Never, Never (10 page)

J
AMES DID NOT AWAKEN TO SOUNDS OF THE WOODS
or to Peter barking orders at him to eat a breakfast that wasn't there. He awoke to a gentle rocking and the sound of the sea lapping against a boat. This boat.
His
boat.

He felt his face again, noting that it had hardened further since he'd fallen asleep, and the stubble had grown into a small beard. James rose from his bed and searched for a blade somewhere in the room. He found one in the top drawer of his desk, along with a container of cream meant for shaving, and a brush. He thanked his younger self for being so carefully detailed in his growing-up fantasies, then dipped the brush into the cream, slathering it on his face. As he slid the edge of the blade across his cheeks and chin, down his neck, he jumped when he cut too deeply, and a small bit of blood trickled out from him. It drew his gaze to the swollen red gash at the base of his throat. His eyes darkened, and he shaved the rest of himself more slowly.

That wound. He desired not to look at it. The memories it conjured were too ugly, too recent. James suspected that no matter how much time passed, that would always be true. So, he pulled on a shirt and quickly yanked the regal red and gold jacket from its hanger. Then, he fastened it across himself, buttoning it all the way to his chin. Now,
though his mind knew the gash was there, his eyes would not remind him every chance they got.

He reached over to his desk and took a sip from the already-filled goblet he'd dreamt up. It was early in the morning, but who would judge him for drinking here? He choked on the bitter liquid at first, then cleared his throat and set it down, eyes watering slightly.

He pulled a pair of oiled black leather boots over his pant legs and smiled. They were much more comfortable than those leaves he'd been wearing for the past several years.

With
his
hat,
his
jacket,
his
boots, today he was really and truly a pirate. No one who saw him could deny it. And not just a pirate—a captain. He smiled a little wistfully, then wiped the smile from his face before he opened the doors to the deck, wishing to appear menacing. In a band full of pirates, that was no easy task.

When he pushed open the doors, the men stopped what they were doing and looked up at him, one by one. He scowled.

“Captain,” Starkey ventured, “what will ye have us do today?”

James hadn't yet thought of that. He was much more preoccupied with his status as captain than with the details of it. “I, um…” He knew that sounded less than captainly.

“Captain?” stammered a small voice from the midst of the group.

“Speak.”

“If you have no objection, of course, we were thinking on starting the day with a spot of breakfast.”

The rest of the men behind this portly, nervous fellow nodded heartily, and grumbled their approval. James had no semblance of an objection to this; what his stomach
was doing couldn't truthfully be called growling. It was roaring.

“I will allow it,” he said, feeling very adult. “What is your name, sailor?”

“Smee, Captain sir.”

Smee. He remembered him from the previous night, as well as many more London nights before that. A gentle fellow, for a pirate.

“Well, Smee, what have we to eat?”

Smee smiled broadly and tottered away, beckoning James to follow. He did, with reservation. He was halfway looking forward to a meal and halfway afraid that these pirates couldn't tell the difference between fact and fiction either, and he would wind up with an empty stomach yet again. He grinned broadly when he discovered that such was not the case.

Smee led him to a splintered wooden table spread with breads, cheeses, fruits, meats, and bottles and bottles of rum. James could feel himself salivating and wanted to dive onto the table and shovel the stuff into his mouth. After that, he thought he would like to bathe in a vat of rum. Instead, he sauntered easily to the table and pinched a small piece of chicken between his thumb and forefinger. Then, he nibbled at it and nodded. The rest of the crew took this as permission to dive in, and dive they did. James tried to maintain decorum for a moment longer before his stomach won out, and he joined the rest of his fellows in the scarfing.

After he filled his stomach until it bulged, James sat at the ship's hull, crossing his feet over one another. The black leather of his boots was supple and shiny, flexing with his feet. Then, all at once, he uncrossed his boots and leapt up.

“Starkey?”

Starkey charged toward him. “Aye.”

“Is this vessel seaworthy?”

“Aye. Should be, Captain.”

James set his jaw and observed his surroundings, scanning the glittering sea and the cotton-candy horizon, and tried to think of the most piratey words he could say.

“Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Hoist the mainsail; pull in the anchor! We're leaving port.”

