Straight On Till Morning

by Liz Braswell

  Without bothering to warn her, Wendy grabbed Tinker Bell and took off.

  The little fairy fought and bit and scratched and made noises that were far more terrifying than jingles. Wendy kept her fist shut tight.

  Did she feel like a coward, bombing away from the pirate ship like a bee martin after its prey? Not really. Soon the ship would be full of pirates and weapons and guns, and Hook’s attention would inevitably turn to her. It was only while he was gloating that she had a chance to escape—and from the belated pop pop pop sounds behind her, it was clear that though it had taken everyone a moment to notice her absence, the use of guns was not forbidden against potential Pan accomplices.

  “We need to get away and regroup,” she told Tinker Bell. “There’s nothing we could have done back there.”

  The little fairy jingled furiously.

  “No, I don’t think I could have pulled Peter from either Hook or Valentine—I’m not that strong, Tink. I already tried to fight off Valentine when he was alive and I failed. And this is all assuming I could fly holding Peter and not drop him in the water, drowning him.”

  She’s right, Tinker Bell, Thorn said, flying up beside them—as Wendy knew he would, even without a word or a signal. I’m no coward. The odds were entirely against us. We need to strategize and come back again and hit them hard.

  Tinker Bell jingled something translatable—but unprintable.

  Wendy skimmed along the water and the beach, keeping a wide swath between them and the pirates in the skiffs (and their captives).

  “Wendy!” The twins cried together, spotting her. But it wasn’t a cry of despair; it was a cheer. They were glad one of their number had escaped—and could maybe return to free them.

  Slightly also caught her eye as she passed, but didn’t say anything. Hope shone brightly on his face, and it spoke for his silence.

  Wendy was also full of hope: she hoped she didn’t disappoint him.

  She flew above the jungle a little before finding a good place to break through the canopy. Curling herself into a ball, she plummeted to the ground through dense leaves and twigs, remembering to stick her feet out at the last minute.

  The moment she opened her hand, Tinker Bell shot out and dove at her face.

  “Please stop,” Wendy said, as patiently as she could manage. But it came out the way she felt: weary, and maybe, like Hook, just a bit disappointed. Did her little friend never see the ramifications of actions? Never think a few moves ahead? Never grasp how ridiculous she was being? Wendy suddenly thought of Zane, and his perfunctory removal of her at the battle. He, too, was only trying to save a life.

  Tinker Bell must have finally seen or understood what passed through Wendy’s mind. She drooped.

  Easy, little sister, Thorn jingled, coming close to the other fairy. We will come up with something. It isn’t over yet.

  Wendy felt a rush of affection for him that had nothing to do with his physiognomy or his manner. He understood why she did what she did, and he understood that Tinker Bell needed to be appeased. He was useful, kind, and like-minded. Good qualities to have in a friend.

  “All right,” Wendy said, sitting down at the base of a tree. “Let’s see what our options are. Peter is out of the game—and possibly in real danger. While he’s hostage I doubt the Lost Boys are going to try to escape. Even Slightly wouldn’t risk it. And now that Hook has Peter, all of his little pieces are in place. We don’t know how long before he sets into motion his plan to destroy Never Land.

  “And we’re the only ones who can save it. Of all the inhabitants of Never Land I’ve met, none of them—literally none of them—would ally with us. Or me, rather. Not the terrible mermaids or the unknowable First. Certainly not the mindless and devouring thysolits. I doubt the Cenotaph cave-dwellers would lend a hand and I have no idea what the Elephant Wheels are.”

  They keep to themselves, on the Lost Roads, Thorn said, which was both helpful and not at all. Wendy decided to file that with the now very long list of things to look into if she had more time in Never Land.

  “Well, that leaves us and the fairies, then. And you have said they won’t fight on our side?”

  Unfortunately, we have no actual proof of Hook’s plans. After seeing the blasphemous doings of Captain Hook, it might be possible to rally the Great Army to our side. But it would require a meeting at the Allthing, and just the scheduling of that is a bear.

  “Oh, cripes, this is impossible!” Wendy tore off a piece of a plant and threw it at the ground. She had almost said hopeless. “We have nothing.”

  We have you, Tinker Bell jingled softly.

