Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland (27 page)

“What do you mean?” a boy asked.
 
His brow furrowed with anger.
 

“Because Peter says it is,” a different boy answered.
 

“That’s a terrible reason,” I said.
 
“Why is it bad to grow up?”

The boys froze in their positions and puzzled with the question for a few seconds.
 
“Because adults ruin all the fun we have.”
 

I waved my hand over the path in front of me.
 
“Three of you are hurt, one of you nearly died.
 
That was fun?”
 
The boys softened their stances and an expression close to guilt crept onto their faces.
 
“What about back at the tree or at the castle?
 
Several of you died then.
 
Was that fun as well?”
 
Two of the boys dropped their weapons in the dirt and stood upright.
 

“Adults were the ones who killed us,” Nibs said and the others formed up behind him.
 
“It is not fair to fight adults.”

“True,” I admitted.
 
The voices of my crewmen grew louder behind me.
 
They must have heard the shot.
 
They’d be here soon.
 
“But it was Peter Pan who set you against them.
 
If you come with me, I can’t promise that you’ll never be in danger.
 
What I can promise is that you’ll always know the danger you’re involved in and that you will always have the choice.”
 

“Choice?” one of the boys asked.
 

“Oh, yes,” Smee said, bitterly.
 
“The Captain’s big on choice.”
 

“Pirates vote on everything,” I continued, ignoring my boatswain’s tone.
 
“Every man has a say.”
 

One of the boys dropped his sword.
 
Then another.
 

“Good,” I said.
 
“Now, step aside.”

“No,” the one in the raccoon hat said.
 
“You’ll shoot Peter again.”
 

“Yes, I will,” I told them.
 
“I have to be sure.
 
Step aside.”

The order hung in the air for a moment.
 
The men were getting closer.
 
The boys heard them too, they had to by now.

“No,” said a voice in a low groan.
 
My blood chilled.
 
Over the heads of the children, Peter Pan rose from the dirt.
 
Red splotches stained the green cloth of his shirt.
 
His short sword laid on the ground, split and broken.
 
“You can’t have them.”
 

The Lost Boys scattered into the trees as soon as the words left Peter’s bloodied mouth.
 
Foggerty lunged for Peter and missed.
 
Pan flew over him and dove at me, kicking Smee aside along the way.
 
Smee’s shot went off as he fell.
 

For long moments, I felt nothing but hands and feet on me as though Peter Pan were a half dozen men.
 
I drew my pistol to fire, but Pan knocked it away in the flurry.
 
There was a break in the attack as Peter beat on Smee, then Foggerty again.
 

I tackled Peter Pan to the grass.
 
We rolled and I gripped the boy, but Peter twisted like a cat and bit me.
 
Nails, sharper than they had any right to be, scratched at my face and chest.
 

“Get him out of here,” I yelled to Smee.
 
The Irishman gathered Foggerty and disappeared into the trees towards the crew.
 

Peter wriggled loose and kicked me in the chest.
 
I fell backwards over a trunk and tumbled downhill until I came to a swatch of tall trees.
 
I hit one and my thoughts blurred.
 
For an instant, I saw lights dance before my eyes.
 

My head cleared and I sat upright.
 
Gunshots sounded in the distance, followed by screams.
 
Two lights swayed above me from side to side and pulsed, matching the ringing in my ears.
 
I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my thumb and forefinger, expecting the lights to be gone when I opened them again.
 
Instead, a third and fourth light joined them a little higher up in the trees.
 
They swayed and pulsed as well, although to a different beat.
 

The ringing grew louder, too.
 
I stood and shook my head, yet each time I blinked, more lights dotted my field of vision and more ringing added to the chorus.
 
Soon there were a dozen lights, then twenty, then three dozen.
 

Terror seized me as I forced myself to admit that I wasn’t imagining what I saw.
 
My heart pounded.
 
Each beat brought more and more lights until each branch and limb lit up like a clear night’s sky.
 
They all rang as they pulsed, each with their own melody.
 
The cacophony built to a maddening volume.
 
I cupped my left ear with my hand and covered my right one with my forearm.
 
Even so, the noise pierced through.
 
Hundreds of little bells stabbed at my ears like tiny daggers.
 
Waves of the noise crested and fell, washing away all thought save for the pain.
 

I dropped to my knees and screamed.
 

Tears ran down my face as I slumped forward into the grass.
 

The pain faded away, slowly at first.
 
My mind cleared and I breathed through the slow return to thought.
 
It was then that a dark realization crept into my mind.
 

The ringing had stopped.
 

I looked up into the trees and found that the lights remained, still and silent.
 

There was no sound for several heartbeats.
 

A rustling came from my right.
 
Smee, Foggerty, and Alf Mason stepped into view and I held my hand out to wave them back, but they were already too close.
 
The boy began shaking and muttering to himself, so I held my hook up to my lips and shushed him.
 
It was when I looked at the dull grit that covered my iron hook that an idea came to me.
 

A fairy flew down close enough to touch.
 
It’s little wings charged with light and its brow furrowed with anger.
 

“Oh, my,” I said, feigning shock.
 
“When did you become so old?”
 
The fairy stopped short and hung in the air for a moment.
 
“Are you sick?”

It scratched its head, then held its hands out in confusion.
 

“You look just terrible,” I said.
 
