The Hook (1991)

by Terry Brooks

  Landing finally in their midst, Peter found himself the delighted recipient of high-fives, backslaps, and congratulations of every form. Pan was back! Peter Pan had returned! They were all with him now, and in that instant they would have followed him anywhere.

  Rufio realized the truth of things, and his face fell. All but forgotten by the others, he tugged up his pants and charged up a rope ladder into the Nevertree. He disappeared inside his house and emerged again brandishing the Pan sword. Back he came, climbing down a knotted rope, his eyes wild and hot, the blade of the Pan sword glittering in the bright sunlight.

  Peter, with Too Small on his shoulders, Pockets in his arms, and adoring Lost Boys all about, didn't see him coming. It was not until Rufio had reached the ground and given forth a piercing crow that everyone turned to discover him bounding toward Peter with the Pan sword held high.

  All of the Lost Boys scattered, terrified. Peter dropped Pockets and swung Too Small away.

  "Defend yourself, Peter Pan!" shouted Ace as he ducked from view.

  But it was too late for that. Rufio was already on top of Peter, who crouched to fly.

  Then, astonishingly, Rufio dropped to his knees, tears streaking his coffee-colored face, his red-streaked hair in wild disarray, a look of agony and awe reflected in his eyes.

  "You are him," he acknowledged, breathing hard. "You are the Pan." He held out the sword to Peter, hilt forward. "It's yours. Take it, jollymon. You can fight, you can fly, you can…"

  Words failed him. He swallowed hard. There was disappointment and a trace of resentment reflected in his face, but admiration as well. Peter accepted the sword, stepped away, and drew a line in the earth. Peter and the Lost Boys stood on one side of the line. Rufio stood alone on the other.

  Rufio rose to his feet and crossed. The boy that had been and the man that would be faced each other with faint smiles and embraced.

  All around them, the Lost Boys cheered.

  That night there was a huge celebration in honor of Peter Pan. The Lost Boys painted themselves in their wildest colors, dressed in their finest garb, ate all of their favorite foods until they were full to bursting, and then danced Indian dances before bonfires that lit the darkened skies for miles. Whooping and leaping about, they ringed the fires, lifting their arms and brandishing their weapons fiercely, singing songs in languages both imagined and real. Peter was the center of attention, called upon repeatedly to do flying stunts. He willingly complied, giving exhibitions of barrel rolls, loop the loops, corkscrews, and spins and sweeps so daring that he clipped the ends of branches and the tips of grass. Each new stunt demanded another, and the more daring that one the greater the cry to top it with the next. Peter laughed and joked and played games with one and all, the joy and wonder of his boyhood coming back to him as he did so, the bits and pieces of who and what he had been recalling themselves in a dazzling kaleidoscope of memories.

  To think that he had ever given it up! To think that anything could ever have persuaded him to abandon it!

  So great was his enthusiasm at rediscovering the boy, so intense his happiness at being shed of the man, that he was lost for a time in the living of the moment, and the larger picture of his life and loved ones became obscured.

  Then finally, toward morning, the moons of Neverland gone westward to their rest and the stars grown faint in a gradual brightening of the eastern sky, it occurred to Peter that Tink was missing. She had been with him for a time, celebrating with the rest, but at some point in the festivities she had disappeared entirely.

  Peter flew up into the Nevertree, calling her name, thinking that perhaps she had decided to play hide-and-seek with him. He soared to the top of the ancient tree and swooped down again without finding her. He flew 'round about and saw nothing.

  At last he arrived at the little vine-covered clock that was her house. He called for her as he flashed by, but there was no response. Below, the Lost Boys danced on, their cries rising up into the deep silence of the Nevertree's limbs. Peter landed on a tree branch, bent down so that he was eye level with Tink's house, and peered inside.

  Tinkerbell sat with her back to him, her head lowered into her hands, her shoulders quaking. Peter frowned in confusion, aware suddenly that she was crying.

  "Tink? Tink, is that you?" he asked anxiously.

  There was no answer. The room was cluttered with strange things. A man's open wallet served as a dressing screen, a spool of thread as a stool, keys as clothes hangers, and loose coins and a few red Life Savers as decorations. A driver's license hung on the wall like a family portrait.

