Never Never

by Brianna Shrum

  She harrumphed and returned to cleaning things out of her hair and brushing several purple and gold leaves off the tawny leather wrapped around her. “I could level you in an instant with my arrows, you know.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt of that.” Then, under his breath and leaning just slightly toward her, he said, “You could level me easily without an arrow, I think.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He stared at her, drawn in by her. This was why he’d stayed away from her for so many years—this thrumming of his heart, the heat at his skin, the wickedly delicious thoughts swirling around in his head.

  She frowned and looked him over, from head to toe. “So, you’ve become a pirate, have you?”

  He jumped at the sound of her voice. “I have.”

  “I never figured you for a pirate.”

  “How do you mean that?” James asked, face hovering between a smirk and a frown.

  “I didn’t think you’d turn into a brute is all.”

  Now, it was James’s turn to take offense. “I’m no brute. I’m captain of the fiercest ship in the sea.”

  Tiger Lily shrugged. “All the same.”

  James sat up straight. “Who’s told you I’m a brute? Only because I’m a pirate?”

  “I saw what you did to the mermaids’ lagoon,” she said, leaning in toward him and raising an eyebrow.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the closeness of her. “That’s it? And you don’t believe the mermaids deserved every bit of it?” he managed.

  Tiger Lily tilted her head in a sort of affirmation of that. “Well, Peter, of course, hates pirates dreadfully.”

  James had to concentrate on breathing and on not making himself menacing at the mention of that name. He forced his face into a careful blank, muscles in his arms tightening. “Yes, Peter does.”

  Tiger Lily raised her eyebrows then, as though she had just recalled that Peter Pan might be an offensive reference to the pirate before her. James was quite sure that his face confirmed that notion.

  “I’m sorry. I suppose you don’t much care what Peter thinks, do you?”

  His mouth flattened into a disappointed line, recalling the time she’d spent with Peter over the years, secret hours away from the rest of the Lost Boys. He suspected that, for Peter, it had never been anything more than play, but for Tiger Lily, well, he’d always figured it was something else. “I suppose you care very much.”

  Tiger Lily’s brown face flushed brightly. She reached out to his neck, and the touch of her fingertips erased thoughts of anything else. “Your scar’s healed well.”

  James couldn’t form a response. He could barely swallow with her so close. She leaned in to examine the scar, and James realized that she smelled very much like her namesake. Every muscle in his body was tensed, tightly coiled, and he was afraid one of them might actually snap. When she was satisfied, she leaned back, and James relaxed again, glad that she was farther away, but also wishing she wasn’t.

  “What were you doing in the woods this morning, anyway?” Tiger Lily asked, crumbling a pink leaf between her fingers.

  “Looking for something.”

  She raised her head. “Did you find it?”

  “No. I was too busy getting shot at.”

  He made his face very grave then, overly serious, taunting her. Tiger Lily smirked and picked up a handful of dirt, then threw it at him. It coated him in a cloud. He choked.

  “Now, now, Princess,” James coughed. “It’s not wise to incur the wrath of a pirate.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely. We’re all scoundrels. There’s no telling what I might do if you provoke me.” He smiled wryly and raised an eyebrow.

  Tiger Lily stood and brushed herself off. “Well then, I shall have to steer clear of you, won’t I?”

  He looked sadly at the ground. “I hate to tell you, but that won’t work either, I’m afraid.”

  Tiger Lily raised her eyebrows. “And why not?”

  “That would only make my attentions worse.”

  “How so?”

  He leaned back easily against the nearest tree, stretching his arms out behind his head, and stared up at her. He thought for a moment that he saw her pupils darken, expand just a little, and he held back a smirk.

  “Well, you see, that’s the way of pirates. We always want what we cannot have.”

  She met his gaze and clenched her arms across her chest. The laughter in both their eyes dissipated.

  “Is that so?” she said, and her words sounded as if they came from a dry throat.

  “Aye,” said James, staring at her.

  “Well, what if I’m not yours for the wanting?”

  They both knew to whom she was referring. James didn’t look away, didn’t let his gaze flicker for a moment. “That makes it worse, Princess.”

  They looked at each other for a silent minute until Tiger Lily broke the stare.

  “I need to go, James.”

  “Can I see you again?” he asked, standing slowly.

  She looked off into the trees. “I don’t know that that’s a good idea.”

  “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m a scoundrel. We don’t require all our ideas to be good ones.”

  Tiger Lily tried to hide her smile, but James saw it anyway.

  “Perhaps I’ll see you again. I don’t know.”

  “Well, you see, I’ve been planning to plunder your village anyway—”

  She hit him in the arm and smiled.

  “So, I’ll likely be up and around there for a while. Scouting, you know.”

  Tiger Lily smiled and stepped backward. “Well then, see each other we may.”

  She picked up her bow and left, looking once back over her shoulder. James smiled to himself and stood when she’d disappeared, and spent the better part of a Neverday meandering around the forest, pace slower than he’d intended, caught somewhere between searching for Peter’s tree and reliving every little touch Tiger Lily had given him.

