurt him by accident.

  The innisfay squatted down next to it, holding it steady with one hand while he carefully pricked his other palm. Then he flew up over Nicholas, whose mouth was half open in a feverish stupor, and the innisfay squeezed his hand, letting just two drops of blood fall into the boy’s mouth.

  He flitted away again, but that was all it took. In the mere shake of a lamb’s tail, Nicholas’ color returned to normal, his cracked and feverish lips took on a healthy glow, and the boy opened his eyes.

  “What happened?” he asked, when he saw Wendy crying. Even Thomas was wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.

  “Oh, Nicholas! The most wonderful thing!” Wendy exclaimed. “A miraculous thing! By the most marvelous person anyone could ever hope to meet!”

  The innisfay only smiled, but his hair shimmered all the way into gold.

  ook frowned over the map spread out on his captain’s table. The sketch was rough at best, depicting the basic outline of the island, with one mark for the spot on the northern shore where the trail led off into the jungle, and another for the cove to the west.

  Charlie, as his first mate, stood dutifully by his side, awaiting his orders.

  “We can’t afford to wait another day,” Hook growled. “We need to attack before Blackheart returns.”

  “Aye, sir,” Charlie agreed. Neither of them said it out loud, but they had already seen the damage a flying ship could do against one that merely floated upon the sea. They had no chance of taking the cove if Blackheart’s ship was hovering above it.

  “But it would be best to attack at sunset, which doesn’t give us much time.”

  “Aye,” Charlie agreed again.

  “And why will we attack at sunset?”

  Hook turned his head to address the question toward Nicholas, who had insisted on returning to his duties immediately. The boy had stopped only long enough to thank the innisfay, to gawk momentarily at the imp, and to stuff his belly as quickly as possible because he had woken up ravenous.

  “Because the cove’s to the west, sir. The sun will be at our backs, shining into the cave so we can see it. And they’ll have a hard time looking at us directly because the sun will be in their eyes.”

  “And why not just wait for cover of darkness?”

  “Because we circled the whole island and saw no lights, which means they’re smart enough to douse their lanterns at night. Even by moonlight, they’d still have the advantage.”

  “Very good,” Hook told him. “We’ll make a captain out of you yet.”

  “Aye, sir! Thank you, sir!”

  Nicholas beamed with pride, and Hook went so far as to wink at him before turning back to Charlie, which showed Nicholas just how glad his captain was to have him back. Captain James Hook never winked at anyone. Ever.

  “We’ll stay in the edge of the fog for cover until The Tiger is in position,” Hook continued, “but I want a diversion on land. Our lost platoon can take the trail to the back entrance. Blackheart’s men will be missing their guard by now and will have posted another one. The platoon will sneak up on him, then signal us by lantern when they’re in position. Hopefully by sunset.

  “Their mission is to cause as much of a distraction as possible, to give us time to sail within range before we’re spotted. But if they don’t leave soon, they won’t arrive in time. Especially with that march up the trail. Go give them their orders. Make sure they’re armed with silver, both ammunition and blades. But tell the quartermaster I want full records of all of it, down to the man. I want every blade back and every bullet accounted for.”

  “Aye, sir,” Nicholas acknowledged. “Sorry, who am I telling, sir? Our lost platoon?”

  “Miss Darling’s platoon,” Hook told him, his eyes still glued to the map.

  “Aye, sir.” But before the boy could race off, Charlie cleared his throat.

  “What is it, Mr. Hawke?” Hook snapped. “Speak up. We’re burning daylight.”

  “Did you mean for him to inform Miss Darling, sir? Or Mr. Abbot?”

  Hook scowled, then turned to Nicholas. “Inform Mr. Abbot of his orders at once.”

  “Aye, sir,” Nicholas repeated, and he left in a hurry, shutting the door behind him.

  “As for The Tiger,” Hook continued, “I don’t want to fire her cannons if we can help it. I want that flying ship in one piece. We’ll sail The Tiger close enough for muskets. But what I said for Mr. Abbot’s platoon goes for everyone. I want a complete accounting down to the last bullet, collecting all the unspent ammunition when we’re done. And I want as many of the spent ones back as we can get. There’s only so much silver to go around.”