  Most of it belonged to Peter, of course, but the little boy he had become failed to recognize them.

  "Tink?" he repeated, more insistent this time. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

  The crying stopped. "No. I just got some pixie dust in my eye, that's all."

  "1 shall get it out for you," he offered, drawing his dagger.

  Tink shook her head, still turned away.

  "Are you sad, Tink?" he asked.

  "No. Please go away."

  Peter brightened. "Need a firefly? Or a bit of dewy webbing? I know. You're sick! You need a thermometer. A thermometer will make you all better."

  "No, it's not about that."

  Peter wasn't listening. "That's how Nibs got the Wendy-girl better after Tootles shot her down, no thanks to you. Nibs put the thermometer in her mouth and she got all better. Don't you remember?"

  Tink quit crying and nodded. "Remember how you spoke in Hook's voice and saved that great ugly Tiger Lily and made peace with the Indians?"

  "Oh, sure I do." Peter drew himself up. "Ahoy, you lubbers!" he said in his wondrous imitation of Hook's voice. "Set her free! Yes, cut her bonds and let her go! At once, d'ye hear, or I'll plunge my Hook in you!" He laughed merrily. "We had the best adventures, didn't we, Tink?"

  Tink's tousled head lifted. Without turning, she asked hesitantly, "Peter, do you remember your last adventure? The one to… to rescue your kids?"

  Peter blinked in confusion, then mimicked, "Peter Pan's got kids?"

  Tink went very still. "Answer me this: Why are you in Neverland?''

  He laughed anew. "That's easy. To be a Lost Boy and never grow up. To fight pirates and blow out stars. Ask me another question. C'mon, I like this game."

  "Oh, Peter," she whispered.

  She rose to face him.

  Then her light began to blaze, flaring so brightly that Peter was forced to back away from the door of the clock house, squinting his eyes protectively. As he did so, his shadow suddenly darted away on its own, startled by what it saw. Tink's clock house suddenly began to break apart. Peter gasped, and his eyes opened wide. The light grew bigger, taller, more radiant before him-as if a piece of the sun had come down from the sky.

  And all at once there was Tinkerbell, no longer tiny but grown as large as he was, the remains of her house sitting precariously on her head and shoulders.

  Her smile was wondrous. "It is the only wish I ever made for myself," she said.

  Peter stared. She was so… large. She wore a lacy gown, long and flowing in the gentle night breeze. Her eyes sparkled and her hair shimmered as if it had been sprinkled with tiny stars. She was only standing there, but she was doing things to Peter inside that he didn't understand.

  He tried to speak, but she brought a finger up to his mouth quickly to silence him.

  Then she stepped up to him, her arms came about his waist, and her face pushed close to his own.

  Peter, a boy now to all intents and purposes, gave her a puzzled look. "What are you doing?"

  Tink put her nose against his. "I'm going to give you a kiss."

  Peter grinned and squeezed one hand up between them to receive it. For in his boyhood, thimbles and buttons had always been kisses, and it was one of these that he expected to receive now.

  But Tink closed one of her hands over his own, pressed herself against him, put her lips on his, and gave him a real kiss.

&nb
sp; Then she stepped back again. "Oh, Peter. I couldn't feel this way about you if you didn't love me, too. You do, don't you? It's too big a feeling to feel all by myself, you know. It's the biggest feeling I've ever had. And this is the first time I've been big enough to let it come out."

  She bent forward to kiss him again. Peter held himself motionless, liking the feeling that the kiss produced even if he was unsure why, wanting to share her biggest feeling because it was, in some way, his own. But as her lips brushed his he caught sight of the flower she was wearing in her hair.

  It reminded him of another.

  It reminded him of…

  "Maggie," he whispered and pulled back. "Jack. Moira."

  There was a shifting within him of time and place, of memories and dreams, and the boy and man readjusted their positions, the boy giving back something of what he had taken, the man accepting what was offered without feeling the need to ask for more.

  "Please!" Tink begged, trying to bring him close again. "Please, Peter," she whispered. "Don't spoil it."

  But she was too late now. The spell was broken. It was there in Peter's eyes, in the look on his face, in the way the wrinkles tightened at the corners of his mouth.