  When he finally walked back toward his ship, he was not as disappointed as he expected he’d be to have found nothing of a hideaway. Rather, he was in quite a good mood, and determined to have that bath, and to be back to Tiger Lily’s village as soon as possible.

  FOURTEEN

  WHEN JAMES GOT BACK TO HIS BOAT, IT WAS SITTING peacefully at the dock, as James knew it would be. But its inhabitants were not nearly so serene. They were scrambling back and forth and yelling at one another, looking like a collection of bugs running from a bird. James wondered for a moment how exactly they’d gotten on at all before he’d shown up.

  “Captain,” Starkey said, thundering up to him, out of breath.

  “Don’t bother me now, Starkey. I’ve got things to attend to.”

  He knew in his inmost self that the odds of taking that bath and returning to Tiger Lily with any sort of haste were not high in light of this mysterious chaos, but he pressed on toward his cabin nonetheless.

  “But, Captain, it be of the utmost importance.”

  “Later.”

  Starkey stepped in front of him, and he was hulking and no easy man to step through. James stopped and flared his nostrils, frustrated but largely unsurprised.

  “Please, just take a look.”

  Starkey handed him a spyglass, which he took with exaggerated reluctance. What he saw snapped him quickly out of his apathy. He strode quickly across the deck and leaned over the edge, as if that would give him a clearer view.

  “A ship.”

  “Aye.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Pirates?”

  “I doubt Pan would allow a regular sailor dream into Neverland,” said Starkey, and James nodded.

  He pursed his lips and tossed the spyglass aside. “Take in the anchor! We’re heading out to sea!” he hollered, hand cupped over his mouth, voice booming and echoing. And, in the few minutes it took his crew to ready the vessel, he prepared himself. He put on the hat and coat and boots which, by now, were lik
e pieces of him, then took a deep breath.

  The ship freed itself of the shore and began to sail slowly toward the other boat. There was a tense hush that fell over the crew as they came closer and the distant ship became larger and larger, and, consequently, more and more real. The closer it came, the more details James could make out about it. It was made of a similar wood to his own ship, dark and polished, swirls and knots everywhere in the grain, and it was only slightly smaller than the Main. The fellow who captained it wore a scabbard at his side, a dark, scraggled beard, and a wicked grin on his face.

  “That man is certainly no merchant,” James muttered, and Starkey simply shrugged.

  There were men of several shapes and sizes—tall, short, skinny, large, all in various states of filth, blackness in the air around them. They wore eye patches, peg legs, and all. He could almost smell the rum sweat radiating off them from here. Swords glinted on the deck, lying around or hanging off the pockets of men who carried them so casually; there was no explanation but that they used them often.

  He wondered, then, having had little to no real exposure to pirates other than his own, if there was some sort of code amongst these ruffians. Would they pass peacefully by one another, nodding to their shared love of criminality? Or were they supposed to stop and board each ship together and have a grand lecherous celebration and drink rum and sing and dance until morning? Or, were they expected to fire upon one another and plunder and pillage, business as usual? His musings were answered with the sound of a cannon.

  James jumped and immediately fell to his stomach as a cannonball blasted over him, landing on the other side of the ship into the water with a thunderous splash.

  There was sudden pandemonium aboard the Spanish Main as men who were not accustomed to sea battles were forced to evolve into war strategists rather instantly. Smee tottered about, scrambling as quickly as his round little body would allow him, accomplishing less than nothing, but that was unsurprising. Jukes grabbed at a weapon and hurtled toward the cannon, another pirate with missing teeth beside him. And Flintwise jerked on the wheel so hard that the ship threatened to topple.

  Only Starkey stood solid and resolute, hand on his blade, tense and ready for battle.

  James pretended that the rattling he felt was not the shaking permeating him to his bones, but the vibration of cannon fire.

  “Take them, men!” James snarled, forcing himself to be brave. “Aboard the ship! No mercy!”

  A mighty cry went up from the pirates, and they drew their blades and clambered on board the other pirates’ ship. James steadied himself, steeling his wicked nerves, and took a running start. Then, drawing his sword above his head and looking magnificent, he leapt from his deck to the other, landing with a less-than-graceful thump into terrifying, bloody chaos.

  James had little time to regret his decision, for the fellow with the terrible cry and rancid breath bearing down on him with an axe was worth much more immediate attention than his roiling emotions. James had no time to think, only to react, and react he did, plunging his sword into the soft belly of his attacker. He forced himself not to get sick when the blade came out, slick with another pirate’s bright blood.

  James’s stomach knotted up, blood draining from his face as the blood of the pirate drained from his body. Until this moment, murder was something he had managed to avoid. He’d been proud of it. Running with Peter’s crew, even Bibble had had to kill a pirate or Indian or two. But not James. Not until now.

  He was a thread away from throwing up onto the deck.

  He shut his eyes for a painful instant, and then opened them, telling himself that this was all make-believe. It had to be. He had to get past the killing if he was to survive this venture. So he pretended, and he killed.

  Pirates were falling left and right, and the scent of blood was in the air. James carved his way through the slithering mass of bodies, as though he was clearing an overgrown forest and not a thicket of men.

