The ringing grew louder, too. I stood and shook my head, yet each time I blinked, more lights dotted my field of vision and more ringing added to the chorus. Soon there were a dozen lights, then twenty, then three dozen.
Terror seized me as I forced myself to admit that I wasn’t imagining what I saw. My heart pounded. Each beat brought more and more lights until each branch and limb lit up like a clear night’s sky. They all rang as they pulsed, each with their own melody. The cacophony built to a maddening volume. I cupped my left ear with my hand and covered my right one with my forearm. Even so, the noise pierced through. Hundreds of little bells stabbed at my ears like tiny daggers. Waves of the noise crested and fell, washing away all thought save for the pain.
I dropped to my knees and screamed.
Tears ran down my face as I slumped forward into the grass.
The pain faded away, slowly at first. My mind cleared and I breathed through the slow return to thought. It was then that a dark realization crept into my mind.
The ringing had stopped.
I looked up into the trees and found that the lights remained, still and silent.
There was no sound for several heartbeats.
A rustling came from my right. Smee, Foggerty, and Alf Mason stepped into view and I held my hand out to wave them back, but they were already too close. The boy began shaking and muttering to himself, so I held my hook up to my lips and shushed him. It was when I looked at the dull grit that covered my iron hook that an idea came to me.
A fairy flew down close enough to touch. It’s little wings charged with light and its brow furrowed with anger.
“Oh, my,” I said, feigning shock. “When did you become so old?” The fairy stopped short and hung in the air for a moment. “Are you sick?”
It scratched its head, then held its hands out in confusion.
“You look just terrible,” I said. “Here. See for yourself.”
I raised my hook and the fairy looked into it, but saw nothing but the thin coat of dirt. It stared for several seconds before shaking its head at me.
“Dear, dear,” I frowned. “You must have already passed. That’s why you don’t have a reflection.”
The fairy rang angrily and beat its chest.
“Howl all you want, little ghost,” I said. “Soon you’ll accept it. Soon you’ll be at peace.”
The little creature rang more softly as a pale tint drained its color. I continued, loud enough for the men and other fairies to hear. “I know these things because I can speak to ghosts. That’s my gift. Watch.” I called out to my crewmen. “Mr. Smee. Mr. Mason. Do you see a fairy in front of me?”
“N-No, Captain,” Mason stammered. “I don’t see a thing.”
Smee followed, more certain. “It’s all dark where you are, Captain, except for your hook that is.”
To my surprise, Foggerty added the final touch, covering his eyes with an arm. “It’s blinding me,” he said, then added, “I can see myself in it from here.”
The fairy held its face in horror, then became dark and fell to the grass.
“Do you see?” I asked the fairies. “The hook tells the truth. Who else is sick? Who else has died and does not know it?”
One by one, fairies flew to me to check their reflections and, seeing none, they fell to the grass dead. Some fell when they saw others fall. Others fell at the idea of being the next ones to look. Soon, little bodies rained from the trees. Those who did not fall flew off in a harried attempt to avoid the plague of doubt. Many still didn’t make it. Even fairies cannot flee from an idea once it seizes them.
We climbed up the hill until we reached the edge of the forest. Across the bay, Starkey waved us over and I waved back. Smee and Mason ran up ahead to help the other men load the last of the barrels onto the cutter. Foggerty and I stood at the edge of the bay for a few moments and looked out over the horizon.
My eyes turned skyward and I searched for several moments, disappointed. How close do I need to come before I kill Peter Pan? Foggerty coughed and my thoughts brightened. I did better than kill Pan today. I took something of his. Gods willing, I will take them all from him. They deserve a better life than one of starvation and neglect. They deserve to be treated as the men they should have grown up to be if not for Pan’s meddling.
My thoughts drifted to Pan again and a cry echoed through the forest. It was one of the sweetest sounds I had ever heard and one that I will cherish for the rest of my days.
“You killed them!” Pan screamed. Peter burst from the trees, spilling twigs and leaves onto the sand. Tears streaked his splotchy, red face. Murder scorched his words as he pointed a dagger at me. “You killed them all!”
“Not all,” I said. “Hardly enough.” I drew my sword and growled. Foggerty grabbed a knife from my belt. Even in this moment, this boy who is barely a man showed more courage than half of my crew.
Pan looped in the air and charged me. I ducked to the side and slashed with my hook as he passed. Pan parried with his dagger and countered with two quick thrusts. I blocked and swiped low, but Pan twirled above.
Foggerty grabbed at Pan’s legs, but Peter cut the back of the boy’s hands and kicked him unconscious.
Peter then dove straight for me. I raised my sword to feint a strike and Peter ducked in anticipation.
Our heads collided and, for an instant, all was black.
I blinked away the darkness and swung my sword across. Pan kicked the sword free and I tore the dagger away from him with my hook. I drove my forehead into the bridge of Peter Pan’s nose. The boy yelped and darted away, but I grabbed his wrist and drew him into a slash from my hook that ripped Pan’s shirt clean off.
A rush of strength came to me. I cracked the guard of my hook mount against Peter’s head and the boy weakened in my grip. I pressed my weight down on the boy and held him under water.