Then, there was a flurry of activity, men pulling ropes and turning wheels and running about, wherein James assumed they were avasting and hoisting the mainsail. James returned to lean over the edge of the ship and stared at the endless blue. It made him feel idiotic. How could he not have seen this before? Of course he didn't have to fly out of Neverland. He could sail out of it.

“Captain,” Starkey said.

“Yes?”

“Where do ye be planning on sailing this day?”

James gripped the railing until he could feel every grain of the wood on his palms and fingertips. Breathed in the salt air that for once, tasted nothing like vanilla or blasted gingersnaps. The taste of the sea was overpowering. He smiled, still gazing out over the open water, heart twisting around and filling to the brim. “London.”

Starkey frowned and scratched at his head. “I'm unfamiliar with a London.”

“I'm not.” James returned to staring out at the sea, imagining the look on his mother's face when he returned home, the strong shake of his father's hand when he came back a man. He grinned when he felt the ship moving under him. Though he had no idea as to the direction they were heading, he expected it wouldn't much matter. As long as they could get away from Neverland, he would find a way to walk on England's foggy shores again.

It was a trick to be sure, as he was fairly certain they weren't even on the earth, or perhaps they were, but it
was a different version than the one he'd been born on. A little piece hidden, tucked away, that no one in London or across the Atlantic would ever be able to see. But he and Peter
had
flown here. He had to believe that he could sail back.

The crew looked both in and out of place, somehow. Like this was what they should be doing, but they had no idea how to do it. A pirate ship that never pirated. Strange, like everything else in this place.

James clacked along the ship's wooden planks, playing with his hand, pacing nervously, anxious to be out on the open sea, to disappear from view of Neverland's shores forever. Eventually, the chaos of the ship quieted as each crewmember fell into his assigned role. The ride was smooth, like sailing on glass. James found that he could hear nothing, and he wasn't sure if it was because everyone was silent or because his mind could only see and hear and touch the thought of England. Finally, a bellowed cry broke into his consciousness.

“Land, ho!” called Bill Jukes from the crow's nest.

Everyone was running this way and that, pulling on this rope and moving that sail. James felt a great excitement stirring in his gut. Every muscle quivered with anticipation as the ship moved closer. He was quite sure the shore was not England's—they hadn't been sailing long enough—but that didn't matter in the slightest. What mattered was that it was land, and that perhaps that land had no allegiance to Peter.

The amount of water between the ship and the landmass started to shrink considerably, and the ship slowed as James's heartbeat quickened. Closer and closer, until James could see every tree outlined, and eventually every blade of grass. The twinkling lights darting in and out of the forest, and the dock at the water's edge. The
faint taste of vanilla and gingersnaps. The dock. James furrowed his brow and leaned harder over the ship's frame.

“Starkey, where are we?”

Starkey shrugged. “Captain, I'd say we be in Neverland.”

James shook his head quickly, like he was trying to empty it of something pesky. “That cannot be right.” Then he turned on his crew and scowled. “You incompetent mongrels. What have you done, turning us right back 'round? Get your heads on straight and steer this ship away from Neverland!”

The pirates moved with great urgency, quickly leaving Neverland's dock once again. After what couldn't have been more than an hour at sea, Jukes once again called, “Land, ho!” And James once again looked on with tightly wound muscles and wide eyes as they once again approached the dreadful shores of Neverland. James was overcome with a black rage, and his muscles began to quiver. This was impossible. These impotent men were turning the ship around. He would fix it and be back home within a fortnight, drinking tea and milk, and laughing with Mother and Father about all his adventures in Neverland.

Despite the happy thought, a great panic was quickly welling up in him. He rumbled toward the man who was steering the boat and threw him forcefully out of the way, denying to himself that he'd picked up this particular habit from Peter.

“Fool,” he muttered and took hold of the wheel himself. It was to no avail. On and on throughout the day, he commanded the ship's tenants to steer it away from Neverland. And on and on throughout the day, he ended up exactly where he'd started—resting on the very shores he wished he'd never laid eyes on in the first place.

James grew more and more panicked with each glimpse of Neverland, denying with everything in him that the place was refusing to let him go. No. He was a man. A pirate captain, no less. He could steer a bloody ship. He could do this. He could.

