Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  “Agreed.” Cecco leaned forward where he stood, to rest his fists upon the table. “I too have been considering our strategy. Commodore, I propose that you steer Jill far away on the Roger, and allow me to conduct the rendezvous with our treacherous partners. The Red Lady carries the cargo Doctor Hanover requires, two crates of the lotus flower for concocting his philter. LeCorbeau will make us all richer with it, but it is I, after all, who struck the bargain with these devils.”

  “Dismiss the idea from your mind, Captain. Jill and I will not seek safer waters.”

  Jill was bristling. “Nor will I run from this challenge.”

  But Hook shook his head, and his golden earring bobbed with his vehemence. “No, Jill. This time I refuse to allow you to endanger yourself. By the time we meet him, the good doctor will have suffered a full year without you. We can be certain that, in that year, he shall have constructed a scheme to bring you under his power.”

  “I do not fear him.”

  “You should fear him. The man has money, influence, and intelligence.”

  “No wonder I married him,” she said, slyly. She won a smile from her lover.

  Her husband frowned.

  “Commodore, everything you say persuades me more thoroughly that Jill must flee from Hanover. Shall you allow me to sail her to safety on the Red Lady?”

  “I will not. Since we crippled our enemies’ fortunes, we may presume that they will manage to fit out but one single ship. Far better to meet them with two.”

  “Commodore, with respect—”

  “Attend my words well, Captain.” Hook’s eyes turned as hard as the diamonds Hanover once hoarded in his medicine bag. “The danger that entangled Jill on the Island occurred because we two worked at odds. Our division led to disaster.”

  “And so, we must work together to shield her from Hanover.” Cecco’s fist hit the table. “I agree.”

  “All three of us must work. No matter how skillfully we wield our respective weapons, we need one another to accomplish our ends. Jill, your wit and charm must serve again. Captain, once more, I shall require your hand.”

  “You shall have it,” Cecco pledged, offering it, and, heartily, the two men clasped arms. Cecco’s face waxed fierce as they reached this accord. Hook wore a look of supreme satisfaction.

  Jill watched their interaction with interest. “But Hook,” she asked, “out of loyalty to you, my first love, I feel compelled to disavow my marriage in all but name. Surely we must begin this next endeavor with a clear understanding?”

  “Did you not marry your Giovanni for the good of the company? For protection? For love?”

  Jill turned her jewel-blue eyes from Hook’s, to gaze into Cecco’s. Her voice vibrated with emotion. “Aye…for all that.” With a melancholy smile, Cecco returned her loving look.

  “What has changed?” Hook demanded. “Upon sand or sea, no other woman is created for me. Selfishly, I must insist that you cleave to your husband.”

  Mystified by Hook’s contradictions, Cecco stammered, “But I— I have set my wife free to—”

  “The threats to Red-Handed Jill— those with which we are familiar, and those we have yet to meet— are formidable. Your union is essential to our collective success.”

  “The lady is yours, Sir, and always has been.”

  “You espoused her. I expect you to behave like a husband.”

  “A husband thinks first of the wishes of his wife!”

  “Then do so, Captain, and demonstrate your love for her.”

  “Next you will order us to fill the ship with our children!”

  “I should never presume to impose my own will in that quarter.”

  Deliberately, Jill rose from her seat and threw down her napkin. In grand fashion, she pronounced, “At last!”

  Yanked from their train of thought, the two men blinked at her.

  “Did you believe I placed myself in peril merely for vengeance?”

  Still, the men said nothing. They listened to Red-Handed Jill.

  “I should be a fool, indeed, to act so imprudently. No, gentlemen. Satisfying as my retribution upon Lean Wolf is to me, there is much more depth to that story. I risked my own safety for yours.”

  Cecco’s face darkened with displeasure. “Jill…such an act was unnecessary. How many times have I proved my loyalty to our commodore? How often did I show you that your well-being is primo, the first care of my heart?”

  Hook, too, glowered at her. “Had I grasped to what extremity you would go to preserve your husband, Jill, I should have—”

  “You’d have done what, my love? Killed him first, or given me up to him?” Swiftly, Jill raised her bloodstained hand, forestalling them. “No, don’t answer, either of you. I solved the dilemma quite nicely. I had only to enter hell itself to do it.”

