Trapped by Neverland

Chapter Four

In Which Strategies are Discussed and Discarded

Wendy waltzed into the room as if she owned the place, feigning a confidence she did not feel. Bypassing the table and chairs where Smee and Hook sat—and pretending the nook that housed his bed didn’t exist at all—she dropped onto the single chair set perpendicular to a longish couch. Both had a great view of the windows that showed the ship’s wake, and both were bolted to the floor. Wendy figured she could use that leverage to kick Hook in the chest with both feet if the need arose.

Smee’s grin hit the room at large on his way out. Wendy wasn’t sure what he was so happy about. He shut the door behind him, but not before Mirai sashayed in. The cat trotted over to the couch and arranged herself in such a way as to observe the entirety of what was surely her domain.

“You betrayed me,” Wendy said under her breath with a narrowed look at the beast.

Mirai responded with what Wendy could only describe as a feline smirk, then closed her eyes.

Captain Hook took his time sauntering toward her. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair and hoped he couldn’t see her white knuckles.

“I seem to recall asking how you came to be on my ship,” he said, picking up where they left off, “and you refusing to answer. How do you explain that?”

Wendy wrinkled her nose. “You are a notorious pirate. You feature heavily in a Verified History as the villain. Why would I tell you anything that could be used against me?” she asked, scornful that she had to spell it out for him. He knew what he was.

“And as we all know, the Verified Histories are infallible,” Hook drawled.

She darted her eyes toward the carvings on the cabinets behind him. “Right . . .”

“Ah.” He folded his right arm against his chest and tapped his hook on his chin. “You don’t sound so convinced. What do you know?”

She rolled her lips between her teeth as she weighed the risk of telling him everything. He hadn’t harmed her yet. And his interactions with Rahma’s family and his crew suggested there was more to him than pure evil. Plus, if the Verified History had misreported Peter’s character that badly, maybe they got Hook wrong, too?

Her adversary waited for her to think it through. His face revealed no impatience, nor did he move from his spot at the other end of the couch. When he continued to stand with a relaxed posture that said he could do this all day, she made up her mind to confess. To a degree.

Wendy released her death grip on the chair. “I’ve been living on Neverland for the last two months.”

Both eyebrows lifted in gentle inquiry. “And was it everything you expected it to be?” he prompted when she didn’t volunteer more.

“Well, at first—”

“Yes?”

Wendy’s lips turned down. “Tinkerbell’s a shrew.”

That response startled a genuine laugh out of Hook. The deep rumble and accompanying smile warmed his whole face. “She is that. Has been for years.” He rubbed a knuckle under one eye after regaining his calm. “What else?”

She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and glanced at the puffy white clouds she could see through the glass. “Well, the Lost Boys are rambunctious, loveable scamps. And Neverland is beautiful.” Wendy fiddled with the hem of her sleeve and chewed the inside of her cheek.

“And Pan,” Hook pressed with zero emotion in his voice. His face had taken on a hard, blank cast.

Wendy spoke around the painful constriction in her throat. “Peter Pan is a heartless murderer who—has my brothers captive.” Her voice broke, and tears rushed to her eyes. She had been holding it together until now. The full weight of what could be happening, or might have already happened, to her brothers pummeled the back of her eyes.

A white handkerchief appeared before her.

“Wendy. How do you know that Pan is a murderer?”

She patted at her eyes and discovered Hook kneeling beside her chair. A shaky breath gave her space to find the words. “I saw him kill Sadiq.”

“When?” When Wendy didn’t answer right away, he folded her hand into his and applied gentle pressure. “Wendy, this is very important. When did Pan kill Sadiq?”

A sniffle delayed her answer. “The day before I snuck aboard the Jolly Roger.”

“How long were you hiding before Smee found you?”

“A couple hours, maybe.” She gave a watery half-laugh. “Sneaking isn’t my strong suit, I guess.”

“That’s good for me,” Hook teased lightly.

“Pfft.”

Hook surrendered her hand and moved to sit on the couch beside Mirai. Wendy told herself not to mourn the loss. She swiped at her face one last time, feeling somewhat better.

“So, you believe me?” she asked.

Staring across the room in the general direction of the maps above his desk, he shrugged. “More or less.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Then you’ll take me to shore?” she pushed.

“No.”

A surprised huff escaped. “What?! Why not?”

Hook rested his right arm across the back of the couch but still didn’t look at her. “I have an appointment to keep and goods to offload before then.”