Night fell, and the stars spun and leapt around the moons in the sky. The crew was dragging along, exhausted. All but James, who was in a frenzy. His eyes were wild and frantic, bloodshot, and he was rapidly losing control of himself. Cursing up at the stars, who were moving too quickly for his liking, swearing at every person who came near enough to him, James grumbled again and again, wrenching the wheel this way and that, every thought, every emotion swiftly replaced with desperation. He ran a hand through his hair, nails scratching his scalp, coming away with little red flecks beneath them. James cared very little about that. His muscles abuzz, his nerves electric, he jumped when he felt a small hand on his shoulder.

“Captain,” said a gentle voice.

James did not wish to answer.

“Captain, if I may.”

James closed his eyes heavily, and his shoulders slumped. “What is it, Smee?”

Smee set his rounded fingers upon James's shoulder. “It doesn't seem that we will be leaving the dock tonight, sir.”

“Is that so?”

“Perhaps you should be getting some rest in you,” Smee said, speaking gently, like a mother coaxing her child into naptime.

“Perhaps.”

James Hook did not have enough wits about him to concoct original words, and as such, was relegated to simply repeating Smee's, so defeated a man was he.

“Why don't you let go of the wheel, Captain?” Smee said, glancing around at the ship, which, James barely had the awareness to note, was populated by tired, unmoving men.

“Why don't I?” he said, sighing, and he did as the portly, genial pirate suggested.

“And go have a rest.”

He didn't answer. He just stalked off to his quarters. Without thinking much, he removed his jacket and hat and boots and shirt and lay in his soft bed. It didn't seem all that soft now. Though he couldn't see it, the blasted scar was there, breathing right along with him, and eventually it was just he and his scar, alone in the dark. No hope or dreams of plunder or longing for England's shore. Just he and the silence and the beating scar, left to spend the wretched night together.

B
Y MORNING
, J
AMES HAD COME TO HIS SENSES
. H
E
was pacing rapidly, crossing his room and crossing it again. Now that daylight had broken and he had his wits about him, James had the good sense to be embarrassed. Yesterday, he had shown terrible form, especially for a captain. And he hadn't really been a captain, had he? He'd been a lunatic. He half-expected that the whole crew would mutiny when he showed his face, and they would maroon him somewhere in the darkest part of Neverland. Then, in the middle of the night, some horrible child's conjured Neverbeast would gobble him up.

But, when he finally plucked up the courage to exit his room, he found no such mutiny waiting for him. Rather, the entire crew was at the worn table on the deck, gorging itself on breakfast again, just as it had the morning before. When the first pirate noticed James, the man simply opened his mouth in a cavernous, gap-toothed smile and tipped his tattered hat at him. The rest mimicked him, when they realized their captain had emerged.

“Morning, Captain,” said Jukes, smiling widely, crinkling the little skull and crossbones tattoo on his cheek.

“Good morning,” said James.

Jukes nodded politely, and James nearly laughed. The huge man's sincere etiquette felt so at odds with his appearance, not to mention his profession.

James smiled to himself and approached the table, inhaling the warm smell of fresh bread and roasted meat. The others had left a place for him at the head, so he sat heavily, booted toe scratching at one of the thousand stains on the floor below it. His mouth moistened with hunger, and he grabbed a giant turkey leg and ripped off a piece of it between his teeth. Years ago, he would have found it odd to eat a turkey for breakfast. Lately, however, there wasn't much he would call “odd.” He had, however, retained a large bit of decorum, so when a bit of juice dribbled down his chin, he dabbed it away as quickly as possible.

“Captain,” Starkey said, voice raised above the din of the crew.

“Starkey.”

“Will we be sailing again today, sir?”

The crew's voices lowered until they were silent, and they all looked toward him, eyebrows raised. There was no skepticism in a single pirate as he looked from man to man. No, the sincere depth was there in Starkey's face and the innocent willingness to follow in Smee's. Jukes's eyes were surprisingly warm and creased at the corners. They were all ready to do whatever their captain wished.

James was struck by this and sat back, staring openly, as it seemed that, despite yesterday's insanity, the whole crew was willing to listen to him—and excited to do it. He felt a large responsibility then. Though a hefty piece of him wanted to try again to sail for London, the other piece knew it was pointless. He pondered for a moment.

