Wendy Darling: Volume 2: Seas

by Colleen Oakes

  Wendy lowered her eyes. “I understand, sir. It’s just that my brother, Michael, he is only five years old, sir.”

  The hand swirling the glass stopped moving and Wendy felt dread rush into her chest.

  “And what should that mean to me? That he is five years old. A nine-year-old Lost Boy killed one of my men with an arrow through the eye. Children are not just children in Neverland, Wendy Darling. You should know that more than anyone.”

  Wendy nodded, her mind searching desperately to the appropriate answer to each question.

  “Answer me this, Wendy, is Peter Pan a child?”

  She saw the cold look in his eyes before he had dropped her, sent her cartwheeling down to her death, only to teach her a lesson. She cleared her throat.

  “No. No, he is not.”

  “Correct. First intelligent thing you’ve said today. Now, I’m going to ask you one more question and you will answer it. Consider your answer carefully, for your life and your brother’s life depend on your answer.”

  Wendy’s voice burst uncontrollably out of her throat. “Please, please! I will do anything. I will scrub the decks, I will sew your clothes, and I will cook! I will do anything, please, just don’t hurt my brother, please spare him. Please, sir!”

  The glass hovered a moment before slamming down on the lion’s head, shattering into a thousand pieces. A drop of blood dripped from Hook’s fingers onto the lavish carpet. His voice was coiled and controlled.

  “Quiet! I will hear none of your emotional pleas. I said I would ask you a question, and you will answer it.”

  Wendy’s heart pounded and there was a roaring in her ears.

  “My question is simply this: give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you. Choose your answer wisely, because I’ve heard them all before.”

  Wendy closed her eyes, remembering everything that she had heard and seen since arriving in Neverland. He raised a single bloody finger and moved it back and forth like a clock pendulum, his tongue clicking.

  “Ticktock, girl. I have waves to master and mouths to feed.”

  Wendy felt the boat move underneath her, the waves caressing and battering the Sudden Night. Her head jerked up just as Hook was beginning to speak again.

  “If you can’t—”

  “You shouldn’t kill me because Peter Pan is in love with me.”

  There was a silence in the room. The clock ticked its disapproval. Wendy held her breath and watched as the bloody hand clenched once and then released again. Hook stood. His back rose up from behind the chair, taller than she had imagined, but then again, she had lived around just children for far too long. He had rich chestnut hair, short and shorn with a razor, flecked with gray at the temples and crown. A white collared shirt, crisp and clean hit the neat beard that covered the bottom half of his face and chin, these hairs also graying at the edges. He turned and the light slowly crawled across his face. Wendy gasped, only because he was so different than she had imagined him. Peter had described him as a monster, and yet, he was just a man—though a grown one. His face was hard, with sharp cheekbones that jutted out from firmly set cheeks, as if he was biting the inside of his mouth. Two large eyebrows slanted downwards over steely gray-green eyes, fringed with short lashes, his gaze intense and terrifying. Wendy realized with a start that he reminded her a bit of her father. The crisp white shirt was tucked into high-waisted gray pants, and the black boots that Wendy remembered seeing a few days ago on the deck hit him at the knee. A long navy military jacket dusted the ground at his feet. Though it was well taken care of, Wendy could tell that it was quite old. Four large medals in the shapes of stars and suns covered the left breast of the coat.

  As she stared at him, Wendy guessed that he was in his late thirties. Her eyes followed the coat down to his left hand, and swallowed the lump in her throat when she saw it; sitting in place of his hand was a single hook, larger than necessary, and quite sharp, its silver reflecting the shifting light of the ship. Hook noticed her looking at it.

  “Interested in the hook, my dear? I can show it to you closely if you would like.” He turned it menacingly. Wendy immediately shifted her eyes to the ground.

  “No. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Sorry is a word you will no longer use on the Sudden Night. I run a very tight ship here, and we don’t have time for apologies.”

  “I’m sorry, I mean I …”

  Wendy stopped talking midsentence and Hook laughed. His rum-laden breath washed over her face.