“Really?!” Wendy knew her eyebrows must be touching her hairline at this point, but she could not believe him.

He turned his face toward her. “Is Pan flying?” he asked with all seriousness.

A full-body shudder shook Wendy as she recalled her headlong flight into the jungle. “Yes.”

“Then I can’t do anything yet,” he said, delivering his words as if remarking on the weather.

She balled up the moist hanky and threw it at his chest. It fluttered unhelpfully to the floor. “Get your own pixie dust, then.”

A halfhearted sneer flashed over Hook’s face. “Pixies have nothing to do with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pixies are good with plants and have the power to grant one boon to a newborn within the first hour of the baby’s life,” he lectured.

“Right.” Wendy waved his condescension away with a flick of her wrist. “Everybody knows that. Peter explained that because the pixies on Neverland never use their power on babies, they can use it to make him fly instead.”

“Did he actually say that?”

Wendy looked at her hands to avoid the sudden intensity in Hook’s eyes. “Y—” But now that she thought about it . . . “No.” He hadn’t said those words exactly. “He implied that the pixies were responsible for his flight. One of the Lost Boys filled in the details.”

“For reasons I haven’t quite grasped yet, Pan cannot lie.” Hook sat forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Pan gains power from every death he causes. According to your timeline, he hasn’t used enough of it to let you go back there on your own.”

“Why couldn’t you have just said that?” Wendy motioned with her hands. “Pretty simple.”

Hook blinked at her as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him until she pointed it out.

“I never meant to take him on alone,” she argued. “I was going to go to the naval police.”

An undignified snort left him. “They won’t do anything.”

Wendy crossed her arms and slumped against the back of her seat. “Why not?”

“How did you get to Neverland?” Hook derailed her with a different question.

“I—” She frowned. “I don’t remember.”

“Nothing?” He leaned back on the couch again, his hand on the seatback while his hook lightly scratched Mirai’s head. The feline began purring.

Uncrossing her arms to rest her head in one hand, Wendy sighed. “I remember deciding that I couldn’t let George separate me from my brothers—”

“George?” Hook interrupted. His tone was casual, but something in the tilt of his head gave away how invested he was in the answer.

“My stepfather. He announced that John was old enough to be an apprentice and Micheal could be shipped to boarding school.” Her hands began moving to emphasize her words. “But John is a creative soul, accounting would crush him. And the bullies at boarding school would literally crush Micheal. He’s too gentle and trusting to navigate those social dynamics.”

Hook nodded thoughtfully. “Perfect for Pan. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your stepfather had plans for your brothers. What about you? Did you kidnap them with pure motives?”

Wendy slapped her hands down on the arms of her chair. “I didn’t kidnap them!”

He raised his eyebrows and held out his hand and hook in a “look where you are” gesture.

She left out a huff of air. “That was never the plan. The night George told us this, and mentioned he was marrying me off because I’m no longer useful”—Wendy curled her upper lip—“the boys begged me to stay in the nursery with them.”

Hook said nothing.

She smoothed her dress over her lap and shook her head. “One of the shadows in the nursery looked like a boy, and John joked that we should follow Peter Pan’s shadow to Neverland. My next clear memory is being shown around the island.”

“That may very well be what happened,” Hook mused under his breath, then stroked his bearded chin.

“What?” Wendy asked, though she had heard him clearly.

Hook set his ankle on the opposite knee. “If you can’t even tell how you arrived on a semi-mythical island, how are the naval police going to believe you? Or find it if they did?”

Frustrated that he was cataloging her doubts from earlier, Wendy propped herself up with the arms of the chair, then dropped against the seatback with a thump. “I don’t know. But he’s a murderer; don’t they take murders seriously?”

“Do you have any proof?”

The mild tone he used rubbed her wrong. “My eyewitness account.”

He shook his head with something like regret. “The authorities tend to disregard stories without bodies or crime scenes to investigate.”

She tapped her bare foot on the time-burnished floor and opened her mouth to ask why Hook didn’t do something about Peter.

“This has been an enlightening discussion,” Hook said as he stood. “Time for you to take up space elsewhere.”

Wendy’s indignant gasp was lost in the shuffle as he scooped her out of her chair with one arm and strode for the door. He deposited her in the hall, then shut his door with a solid click, leaving her gaping in the dark hall.

“Well, I never!” She stomped her foot and immediately regretted it. “Oww!”

