Trapped by Neverland

Chapter Two

In Which Sleep Schedules are Abandoned

“Ah, did I forget that part? Captain James Hook, at your service.” He bent in an outrageous bow, with both arms swept to the sides. This caused the hook that had replaced his left hand to gleam in the sunlight, an effect he undoubtedly employed on many occasions.

The hunger in Wendy’s stomach curdled to nausea. This was the man who terrorized Neverland’s shores and slaughtered faeries and Lost Boys indiscriminately? How could she have ever thought he was attractive?

“The pirate?” she asked, scorn dripping from her lips.

A hard light entered his eyes. “As you say.” He stood, tugging on the cuff around his hook, then smoothing down his vest. “But again, how did you come to board my ship?”

“Why don’t you ask Smee?” Wendy folded her arms tightly, trying to hold herself together physically, if not emotionally.

“Smee isn’t a big talker.” Hook ignored the snort of laughter from someone behind him. “I prefer to get my answers from the source.”

Wendy pursed her lips and stared him down. She had no intention of giving this villain any ammunition. For all she knew, he would rejoice in the knowledge that her brothers were being held captive by a homicidal youth-hoarder. Hook would probably laugh maniacally while twirling his too-trim-to-truly-twirl-but-oh-well mustache before making her walk the plank.

Hook stared back for a moment; then he looked at the crewman closest to her. “Tam. Take her to the brig, please.”

Startled by the inclusion of “please” at the end of his order, Wendy allowed the pressure on her arm to guide her forward a few steps. Then she planted her feet and turned to glare at the offender.

Any protest she had died when she recognized the young face at her side. “Tam?”

“C’mon, Wendy. It’s a nice brig.”

“ ’Cause that’s a selling point.” Too focused on her retort and her surprise at walking with a suspiciously solid ghost, Wendy followed the former Lost Boy. “How are you not dead?”

Tam shot a glance at Hook. Wendy looked in the same direction in time to see the fiend arch one eyebrow. Again. How original.

Tam’s half-smile waned, but his firm grip on her arm remained steady. “Oh, you know.”

“No,” Wendy huffed. “I don’t know; that’s why I asked.”

Her next step was a stumble as they exited the brilliant sunshine and entered a pitch-black doorway. Tam moved with the confidence of long familiarity. Wendy muttered a few choice words to herself as she tripped her way down the steep steps and along a narrow hallway that turned in an arbitrary manner seemingly designed to anger her. Stupid pirate can’t even use lights? Are lanterns not evil enough? Eventually, a small circle of light set in the wall drew her eye.

“Here we are,” Tam announced calmly.

“Wha—?” Wendy found herself behind solid bars before she could blink the dazzle away. Her ears informed her that Tam had deposited her and left.

As her eyes adjusted, she examined the contents of the cell. It seemed larger than strictly necessary. Iron bars formed two walls while the ship’s hull and another wooden barrier made up the other two. A padded bench, long enough to stretch out on, occupied the left third of the space, nestled against the planked wall and perpendicular to the porthole; Wendy would have to choose whether she wanted to sleep with her head or her feet within reach of the bars. A very small table or desk and a single chair filled the rest of the wall under her only window. Nothing else resided in her prison, not even a privy bucket.

A search under the cushion and beneath the bench proved no hidden tools or nasty surprises lurked out of sight. Mildly impressed by the relative cleanliness, if one overlooked the slight salt crust that remained from mopping with seawater, Wendy plopped herself down on the bench after ensuring that the table and chair were also devoid of treasure. The padding felt new.

“I bet everything is still nice because a pirate like Hook doesn’t take prisoners. He chucks them overboard and then asks questions,” she said aloud, hoping one or both of her sheeries had followed.

But if Hook was a “kill first” kind of pirate, why wasn’t she dead yet? Wendy slid her hands along the soft fabric, mildly regretting her filthy state. She had just about decided to test the bed with her full body when Tam reappeared.

