Hook & Jill (The Hook & Jill Saga) (10 page)

Peter’s nod was curt, but he kept his voice low. “Hello, old brute. Shall we slay each other today?”

The ticking diminished as its jaws closed. The reptilian eyes remained watchful, but unafraid. A moment passed, then the croc shot forward— suddenly, effortlessly. It paused, one body length from the boy.

Peter hadn’t moved. Here at last was a game that suited him. Not too tame. “Only one beast is safe from the blade of Peter Pan.” He crept the least bit nearer. “One beast who is my ally.” The crocodile blinked.

With slow footwork, the boy advanced, close to the ground. “We are bound, you and me, by a common enemy.”

The stream tripped over itself, running, but couldn’t escape the tick. Peter gazed steadily into the croc’s ruby eyes. “Wendy wants me to keep away from pirates, but you’re free to hunt them. And Hook has one hand left!”

The animal grew restless. Its head lifted and weaved. It slid forward a few inches, stopped. Within both creatures, a hunger gnawed.

“I know. It’ll be time for another one soon. But for now…”

Peter inched within arm’s length of the monster, then leaned forward to rest his open hands on the earth. It yielded, cool and damp, to his knees. He raised his hands and spreading his arms, held them out at his sides. A cocky smile formed on his lips. The knife lay on the ground. Peter’s green eyes looked down at it, then up at the croc.

“Are we agreed?”

The croc hissed. The creek screamed its babbling alarm.

Two sets of teeth grinned. And the clock ticked on.

Chapter 10

The Inquisition

The sailor’s gold teeth were rimmed with a smile when Tinker Bell entered the candlelit room. Her heart quailed. She was in the one place she’d wanted never to see.

The odd hands grasped her yet. She was exhausted from struggling against them, her little legs ached from being pinned. By this time, her iridescent wings drooped in an attitude very unlike their peacock counterpart.

The burly man with glass over his eyes snapped the door shut behind them. “He’s back, Captain!” He pushed her abductor farther into the room and gestured toward the side of the cabin, where a pair of boots could be seen on a silken couch. Perfectly polished boots. A velvet curtain concealed the rest.

Tinker Bell felt the tension of the hands increase. “Captain, Sir, the deed’s done.” Tink’s light no longer reflected in the golden teeth. Now it was the light of abundant candles.

A silver sickle drew the curtain back and raked it aside, revealing a rich harvest for the eyes. His long body, dressed in cloth of splendid colors, reclined on a day bed. In a cascade of darkness, his hair lay in contrast against the brilliance of his robe, his jewels, his earring.

“Well, well. Our little treasure hunt in the Fairy Glade has proven productive.” He laid down a leather-bound book with glittering gilt lettering. He took his time, placing his feet one after the other on the floor, and rising to stand with the grace of an aristocrat. He spoke as leisurely as he moved. “Tinker Bell.”

Captain Hook strolled toward her. He lifted his hand, resplendent with rings, and held it palm up, offering his first finger in greeting. “Such an honor.”

Tinker Bell declined with a violent shake of her head.

“Ah, I understand. Your feathers are ruffled. You’ve been shocked by our sudden invitation to the
Jolly Roger
.”

She hadn’t expected this smooth voice, this pleasant smile.

“But where are my manners? Allow me to present myself and my crewmen. We haven’t formally met, although I have enjoyed the pleasure of beholding you from afar. I am James Hook, captain of this ship. Mr. Smee, my invaluable right hand.… As you can see, I am in some need of that service. And Mr. Noodler, at present acting as your captor, but I assure you, you are in good, albeit unconventional, hands.” Both sailors beamed in admiration, not upon Tinker Bell, but upon their captain.

Tink did her best to glower. Hook continued his smile, framed to perfection within his glossy goatee. “Now that the formalities are out of the way, let us make you more comfortable.” He aimed a brisk nod at Noodler. “Excellent work. Mr. Smee, batten the hatches!”

Smee sprang to the door and shot the bolt. He pulled down the glass covers of the bookcase next to it, then he skirted the opposite side of the cabin, inspecting the mullioned windows ranged along three sides, securing each one. Behind the couch the wardrobe door stood ajar, and he hastened to shut it, listening for the click of its brass latch. Lastly, he rolled up the oriental runner at the side of the couch and placed it against the crack beneath the cabin door.

Hook’s eyes also scanned the room, inspecting. He drew a handkerchief from the sleeve just below his hook and fed it into the keyhole, tamping it with the tip of his claw.