  “So Peter Pan is in love you with you, you say?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “And how long, how long has Peter been in love with you?”

  Wendy bit her lip, trying to remember how long they had been on Pan Island. “A few weeks, sir.”

  “Ah, but a few weeks on Neverland feels like years, does it not?”

  “It does, sir. I’m actually not sure entirely sure how long I have been here.”

  “If you have been here a few weeks, than a few months have passed in the place you used to call home.”

  “Oh, no!” Wendy immediately thought of her parents and Booth. She quickly wiped a tear from her eye, determined not to cry in front of the captain.

  “Women. Here take this.” The captain handed her a black linen handkerchief. Wendy wiped her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. Shoot! I mean, not I’m sorry. It’s just been … my parents you see …”

  “Yes. Everyone back home surely thinks you are dead. Which you almost were when we pulled you out of the sea, sputtering and sobbing. If we hadn’t pulled you out—”

  “We would be dead,” said Wendy drily. “Peter would have killed me, and Michael would be at the bottom of the ocean.” The thought turned her stomach.

  “Ah yes, Peter Pan, Neverland’s golden boy.” Hook chuckled.

  “You’ve found out some things about Peter, have you?”

  Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “He’s … evil. He’s cruel and manipulative and insane. He …” She had a hard time even finding the words, so traumatized by the memory. “He dropped me. He dropped me, and I almost died. He said that he did it to teach me a lesson. He dropped me and threatened me, and told me that he would kill my brothers if I didn’t love him. And so I left, I left… .”

  Overwhelmed she fell to her knees. This was the first time she had spoken about what happened, and it poured out of her, though Hook’s sneer showed that he was deeply disinterested in her emotions.

  “I left my other brother there, John. I left him! He worships Peter, will do whatever he says, as if Peter has brainwashed him! He made him a general and it’s blinded John to the truth.” She paused. “Just like I was blinded, just like the Lost Boys are blinded. How could I not see? We should have never left our nursery window. Never.”

  She felt the captain’s hook under her arm, yanking her up to her feet.

  “Stand up, girl. Pull yourself together.”

  Wendy did, feeling ashamed at her outburst of emotion. Hook blinked.

  “Peter has blinded us all, at one time or another. I know a little something about that.”

  Wendy shook her head.

  “Peter is not a very good person.”

  At that, Hook burst out laughing, a deep chortle full of bitterness.

  “That’s quite an understatement. I feel sad for you, girl, so easily taken in by his beauty. I bet getting you to fall for him was as easy as luring a fish with a bucket of chum.”

  She felt ashamed, but also acknowledged the truth of his statement with a blunt nod of her head.

  “I forgot everything when he brought us here. My parents, who I was … the boy I loved.”

  Hook’s faced changed momentarily as he let his hook linger on her shoulder. Then he yanked it back from her as if she was on fire.

  “Chin up, girl, you’re not dead, and that’s more than most people who have interacted with Peter Pan can say.”

  He sighed and rubbed his Hook against his forehead, eyeing her as the fireplace behind him roa
red and sparked. Then with a groan he made his way over to a tall cabinet that was set inside the bookcase. When he opened it, Wendy saw easily a dozen glass bottles of wine, rum, and other libations as the captain took his pick. He drew out a small black wine bottle. Using his teeth, he pulled open the cork and sent a huge swig down his throat.

  “Ah! Much better. Let there be no more talk of love. Now, about you and your small brother.”

  Wendy felt her skin tighten. She waited as the captain made his way back to his impassive chair. He sat down hard, the bottle clutched in his hand.

  “I won’t kill you and your brother today. Today. And it’s not because I have a soft spot for children, so don’t mistake my mercy for sentimentality. You may be of use to me, and I intend to learn everything you know about Peter Pan. But not today. Today is …”

  He swirled the bottle.

  “G’on, I’m needed upstairs. Judging by the way this boat is rocking we’ll be hitting some rough waters later. Now, you will not be getting a free ride here. Both you and your brother need to find a way to be of use to the crew on this ship. Don’t be underfoot, don’t be stupid, and don’t eat too much. If one of you falls off the deck into the water, we won’t turn around for you, you understand?”

