Never Never

by Brianna Shrum

  But, when he finally plucked up the courage to exit his room, he found no such mutiny waiting for him. Rather, the entire crew was at the worn table on the deck, gorging itself on breakfast again, just as it had the morning before. When the first pirate noticed James, the man simply opened his mouth in a cavernous, gap-toothed smile and tipped his tattered hat at him. The rest mimicked him, when they realized their captain had emerged.

  “Morning, Captain,” said Jukes, smiling widely, crinkling the little skull and crossbones tattoo on his cheek.

  “Good morning,” said James.

  Jukes nodded politely, and James nearly laughed. The huge man’s sincere etiquette felt so at odds with his appearance, not to mention his profession.

  James smiled to himself and approached the table, inhaling the warm smell of fresh bread and roasted meat. The others had left a place for him at the head, so he sat heavily, booted toe scratching at one of the thousand stains on the floor below it. His mouth moistened with hunger, and he grabbed a giant turkey leg and ripped off a piece of it between his teeth. Years ago, he would have found it odd to eat a turkey for breakfast. Lately, however, there wasn’t much he would call “odd.” He had, however, retained a large bit of decorum, so when a bit of juice dribbled down his chin, he dabbed it away as quickly as possible.

  “Captain,” Starkey said, voice raised above the din of the crew.

  “Starkey.”

  “Will we be sailing again today, sir?”

  The crew’s voices lowered until they were silent, and they all looked toward him, eyebrows raised. There was no skepticism in a single pirate as he looked from man to man. No, the sincere depth was there in Starkey’s face and the innocent willingness to follow in Smee’s. Jukes’s eyes were surprisingly warm and creased at the corners. They were all ready to do whatever their captain wished.

  James was struck by this and sat back, staring openly, as it seemed that, despite yesterday’s insanity, the whole crew was willing to listen to him—and excited to do it. He felt a large responsibility then. Though a hefty piece of him wanted to try again to sail for London, the other piece knew it was pointless. He pondered for a moment.

  “Yes, Starkey. We will sail today.”

  Starkey nodded. “Shall we hoist the mainsail, then?”

  James was still unsure as to what exactly that meant, but told Starkey that, yes, hoisting the mainsail was in order. “We will set a different course today, men.”

  The gap-toothed fellow who had greeted him earlier sighed in what looked like relief.

  “Where will we go?” Jukes asked in his large, baritone voice.

  “To the Mermaid’s Lagoon.”

  The men in the vicinity murmured among themselves, most of them looking somewhere between excited and terrified. James didn’t blame them, but he also didn’t change his mind.

  After the initial light panic, the crewmembers leapt to their positions, several stocky men thundering over to the black sails, a gangly one with dark skin sprinting across the deck, another James didn’t yet know, a peg-legged fellow, grabbing at the wheel.

  James took his place at the ship’s helm and closed his eyes as the sea sprayed his face and the chilly wind whipped at his hair.

  “Captain,” the ever-amiable Smee started.

  “Speak, Smee,” said James, opening his eyes.

  Smee averted his gaze. “What shall we do once we’ve reached the lagoon?”

  “We do as pirates do, of course.”

  “And how is that?” Smee grabbed at the frayed edges of his coat and twisted them around.

  James shrugged. “We plunder. And pillage.”

  “From the mermaids, sir?”

  “Of course from the mermaids.”

  In truth, James hadn’t been entirely sure who exactly he’d planned to pillage, as he’d spent most of his time on Neverland far inland. He figured there had to have been other pirates somewhere, sailing in and out of the place as they were dreamed up, but he’d no inkling as to where to find them. And perhaps there was some ghostly population in the Never Wastes to battle, but he hadn’t been keen on going there. So the mermaids it was.

  Smee looked at him, admiration shining in his bright blue eyes. Then he scampered off, stopping all along the way to whisper in the ears of any nearby pirates. James grinned as their faces all brightened in turn. Every man aboard the ship approached his task with more vigor by the minute.