She leaned against the door to lift her foot. About to ask Disa to play torch for her, Wendy instead fell through the door when Hook opened it. He kept her from hitting the floor, but it was an awkward catch.

“Why did you yelp?”

Wendy lifted her chin to scowl at him. “Yel—” Her objection died when she saw how close their faces were. This distracted her from the pain in her foot and her irritation. It felt rather wonderful to be held by a strong, good-looking man. She renewed her scowl when his eyes dropped to her lips. “I stepped on something sharp.”

Hook’s lips twisted, and she thought she could see him choosing not to ask about her mini-tantrum. Then he swooped her off her feet, causing her to gasp and clutch at his shirt front. He dropped her on the couch, opposite Mirai, and she bounced a bit on the landing.

Wendy opened her mouth to protest, then paused when he lifted her injured foot. Feet had never seemed particularly scandalous before now. But she’d never had a man hold her bare foot before, either. Heat flooded her face as she looked at the state of her newly callused extremities.

“My feet are filthy,” she said as she tried to free her ankle from his grasp.

“That happens when one prances about without shoes,” he replied mildly. “You have a substantial splinter in your heel.”

“I guessed as much.” Wendy made a face that probably revealed how uncomfortable she was with his scrutiny. Fortunately, he was focused on the unnatural protrusion.

“Mirai,” he addressed the cat, “I need you to move, please.”

Mirai opened her eyes as Hook set down Wendy’s foot and walked over to one of the cabinets that lined the wall. Taking her time and letting everyone know that moving was her idea, the cat stretched, then sauntered toward the table in the middle of the room. After leaping to the surface, she began to bathe one front paw.

“Scoot to the other end of the couch, Wendy.”

“I notice you’re more polite to the cat.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her before using his most monotone voice yet. “Please.”

Wendy breathed out a little forcefully, then transferred her tush from one end of the couch to the other. He returned, balancing a small dish on his hook and carrying a towel in the other. Sitting in the corner she had vacated, Hook placed the towel on the armrest and transferred the dish to the cushion between them.

A roll of bandages hid whatever else might be on the tray. As she watched, Hook lifted her injured foot to rest on his knee. He secured her ankle by trapping it with his hook. The metal felt cool against her suddenly heated skin. With his hand, he nudged the bandage roll aside and picked up a pair of tweezers.

“Can you hold still for this?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t asked in an unkind manner, but Wendy still answered in the overly patient way one does when letting others know they are, in fact, being Very Patient.

The removal itself was a quick process. The splinter came out in one piece, and there wasn’t much blood.

“Alcohol,” Hook stated in warning.

Wendy registered his words a second after the damp towel came in contact with her wound. The sudden intake of breath through clenched teeth kept her from snipping at him. He had her foot wrapped a moment later. The hook came in handy when he knotted the bandage neatly. Maybe a hook had its uses beyond intimidation.

As Hook tidied away his supplies, Wendy cautiously put weight on her foot. Without the foreign object embedded in her heel, there was only a temporary discomfort. Her shoulders dropped as she realized she owed him a thank-you.

“Thank you. I’ll be going now.” And with that, she left the room, her stately departure marred every other step by the twinge that added a slight limp.

The unpleasantly damp scent of the hallway sent her to the upper deck in search of fresh air. She parked herself amid the collection of crates in her favorite spot. Resting against the rough wood, Wendy closed her eyes to better enjoy the interplay of warm sun and cool breeze.

“Would you like a pastry?”

She blinked against the discoloration of the world that always happened when one’s eyelids faced direct sunlight. Tam held out the treat. Wendy took a bite of the flaky crust to discover a bright fruit-filled interior. She noted that it was edging toward being stale.

“You eat very well for folks living on a boat.”

Tam shrugged. “The captain takes care of us, and we make shore every few days or so.”

Wendy nodded. “Care to join me?” she asked after swallowing.

“Sure.” The boy hopped into the space she made for him on the cargo. “So you know the captain is a good guy, right?”

She inhaled through her nose before answering. “I know that he isn’t the villain portrayed in the book,” she admitted.

“He saved me.”

“Oh?”

Tam directed his next words to the ocean. “Peter started acting weird shortly after you and the boys joined us.”

Wendy finished her pastry quietly and stared at the water, giving him the space he needed to share.

