Straight On Till Morning

by Liz Braswell

  “HOOOOOOOOOOOK!” Peter cried, and flew out of the jungle, knife drawn.

  “Oh,” Wendy said, too stunned to do much else.

  “You heard the captain!” Slightly shouted, shaking his sword. “HOOK! AND THE PIRATES!”

  “HOOK AND THE PIRATES!”

  The Lost Boys ran screaming out of the jungle, Thorn zipping reluctantly after them.

  And the final battle between the pirates and the Lost Boys began.

  The Lost Boys (and Luna) broke out of the jungle and ran screaming down the beach just as the first skiff touched shore. The pirates, undaunted, leapt out of their boats into the water, cutlasses and muskets drawn. They, too, screamed.

  For one dizzying moment it was as strange and pretty as a picture: a small army of boys (and one girl) dressed like animals, wielding archaic weapons, their faces in masks or painted with ancient Celtic stripes, making for gaily dressed pirates in eye patches and bright bandannas and golden rings. Wendy knew that image would remain emblazoned on her mind for the rest of her days.

  Peter had flown up and over everyone’s heads, making straight for the pirate ship and the few who remained aboard. Well, really, for one who remained aboard: Hook.

  Peter seemed entirely recovered, but Wendy knew that as long as his shadow was still in captivity his current vigor was only temporary. And it was very suspicious that Hook stayed back when his men were going to fight his most hated enemy—he didn’t even have his flintlocks out. He also wasn’t overseeing the cannon fire. And he couldn’t possibly shout orders from the deck loudly enough for anyone on shore to hear. So what was he doing?

  Tinker Bell had, of course, zipped after Peter, knocking a pirate’s hat off as she went. The enraged man (the Duke, Wendy was pretty sure) turned and shot wildly into the air after her, singeing the hair and possibly the ear of the pirate next to him. That pirate—Major Thomas—responded by laughing and then backhanding the Duke.

  Thorn swooped right up to the first pirate he encountered and sank his blade deep into the flesh behind the man’s right knee. Screaming Byron did exactly what one would expect him to do: he let out a high-pitched wail that hardly seemed possible from such a large, sturdy-looking fellow. Then he immediately collapsed onto the sand, unable to stand on that leg any longer.

  The fairy immediately wiped his blade and moved to the next pirate without pause.

  Wendy watched in disbelief and admiration. He, of course, looked like a little warrior. But in her rather prejudiced, giant human-sized head, she had assumed he could do no real damage.

  “That will teach me to judge a book by its cover,” she murmured.

  And maybe that meant she could help, too.

  Wendy took a deep breath, grasped her dagger, and marched out onto the beach.

  But where to go? What to do? The scene was utter chaos. The twins had surrounded T. Jerome Newton and were taking turns smashing him in the stomach and back with their batons. Skipper had planted herself a little farther up the beach and was taking careful aim with her bow at the pirates on the periphery, the ones who hadn’t quite made the beachhead yet. Wendy saw one go down with an arrow through his right shoulder. He fell out of the water and back into the boat. Slightly was in the middle of a rather amazing duel with Djareth, sword and scimitar flashing in the sun, Luna biting at the pirate’s feet. Cubby was roaring and swinging his claymore at several pirates who were closing in on him.

  “That’s where I am needed! Cubby, I am coming!” Wendy cried and ran forward to help. She tried not to think about whether she would actually cut or slice one of the pirates; she figured instinct would take over at the last minute and she would do whatever was necessary for the sake of her friend.

  “AAAAAAAAAI!” she yelled—more for herself than with any real intention of putting terror into her enemy’s heart—and aimed at a pirate whose name she couldn’t remember, the one with the blue bandanna. She raised her dagger, thinking to get him in the neck maybe—

  Wait, could she really do that? Could she slice into the artery of someone—even if it was someone who had held her captive—from the back, like a coward? What if he bled on her? What if…

  Sheathing her dagger, she flipped into the air, and—with the help of fairy dust—spiraled down feetfirst, planting both as hard as she could into the small of his back.

  “Take that, dread villain!”

  With a distinct oof, the pirate fell facedown into the sand.

