The Navigator

by Sky, Erin Michelle; Brown, Steven;

  The tiny man pricked his palm, just as he had before, and he let two drops of blood fall into the boy’s mouth.

  Wendy and Thomas and the innisfay all watched as the seconds ticked by, but nothing changed. Nicholas did not wake up, and he still struggled for breath, his lungs wheezing and rattling.

  Until, finally, they gave up altogether, and he exhaled for the last time. The soul that had been Nicholas departed his body, and Wendy was left with only her grief. And her memories.

  t is never easy to lose the people we care for in this world, but it is especially difficult to lose the ones for whom we feel responsible. Even though Nicholas was a full member of the crew, he was still young, and Wendy had always felt a sisterly kind of affection for him. Then he had risked his life for her, and she had saved his in return. To lose him now, after everything they had been through, felt like more than she could bear.

  And so, for the first time in her life, all her defenses failed her.

  She had spent years in the orphanage acting as though the taunts of the other children didn’t bother her, and she had built that image up into a persona that she wrapped carefully around herself—always calm, always patient, always rational. She thought through every problem; she overcame every obstacle. But she could not overcome this.

  Looking down at Nicholas, she wanted to scream. She wanted to pull glass vials from the infirmary cabinet and smash them against the walls. She wanted to beat her own fists against the iron frame of the cot until they were black and blue and broken beyond repair. And if Thomas had not been there, she might have done all of those things.

  But Thomas was there, and if she cried out in despair or lost her temper, all her hard work would come to nothing. She would just be an irrational woman, reinforcing everything Thomas had ever been taught about her gender. Still, Wendy had to do something or she thought she might lose her sanity altogether. So she lost her composure in the only way she could allow herself.

  She ran.

  She made sure, however, that it did not look like running to Thomas. To him, Wendy looked like a storm, gathering its strength above the sea. She said nothing, but her face darkened into a fury. Then, suddenly, she turned and strode in three quick strides to the door, hurling it open and bursting through it without bothering to close it behind her. Her boots stomped along the passageway, slamming against the boards in hard, determined strides.

  Thomas, who became nervous in the face of any confrontation, did not run after her. But he was not the only one present. The little innisfay, whose magic was intricately attuned to emotion, understood immediately every nuance of the agony Wendy was feeling, and he was suddenly terrified she might find some way to harm herself, just to escape it.

  (Not that he cared about her, mind you—this oversized human, who was so ugly and clumsy when compared to a beautiful innisfay such as himself. It was simply in his nature, as an innisfay, to be helpful.)

  So whether he followed her because he did, in fact, care for her, no matter what he told himself, or because he was just a helpful sort of innisfay, we may never know. But he flew after her down the passageway, watching over her in silence, hovering just above and behind her left shoulder like a tiny guardian angel, waiting to see what she might do and whether he might need to intervene.

  As for Wendy, truth be told it flashed briefly through her mind to race to the upper deck and throw herself overboard into the sea, swimming down and down and down until she ran out of air. But the ship kept watch all night long, and someone would surely dive in after her. She would be hauled back to the surface, still very much alive, and she would be labeled hysterical for certain.

  Or, at least, that was what she told herself to stop herself from doing it. She did not really want to die. She wanted to save Nicholas. She just had no way to do that, and the anguish of that simple fact was making her feel desperate.

  What she really needed was to let go of this pretense of having everything together. She needed to fall very much apart, at least for a while, and there was only one safe place for her to do that.

  Nana was waiting for Wendy in front of the door to their quarters, but her happy bark turned to a whimper when she saw the state of her mistress. She raced to Wendy’s side, leaning supportively against her leg as Wendy strode the last few paces to her door and passed through it, taking Nana with her and allowing the innisfay to sneak inside as well by darting in through the top corner before she shut the door behind her.

  And that, finally, was when she let go.

  She threw herself onto her bunk, gathered a huge armful of blanket to her face to muffle her cries, and screamed into it at the top of her lungs until her scream turned into sobs. Then she wept until her body convulsed with it—until her stomach muscles hurt and the blanket in front of her face was soaked through with her tears.

  And all the while, Nana lay squeezed onto the bunk beside her, her flank stretched as far as she could stretch it, her weight leaning heavily against Wendy’s side, while she tried to lick the tears away. Unfortunately, she couldn’t reach Wendy’s tears because the woman’s entire face was buried in the blanket, so all Nana managed to do was lick the side of her head over and over, consisting mostly of her hair and her left ear.

  “All right, Nana. All right,” Wendy finally said, sniffling heavily, her voice still muffled by the blanket. “Thank you, but that’s enough.”

  Nana wasn’t convinced, so she gave Wendy’s ear two more licks for good measure.

  “I said that’s enough.”

  Wendy sighed a little and pulled the blanket from her face. She rolled over and turned toward the dog, then opened her eyes. But to her surprise, Nana’s face wasn’t the only one she saw.

  Instead, she saw two sets of eyes staring back at her in concern. Nana’s huge brown ones framed most of her vision, but behind those, hovering in midair just behind the dog’s head, was a tiny pair of pale green innisfay eyes—watching her sadly from beneath a gorgeous mane of blue-gray hair that seemed to Wendy to be the exact color of a stormy sky on one of those dreary winter days when the whole world seems to be crying with you.

