by Andrea Jones
Jewel knew her man. Something dreadful had happened. Reassured to know that Peter, safely slumbering, could not be the cause of her master’s disturbance, she uttered her concern in a little, lilting resonance.
“I’ll spare no words for pleasantries,” he said. “The facts are ugly.”
Jewel leaned closer, grasping his thumb.
“My lady has jumped ship. Captain Cecco is the victor.” A cadaverous cast whitened Hook’s visage. Above everything, he valued Jill. Above anything less, he prized victory.
Jewel’s face crumpled in sympathy. Her heart ached with emotion. It was too small to hold both compassion and love. She chose love, and felt better. She squeezed his thumb.
“I trust that you obeyed my order regarding the Indian?”
Growing solemn, Jewel nodded.
“The time has come to make use of it. You will guide Mr. Tootles to the village.”
Wondering if he was to be punished for his mother’s transgression, Tom sucked in his breath. This new Hook, or rather, this old Hook, made him wary.
Yet Tom was not the man on whom Hook intended vengeance. “My errand is urgent; you will fly there, without delay.”
Jewel rose up, flickering, to hover over his palm.
Hook clasped a lock of his hair and, with a flash of his claw, slashed it off. He thrust the curl toward the fairy, who accepted it, cherishing it at her bosom.
“Bestow my token on the widow. She will know from whom you come.”
Tom’s eyes bulged. “Sir, you can’t mean—”
“Captain Cecco’s Island beauty.” Hook’s lip twisted, his voice intimate with irony. “Raven.”
Tom worried the scar at his temple. He cleared his throat. “Commodore, may I fetch Lily for you, mayhap? Or Lelaneh?”
“No.” Hook turned grim again. “Raven tended me once; I was wet and shivering. Tonight, she must put out a fire.”
Jewel zipped to Tom’s elbow and prodded him. He stood rooted to the rug. “But…” Against the force of Hook’s will, he found no words. And from now, Tom reflected with dismay, Jill wouldn’t be here to gentle the beast.
“Mr. Tootles, inform the captain’s paramour that you will escort her home at dawn.”
“But, will she come with us?”
“You will make her come. To me.”
“Sir, your legend— your reputation—” Tom hesitated. “All your men respect that. We boast about you.”
The commodore towered, daring him to continue.
The youth held his position, like a man raised by Jill. “You’ve never forced a woman.”
Tom couldn’t believe his ears, next, but he did believe his eyes.
Hook lowered his chin, riveting Tom with his stare. He cocked his hook at his side, threatening, and the flame of the lantern arced across the claw’s curve. Through clenched teeth, Hook commanded, “Bring her to me. I don’t care how.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Jacquot wended his way down the staircase, guided by his toes. In his hands he balanced a tray laden with remains of the feast. The roast sent its aroma ahead, the wooden stairs squawked, and by the time Jacquot arrived at the bottom, Pierre-Jean was leaning against the bars of the brig, salivating, his china blue eyes alight.
“Bonsoir, mon ami,” Jacquot hailed him. “Chef takes pity on you. Enough that you miss the party, he says. He wishes that you indulge your empty belly.” He set the tray on the deck. “I have not the keys. Chef did not dare ask permission.”
“He is kind, and so are you, Jacquot. But Chef holds the good will of everyone. Why does he fear to ask the captain a favor?”
“I will have the pleasure of telling you all about it. Here, I recommend the roast boar. I cranked the spit myself. See,” Jacquot flexed his arms, “the muscles I made! The Women of the Clearing approve me.”
“Good for you. And I am glad that you stay. It is not only my belly that is lonely. I’ve had no company but the cat.” Eagerly, Pierre-Jean knelt on the straw and reached through the bars. “Excusez-moi, while I dine before puss comes demanding. She declined my bread and water.”
Jacquot settled his bony bottom on the floor. “These pirates…eh, I mean to say, our pirates, hein? They throw a good fête. Food, music, girls. We danced, we drank.”
“The ship was quiet. Did everyone attend?”
“Tout le monde.”
Through a savory mouthful, Pierre-Jean gabbled the question he’d been wondering all evening. “Mr. Yulunga and little Mrs., too?”
“Mrs. Hanover, non. She was condemned to the children, in the Clearing. Mr. Yulunga’s command.”
