Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland Page 5

  “Yes,” Gabriel said. “Like we’ve said, we’ve learned to stop asking questions.”

  We walked out to the courtyard and found two of Bertilak’s servants hammering lids onto three upright barrels. The men took little notice of us, but stood aside as Bertilak stepped through the archway.

  Smee walked towards the barrels, but I held an arm out to stop him.

  “I agreed to one barrel,” I said.

  “So much is going to happen to you here that you will not want to happen,” Bertilak said. He dismissed his servants with a wave and the two men disappeared into the keep. “Learn to accept the good that comes as well.”

  “And if I only take one as we agreed?”

  “Then you will be choosing between wine, salted meat, and dried fruit. The food will keep for weeks and is a good start for a hungry crew, Captain.”

  I stood between pride and duty and yielded to the latter. A broad smile stretched across Bertilak’s face and the knight slapped the top of one barrel with the palm of his hand.

  Bertilak whistled and the same two servants spilled out of the keep and loaded the barrels onto a cart.

  We walked alongside the carriage as Bertilak led us through the forest. Again, the knight wore no armor and carried only a cumbersome, single-bladed axe. Noodler thumbed his knife twice and, both times, I held him back with a look. We stepped out onto the shoreline just feet from the yawl. Jukes, Cecco, and Noodler lifted the barrels off of the carriage and loaded them onto the ship.

  “It is good to meet a courteous and honorable man, Captain,” Bertilak said with practiced formality. He looked off to the distance at the Jolly Roger. “You have a splendid ship.”

  “Many thanks, my good knight,” I said. “Your hospitality is as gracious as your castle is stately.”

  All joviality drained from the knight’s face and his voice grew sober and quiet. “Return soon. Together we can set this place right.” He bowed his head and turned back to his carriage. He vanished into the Crescent Wood moments later and we were left alone with our thoughts.

  “Never seen a knight before,” Cecco said.

  “How could you have?” I said. “That system of knighthood died three hundred years before you were born.”

  “Perhaps this island housed a culture of people who held to the old traditions,” Starkey said. “Surely, without outside influence or the need to sail, life continued the way that they knew for generations.”

  “Mr. Starkey, you are so smart that you are fooling yourself,” I said. “He is here for the same reason we are.”

  “And he’s been at it for how long?” Smee said. “We should look so good at six hundred.”

  “Why is he still alive?” Jukes asked in a way that made it clear to me that he wasn’t talking about Bertilak’s old age.

  “He knows the island and gave us these barrels,” I said.

  “And if the supplies are spoiled or, worse, poisoned?” Starkey asked. “That’d be a sure way to thin our numbers.”

  “We’ll trust him until he gives us a reason not to,” I said.

  “The field of dead bodies wasn’t enough?” Billy Jukes asked.

  “And how many men have you killed?” I asked him. Jukes huffed and shook his head.

  Our sails billowed and the yawl pushed through the bay toward the Jolly Roger. I gave into temptation and looked over the side of the boat. Schools of blue and gold fish darted in and out of the coral reef ahead of a silver eel that bolted after them like lightening. A thin cloud of red appeared, then that, too, was gone. I searched for my mermaid, but her midnight hair and piercing stare were no where to be found. I lifted my eyes from the water, disappointed.

  A ringing cut through the still air, followed by gunfire. We stood in practiced alertness. Our eyes focused on the brigantine and watched as a small green figure circled and dove at the ship. Long moments passed in silence. More shots echoed over the water and the speck of green worked its way out of a porthole and up into the clouds.

  Chapter Seven

  “This is how it’s going to be from now until our deaths,” Starkey said. “Beset on all sides.”

  “There be ways to beat this,” Cecco said.

  “I’m listening,” Starkey said.

  The Italian opened his mouth to answer, but said nothing. His eyes met the Jolly Roger and he waved at the ship. Two men waved back.

  “Who is on the main deck?” I asked.

  “Robert Mullins…” Cecco said, then squinted. “Mason is with him, as are Collazo, Dover, Del Buono, Fast, Mather, Peterson, and Koch. All loyal, as far as I can tell. Skylights is on the forecastle deck with Turley and Cookson.” He sighed and made a face at Starkey, who nodded.

