Hook: Dead to Rights (Captain Hook and the Pirates of Neverland Book 1)

by Melissa Snark

  The moment passed. Uneasy in my own skin, I submersed myself in aggression. Revenge was almost within boarding distance. "Starkey, relieve Mr. Mullins. I want a deft navigator at the helm when we come alongside the schooner."

  "You think I'm deft? Why, thank you!" Starkey preened.

  Amusement bubbled through me, but I remained stern. "Mr. Mullins and twenty men of his choosing will accompany me when we board."

  "Only twenty?" Starkey crushed his lips together.

  "It's a ship of children, Starkey. The cabin boys should be able to take that vessel armed with wooden swords."

  "And Pan?"

  "Pan is mine." I thrust my hook overhead. The blue steel captured and reflected the sunlight. I'd cut down anyone stupid enough to get in my way.

  "Now stop catching flies. I gave you orders. Get to it!"

  "Aye!" Starkey saluted and then a rooster crowed.

  "Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

  Chapter 5

  Cock-a-Doodle-Doo!

  "That bloody sound." I cringed, ducking my head, and clenched my fists. The piercing cry crawled across my skin like the hundred legs of a centipede.

  "Took long enough," Starkey muttered, hunching his shoulders. He and I had our ears plugged, along with the rest of the crew, but Pan's summons still wrought a visible reaction from the first mate.

  Pan waved his arms about and aimed the pointy tips of his slippers at the sky. All the while, he kept at that incessant, maddening cawing. "Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

  Pandemonium erupted on the schooner. Small figures poured onto the deck, running this way and that, their hands in the air. A predator sensing fear, Revenge awoke, but in a calm and disciplined fashion. My crew labored at their assigned tasks.

  The infernal wretch continued without the slightest regard for his crew's full-blown panic. "Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

  "I'd give anything to shut him up," Starkey grated. "I wish I'd done it years ago when I had the chance. You don't know how I've regretted." The sharpness of his delivery had my attention, but one glance at his face reminded me. Starkey hated Peter Pan almost as much as I did—our mutual hatred of the fae king was one of the things that bound us together.

  "You and me both."

  "This time we end it." He bared his teeth in a tiger smile meant for me and me alone. We traded a knowing look. Visceral excitement flared between us. He and I both loved these adventures more than either of us would ever admit.

  "This time." I returned his feral grin and the promise that bound us.

  Starkey snapped off a smart salute and pounced. The leap carried him high into the air and to the sterncastle deck. He relieved Mr. Mullins at the helm and passed along the orders I'd given. Orders, like other things, roll downhill. Revenge bustled with focused energy and activity. She plowed steadily through the waves, closing on five hundred yards.

  Through the spyglass, I located Pan's lithe green form again, but he didn't stay still for long. He bounded across the deck, making it a challenge to follow him. Pan waved his arms about and shouted haphazard orders such as "Swing the boom!" and "Adjust your rudder!"

  On Ariel, a tragic comedy played out. The inexperienced crew jumped to obey, though their desperate bumbling left the ship dead in the water. The rudder turned one way—the boom swung in opposition. The wind pushed the pretty little ship like a slow-spinning top. Despite their vulnerability, worry ate at me. I feared Pan would execute a miraculous recovery. Should he restore his crew's morale, Ariel would recover flight and the schooner might escape into the clouds.

  The gap narrowed to three hundred yards. So close, I could taste it. I was convinced Peter's day of reckoning had finally arrived. There would be no evasion or escape. My presence anchored Pan to this vast, lonely stretch of ocean and this confrontation. Hatred bound us, he and I, the gravity that kept pulling us together. Pan couldn't escape. This time I had him.

  Dead to rights.

  "Pan. You're finally going to get yours..." The nearer we drew, the tenser I grew. The wait was maddening. The sinew drew taut across my bones, and I wondered what would break first: my mind or body.

  "Orders, Captain?" Starkey called.

  "Hard to port!"

  "Coming port!" Starkey sang out, and the ship turned, adopting a course that would take it parallel to Ariel.

  Our sails tacked, and Revenge sliced through the sea. The crew heaved to, hard at work. On the main deck, the boarding party had gathered along the railing. They were armed with nets and boarding pikes as well as, grappling hooks and gangplanks. Soon, it'd be time for me to join them and lead the raid.