  Because fairy dust was merely magical and didn’t completely negate the laws of physics, Wendy kept falling, her beautiful attack almost ruined by a sprawling somersault over the pirate’s head. She landed, straddle-legged and a little confused, sand now in every fold of her clothes.

  “That was brilliant, Wendy!” Slightly called, saluting her from across the beach before spinning to riposte an attack by a new pirate he was fighting.

  “You saved me,” Cubby said, smiling dreamily as he used the flat of his giant claymore to knock his remaining attacker into the dust.

  “But Wendy,” one twin cried, makeup running down his face and pooling around his mask.

  “Get up!” the other one, equally askew, urged.

  Wendy staggered to her feet, feeling it was a bit much to ask of her right then. Hadn’t she just taken out a pirate? Her body had been through a great deal over the past few days; she was broken like a doll. And where was Tinker Bell? Somehow this all would have seemed easier with her friend nearby.

  Aha: she was still on the ship. Peter and Hook were crossing swords amongst the rigging. Peter balanced on the bowsprit, slashing down at the pirate captain. Hook held his hook behind his back and skillfully parried up. Neither one of them seemed in a haste to end the fight. Tinker Bell floated and buzzed around them, making the occasional jab at Hook.

  Wendy couldn’t see all the details, of course, but her mind filled in Peter’s grand smile and sparkling eyes. Such a small boy, really, to be fighting so carelessly against such an evil, nasty, experienced, and large pirate (with guns and hooks). Yet that was not the impression the scene gave. He looked like the living embodiment of fearlessness, of seizing whatever the moment brought and assuming it would all work out somehow.

  Wendy found that besides admiration she felt more than a touch of envy. He was everything that she, a girl so otherwise full of words and worries and doubts, wanted to be.

  “But really!” she scolded herself. “Here I am, still thinking and observing and watching, when really I should be rejoining the fight!”

  There. One of the twins was down on the ground, nursing his wrist. The other was backed up against a tree, trying to avoid being run through by Ziggy. Wendy began to push off into the air, but suddenly there were strong arms around her, holding her to the ground instead.

  “NO! Unhand me, villain!”

  She tried to bring her blade back down behind her, slashing wildly. “I’ll cut you!”

  “That was a short trip from Wendy words to prison patois,” a voice spoke dryly in her ear. It was Zane, who despite his slender look had tautly muscled arms and rocklike, immovable shoulders.

  “I’ll not serve you again!” she cried. “I’d rather die!”

  She wasn’t sure if this was entirely true, but she was enraged at being unable to move, and anyway, she really did hate laundry.

  “I’m not capturing ye, I’m saving ye, ye daft molly,” the pirate said, exasperated. He dragged her to a tree, flinging her thoughtlessly upside down, face-first, into the sand in front of it. It was an extremely unbecoming, awkward, and most of all embarrassing position to be in—made worse when she realized he had done it so he could bind her wrists and legs.

  “You brute! You villainous cur!”

  He worked quickly and methodically, ignoring her words as well as her kicking legs while they were still free.

  When he was done, he picked her up like a sack and sat her back down properly at the base of the tree.

  “You don’t belong in this fight,” he said. “You hav
e your reasons to hate Hook, but you’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “No one ever dies in these battles,” Wendy scoffed. “None of the good guys do.”

  Zane’s look turned dark. “Hook is serious this time—he’s completely mad. He means to do away with the Lost Boys for good. And Peter Pan, and everyone else.”

  “But…the Lost Boys…they’re children!”

  “They’re children who chose to fight pirates,” Zane pointed out. “They’re children who cut the hand off a pirate and left him with one hand, one hook, no sanity, and a death wish for the entire world. Believe you me, I don’t want to be wasting none of me time with this here folderol. I want to be out on the open sea, shooting down cargo vessels and looting them, then maybe take a month or two in some island port with coconut rum and time to think things over in the sun.”

  He took her dagger and threw it into the jungle. “The faster this is all over, the faster we can set sail and leave Never Land forever.”

  “Yes! Forever! Hook intends on destroying it after he’s done with Peter!”

