Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland (5 page)

“One of Peter’s Lost Boys,” I said.
 

“I didn’t know there were others,” Starkey said as he walked up beside Jukes with genuine concern on his face.

Smee ran into the clearing loudly.
 
He doubled over, put his hands on his knees, and wheezed a few breaths.
 
“Right fast buggers, they are.”

Noodler and Cecco walked up beside Smee with more interest in their eyes than sympathy.
 

“Pan finds them and takes them here,” I told them.
 
“Some he brings back.
 
Others he keeps.”
 

The boy shook under my coat.
 
His breaths became quick and short as he raised himself up and then slumped heavy at the foot of a tree.
 
His eyes became distant and glassy.
 
The boy grew silent.
 

“Is he…?” Cecco asked.

“No,” Starkey answered.
 
“He passed out, but it won’t be long.”

“How many more are there?” Jukes asked.

“I counted seven,” Noodler said.
 

“There are easily a dozen,” I said.
 
“He goes to their homes and promises them adventure.
 
He lets them fly.
 
Donald Sotheby is one of them.
 
They call him ‘Curly’ here.”
 
I looked over at Jukes, who shrugged his shoulders.
 
“It doesn’t matter.
 
You will recognize him when you see him.
 
He doesn’t look a day older than when he disappeared.
 
Once here, they are entirely his to control.
 
They fight.
 
They kill.
 
They die.
 
They lose themselves, forgetting…”
 

Walls crashed in my mind.
 
I had always thought that the loss of the children’s memories was Pan’s doing, a means to keep them in line.
 
It never occurred to me that it could have been a function of the island itself.
 
Somehow, as men, I thought we’d be immune.
 

“Forgetting?” Smee asked.

“Yes,” I said.
 
“There’s a
Forgetting
that happens here, in Neverland.
 
I noticed it among the crew, but didn’t make the connection until now.”
 

“And you didn’t think to tell anyone about this
Forgetting
before chasing the boy here?” Starkey asked angrily.

“Watch yourself,” Smee said.

“It’s fine, Smee,” I said.
 
“You have been griping all morning.
 
Out with it.”

Starkey sighed and let his shoulders drop as though he had carried some great burden.
 
“Some of the men have asked me to take command.”

Jukes and Noodler twitched, then became still as they studied one another.
 
Smee growled.
 
Cecco took a half step back and darted his eyes from one man to the next.
 

“And what did you say?” I asked.

“I told them no.”

“It’s what I said before,” Jukes said, keeping his eyes on Noodler.
 
“They’re afraid.”

“I’m not the only one they asked,” Starkey said.

“Who’s with us?” Jukes asked.

“Mullins and Mason are loyal,” Starkey said, “but I can’t be sure about the rest.”

“Who is in charge of the group?”

“We don’t know,” Cecco said.

“Who’s been doing the asking?”

“Skylights,” Noodler answered.
 
Jukes and Smee looked to one another then shook their heads.

“Agreed,” I said.
 
“Skylights doesn’t have the fire for it.”

“We thought the same thing,” Starkey said.
 
Cecco and Noodler nodded their agreement.
 
“We think it’s Max Kasey or Phillip Gulley.
 
They’re the only ones with brains and balls among them.”

“And Collazo?” Jukes asked.

“What about Collazo?” Smee said.
 
“The man’s a priest.”

“Was a priest,” I interrupted.
 
“He got too close to a parishioner’s wife, a captain in the Spanish Navy, if I remember right.”
 

“You have it right,” Starkey said.
 
“He shot one straight, too.
 
That’s how the captain found out.
 
They’re all dead now, though.
 
Spaniards.”

“Enough,” I said.
 
“We won’t get anywhere guessing.”
 

“We’ve been away too long as it is,” Starkey said.
 
“We need to go back.”

“No,” I said.
 
“If we return with nothing, it will make things worse.
 
We have to bring back something to abate their fears.”

“So what do we do about him?” Jukes asked, pointing to the boy’s prone body.
 

“Bury him, I guess,” Smee said.

“Starkey said he’s not dead,” said Cecco.

“He will be,” Noodler said.

The men went back and forth about this for some time as I stood in silence.
 
I closed my eyes and made peace with what I did to this child.
 
The Lost Boys are victims of Peter Pan and deserve a better end than this.
 
A desire to see this boy live grew in my mind and it filled the moment with its presence.
 

Perhaps because I was so still, I heard a thud in the distance.
 
I put my hand up and the men grew quiet just as the next few thuds came.
 
The thuds grew louder and closer as they hit in repeating beats.
 

“Hooves,” Starkey said.
 
I looked to Cecco, who nodded.
 

“There’s more,” Noodler added.
 
“Listen.”
 
The melodic clang of jostling steel joined the heavy pounding of hoof beats.
 

“They’ll be here in seconds,” I said.
 
With a silent order the men readied themselves.
   

“Who do you think they are?” Starkey asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Billy Jukes answered.
 

“Quiet, all of you,” I said.
 
“They’re here.”

Chapter Five

Wood splintered in the distance beneath the beat of armored hooves.
 
The men braced themselves and held their weapons at the ready.
 
The galloping became louder and I heard voices, but was unable to make out what those voices were saying over the noise.

There was a different patter as well, closer and carrying with it the rustling of underbrush.
 
I motioned to the crew and each one of them focused on it.
 