  Finally, he found himself face to face with the captain of the vessel. Their captain was the most horrible-looking of them all. He was short and squat with a shadow over his face from his unshaved whiskers. And several of his teeth were missing. When James felt his black gaze upon him, a chill invaded his blood.

  Adrenaline coursed through James as the man smiled an ugly smile and drew his sword, laughing a sinister and drunken laugh. James pointed his sword at him and hoped against hope that his opponent did not notice the shaking.

  The man’s battle strategy matched his look. It, too, was unrestrained, out-of-control, ugly. But, despite his lack of finesse, the force of the first blow resonated through James’s blade, shaking his innards. This man could split him in two if he landed one.

  James backed away, instantly terrified at the reality of it. The man struck and struck again. James blocked every blow, fairly cowering. But, something in him changed when the other man opened his pit of a mouth, flexed his muscles like a strutting peacock, and laughed, clearly and loudly, at him. In that moment, he resolved to give the captain nothing more to laugh at.

  When the other captain struck again, James struck back. His foe’s eyes widened and James drove him back, back to the ship’s edge. Strike and counter-strike and parry and dodge. James could feel that the larger man was getting exhausted, and he knew that that exhaustion would eventually make itself apparent in a mistake. And it did. For, precisely when he shouldn’t have, the captain raised his sword above his head with both hands. Seeing his opening, and knowing full well that in this instant he was to kill or be killed, James barreled into him, and drove his sword into the man’s sternum, burying it to its hilt.

  The captain dropped his sword. James slid his blade out and let the man fall to his knees himself, with dignity.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

  The other captain sputtered, spraying out small specks of blood as he coughed and grabbed at his chest. James looked away for a second, trying desperately not to lose the contents of his stomach on the polished wood. Then, because he believed it good form, he swallowed down the horrified disgust inside him. And he removed his hat and nodded solemnly, looking straight into the man’s eyes as he died.

  As man by man realized what had happened, the chaos came to a close, and James paced around the ship, surveying the damage. Most from his crew yet lived, while most from the other lay dead on the deck. There were several left, seven or eight. A few were cowering, sniveling, and James couldn’t see them clearly. But standing tall before him were a large man with muscles that threatened to rip right out of his dark skin, a tan man with curls of shiny black hair whose stature nearly matched the black man’s, and a pale one with several missing teeth and both hands fixed on backward. It was an odd sort of child who’d dreamed this crew up.

  “You. You’re all that live of your crew.”

  The large, dark-skinned man stepped forward. “Yes, sir. We will happily go to the crocodiles waiting for us below.”

  Honor, then. These men had honor. That was a rare trait, amongst thieves.

  “Would you, truly?”

  The man looked over the edge at the crocs that had recently appeared, waiting for a meal, and all three in the front stood still, eyes hard and bold.

  “We will not die like cowards, sniveling and begging for our lives. We walk the plank ourselves,” said the one who’d taken charge of the exchange.

  “Do it, then,” said James. The tan one and the one with the backward hands followed the large man solemnly to the ship’s plank. The four who’d shrunk back simply trembled and stared. As the leader of their little group of survivors took his first step bravely onto the plank, James held out his hand.

  “Wait.”

  The other man stopped.

  “Do you truly desire to die?”

  There was a silence, one that was only interrupted by the quiet and strange tick-tocking that accompanied one of the crocodiles in the water. Then: “No. But I accept it.”

/>   James peered at him, and then at the rest of them, locking eyes with them one by one, evaluating. “Then, you will not die. Join me.”

  He frowned and stepped back onto the ship, eyeing James suspiciously.

  “Men as brave as you are rare, in my experience. And I’ve lost a good many today. Sail under my flag, the lot of you.”

  The men looked surprised, relieved, confused. James stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “Do it now, or go to the crocs. The choice is yours.”

  The large man stepped forward and knelt before James.

  “I give you my sword. Daniel Thatcher.”

  And the tan one. “Cecco.”

  And the one with the odd hands. “Noodler.”

  James held his hand out as the four terrified pirates approached him, eyeing a knock-kneed one who’d only just slunk out from behind the wheel.

  “Not you. You four cowards will not sail with me. You will take this broken vessel and sail across the rest of the Never Sea and tell all you meet of the terrible and wonderful crew of the Spanish Main. And of their brave and horrible Captain, James Hook.”

  The knock-kneed man stepped back quietly to the wheel, shaking with the other three, and James nodded to his crew to board their own ship again. So they, with three new pirates aboard, released themselves from the ill-fated ship and sailed back to shore. James stared expressionlessly ahead, wishing he could push away the haunting thought that today, when he had killed those pirates, he had killed the dreams of a child, just as Peter had killed his so long ago.

  When they were docked again, James chose to ignore the celebrations of his companions. Instead, he looked at the sweat and dirt and blood on his chest and hands and blinked slowly. He quietly made his way out onto the beach and stared over the ocean, wondering if he was imagining the little stripes of blood coming in with the tide. He was almost certain that he was. Nonetheless, he privately, and as quietly as he could, fell to his hands and knees and lost the contents of his stomach in the water.

  FIFTEEN