  Wendy gave her a weak smile. “Thank you, but I don’t see what I can bring to the table, other than a belated ability to fly and a dagger I seem to have lost.”

  You have your stories.

  “But, Tink, those powers only worked in the realm of the First—where the stories and the land of Never Land haven’t solidified or set yet. It doesn’t work out here. Any stories I tell would just be stories.”

  Then we can be the powers for you. You tell the stories, and we will make them come true.

  Tinker Bell’s eyes were so wide and she sounded so sincere that Wendy felt like she was drowning in her friend’s trust. She snuck a look at Thorn. He gave a slight nod. She wasn’t sure if it meant yes, we will, or yes, you can, but either way it was an endorsement. For some reason he didn’t think Tinker Bell was being ridiculous.

  “Okay,” Wendy said slowly. “But how—”

  We need to take out Captain Hook, said the warrior fairy. Without a leader, the pirates will collapse into chaos.

  “Agreed,” Wendy said. “A queen for a queen, like in chess. I don’t think they’re loyal enough to mount a revenge or rescue. There seemed to be some difference of opinion about what pirates are supposed to do even when I was aboard—and getting Peter Pan wasn’t high on the list for most of them.”

  Just then, a ragged black shape slithered through the underbrush toward them.

  Tinker Bell leapt up, jingling in fright—but it was only Wendy’s shadow.

  “Ah! Good of you to join us,” Wendy said, patting the ground next to herself. The shadow obligingly slid over and slipped into Wendy’s shape. “Any luck with Peter’s shadow?”

  The shadow shook her head, then held her hand out and rocked it from side to side.

  “You think you could help him escape? With more time?”

  The shadow shrugged and nodded desperately. Maybe or I have to or what else can we do?

  “All right. We were just talking about the pirates and their leader, and how they are not that devoted to their beloved captain. So there’s somehow killing Hook, somehow capturing him, or somehow disabling him. And should it be the second two—as I rather hope—we will need the Lost Boys free and ready to battle the pirates if they do put up a resistance. Tinker Bell, when you released me from my ropes before—could you do that for all of them?”

  Not from a distance. It isn’t magic, it’s…fairy knowing. Knots and traps are in our blood.

  “I think that may still count as magic, to humans at least. But in any case, be clear: you have to actually touch the ropes.”

  Yes. Thorn cut in. And we shine.

  “Well, of course you do. You’re the best.”

  No, shine.

  Thorn flew up in front of her and glowed so brilliantly she had to shade her eyes.

  “Right, right,” she said, feeling a little breathless that he was so close. “Not exactly a covert mission, I get it. But what if you could zip around and—I don’t know—maybe give them something to cut their own bonds with? Drop something in their hands and fly away quickly? Maybe a knife, or a sharp shell?”

  Yes, but someone may still see us. And how will that help, since as you said the Lost Boys won’t rise up if their leader is in trouble?

  “I think I’m getting there,” Wendy said, trying not to let her heart quicken as it sensed her brain’s ideas. Trying not to hope or believe. �
�I think you actually nailed it when you said stories. Hook certainly loves to talk—to hear himself talk, to hear himself tell stories. He has told stories in his head all his life about Peter and losing his hand. And crocodiles and clocks and time. It’s what worked him up into this crazy obsession. I think stories—or plays—are the thing to ‘catch the conscience of the king.’”

  She sat back, feeling very clever.

  The two fairies looked at her, uncomprehending.

  “Shakespeare,” Wendy said, disappointed no one got the reference. “Hamlet.”

  Oh! We know A Midsummer’s Night Dream, Thorn said proudly. I’m in it, sometimes.

  Tinker Bell shot him an annoyed look.

  “All right, the point is that, like Peter, Hook loves hearing about himself. You know, they really are a lot alike, if you stop to think about it.…Anyway, the tale needs to be big and dramatic, just like Hook. Something that will distract him to pieces. I don’t think it would take much to push him over the edge right now. Besides stories, I have a clockwork crocodile. Which, unlike my satchel, pirate treasure, or boat, really will turn out to be useful at the end of my adventure.

  “And, finally, I have…myself.”

  Tinker Bell jingled curiously.

  “Why, I’m giving myself up, Tink. I’m going to trade myself for Peter.”

