by Andrea Jones
Yet David had faith that, now that he belonged to her, Jill herself commanded the generosity to answer his prayer. And, maybe, she’d answer it before he need describe how he might become her savior.
“No doubt you are correct, Mr. Smee. My whip might have snared David, as it once snagged another youngster.” With her smile fading, Jill turned back to the cabin boy. “The Neverland is a paradise, but it is not a place with which to trifle. I dreamed of coming here when I was a girl. Once arrived, I discovered its dangers. I also learned how to deal with them.”
David nodded. “I surely admire you, Lady. You proved yesterday that you can handle the hazards.”
“As you might learn to do, David.”
“You mean that you’ll teach me, Madam?”
“I mean that I’ll see that you are taught.”
“With respect, Lady, now that I’m aboard, I hope you’ll allow me to serve you on the water. I can read and I can write, and do sums. I’m trained as a cabin boy, if it pleases you, but I could work for the quartermaster or the sail maker, and even run powder.”
Jill’s doubting look disappointed him. “I will consider not only what I require, but what is necessary for you. From your account of your time on the Island, I gather that self-sufficiency is not your strong point.”
“I thank you, Lady, for your consideration. But I never want to brave those wilds again.” In truth, David had one last errand to run there, unpleasant but unavoidable— yet he kept to his plan, delaying the moment that he’d have to give his secret away. “I pray that I’ve been delivered from that dreadful isle for good.”
Ignoring David’s supplication, Jill said, “I am sorry to learn that the Unity went down, taking all hands with her.”
“Aye, Madam. The storm did us in, but the seal was set on her destruction after the Frenchmen boarded.”
“Then you’ll be pleased to know that Commodore Hook broke up L’Ormonde’s company, and put that ship to our service as Red Lady.” Jill nodded in the direction of the sister ship, a cable’s length beyond the Roger’s bow.
At the mention of the commodore, David looked over his shoulder, as apprehensive of meeting him as of the devil himself. But Hook did not materialize, and David calmed enough to recognize the former L’Ormonde. He was reassured about another anxiety, as well. “Then the French captain wasn’t working for you?”
Jill laughed. “Certainly he works for us. But he isn’t a willing partner.”
“And you didn’t look for the Unity’s destruction?”
“On the contrary, David. I treasure the memory of my time aboard her.”
“The memory of your marriage.” David glanced away to say, “Your first marriage, I mean. The sacred one.”
Smee squinted his disapproval, but Jill guessed at David’s intent. “You are wise to discover all you can about the people who hold power over you.” She studied him. “It is a virtue not to judge what you don’t understand. Another lesson you’d do well to learn.”
Diplomatically, David changed the subject. “I’ll be pleased to learn how you plan to put me to work, Ma’am.”
“Just a boy, and so eager to work! Sent to sea so young, you must have been allowed only a limited childhood. Did your mother tell you stories?”
“She wasn’t much for whimsy, Ma’am. My father died, leaving her to shift for me and my brother and sisters. She read to us only from the good book.”
“So you remember nothing of Peter? Nor dreams of the Neverland?”
“Peter? Isn’t that the name of a boy I saw over there in the forest?”
“Indeed. It is the custom for Peter to escort the children who are meant to come to the Island. Yet you arrived…and in a most unusual manner.”
“Not so unusual. I washed ashore. But do you mean that the children I saw were sent here?”
“A few lost ones are sent. Others are invited, tempted, or seduced.” Jill smiled, reminiscing. “Sometimes all three.”
David lowered his voice to reach only Jill. “I’m a lost soul, too, Lady. And from what I’ve learned of the Island, I think I was sent here to be saved…by an angel.” David’s face went pink. He expected a denial. Her answer surprised him.
“That explanation is the most likely,” she said. “What you would call ‘Providence’ takes many forms.”
David gazed at her, and, neophyte though he was, the devotion he pledged with his look might have kindly inclined another woman. Jill remained cool as an icon. She asked, “But can you tell me why you and I have met again?”
David shook his head. “No, Madam.” His left cheek began to burn.