“Here, Cap’n sent you some food.” He held the plate through the slot in the door that she now understood must have been designed for the purpose.

Stubbornness reared its head, and she wrapped her arms around herself like a cloak. “I’m not hungry.”

“Your stomach growled when we were all on deck.”

“It did not!” Wendy gasped.

Tam’s eyebrow arched in a pale imitation of the villain running this gang. “The whole crew heard it.”

Resignation and curiosity caused her shoulders to drop, and she unfolded her arms to accept the dish. Steaming fish with some sort of vegetable and a thick slab of fresh bread filled the plate to the edges. Tam made his escape before she could tear her eyes from the tantalizing feast.

Since she couldn’t ask her questions, Wendy returned to studying the potentially tainted food. Poison was a common plot device in storybooks, but Wendy had no way of determining whether or not she was about to become a victim of such. Holding up the plate to the light of the porthole, she examined the offering. The fish wasn’t really a surprise. A bountiful ocean of food swirled beneath their feet, after all. The veggies looked seasonally appropriate and probably boiled. But the bread was the real conundrum. Wendy had seen the metal boxes filled with sand in which a sailor could start a small fire to heat food. They were rudimentary at best and not suited for breadmaking by any stretch.

Letting her hunger convince her that poisoning didn’t seem to be Captain Hook’s style, she continued to ponder the complexities of the cooking as she inhaled the possibly hazardous grub. Most likely, the Jolly Roger—which this ship must be if Hook was piloting it—made port on a regular basis. If she could escape the brig, this was good news for her.

Wendy wasn’t sure if poison or hunger made the best seasoning in this case, but she enjoyed every bite of what might be her last meal. While she ate, she mulled over the mystery of a living Tam. With the monolid eyes and ink-black hair common to so many from Fanostrin, Tam had stood out from the other Lost Boys in more ways than one. He was the oldest until John arrived, and quieter than the rest. The eleven-year-old had helped their transition by teaching them the ways of Neverland and setting up beds for them in the underground hideout that could be accessed from a number of hollow trees.

About a week and a half after the Darlings arrived in Neverland, Peter came to dinner looking sad and angry. He told them that “thanks to Hook,” Tam was no longer with them. Then he led the Lost Boys and Wendy through the goodbye ritual. Tam’s things were divvied up amongst the others according to usefulness, then the last few items nobody wanted were set on a tiny raft constructed of sticks, lit on fire, and pushed out to sea.

It had been a somber moment. Even remembering it brought a tightness to her chest. But with the warm food in her belly and a comfy bench beneath her, her thoughts soon turned toward a nap. Running for one’s life really took it out of a girl.

The quality of sunlight spilling into her guest quarters confirmed that it was still early afternoon. Deciding to take the risk of sleeping in the presence of her enemies, Wendy finished prying several loosened lengths of ribbon from her tattered nightgown. It wasn’t like she could make it uglier. The bedraggled strips allowed her to tie the metal plate and fork to the bars of her cell door as a rudimentary alarm. The simple loop wouldn’t stop anyone truly motivated, but it should hinder them long enough to wake her.

Returning to the padded bench, Wendy positioned her head in the darkest corner with her face toward the bars. She wanted to give herself every opportunity to observe an approaching foe before they realized she was awake. Dreamland abducted her before her planning moved past “be alert.”

*****

Wendy woke to the orange light of sunset pouring through the porthole. Peering beyond her cell, she noticed that her quarters made up a single part of the brig. Through the bars opposite her cot, she could make out two more cells. Both looked smaller and less comfortable than hers.

“Maybe he does dabble in ransom,” she muttered to herself.

A door in front of the farthest cell opened to reveal Tam and Smee.

She sat up slowly, watching the pair as they stomped toward her. When Tam set two buckets down, she realized he meant to unlock her cell. She quickly undid the plate-and-fork arrangement. Tam didn’t say anything about it, but he nodded as he put the key in the lock.