“One day, he asked me to jump off the cliff on the north side, but I didn’t want to.” Tam’s voice lacked emotion. “He told me that being a Lost Boy meant obeying the leader. But the cliff was too high; I was scared.”

Wendy shifted closer to him and let the pressure of her arm against his provide reassurance that he was here now.

Tam took a deep breath. “He asked me again. I said no. Then . . . he pushed me off.”

She added a lightness to her voice. “Clearly you missed the rocks.”

“Heh.” Tam shook his head. “Yeah, but then he called for the mermaids and told them they could have me.”

Wendy shuddered theatrically. “Yuck. I never liked those mermaids.”

“And they never liked you,” Tam laughed.

“What happened next? How did Hook save you?” She poked his side and he giggled. “Or do you just look really good for being dead?”

Tam became animated. He pantomimed paddling with his hands. “I started swimming as fast as I could. But I didn’t know where to go! Then there was shouting, and the Jolly Roger came ’round from outta nowhere.”

“My goodness,” she replied at the right time.

“Cap’n ordered the crew to shoot harpoons into the water. They’re really good!” Excitement lit his eyes as he recalled what was obviously the best part of the rescue. “The mermaids were screaming, and Peter was yelling. Then the cap’n got in the yawl with some of the others and came and pulled me out of the water. Those mermaids never stood a chance.”

“That’s very exciting. What made you decide to join his crew?”

Tam shrugged as he leaned back, returning to his good-natured calm. “Got no parents. Cap’n saved me, and I’ll be here to help him stop Peter one day.”

Her companion accepted the notion that Hook would remedy all ills as fact. Given his ordeal and subsequent rescue, she couldn’t blame him. It did make her curious about the rest of the crew, though.

“How did Davi join Hook’s crew?”

Tam scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue. “Peter’s shadow almost got him.”

“What do you mean?” Wendy asked intently.

“Oh, you know,” he sighed. “When Peter’s loaded up enough, he can fly and his shadow can act for itself.”

“What . . . ‘loads’ Peter up?”

“Uh, I don’t know exactly.” He scratched his knee through a growing rip in his trousers. Wendy made a mental note to mend it later. “Cap’n says it’s something about worship. Or being worshipped?” He concluded with an “I dunno” sound in the back of his throat.

“Hmm.” Wendy set that aside to consider at another time. “How did Peter’s shadow almost get Davi?”

“That was before me,” Tam dismissed. “I just know that the shadow killed Davi’s sick mom so he could bring Davi to Neverland. But Cap’n James swooped in and saved him.”

Wendy resolved to ask Hook about that, too. “Were any of the others saved by H—your captain?”

“Oh yeah, lots of ’em!” Tam sat up as tall as he could and scanned the deck. He shook his head a few times, then dropped his head back to look straight up. “Phillip, of course.” The mousy looking boy who could have originated anywhere along the western part of the continent was familiar to Wendy. “He has a thing for horses.”

“Then why does he sail with you?” she asked, unable to keep all of the laughter out of her words.

Tam shrugged again. “You’d have to ask him. Cap’n brought him aboard a few years ago. He was the new guy until me.”

The baby-faced blond giant wandered past them with a barrel.

“Cooper here makes our barrels. He was an apprentice before Peter nabbed him.” Tam’s lips formed a straight line for a moment. “A little slow, but a hard worker. Cap’n says Peter got tired of slow devotion, so he tried for a fast boost.” He shook his head sadly.

“Surely your captain didn’t save everybody from Peter.”

“ ’Course not,” Tam scoffed. “Smee is waaaaay too old for that.” His eyes rounded as he shared the next tidbit with ghoulish glee. “Peter made him cut out his own tongue.”

“Ugh.”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed. “Mücahit—he’s our bosun–—has a huge scar on his neck because Peter tried to get him to slash his own throat and he almost did it!”

“Good thing he didn’t succeed.”

“He has a raspy voice now.” Tam demonstrated said raspiness.

That must have been one of the men Wendy overhead when she first snuck aboard the Jolly Roger. She didn’t know what the bosun did and couldn’t recall which of the men had a neck scar, but she hadn’t been paying close attention to everyone. Actually, apart from the young ones and Hook, she’d be hard-pressed to pick them out of a crowd if they ever left the ship. That thought flickered across her face as a grimace, but her new gossip buddy didn’t notice.

He pointed to the helmsman who shared Davi’s Desjunonian coloring but had a rounder face. A distinguished helping of silver hair graced his temples. “Kalaakaar is basically an artist, so Peter made him burn all his drawings.”