  "Tink," he whispered back, keeping his hands on her arms so that they would not lose contact. "You are, you have always been, a part of my life. That will never change. But my children, Jack and Maggie, are part of me. My family, Tink. I can't forget them."

  He looked out through the branches toward the lights of the pirate harbor and the Jolly Roger. "My kids are on that ship. I have to save them."

  He turned back to her. There were definitely tears in her eyes now, and no number of pixie dust excuses could disguise them. Slowly, she nodded. For a moment her gaze remained fixed on him. Neither moved, as if each had been frozen to a statue.

  Then Tink broke away. "What are you looking at? Go on-save them, Peter."

  Peter tried to speak, but her hand whipped up sharply and flung pixie dust in his face. He sneezed and backed away.

  "Go on!" she cried. "Fly, Peter Pan! Fly!"

  And away he soared, swift as thought, rising up against the coming dawn like a bird, the memory of Tink's kiss already fading from his mind. It was Jack and Maggie who occupied his thoughts now. The three days were up. Hook would be waiting.

  He didn't look back. If he had, he would have seen that Tink, almost hidden in the dappled shadows of the Nevertree, was growing small again.

  Bad Form!

  Resplendent in his scarlet and gold brocade captain's coat, his claw polished and shining in the early-morning sunlight, James Hook stood on the quarterdeck of the Jolly Roger and thought what a lucky man he was.

  A smile creased his angular features as he gazed out over the sea of pirate faces staring up at him from the main deck below. Faithful, loyal dogs, these. Smee stood at one hand, his bespectacled face beaming. Jack stood at the other, a miniature version of his new mentor, dressed like Hook from tricorne to boots. It was the third day of the captain's wait for the reappearance of Peter Pan-the new, improved version, he hoped, but any version would do. Hook gave his mustaches a friendly twist. The final day, the day on which his lovely, wonderful war would at last commence, the day on which Peter Pan would meet his well-deserved end.

  He danced up on his toes like a ballerina. Ah, he could smell the powder of the fired cannons and hear the ripping of the shot.

  But first things first.

  "Smee, the box, if you please," he ordered.

  His bosun promptly produced a flat wooden box, which he opened to Jack, revealing a velvet-lined interior containing row after row of golden earrings. Jack stared down at them wordlessly.

  Hook bent close. "There's so many choices, Jack. Which one will you choose? Which one, Jack?"

  Jack hesitated a moment, thinking. Then he reached down abruptly with one gloved hand and snagged a 'hook' earring just like the one worn by the captain.

  "Ah, good form, Jack!" Hook declared, beaming. "Excellent choice. You know, it's a very special time when a pirate receives his first earring." He glanced down at the crew. "Right, lads?"

  "Aye, Cap'n," they cried as one, and many a rough face creased in contentment. What cattle.

  Hook turned back to Jack. "Now, Jack, I'm going to ask you to mooove your head to the side-just a little bit-"

  He turned Jack's head to expose the boy's ear. "There," he advised with a smile. He brought the point of his hook up to the exposed lobe. "Now brace yourself, Jack, because this is really going to hurt."

  He laughed. Jack squinched his eyes shut.

  A crowing sound brought Hook up short. All eyes lifted to the mainsail where a shadow had been cast by the sun's brilliant light against the canvas.

  It was the shadow of Peter Pan.

  A sword sliced neatly through the sail, and the outline of Pan fell away to the deck. The toughened pirate crew flinched.

  Smee's eyes went wide as he crouched behind Hook. "Cap'n! It's a ghost!" he gasped.

  But Hook gave a smile that was all iron and grit. "I think not, Smee. I think the doodle-doo has returned."

  "Who is it, Captain?" asked Jack, frowning.

  A figure leaped from behind the canvas and slid down the sunbeam as if skating on ice to land squarely on the image he had cast.

  And there was Peter Pan, a sword in his hand, a smile on his lips, youth and joy mirrored in his face. Forest green from head to foot with boots, leggings and tunic belted and scalloped like the leaves of the Nevertree itself, he looked the very incarnation of the Pan of old. Pirates backed away from him hurriedly, tripping over one another's peg legs and cutlasses in their efforts to get clear. Hook's smile broadened in blissful contentment. Smee cowered further in Hook's shadow. Jack stared.