Wendy briefly considered making a break for it when Tam held the door to let Smee in. She might be able to slip past this pair, but the rest of the crew would be a problem and she didn’t have a good hiding place to run to, anyway.

Smee deposited a bundle of purple fabric that clunked when he set it on the table, then left. Tam lingered long enough to say, “These things are for you. No one will come in here without knocking and asking.”

Wendy gave him a look.

“After this!” he amended. “Come up when you’re ready.”

“Wait,” Wendy began, “what are you talking about? And how are you—”

Tam walked with greater speed than he had arrived, making his escape while leaving the cell door open but shutting the wooden door behind him.

“—alive?” she finished to the emptiness.

Rolling her eyes, Wendy moved to investigate the gifts on the table. The purple material turned out to be a dress. The bundle also contained a couple small, rough towels, a bar of spicy-smelling soap, and a sturdy wooden comb.

“Should I be insulted or grateful that Hook thought I required two full buckets to bathe?”

Not looking forward to washing with liquid salt but desperate to feel cleaner, she was thrilled to discover that both buckets contained fresh water instead.

“Which means either they wasted a lot of their drinking supply,” Wendy continued muttering as she began soaping up her arms, “or we’re in port!” She jumped to her feet and scurried for the porthole, heedless of the suds dripping to the floor.

Her angle limited what she saw, but the number of masts visible and the presence of birds more colorful than seagulls assured her that they were no longer at sea. If she had been paying better attention, she might have noticed the difference in the ship’s movement. Maybe that’s what woke her.

The now-waning light and her eagerness to get off the ship had her rushing through her ablutions. Only the reminder that looking presentable would help her with any stuffy officials kept her from shortcutting the process. The fact that an incredibly handsome man was going to see her again had nothing to do with her thoroughness. Finally, after much contorting and straining to wash from a bucket, Wendy stood and stretched her back, then began the laborious process of combing through the tangled net masquerading as hair.

Once her waves had been somewhat subdued, she changed into the provided dress. Tam had said no one would bother her, but she still spent as little time as possible outside of her nightgown before tugging on the new attire. A little tight in the shoulders and shorter than fashionable for her height, but overall, the purple dress fit well. Wendy wondered how suspicious she should be that the captain of what she assumed to be an all-male crew had women’s clothing onboard. Had he robbed a merchant’s vessel filled with readymade textiles and guessed her size? Had he recently made some poor gal walk the plank, but not before stealing her attire? Did he design and sew women’s fashion in his spare time?

Wendy snorted. “Scuzzbags don’t have normal hobbies.”

Taking one last moment to feel her hair and scan what she could see of her person, she filled her lungs with determination and strode for the door. No specific words came to mind for pleading her case, but Wendy hoped they would come to her when she needed them.

The hall beyond the brig was just as dark as her first trip through it. She set her hand against the wall and lifted one foot, only to be stopped by a low mew at her ankles. Crouching brought her face-to-face with The Cat.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to guide me, are you?”

A brief “mmrt” answered her, then the feline swiveled to walk away.

“Good enough for me,” Wendy said with a shrug.

When the hall branched, her guide followed the growing sounds of men at work. This reassured Wendy that her choice was correct. Soon she was rewarded with the sight of the ladder-like stairs she had bumbled down earlier.

She turned to nod to the cat. “Thank you.”

The beast whipped its tail from side to side, then bounded up the steps.

“Huh.” In the dim lighting, it had looked like the cat possessed two tails for a moment.

As she reached the top, the calls of the crew took on a new cadence, but Wendy didn’t note the difference until she saw two men pulling in the gangplank.

“Why are we leaving already?” Wendy asked the deck at large, not bothering to quell the anguish in her voice. Her hands gripped the railing.

“Our business here is finished.” The nefarious tones of Hook came from behind her. “And the naval police were starting to sniff around.”

Wendy whirled to face him. “This is Malu?”

Indifferent eyes flashed her direction for a split second. “Yes. So?”