  While she walked out on the hot sand Wendy imagined herself strolling primly down the avenue with a parasol on her shoulder and a smug little Wendy smile on her face. As if she were going out to market or the bookstore when the demonic Shesbow twins were known to be about, thus requiring her to be extra prim and have an extra-smug smile as first lines of defense.

  In reality, of course, it was not an ancient cobbled street she trod, and her pinafore had long since disappeared. Instead, she wore a tunic made of rags bleached white from the sun and salt water, her arms and legs and face darkened by the same powers.

  And maybe—just maybe—her smile was less smug and a trifle more sardonic now.

  Her shadow behaved like any well-behaved shadow would, copying her precisely. Although, of course, her smile was hidden.

  The pirate ship lay on the water as pretty and perfect as a ship in a bottle. For a dizzying moment Wendy played with the idea that it was a ship in a bottle, that she was standing in her father’s study, mouthing words to imaginary heroes and villains as the toll of too much time alone and lack of outside voices finally grew too great.

  But her father didn’t have a ship in a bottle.

  And Wendy had scratches all over that itched terribly—boring, annoying little details that she would never normally imagine or narrate in a story.

  External proof aside, internally she had changed as well. Permanently and deeply. She didn’t need to see her scars to know that they were real.

  She kept walking, right into the water, until it was up to her calves.

  “Captain Hook,” she called out, waving politely. “Captain Hook? May I have a word?”

  Whatever was happening on the ship paused; all attention was directed to her by the antlike pirates and villains.

  Hook, ever dramatic and unable to resist a cue, complied.

  “WENDY DARLING!” he shouted, his voice a trifle less unctuous than usual because he had to shout. “I WONDERED WHERE YOU RAN OFF TO.”

  She curtsied.

  “I’M AFRAID WE’RE RATHER BUSY AT THE MOMENT, BUT I WOULD LOVE TO CATCH UP FOR A CHAT JUST AFTER I’VE REVIVED YOUR GOOD FRIEND PAN HERE LONG ENOUGH FOR HIM TO WATCH THE NEXT PHASE OF THE PLAN. IF THERE’S TIME BEFORE YOU’RE ALL WIPED OUT, OF COURSE.”

  “I’ve come to give myself up,” Wendy shouted.

  “WHAT?”

  “I’ve come to give myself up. To offer myself in trade for Peter Pan.”

  The red-coated, black-wigged effigy stood stock-still on the ship for a moment. Then Hook threw back his shoulders and bent double, guffawing heartily.

  “AND WHAT DO I CARE ABOUT YOU, WENDY DARLING? I HAVE PETER PAN. I DON’T WANT YOU.”

  “But do you want Peter Pan? Really?”

  “WANT? PETER PAN? MISS DARLING, HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO ANYTHING OUTSIDE YOUR OWN LOVELY HEAD WHILE YOU’VE BEEN HERE?”

  “Of course I have, and I come with a warning.…” And here she lowered her voice, just a little, letting the wind take it where it would. She recounted the various stories of her time in Never Land, occasionally raising her voice just up to the level it was before, only letting key and cryptic phrases be carried across to the ship. “METAPHORICALLY SPEAKING, OF COURSE…NO LESS THAN AN ARMY…SURPRISED TO FIND…”

  The red pirate-ant in the distance grew frustrated. She could imagine exactly what he was saying: What the deuce? Can anyone hear? What is that dashed girl going on about?

  “…INEVITABLE,” she finished.

  “YOU STAY RIGHT THERE, MISS DARLING,” Hook ordered, face red with impatience. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE BLAZES YOU’RE UP TO, BUT YOU WILL COME ABOARD MY SHIP AND WE WILL RESOLVE THIS—DISTRACTION—IMMEDIATELY!”

  Wendy curtsied again.

  Tinker Bell hadn’t understood this part of the plan—why Wendy couldn’t just fly up to the ship and proceed from there. But Thorn did. It was all about playing a part, and gaining trust, and making Hook feel like he was the one making the decisions. The warrior fairy didn’t put it quite that way, of course; he didn’t think that way. He spoke in terms of subverting the enemy’s expectations and letting the trap draw itself closed.

  Wendy waited there as serenely as she could while the pirates lowered down one dinghy and two men—only two! She was insulted. Neither of them was Zane. They were nothing but tertiary characters, thugs whose names she hadn’t bothered to learn when she was on board. They looked dangerous and unimaginative.