  "Make your course one-four-eight."

  "One-four-eight! Two hundred yards!"

  "Steady as you go!"

  "Steady as she goes!"

  I had him now.

  An Aurora Borealis of sparkles streaked across Ariel's deck. Ah, at last. The delicious Tinker Bell made her glorious entrance. She flitted to and fro, trailing pixie dust in her wake. Agitation marked her flight, tight spikes and crimson sparkles.

  On Ariel, panicked children scurried about like mice. Poor things, they wailed, sobbed, and fled, even though there was nowhere to go. Tinker Bell alone retained the aspect of rationality. She darted around the schooner, releasing a shower of pixie dust. If not for the lack of happy children, Ariel would've kited into the wind. The hullabaloo presented an opportunity to be taken advantage of before it passed.

  Peter Pan floated above his frantic subjects. The eternal boy personified sullenness. His cap sat askew, and he crossed his arms over his chest, raining down commands to those below.

  Magic imbued Pan's call to arms with resonance which exceeded the mundane. Even with my ears plugged with wax and my partial deafness to protect me, I felt it in my bones. "Stop running! We must gather together around the main mast to defend the ship! Be prepared to die for honor and glory!"

  Some of the Lost Boys answered Pan's summons. They rallied, hurrying toward the main mast. Even the strongest-willed adults found Peter's voice difficult to resist. You can imagine how easily children succumbed to his sway. The development concerned me. An orderly defense made capturing the children without bloodshed more difficult.

  Tinker Bell's appearance upped the stakes. My back and limbs ached under the burden of the strain, and I felt like I was about to break. Aggression surged through me, rendering clarity almost impossible. All I knew was that Pan must not be allowed to escape with those youngsters. The solution came to me as an epiphany: as a natural consequence, frightened children were unhappy children.

  To that end, I raised my voice and shouted, "Run up the Red!"

  At the helm, Starkey released the wheel and whirled to face aft. Wide-eyed, he looked to me for confirmation and mouthed, "The Red?"

  "The Red!"

  Our gazes locked. Starkey stared into my soul, understandably reluctant to implement such a drastic measure against a ship of children. I had a reputation for ruthlessness, but this crossed lines, even for the dread Captain Hook. Across the distance, I bore into him and brought my full force of will to bear.

  I signed, "Obey your captain."

  Starkey swallowed convulsively and nodded. He seconded the order to the pensive crew. "Run up the Red!"

  Revenge's crew received the command with the wariness usually reserved for news of bad tidings. I'd already ordered the artillery readied. Their doubts were reasonable, especially given the circumstances.

  In contrast, the Red—a flag with the visage of death on a scarlet field—was the standard of murderers. Its message: attack without mercy, no quarter given.

  My crew obeyed, but they didn't want to. Dissension played out across the ship, muttered discussions and veiled glares aimed at their captain. They despised the order, but feared me too much to challenge my authority without a leader. Only Starkey and Smee possessed the backbone to even try. I had David's support—and Smee was confined to the infirmary.

  We lowered the Blac
k and ran up the Red. The red skull-and-crossbones flag whipped in the wind: it promised a violent and bloody death—no man, woman, or child spared.

  "Open the gun ports!" I commanded.

  The grates on the gun ports smashed open, a resounding ruckus that rolled like thunder across the Neverland Sea. Revenge bristled with the muzzles of her deadly artillery, the majority located on the orlop deck above the waterline, now revealed. A merciless predator, she bore down on that hapless schooner.

  Children screamed in terror.

  Chapter 6

  Boarding Parties—Tootles—The Elusive Nature of Joy

  The time had come to join the boarding party so I descended the sterncastle, heading forward. During the trip, I lost sight of Pan and Tinker Bell. The lapse troubled me, but other necessities demanded my attention. It would only be for a short time—a cold comfort—but it was the self-assurance I clung to and repeated.

  Upon reaching the main deck, I met up with Mr. Mullins and the other men and women who composed the boarding party, a complement of veteran mariners, all of whom had served under me for years.