Peter struggled, moving in such a way that I couldn’t get a grip on the boy’s throat.
I struck at Pan several more times, but the boy was never in the same place twice. I dug my hook once in the boy’s shoulder and again in his leg. Shallow cuts, but cuts none the less.
A hand came out of the water and scratched my eye. I wasn’t hurt, but it was enough to allow Pan to wriggle out of my grip. I slashed in desperation, but caught only sand.
Peter was away in a flash. He flew out over the water in wobbly rises and falls, holding his face with both hands and crying as blood dripped down his palms and elbows.
Once Pan was clear of me, the crew fired shots at him, but the boy picked up speed and was gone.
“Captain,” Smee called out. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Smee,” I said, wiping the blood from my fresh cuts. “I’m better than I have been in some time.”
“Where’d you think he is off to?”
“He’s going to the castle,” Foggerty answered. “It’s our new home. Their new home.”
“We could raid it,” Smee said.
“Too risky,” I said. “We were lucky we didn’t run into them when we cleaned the place out.”
“Well we can’t let them keep it to themselves,” Smee said. “If Pan takes root, we’ll never be rid of him.”
My eyes caught the canvas bag tied to Smee’s belt. A plan formed.
“Mr. Smee, is that the sack you used to carry part of Bertilak’s body?”
“Aye, sir,” Smee said. “Wrists and calves.”
“Give it here. I have an idea.”
We loaded the cutter, set the horses loose, and were halfway through the bay when an arrow hit the boat. Many men covered their heads, expecting more arrows to come, but none did.
One of the men yelled, “Look!” It may have been Starkey who said it. I didn’t bother to check. My eyes were fixed on the shore.
Three men stared at us from the beach. Two were warriors. Little Panther beat his chest. His voice cracked as he yelled over the water. Next to him, Tall Bull breathed slow hard breaths. His large frame cast a dark s
hadow over their elder, High Chief Bear, whose hands were raised in prayer.
They were a sight to be sure, but I didn’t look at them for more than an instant because at their feet knelt Michael Fast.
His hands were bound behind his back. He looked tired and surely beaten, but when he saw us, he perked up and pulled at his restraints. His cries caught in the cloth in his mouth.
Tall Bull removed his gag and Michael screamed. “Captain!” The word echoed over the water. Little Panther quieted and jumped in place as he listened. “Captain!” Michael said again, “Come back! I’m here! Captain!”
It continued more or less like this for long minutes. Michael screamed. The men behind him loomed over him like the gray mountain behind them.
“What do they want?” Teynte asked.
To their credit, more men in my crew knew the answer than I expected, but it was Noodler who spoke. “They want us to watch.”
Tiger Lily walked out from the trees and stood over Michael Fast for several moments. She never once looked at him. Her eyes were on me and she made sure that I saw her before she grabbed the man by the hair and drew out her knife.
She held him like that for several seconds and the man burst into a new round of screaming. “No! Not like this! Please! I’ll do anything!” These words and many more like them spilled from him, differing in form and volume. Tiger Lily was unmoved.
He resisted her, but she tensed and flexed a surprising strength for someone so thin and so young.
The moment came as we knew it would.
Tiger Lily jabbed the knife into the far side of the man’s throat. Blood spurted onto the sand. She twisted it and more blood came. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened to plead with words he could no longer say. She then pulled the knife across slowly, so slowly that Michael’s eyes rolled back before she let him slump forward onto the beach.
“Bugger this,” Smee said and fired a shot at them. More shots followed. Soon, we were all emptying our pistols at the shoreline.
Tall Bull took High Chief Bear into the Crescent Wood. Little Panther was quick behind them.
Not Tiger Lily.
Even now, even as our shots whistled by her ears and hit the trees behind her, she stared at me as though she were chiseled from stone. Yes, she was still a child, but there was little left of the girl that I knew so briefly.
We had expended our shots and were reloading when she finally turned and disappeared into the forest. We didn’t fire after them any more and no arrows flew our way, so it was over for now. They made themselves clear.
We sailed to the ship in silence and I slid into my quarters.
The fading light bathed my cabin in dark oranges and reds. I lit three candles and listened for the soft ticks of a broken clock. Hearing nothing, I pushed through my disappointment and picked up my pen.
Chapter Twenty-One
August 19th Assumed
Log Entry Five
The sun rose and set once already since I began writing this entry. Time was lost to us now, so it might as well be afternoon.
Neverland has given me more than enough perspective. Small victories are meaningless here, as is anything achieved in the short term. Only the long game matters and I am the only man on this island capable of thinking in those terms.
Battered and scarred as he may be, Peter Pan survived our little scuffle. No doubt he forgot the encounter by now. If only he could hold the memory of my hand at his throat. Perhaps my hook will be a more memorable experience for him in the future.
Tiger Lily’s tribe may prove to be a hinderance to that end. Their stealth makes navigating the island a more difficult proposition. Our visits ashore will have to be that much more thoroughly coordinated until I can pacify her people. She told me that I was destined to end their suffering. Death is indeed quiet, but it is my hope that it doesn’t come to that. It would be unfortunate if she ended up like the Green Knight. It only took hours of planning to dispose of a giant capable of recovering from any wound. How hard could it be to kill one little girl and her family?