  Finally, the dock was long gone, and the ship circumnavigated the island slowly, silently, like an eel slithering in the water. The air on the ship danced with excitement when the crew could make out the distant beginnings of a cave. This was the lagoon’s entrance if you approached it by sea.

  James’s eyes sparkled as they turned toward the little strip of water. Silence fell over the ship as the cave approached. Then they were there, at its mouth, the giant opening lined with little diamonds, like a massive geode. The clean scent of water permeated the air, and James breathed it in deeply.

  He could just begin to hear a quiet splashing and a spray of high-pitched giggles as the mermaids frolicked in the lagoon at the cave’s other end. He held up a hand to ensure that no errant sound would escape the lips of any wanton crewmember, and the ship snuck easily into the hollowed stone.

  The temperature dropped by degrees when they entered the cave, gentle sloshing and lapping against the cave’s walls drowning out the mermaids’ background noise. They were enveloped in darkness, the ship and her crew, and James could only just begin to make out his fingers in front of his face. It was chilly in there, and damp, and in all the nothing, James began to wonder if their little voyage would yield anything at all. Now that he considered it, he wasn’t entirely sure that mermaids did keep treasure. But, then, something glimmered in the cave wall. James hurried up to the man at the wheel with the peg leg and too-large nose and instructed him to stop. The man listened, and the ship glided to a slow halt, and the rest of the men looked out in the water, tense and quiet. It was a little lighter now, closer to the open lagoon, so James motioned for his crew to stay put, knowing they could likely see him. He quickly removed his jacket and shoes and hoisted himself over the edge.

  He climbed fluidly down, long fingers caressing the wood of the boat, then let himself drop into the water. James winced at the splash, but, after a beat, decided that no mermaids had heard him. The water was a bit warmer than he’d expected. That made the task of swimming toward the glistening object decidedly more pleasant.

  He swam to the wall of the cave and pulled himself up, slithering silently over the jagged rocks. Then, after several precisely placed footsteps, James’s fingers found what they were looking for—a goblet, made of pure gold, adorned with all colors of sparkling jewels.

  He held it up so his crew would see, proud of himself for his find. But he noticed that the eyes of the pirates were not trained upon him. They were staring off into the distance. James whipped his head around, and his pulse immediately began to race. Up ahead was the mother lode—the walls glittered with treasure, to his right, his left, the ceiling above him. Everywhere, reds and blues and emerald greens sparkled down at him.

  He jerked his head toward the plunder and about half his crew splashed into the water below, the rest drawing weapons, remaining on deck for loading purposes as well as, James assumed, defense. The pirates were clumsy and careless; they ripped treasure from the walls and laughed loudly, stirring up the water and flinging delicate things up toward the deck. Not a soul was as elegant as James, but he expected as much. So, when the splashing and laughing from outside the cave came to an abrupt halt, James was not surprised. Nor was he worried when a group of very angry mermaids came barreling toward them.

  “My sword!” he called. “Fetch me my sword!”

  The pirate at the wheel hurtled into James’s cabin and came back out with a very ornate sword, its golden handle glistening. He threw it out over the water, straight at James. James was not concerned that it was headed for his heart. He simp
ly made a small but dexterous maneuver and turned his body out of its way, catching it by its exquisite handle as it tried to fly past him.

  He tossed his goblet to the pirate nearest him and slogged forward, water clinging to his clothes, dripping from his hair. The mermaid at the head of the pack— group? school? He wasn’t quite sure what to call them— charged toward him, face red and scowling, giant fin flapping dangerously about. Scales were splashed across her face, shimmering and colorful, freckled across the bits of her that looked like skin. That was something that never failed to distract James; he’d never quite gotten used to it.

  In his peripheral vision, he could see several of his men backing up, the pirates on the Main aiming their weapons.

  “Drop those things,” the woman commanded, purple eyes flashing.

  Inwardly, James flinched. Every Lost Boy on the island had been injected with a healthy fear of the mermaids. But this wasn’t nighttime, and she had no weapon, and less than half his manpower. He clenched his jaw. “I will not.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You can’t have them, James Hook. They’re ours.”

