Sounds unpleasant?
Maybe so, but mark my words, the plumpest, tastiest berries in all of Neverland grew there. The reward proved worth all those considerable risks. Those blackberries melted on the tongue, unleashing starbursts of tart sweetness. Years later, my mouth still watered to think of them. Blackberry Bluff remained one of the few places from my childhood in Neverland of which I retained reasonably good memories.
Every now and then, when nostalgia aligned with convenience, I returned to Blackberry Bluff. Sometimes, I insisted on visiting even when the journey took us weeks out of our way and incurred a considerable expense, simply because I wanted to. The crew seldom complained. Infrequently, a new recruit grumbled, but was promptly met with stern rebukes from the veteran members. At the quest's end, the crew anticipated treasure worth its weight in gold—bubbling tarts and flaky pastries straight from the galley ovens to the table. For a few days, we feasted like kings... In other words, ate ourselves sick. The excess fruit was treated, stored in barrels, and stowed in the deepest, coolest section of the hold. A few months later, the blackberry wine could be sold to the faerie folk for a pretty profit.
I suppose I've rambled off on yet another unrelated tangent. I've a tendency to do that. Now, where were we? Ah yes... the scheme that'd brought me alone in a dinghy to Blackberry Bluff.
I aimed to catch a pixie.
Chapter 12
Pixie Traps—Tinker Buzz
I placed the bundled handkerchief upon a flat boulder, untied the corners, and smoothed out the linen square. It held three petite desserts, which had been specifically prepared by the ship's cook. Now, Frenchie had no formal confectionery training but I must applaud his efforts, for he truly outdid himself. The offering included a glazed cake the size of my thumbnail, a zesty lemon macaroon, and a chocolate-caramel truffle dusted in sugar. As I laid them out, the tempting aroma wafted to fill my nostrils and set my stomach to rumbling. Since I'd last eaten at dawn, and the exertion of the trip had left me famished, I regretted not having instructed Frenchie to pack extra.
Having artfully arranged the pastries upon the hanky, I extracted three silver thimbles. Delicate tasks requiring deftness and dexterity always challenged both my hook and my patience. I managed to spoon droplets of honey into one, however, and strawberry preserves into a second. All without making a huge mess, either. Heavy cream was the preferred beverage for baiting faerie traps, however the only source of dairy aboard Revenge was an old nanny goat named Mathilda. She produced milk so sour it turned saints to satyrs, and thus, was only suitable for making cheese. So, I filled the third thimble with cooled green tea and hoped for the best.
Trap baited, I faced away from the boulder, leaned my back against its smooth side, and propped my elbows on bent knees. I dug out my flute—a side-blown instrument made of ebony with silver keywork. It had a penetrating voice well suited to my assertive nature. I'd tried more subtle-sounding flutes, but none had felt right. I placed my lips near the opening and blew out the first experimental note.
With a bit of coaching, the flute produced a gentle lullaby. Swiftly, I lost myself in the tune. It should be noted that despite my passion, I loved music more than music loved me. But while I lacked Mr. Brown's ingenious talent, I was not wholly bereft of skill. Thanks to Virgil's dedicated tutelage, I had become quite adept at one-handed fingering on several different mediums, including the flute and guitar. If even the remotest possibility existed that an instrument could be played with a hand and hook, I was game to give it a go.
Merfolk crafted dark enchantments with their voice. It was not unlike Pan's ability, though I'd never discovered solid proof of a connection. The consequences to myself, however, were well established and cumulative—every time I sang, I surrendered another shred of my humanity and transformed a little more into a siren. I avoided doing so at all costs.
I played for well over an hour, wandering from one sweet song to another. Once I exhausted my limited repertoire, the cycle repeated. My fingers tired; my lips wearied. The whole time, I strained my hearing, hoping to pick up on any noise from behind me. Being half-deaf, listening proved a test of my patience. The temptation to glance over my shoulder persisted... like that itchy spot on one's back just out of reach. I dared not turn around, though. If my trap had worked, an interrupted sprite would flee, never to return.