  “Aye. Seems a bit much,” he said with a shrug.

  “But do you have any idea how he intends to kill everyone?”

  “Not a whit. We’re carrying some extra powder—or were. Maybe that has something to do with it. Who knows.”

  “Oh, you’re useless. Why are you even saving me?” Wendy demanded. “I’m a child who chose to fight pirates.”

  “Oh, you’re not a child anymore, lassie.” Zane chuckled. “And you’d be no help to either side in a fight, eitherways.”

  He gave her a sparkling gold-doubloon grin and then went running back to the battle.

  Wendy fumed. It would be so easy to sit there and watch the battle. No one would blame her: she was tied up. And Zane was right. She didn’t really know how to fight—not humans, anyway.

  “No help to either side,” she muttered. “I’ll—I’ll show them!”

  Struggling, she stood up. She twisted and turned wildly, trying to loosen the stiff old ropes he had tied her with. They wouldn’t give an inch. Zane was, of course, an expert at knots. She had no idea where to start looking for her pretty dagger in the forest, and as far as she could tell, no one on the beach had conveniently dropped one for her to use. It seemed rather unreasonable to push herself into a fight and demand to be set free: Mind loaning me your sword for a moment? And you, pirate, would you mind holding off attacking for that moment?

  She looked at her shadow, who was also tied up and struggling. Apparently sticking to her host had some distinct disadvantages—like sharing her fate while they were attached.

  Wendy screamed in frustration. For once, she was here, in Never Land, not just narrating the story. And she still couldn’t do anything! And Peter and Hook…

  Wait. There was one thing she could do, she realized. She could still fly. Maybe there would be something on the ship she could use. It was full of pointy and jabby things. And then she could set about rescuing Peter’s shadow, or snooping around the ship for a hint of Hook’s plans.

  Wendy grinned and took off into the air—

  And immediately began rolling and flailing, her head grinding into the sand while her legs whirled around above her like a pinwheel. Somehow flying required more balance and use of her arms and legs than she had thought.

  Stretching, curling up, and then keeping herself very still, Wendy finally managed to move forward. Very awkwardly. Like a caterpillar with all of its little legs bound together, inching along in an undignified fashion. Sometimes as little as a foot above the sand and in constant danger of plowing into it face-first. But she took it slowly and did her best to sneak around the fight, to not draw too much attention to herself.

  (Though a twin saw her and nearly lost his ear as he stared, transfixed.)

  When she made it to the edge of the water Wendy came in a bit too low. A wave crashed into her face, temporarily blinding her. It took her a bit to reorient herself and then swayingly cross the rest of the way to the ship. Finally, like a bobbing harbor seal, she popped up over the side of the Jolly Roger to surveil the scene.

  There was the sword fight, of course. Blades flashing in the sun, the scrape of steel on steel.

  “I’ll get you yet, Peter Pan!” Hook cried, grinning.

  “Just try it, you ridiculous codfish!” Peter taunted. He danced on top of the ship’s wheel, causing it to spin.

  Tinker Bell, hovering nearby, caught sight of Wendy.

  “No—shh,” Wendy mouthed. She jerked her head toward the prow of the ship, where the golden cage was. “Meet me there!”

  Tinker Bell nodded and flew off.

  Wendy followed, throwing herself over the railing and skidding to a painful halt on her knees, elbows, and chin.

  The fairy immediately began to work on her ropes.

  “They’re very tight,” Wendy whispered. “I don’t think you have the strength. Maybe you can find a knife or a—”

  But the bonds fell away.

  Tinker Bell gave a smug little smile.

  “Well! That’s rather useful,” Wendy said, bending over to release her shadow.

  The shadow jumped and stretched in her newfound freedom and then slid into the cage, to Peter’s shadow.

  “Do what you can—see if you can release him,” Wendy said. “Meanwhile, Tink and I will—”

  But a pirate stepped out from behind the chart room and loomed menacingly over her.

  “You didn’t think Hook would have left this unguarded, did you?” he growled. His skin was pale and torn; his breath reeked of rot.

  It was Valentine.

  “But…you’re dead!” Wendy breathed in horror.