  Wendy nodded, her heart flooding with relief. “Yes, sir. I promise that we will make ourselves useful and stay out of the way.”

  “Good. I’ll have Smith set you up in a proper room, unless you would like to say in the brig with Paulo and the rats.”

  “No!” Wendy snapped, then changing her tone to a more polite cadence. “No, we would not like to stay down there.”

  “Now, before you go, I have to ask you one more question.”

  Wendy stayed silent.

  “Is there anything I need to know about Peter Pan that might affect my men in the near future?”

  This was a test, she could sense it, and therefore she didn’t hold back, not even for a second, her voice almost interrupting him.

  “Yes! Peter now has guns. Lots of them. He told the boys that he’s preparing for a great battle.”

  Hook’s voice dropped. He sounded worried.

  “Ah yes, the guns. He’s getting bored. I feared this was coming when he burned down our armory.”

  “He burned down the armory because I rejected his advances.”

  “Did he, now?”

  Hook laughed. “I did learn something today, it turns out. Ah, it brings me joy that Peter Pan once again wants something he can’t have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hook’s hand swirling the wine bottle stopped moving.

  “Do not presume we are friends, Miss Darling, and that we are going to have chats. I could still decide to kill you. What you know about Peter Pan could fit into a thimble.”

  Wendy was intrigued, but stayed silent. Hook turned away from her.

  “Leave me be,” he snapped. “I have already wasted too much time talking to you, and I am beginning to wonder if you wouldn’t be more help to me as a sacrifice to the mermaids’ coral garden. They love virgin blood.”

  Wendy stumbled at his words as she made her way to the door, trying not to fly off her feet as the Night pitched suddenly to the left.

  “You best get your sea legs about you soon. No one on this ship will coddle a girl with a broken ankle. Better to feed the fishes.”

  “I will,” vowed Wendy, clumsily making her way past the huge door, the carved male fairy watching her with brilliant wooden eyes.

  “Miss Darling,” the captain was pulling his hook down his jawline, the bottle of wine in his other hand. He stared at her for a moment. “If your other brother attacks this ship with Peter Pan, or any other Lost Boys, make no mistake, I will put a harpoon through his heart and I will enjoy doing so. Do you understand?”

  Wendy stood frozen, one hand on the door handle, the other clutching the edge of her filthy dress.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good. Oh, and try not to get violated. That would be … an incredible hassle.”

  Hook turned away from her and walked to the fireplace.

  “You’re dismissed, Miss Darling.”

  She took once glance back at this mythical man, a man whose named was whispered among Lost Boys, a man whom she believed Peter actually feared. He continued to lean his head against the clock, his eyes closed, his hand and hook clutching at the mantle. The wine bottle was open at his feet, spilling out onto the carpet. She shut the door behind her. Smith the Murderer was waiting for her, his gigantic tattooed arms crossed.

  “And, how did you find the captain?”

  “He was fine.”

  “You do what he says, savvy? I’ll not have a wench like you scuttle this ship, you hear?”

  She nodded, her mind lingering on the captain’s face when she had left. Troubled, she thought, as Smith led her down the lavish hallway and back down into the bowels of the ship via the bone staircase. That was how she had found the captain. Hook was many things, but troubled was the word that fit him best. Troubled and terrifying.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Smith led her back to the brig, where Michael was waiting for her, lying silently on the floor, his wrists raw and bleeding from where his chains had rubbed his skin. Wendy scooped him up in her arms and hugged him hard as Smith unlocked his chains.

  “Say goodbye to Paulo, lad!”

  “Be quiet,” snapped Wendy. “Can’t you see you’ve already done your damage?”

  Smith raised his lip in a mean sneer but mercifully stayed silent after that. Wendy hoisted a still Michael over her shoulder, and he clutched hard to her neck.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We’re leaving.”