“All secure, Captain.” Smee withdrew to stand, tall and respectful, by the entrance.

“Very good.” Hook turned to Tinker Bell. “I know what you’re thinking, but it is no trouble at all. We would go to any lengths to make conditions perfect for entertaining such a lovely creature.” The two crewmen eyed him; they knew him to be most dangerous when most polite.

“Mr. Noodler, please release our charming guest.”

“Aye, Sir.” Cautiously, Noodler uncurled his backward hands. Tinker Bell staggered a step or two, finding it necessary to cling to his thumb. Her legs were weak and her lower wings crumpled. In a sudden panic, she feared she might never fly again. She beat her wings to open them, then stamped each of her feet. A powdery cloud rose up, and it was then she noticed the coating of gold on the hands. Her magic dust. She looked warily up into the dark blue heaven of Captain Hook’s eyes.

“Yes, my dear. I see it. How very interesting. It was really not necessary for you to bring me a gift, other than your own delightful presence. However…” Hook strode to a cabinet hanging on the wall at the foot of his bunk. The glass door flashed as he opened it, and he removed a crystal vial and a shaving brush. Returning, he indicated that Smee should handle the brush. He pierced the vial’s stopper with the tip of his hook and pulled it free. The cork remained on the point while he held the vial to Mr. Noodler’s hands to capture the golden glitter.

“Please excuse me. I hope I am not behaving in an ungentlemanly fashion if I sweep up your… essence, thus? You must forgive me, I’m afraid I am not schooled in fairy etiquette. Yet.”

Etiquette be damned!
she indicated in a reverberating ring as she flung herself away from the thumb and hurtled across the room. She was not yet mistress of her damaged wings, but she was determined to make them take her where she wanted to go. Tinker Bell thudded against every window, rushed under every drape, over every beam of the ceiling. Finding no exit, she bounced off gleaming paneling, ornate carving, satin coverlet, padlocked chest, mahogany desk. She threw herself pell-mell about the room, chiming a row of swords together and knocking over a decanter on the dining table, splashing herself in wine. She ended by skittering to a slippery halt on the keys of a harpsichord, pounding purple music from her feet. There she stayed, vibrating with its string as she stamped, screaming in C sharp.

The men looked to their captain, then guffawed. Hook laughed as heartily as they. Tinker Bell stopped the scream and covered her ears. She was bewildered. What to do next? She plunked herself down on B and folded her legs.

Hook knew what to do. “A woman of spirit, I see! I do so admire spirit.” He turned to his men. “Well done, Mr. Noodler. Now away with you.” He looked at Smee and jerked his head toward the door. Then, fondly, Hook replaced the stopper and tucked the vial into an inner pocket of his robe. He approached the harpsichord and lowered himself to its stool, positioning it between the fairy and the window, so that only he faced the exit.

At the door, Smee placed a hand on Noodler’s arm, then leaned over him, speaking in an undertone. “Better fetch us that cricket cage, matey.” Noodler touched a backward hand to his forehead and prepared to slip away. While Hook commanded the fairy’s attention with solicitous attentions of his own, Smee quietly opened the door. He ushered Noodler out, taking care to replace the bolt and the rug.

Hook bowed. “Miss Bell. My apologies. You must find my crew very rude. We are not accustomed to such fine company.” Detaching his gaze from his guest, he directed it toward the cabin entrance. “Mr. Smee, fetch me a fresh handkerchief. And wipe up that wine. We’ll be wanting more.”

He turned back to Tinker Bell. “Of course you are distressed. And not only because of me and my men. Am I right?”

She looked up sharply.

Hook kept his gaze on Tinker Bell but put out his claw to receive the handkerchief. He offered it to her with a flourish. She snatched it and began scrubbing the wine from her person. Then she wiped her feet on it, like a doormat, and kicked it into Hook’s lap. He gathered it up.

“If I might take the liberty. You have overlooked a spot or two.” Tinker Bell refused to flinch. With the reverence of a worshipper, he dabbed at the fairy. “Ah, that I had two hands to more fittingly attend you. Alas, I, like you, have been wounded, and suffer mightily. At the hands of Pan.”

Avoiding her eyes, he folded the handkerchief and wiped the keys of the instrument. Tink watched him, her head tilted. He tossed the soiled linen over his shoulder and assumed a brave face. “But we must go on, mustn’t we, making the best of tragic circumstances? Let me offer you some refreshment.