“Oh,” Pierre-Jean said, trying to sound disappointed. “I pity that she missed the fun.” He blushed, grateful for the low light of the brig’s lantern. From certain signs she gave, he had been certain Mrs. Hanover would make use of her cleverness, and smuggle herself to his prison. His heart trembled as he imagined what might have happened, had she dared. Despite his captivity, he’d spent the evening in paradise, dreaming of such a tryst. At least she’d had no chance to flirt with other men at the revels. He knew her by now. Behind Yulunga’s massive back, she never missed an opportunity to flaunt herself. Just thinking of her wantonness made Pierre-Jean smile.
Suppressing it, he asked, “And did you hear a story from Red-Handed Jill? Was the experience all we’ve been told?”
“No.”
Pierre-Jean gaped, a hunk of boar halfway to his mouth.
“It was more than we’d been told.” Jacquot grinned, and Pierre-Jean filled his maw. “The most amazing story, though, is not what she said, but what she did.”
“Tell me all. I will not interrupt.”
Jacquot didn’t need to be begged. He narrated the night’s adventures in detail, relishing the telling. A calico cat crept up to rub against his arm, her green-eyed stare aimed at the tray. Jacquot restrained her, and when he reached the astonishing conclusion of his tale, he saw with satisfaction that Pierre-Jean had ceased chewing. In triumph, Jacquot declared, “She is here, three decks above our heads, tête-à-tête with our captain.” He sat back, waiting for Pierre-Jean’s awe. But the grin fell from Jacquot’s face.
“Jacquot,” his listener asked, quietly, “are you certain?”
“Mais oui! She was seen in the boat with Captain Cecco, by Commodore Hook himself!”
Pierre-Jean shook his head, and his long, blond braid dragged on his back. “It isn’t right.”
“Of course it isn’t right! This is what makes the amazement. Red-Handed Jill has desolated the commodore. She is ours, the Red Lady’s lady, from now!”
“So, Captain Cecco and this woman…They are wrapped in the act of love, at this moment?”
“Two ships’ companies are visualizing it.”
Pierre-Jean pushed the tray away. His stomach no longer felt well, and the bilgewater smell of the brig beset him. “This cannot be the case. The commodore mistakes.” Suspicion gnawed where his hunger used to be.
“Quoi?” Jacquot goggled. The cat seized the opportunity to leap on the tray. “What can you know of it— you, who are buried below in this ship?”
“I know women. Two breeds. Red-Handed Jill is one. Mrs. Hanover is another.”
“Tell me then. I wish to learn about females.”
“The lady is loyal. One can see it; one can feel it.”
“And?”
“The other is wicked. Unsatisfied. Perhaps it is no secret to the company; I watch Mrs. Hanover.”
“Well, eh…perhaps.” Jacquot hid the smirk on his narrow face.
“I know her, I think.” Pierre-Jean wiped the grease from his hands on the straw. He pulled the cat through the bars, and, hugging her to his chest, he retired to the bunk by the hull. “Good night, Jacquot. I appreciate your company. Give Chef my thanks, too.” He buried his face in the warm feline’s fur.
Baffled, Jacquot slowly collected the dishware. “Bien sûr.”
“Do one more favor for me, s’il vous plaît.”
The sh
ip’s timbers groaned, and the lantern swayed on its hook. Pierre-Jean’s voice came, hollow, from the shadows.
“Tell Mr. Yulunga, with my apologies, that I suggest he examine the Clearing.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Tom didn’t want Indian territory to see him before he spotted it. He ran his finger over the edge of his knife, appreciating Jewel’s illumination of the Island. Gliding at her side, he soared over the treetops in the fragrant midnight forest. “This adventure reminds me of our capers with Pan, Jewel.” The difference was that Pan, unlike pirates, never went hunting a woman.
Tom himself felt grateful for women. “I’m that glad to have talked things over with Lily. But I’m sorry we troubled Mr. Smee.”
The fairy turned up her nose. A believer in strict obedience to her master, she hadn’t approved of the delay. But it wasn’t just her habit of compliance that motivated Jewel. She had urged Tom to hurry his pow-wow with Lily because she fretted over Hook’s misery.