  Something in his greater sensibilities stung at this. But how many bruises, over the years, had he endured at the hands and fins of these women? How many times had his lungs burned for lack of oxygen, and how many times had he nearly drowned?

  He’d spent a great deal of time at the lagoon growing up and always tried to keep a safe distance from the mermaids. But by the end of a swim, they had always found some reason to harass him, particularly at night, when the harassment had a much more deadly end goal. Everything around here went more vicious at night, it seemed.

  He’d never been able to reason exactly why the women hated him so, but likely it was simply because he wasn’t Peter Pan. The sting of guilt left almost as quickly as it came, and he met her gaze with a new resolve.

  The rest of the mermaids crowded in around the one in front, stopping in a haphazard, brightly colored group when James looked over the lot of them, eyes steely and cold. Silence fell in the cave and he glared again at the leader. She wavered, her gaze flickering from James to the pool below her. James took this opportunity and lunged, gripping the back of her neck with his left and raising the blade slowly from his hip, the point at the mermaid’s throat. “I will take your leave to relieve you of some of these possessions,” he said, sneering.

  The several mermaids who flanked her made moves toward him at this, but all froze in one motion, mouths set in angry lines, eyes burning. James glanced back over his shoulder. At the ship’s helm was Starkey, staring down at the brood, gun in hand, cocked and pointed at the maid to James’s right.

  The mermaid in his hands jerked half-heartedly. But when James hardened his grip on her neck and his fingers caught in her cherry-red hair, she stilled and said nothing. She simply trembled and clenched her fists and breathed, scales on her face disappearing as her face dried.

  The pirates stood frozen for a moment until James whirled around and shouted, “Well, what are you waiting for, fools? Load the ship!”

  And load they did.

  With all their wealth disappearing before their eyes, cornered and powerless, one of the mermaids beside the leader sprang forward, baring her teeth, kelp hair flying behind her, and that was when Jukes let a bullet fly. It grazed her arm and lavender blood rose in little bubbles to the surface of her skin. James whirled around and every mermaid shrank back, the kelp-haired one’s face draining of color.

  After that, with at least fifteen weapons trained upon them and that many more large, dirty bodies in the water carting away all they had, the mermaids gave them no more trouble. All the while, James oversaw and tried to ignore the stricken looks on the mermaids’ faces. As the cave lost its sparkle and the ship gained it, James made his way aboard.

  “Many thanks, lady,” he said with a tip of his hat, ignoring the guilt in the back of his mind, and the Spanish Main faded out of the tunnel.

  THAT NIGHT, JAMES SAT IN HIS CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS, idly flipping a doubloon over and over across his fingers. He was staring quietly into the mirror, not really seeing himself, just staring, so as to avoid the raucous merriment of his crew outside. He was willing himself not to feel the guilt boiling beneath his façade of poise.

  A soft knock interrupted his musings.

  “Come in.”

  “Captain, sir, Captain, sir,” Smee interrupted, “I thought you might want to have a look at this.”

  When he saw what it was, James’s mouth fell open. “Smee, where did you get this?”

  “In the plunder, sir. There’s quite a pile of it if you’d like to see.”

  James waved him into quiet and grabbed the thing from Smee’s hand. It was a pan flute. And not an ordinary pan flute; James recognized it instantly as Pan’s flute. He turned it several times, examining it, wanting to be sure. Caressing its distinctly grained wood and focusing on every little scar it had gotten over the years, he was quite certain. It was an item of great value to Peter, one of the few things the boy truly treasured. He knew that Peter was sharp enough to guess as to its whereabouts when the mermaids undoubtedly tattled to him of James’s pillaging.

  James stared at the flute thoughtfully and dismissed Smee with a single flick of his hand. He followed the man out minutes later and leaned against the dark outer wall of his cabin, staring at the flute.

  “Captain,” said the fellow with the comically large nose who’d steered earlier. His voice wobbled and cracked when he spoke.

  James fought the urge to snicker. “You did well today,” he said instead, and it was true. “What’s your name, pirate?”

  “Flintwise, sir.” He kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

  James clapped his hand down on the man’s shoulder and Flintwise looked up, a little smile on his lips when James said, “Yes, you did well, Flintwise.”