Smee’s ears perked up and he twisted his head to one side.
 
He held a hand to his ear and closed his eyes.
 
The focused scrunch of his face softened into a heavy and burdensome look.
 
His eyes grew hard and cold as he whispered.
 
“Dogs.”

By the time the idea settled in our minds, the dogs were on us.
 

The first hound sprinted into the clearing.
 
He stopped a yard into the knoll and growled.
 
The second bounded after and stood with his forelegs on top of a fallen log.
 
His gray and brown tiger-striped fur bristled as he snarled at us.
 
The third dog stepped out in front of the other two.
 
She was silent and watched us with a hunter’s eyes.
 

No man moved except for Smee.
 
The Irishman inched forward and the lead dog burst into a vicious bark.
 
He moved back and the dog barked again, spittle flying from her mouth.
 

“Smee, freeze,” I told him.
 
“They’re not going to attack.”

“Aye,” Jukes said.
 
“Their job is to keep us here.”

“For what?” Smee asked.

“For whoever is coming next.”
 

Large undefined forms took shape through the trees.
 
The clang of steel overtook the cracking wood as the riders approached.
 

Two knights drove their horses into the clearing.
 
Dull gray steel covered them from head to toe and, on either side of their saddles, a sword and a shield reflected the setting starlight.
 
The horses, armored from shins to forehead, trampled twigs and low bushes underneath their hooves with a delicate majesty.
 

“Who are you?” one knight said.
 
“Announce yourselves.”

I searched for the words, but came up short.
 
I read stories set in the middle ages as a boy and these knights looked every bit as I had imagined them.
 
The lead man looked to his partner and repeated his command.
 
“Announce yourselves.”

“Announce yourselves, you’re so smart,” Smee said.

The lead knight’s horse whinnied, reflecting his rider’s offense to the comment.
 
The knight reached for his sword as a third man rode in through the forest.
 

This third man wore no armor at all and neither did his horse.
 
His broad and cheerful face was covered from ear to ear in a brown beard that was nearly as bushy as the hair on his head.
 
Instead of a shield and sword, he carried a single green axe across his back.
 

The unarmored knight held his palm down and the dogs ceased their growling.
 
The lead dog sat, then crouched low and became deathly silent.
 
The man then gave us a broad smile.

“Greetings, strangers,” the unarmored knight said.
 
His voice was deep and coarse, as though it had to work to escape from his barrel chest.
 
“I am Bertilak de Hautdesert, son of Cerdic and Lord of the island.”

As I heard the man speak, something nudged my thoughts.
 
Whether it was the name or the Welsh accent in which it was said, I couldn’t tell.
 
I only knew the annoyance of not being able to recall something I should have known on the spot.
 

I pushed frustration aside, removed my hat, and bowed.
 

“James Hook, son of Jonathan.
 
Captain of the
Jolly Roger
.”

“A sailor,” Bertilak said.
 
“What business brings you to this land?”

“Survival,” I said.
 
“We are in search of food and fresh water.”

“Food and water are plentiful here,” said Bertilak.
 
He shifted his green and gold tunic at the waist.
 
“Are you the cause of the thunder we heard moments ago?”

“Are you responsible for the bodies strewn about the field over there?” I asked in return.
 

The unarmored knight glared at me from atop his horse.
 
The cheerful look faded for a moment.
 
Then a smile started at the corner of the knight’s mouth and overtook his whole expression.
 
He laughed and looked to his horsemen before answering.
 

“An unfortunate occurrence,” Bertilak said.
 
“They were sailors, like you, except they were Spaniards.
 
Indeed, we reached a disagreement that could not have been settled by any other means.”

“And the nature of the disagreement…”

“…was a private matter between men,” Bertilak said.
 
“It is done now and not worth speaking about any further.”

“One of the men you killed said some outrageous things about a giant before he died,” I said, watching Bertilak’s eyes.
 
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Surely not,” he lied.
 
“Men have fevered visions in their final moments.”
 
The knight looked me over for a silent heartbeat.
 
“What happened to your hand, Captain?”

The question caught me off guard.
 
A thousand answers swirled in my mind before I settled on the simplest one.

“An accident.”

“I see,” Bertilak said.
 
“And this accident wouldn’t happen to be small and dirty, would he?”

The wound began to itch, but I fought the urge to scratch it.
 

“He does.”

“It appears that you and I have much to speak about, Captain.”
 

Leaves rustled behind me and the dogs growled.
 
Bertilak quieted them and peered over us to the boy.
 
His eyes opened wide and he kicked his far leg over his horse.
 
He landed on the grass with a heaviness that shook the ground.
 

“You’ve struck one of them,” Bertilak said.
 
“This is most fortunate.”

“You know these boys?”

“Well enough.
 
They are a nuisance,” Bertilak said, walking over to the boy’s body.
 
“Nearly as bad as the savages that stalk the forests.”

“Savages?” Smee asked.
 
“Ah, right, the arrow we found.”
 

“They’re new here,” Bertilak said.
 
“Almost as new as you are.”

“And the men back there?” I asked.

“They were old,” Bertilak said.
 
“Not as old as we are, but old doesn’t last long here.”

The boy groaned and all eyes turned to him.
 
Wisps of steam rose from the boy’s wound and danced for a moment before disappearing into the night air.
 
He let out a second groan, but this one was quieter than the first.