Read Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan Online
Authors: Jeremiah Kleckner,Jeremy Marshall
Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan
Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland
Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan
By Jeremiah Kleckner and Jeremy Marshall
Amazon Kindle Edition
ISBN-13: 978-1478270898
ISBN-10: 1478270896
Copyright © 2012, 2014 Registration Number TX 7-945-652
Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan
By Jeremiah Kleckner and Jeremy Marshall
Copyright 2012, 2014 Registration Number TX 7-945-652
ISBN-13: 978-1478270898
ISBN-10: 1478270896
This is a fictional work and any resemblance to actual people living or dead, businesses, locales, or events is coincidental.
Reproduction of this publication in part or whole without written consent is strictly prohibited.
Thank you for reading.
Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book so that others may find it as well.
Your support is everything.
Jeremy Marshal: To my mother and father for always supporting me. To my wife who I love. To my sister who believed, I know you made it more than halfway to heaven.
Jeremiah Kleckner: To Avalina, Melissa, and the family and friends who made this possible, thank you for being my inspiration and support.
Because those who can, teach.
Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger!
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Dawn
Chapter One
The tall masts of the dark ship cut deep gashes into the horizon.
The flag of Great Britain waves proudly above her sails.
Its bold and vivid colors mock the black sheet that is draped over her bow, on which a bleached skull snickers over two crossed bones.
Admiral Charles Price strides to the rail of his flagship, the
Triumph
, to get a better look at the approaching vessel.
He watches with steady, unmoving eyes while his men mutter rumors of her cargo, her intent, and her crew. They guess at everything except her name. That fact is known by every man aboard even though no one speaks the words aloud.
Black clouds scheme on the horizon.
From the crow’s-nest, the lookout shouts down that Royal Navy crewmen are aboard the vessel, waving as they approach. As the ship draws nearer, Admiral Price sees a single man shackled on the deck of the ship.
His vivid red coat shines like a beacon against the darkening sky.
“Prepare to board,” Admiral Price tells the captain.
He orders his ship alongside the smaller brigantine and watches his crew fall into their stations. Each man knows his place and fulfills his duties without question. There is no wasted movement and no wasted thought. Before long, the crew secures the dark ship and brings her prisoner aboard.
Captain Hook, and his ship, the
Jolly Roger
, have been captured.
A distant thunder rumbles as James Hook stands shackled aboard the British cruiser.
His eyes are so narrow that they never seem to blink beneath the dark brush of brow or long curly tendrils of hair.
The silence between the admiral and his captive matures and gives birth to new worries.
“Now that he has Captain Hook,” the crew mutters, “what will Admiral Price do with a man who has trained under, terrified, or tortured every known pirate in the Caribbean?”
Uncertainty grows between both crews as seconds of tension become minutes of anxiety.
“To the brig,” the admiral breathes. With the veil of silence pierced, uproarious cheers from both crews nearly shake the boards loose.
Captain Hook smiles with everything but his eyes.
Two crewmen take him below deck to the brig.
Without a glance back toward his escort, Hook strides through the cell door.
He then turns about and seats himself in the center of the bench, legs crossed and arms folded in his lap as one would sit on a gazebo awaiting his Sunday brunch.
His wait is short, however, as Admiral Price slams his heels down on the steps toward the cell door.
The two crewmen who first brought Hook aboard now stand guard on either side of the stairway.
They part and stiffen at attention as the admiral descends toward them.
Admiral Price motions to the older crewman, hair graying slightly, to get him a chair.
The admiral places it alongside a table facing Hook while the much larger crewman brings a parchment scroll and quill.
“The great Captain Hook stands humbled and defeated,” Admiral Price says after several long minutes.
His voice resounds like gunfire after such a long pause.
“Where I went to school,” Hook parries, “this was called sitting.” The admiral’s jaw clenches, revealing new wrinkles on his already weathered features.
His quill falls to the floor and tumbles as if to hide behind his chair.
He looks to it, then over to the older crewman, who fetches it seconds too slowly.
“If I were to stand,” Hook continues, “I would stand in appreciation of British adherence to procedure.”
“You’ll soon feel the appreciation of a noose,” Admiral Price says as his quill scratches the parchment, “Which is why I’m chronicling your final thoughts.”
“Is this a personal or professional interest?” Hook asks. Admiral Price looks up for a moment and considers the question.
“A bit of both,” he answers.
“It is a morbid interest of mine to record the events of the sordid lives of sea criminals.
In addition, the records will serve to better train the King’s Navy against future assaults.”
The larger crewman ducks through the doorway with a tray of tea and biscuits.