  Peter gathered himself, flipped high into the air, and came down directly in front of the quarterdeck stairs leading up to Hook.

  For an instant everyone held a collective breath.

  Then the captain stepped forward. "Peter Pan," he greeted, and his voice became a snake's hiss of expectation. 'Tis true, time does fly. And so do you, I see. Good form. Tell me-how ever did you manage to fit into those smashing tights?"

  His pirates gave a laugh and a rousing cheer at their captain's wit. As Peter placed one foot upon the stairs that led to his adversary, Hook stamped on the deck above and the stairs flipped over, hiding away the red carpet. Hook's smile broadened.

  Peter flushed, but continued his climb until he stood on the quarterdeck, facing the captain. "Hand over my children, James Hook, and you and your men may go free."

  Hook's laugh was a bark of derision. "Really? How kind of you!" He feigned a thoughtful look. "Tell you what. Why not ask the little dears what they want? Start with this one, why don't you? Jack? Someone to see you, son."

  An unctuous mix of deference and consideration showed in his sharp face as he ushered Jack forward to stand in front of him. He did not miss the fact that some of the cockiness left Pan's eyes as he saw what had been done to his son. He took note of the shock that replaced it.

  "Jack-are you all right?" Peter asked quickly. "Did he hurt you? Where's Maggie? I promised I would be here for you, and I am. You'll never lose me again. Jack, I love you.''

  Jack did not respond. There was no recognition in his eyes. He might as well have been Hook's son for all that he seemed to remember being anyone else. He eyed Peter for an instant longer, then stepped back defiantly.

  " 'Promise,' did you say?" Hook sneered. "Hah! A cheap word for you, Peter. And did I hear you use the '1 word'? By Barbecue's bones, that's real cheek!"

  Peter ignored him. He reached out to Jack. "Jack, take my hand. We're going home."

  Jack shook his head stubbornly. "I am home."

  Hook jeered. His narrowed gaze fixed on Peter. "You see, Peter, he is my son now. He loves me. And, unlike you, I am prepared to fight dearly for him."

  He pushed Jack behind him and lifted his claw menacingly. "I've waited a long time to shak
e your hand with this!" he hissed. "Prepare to meet your doom!"

  Peter crouched guardedly, his sword lifting. Then Hook signalled to the men of his pirate crew and an eager rumble of expectation arose. Peter hesitated only a moment, then flipped back down the quarterdeck stairs and whirled to meet the attack.

  Instantly the pirates were on him, cutlasses and daggers drawn, blades flashing wickedly. Peter stood his ground, fending off slash and hack, thrust and cut, as agile and quick as a cat. Noodler and Bill Jukes were in the lead, but Peter turned them aside as if they were cut out of cardboard, and they tumbled back into their fellows.

  From the quarterdeck, Hook watched, taking time to unsheathe his sword and practice a quick series of thrusts and parries. Jack, forgotten momentarily, watched the battle with an uncertain frown.

  There was something familiar about Peter Pan.

  "Don't I know him, Captain?" he asked cautiously.

  "You've never seen him before in your life," Hook sneered, concentrating on his form.

  The pirate attack was tightening about Peter, the sea of weapons coming closer and closer. Jukes and Noodler had regained their feet and were encouraging their fellows. Peter waited until they were almost on top of him, then launched himself skyward, flying up to the yardarm, where he shouted down to Jack.

  "Jack! Jack, listen to me! You won't believe this, but I found my happy thought! It took three days, Jack, but when I finally did it, up I went! You know what my happy thought was, Jack? It was you!"

  Hook was livid. Whirling away, he rushed to the deck railing and slashed the rope that bound the cargo net- which hung poised directly over Peter Pan.

  Instinctively Jack cried out in warning, not stopping to think what he was saying. "Dad! Look out!"

  Too late. The heavy cargo net collapsed on Peter, dragging him off the yardarm and down to the deck. Pirates descended on him with a yell, weapons flashing. Peter struggled to his feet, straightened with the Pan sword held high, and gave forth a battle crow.