“Don’t be angry,” Tom encouraged her, “we’ll be there in a trice. Hook has no cause to fault you.”
Jewel pinched his arm in an affectionate way. They’d been through a lot together, and more work awaited them.
Still, she sighed, and yearned to alleviate her master’s grief. Soothing Peter as he dozed this evening was a task, but not an arduous one. Jewel, as Tink, had watched the Wendy accomplish the undertaking a dozen times. The commodore’s case was graver.
Hook was no child, sleeping through a bad dream. He walked a waking nightmare. Time, always a trickster here, seemed to reverse itself like an hourglass, casting him back to the days of his curse. Jewel was a believer in the power of Time, and she obeyed it. She acknowledged, though, that the postponement had given her and Tom a chance to refine their strategy. For once, Jewel’s job was the easy one.
Tom hurried to keep up with her, glad to feel the night air whooshing over him. As anxious as he was about his brother, and his mother, he hadn’t been sure he could fly tonight. But he found relief in ascending the skies over the Neverland; it gave him a chance to sort his thoughts about Jill.
His faith in Jill was too strong to fault her for tonight’s upheaval. He’d accepted her decision the first time she’d joined forces with Cecco, yet, at that time, she hadn’t simply exchanged one captain for another; on that day, Hook had disappeared. He was most likely dead. But Hook was among his company now, very much alive, more potent and more angry than Tom had ever witnessed him.
Even combatting Pan, who had chopped off his arm, the commodore had never appeared so malevolent. Tom had chosen pirates’ ways, had sworn his oath to Hook, and he’d do his duty tonight and always. Until this evening, Jill acted and felt the same. Shuddering, Tom remembered Hook’s threat, and he could not fathom Jill’s reasons for salting the commodore’s wound.
He slowed their journey as an awful notion occurred to him. “Jewel, why didn’t Hook venture out, with us as his escort, to persuade Raven himself?”
The fairy shot him a look of disbelief. She secured the lock of hair she’d belted at her waist, then she folded her arms, folded her wings, and plunged down toward the ground. Buzzing back to Tom’s side, she raised her eyebrows in query.
“Aye, I understand. And that’s just what I feared.” A lump grew in Tom’s throat. He swallowed it, appreciating another of the losses Hook was forced to endure, and without Jill’s love to succor him. In losing Jill, he’d lost his bliss, and along with it his gift of flight. No wonder Mr. Smee was near frantic about the commodore. Maybe Hook’s instinct was correct. Maybe Raven could save him.
Or, maybe, the capture of Raven was just ruthlessness— a ploy to even the score with Cecco. And Jill.
Tom sniffed the smolder of campfires. He and Jewel were mounting the slope toward the Indian plateau. As they dropped to earth, she pointed to an old, knotty oak in the forest that fringed the encampment, and Tom concealed himself behind it. Obviously Hook, with his usual shrewdness, laid his plans days ago, preparing for any eventuality. He’d made Jewel map the topography. She knew which foliage might cloak even the brawniest of Hook’s men.
Laying a finger to her lips, Jewel bid her fellow conspirator farewell. She flitted from leaf to leaf, her chiming muted, hiding her glow as best she could as she made her way to the village. At Hook’s command, she had followed Raven home from her assignation with Cecco, and marked the way. Scanning the encampment, she found her bearings in the pattern of the dwellings. She identified her target and, looking around one last time, she sped toward White Bear’s tepee, to perch upon the interlacing poles at the top. Leaning in, she let her eyes adjust to the dimness. She had to suppress a sneeze as a strand of smoke curled round her nose.
Lit amber by the embers of a cooking fire, two pallets were visible, and a cradleboard hung from a tepee pole. The wrappings hung slack, and the little one cuddled snug between the man and the wife, who were sleeping. All three lay swathed together in a pale, heavy fur. Jewel recognized the other woman as Raven, who lay on her pallet like a shadow, facing the sky. The fairy thought she caught a glitter in Raven’s eyes, perhaps Jewel’s own light reflecting there. In another moment, she knew it was so, because Raven blinked, started up, and stared skyward through the smoke hole.