The sun sank behind the horizon about the same time my fingers finally cramped up too badly to continue. With a gasp, I lowered the flute and panted, a bit winded from the exertion. I bent and shook out my hand, but delayed turning around just yet. A great deal depended on the trap's success, so I fretted over its potential failure. Only a pixie could tell me what I needed to know.
Two weeks had already been lost to the necessity of delivering the captured Lost Boys to Rackham's Cay. Of course, I could've kept them on board, but their proximity would've inspired Peter to attempt rescue, over and over, until he succeeded or someone died. The distance created an insurmountable barrier. By now, Pan, with his ephemeral memory, had already forgotten their names... maybe their very existence.
Now, it might seem I had more concern for the girl than the male children, but my bias derived from good cause. In Pan's company, girls weren't the same as boys. Their stint was finite, measured in weeks rather than years, or until Peter tired of the courtship. I wondered about that pretty girl, with her chestnut curls and her periwinkle frock. What was her name? Did she have a family? Was she still alive?
An owl hooted, startling me from drowsy contemplation. My chin slipped off my hand and my face dropped before I caught myself. Brooding, bah! A pastime suited to morose, moody elves! I straightened and stretched, working the stiffness from my limbs.
Moonlight shone over Blackberry Bluff, which meant I'd nodded off for an hour, at the least. I was fortunate I hadn't been attacked while I dozed. It'd be a miracle if a pixie hadn't stolen the bait and slipped the snare. Urgency jolted me into motion. I twisted around to face the stump where I'd laid my trap.
It'd worked.
A male sprite dozed on his tummy amidst the scattered crumbs. He measured less than six inches from the tips of his delicate antenna to the soles of his petite feet. A tuft of tawny hair topped his small head. Bumblebee stripes covered his plump torso, which tapered to a sharp, dangerous stinger. He had two pairs of diaphanous wings, longer on top. Glistening honey and jam smeared his mouth and hands. Sweetly oblivious, the sprite sawed out an unbroken stream of snores.
A small golden charm in the shape of a bumblebee lay on the handkerchief beside him. Now, every pixie has a soul charm, but they are kept well hidden and fiercely guarded. I pinched the ornament between my fingernails and lifted it for closer inspection. Intricate etchings decorated the bee, anatomically correct down to the gold thread hairs on the legs. When shaken, it emitted a vibrant buzz. I closed my fingers around it for safekeeping.
I dipped my chin and blew softly on the slumbering sprite. The current stirred his wings. He grunted and bunched his limbs tighter, holding fast to sleep. When I inhaled, the sweetness of clover flooded my nostrils. The scent instilled a sense of tranquility and timelessness. If I'd closed my eyes, it'd have taken little effort to envision a verdant meadow full of spring grasses and wildflowers.
"Wakey wakey."
"What?" He had a high-pitched voice that challenged my hearing. I turned my face, bringing my left ear closer.
"It's time for you to wake up."
"Go away." He waved his hand and rolled onto his side, facing away from me.
"Not bloody likely. We have business to discuss, you and I."
"I don't know you." He pried open heavy eyelids and gawked up at me. From his perspective, I imagined I appeared as a bear would to a mouse—big and blurry.
"I'll properly introduce myself once you arise. Now get up." I nudged him gently with the side of my hook. I worried about harming such a fragile creature unintentionally, but the matter needed quick resolution. Inevitably, urgency seemed to be the l
ock, stock, and barrel.
"I'm up! I'm up!" Covering a yawn with his hand, he stumbled to his feet. "Now, who are you and why are you so bothersome?"
"Captain Jayden Hook, at your service. In answer to your latter query, I suppose I was born bothersome, though opinions on the matter may vary."
"The Captain Hook?" the sprite yelped and launched into the air. His wings beat so fast they blurred and produced a thrum, like an angry wasp. Like most pixie folk, he wore little in the way of clothing—a brown girdle and cockleshell clogs. Tiny implements and numerous pouches hung from the utility belt. No doubt, those purses held more tools and crafting materials than they looked capable of containing. Fae magic was deceptive like that: able to warp perception, space, and sometimes even time.
"The one and only. And you are?" I rolled my hook, pantomiming a courtier's flourish. Barnacles, but I hoped he didn't intend to challenge the veracity of my identity. I'd had quite enough of that nonsense.