“That’s terrible!”

“He’s the navigator and he draws all our maps now,” Tam assured her.

Wendy wondered if he was responsible for the maps in Hook’s quarters. Her brief glance had noticed crisp lines and colors.

“That’s not as bad as what Peter did to Gharza.” Tam leaned forward and half-whispered the next part. “He made him burn off his hair.” When Wendy made an appropriately appalled expression, he sat back and nodded. “Gharza said he used to have the most beautiful curls. He didn’t ever cut them because his mother loved them.”

“Eghh.” Wendy’s disregard for Peter’s character plunged deeper and deeper into the ocean of her disgust. “Wait, is he the cook?” Having finally eaten in the galley, she thought she remembered the cook being bald though only a few years older than her.

“Yep.” Tam began swinging his feet to thump his heels on the crate. “Raghu got a hook to the gut,” he said almost offhand.

“Which one is Raghu?”

“The carpenter.”

That meant nothing to her. “Was everybody a Lost Boy once?”

“Nah.” Tam hopped down and brushed off his worn trousers. “Maaka joined a few years ago. Gharza says he used to be one of our trading partners before that.”

Maaka was the one that had been teaching Davi how to mend sails.

Before Wendy could say any more, Tam gave her a quick wave. “I’ll see ya at dinner.”

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. At length, Disa’s persistent tugging on her ear dragged her back to the present.

“What, Di—Disa! Where is Leq?” Wendy all but demanded.

Disa’s human form became visible by her shoulder. She turned to see his little face scrunch with concentration.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and said, “Ocean.”

“In the ocean?”

“Nah, zippin’!”

“Well, that’s a relief, anyway,” Wendy mumbled to herself.

Disa hovered in front of her face. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned forward. “Story?”

Wendy took a deep breath, then breathed out, “Sure. Let’s go to the cell.” The sun had intensified beyond pleasant, and she wanted the relative quiet of her “room.”

The pair spent a peaceful hour or so before dinner. Disa lasted through the first story, then fell asleep while demanding a second. Wendy left him there during the evening meal, an event she was able to enjoy more freely now that she knew her tablemates weren’t vicious pirates.

*****

The next morning, the upper deck was a flurry of motion. At first chaotic and incomprehensible to Wendy’s eye, she soon perceived a rhythm and an order. Mücahit walked around giving orders. She identified him from his hoarse voice and recognized him as the Sharamilan fiddler. Smee followed behind and occasionally added nonverbal directions that everyone seemed to decipher without trouble.

Tendoo, the port they were headed toward, was approaching fast. Wendy thought the ruckus today was more extensive than the landing procedures that had occurred when they dropped off Rahma’s family in Buala. That made sense when they made anchor and began unloading a significant quantity of cargo.

Wendy didn’t bother trying to sneak down the gangplank. She had no desire to get crushed by one of the barrels Cooper was rolling down it. Nor did she think it was a good idea to dart through the dockworkers who were helping the crew remove some of the larger pieces with a veritable forest of pulleys and ropes. Hook had made his point about the authorities not believing her. As much as it irked her—and as much as the worry for her brothers chafed—she would likely fail without a viable plan. Or make things worse.

“Raghu, Phillip,” Hook called from behind Wendy.

She turned to see the horse-loving lookout and a man in his early twenties, who definitely had Desjunonian heritage with his golden skin and dark hair, approaching from opposite sections of the ship. Nothing about Raghu’s clothing or the way he walked hinted that he had once been impaled by a monster with a child’s face.

Enjoying the sound of Hook’s velvety voice at close proximity and only mildly curious about what he was saying, Wendy nearly swooned in shock at his next words.

“You two, escort Wendy to the market. I’d like to say you have an hour or so, but you’ve met Tomi.” Hook’s face told her enough about how he viewed poor Tomi.

Raghu laughed with his eyes. “You’ll be lucky to get out of there in two hours. That rumormonger doesn’t even stop talking to breathe.”

“He is a valuable resource,” Hook said in a way that sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “But yes, last night would have been a better time for this.”

Wendy tilted her head to the side as a smile slowly built on her face. How interesting. Poor Hook was obviously going to suffer for the next two hours. Or more. She didn’t rub her hands with glee, but it was a near thing. Hook caught her mirth and raised an eyebrow at her.

When she simply smirked back, he shook his head and turned back to the men.