  Revenge closed to seventy yards under Starkey's nimble navigation.

  In the grip of churning impatience, I pressed against the starboard balustrade while the distance separating the ships shortened. The process seemed to take forever, an eternity of torture. It required the entirety of my willpower not to take a running leap at Ariel where the disorder had given way to pure chaos.

  "Stick to your training!" I ordered the boarding party. "The goal is to subdue and restrain those children. As soon as you secure a captive, return to the ship. Prisoners are to be delivered to Dr. Chopp in the infirmary. Mr. Mullins, are the grapnels ready?"

  "Aye, Captain!" Mr. Mullins held one of the iron grappling hooks aloft in a demonstration. Along the railing, four sailors followed his example, hoisting the fluked anchors with attached lines. Behind them, others maneuvered the footbridges into position.

  The ships pulled broadside—twenty feet to go.

  "Stand ready!" In those final seconds, my heart stroked like a hammer on an anvil. The second the ships came into position, I gave the order. "Now! Throw the grapnels!"

  "Hurrah!" The boarding party bellowed with hearty enthusiasm, and they sprang into smooth, coordinated action.

  Grappling hooks soared through the air, descended on the schooner's deck, and latched onto her railings. Once the hooks grabbed hold, the pirates assigned to the boarding parties took up the slack. The lines grew taut. Revenge hauled her prey closer, a tigress with her claws sunk in a helpless gazelle.

  Bursting with impatience, I leaned out and watched for my enemy. The paranoid voice in the back of my head would not be silenced until I located Pan again and confirmed he hadn't escaped. For a frustrating moment, the search came up empty, but then I spotted Peter in the shadow of Ariel's main mast, hiding behind the line of Lost Boys that'd rallied to his defense.

  Tinker Bell hovered eye level with Pan, and anger transformed her golden blonde tresses to fiery red. The faerie queen wore a gown of flames and her pixie aura billowed with smoldering cinders and ash. They appeared to be arguing.

  "What's this? Trouble in paradise?" I asked with a snide snicker. I was torn between curiosity and malicious delight. Naturally, I wondered what their row was about. Peter faced away from me so I couldn't see what he was saying. Instead, I focused on Tinker Bell. I read her perfect bow lips, as enticing as a kiss.

  Tinker Bell said to Peter, "How dare you blame me? The ship won't fly because of her! This is all HER fault!"

  My heart stopped. For a second, I couldn't think or breathe. I assumed Tinker Bell meant me. The accusation evoked a bizarre, paralyzing quagmire of guilt and shame. The squall blew over, but not before the damage had been done. It penetrated my defenses. I shook from head to toe, and to stop quaking, I stiffened until the sinew in my limbs threatened to snap.

  The momentary weakness lasted seconds, but it had cost me. I'd missed whatever Tink had said next. The cause of their conflict would remain a mystery. Just as I looked up, a slender figure with tousled chestnut tresses, clad in a flowing periwinkle nightgown, dashed across Ariel's deck and ran up to Peter.

  My heart stopped, and my breath hissed through my teeth. I prayed for the youth to be a longhaired boy. Of course, there was no god listening, and certainly not one that would answer the petition of the despicable likes of me. The child turned her head and I got a clear look at her face. My hopes dashed against a sorrowful sea.

  A storm of rage consumed me whole. I breathed fire. "Pan's got a girl on board. A girl!"

  Those closest to me cringed and drew away. I felt rather than heard Starkey shouting my name, but I ignored him. My fury was unstoppable.

  Dragged like a toy on a rope, the schooner's port side smashed against our starboard. The collision rocked both ships, but Ariel, having less mass, bore the brunt of it. Once the worst of the swaying passed, the crew tied down the five grappling lines, leaving a gap of about twenty feet. It almost killed me, but I held the order to board until the moorings were secured and the vessels bound together.

  "On my word!" I thrust my hook skyward. The sunlight flashed off steel.

  "Hurrah!" The crew rallied, roaring with blood lust. They heaved three footbridges straight up, ready to be dropped into position.

  "Lower the gangplanks!" I shouted and the timbers fell. The three footbridges rested on the railings, descending from Revenge to the schooner, forming pathways across the water.