“Why, David,” she observed, “You are lying to me.”
“Madam?”
“My blood-mark. It’s as vivid as if I’d just this moment touched you. Mr. Nibs, fetch a mirror.”
“Aye, aye.” The kerchiefed sailor bowed in obeisance, then departed.
“But I washed, twice…and with the soap that Mr. Smee brought. Did I not scrub it away?”
“I understand that you are bewildered, David. This Island holds magic. But you must have noticed signs of it before today.”
Remembering his enchantment as Jill kissed him— the transference of her life force in a rite that set his body to throbbing— David’s ears grew heated. His cheek blazed hotter still as he said, “I don’t believe in magic.” He’d told another lie. He believed in his goddess.
Smee snorted. “Here’s a stubborn one, Ma’am. No use to try teaching this lad.”
Mr. Nibs dashed up the steps, returning with a shaving mirror. Jill reached with her scarlet hand to take it, and held it up at David’s level. “Do you believe your eyes?”
Glad of a reason to approach her, David stepped closer. He was blessed by a whiff of her perfume, which went straight to his head, like liquor. Soon he sobered to catch his reflection. He brought it into focus, and inspected himself.
After weeks forced to fast on the Island, David looked gaunt. His eyes had sunk deeper in their sockets. On his right cheekbone a bruise had bloomed, from the wallop Mr. Smee delivered. His skin had lost the tan he acquired while he sailed his uncle’s ship, but, as yet, his chin showed only peach fuzz, although his hair, light brown again now that it was clean, hung some inches farther past his neck. He decided that, once he assumed duty for Jill, he’d tie it back and club it, like a gentleman. Then David turned to view the left side of his face.
He looked up fast, appealing to Jill. “Your…your hand…I can see your handprint!”
“I captured you, and claimed your life as mine. The Island’s enchantment worked the rest.”
“So that’s what that Indian meant, and Mr. Smee, and Captain Cecco, too.”
“It also tells us if you’re speaking truth. I’m known for my honesty. My mark, therefore, can label you a liar. When the color deepens and burns, your duplicity is obvious.”
David stepped back, covering his cheek— not to hide it, but to treasure Jill’s token. “But— how long will I keep it?”
Jill laid down the mirror. “I expect that at the proper moment, my mark will fade. Whether one propitiates it or not, Time may work its way on the Neverland.”
The boy stood dumbfounded, a pillar of salt.
“Now, David, I ask again. For what reason were you brought to me?”
He delayed for a time, trying to think of a way not to answer. “If you please, Lady, I can’t see how reason enters into it.” He shrugged. “I was shipwrecked.”
“In a disaster that only you survived. And you ended here, a place you weren’t invited, that you don’t remember from nursery tales, and which you never once held a longing to see.”
Mr. Smee leaned forward. “Captain Cecco told you about the doctor, didn’t he, boy? The lady’s second husband.”
“The…the doctor?” Still attempting to prevaricate, David turned his face aside.
Jill’s eyebrows raised. She gripped the arms of her chair. Deadly serious now, she stood, strode forward, and grasped David
’s jaw. He didn’t fight her; it was heaven and hell to feel her touch. His heart kicked, then began to thump in double time. As she pulled his left cheek toward her, her fingers firm with authority, the crimson stain revealed David’s falsehood.
She dropped her hand. “Dishonesty is a trait I will not tolerate.”
She gestured, and Smee clomped forward, dragging the manacles from his shoulder. Next he reached for his keys.
Desperate to remain in Jill’s company, David sorted his options. He couldn’t bear to disappoint her, and, clearly, subterfuge was impossible. When he’d knelt before her by the carcass of the tigress, he’d vowed to serve Red-Handed Jill. For her benefit, he must protect the secret he safeguarded, bundled in oilcloth, concealed in his cave. He had to use it himself, and use it before his devotion to her forced him to sacrifice it on the bloodstained altar of her palm, just as he’d surrendered his shamrock that day he first succumbed to Jill’s spell. But he remembered what Captain Cecco had warned— a prisoner is an item of value, or a prisoner is dead.