  Michael didn’t say anything, but tiny sniffles began breaking her heart as they followed Smith through the endless dark interiors of the Sudden Night. As the made their way upwards—using the bone staircase that Wendy prayed Michael wouldn’t notice—Wendy felt the vibrations of the waves pounding on sides of the ship and smelled the salty water all around them. It was in the very grains of the black wood, that distinct wanton smell of the salt. It made her sick. Smith turned a sharp corner, and Wendy bumped hard into his back.

  “You running a rig, girl? Give a man some space.”

  Wendy backed up, Michael still wrapped around her back. Smith looked around, his eyes narrowed.

  “Check the hallway,” he instructed. “You never know where pirates are lurking.”

  Wendy leaned back and peeked around the corner. The hallway was empty, the tasteful wall decor of cutlasses rocking softly back and forth, the knives winking in the sunlight as they pitched left and right.

  “Uh, there is no one,” she replied, confused.

  Smith grunted. “A lot of work for a silly girl and her cowardly brother.”

  Michael dropped down from her back, and plunged past her, his open hands coming down on Smith’s massive leg, hitting him again and again.

  “I’m not a coward! You’re mean! I hate you! I hate you!” He pounded away, a hail of tiny fists, as Wendy tried to pull him off, fearful of what Smith would do in return.

  “Michael, stop it this instant!”

  He ignored her. Smith looked down at him with cold eyes as Wendy tugged at her brother, finally detaching him with a hard yank that sent them both tumbling back onto the hard floor. Smith grinned nastily.

  “I like you a bit better now, you wee little scallywag! But touch me again, and I swear to God, I’ll cut your filthy ears off!”

  Michael shrank back behind Wendy. Smith huffed in their general direction and then turned around to face the dead end of the hallway. “I know it’s somewhere here, if I could just get a moment of GODFORSAKEN peace to find it… .”

  Smith felt up the sides of the wall, covered with strange knickknacks—bells, locks, watches, gears, and wooden instruments.

  “If I can remember … Ah, there it is.”

  He flipped a tiny iron casing upwards and underneath it sat a tiny black gea
r, barely the size of a pound, which Smith turned twice to the left. Wendy heard a click, and a thin piece of wood fell out of the door. Smith took it in his hand, and after making an obscene gesture with it, pushed it forward. To Wendy’s surprise, the wall of locks and knickknacks swung open. Even Michael stopped sniffling for a moment as he watched in fascination as the hidden door appeared. Smith groaned, wiping his nose off on his massive forearm.

  “The captain likes tinkering, that he does, especially with weapons.”

  He pointed his finger upwards.

  “He likes making things that can kill flying boys. Like your brother!”

  Wendy chose to ignore him, though his words made her heart tremble with thoughts of John, impaled and bloody.

  “Is that where we are staying then?” she asked.

  Smith grunted. “Sure is. Captain’s orders. Flip up the lock, turn the wheel counterclockwise twice and the lever comes down. Push the lever straight in and the door will open. Now listen to me, close it tight behind you. This is a secret room, and we don’t need every scurvy dog on this ship knowing where a pretty young thing sleeps, do we?”

  Wendy understood instantly what he was saying.

  “I’ll bring you both breakfast in the morning, lunch is a roll and a fish, and dinner will be with the men up on deck. Keep an eye on yourself on this ship after nightfall. You won’t be safe, unless you’re with the captain or me. Though, it would be a stupid pirate who would cross the captain’s orders, and he’d be signing his contract with bloody Davy Jones, but still.” He grinned, showing his blackened back teeth, his breath washing over her, a mix of rot and wine.

  “Men at sea have needs.”

  Wendy shook her head. “Thank you, Smith.”

  Taking Michael’s hand in her own, she stuck her head through the door, where a few wooden stairs led down to a small room. Michael followed her before looking up at Smith with an intense scowl.

  “I’m going to call you Smee,” he said to Smith decidedly.

  “Like hell you will,” he muttered, before giving the little boy a shove forward, shutting the door behind them. “See you at dinner, little buggers.”