Despite her threats, Tiger Lily is only a distraction.
Peter Pan hides in the castle with his child army. They hope to make it a new home. Maybe they intend to play as knights all night and day. What fun that would be!
Pan called me a knight once.
Come to think of it, I’d been called a knight more times and by more people in the past few days than anything else. Bertilak may be gone, but his marks still stained this world. I must wipe them clean from everything save for memory.
A knock on my cabin door pulled my attention away from my writing.
“Come in.”
The door creaked open and Foggerty stepped through. Since setting foot on the deck of the Jolly Roger, the cabin boy’s jaw darkened with the shadow of a beard.
“They’re ready,” he said in his new baritone.
I nodded and Foggerty held the door for me. I checked the buttons of my coat and stepped out onto the main deck. Each man stood at attention, waiting for their next order.
My crew of the willing.
I met each of their eyes and smiled.
Cecco waved me over from the forecastle deck. I took a looking glass from Starkey and joined him.
The sun hid behind clouds, afraid to watch the work I had planned. Three moons cast a pale gray light that stripped Neverland Island of its once vibrant hues. Everything was still. Even the beasts slept. Danger lurked in the darkness, though, as dots of yellow and orange played on the mountainside.
“It be them,” Cecco said. “In the castle, just like you said.”
“We’ll never get them out,” Noodler said.
“Agreed,” said Starkey. “Why couldn’t we have kept it? The farming alone would save us so much work. The natives planted food.”
“They’re not natives,” I said. “No one is native here. We can farm our own land, Mr. Starkey. We can do as we please as soon as we level the castle. Mr. Smee, fetch me Long Tom.”
A puzzled look grew on the Irishman’s face and he stammered for several moments before speaking. “We have no more gunpowder. The shot on the island was the last of it.”
“I know,” I said. “But we do have options.”
“You have solutions,” a dark voice said from within my cabin. “Bold solutions.”
Whispers rippled over the crew as Morgan le Fay walked onto the main deck, still wearing Gabriel’s body. Her whole countenance glowed, not just with posture and poise, but with an actual radiance. Her auburn hair played on her shoulders in a breeze that I didn’t feel, only saw.
Smee looked down and away. She put a hand under his chin and met his eyes. The murderer of a dozen men blushed.
“And where do you fall on all of this?” I asked her. “Aren’t you the mother of fairies?”
“Just to their king,” she said.
“That hardly implies consent.”
Her face became hard and somehow more beautiful. “You’ll know my lack of consent when you see it.”
I smiled and my easiness softened her eyes. “Mr. Smee. The cannon.”
Smee relayed the order. Several men wheeled it into place and tied it down on the starboard side. We turned the ship and lined it up with the castle.
I then walked over to the dirty bundle I brought back with me from the bay. In two deft movements I cut the rope and dumped the contents onto the deck. Several of the men gasped as I picked through the pile of little corpses.
“Their dust is combustable,” I said, shaking one of the dead fairies over the barrel of Long Tom. Gold flecks sprinkled as the little arms and legs flopped up and down. When the dust stopped falling, I threw the body overboard. The splash was hardly audible. I picked up a rammer and packed the fuel tightly to the breech. I withdrew it and loaded the ball, then rammed again.
I judged the distance, fed the fuse into the touch hole, and aimed.
Smee lit an old rag.
“Thank you, Smee,” I said and lit the fuse
. It sizzled as I stared at the target. Doubt crept into my thoughts in those seconds, but I was not a fairy and doubt can not ruin me.
Thunder roared and gold smoke spilled out of Long Tom. The ball flew a little over one hundred feet, then splashed in the water.
“Bugger me, it worked,” Jukes laughed.
“Aye,” Mullins said. “We just need to use more.”
Their belief took root. In truth, I am not sure whether the amount mattered. Perhaps a spec would have been sufficient if I had believed it to be, but, again, I am no fairy. A man has doubts. Proof is as much the destroyer of faith as it is its fuel. The instant the men saw how far one fairy shot a forty-two pound ball, they worked out a scale of weights and ratios. Mathematics is a man’s sorcery and the numbers are never wrong.
It was now time to cement their belief and bring the men together as one.
“Mr. Teynte. Try loading one yourself. You were always better at getting more out of each shot than I was.”
“Aye, sir.” Ed Teynte shook four fairies out and the men helped him load a second ball into Long Tom.
They lit the fuse.
The cannon thundered and we watched the forty-two pound ball collide against the castle’s outer wall. Stone fell away and water rushed from the once narrow opening.
“Excellent shot, Mr. Teynte.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Look,” Cecco called out. One small green figure flew from one of the castle’s windows and disappeared into the forest. Seconds later, other little figures scattered into the Crescent Wood.
“Good,” I said. “Give them a full minute to leave, then resume firing.” I called Smee over and placed one of the limp fairies into his hands. “Take the rest. Shake out whatever dust remains into barrels. Take a mortar and pestle from the cook and grind the bodies if you have to.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland Page 17
