Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland (2 page)

I ran my fingers along the spines on a set of books on the fall of Rome.
 
I pulled one off of the shelf and sat with it at my desk.
 
Foreign words are puzzles and I attack them with the same passion I feel for mathematics, though not with the same ease.
 
Deeper and deeper I fell into the rhythm of the language, keeping in time with the brass hands of the upright clock.
 

My eyes grew heavy after a few hours, so I turned to my writing.
 
Along with the old clock and an extensive library, the late Admiral Price spared no expense storing jars of iron gall ink and stacks of paper.
 
May he rot.
 

The journals I keep are for no one’s benefit save my own, as I am unsure whether my script is even legible in its current condition.
 
Writing, like so much else, has become a clumsy, fumbling practice.
 
So many small habits are harder with an untrained hand.
 

Even so, this record is a growing necessity.
 
A haze has settled on my thoughts, no matter how much I eat or sleep.
 
It worsens by the day.
 
What was once a subtle distraction is now a near-constant annoyance, like trying to name a song that plays in your head day and night.
 

Then there are the dreams.
 
From that which I have wronged will come an end to all suffering.
 
These words repeat over and over, seemingly unattached to the images that flash across my eyes in slumber.
 
Faces of family and friends.
 
A stone hallway.
 
A cell door.
 
And a single blue light in the darkness.
 

Several loud pops shocked me to attention.
 
Gunfire.
 
The ship’s bell rang and an uproar of shouts rose from beyond the cabin door.
 
More gunfire followed.
 
I gathered my hat and stepped out onto the deck.

Men ran in chaotic circles around the masts of the ship, rocking the
Jolly Roger
from side to side.
 
Seven of them hung over the fore railing and pointed into the distance.
 
Through their cries and panicked shouting, I heard one voice above the others.
 

“Quit your gawking!” Jukes ordered.
 
He grabbed Jack Elroy by the collar and threw him down in front of the nearest gun.
 
“Get those cannons loaded.”
 
Jukes kicked the pirate once in the ribs, but Jack never took his pale and sunken eyes off of the sky.
 
Jukes looked around until he saw me.
 

“Like we practiced,” I mouthed.
 
His eyes widened and he nodded his understanding.
 
I elbowed a path towards Smee, who stood staring at the clouds with his mouth agape.
 
The sun cast a deep shadow over every crease and scar on his face.
 
The old wool cap he has taken to wearing recently hung over his shoulder, showing much of his graying hair.
 
The boatswain never looked older.
 

“Smee.”

“Aye,” Smee said slowly.
 

I grabbed him by the arm and yanked him away.
 
“Smee, get the men to stop shooting.”

“How?” he said, shaking his head clear.

“Just get them quiet and get Noodler ready.”

“Aye, Captain,” Smee said and sprinted away.
 
The Irishman reached Noodler and gave the order.
 
The man with the backwards hands caught my eyes, nodded, then made for his station on the quarter deck.
 
Billy Jukes assembled the men into their battle positions.
 
The gunfire died down, as did the bell’s insistent ringing.
 

The ship was quiet for all but a breath.

A wind brushed me and my hat flew from my head.
 
I looked up as a small figure weaved through clouds and ducked behind a midday star.
 
A jolt coursed through my heart as I was again transfixed with the impossible.
 
Wonder mixed with a swelling hatred and I stood dumbstruck.
 

With mischief in his eyes, Peter Pan dove for my ship.
 
He flew in and out of the lines between the fore and main topsails.
 
He gripped the mast with one hand and braced his feet against the wood.
 
He shaded his eyes with the other hand and looked down.
 
When he saw us, he gnashed his little teeth.
 

The memories washed over me in a flood of images and sounds, all out of sequence and painful.
 
I stared at him with all the fire of hating someone who wouldn’t know you if they saw you.
 
In my finer moments, my unrequited hate sat like lead beneath my heart.
 

He walked down the topmast past the sail foot over foot as though he were balancing on a narrow beam.
 

“Wow, a pirate ship,” Pan said.
 
I could repeat Peter’s greeting without missing a single beat.
 
What fun it would be to play pirates! I want to be Captain!
 

“You would get a much better look at it if you come down,” I called out, smiling as best I could.
 

“No way!” Peter said.
 
“You’re shooting at me.”

“We’ve stopped,” I told him, motioning with my arms to show Peter that I was telling the truth.
 
I glanced at Noodler, who shook his head, signaling that he didn’t yet have a clear shot.
 
I widened my eyes and smiled more broadly.
 
“Now, why not come down and play pirates?”
 

Pan lowered a few feet, then stopped.
 
A puzzled look grew on his face.
 
A moment later, his head perked up and he smiled.
 
“You’re trying to trick me.”

“Oh, you are much too clever for that.”

“I am,” said Peter.
 
He puffed his chest and put his hands on his hips.
 

“It is great fun on a pirate ship,” I coaxed.
 
“We have swords and cannons.”
 
I motioned with my hand and five men wheeled a 600 pound cannon to my side.
 
“Look for yourself.”
 

Peter Pan’s eyes grew wide with excitement.
 
He looped twice in the air and floated closer to the deck.
 
I looked over to Noodler, who again shook his head.
 

“How do you use it?” Pan asked.

“I could show you,” I said.
 
I lifted a 10-pound ball high enough for Peter to see it.
 
“You just take one of these and load it into the cannon.”
 

“And that’s all?” Peter asked.
 