She spun away to face the port. The ship had barely started moving. Without further thought, she readied herself to launch over the rail, lifting her skirt to free her feet. Her forward momentum was stopped by a muscled forearm that materialized around her middle.

“I wouldn’t. You’re just as likely to be crushed between a ship’s hull and the pilings as make it to shore.” He hummed a little. “Moreso, actually.” The idea didn’t seem to bother him any.

Wendy ignored the pleasingly melodious words behind her left ear and strained against the strong arm encircling her waist to peer into the murky waters.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin such a lovely dress, either, now would you?” Hook asked flatly. He loosened his grip, apparently feeling that his words or the growing distance had persuaded her, and allowed her to slip free.

Having seen firsthand the jetsam and other trash that floated under and around the docks, she had to agree. That didn’t mean she had to let him win. The naval police headquartered here in Malu. They were still her best chance to rescue her brothers and the other Lost Boys from Peter.

She turned to her antagonizer and poured out every bit of fear, anxiety, and helpless anger into her glare, then replied with biting sarcasm, “My apologies, did the men steal it from your closet? I’d be happy to return it after procuring a new one.” She gestured toward the port with an elegant twist of her wrist. “Oh, look. Shops.”

Hook watched this masterful performance without expression, even when one of the rubbernecking crew members choked on a poorly suppressed snort of laughter and spent the next few moments sputtering and coughing.

Seeing nothing in his eyes, Wendy took a new tack. “Where are you stopping next?”

“Marfa.”

“Marfa?! But that’s in—”

“Sharamil, yes. You’re well-versed in geography. Congratulations.” Hook punctuated his dry observation by turning smartly on his heel. He left her gaping like a fish and gave orders to the crew as he marched off to who-cared-where.

With an exaggerated huff that only relieved a portion of her feelings, Wendy turned her gaze to the three crewmen who hadn’t received (or weren’t following) Hook’s latest orders. All three suddenly recalled urgent business elsewhere. Lacking targets for her ire, Wendy stomped over to a chair-height crate and settled onto it. Her new position afforded a decent view of the main deck.

She forewent ladylike posture, pulling her still-bare-but-slightly-cleaner feet up and folding them beneath her skirt. The cat appeared in the same sudden manner as her sheeries, who had yet to return, and settled on the crate beside her, just out of reach. Wendy wasn’t in the mood to be comforted, anyway.

Gauging the position of the rapidly sinking sun, she realized she had less than an hour of daylight left. Cradling her chin in one hand and slouching to rest that elbow on her knee, Wendy settled in to ponder her next steps.

Waiting to land in Sharamil was out of the question. Not only would it take too long, but their authorities also couldn’t enforce the law outside of their jurisdiction. And the laws would be different. Maybe killing children was legal in that desert country.

“Fine. Probably not,” she said.

The cat ignored her, but a passing crewman, who might have been in his thirties, gave her an odd look. But whether that was because she was talking to herself or because she spoke without lifting her chin from her hand, thereby causing her head to bounce up and down, Wendy couldn’t say. Nor did she really care.

If the Jolly Roger wasn’t going to make port again for a while, she needed to make her own way off. Swimming in a dress was a death wish, so a floatation device would be necessary. This idea straightened her spine. There must be a small boat for when the ship weighed anchor somewhere without a dock.

Scrutinizing her surroundings more carefully, Wendy searched for such a vessel. The deck held a number of expected ship accouterments—crates, nets, and the like. And at the far end of her line of sight, a small boat hung from ropes and pulleys. With dusk an imminent threat, she decided now would be the perfect time to start testing her limits. Would the crew object to her wandering about the deck? Did Hook order them to keep her from exploring certain regions? Time to find out.

Hopping down became an unfortunately graceless procedure, as her feet had begun falling asleep. Trying to stamp out the pins-and-needles sensation without calling attention to herself was likewise awkward.

Wendy huffed. “They can think whatever they want about me. A pirate’s opinion holds no water.” She snorted a laugh. “Pirate, water. Heh. Never mind,” she added when the cat managed to communicate an eye roll without the actual maneuver.