“Gharza isn’t cooking a midday meal today. You’re on your own.” He passed them a small pouch. “Feed Wendy, please.”

“You got it, Cap’n Hook!” Phillip promised.

Raghu gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir.” Then he offered his arm to Wendy. “Shall we go?”

“Why, certainly. Thank you, Raghu.” She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and bestowed a friendly smile. Over his shoulder, she saw Hook grit his teeth. He was still too appealing, even with the line between his brows, so she turned her face toward the exit.

By now, the bulk of the smaller freight headed into Tendoo had been offloaded, leaving the gangplank clear for pedestrians. Wendy watched the path for leftover puddles from this morning’s sprinkle. Her bandage was no longer white on the bottom, but she wanted to avoid an unnecessary soaking.

Tendoo was a thriving port and hosted a much larger market than the town near the Darling estate. Without a specific purpose, the trio wandered leisurely, led by their whims. Phillip stopped frequently to drool over horses. Even the common draft horses pulling carts were worthy of a second look. Raghu flirted his way out of several sales. None of the female vendors fussed that he was blocking their access to paying customers, and each one smiled wistfully when he moved on. Wendy tried to view him objectively. He was young, strong, and charming. If Hook wasn’t available for comparison, she might have found him physically attractive, as well.

A number of readymade dresses caught her eye as they passed. Too bad the small pouch of coins had been designated for lunch. Her purple attire was beginning to show the toll of three days of sun and sweat. She bet she could ask for bathing water again, but there was absolutely no way she was going to put on the nightmare nightgown in order to wash her current dress. Nor did she feel safe hanging around her cell naked while she waited for it to dry.

“Tell me about Tomi?” she asked Raghu as they passed an incense stall that flavored the entire street.

Phillip found someone willing to let him pat her horse. The other two paused as he chatted with his new best friend.

Raghu shrugged with an easy smile. “What’s there to tell? He’s a quasi-legal fence whose real trade is information.”

“Fence?” Wendy questioned.

Her guide, or maybe guard would be more accurate, stiffened for a blink, then relaxed with a grin. “Let’s just say the goods he acquires aren’t always . . . ‘honestly obtained.’ ” He slung an arm around her shoulder and started walking toward a flower vendor. “Let’s go sniff flowers. Phillip!”

“Coming,” Phillip called from behind them.

Wendy let Raghu redirect their conversation and their steps. Privately, she questioned the legitimacy of the goods Hook was presently dealing. It gnawed at the back of her mind as they moved from flowers to pottery to glass figurines. By the time they reached the fountain in the center of the market, she had well-nigh convinced herself that Hook actually was a pirate. His sad origin story notwithstanding.

“Wendy”—Phillip bounced—“wanna check out the dragon stalls?”

“Fine.”

Her escorts exchanged a look.

“I’m in the mood for lunch,” Raghu announced.

“Me, too,” Phillip hurried to agree.

“That would be good. I think I’m getting cranky,” Wendy admitted with a sigh.

Both men wisely said nothing.

Fortunately, the hot-food section was not far. The enticing scents of baked bread and sizzling meats beckoned them onward. Wendy couldn’t decide between ulutoo and a fish curry. Raghu chose for her by purchasing both. He also bought some cassava pudding for good measure.

By the time the trio had gobbled their street fare, the sun was nearing its zenith. Satiated but beginning to overheat, Wendy readily agreed with the suggestion to head back. Her feet were also starting to whine about the cobblestones in this portion of the market. It was faster to cut through the section of wearable goods, so they tromped past many of the stalls they had already perused.

“Wendy!”

Why does my name sound so melodious on that man’s lips? she asked herself as she turned to look for Hook.

He stood at the cobbler’s stand and held out a pair of boots to her. “Try these on.”

She looked down at her feet, then back up at him in disbelief. “My feet are dirty.”

“He doesn’t mind.” Hook brushed aside her concern and shook the shoes at her. One look at the cobbler said he did mind but was keeping his mouth shut.

“Fine.” Wendy sat on the stool in front of the stall and slid her foot into the boots. She shrugged. “They’re fine.”

“Stand up. Take a few steps,” Hook badgered.

Wendy did as he said and discovered that the heels pinched but her feet slid forward to slam against the toes of the boots, which was even more uncomfortable. When she said as much, the cobbler nodded and pulled out a few selections that he affirmed would fit much better. Two pairs later, they found the perfect fit.