“Here. See for yourself.”
 

I raised my hook and the fairy looked into it, but saw nothing but the thin coat of dirt.
 
It stared for several seconds before shaking its head at me.

“Dear, dear,” I frowned.
 
“You must have already passed.
 
That’s why you don’t have a reflection.”

The fairy rang angrily and beat its chest.
 

“Howl all you want, little ghost,” I said.
 
“Soon you’ll accept it.
 
Soon you’ll be at peace.”

The little creature rang more softly as a pale tint drained its color.
 
I continued, loud enough for the men and other fairies to hear.
 
“I know these things because I can speak to ghosts.
 
That’s my gift.
 
Watch.”
 
I called out to my crewmen.
 
“Mr. Smee.
 
Mr. Mason.
 
Do you see a fairy in front of me?”
 

“N-No, Captain,” Mason stammered.
 
“I don’t see a thing.”
 

Smee followed, more certain.
 
“It’s all dark where you are, Captain, except for your hook that is.”

To my surprise, Foggerty added the final touch, covering his eyes with an arm.
 
“It’s blinding me,” he said, then added, “I can see myself in it from here.”
 

The fairy held its face in horror, then became dark and fell to the grass.
 

“Do you see?” I asked the fairies.
 
“The hook tells the truth.
 
Who else is sick?
 
Who else has died and does not know it?”

One by one, fairies flew to me to check their reflections and, seeing none, they fell to the grass dead.
 
Some fell when they saw others fall.
 
Others fell at the idea of being the next ones to look.
 
Soon, little bodies rained from the trees.
 
Those who did not fall flew off in a harried attempt to avoid the plague of doubt.
 
Many still didn’t make it.
 
Even fairies cannot flee from an idea once it seizes them.
 

We climbed up the hill until we reached the edge of the forest.
 
Across the bay, Starkey waved us over and I waved back.
 
Smee and Mason ran up ahead to help the other men load the last of the barrels onto the cutter.
 
Foggerty and I stood at the edge of the bay for a few moments and looked out over the horizon.
 

My eyes turned skyward and I searched for several moments, disappointed.
 
How close do I need to come before I kill Peter Pan?
 
Foggerty coughed and my thoughts brightened.
 
I did better than kill Pan today.
 
I took something of his.
 
Gods willing, I will take them all from him.
 
They deserve a better life than one of starvation and neglect.
 
They deserve to be treated as the men they should have grown up to be if not for Pan’s meddling.
 

My thoughts drifted to Pan again and a cry echoed through the forest.
 
It was one of the sweetest sounds I had ever heard and one that I will cherish for the rest of my days.
 

“You killed them!” Pan screamed.
 
Peter burst from the trees, spilling twigs and leaves onto the sand.
 
Tears streaked his splotchy, red face.
 
Murder scorched his words as he pointed a dagger at me.
 
“You killed them all!”

“Not all,” I said.
 
“Hardly enough.”
 
I drew my sword and growled.
 
Foggerty grabbed a knife from my belt.
 
Even in this moment, this boy who is barely a man showed more courage than half of my crew.
 

Pan looped in the air and charged me.
 
I ducked to the side and slashed with my hook as he passed.
 
Pan parried with his dagger and countered with two quick thrusts.
 
I blocked and swiped low, but Pan twirled above.

Foggerty grabbed at Pan’s legs, but Peter cut the back of the boy’s hands and kicked him unconscious.
 

Peter then dove straight for me.
 
I raised my sword to feint a strike and Peter ducked in anticipation.
 

Our heads collided and, for an instant, all was black.
 

I blinked away the darkness and swung my sword across.
 
Pan kicked the sword free and I tore the dagger away from him with my hook.
 
I drove my forehead into the bridge of Peter Pan’s nose.
 
The boy yelped and darted away, but I grabbed his wrist and drew him into a slash from my hook that ripped Pan’s shirt clean off.
 

A rush of strength came to me.
 
I cracked the guard of my hook mount against Peter’s head and the boy weakened in my grip.
 
I pressed my weight down on the boy and held him under water.
 

Peter struggled, moving in such a way that I couldn’t get a grip on the boy’s throat.
 

I struck at Pan several more times, but the boy was never in the same place twice.
 
I dug my hook once in the boy’s shoulder and again in his leg.
 
Shallow cuts, but cuts none the less.
 

A hand came out of the water and scratched my eye.
 
I wasn’t hurt, but it was enough to allow Pan to wriggle out of my grip.
 
I slashed in desperation, but caught only sand.
 

Peter was away in a flash.
 
He flew out over the water in wobbly rises and falls, holding his face with both hands and crying as blood dripped down his palms and elbows.
 

Once Pan was clear of me, the crew fired shots at him, but the boy picked up speed and was gone.

“Captain,” Smee called out.
 
“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Smee,” I said, wiping the blood from my fresh cuts.
 
“I’m better than I have been in some time.”
 

“Where’d you think he is off to?”
 

“He’s going to the castle,” Foggerty answered.
 
“It’s our new home.
 
Their new home.”

“We could raid it,” Smee said.
 

“Too risky,” I said.
 
“We were lucky we didn’t run into them when we cleaned the place out.”
 

“Well we can’t let them keep it to themselves,” Smee said.
 
“If Pan takes root, we’ll never be rid of him.”