  “Oh,” Wendy said, staring at him in wonder.

  And then, “Oh!”

  Wendy sat up and grabbed the blanket again, trying to use its course fibers to mop the remaining tears from her face. But the innisfay flew to her, slowly, and he reached a tentative hand out toward the blanket until she let it drop from her face. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt that tied in the front, and he pulled one of those sleeves down over his hand, using it to dry the tears gently from her cheeks.

  “Thank you,” Wendy said quietly. It was the softest material she had ever known, and his touch felt like she imagined the wings of a tiny bird would feel if their tips were to brush lightly over her skin.

  He nodded, and then he smiled. His hair remained blue, but it brightened a little—still the color of that cloudy winter sky, but now the sun peeked through here and there, heralding the quiet promise of spring somewhere down the road.

  The innisfay began to flit about her head. At first Wendy pulled back in surprise, but then she realized he was fixing her hair, rearranging it where it had become scattered while she was crying. She closed her eyes and let him work, and the touch of his tiny, gentle hands soothed her.

  “I’m sorry I can’t pronounce your name,” she said after a while. She opened her eyes, but he only shrugged and smiled, his hair now more like its usual gold, with just the slightest tinge of blue. “But I think we can do much better than Jingles, don’t you?”

  The innisfay nodded vigorously, and his hair flashed red for just a moment, proving what Wendy had suspected: that he had never liked the name the imp had given him.

  “You’re so handsome. And so kind. Every time I look at you, I think of Prince Charming, from the fairy tales. Do you like the name Charming?”

  The innisfay grinned broadly, and his hair flashed bright gold.

  “Well then, I shall call you Charming from n
ow on.”

  Which is how Wendy found herself smiling, at least a little, when she heard a tentative knock on her door.

  She looked toward the door in surprise, but then she stood, her hands reaching to smooth her dress out of lifelong habit, only to realize she was wearing the shirt, vest, breeches, and boots that had become her habit aboard ship.

  Somehow, this simple fact brought a new strength along with it. She breathed deeply, and she stood straighter. She looked around and realized how dark it had become in her quarters, now that the sun had set, and that Charming had been acting as a lamp for her, along with everything else.

  “One moment,” she called. She lit her lamp, and she hung it back on the hook overhead. Then she opened the door.

  “Michael!”

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Michael said, and then he stopped, searching her eyes.

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. “Obviously, you’ve heard.”

  “About Nicholas. Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m so sorry. I know … I know you cared for him.”

  “Thank you,” Wendy said, and she felt the tears threatening to return, but she inhaled a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly, until the worst of the feeling subsided. “It was kind of you to come look in on me, but I’ll be all right.”

  “Oh, I … I didn’t,” Michael stammered. “I mean, of course, I did. But it isn’t just that. It’s … well … I’m sorry, but we need your help.”

  “Oh! Of course. What can I do? What is it?”

  “I think …” Michael trailed off, and he tilted his head to one side, just now noticing the innisfay hovering in the air behind her. “I think you should come see for yourself. And I think you should bring your new friend.”

  endy followed Michael through the passageways of the ship. He kept a steady pace, forcing her to lengthen her stride until she was almost trotting, while Charming floated casually behind her.

  “The plan worked,” Michael told her. “After you—” He fell silent and looked back over his shoulder, his eyes worried.

  Wendy frowned and said nothing, steeling her emotions against the pain and returning his gaze in silence.

  After she dove into the water. After Nicholas was shot.

  She offered him the tiniest nod of her chin, and he lowered his eyes for a moment before continuing.

  “The arrival of The Tiger turned the tide in our favor. The men and I were grateful, I can tell you that. Things weren’t looking good for us.”

  Wendy’s feet stuttered beneath her. Michael heard the change in her pace and looked back again, but she acted as though nothing had happened.

  She had been on her way to help Michael and his men when she had seen Nicholas get shot. She had forgotten everything, diving in after the boy without a single thought for her own platoon. She realized now what could have happened—and how fortunate she was that her actions had not cost Michael and the others their lives.

  If Michael understood what she was thinking, he was kind enough to move on without acknowledging the moment.

  “The remaining everlost surrendered, and we took the ship. The flying ship,” Michael clarified. “Only it doesn’t fly. At least, not that we can manage. And we have no idea how to finish the job.”

  “The everlost won’t say,” Wendy guessed.

  “The everlost can’t say,” Michael replied. “Hook executed every last one of them on the spot.”

  “What?” Wendy stopped in her tracks. “But they surrendered!”

  Michael turned to face her, retracing his steps when he realized she was no longer following him, but he did not seem anywhere near as shocked as she felt over what Hook had done.

  “We’re at war,” he reminded her. “He’s the captain of a ship, and the sea is his domain. He’s well within his rights to execute his judgment—and his enemies. For their crimes against England.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, but Wendy did not reply.

  “It does make things more difficult,” Michael finally admitted quietly. “Whatever they knew died with them. About flying ships. About their fleet. About their plans. Now we have to get that ship in the air before Blackheart returns, and we have no idea how to do it.”