Jewel jumped from the pole, and floated lower. She smiled at the woman’s astonishment. Human beings were so easily impressed, but Jewel never failed to be flattered by their adulation. She’d have liked to explore the tepee— some interesting pots lay about, and Jewel loved to look into jugs. The furs appeared soft and inviting, too. But her master’s orders didn’t allow for sightseeing. She hung near Raven’s face, looking charming, and gesturing toward the door.
Fairies and Indians rarely communed on the Neverland. The former were too engaged in indulging themselves, and the latter too busy making a living. They shared the fruits of the Fairy Glade’s garden, but circumspection prevailed between the two communities.
Raven was, therefore, astonished at this fairy’s appearance. Her first impulse was caution. So much had changed in her life of late though, that this turn seemed inevitable— and harmless; fairies were known to be mischievous, but, really…what danger could come of them?
Raven was curious, too. Why had this creature come to call? Raven already broke taboo by befriending a pirate. She hardly need fear the overtures of this tiny thing. A moment later, her scalp tingled as she remembered. The women’s talk said one of the Fay had allied with the pirates. Perhaps this sprite was a messenger, from Captain Cecco? No doubt he felt concern for Raven ever since she’d left him waiting on the cliff top. Surely, for his sake, Raven should learn the fairy’s errand?
Deliberating, Raven looked toward her brother-in-law. She listened to his steady breath. Then, quietly, she rose from her pallet. She pulled her dress on, smoothed her short hair, and was just about to raise the tepee door when she caught sight of the beaded moccasins. She reconsidered. If White Bear awoke, she’d need a reason for venturing out. Snatching up the basket she used to collect cradle moss, she followed the fairy outdoors.
She paused there, expecting some form of communication. But the creature fluttered away, leaving a trail of twinkles behind her. Reluctant to wander from the dwelling place, Raven beckoned her back. The fairy didn’t stop.
Her light dwindled into distance, and night sounds surrounded Raven. She felt alone, then, even while standing near her people. Her arms grew cool, and she chafed them. She judged by the moon that one day was ended, and another new born. Aloneness turned to loneliness. She thought of Cecco feeling the same way, gazing over the ocean from the cliff’s edge, awaiting her companionship.
Plucking up her courage, she gripped her basket tight, holding it before her like a shield. She stepped carefully in the gloam of the forest. Feeling the way with her feet, she embarked on the path that left the village to unravel the distance to the end of the plateau. A tinkle of bells sounded, and Raven hastened her steps. Now that she’d started, she felt eager to go on.
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Beholding an ethereal gleam up ahead, she hurried past the last of the trees. At the top of the slope, she halted. Jewel hovered like a vision, and Raven spoke to her, gently. “Little One. What secret have you to tell me?”
Jewel dropped a resonating note, and held out her hands. In them, she offered Hook’s token.
Slowly, in order not to startle the creature, Raven slid her basket onto her arm and reached for the offering. Immediately, the smooth, silky feel of his curls brought the memory.
She rubbed the long lock between her fingers and envisioned him, his sea-blue eyes lingering over her body, his smile insinuating. On her jaw she felt the brush of his only hand where he’d touched her. And his voice spoke to her, soft as cradle moss, as he had spoken in front of White Bear and all of the People…May we meet again.
As her whole being chilled, Raven knew, without doubt, that she would meet Hook. Tonight.
When a hand covered her mouth and an arm seized her waist, she didn’t drop the lock, and she didn’t try to struggle.
She knew, now, what danger could come of a fairy.
CHAPTER 23
Silent Huntress
Jill’s mind hovered in twilight, between darkness and discernment. Some grace allowed her a gradual revival, so that by the time she opened her eyes, she had gathered enough of her senses to meet an ordeal.
At first, she believed herself captive in a cavern of the Underworld. A few feet above her, a dappled green glow bridged her vision. The air felt dry, but cool. She shut her eyes again, to gain time to absorb her surroundings.
With a stab of alarm, she wondered if she lay in the old croc’s grotto, the Tomb of the Lost Boys. Gratefully, she rejected that idea; the surface beneath her back was padded and warm. It smelt and felt like fur, and the loamy odor of the place was not putrid, but pleasant. The combination of scents reminded her of the hideout under the ground. Unlike the hideout, though, no rush of spirits animated the air, and no sound of children predominated. Rather, the place felt close and constricted, and silence loomed like death— until gravel crunched, and a man grunted.