He hovered level with my face. His aura shed the lime-green shimmer which signaled fear. "Tinker Buzz. That's the Clan Tinker, of which I'm a member. I go by Buzz which is the sound I make but also who I am, a complex thing which often confuses outsiders—"
"So, Buzz it is," I said with a touch of impatience. I was familiar with sprite nomenclature and had no desire to listen while he explained it.
"Rude much? Asking me questions, then cutting me off before I even get a word in edgewise! What manner of rough-hewn ruffian are you?" Buzz waved his fists and aimed his stinger at my eye.
"Well, I am a pirate, but I've never been accused of garrulous grandstanding." Reflexively, I brought up my arms to defend my face from attack.
The careless gesture set off the golden bee secreted within my fist. It strummed in sync with the pixie's flight. Buzz jerked, his gaze drawn straight to my hand. His eyes rounded before he cast an alarmed glance down at the handkerchief. He scanned it frantically. Upon finding his soul charm gone, his aura underwent a crimson explosion.
"Thief! Wretch! Philanderer!" He swooped and I ducked out of the way. The angry pixie passed close enough to my cheek to allow me to feel the vibration of his rapid wings.
"I deny nothing."
Buzz dove at me, stinger first. I ducked aside, but barely. The sprite's current blew across my cheek. "You stole my soul charm! Give it back!"
"I did not, however, steal your charm." I tucked the ornament into a pocket and doffed my cavalier hat. This time I was ready. When Buzz swung around for another attack, I caught the angry pixie within my cap and sealed the sides together.
The hat vibrated with the force of his determined attempts to escape. Though muted through the leather, Buzz shouted curses and threats, demonstrating a truly impressive vocabulary. I stayed silent and held fast to the makeshift net, waiting while his tantrum played itself out. By their nature, sprites are volatile, passionate creatures. Their explosive outbursts tended to fizzle as swiftly as they ignited. It took Buzz about three minutes to wear himself out. Instead of subsiding, though, he dissolved into sobbing.
My heart wrenched at the piteous sound. Carefully, I upended the cap over the handkerchief and the sad little pixie tumbled out. He landed on his bottom, hands clutched over his heart. His aura was deep blue and he'd lost one of his shoes. I shook the cavalier hat. The missing cockleshell cog tumbled onto the handkerchief beside him.
"Oh, stop your blubbering!" I snarled, smacking my hat back where it belonged. It crossed my mind a split second too late that the inside would be covered in honey and jam and crumbs... all now stuck in my hair.
I winced, but it was too late.
Buzz buried his face in his palms and wept harder. A nasty taste filled my mouth and I grimaced. Ah, wasn't I a fine and formidable villain? I proudly considered myself an exceptional buccaneer of questionable moral character, but even I have limits. Bullying a pixie was despicable even by my standards. Yet, here I was doing just that. I wanted to blame Pan for reducing me to this, same as I'd held him culpable for so much else, but the lie was too bold. I'd chosen to cross this line of my own free will.
"Hush, will you? Please?" I tried to moderate my tone, but suspect I achieved nothing more than a wretched parody of gentleness. "I mean you no harm. I only wish to talk."
"I don't want to talk to you." He lifted his chin in defiance. Snot and tears mixed with the honey and jam. It was... revolting.
"No reason you should. Your reluctance is why I made the offering." I extracted a second clean handkerchief from my sleeve and offered Buzz the corner of the square. At first he rejected the gift, but when I nudged him again, he latched on and clutched the hanky in his arms.
"You tricked me!" Buzz hiccupped the accusation.
"Balderdash. The trade was fair 'n' square. It's not my fault you've regrets now that the feast is consumed." I snorted. I had plenty of reasons for remorse, but not for this. "I obeyed the rules. You accepted my favor. Now you owe me a favor to buy your soul charm back."
"Scourge!" He hurled out a few more wildly creative curses to which I readily agreed. One, I thanked him for. Afterward, he crossed his arms over his rotund chest and settled to pouting. "What do you want from me?"