Taking her time to meander around the railing of the ship, she avoided eye contact with the crew scattered about the deck. No one had called out her odd mutterings or the fact that she laughed at her own jokes. Either they were too far away to have heard or thought it wiser to give the crazy lady space. Eventually, the men stopped trying to watch her with varying levels of discretion. The youngest ones were the most obvious observers, but even they became more interested in their tasks as her slow amble around the deck failed to provide any real entertainment.

Wendy was careful not to lift any lids or poke around under loose tarps. She kept her face mostly toward the sea except where it was necessary to watch her footing. Her eyes began to ache as she strained to scan her surroundings without turning her head. Only a sliver of sun remained above the horizon by the time she reached her goal. The stark relief of the land rimmed by the fiery red crescent highlighted how far she would have to paddle.

Wendy opened her mouth to question whether or not the oars were stored in the boat or nearby. She caught herself, then performed as thorough of a visual scan as she felt safe doing. The growing twilight that helped obscure her actions also hindered. The pulleys that held the little boat looked simple enough to operate, but their distance apart suggested a two-person job.

So as not to arouse suspicion (or more suspicion), she continued her journey along the railing. As she walked, she pondered the likelihood of maneuvering the small craft into the water by herself. If she let one pulley loose at a time, going back and forth to prevent dropping it in on one end, she could probably lower it successfully. Detaching it from the ship would be done from inside the boat. And that was the real issue.

The Jolly Roger was no sloop; it had to be at least a galleon, as the deck she traversed was rather distant from the water. Getting herself from the deck to the rowboat would be difficult. With stealth. She could probably shimmy down one of the ropes. A fall from that height would hurt but not maim. Such a procedure was unlikely to be as silent as she required, though.

Which leads to . . . “Timing.” Wendy muttered the last word aloud. When was she going to be able to sneak off the ship?

A smattering of stars had appeared by then. She paused to pretend she was admiring them. In reality, she was scouring the sky for helpful clouds. A cloudbank on the far horizon gave her both hope and anxiety. An overcast sky would almost definitely cause the crew to weigh anchor, since they wouldn’t be able to navigate by the stars. But rain would make Wendy’s task that much harder.

When she continued her ramble around the deck, she chose to avoid the quarterdeck with the ship’s wheel and attendant helmsman. Instead, she returned to her crate of choice and settled in once more. The cat was nowhere to be seen.

About the time true dark fell, a lantern bobbed her way. She had been watching this particular light make its way around the deck, sparking each stationary lantern and segment of the deck in turn. The bearer was revealed to be the fink, Smee, followed by Tam.

“Snitched on me yet?” Wendy asked the old man without rancor. She didn’t know what he knew, but she didn’t want Hook hearing about brothers or sheeries.

Tam plonked a plate of dinner onto the crate next to her. “Smee’s tongue was cut out.”

“Huh,” she stated in a way she hoped communicated her lack of pity or undue curiosity to the condition and didn’t reveal how awkward she felt learning of it in front of the victim. She eyed Smee in the lantern light. “Somehow I doubt that ever stops you,” she mused.

His answering grin held a hint of smirk.

Yup, Wendy thought. He’s definitely up to something.

“Here.” Tam interrupted her musings to shove something in her general direction.

Wendy held out her hand and received a metal ring with two keys on it.

He pointed to the first. “This opens the main brig door, and that one is for your cell.”

She curled her fingers around them.

Reading the suspicion in her eyes, Tam added, “I have the other brig key, and if you lock your cell from the inside, no one can unlock it even if we had another key.”

Wendy hummed something that could have been an agreement, which seemed to satisfy Tam, who nodded once, then left. Smee lingered to squint at her. When she returned his stare, he nodded to himself before giving her a quick wave and leaving to follow the black-haired boy.