  A roar tore from my throat. Leading the charge, I stepped first on the nearest footbridge, sprinted down the ramp, and sprang onto the main deck. I landed in a crouch, the leads of the hunting net dangling from my fingers, and surged forward to make way for those boarding behind me. The others followed right on my heels, hitting the planks with resounding thuds that moved through my center like the pulsating beats of a drum.

  About a dozen scruffy Lost Boys who'd found the courage to fight rather than run gathered about the main mast, standing with their backs to the post in a tight defensive circle. They'd armed themselves with whatever they could find; a few had knives and others clubs. Like a coward, Pan soared into the air, holding the girl's hand. They ascended together. I didn't understand whether she flew on her own or he dragged her, and there wasn't time to decide.

  "Spread out! Let's round them up," I ordered, and those already on deck took up positions to either side of me.

  To the rear of the company, Mr. Mullins repeated the command, "You heard the captain! Byron, flank to the bow! Keats, to the stern!"

  We welded into a unified front and advanced on the armed boys. All around us, Lost Boys launched themselves at my crew with the fervor of Viking raiders. Pan inspired unnerving fervor in his mesmerized followers.

  My attention ought to have been focused entirely on what stood before me, but an irresistible compulsion forced my gaze upward to where Pan hung in the air. His detachment nettled my skin, causing hot, itchy prickles to spread like a rash. I fully expected him to swoop down to engage the pirates boarding his ship—to fight me. In the past, the brash, overconfident braggart had always leapt straight into the fray. So why wasn't he now? It was, in a word, an aberration.

  Motion in the periphery of my vision caught my attention. Riding a surge of excitement, I snapped to attention and brought my hook up to parry. A rotund boy of perhaps ten years of age leapt into my path.

  Sweat shone on his brow, and he struggled to lift a rusty cutlass that was obviously too heavy. With a grunt, he hauled the blade in an overhand swing aimed at my knee.

  "I'm rather fond of that particular appendage," I said and sidestepped. "It's one of the three I have left."

  The boy huffed and puffed out his plump cheeks. He wound up for another assault. "Die, you scurrilous pirate!"

  "Is that a slur or a bold statement of the obvious?"

  "Prepare to feel the wrath of Tootles the Wolf!" He stabbed and I evaded.

  "A wolf, a
re you? I mistook you for a polecat." I cocked my head, studying young Tootles. He wore an ill-fitted costume of what I judged to be raccoon skins that were sloppily sewn together, and—from the rank stench—improperly cured. I simply couldn't see a wolf, but I did try.

  Tootles lobbed the cutlass my way again. "You'll die for that insult!"

  This time, I parried his blade with my hook. The metal weapons clanked together, steel scraping against steel. "Well then, speak well of how bravely I fought and well I died when you tell the tale of the day you bested Captain Hook."

  "Liar! You're a liar, you are! Captain Hook is a man and Peter Pan killed him!" the boy proclaimed with great bluster. Oh, by Jove! The very suggestion that the notorious pirate foe of Peter Pan might be a woman had reduced the lad to sputtering outrage.

  A vein throbbed in my temple. My brain threatened to explode. This again. For years, Pan had persisted in spreading the rumor that Captain Hook was male, though his exact motives remained a mystery. Maybe he wished to vex me, or perhaps he simply preferred his twisted version because it made for a better story.

  "Pan lied," I bit off. Tootles opened his mouth to reply, but I'd hear none of it. My patience had reached its end. With a twist of my wrist, I forced the blade from his hand and sent it flying.

  Tootles paled in terror, then threw up his hands and backed away. With an expert flip, I tossed the hunting net over him. The weighted leads wrapped around the boy, entangling him. Without breaking stride, I swooped, caught the writhing child up in my arms, and swept him off his feet. He reeked of urine and rotted hides, and I gagged at the smell. I tucked the kicking boy beneath my arm and turned on my heel. Mr. Byron was the first man I encountered. He had empty arms, so I handed over my captive.

  "Mr. Byron, take this child to Smee. See to it he receives a bath and a fresh set of clothing." I might've mentioned a proper meal, but the hefty lad clearly wasn't suffering for lack of nourishment. If anything, he wanted for moderation and exercise.