“Yes, Starkey. We will sail today.”

Starkey nodded. “Shall we hoist the mainsail, then?”

James was still unsure as to what exactly that meant, but told Starkey that, yes, hoisting the mainsail was in order. “We will set a different course today, men.”

The gap-toothed fellow who had greeted him earlier sighed in what looked like relief.

“Where will we go?” Jukes asked in his large, baritone voice.

“To the Mermaid's Lagoon.”

The men in the vicinity murmured among themselves, most of them looking somewhere between excited and terrified. James didn't blame them, but he also didn't change his mind.

After the initial light panic, the crewmembers leapt to their positions, several stocky men thundering over to the black sails, a gangly one with dark skin sprinting across the deck, another James didn't yet know, a peg-legged fellow, grabbing at the wheel.

James took his place at the ship's helm and closed his eyes as the sea sprayed his face and the chilly wind whipped at his hair.

“Captain,” the ever-amiable Smee started.

“Speak, Smee,” said James, opening his eyes.

Smee averted his gaze. “What shall we do once we've reached the lagoon?”

“We do as pirates do, of course.”

“And how is that?” Smee grabbed at the frayed edges of his coat and twisted them around.

James shrugged. “We plunder. And pillage.”

“From the mermaids, sir?”

“Of course from the mermaids.”

In truth, James hadn't been entirely sure who exactly he'd planned to pillage, as he'd spent most of his time on Neverland far inland. He figured there had to have been other pirates somewhere, sailing in and out of the place as they were dreamed up, but he'd no inkling as to
where to find them. And perhaps there was some ghostly population in the Never Wastes to battle, but he hadn't been keen on going there. So the mermaids it was.

Smee looked at him, admiration shining in his bright blue eyes. Then he scampered off, stopping all along the way to whisper in the ears of any nearby pirates. James grinned as their faces all brightened in turn. Every man aboard the ship approached his task with more vigor by the minute.

Finally, the dock was long gone, and the ship circumnavigated the island slowly, silently, like an eel slithering in the water. The air on the ship danced with excitement when the crew could make out the distant beginnings of a cave. This was the lagoon's entrance if you approached it by sea.

James's eyes sparkled as they turned toward the little strip of water. Silence fell over the ship as the cave approached. Then they were there, at its mouth, the giant opening lined with little diamonds, like a massive geode. The clean scent of water permeated the air, and James breathed it in deeply.

He could just begin to hear a quiet splashing and a spray of high-pitched giggles as the mermaids frolicked in the lagoon at the cave's other end. He held up a hand to ensure that no errant sound would escape the lips of any wanton crewmember, and the ship snuck easily into the hollowed stone.

The temperature dropped by degrees when they entered the cave, gentle sloshing and lapping against the cave's walls drowning out the mermaids' background noise. They were enveloped in darkness, the ship and her crew, and James could only just begin to make out his fingers in front of his face. It was chilly in there, and damp, and in all the nothing, James began to wonder if their little voyage would yield anything at all. Now that
he considered it, he wasn't entirely sure that mermaids
did
keep treasure. But, then, something glimmered in the cave wall. James hurried up to the man at the wheel with the peg leg and too-large nose and instructed him to stop. The man listened, and the ship glided to a slow halt, and the rest of the men looked out in the water, tense and quiet. It was a little lighter now, closer to the open lagoon, so James motioned for his crew to stay put, knowing they could likely see him. He quickly removed his jacket and shoes and hoisted himself over the edge.

He climbed fluidly down, long fingers caressing the wood of the boat, then let himself drop into the water. James winced at the splash, but, after a beat, decided that no mermaids had heard him. The water was a bit warmer than he'd expected. That made the task of swimming toward the glistening object decidedly more pleasant.

He swam to the wall of the cave and pulled himself up, slithering silently over the jagged rocks. Then, after several precisely placed footsteps, James's fingers found what they were looking for—a goblet, made of pure gold, adorned with all colors of sparkling jewels.

He held it up so his crew would see, proud of himself for his find. But he noticed that the eyes of the pirates were not trained upon him. They were staring off into the distance. James whipped his head around, and his pulse immediately began to race. Up ahead was the mother lode—the walls glittered with treasure, to his right, his left, the ceiling above him. Everywhere, reds and blues and emerald greens sparkled down at him.