  Hook raised one eyebrow. “A tidy little trap, Jill. Baited with your life.”

  “I was confident that no matter how resentfully you opposed one another, my champions would rush in, together, to rescue me. And here we are.” She spread her arms, encompassing the company. “The three of us, all in accord.”

  Cecco absorbed her smug smile, and he heaved a sigh. “I cannot approve of your actions. But, my magnificent Jill, I am touched, more deeply than I can say.” His bracelets chimed as he raised his fingertips to his lips, and he sent a kiss flying her way.

  “Magnificent, indeed.” Hook’s voice seeped from his soul, low, and velvety. His gaze appraised her. “My mistress of manipulation.”

  Jill smiled, half-way. “I studied a master.” She flounced her black silk skirts and sat down again, between her men, offering one hand to each of them. “And now, since, as the master advises me, our best advantage lies in confronting the trouble, let us hear his strategy against Doctor Johann Hanover Heinrich.”

  Hook smiled with gratification. “Perhaps I should consult the mistress before beginning, Jill. You appear to have outwitted me.”

  “I do thank you for the compliment, but my deliberations have been devoted to the overthrow of Lean Wolf. If you please, Commodore, impart your own plans to us.”

  “Very well.” Hook’s countenance became grave as he began. “This situation is simpler, yet more far-reaching than our previous challenges. I have, therefore, a simpler design in mind to defeat it.”

  Cecco gestured liberally, “Please to describe it, Commodore. As Jill has proven, we are all of us together in this effort— and in all things.”

  “Captain Cecco, my plan begins thus: from today, I forbid you to speak to Jill.”

  In an instant, accord went by the board.

  “What madness is this?” Jill exclaimed, and Cecco glared at Hook, his eyes wild with incredulity. Jill looked Hook up and down, indignant, while Cecco sputtered,

  “Miei dèi! How is it that—”

  The commodore raked the air with his hook, demanding silence. When he spoke again, his tone was smooth, but unswerving.

  “I forbid you to speak to Jill, Captain…in English.”

  Hook allowed a moment for his words to sink in. The couple continued to stare at him, but Jill and Cecco subsided into thought, trying to decipher his meaning. Hook reached to his vest pocket and withdrew the crystal vial, full of sparkling gold dust.

  “Captain, I shall summon my servant, and you will meet with her this evening. You are to tell her everything you remember of your homeland and its contours.”

  “Jewel is to learn of the Italian countryside?” Jill frowned in bewilderment. “But why?”

  “Ere long she shall fly to the mainland, in quest of a certain gypsy troupe. She will not rest until she finds them.”

  “My family…” Cecco murmured, with wonderment. “Our fairy is to locate my family?” He shook his head to clear it, and the many medallions on his headdress jingled, a reminder of home.

  “By the time Hanover pays his call to the Roger, Jill will be settled in Italy— hidden within the bosom of your tribe.”

  Jill gasped, clutching her gla
ss. After some moments, she raised it to her lips and drank the brandy down. It burned in her throat, and she did not try to speak. Cecco, too, had fallen wordless.

  “Surely your mother will welcome her daughter-in-law? And your brothers— I understand they are legion— they will undertake to protect her?”

  “Sì…sì, yes, they will do this. But…I had not considered it. I have not hoped to see my tribe, not ever again in this life.”

  “Nor will you, I am afraid. The bounty still rests on your head. But Jill may go. And Jill must go.”

  She mused, “The one place on the map where Doctor Hanover cannot find me.”

  “Your single port of shelter. Yes.”

  “I can vouch for my people,” Cecco said. “They will not abide strangers, but once they learn that Jill is wife to their long lost Giovanni, they will welcome her with open arms. Che bello! To be there to witness it: my mother’s joy, my father’s pride, my brothers’ celebration! To my people, our Jill will bring sunshine.” Cecco’s even white teeth gleamed in a smile.

  “But Hook, I don’t wish to leave you. Nor you, Giovanni. I refuse to flee like a coward.”