  “Turley and Cookson,” Smee repeated.

  “It makes sense,” Starkey said. “They escaped from the same prison.”

  “Off the Barbary?” Jukes asked. “Skylights and Turley were there easily ten years before Cookson.”

  “A place like that binds men closer than their birthplaces,” I said, looking at Jukes. “It is not a sure bet, but those three are a good place to start. What about the others? Doherty?”

  “Doherty couldn’t find his ass with both hands,” Smee said.

  “Where’s Gulley?” Noodler asked.

  “That’s right,” Starkey said. “Phillip Gulley was the guard who helped Skylights and Charles Turley escape.”

  Cecco looked over the ship again, then turned to me and shook his head. “He must be below deck.”

  “With Scourie, Jack Elroy, Ed Teynte, and the Black,” Smee said.

  “The man is Brazilian, Smee,” I scolded. “His name is Gustavo and, if he is being courted by the other side, you had better learn it.”

  “Aye, Captain,” said Smee. “Either way, that’s a lot we don’t know about.”

  “We do nothing differently until we know for sure,” I said, looking to each of them to be sure that my order was heard and understood. “And don’t ask about Pan’s attack. Let them come to us with a report.”

  We sailed up to the Jolly Roger with smiles and a hardy “yo ho!” Elroy answered the call and the sandy hair of Ed Teynte appeared at the railing. He threw a rope down and Billy Jukes caught it. He tugged on it once then hoisted himself to the deck of the ship hand over hand, using his feet only once to brace himself against the hull. When he was clear, I wrapped my hand around the rope and tugged twice. Jukes pulled me up in smooth, quick movements.

  The crew made short work of securing the yawl, but they swarmed around Smee as soon as the barrels hit the main deck. The stout Irishman spun and drew his sword.

  “Back off, you scurvy dogs,” he shouted. Several of the men retreated to the other side of the ship. “These are to be weighed and rationed before a single bite is taken or you’ll feel Johnny Corkscrew!”

  Jack Elroy came up to me, but I held a hand up to stop him. “One moment, Mr. Elroy.” I pried the lid off of one barrel. “Maybe just a taste, Mr. Smee.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Smee said.

  I pulled out four long strips of croc meat and threw three of them to the men on the forecastle deck. Turley, Skylights, and Cookson caught and ate them hungrily. I watched them for a full minute, then bit the piece in my hand and smirked at Starkey. “Seems fine to me.”

  Jukes shook his head and laughed, as did Cecco and Smee. Noodler just smiled.

  I turned to face Jack Elroy and saw that the navigator’s hands, shirt, and face were streaked in blood.

  “There was trouble, Captain,” Elroy said. He took a deep breath and mumbled the rest. “Peter Pan attacked us. He called himself ‘Captain’ and dumped most of the gunpowder overboard. We fought him, but he kicked down the door to your cabin and killed Phillip Gulley. Then he flew off, laughing. I didn’t see where.”

  The crew hushed and the gentle splash of the sea filled the moments. Hundreds of questions fired across my mind, but only one was spoken. “How long was he in my cabin?”

  “Only for a second or two,
” Elroy said.

  “Which is it?” I asked. “One second or two?”

  “Just one,” Elroy answered. “We ran in after him. That was when he got Phillip in the ribs.”

  “Underneath with an upwards thrust.”

  “Yes,” Elroy said, a confused look on his face. “How did you know?”

  “It is his favorite strike,” I said. “You would do well to practice against it.”

  “Where is Phillip’s body now?” Jukes asked. Elroy turned and climbed the short ladder to the quarter deck. Jukes motioned to Smee and the Irishman barked a round of orders, scattering the men into their routines.

  I climbed up to the quarter deck, followed by Jukes and Starkey. There, beside the rudder, Collazo prayed over a pool of blood and a covered body. The navigator pulled the stained sheet down off of the gaunt Virginian’s pale face and torso.

  Starkey knelt beside the body and examined him. “One in the gut. Two in the back.”

