Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
“When you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars.”
The bedroom is large and girdled by tree roots all around except for some bays carved out with bunkbeds in the stone cubbies. The granite walls flicker along with the candlelight as I peer at an absolutely enormous bed that takes up most of the room.
“How did you even sew sheets for this?” I gape at it.
“Slightly’s decent with a needle.” Peter yanks back a patchy quilt and gestures for me to climb in.
“No, thank you.” I glance around and find a wooden chair leaning against the wall. I sink into it, though part of the wicker-like back stabs under one of my ribs.
“You can’t sleep there.” One of the twins calls from his bunk, then settles with his hands laced behind his head.
“I’m not sleeping in here with a bunch of men,” I snap. “That’s crazy.”
He only shrugs as someone climbs into the bunk above him and a few others hang their shirts on pegs beside their beds. I try not to stare at the expanse of maleness.
“Where are the others?” I could’ve sworn there’d been more in the cavern, or perhaps my imagination made it seem that way.
Peter points up. “I have more Lost Boys. Most of them sleep in the Nevertree above us.”
“So you—” I do a quick count. “You seven sleep in here?” Somehow there’s room for all of them with plenty to spare.
“It’s safer.” A twin lies back. “Hook is always after Peter, more than any of us, so it’s best if he sleeps down here.”
“You’re his personal guard, then?”
“I’ve killed plenty of pirates in my time. What’s a few more?” He shrugs.
“Killed?” I don’t like the sound of that.
“They’re evil, Moira.” Peter kneels in front of me and takes my hand in his. “They do Captain Hook’s bidding, no questions asked. That’s why the island is dying. His greed is turning it into a lifeless husk.”
I gently pull my hand free. “I still don’t really understand. Pirates are, you know, on the ocean, right? They’re out there robbing people on other ships. Unless my definition of a ‘pirate’ is way off, I don’t get it. What does Captain Hook want with an island like this?”
“It’s a treasure,” one twin says.
“It’s magic,” says the other.
“If he rules the island, there will be no more Lost Boys,” Slightly says. “And no more Peter either. He’ll hang us on his ship or make us walk the plank. Every last one of us. You, too, Moira.”
“You, especially,” Peter adds.
“Hang me?” I reach up and run my fingers along my throat. “Just because I’m related to Wendy?”
“Yes.” Peter nods.
The weight of his words start to sink into me, weighing me down in the chair and making my eyelids droop.
I can’t dwell on that. After all, the ship was far off in the dark night when I saw it.
My main issue is right here in this cave with the enormous bed and all the half-naked men who watch me from their bunks.
“Why the huge bed if no one sleeps in it?” I rub my eyes.
“We used to all sleep in it when we were still boys,” Peter says. “But once we started aging, it got a little …”
“Creepy?” I suggest.
“Crowded,” he amends. “Now I take the big bed and the guys sleep where they please. Sometimes in the Nevertree, but most of the time down here.”
“Sometimes on the mermaid beach, though that can be a little dangerous.” One of the twins waggles his eyebrows. “Dangerous and fun if you catch the right mermaid on the right night.”
“When one of them drowns you, you won’t think it’s so much fun anymore, Foy.” Peter shoots him a withering look. “Anyway, we try to all come home to sleep. It’s what Wendy taught us. She made us a family of sorts.”
“Mmhmm. I suppose that makes sense. You’re like the seven dwarves, sort of.”
“Dwarves?” Curly lifts onto his elbow. “What are those?”
“Right.” I fidget in my chair. “You’ve never heard the Snow White story.”
Peter stretches and yawns, then climbs into the bed on the side closest to me. I can’t help but notice he’s left space for me on the end. No, thank you.
“Tell us that one, Moira. The Snow White one,” says one of the men whose name I haven’t learned.
“Yes, tell us.” Peter stares, rapt.
This is too surreal. I know in Wendy’s tale of her time in Neverland, she pretended she was the mother to all the Lost Boys.
That might’ve been cute. But in this room, I’m the youngest person here by far.
These are grown men all about twenty years older.
Then again, if they’re the same Lost Boys from Wendy’s time here, they’re a century older than me, maybe more. The paradox makes my head hurt.
“Moira?” Peter prods.
“Fine.” I lean back and try to arrange myself so I’m not poked to death by the chair. “Once upon a time—”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Curly says. It’s met by a host of “shhhh!” from his bedmates.
Peter glares at him, then turns to me with his brightest smile yet. “Please, go on.”
I start again and tell them all about the wicked stepmother and the most beautiful girl in all the land. How she took refuge with a pack of dwarves and quickly became a family, each of them looking out for each other.
When my voice finally falters, my eyes closing, I look over and see the men are all asleep. All except one.
Peter watches me, the glint in his eye somehow brighter in the soft dark as I finally succumb to sleep.
And this time? This time, I dream.