  Flintwise nodded and headed back to the pile of treasure, clop-clop-clopping as his leg banged against the wood of the ship.

  James’s attention turned quickly back to the flute, since the rest of his men were quite distracted. The noise of celebration and drunkenness provided an odd background to his considerations. He should take the flute back. He knew that this was the sensible thing. Or he could keep it for himself and provoke Peter to come and get it. Perhaps, if he was well enough prepared, he could defeat the boy. And if he could do that, he could guarantee his passage back home. The easier choice was clear. But the nastier, more violent one was decidedly more enticing. He was, after all, a pirate.

  TWELVE

  THE SPANISH MAIN WAITED QUIETLY IN PORT AS SEVERAL Neverdays passed. James spent them pacing on the ship’s deck and brooding in his quarters and occasionally staring at the flute that he hoped would be his ticket home.

  One night, as he was staring out over the darkening sea, he noticed a chill shift in the air. It was not a usual sort of chill or a usual sort of darkening. It was the kind that came only from Peter Pan. When the boy was in a foul or sinister mood, the island often mirrored him, something James had always found overwhelmingly annoying. Tonight, however, James was grateful for the sorcery. He twisted his lips into a smile and spun around to face his crew, the eerie darkness creating a foreboding backdrop for the captain.

  “Men!” he shouted over the rumble of the distant thunder. The crewmembers all stopped what they were doing, mid-drink, mid-clean, mid-breath.

  “Aye, Captain,” shouted Starkey.

  “Make preparations. Tonight, the Pan is coming aboard.”

  The pirates did not hop to action, for none of them had any inkling as to what those preparations would be. James rolled his eyes, secretly pleased that the crew needed him so greatly. He motioned for Starkey to come near him.

  “Do we have any oil aboard the ship?”

  Starkey raised a bushy eyebrow. “Aye.”

  “How much of it?” James demanded.

  Starkey frowned and hesitated before saying, “A large amount, I believe. Meant for lighting
lamps, Captain.”

  James nodded. “Ask the men to bring it out.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Starkey bowed his head and left, bringing several crewmembers with him below deck. Then, James crooked a finger at Bill Jukes, who descended promptly from his crow’s nest, clambering down unevenly. He practically fell from rung to rung, and James wondered how one didn’t snap beneath him. Perhaps a smaller fellow ought to hold such a position.

  “Captain?”

  James put his knuckle to his mouth and rested it there, pondering. “I need you and the rest of yours to rig something for me.”

  Several pirates filled the space behind Jukes, cocking their ears.

  “What’s that?” Jukes said.

  “A net.”

  Jukes frowned.

  “Pan will try to scale the ship. He’ll do it there.” James strode to the side of the ship and leaned over it, stretching his arm past the gold border. He pointed to one particular spot, where the wood was just slightly discolored and worn, varnish peeling.

  He remembered climbing in that exact spot, every time he couldn’t convince Peter to let him stay behind. Children, after all, were creatures of habit. And Pan was nothing more than a “children.”

  James sneered. “We’re going to douse it in oil. Even Peter won’t be able to grab hold. He’ll fall. And then he’ll fly. When he does that, I want him to fly straight into our trap. Can you do that, Jukes?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Do it, then.”

  Jukes nodded and walked heavily away, trailed by four men in brown rags who only looked so skinny because they were standing next to that kraken of a man.

  James surveyed his ship, proudly noting the hurried actions of each member of his crew.

  After he was satisfied that every man was working, he retreated to his quarters, the warmth of his cabin prickling his skin. James pulled the pan flute from a drawer and set it atop his desk’s shiny surface. Then, he retrieved a tarnished pair of scissors and sat before the mirror. He grabbed a lock of his too-long, coal-black hair and slowly snipped it away, strand by strand, until it hung in waves to just below his jaw. His face was already shaven and clean—captainly. And he noticed, for the first time, curls of chest hair peeking out above his shirt, which was unlaced and hanging low. He was getting older and older all the time. Nineteen or twenty now, he suspected.