Beautifully supple leather in a soft gray now hugged her feet. Wendy had been embarrassed by the price that Hook paid without blinking an eye. Feeling a bit shy, she offered him a genuine thank-you. He acknowledged her gratitude, then gestured for her to walk ahead of him. When she tried to do so without putting on the boots, he guided her back to the stool with a firm hand. Her protests that she wanted to wash her feet first were squashed when he pointed out that she was limping.

Back on the ship, Hook left to attend to whatever captainly business he had. Wendy asked Phillip where she could find some washing-up water. He offered to deliver a bucket to her room. She thanked him and hurried to the cell, eager to remove her boots to prevent further dirt transfer. Upon arrival, she noticed a number of parcels on the desk.

Quickly kicking off her footwear, she set it to the side and approached the bounty.

“Disa, are you in here?”

A blur raced around the room, then resolved into a sheerie as he hovered at face level. “Yup!”

“Were you here when these packages arrived?” she asked, running an exploratory finger over the twine on one of them.

“Yup.”

“Who delivered them?”

“No-tongue.”

“Smee?” she pressed.

“Mmhmm.”

“Thank you, Disa,” she said absently, already reaching for the top parcel.

Wendy unwrapped a set of stockings and other undergarments. A blush flared to life as she realized Hook must have had a hand in this. Smee could have been acting of his own volition, of course, but she doubted it. She opened the rest of the gifts with some unease. In addition to the unmentionables, she also uncovered three dresses, a good brush, a small hand mirror, and some fripperies.

A knock on the door told her that Phillip had arrived. The sweet boy had brought a full bucket of clean water and a towel. He surprised her with a large piece of canvas, as well. Mentioning that it was an old sail that they practiced mending stitches on, he offered to help her hang it to create a screen.

After the screen was hung and Phillip left, she checked that both doors were locked, then set about bathing from a bucket once more. “Cleanliness must truly be close to godliness,” Wendy whispered happily.

Dressed in a new gown of blue that fit well thanks to laces on the sides, she reveled in the sensation of clean skin and hair. One foot soaked in the bucket while she unwound the bandage from the other.

“But which deity does that saying refer to: Cosmas or Fortuna?” As Wendy contemplated the linguistic ambiguities that made godliness just as likely to apply to a god or a goddess, she examined her injury and deemed it healed but grimy.

Wendy’s loose curls were nearly dry when she worked up the courage to thank Hook yet again. Armed with a clean self and fresh clothes, she made her way to the deck. The bucket she found too unwieldy and left by the brig door. Hopefully, Hook was out in the open air; she didn’t think she could ask him about underthings if he was in his quarters.

The afternoon light was not yet orange when she poked her head outside. Tam walked past the door where she lingered, and she called out to ask where the captain was.

“Quarterdeck,” he obliged, and pointed above and behind her.

Leaving the safety of her doorway, Wendy turned to follow his finger. Hook stood by the helmsman—Kalaakaar?—and stared straight ahead. One fortifying breath later, she marched forward to ascend to the quarterdeck. There, she took up a position against the railing.

Hook gave her a quick once-over, then faced forward again. “Is that one of your new dresses? It’s lovely.” He lifted his chin to squint at the crow’s nest. “I don’t know what all was sent to your quarters. I instructed the woman to procure whatever she thought you needed.”

A wave of relief washed over Wendy and weakened her knees. A woman had bought the undergarments and essential items. Praise either or both deities!

“Everything is quite perfect, thank you.” Wendy clasped her hands together behind her back.

Mirai appeared from some unseen location and traipsed over to Wendy, who watched as the cat daintily stepped on her new boots. Once two paws were on each boot, the feline leaned her entire body weight against Wendy’s legs.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she remarked dryly.

Unsurprisingly, Mirai didn’t answer. After a moment, she leapt to the railing beside Wendy. She then perched there and wrapped her tail around her paws.

“Was there something else?” Hook queried.

Wanting to stay by him for reasons she wouldn’t admit to herself, Wendy opened her mouth. “Why don’t you do anything about Peter?” Oops. Not quite the innocuous topic she had been going for, but it was too late to take the words back now. She forged ahead. “You clearly know how to get to Neverland. Your ship was anchored there.”

Hook surprised her by answering plainly, though he still wouldn’t look at her. “Yes, people who leave of their own accord can return if they continue to drink the water from time to time.”