  Wendy frowned. “Then where are we going?”

  “To the quartermaster,” Michael told her. “You’ll see.”

  They began to walk again, but it wasn’t much farther before Wendy could hear a terrible ruckus up ahead. It was the strangest cacophony of deep gravelly voices and angry jingling chimes.

  “Oh dear,” Wendy whispered to herself. She looked over her shoulder to see Charming flying agitated loops in the air. “We’ll take care of it,” she assured him. “Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it.”

  But when they finally arrived at the armory, Wendy could hardly think for all the noise. Several imps, all dressed in miniature pirate clothing, were growling low in their throats and throwing themselves against the silver bars of their cages, while a whole host of innisfay chimed angrily from their own cages along the walls.

  Mr. Quinton, the quartermaster, scowled at the racket but was doing nothing to try to stop it, his habitually somber expression even more gloomy than usual.

  “But … how?” Wendy exclaimed.

  “We had a few silver cages with us, Miss Darling,” he told her, “what with the magical nature of the expedition. But nowhere near this many, I admit. Fortunately, the crew found plenty on The Pegasus. As for the innisfay, we transported them in the cages they were already in. I’ve made sure they have water, but I’ve no idea what to feed ’em.”

  “The Pegasus?” Wendy asked.

  “It’s what we’re calling the flying ship, ma’am. Or, rather, the one we hope will fly for us. Assuming these here creatures can finish the job.”

  “But why are they in the armory?”

  “Well, it was either this or put ’em down with the chickens. But they seemed more like weapons than food.”

  “Food? I’ll show you who’s food!” The closest of the imps snarled and gnashed his teeth at the quartermaster. “Come put your ear between these bars, you mangey human!”

  “Interesting,” Wendy mused. “I don’t think he’s lying.”

  “I don’t think he is either,” Mr. Quinton commented. “I wouldn’t get near that one if I were you.”

  “No, I didn’t … never mind. I meant to ask why the innisfay are in cages at all. They are our allies, Mr. Quinton.”

  Charming’s hair carved flaming trails through the air as he darted from one cage to the next.

  “You’ll have to take that up with the captain, Miss Darling. They arrived in cages, and I was ordered to keep them there.”

  “Yes, well. We’ll see about that. Charming … Charming!” She had to raise her voice considerably to get his attention, but the innisfay finally raced back to her, his own angry jingling only adding to the mayhem.

  “I’ll speak to the captain,” Wendy assured him. “Stay here and see if you can calm them down. If they need anything, try to communicate it to Michael and he’ll get it for you, all right?”

  Charming trilled angrily in reply, and Wendy could only guess what he was saying—which, to be perfectly honest, was probably for the best.

  Hook had posted Mr. Starkey as a guard outside his quarters with strict orders that he should not be disturbed. Unfortunately for the captain, Starkey was too much of a gentleman to lay a hand on a lady, no matter how she might be dressed, so Wendy barged past him despite his protests and pounded on the door.

  “Truly, miss. He doesn’t want to be bothered.” Starkey wrung his hands in distress but made no move to stop her.

  “Then he should not have left our allies in cages in the armory.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Captain!”

  “Go. Away.” The reply from within was muffled, but the message was clear enough.

  Starkey raised his eyebrows as though to say, “I told you so,” but Wendy was in no mood to be cast as
ide. Especially not tonight. She raised her fist and pounded on the door again, even harder than before.

  “Captain! It is imperative that I speak with you.”

  “Oh, for the love of heaven. Come in already, Miss Darling, before you break down the door.”

  Wendy practically threw the door open, without a hint of contrition in either her expression or her manner, but what she found on the other side of it stopped her cold. Hook sat as his desk with his head in his hands—or, rather, in his one good hand, his fingers buried in his hair, while the curved edge of his hook tapped a sad, slow rhythm against his forehead.

  Of course, she realized. He had lost Nicholas, too.

  She had never seen him look so vulnerable. Or so thoroughly, imperfectly human.

  All the complaints she had been about to raise somehow melted away.

  “I … I’m sorry, Captain.”

  “Not your fault,” he said. He stopped tapping his forehead with the hook and used it to wave her words away. “I know whose fault it was, and I killed him myself. Didn’t do a damned bit of good for the boy, though.”

  “I couldn’t do any good for him either,” Wendy said quietly, and she had to work hard to keep her voice from breaking.

  Their eyes met, and lingered, and then he nodded.

  “You wanted to speak with me,” Hook reminded her. “Something imperative, I believe.”

  “Oh! Oh, yes. I’m sorry for the timing, but it’s about the innisfay. They’ll be our allies in this if we give them the chance, Captain, but we have to let them go. If we hold them prisoner, they’ll see no difference between us and the everlost who imprisoned them in the first place.”

  “I see,” Hook said, watching her carefully. “And how can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’ve befriended the first one we rescued.”

  “Of course you have,” Hook commented, but he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Wendy. “Well, it might surprise you, Miss Darling, but I was actually waiting to hear what you had to say before making a decision regarding any of our magical guests.”