“Mr. Smee, have you a drop of nectar for the lady? My dear, we shall be more comfortable at the dining table.”

Tinker Bell didn’t trust her wings.

“May I escort you?”

She made him wait just long enough, then struck discordant notes on the keys as she climbed up the proffered cuff. Once aboard, she stretched out a tentative finger. She had never felt of velvet before. It was warm and yielding. She nestled in, evoking a memory of her grandmother’s wings.

Hook stepped evenly to the table in the corner and placed his forearm upon it. Disembarking with some regret, Tink was surprised to find more velvet on the wooden surface. Smee’s colossal form stood over an emerald-green cushion, grinning.

“Made it for you myself, Miss.”

She limped a bit, then fluttered over it, undecided. The cushion invited her. Its dimensions were perfect for a fairy, the color glorious, and the velvet— so soft. Dispensing with caution, she sank into its luxury. The silver candelabra shed light and warmth. As its comforts seeped into her skin, she swept her gaze across the cabin. Perhaps it wasn’t such a dreadful place, after all.

Smee bent to hold out a tiny ivory cup to her. “Nectar, Miss? In my own thimble? It would be an honor.”

She accepted it.

The decanter sparkled in the candlelight as Hook poured himself a cup of wine. “A toast, to Tinker Bell.
Belle.
… Her name itself means Beauty!”

She liked the way he separated the two words of her name. Tinker, Belle. She drank.

It was sweet, it was tangy. It was gone, and Smee was there, refilling the thimble from a miniature jug. Hook lowered his eyebrows, reproving. “Now, Mr. Smee, pray be considerate of the lady. She is unaccustomed to spirits. We will set temptation aside for now.” Hook removed the jug to a discreet distance on the table. Smee retired.

Hook leaned upon the board. “Preliminary pleasantries over, my dear, we progress to the business at…‘hand.’ “ He waved his hook, his wry smile engaging as he enjoyed his own jest. “You wonder, no doubt, why I have sent for you in such an urgent and unconventional manner.”

She nodded.

“I hate to disrupt our happy evening with any manner of unpleasantness, but I find it unavoidable. It has come to my attention that your consort—”

Here Tinker Bell chimed in surprise.

“Oh, yes, consort, a royal person’s mate, for are you not royalty? A fairy as rare as yourself, princess or no, is one whom we common mortals envy with every unmagical fiber of our beings!”

Tinker Bell released a shiver of jingles.

“As I was saying, I have discovered that your consort, Pan, has taken a mother for his boys.” The hook toyed with the jug of nectar and the china clinked in a dull, full way. “I perceive you are ignored, and worse, cast out of his good graces. How very distressing this must be to you, who are not accustomed, as I am, to being alone.”

His sigh was heartrending. “Yes. I am a solitary voyager in this world. I understand what you’re feeling.”

Tink’s loneliness rang out. If the sound of it resonated within Hook’s own breast, he didn’t bother with it now.

“To be sure. He has dealt you a grave injury, my Belle. And I, who have experienced the degree of damage Pan can inflict, offer you my deepest and most heartfelt sympathy.”

Tinker Bell sniffed and watched the jug as the hook inched it closer to the cushion.

“But do not believe for an instant that I have brought you here in such a dramatic fashion only to commiserate with you.” His gaze fell full upon her. “No, dear one. I have much more to offer your wounded heart than mere words, soothing as I hope they may be to your elegant ears.”

Tink’s wings lifted. She didn’t know whether to look at the blue eyes, the sparkling rings, or the jug.

The eyes chose for her. “I, too, would remove the Wendy— yes, I know what she is called— from Pan’s band. It suits me to cut them off from their mother,” he cast a forlorn look upon his hook, “the way I was cut off, so to speak.” The jug was in his fingers. “I have a plan—” Abruptly, he set the jug down. “But who am I to speak of plans to you? You have, no doubt, already devised a method of ridding yourself of this intruder?”

Tink looked sly.

“Oh, wonderful! Do tell me. How do you propose to do it?”

Tinker Bell directed a meaningful leer toward the jug and pulled the foxglove from her pocket. Fanning herself with it, she peeked from under her eyelashes.

“Poison? Really? Do have another dram.” He filled her thimble. He was in no hurry, and he was enjoying himself. Disarming women was his forte. One had only to identify the weapon and use it first. Lifting his own cup, he tapped it to hers, and they drank together.