  Cecco declared, with pride, “No coward can walk into a gypsy camp uninvited.”

  “But to run from my troubles…”

  “You shall merely be obeying an order, Jill,” Hook reasoned. “I command you to go.”

  “Much as I long for adventure, I feel I’ll be missing a greater one, here.”

  “It cannot be helped,” Hook returned. “This first meeting with our two untrustworthy partners will be the most critical. I shall feel less apprehension, in regard to your presence, in our subsequent appointments.”

  “You have considered this scheme from all angles, Sir?”

  “I have, indeed. Jewel will guide you on your flight. Mr. Nibs and Mr. Tootles shall escort you. One of them will remain with you, and, once the danger is past, I shall send the other to fetch you both home.”

  Still reluctant, Jill nodded. “Aye, Sir. I am disappointed on one account, and excited on the other.”

  “Bellezza,” Cecco exulted, “although you have shown yourself to be the most courageous of women, this plan relieves our fears for you. I am certain that my family shall make you welcome. And, in turning to my tribe in a time of trouble, you will pour joy in my heart.”

  “As I am to learn the language first, I shall be able to banish what worries your mamma holds for you. But, Hook,” she said, archly, “this scheme is sure to test our hard-won unity. To become fluent in Italian will require hours and hours of study.” She looked at him sideways, and smiled.

  “Then the sooner you begin, the better.” Hook gathered his long legs and rose from the table. Jill stood, too, as Hook pulled out her chair for her. He turned to Cecco. “Captain, I thank you for your generosity. I relished the feast as well as the company.”

  Cecco opened his hands. “Commodore, you will trust me, trust us— a couple who loves one another, thrust together— all that time?”

  “Time means less than nothing to me. It is Time itself I have learned not to trust. If you will, Captain,” Hook gestured to the hourglass that sat on Cecco’s desk, another gilded relic from LeCorbeau. Cecco retrieved it, and, trusting, passed it to Hook.

  “Jill saved her own life from her third husband’s bloodlust, by wielding one night of passion.” Hook upended the hourglass and held it at the level of his eyes, watching the sands rush down to pool, performing their function of futility. Then he pitched the piece out the window, to mingle with the free sands of the sea.

  “Jill and I are bound by rites more sacred than marriage. If a few hours of intimacy are the price of her safety, I’ll not begrudge them.”

  He shook hands with Cecco, who stood in amazement, staring out the window after his timepiece. It was not the loss of the instrument that held Cecco immobile. What he lost with the hourglass was nothing; what he gained by its loss was inestimable— time with his wife.

  Hook turned to Jill, whose eyes adored him. “My love, I leave you to your tutor. But, prima…”

  He caught her close to his velvety chest, and lifted her chin. As she wound her arms about him, with his sapphire eyes he gazed deep into hers. Despite the cool trend of his discourse, all along she had sensed his intensity. He now affirmed his feeling with a kiss, heated and hungering, and Jill returned it with fire of her own. Between his embrace and his edict, she felt herself sway to seduction.

  Hook set her free and drew her arms from his shoulders, one by one with one hand. He swept up his hat and donned it, he strode to the doorway. His half-smile slid to his lips. “Addio, Signora,” he purred, rolling his wrist in a graceful salute.

  He left the door open, so that the couple in his wake stood at the threshold, watching him stride down the steps and stroll over the deck. He called for a cable and seized it, hailing a sailor to throw open the gangway. Then he turned and, assuming Cecco’s own gesture, Hook kissed his fingertips to Jill, in farewell. Leaping across the waves, he swung toward the Roger, his black coattails flying behind. Jill stood, exhilarated, her heart throbbing in her ribs, and her lips still swollen with his kisses.

  She parted them to murmur, “Of all the sailors on the Seven Seas, James Hook has to be the most dangerous.”

  Cecco drew his beloved close and looked down upon her face. Imparting his first teaching, his tongue trilled with his native language. “La frase italiana for your lover is…‘innamorato.’ And, sì, Bellezza. Yes, Beauty. He is also the most generous of men.” His soft timbre sharpened. “And the most shrewd.”