  (Though one gave a kind of apology before tying her hands behind her back.

  “No matter,” she said. “It’s improper, but understandable.”)

  She kept her spine straight and chin up, like a figurehead in the prow of the dinghy as they rowed back to the ship that had started all her adventures.

  The deck was already quite crowded with prisoners and pirates. Members of the crew mumbled greetings to her with downcast eyes; the Lost Boys regarded her curiously. Hook stomped over, impatient and furious.

  “Now hurry up with this foolishness, Miss Darling,” he said, thrusting his face into hers. “You wanted to trade yourself for Peter Pan—which is ridiculous, ask anyone here. You’re no Peter Pan, not half his worth to me. And anyway, I’ve captured you quite handily and made no sorts of promises to let you go, so you haven’t even anything left to trade with. I’ve got you fair and square there, Miss Darling.”

  “Not half his worth … ?” Wendy started to object before getting control of herself.

  The sun sparkled brightly on the sea, but something glinted in the rigging that didn’t quite belong there. Possibly the head of a fairy peeping out to see how things were progressing.

  “WELL!” she said dramatically, making sure everyone’s eyes were on her. “Captain Hook, now that you have Peter Pan, what do you intend to do with him?”

  She addressed him like a mother to a child with a song sparrow, or frog, or fox kit, or any other inappropriate pet. Patiently, like she wanted him to work out the ridiculousness of it all himself.

  The pirates—and the Lost Boys—looked over at Hook with interest.

  “What am I going to do with him?” Hook demanded. “Why, I’m going to exact revenge on him for what he did to me!” He shook his hook for emphasis.

  “So…you’re going to cut off his hand.”

  Hook’s—and everyone else’s—eyes drifted involuntarily to the unconscious Peter, pale and motionless. Defenseless. Wendy risked a quick look at his shadow: it lay limp in the cage, like the umbra of an unwound pile of string. She made the minutest nod toward it.

  Her own shadow silently detached, rippling over the planks of the deck like a centipede. Again she felt the strange inside-out pain
, the hollowness that pulsed along her limbs and torso.

  A zip of light—Tinker Bell had also used the distraction when everyone was focused on Peter to get to the Lost Boys.

  “I’m going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!” Hook cried. “That all of Never Land will never forget! I’ll make him watch as his beloved world is destroyed. And then I’ll have him walk the plank—without any flying, or rescuing mermaids, or whatnot. Or maybe I’ll execute him myself. One shot to the head.”

  He pulled out his pistol and aimed it menacingly at Wendy.

  “You would really kill Peter Pan? Your archnemesis. Your greatest enemy. Your sole reason for living these days, it seems.”

  “Yes, well, maybe I’ll find other reasons once he’s gone,” Hook said thoughtfully, looking at his pistol and frowning at a smudge on it. “Perhaps once again I’ll be able to enjoy the simple pleasures in life: raiding a port town, attacking a merchant vessel and stealing its gold, a bit of plunder here, a bit of pillage there.…”

  “Now you’re talking!” Zane said encouragingly.

  An amber glimmer swooped over the other side of the ship and disappeared among the prisoners. One pirate suddenly turned, having thought he saw something strange out the corner of his eye.

  “But…you two have fought each other forever,” Wendy said loudly, stepping forward—and drawing all attention to herself again.

  Hook frowned and cocked the hammer on his flintlock with an ominous click.

  Wendy shrugged as best she could with her hands tied to indicate no threat was intended. She continued to walk around Peter’s body and Hook, appearing to think about both of them while blocking the pirates’ view of the Lost Boys and any fairy goings-on.

  “Hook and Peter, Peter and Hook, always battling it out on the seas or in secret hideaways.…You’re so archetypal, so famous, so ever-present in Never Land that everyone knows your legendary exploits. Both here and in the nurseries of London, where stories of you are told to frighten little children.”

  Hook gave a modest dip of his head.

  “And that’s the beauty of the two of you. Peter Pan, always young and full of life. Captain Hook, scurrilous sea dog and villain of the tale. Blast you, Peter Pan! I’ll get you next time! You’re equal, you’re opposite. You can’t get rid of one or the other. Not forever. It’s balance. Nothing ever changes here in Never Land.