At last David gasped, “Yes, then. Yes, my lady. Captain Cecco told me about that other man you married. I know how corrupt the doctor is, and how worried he’s made you. I want to help. I know something that can protect you.”
Contrary to David’s expectation, Jill’s expression remained fierce, with no hint of relief. “I won’t abide foolishness. Mr. Smee, explain what I mean.”
In an instant, Smee was gripping David, and the chill of iron wrapped his wrist. David struggled, crying out, “It’s no lie! You can see it! Look at my face, the mark will prove I’m telling the truth.” He tilted his head for her to see.
Smee had both of David’s hands cuffed by now. Jill turned her back. She processed toward the taffrail, her posture regal, her frock fingered by the impious wind. Her profile against the Island appeared, to her disciple, both wonderful and wicked.
David’s reverence for her surged through his body and his soul. He dropped to his knees and pressed his shackled hands to his heart. “I swear to serve you, Lady, for all my days if you so command. But I owe one last duty to the Unity…to my uncle.”
Smee retorted, “You’ve a duty to your mistress, boy, who risked her life to salvage your sorry hide.” He rattled David’s chains. “You’d best come clean before she orders you overboard.”
“No! No, I’ll do anything for her! I promise I’ll answer, Madam— I think I know now why I’m here— but I can’t explain it— not yet.”
She remained aloof. “An act of generosity on your part, David, might ensure your well-being.”
“I have to sail back to London, just one last time. I need to go there to defend you. And it’s a matter of principle, too. My family’s honor.”
“A liar with honor.” Jill turned only her head. Her frame remained aligned with her Island. “A pretty story.”
Contrite and confused, he begged, “All right— I’ll answer what you ask. Only pledge to me first that you’ll get me home.”
“You feel you’re in a position to parley, David?”
“Aye, I am.”
“Tell me everything. Then I’ll decide.”
“But if I tell you the secret, I’ll only help you halfway. And my duty to my family might be sacrificed.”
“If you tell me, or if you don’t tell me, I cannot grant safe passage to London. We are pirates, David. We won’t be docking in the Thames.”
The three sailors laughed, and this time David didn’t blame them. Like any martyr, he felt the absurdity of his position. Jill didn’t mock him, but she did regain her smile. This time it was catlike, and calculated. He was reminded of the tigress.
“I understand, David. We’re discussing serious matters, and you’re still just a boy. How ever and why ever you arrived here, you are now a guest of the Neverland. Perhaps, before you grow up, you must learn how to play.”
Smee cocked his head toward her, his question unspoken. Jill answered, “And since David insists on returning home to best serve his mistress, he might ask to be guided there…by someone else.”
Smee’s rumbling chuckle held an ominous note.
The weight of David’s chains made his arms sag. The weight of a terrible dread dragged his spirit. He listened, frightened, for his lady to pronounce penance for his sin.
Red-Handed Jill seated herself, and spread her emerald skirts. Commanding David to settle on the deck before her, she signaled for the bo’sun and his mates to sit, too. Then she leaned forward, a radiance in her eye, an eagerness in her manner. And David, the boy who had rarely heard a fairy tale, waited, enraptured, for a story.
“Take heed, David…liar, lover, and lost one. Now I’ll weave you some magic. This day is young, but when the hourglass turns to midnight, by choice or by chance, you’ll believe.”
Her sentences descended, like a gentle benediction…
✽ ✽ ✽
“The figure of a boy sails high against the clouds. He rarely flies at night, but this evening he feels the lure of adventure. The sensation is strong— so strong that he brings his fellows. He wants witness to the valor he’s about to display. His hideout under the ground awaits his return, sighing through root-woven walls, grateful for some silence. It’s the sky’s turn to host him, and the sweet-scented night welcomes him to her breast.
“Peter promised his boys pirates, and pirates have arrived. More pirates than he’s ever seen here on the Neverland. Too long he’s avoided a skirmish, and his blood fires to prove his courage now that not one, but two companies of buccaneers lie afloat in Neverbay. The more hopeless the odds, the more glory’s in store for the Wonderful Boy.