  “Oh, the dead don’t always stay dead in Never Land,” he sneered, his mouth full of rotting black and golden teeth. “Not when they’re pirates. Not when Davy Jones’s locker is full.”

  He aimed his musket at her belly.

  “Not sure the same holds for the likes of ye, however.”

  He began to pull the trigger—

  Wendy screamed.

  “Wendy!” Peter cried, catching sight of her. “Blackguard! Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare lay a finger on her!”

  “Valentine, lower your weapon,” Hook ordered, joining the group with solid, sure smacks of his bootheels. “Miss Darling! Isn’t this a nice surprise. Now you can witness my triumph—and Peter Pan’s utter defeat. I was just enjoying one last bout with my old nemesis here before getting on with things.”

  “Defeat? Why, you old codfish, you…”

  Hook ignored him.

  “Valentine? Adjust the machine—to the limit, please.”

  The pirate grinned. Keeping the gun trained on Wendy with his right hand, he reached out his left to a greasy golden knob on the cage. Peter’s shadow shivered and shrank and expanded in dismay, knowing what was to come.

  The pirate spun the knob all the way to the left.

  The shadow snapped into a thousand quivering tendrils of pain. It vibrated and shook and trembled so fiercely that the air around it turned black. A strange not-noise—the opposite of noise?—filled the air as it screamed, almost breaking Wendy’s eardrums.

  Peter fell to the deck, unconscious.

  Tinker Bell jingle-screamed.

  “And that,” Hook said with a smile, “is the end of Peter Pan.”

  The few remaining pirates on the Jolly Roger surrounded Wendy, Tinker Bell, and the prone form of Peter lying on the ground.

  “SURRENDER!” Hook bellowed toward the shore. “Lost Boys, we have your Peter Pan!”

  The fighting paused as both pirate and Lost Boy alike stopped to figure out what the captain was shouting. It was hard to hear over the waves and wind.

  “I have him!” Hook gestured dramatically at Peter—whom no one could see, hidden as he was on the deck behind the railing—and his shadow in the cage, which made no real sense if you didn’t know what you were looking at beforehand.

  “I have Peter Pan!” he tried
again.

  Nothing. Those on the beach shrugged and looked at each other in confusion.

  Frustrated at the lack of response on shore, Hook reached down and grabbed Peter’s shirt, holding him aloft and shaking him so all could see. The boy sagged like a badly made scarecrow, pale and limp.

  It was a shocking display.

  After all, Peter really was just a boy, and Hook was not a small man. The pirate had no trouble at all tossing his unconscious body about. The strangeness of it—of him manhandling the usually energetic and scrappy Pan—must have gotten even to Hook. His face slipped for just a moment in wonder, as if he was thinking, “This is all of it? This is my prize?” And maybe there was just a touch of disappointment, like that of a child who has finally and triumphantly caught a dragonfly, only to open his hands and realize he has killed it in the process.

  On the beach there were collective wails and gasps. Even the pirates seemed a little surprised. Wendy was pretty sure she saw Zane blink and gawp before rousing himself and grabbing Cubby, thrusting the boy’s hands behind his back. Then the rest of the pirates rounded up the dejected Lost Boys with exaggerated movements, ropes, and whips.

  Hook seemed to get over whatever momentary lapse of joy he had experienced and now leered and grinned and pranced about, dropping Peter’s body into Valentine’s waiting arms.

  “That’s right,” the captain chortled. “Get them all—it’s over now, over forever!”

  The pirates tied the Lost Boys into a kind of chain and forced them onto the skiffs.

  Thorn, aloft and uncaptured, jingled—but it was untranslatable, even for Wendy.

  Wendy looked at her shadow. She was wrapped around Peter’s, trying to comfort or free him—with little effect. Tinker Bell tried to wrap herself around Peter’s flesh and blood body; Valentine kept waving her away.

  Wendy Darling didn’t normally consider herself someone who surveyed a situation, immediately understood what was going on, and then reacted in a timely and appropriate manner. She was a dreamy, thoughtful girl, slow to decide and act.

  But a week was a long time in Never Land.