"You must answer a few questions first so I may determine the exact nature of the favor to be performed." I chose my words with precision, because the situation mandated it. Fae, even generally benevolent creatures like pixies, were cunning. If I wasn't careful, he'd find some way to escape through trickery.
"I'm not obligated to tell you anything for free."
"No, you're not. However, without the information I need, I'll be forced to wait until I can determine what to ask for. Of course, you'll have to accompany me. I've no objections to having a mascot about. In fact, I was considering acquiring a parrot. How would you feel about perching on my shoulder?" I tapped my hook against the epaulette of my brocade jacket.
Buzz wound up and spat to express his opinion. "How many questions?"
And so, the negotiations began.
Chapter 13
Bartering—A Deal Is Reached
How many questions did I have needing answers? That was a good question right there. I pursed my lips and pondered. Off the top of my head, I could list six specific inquiries that required explanations, but there were a great many unknowns. I preferred to hedge my bets.
"Twelve questions to which you must provide honest answers," I said.
"No way." He shook his head. "Three."
"I'll meet you in the middle—nine."
Buzz screwed up his round face in thought. He worked his fingers like an abacus. From the stubborn thrust of his jaw, he wanted to argue for the sake of arguing... and doubtless he hungered for the taste of victory. He wanted to outwit me and beat me at my own game. At the same time, he was clearly confounded. Poor fella. Not his fault most sprites can't perform arithmetic.
"Hah! You're trying to trick me again!" Buzz shouted at last. "No more of your skullduggery, scoundrel! I'll answer eleven questions and not a single one more! That's my final offer. Don't bother trying to talk me higher!"
"Ah, well, you caught me," I said with a sheepish smile. "Very well, eleven questions to which you must provide honest answers. You, sir, drive a hard bargain."
"That I do." Buzz preened proudly, and his aura turned peacock blue. I allowed him a minute to gloat, mostly because I still suffered the lingering sting of guilt over having made him cry.
We repeated the bargain and hammered down the wording. Then, I extended my fingertip and we shook on the deal. "First question. Where has Pan hidden the sailing ship, Ariel?"
Buzz faltered. "I can't tell you that! Peter Pan will smash me flat if he finds out I snitched."
I'll smash you flat. The shameful threat crossed my mind, but not my lips. I bit my tongue to silence it. Instead, I said, "Pan won't find out. Not from me. Not unless you tell him. Per our agreement, you must answer honestly."
He heaved a deep sigh. "Fine. Peter has his ship moored in the largest s
ea cavern of Crocodile Cove."
Crocodile Cove. The mere mention sent shivers coursing down my spine. The secluded bay was located at the northern edge of Neverland. The Tick-Tock Crocodile, the ravenous monster that had swallowed my hand and hungered still to consume the rest of me, lurked in the opaque waters. The mouth of DeNile flowed to and from the bay. The swift, deep river bisected the main island. Half of DeNile flowed north and the other half ran south, with a dead zone in the middle. Its contradictory current rendered it an ideal means of crossing the island swiftly, but only if one was willing to risk the man-eating reptiles lurking in the murky depths. I abhorred Crocodile Cove and avoided DeNile like the plague... which made it the ideal and obvious place to hide a schooner. As Pan damn well knew. It should've occurred to me immediately; it pricked my ego that it hadn't.
"What's your next question? Snap to it! I don't have all night!" Buzz sparked his aura so it produced a sharp crack.
"Tell me about the girl."
He paused overly long, and then donned a laughably contrived expression of innocence. "What girl?"
"The girl Pan stole!" I snapped. "Don't pretend you don't know who I'm talking about. Your aura turns orange when you lie."
"Biscuits!" He fell silent.
"Well?"
"You haven't asked a question."
Oh, right. I gnashed my teeth. Well, I had a generous cushion, so I asked, "What's her name?"
"Wendy Darling."
"Wendy..." I tested it on my tongue and liked how it rolled. It was an unusual name. I'd never heard it before, but when I paired it with my memory of the pretty girl in periwinkle, it fit.
Buzz fidgeted. "That's two questions. Is that all you needed?"
Hook: Dead to Rights (Captain Hook and the Pirates of Neverland Book 1) Page 7