The admiral motions for him to bring it over and quietly scolds the older crewman for not moving more quickly to set the table.
“And if I say nothing?” Hook asks.
He shifts his weight to the other side and swings his right leg over his left.
“What then?” Admiral Price grinds his teeth at the question.
His knuckles go white as he clasps the corner of the table before he finally loosens his grip.
“Even in your silence, I will observe your actions and add it to my findings,” the admiral says. “You will atone for what you have done.”
“And what have I done, Admiral?” Captain Hook asks after a moment of thought.
“The crewmen that brought you aboard informed me that just days ago, you attacked a battleship and managed to kill her captain and all the officers,” the admiral says. “The ship sank, but you were overwhelmed by the brave Ensigns and Lieutenants.
As the sole surviving pirate, you were taken prisoner on board your own dirty little ship.
For that, alone, you will hang.
What I am offering you is a chance to make your peace with God before your time.”
“And how much time is that exactly?” Hook asks.
He flicks open an ornate gold watch in his right hand, glances at it quickly, then deftly places it back into his coat pocket. Its loud ticking is still present, but muffled in the folds of the fabric.
“We are three days from Port Royal,” Admiral Price answers.
“You will stand trial and most likely be hanged on the morning of the fourth day.”
“Port Royal,” Hook scoffs.
“There is nothing left there for me.”
“Well, they have every interest in your return.
I have hunted you on their behalf for the better part of a decade,” Admiral Price says, “ever since the incident.”
“I am honored at the selfless attention you have given me over the years, Admiral,” Hook smirks. “Still, how do you know it was me? I’ve made no such claim.”
Admiral Price motions to the larger crewman, who places an object on the table wrapped in a velvet cloth.
The admiral waves the crewman away and peals the cloth back in two quick movements, revealing a flawless steel boarding hook.
“Call it a hunch.”
“And my ship?” Hook asks.
“As of now, the
Jolly Roger
is needed to accommodate both crews,” Price says.
“She will be taken back to be studied and dismantled.
If you cooperate, I’ll spare you the indignity of seeing her stripped by hanging you first.”
“How very kind of you,” Hook says.
“And how far back do you wish for me to go in these tales?”
“A change of heart?” Admiral Price asks.
His quill scrapes the paper once again.
The distaste of being spoken to so brashly wears off in favor of dreams of promotion and published volumes.
“What harm is it for captured prey to entertain its killer?” Captain Hook responds after checking his watch a second time, bringing the loud tick to a brief crescendo. “Prey is still prey regardless of method. If there is a game to be played between now and the predator’s final stroke, I am glad to accept.”
The admiral pauses for a small eternity. He finally says that, for the sake of historical accuracy, he would like to know everything.
“Well,” Hook shifts his weight again, “if it is, after all, for history’s sake, Admiral Price, we do seem to have nothing but time. As with all stories about a man, this one begins with a curious little boy…”
The Tale of a Boy
Chapter Two
The clearest memory of my childhood is the moment it ends.
It was the eve of my thirteenth birthday and I was asleep, as all good children were at that time of night. The shades were pulled back and the window was open to allow a summer’s breeze to waft in from the shore.
The streets of Port Royal pulsed beneath my window. As the Caribbean stronghold of the Royal Navy, the city was always bustling, but my mother tucked me in hours ago and no common noise could undo her handiwork.
Her stories put the classic authors to shame. She had such a way with words that I wondered if she spoke from experience or from her brilliant imagination.
Every night was a new tale of adventure, horror, and heroes. She left me safely tucked away in my bed, protected by a goodnight kiss on my forehead, keeping me safe from all the evil things in life such as trolls, demons, and pirates.
But that didn’t deter the visitor.
He journeyed from window to window, peeking in to see what wonders there were to be seen.
It is impossible to say what drew him to my house. Whatever the reason may be, the curious boy made it up to the second floor.
In the center of the room was a replica of the naval vessel my father captained.
I built it during his time away at sea and encased it in a glass bottle for protection. When he came home, I greeted him with it at the dock.
It was the first and last time I saw authentic pride on his face.
The boy poked his head in through the curtains before coming in. It isn’t the movement that did it or the scuffling of footfalls, as even now I can’t recall whether his feet ever touched the floor.
What woke me was a ruckus that was impossible to ignore.
An argument of whispers was followed by a gasp, then the shattering of glass.
I exploded upright, recalling my father’s stories about waking to cannon fire.
Something breathed near me and I grabbed onto a wrist. My clench tightened out of panic and I screamed. Tears of fright welled up and streamed down the sides of my face.
The visitor pulled against my grasp and I was stung with a blinding flash.