  “Aye, sir,” Charlie said with a sharp nod. If Hook put a slight emphasis on Mr. Abbot’s name—implying that it was John’s platoon and not Wendy’s—Charlie pretended not to notice. “But, sir, if the ship can’t fly yet?”

  “Pray that she can’t, Mr. Hawke. We’ll use the innisfay and the imp we’ve already captured to complete the job. But, now that you mention it, tell the platoon to capture as many more of them as they can. Imps and innisfay both. We’ll use them to our advantage. Perhaps even The Tiger might earn her wings.”

  “Aye, sir. And if she’s already flying, sir?”

  “Then we have to keep her in that cove under a roof of rock at any cost. If she’s flying and they try to bring her out into the open, we’ll have no choice but to destroy her, or she’ll sink us all.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Charlie left to convey his captain’s orders, and Hook stood staring down at the map, brooding.

  By following Wendy, he had hoped to find Peter Pan. Killing Pan was the only way to be free of that menace once and for all. He didn’t like it that Pan was still out there somewhere, and that they still had no idea where.

  Was he with Blackheart? Or were Pan and Blackheart one and the same? He certainly wouldn’t put it past Pan to pretend to be someone else.

  For that matter, maybe Blackheart was his real name, and he was only pretending to be Pan.

  Hook growled and slammed his hook into the table next to the map.

  He had to get that flying ship.

  It was the only thing that could even the odds against the everlost—and give humanity a fighting chance in this Godforsaken war.

  efore she knew it, Wendy was hiking up the jungle path for the second time that day. She had spent so much of her life wishing for adventures that a part of her was thrilled at the idea of it. She, Wendy Darling, was about to engage in a secret mission halfway around the world, to capture a flying ship from magical creatures!

  It was more than she had ever dreamed possible. But still, there was a difference between the dream of the adventure and the adventure itself.

  In the weeks since she had left England’s shores, she had seen British ships riddled by cannon fire and almost sunk. She had seen good men die in battle. She had been shot at by Smee, and she had almost lost Nicholas because of it. And just this morning she had become so angry over the mistreatment of a single innisfay that she had almost died again, risking John and Michael’s lives in the process.

  There was only so much she could go through before questioning the wisdom of the entire enterprise.

  As a matter of fact, she had a bad feeling about this particular mission—a very bad feeling indeed. If it had been up to her, she might have called the whole thing off. But, of course, it was not up to her. So she trudged dutifully amidst the men of her platoon, her head snapping toward the rustling leaves of the jungle and the small creatures that leaped and called through the trees, expecting every time to see the shining barrel of an everlost gun trained on her heart.


  The sickening tingle in the pit of her stomach only worsened with every step, but she focused on her breath and forced her feet to move forward nonetheless—breathe in, breathe out, in, out—until her mind began to quiet. This was the life of adventure she had asked for, and the men needed her.

  She would not let them down.

  Her legs ached at the pace they were forced to keep, racing against the setting sun, but it seemed like almost no time at all before they were back at the lake. There was no sentry in sight, so they proceeded to the next path. Their feet moved quietly through the tall grass of the clearing, each man (and, of course, one woman) carrying a weapon at the ready.

  When they reached the rear entrance of the cave, there was still no sign of a new guard having been posted. The platoon formed up, ready to slip through the crack single file on John’s command, but Wendy couldn’t help sharing her misgivings.

  “We should wait and look for the guard,” she whispered. “What if he comes in behind us?”

  John frowned and jerked his chin behind him, where the sun hovered low over the sea’s horizon. The Tiger waited somewhere in the fog to the west of the cove’s entrance, watching for the platoon’s signal.

  “We’re out of time,” he told her. “Judging by this morning’s encounter, their sentries don’t take their duties seriously. It’s a fortune in our favor. Don’t question it.”

  John nodded to Michael, who raised a lantern high in the air and waved it slowly back and forth several times. He waited a long moment and then repeated the signal. Then John raised his arm and snapped it smartly toward the cave. Without a moment’s hesitation, the first man crept through.

  They had learned from the imp that a narrow path led down into the cove from the far side of the ledge, hidden from view behind a small outcropping of rock. (Or rather, they had learned from the imp that this was emphatically not how he had been sneaking in and out of the cove unseen.) Wendy didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she saw Michael disappear. When several seconds ticked by without any sign of trouble, she finally exhaled quietly.