“While Peter soars above, his flock glides through the woods. The damp of dew cools their faces. Their knives bolster their belts. Arriving at the edge of the wood, they gather together, then dive down a cliff. As they round a craggy bend, they spot the glow of ships’ lanterns.
“Peter leads his boys nearer, keeping close to the Island, his home and domain. His sword tugs at his side, but he knows he won’t wield it. The air that hums past his ears sings of subterfuge, tonight. Sunlight is bold, but starlight calls for subtlety.
“Peter ducks behind a boulder, peering into the bay. The swells are gentle this eve, warmish, and they slosh around his feet. His boys tend to chatter and splash, and he hushes them. Immediately they obey. These boys don’t know quite enough yet to question. Questioning is for grown-ups.
“The boys look up when Peter points. The second ship, the smaller one in the distance, burns more than the usual lights, stem to stern. Through her casements, her cabins glow, and strings of lanterns illuminate her deck. Strains of music float to Peter’s ears, with voices pitched for a party.
“Yet the larger ship, the Roger, lies dim. The only hint of light is from a cabin, and curtains contain it— in the commodore’s quarters. Peter’s instincts prove true. Tonight’s the night to raid the Roger.
“But Peter is clever. He knows something’s suspicious, even though Hook, his mortal enemy, seldom posts guards here in Neverbay. Hook is confident to the point of arrogance: the mere whisper of his name protects his ship. At this distance, Peter discerns no sailors on deck, and none in the crow’s nest. Long Tom lies unattended. But is a trap set to be sprung? Is Hook inviting a skirmish? Yet how could Hook know Peter’s boys would fly tonight? Peter has told no one, not even his fairy, to whom he confides all. He didn’t know what he’d do tonight, himself, until it happened.
“His courage wins.
“Peter scoops up some mud, and daubs his face for camouflage. His followers do the same. Disregarding the odor, Peter rubs more muck on his head for good measure. It hides his golden hair. The youngest boy, with similar coloring, follows suit. Some confusion ensues, as the dark-haired boy smears the carrot-top with mire, too, and the carrot-top flings it back in protest. The muck falls plopping in the water until Peter springs to his feet and towers over them, his hands on his hips. The tussle stops. Then, with a grand sort of gesture, Peter Pan
leads the Lost Boys toward danger.
“Flying fast with their bellies to the brine, the four figures keep the Roger between themselves and Red Lady, remaining invisible to her revelers. Confidence swells as the band nears the Roger; the festivity on the Lady grows louder, but here, not a soul is seen. Not a voice is heard.
“But wait! Peter’s ears are keen, and he does hear someone. A muffled yelp. Peter swivels his eyes around, searching for the source. And soon he spies it— a net hangs down from the prow, bulging with what looks like a body.
“A thrill skitters up his spine, and he drops below the lowest portholes. One is open, but dim. In a bold move, Peter thrusts his head and shoulders in. A hammock hangs moored there, covered with a blanket. Seeing no weapons to snatch, Peter pulls himself out again, to the relief of his boys. Then he braces up against the hull, its wood scraping his elbows. He signals his band to follow. One by one they press against the ship’s side, hiding behind their leader. Rolling their eyes upward in dread, they expect a gunport to swing suddenly open. Their ears anticipate the jingle of steel. But they’re mistaken.
“It’s the whimper off the bow that freezes them with fear.
“For Peter, nothing else could make that sound. A cry for help, suppressed by a gag. Peter pulls his dagger. The net swings now, as the body inside it thrashes, seeking to be seen. Who could it be? Not a grown man; the body’s too small. Is it an Indian princess? A girl? Or…is he a boy?
“Peter edges closer to the figurehead. Hook’s mermaid holds her right hand high, grasping a sickle, while her left hand beckons toward the sea. The net that traps her catch is dangling from her elbow. Her tail loops down to the water. In the daylight, she looks like Red-Handed Jill without her clothes on, but now, in the gloom beneath the bowsprit, Peter sees her as a sea witch, condemning the wretch who hangs upon her to his doom.