  He slid his wife’s hand into his, wedding band to wedding band, more enamored than ever of her courage and loyalty, but believing she did not feel his touch. The grip to which she held fast at this moment, he supposed, was not the captain’s, but the commodore’s. She seemed to cleave to Hook’s hand— the hand he’d asked Cecco to lend to him. Yet Cecco believed that, by choice or by guile, some kind of enchantment was acting.

  Cecco’s guess wasn’t wholly correct. Jill’s wish was at work, due to him and to Hook, though he could not yet fathom the magic. As her fingers wove into his, Jill felt three lives intertwine, in alliance. She sighed, and smiled, spellbound, and watched the fine figure of her innamorato as he boarded his glittering ship. Commandeering the steps toward his quarters, he entered without her, a single man, yet one who was never alone.

  Red-Handed Jill belonged with that legendary pirate. And she thanked the Powers, for the usual, unusual way that he loved her.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Because Red-Handed Jill favors frankness, I confess my offense. To make my point in Other Islands, literary truth and historical fact had to part ways.

  In the same way that I understand that real pirates didn’t run their ships like the Royal Navy, I recognize that American Indian tribes don’t operate on the same principles as the natives who populate my re-imagination of J.M. Barrie’s Neverland. Hook is the exception, always, and he models his ship’s company after the British Navy because to do so succeeds. The structure is useful to him. Likewise, the structure of the tribe called “the People” in my novels is useful for my purpose of portraying “people” in general.

  For instance, I’ve turned epithets typically wielded by whites— such as “demons” and “devils”— against the white people in Other Islands. For another example, homosexuality is generally accepted by the American natives on whom Barrie based the Neverland tribe. In both cases, prejudice is a matter of perspective, and where entrenched thinking is involved, I like to turn that perspective like a kaleidoscope.

  Over the arc of a novel, an author strives to bring the characters to new levels of understanding. The work’s job is to demonstrate this growth, and, further— as every Jane Austen devotee knows— a literary novel must present commentary on the society in which we live.

  In the Hook & Jill Saga, each communal group represents some aspect of society: the Lost Boys represent children; the pirates are adults; the
mermaids are sensuality; the fairies, hedonism.

  Individual people and things also symbolize archetypes: Smee is the faithful servant, Jewel the true believer, the crocodile is the fundamentalist. Lily is the genuine mother on the Island; Time— which makes a bold attempt at the rank of “character” in my series— is, for Peter, the god of the Neverland; and the sea itself is rebirth.

  Thus, in the Hook & Jill Saga, the tribe called the People stand for society overall. And in order to make my points about society, these characters must experience conflict, and reasons to grow.

  Although my writing is researched, it is literary fiction, not historical fiction. My purpose is twofold. First, to re-open the Neverland to grown-up readers who wish to revel in its wonders, in adult context. Next, and no less importantly, to inspire respect for all brave hearts who, like Hook and Jill, Jewel, Lily, Rowan and Lightly, and all the rest, find that they must flout tradition in order to pursue their happiness— which act in itself, is, conversely, a tradition on the grandest of scales.

  And so, with the candor of Red-Handed Jill, I quote another fictitious pirate. As Captain Jack Sparrow declares:

  “Me? I’m dishonest…honestly.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  In bringing this Island to life, I enjoyed the help and support of my tribe. My heartfelt gratitude goes out to the beloved ones who inspire, require, and feed the fire…

  Jolene Barjasteh, Lady Scarlett Blue, Mrs. Ruth Brauch, Rachel Bridge, the Rev. Timothy T. Buenger, Catherine Leah Condon-Guillemette, Stacy DeCoster, Alice Gallagher, Joseph Guillemette, Erik Hollander, Maureen Holtz, Celia Jones, Jonathan Jones, Mary Lawrence, Admiral Morgan Ramirez, Ginny Thompson, Peter Von Brown.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  May applause never end for…

  J.M. Barrie

  “This ought not to be written in ink but with a golden splash.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Andrea Jones enthralls us with her award-winning literary series, the Hook & Jill Saga. As a “pirate author,” Jones breaks the rules, and her stories leave readers rethinking convention.