He jerked his head toward the plunder and about half his crew splashed into the water below, the rest drawing weapons, remaining on deck for loading purposes as well as, James assumed, defense. The pirates were clumsy and careless; they ripped treasure from the walls and laughed loudly, stirring up the water and flinging delicate things
up toward the deck. Not a soul was as elegant as James, but he expected as much. So, when the splashing and laughing from outside the cave came to an abrupt halt, James was not surprised. Nor was he worried when a group of very angry mermaids came barreling toward them.

“My sword!” he called. “Fetch me my sword!”

The pirate at the wheel hurtled into James's cabin and came back out with a very ornate sword, its golden handle glistening. He threw it out over the water, straight at James. James was not concerned that it was headed for his heart. He simply made a small but dexterous maneuver and turned his body out of its way, catching it by its exquisite handle as it tried to fly past him.

He tossed his goblet to the pirate nearest him and slogged forward, water clinging to his clothes, dripping from his hair. The mermaid at the head of the pack— group? school? He wasn't quite sure what to call them— charged toward him, face red and scowling, giant fin flapping dangerously about. Scales were splashed across her face, shimmering and colorful, freckled across the bits of her that looked like skin. That was something that never failed to distract James; he'd never quite gotten used to it.

In his peripheral vision, he could see several of his men backing up, the pirates on the
Main
aiming their weapons.

“Drop those things,” the woman commanded, purple eyes flashing.

Inwardly, James flinched. Every Lost Boy on the island had been injected with a healthy fear of the mermaids. But this wasn't nighttime, and she had no weapon, and less than half his manpower. He clenched his jaw. “I will not.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You can't have them, James Hook. They're ours.”

Something in his greater sensibilities stung at this. But how many bruises, over the years, had he endured at the hands and fins of these women? How many times had his lungs burned for lack of oxygen, and how many times had he nearly drowned?

He'd spent a great deal of time at the lagoon growing up and always tried to keep a safe distance from the mermaids. But by the end of a swim, they had always found some reason to harass him, particularly at night, when the harassment had a much more deadly end goal. Everything around here went more vicious at night, it seemed.

He'd never been able to reason exactly why the women hated him so, but likely it was simply because he wasn't Peter Pan. The sting of guilt left almost as quickly as it came, and he met her gaze with a new resolve.

The rest of the mermaids crowded in around the one in front, stopping in a haphazard, brightly colored group when James looked over the lot of them, eyes steely and cold. Silence fell in the cave and he glared again at the leader. She wavered, her gaze flickering from James to the pool below her. James took this opportunity and lunged, gripping the back of her neck with his left and raising the blade slowly from his hip, the point at the mermaid's throat. “I will take your leave to relieve you of some of these possessions,” he said, sneering.

The several mermaids who flanked her made moves toward him at this, but all froze in one motion, mouths set in angry lines, eyes burning. James glanced back over his shoulder. At the ship's helm was Starkey, staring down at the brood, gun in hand, cocked and pointed at the maid to James's right.

The mermaid in his hands jerked half-heartedly. But when James hardened his grip on her neck and his fingers caught in her cherry-red hair, she stilled and said nothing.
She simply trembled and clenched her fists and breathed, scales on her face disappearing as her face dried.

The pirates stood frozen for a moment until James whirled around and shouted, “Well, what are you waiting for, fools? Load the ship!”

And load they did.

With all their wealth disappearing before their eyes, cornered and powerless, one of the mermaids beside the leader sprang forward, baring her teeth, kelp hair flying behind her, and that was when Jukes let a bullet fly. It grazed her arm and lavender blood rose in little bubbles to the surface of her skin. James whirled around and every mermaid shrank back, the kelp-haired one's face draining of color.

After that, with at least fifteen weapons trained upon them and that many more large, dirty bodies in the water carting away all they had, the mermaids gave them no more trouble. All the while, James oversaw and tried to ignore the stricken looks on the mermaids' faces. As the cave lost its sparkle and the ship gained it, James made his way aboard.

“Many thanks, lady,” he said with a tip of his hat, ignoring the guilt in the back of his mind, and the
Spanish Main
faded out of the tunnel.