Weighing the metal objects in her hand for a moment, she decided she trusted Tam not to provide the other brig key to anyone else. Satisfied for the moment, she slipped the ring into one of the spacious pockets sewn into the plum dress—the only thing that might have redeemed the nightmare-inducing nightgown that she’d kicked under the bench. “Ha! Not even pockets could save that mess,” Wendy said as she picked up the plate and dove into another oddly sophisticated dish.

When she had finished eating, she calmly addressed the snoop who had been ducking in and out of sight from behind a nearby barrel. “Hey, you. Do you know where this goes?” She held up the empty plate.

Dark hair, followed by a paler face with soft features, rose slowly from the hiding spot. A young boy who couldn’t have been more than seven stepped around the barrel while keeping a firm grip on the rim. “I can take it for you,” he volunteered.

Wendy smiled. “Thank you—What’s your name?”

Big, dark eyes stared at her out of a thin, golden-brown face. “Davi.”

“Ah. Thank you, Davi.” She held out the dish. “Desjunon?”

Davi inched closer, nodding. Accepting the plate, he took a quick step back to renew the space buffer.

About the time Wendy thought he would dart off into the night, he stood a little taller and asked, “Where are you from?”

Wendy felt her heart warming toward the youngster. She didn’t know how he had come to join a pirate crew, but Hook’s evil hadn’t seemed to rub off on him yet. “I was born in Jocestria, but my dad was from Brulark and my mom is Erimevkan.”

“Ohhhhhh,” Davi sing-songed as he nodded several times, apparently without comprehension. Then he blinked and tossed out a “Bye!” over his shoulder as he disappeared.

The sound of a fiddle pulled Wendy’s attention to the front of the ship. A middle-aged man with dark hair and a sparse beard stood precisely adjusting the strings one at a time, testing after each adjustment. Two more crewmen had joined him and seemed to be arranging their portion of the deck to better suit a musical interlude, if the pipes and accordion they carried were any indication.

As the trio continued to prepare their instruments, more and more of the crew found their way to that circle of light. Wendy suspected tonight’s entertainment would take some time to conclude. Unfortunately, the fiddler was too close to her escape route for her to consider sneaking out under the cover of music. With a sigh, she heaved herself off the crate and made her way to the brig.

The darkness made it even harder to find her way, and she found herself turned around rather quickly. Since the cat had disappeared again and her shins hurt from slamming into things, she gave in and retrieved the lantern Tam had left by her dinner.

The concert had begun in earnest by this point. Several crew members stomped their feet or danced a jig to the tune. Wendy snagged the lantern and retraced her steps without sticking around. The cheery music felt like an insult while her brothers were still in peril.

Safely in the brig at last, she took care to lock the outer door, then examined her cell and discovered that Tam had spoken the truth: She was able to secure the cell from inside. The lantern was hung on an oddly perfect hook, and the keys were tucked into her pocket.

Wendy dropped herself onto the unusually comfortable bed with a sigh. “Now what?” Sleeping was a good idea, but how would she ensure she woke up at the proper time?

She sat up and smacked her hand against her forehead before dragging it down her face. “How could I forget?” She shook her head, then called lightly, “Leq? Disa?”

For a lengthy moment that decreased Wendy’s hope with every passing second, nothing happened. Then a blue bundle of flame flashed into being too close to her face. She managed not to flinch this time but still scowled at the sheerie instinctively, who responded by switching to his humanoid shape.

“Disa, where’s Leq?” she asked, imagining all the horrible mischief a bored sheerie could incite.

Disa indulged in a few aerial acrobatics before settling on her knee. “Leq left to tell Iniq and Shaye to stay with brothers.”

“Oh!” Wendy was surprised and pleased that her flightiest companion had remembered her instructions. “Well, good.”

Disa hopped up and down on her knee.

“Will you help me with something?”

Flying up to face level again, Disa announced, “Always help Wenny!”

“Thank you, Disa. We’re getting off this ship tonight, but I have to wait until most of the crew have gone to bed. Do you hear the music?”

The pint-sized faery nodded vigorously.

“Good. I need you to watch the show and come get me when everyone goes to bed after. Can you do that?”