  “He must have turned after he was first struck,” Jukes said.

  “Or Pan flew over his head,” I suggested. The men fell quiet as they were again reminded that this was no ordinary assailant. I stood over the body for quiet seconds, then turned to Jack Elroy. “Why Phillip? Why did Pan kill him?”

  “When the boy showed up, he said he’d come to kill you.”

  “By name?”

  “No,” Elroy said. “He said he was here to kill the captain.”

  “And Phillip rose to the challenge,” Collazo added.

  Elroy looked to the floorboards. “You left me in charge, but I…”

  “Don’t concern yourself with that now,” I said. “There is nothing any one man can do against Peter Pan.”

  “There’ll be more,” Starkey said.

  “Attacks or mutinous crewmen?” Collazo asked.

  Starkey looked at me then back at Phillip’s body. “Both, probably.”

  “The serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field,” said Collazo.

  “Aye, and he’ll eat dust for the rest of his days,” I said, “which won’t be many.”

  “Bring forth fruit with patience, Captain.”

  “Patience works, Father,” I said. “But so does an intelligent and coordinated effort. Mr. Jukes, get all hands on deck.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Jukes said and the order rang out over the ship. In moments, the crew were elbow to elbow on the main deck. I looked from Smee to Gustavo to Mason to Skylights, counting and recounting their numbers.

  “We lost a good man today,” I said. Cookson and Charles Turley glanced at each other with nervous suspicion in their eyes. “Phillip Gulley was a fine sailor, a true shot, and a friend to us all. His only crime was that he stepped up to take my place in my absence. And for that crime, Peter Pan cut him down.”

  “We want to be going home,” a voice said in the huddle. The men parted, leaving Skylights to stand alone. Billy Jukes shifted his weight low and crept to him, but I stopped him with a look.

  “There be no fortune here, little food, and no women,” Skylights continued. Several of the men grunted their agreement. “I, for one, don’t want to live and die at the hands of a child.” More grunts followed from the crew. “This be your grudge with the boy, not ours.”

  Silence overtook the ship.

  He looked from left to right, searching for the support he had moments ago, but found none. I steeled my gaze on the lone pirate.

  “It’s not me he wants,” I admitted. “Peter Pan wants this ship. To him, it’s a toy, something to use then discard when he tires of it.” I stopped for a moment to consider all of the crew’s alternatives. “Where would you take the ship from here, Mr. Skylights? In which direction would you sail?”

  The pirate lowered his eyes to the deck and narrowed his shoulders into a slump. He glanced quickly at Ed Teynte before looking again at me. Teynte went pale.

  “What Pan did to Phillip Gulley, he’d do to any man who captains the Jolly Roger,” I said. “He will come for this ship again, so if there is any man who wants to shoulder the brunt of that responsibility, let him speak now.”

  No man breathed.

  “Fine. If no one wants to be captain, how about a vote on Quarter Master?” Billy Jukes straightened his stance and looked down each of the men. Ed Teynte locked eyes with Turley and Cookson. The three men nodded to each other and Teynte raised his hand. “Fine, all in favor of replacing Billy Jukes as Quarter Master with Ed Teynte, say ‘Aye’.”

  Seven men shout, “Aye.”

  “Opposed?”

  Over a dozen voices rang out, “Nay.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Teynte. For now you will serve as mate to Mr. Jukes. With Phillip dead, we seem to have an opening.” I stepped down the ladder to the main deck. “We all crave for something, but food and drink will have to suffice for now. Mr. Smee, open the barrels.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Smee said. A smile grew on his face as he ripped open one of the lids. He passed a handful of dried fruit to each man, but only after a hearty, “Hail Captain Hook!” When the cheers died down, he walked to the barrel of wine.

  I gave Billy Jukes a silent order and walked into my cabin. I closed the door behind me and stood for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Books and bedding were in heaps on the floor. Scrolls and maps lay crumpled at my desk, but otherwise unharmed.

  If the boy had intent, Peter Pan could have done far worse.

  I breathed a deep sigh and relaxed my shoulders. The tenseness in my cheeks loosened and I let my eyes soften and close. I sank into the silence of the room and wrapped myself up in it like a blanket.