His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he still drew nearer.
 

“There is more to it, gunpowder and all.
 
It gets complicated,” I said with a frown and sighed loudly.
 
“It is hard to explain.”
 
I then brightened my face and said, “I could show you if you come down and help me.”

I passed a quick glance over at Noodler, but this time Pan followed my eyes and saw the marksman.
 
Peter gasped and a white light burst from underneath his shirt and zipped around him in tight circles.
 

“Do it!” I yelled.
 

Noodler’s shot rang out and I watched the fairy gather sparks of light about it and blast the bullet into nothing.
 
Not dust.
 
Not shards.
 
Nothing.

Pan twisted backwards and laughed.
 
With a wave, he dove between Cecco and Phillip Gulley and sent the two men sprawling onto the quarter deck.
 
He then gripped the main boom and swung himself high into the air.
 
The two men fired their pistols and I watched the gunshots tear holes into the sail.
 
At this, every pirate began shooting into the sky again.
 
Some men aimed.
 
Others shot wildly.
 
Everyone missed.
 

Peter Pan flew over the forecastle deck.
 
He swooped between the stays and coiled once around the bowsprit before darting out over the water.
 

I cursed and stormed over to Long Tom.
 
The constant staccato of gunfire rang in my ears as I aimed the cannon after Peter Pan, just below the clouds.
 

Then everything stopped.
 
All thought, all action, even my breath.
 
There was nothing save for what I saw growing on the horizon, as green and bright as any emerald.
 
A slate-gray mountain jutted from its center and, from it, a sapphire waterfall played gently down its side.
 
Golden beaches rang the perimeter and dense forests huddled together beneath a sheet of mist.
   

Sounds faded in, but I couldn’t make them out.
 
There was a beat and a measure to them that made me believe it was speech, so I forced myself to listen.
 
Smee’s words shaped themselves into meaning.
 
“We can’t try that too many times.
 
We’re running low on gunpowder.”

“Quiet, Smee,” I said.

“Captain?”

“Quiet! Look.”

As the dark cloud of gun smoke cleared in front of us, I heard my boatswain’s gasp.
 
One by one, the crew was stricken with their first sight of Neverland Island.
 
Most men said nothing.
 
Others cursed or called to their gods for strength.
 

“Is that?” Billy Jukes asked from across the ship.

“It is,” I answered.
 
My chest swelled with something that would be called joy if it wasn’t rotted through with murderous intent.
 
I looked over to my first officer and gave the order.
 
“Mr. Jukes, set sail for Neverland.”

Chapter Two

With a strong and sudden wind at our back, the
Jolly Roger
reached Neverland Island in an hour.

I called Starkey over to where I stood at the bow of the ship.

Smee answered.
 
“He’s going to need a minute, Captain.”
 

Down on the main deck, Starkey and Jon Collazo knelt over Max Kasey.
 
The man took a nasty spill when Pan flew by him earlier and he landed on his shoulder.
 
Starkey drew a leather belt strap and had Kasey bite down on it.
 
He bent Kasey’s arm at the elbow, rotated it to the sky, and raised it inch by inch.
 
There was a pop and Kasey screamed.
 
When Starkey was done, Smee got his attention and the gentleman came running over.
 

“Oui, mon Capitaine.”

“Get Cecco and Jack Elroy.
 
Chart what we see.
 
Leave no detail unmapped.”

“Aye, sir.”
 

Starkey saluted, then disappeared below deck.
 
He came back up a few moments later, followed by Jack Elroy and a groggy Cecco.
 
The Italian rubbed his dark eyes and stepped up to the railing alongside me.
 
He focused his vision on the island like a bird of prey and called out the different formations he saw.
 
Elroy unrolled a blank chart on the deck.
 
As the ship’s navigator and cartographer, he began measuring and plotting distances.
 
Starkey filled in the details between the lines that Elroy drew.
 
Having studied under fine artists, the gentleman’s work always captured the reflective image of his subject, even with simple marking tools.
 

We sailed the
Jolly Roger
around the perimeter of Neverland Island and discovered that it is no more than a mile across.
 
A spire of gray rock looms over a forest that wreathes it in vibrant greens and browns.
 
On one sheer side, a waterfall cascades into a thick mist.
 
Desert patches and steep rises pepper the landscape and, among the many beaches that ring the island in a golden-white halo, two natural ports caught my attention.
 

On what I decided is the north side of the island, an inlet is gouged out of a steep rocky cliff.
 
The cave underneath is dark and still, save for the pull of the current that draws water into it.
 
The opening is wide enough for a tall ship to sail through, but the sharp overhangs and rising spires would chew the hull to pieces.
 
Above the cavern is a flat plain that leads to the mountain.
 
As it is the only spot where the trees break, I named the forest the Crescent Wood.
 

The southeast bay empties into the ocean and is fed by a river that gushes in from the waterfall.
 
On either side of the river, a narrow ring of sand meets the water before turning into dense forest.
 
A reef borders the shallow water between the bay and the open sea.
 

I watched my men finish their work, then called my navigator over.
 
Elroy handed me the chart and asked, “T’where you headed?”
 
It is a greeting that I appreciate.
 
Jack Elroy grew up on a small island near Australia where everyone has the strange custom of asking a person’s direction of heading as their form of hello.
 
As a result, he has a most respectable talent for knowing his exact position at all times.
 
Since leaving our world, I saw him grow more uneasy with each passing day.