“I can!” the sheerie cheered before popping out of sight.

Wendy pulled in a deep breath and patted her palms on her lap. “Well, that’s that. What next?”

Sleep really was her best option, but her late nap made it less appealing and potentially impossible. Determined to try anyway, she turned the lantern down as low as it would go, then arranged herself in a comfortable resting position.

With the faint strains of a pirate shanty forming the background of her thoughts, she settled into the cushion and set her mind to composing convincing arguments for the naval police. Persuading them to act against a beloved folk hero would be tricky.

*****

Wendy woke with a start when a small sheerie foot slipped into her ear.

“Ah!” She sat up and rubbed her ear while scowling at Disa, who seemed oblivious that some might dislike waking to a small creature crawling up the side of their head.

“Music’s done,” he announced proudly.

Wendy dialed back her dirty look. “Thank you, Disa.” She rubbed her eyes next. “Has everyone gone to bed?”

“No.”

She squinted at him with sleep-blurred eyes. “What do you mean? Who’s awake?”

“Boy in the crow’s nest.” The gentle glow about the mini faery pulsed a brighter blue, a sure sign that he was on the verge of changing into his flame form.

“Is anyone else on deck?”

“Nope.” Disa gave in to his fiery aspect and zoomed around the room.

Wendy watched him make two complete circuits of the cell before flying to her side, then abruptly plummeting to the cushion. “Find me when you wake up,” she instructed. “Be invisible.”

Disa’s half-asleep reply was faint, but she knew he could find her anywhere and rarely showed himself to other big people.

Carefully rising from the bench, Wendy ran a hand through her once-more-tangled locks. Taking the time to fix the mess would allow the lookout to become bored and, hopefully, less attentive. After thanking whichever deity wanted credit for the comb left in her possession, she eventually wrangled the loose curls into a long braid that she tied off with a discarded ribbon from the nightgown lurking under the bench.

The next few minutes were spent debating whether or not to take the lantern with her. It would make navigating the corridors easier, but it also announced her position. It could come in handy when she made it to shore, though. She finally decided to bring it along. The benefit outweighed the risk.

Wendy hesitated at the brig door, then walked back to tuck her key ring under the cushion in her cell. She didn’t need them. As she slipped out of the brig, she wondered if she should have dropped them overboard so the pirates couldn’t lock up any more kidnapped folks. Then she remembered that Tam had at least one copy. Oh well.

On deck, a few lanterns remained burning. Probably to prevent another ship from running into them. The promised clouds had rolled in, obscuring the stars with only a bright patch to indicate the moon’s position. She couldn’t tell how much of the ship’s movement was forward momentum or if the anchor had been dropped, but the sails had been furled, and that seemed like a good sign to her.

Wendy scanned what she could see from her spot in the doorway, then opted to brazen it out. Wasn’t there something about being ignored by looking like you were supposed to be somewhere? She should have asked Disa to play the part of distraction again. Too late now.

Her heart protested the bold walk by trying to escape through her throat. Wendy couldn’t have recounted the journey across the deck, as fear smudged her perception. However she managed to dodge crates and avoid tripping on coils of ropes, she arrived at her destination before long. She stopped at the railing, blinking in surprise.

A soft whistle of air escaped her lips. Now or never. Steeling her nerves, Wendy set the lantern to the side and squared her shoulders. Then she moved to the first pulley. When her hand touched the rope, she realized she should pull the tarp off and check for oars. Drifting aimlessly at sea wouldn’t do anyone any good.

It took her a few fumbling moments to unlash the edge of the tarp. She pulled it back as far as her average female stature allowed without a step stool. Good enough, she thought, successfully quelling the urge to reassure herself by speaking aloud. Grasping the edge of the smaller boat, she heaved herself up on her bare toes to peer inside. Naturally, the nearest lantern failed to illuminate the interior.

Rolling her eyes at her own folly, Wendy scooped up her lantern and tried again.

“Going somewhere?”