A realization hit Wendy. “Is that what you were loading onto your ship in that cave?”

He nodded.

“How often do you need to drink the water?”

Hook tilted his head to address Kalaakaar while keeping his eyes on the horizon. “What do you think? A cup or so every week?”

The up-till-now closemouthed Kalaakaar considered, then nodded. “That sounds correct.”

“How—?” Wendy began.

Hook cut her off. “I don’t know how it works; we just know that it does.”

She rested her lower back on the railing and folded her arms. “Back to stopping Peter.” Hook’s nostrils flared, but she continued, “You know how to find Neverland, and you have a crew that wants to help.”

He scanned the horizon and flicked a glance toward the crow’s nest again. “What do you know about Pan? Aside”—he interrupted the aspersions she wanted to make about his character—“from his murderous tendencies.”

Pausing to consider what she actually knew, Wendy began to realize much of it was a blank. She started slowly, “Well, the book says he stays young because he refuses to grow up, but that can’t be right.”

“Indeed.” He eyed the coastline that was visible to their left, then checked one of the instruments that Wendy couldn’t even pretend to know how to operate. “Pan only looks young. He has lived for at least a century, maybe two.” He frowned into the distance. “It’s hard to find reliable information about him that far back.”

“So he’s more cunning and less immature than he acts, huh?” The breeze played with her drying locks.

“Much.” Hook began tapping his fingers on his leg. “What else do you know about him?”

“Uh . . .” Wendy watched Mirai hop off the railing and leave the quarterdeck.

“Did you know that he uses baku to track down fresh orphans?”

“Are those the scary-looking faeries with the trunk and tusks and fur and claws?” she asked, describing the odd creature she had seen on the beach once. “They eat . . . nightmares or something?”

“Exactly. Newly made orphans often have nightmares. As do children afraid of becoming orphans.” Hook held out his hand to measure the sun’s height from the horizon. Whatever his calculations told him caused his lips to turn down. “Pan has raised some baku from birth. They report to him about likely orphans to add to the ranks of the Lost Boys. His shadow usually retrieves them. If he’s feeling particularly impatient, the shadow speeds up the process.”

Remembering Tam’s words about Davi, she could guess what that entailed. She noticed the changing light was turning her hair a brassy hue as she twirled a curl around her finger. “Why does he need Lost Boys? Tam mentioned worship?”

Hook pulled out a spyglass from somewhere and held it to his eye. “Pan can’t lie, he’s sensitive to iron, and what people believe about him affects his abilities.” He removed the spyglass and nodded to Kalaakaar, whose posture loosened slightly.

Wendy mulled over that last part. “So a collection of boys who tend to think in absolutes and view him as the best thing ever—”

“Means he is an expert swordsman, a master trickster, and has a number of children who would defend him with their lives,” Hook finished grimly.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“You were convinced I’m a notorious pirate. How could you trust anything I said?” he challenged.

Kalaakaar’s eyes widened, and his lips pinched in a silent ‘O.’

“That’s completely valid.” Wendy filled her lungs with the briny air and let it out slowly. “My apologies.”

Hook sent a startled look her way, then returned to scouting ahead. He cleared his throat. “Given the circumstances, it was understandable.”

Wendy shook her head. “That’s kind of you to say.” She ran her fingers through her hair and gathered it over one shoulder. “Would enough people believing that Peter is a myth, or at least a fraud, counteract some of that?” she returned to the subject at hand.

“Yes. We’re working on it.”

“Are you aware of all the traps Peter has set around the island? For you specifically?”

“Many of them,” he answered shortly.

“Would you like me to add the ones I know about?” she offered.

“Not right now.”

Wendy crossed her arms. “Do you need a snack?” she said a bit sarcastically.

Hook breathed through his nose, then faced her. “We are heading to a rendezvous with a contact who spies on Pan for us. If we aren’t there before full twilight, he will leave.”

“Oh.” The brilliant sunset took on a sinister cast. “Do you want me to stop bothering you?”

He waved his hand. “You’re fine. I’m . . . tense.”

She thought for a moment. “Can I meet your contact?”

His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “Sure. You’re not going anywhere.”

A couple days ago, that comment would have confirmed her bias about his evil intentions, but now she understood it as a sign of trust. He knew she wouldn’t try to turn him in to the authorities and that her best chance of saving her brothers was with him. A blossom of warmth grew in her chest.

“What can you tell me about your contact?”