  Then something nudged in my mind. I turned my ear to the far wall of the cabin. I strained with effort, but heard nothing. Dread filled my heart and I opened my eyes.

  Across from me, the tall clock stood motionless.

  I walked over to it and felt a long crack that ran down its side. The face was smashed and the hands were frozen at the hour of 11:46. I knelt at its base and placed the shards of glass on the shelf next to me. Then I pried the clock open and worked at the gears.

  Silence.

  I took the machine apart on my table and reassembled it.

  Nothing.

  I laid the pieces on my floor by size. I named them and gave them purpose, then put them back together.

  Again nothing.

  I let my mind race. From where I sat on the floor, I traced the path Pan must have taken while in the cabin. My eyes moved from the door, to the bed. Pan must have gone to the desk before the clock. By that time, the men must have come in and he flew out through the porthole.

  I leaned over to walk the path when a slight glimmer caught my eye. I reached for it with my hand, but it was too broad, so I pulled it back and dragged my hook across the floor. My first swipe stuck into the boards. I wriggled it loose and swiped again, this time snagging the glinting object.

  I dragged my hook out and examined the wire spring that dangled from its end. I took the clock apart again and found its place. Something clicked and the gears began turning.

  Gentle ticks overtook the room. I watched the spokes grip and spin in perfect measured beats. I sat for long minutes as each metallic pulse drained the tense weight from my neck and the sides of my head. The muscles in my jaw loosened and the throbbing behind my eyes ebbed.

  Then I heard a beat rise from behind the door of the cabin. It started low, but soon grew to a repeating boom that shook the floor underneath me. I listened with growing fascination as the booming outside my door synced with the rhythm of the room.

  I rose to my feet and stepped out onto the main deck.

  This was, after all, my Quarter Master’s signal that everything was ready.

  Billy Jukes stood atop the forecastle deck, the back of Ed Teynte’s neck in one hand and a mug of the knight’s wine in the other. He waved his mug back and forth with each beat of his verse of the Dread Song. The men followed his lead, sometimes changing the words to suit their humor, but never missing th
e pace of the pentameter. Both men appeared drunk, until Jukes saw me and sobered his expression.

  I gave Jukes another silent order and stepped back into the cabin. I looked down at the clock’s naked metal innards and listened for long minutes as the booming of the Dread Song kept in perfect time with the spinning gears.

  A smile started from my heart and beat waves over my whole body as I rediscovered the joy of simple counting. Each couplet at the pace Jukes set was ten seconds long. Three quatrains made a minute. One hundred and eighty was an hour. Twenty-five thousand, two hundred would make a week. I sat at my desk and worked out the possibilities of my discovery. The men couldn’t sing at all times, but this would be a way to synchronize assaults or keep track of time away from the ship. This was not a perfect solution, but it was better than what we had so far, which was nothing.

  This was my last thought before Billy Jukes opened the cabin door and pushed a drunk Ed Teynte to the floor. The dazed pirate brushed his sandy hair out of his eyes and stared around confused. He made several attempts to sit in a chair before he succeeded.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t have Mr. Jukes strangle you,” I said.

  “You just made me Quarter Master,” Teynte stammered.

  “Mate,” Jukes corrected, “and you’ll be in quarter pieces if you don’t answer true.”

  I passed a look to Jukes and the large man settled back on his heels. I then turned my attention back to Teynte. “What was the plan?”

  “The plan?”

  “The plan to take the ship,” I said. “You were in on it.”

  “Aye. I was in on the plan, but I was not her architect.”

  “Who was?”

  Ed Teynte crawled further up into his chair. “Phillip Gulley.”

  “That’s convenient,” Jukes sneered.

  “It’s the truth,” Teynte said. He swallowed hard and continued. “When you returned on the yawl, we were to blow you out of the water with Long Tom. And with you dead, Phillip was to strike an accord with Pan to get us home.”

  “You know that wouldn’t have worked,” I said. “You do understand that now, right?”

  Ed Teynte started to speak, but cut himself off with a sigh through his nose. He met my eyes and nodded.