Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland (22 page)

“Far clearer,” Doherty said.
 
“The game is rigged back there.”

“Naturally, Jason,” I said.
 
“If one does not like the game, reset the board.”
 

“Aye, Captain,” he said.

“Where’s Jukes?” I asked.
 
The men pointed away down toward the beach.
 

Only twenty paces further, Billy Jukes sat on the grass, staring at his tattoos.
 

“William,” I said.
 
“Are you ready?”

Jukes laughed, never raising his eyes from his forearm.
 
“For what?”

“We need to go back.”

“I thought you were done.”

“I can’t be done,” I said.
 
Seeing William unmoved, I continued.
 
“Look at what he did to us.
 
This cannot be allowed to stand, not without evening the score.”

“Oh, Pan has parents and a sister?”

He was right.
 
There was nothing that I could do to match his offense.
 
He hardly holds anything dear, let alone something so close that it would bring him the pain that I felt now, again.
 

Billy Jukes turned his forearm to see the rest of the tattoo.
 

“Who is that one for?” I asked.
 

He sighed and turned it over again.
 
“I’m not sure.
 
Some of these are early.
 
They’re easy to figure out.”
 
He pointed to one on the back of his left hand.
 
“Emily.”
 
He then pointed to the one on the back of his right hand.
 
“Dad.”
 
He stared at another one up his right arm and shook his head.
 
“I don’t know this one.
 
I just kept getting more.”
 
Jukes pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a canvas of ink across his back.
 
Some were ships.
 
Others were women.
 
Among them were fresh hearts, anchors, and thorns.
 

“Why so many?” I asked.
 

“Every little bit makes up the whole,” William said.

“But we are whole again.”
 

“Are we?” he asked.
 
“And for how long?
 
You want to go back.”

“I have to.”
 

“Yeah, but I don’t.”
 

“You should,” I said.
 
“You’re going to want to see this.
 
I have it figured out.”

“Of course you do,” William said, shaking his head.
 
He looked at me for a full minute before standing.
 
He said nothing.
 
He just walked past me and into the cave.
 

Noodler, Starkey, and Teynte followed without a word.
 

George Scourie tucked his little silver trinket back into a vest pocket and wiped his face.
 
“There’s nothing left for me here,” he said, maybe to me, then walked into the cave alongside Charles Turley and Max Kasey.
 

Collazo whispered a silent prayer, then he and Doherty left.
 
Cookson, Thomas Mather, and Skylights followed Mullins and Mason.
 

And just like that, I was alone.
 

No one stayed.
 
There wasn’t even a conversation.
 
Not one single word of debate.
 
After such heated anticipation, I didn’t expect my time in our world to end so quickly.
 
I thought about visiting the site where I buried my father, but decided better of it.
 
A storm could have disturbed him and I’d be here another hour reburying him.
 
I didn’t have the time or the nerve for something like that right now.
 

I stepped into the cave, following the trail of water to the passage.
 
In the shimmering light, I ran my fingers over the words carved in the rock wall.
 
País de Nunca
.
 
Never Land.
 
Someone else stood here, in this very spot, and thought they had it all figured out.
 
It may have been the same Spaniard who cursed and spat in his death throes at the very mention of Peter Pan.
 
I considered that man’s failure for a moment, then the moment passed.

Seconds later, I rose from the water in the cave on Neverland Island.
 

A haze settled on me right away, just behind my eyes.
 
The kind of feeling you get just before being sick.
 
Nothing was lost yet, just dulled, which was a state that wouldn’t last long.
 

I thought for a few seconds longer, alone in the dark.
 
Or at least I thought I was alone.
 
So stupid.

There was a click behind me and someone cursed.
 
A man’s voice said “Hold him” and there were hands on me.
 
Untrained hands.
 
Grabbing.
 
Something hit my teeth.
 
I tasted blood and spat it at my attacker.
 
A pain shot up my arm and I realized that I’d been stabbed.
 

I swung wildly and caught someone with a blow.
 
The person stammered back.
 
I drew my sword and swung at the air.
 

The dim light of the water was still bright enough for me to make out my attackers.
   

Collazo wiped my blood from his shirt as Doherty worked to reload the pistol.
 

“It’s me you idiots,” I said, thinking that their assault was an accident.
 

“Yes, it’s you,” Doherty said, fumbling with the pistol.
 
“Alone.”
 

His words stunned me for a second too long.
 
Neither Doherty nor Collazo had voiced a single concern.
 
Now they were about to finish the job Phillip Gulley started.
 

The man aimed and fired.
 

Click
.
 

“That’s twice you’ve been saved,” Collazo said.
 

“That’s not divinity, you fools,” I said.
 
“The gunpowder is wet.”
 

Doherty threw the gun down and pulled a short sword out from his belt.
 
“Enough of this.
 
Soon, we’ll be rid of you.”

“Why not just stay?” I asked.
 

“And be stranded?” Doherty said.
 
“No.
 
We’ll have a ship and a life without you in it.
 
Shoot Jukes and Smee in their sleep, along with anyone else who went along with your folly.
 
Reset the board.”
 

Collazo smiled.
 
“An intelligent and coordinated effort.”
 

“And you’re fine with cold-blooded murder?” I asked Collazo.
 
“No provocation?”

Collazo thought for a breath.
 
“
Surely the serpent will bite without enchantment
.”
 

“Yeah,
and a babbler is no better
,” I said in return.
 
The priest frowned.
 

The two men advanced.
 
The dark made the fine art of swordplay impossible, so I swiped and slashed until I felt my sword cut into one man’s shoulder.
 
Collazo yelped and jumped back.
 
Doherty kicked me and I fell against the wall.
 

We both dropped our swords and were on the ground.
 
I felt something hard hit my head and all was dark for a second too long.
 
His hands were on my neck.
 
Light faded in from the edges and the only sounds were grunts and the gentle lapping of the water.
 

And ticking.
 

Faint and muffled ticking.
 

Deliberate.
 

Growing louder by the second.
 

There was a splash and screaming.
 
Doherty’s hands left my throat and the world returned to focus in time for me to see the croc clamp down on Collazo and roll on the ground.
 
Her every movement pulsed with excitement and a small part of me was glad that the priest was covered in my blood.
 

She dragged him into the water and, like that, I was alone with only one attacker.
 
In Doherty’s panic, he hardly noticed me grab a rock and cave in his head.

I gathered my equipment and joined the crew.
 

Jukes stopped me at the cave mouth.
 
I told him that Doherty and Collazo were staying put.
 
Choices.
 

We followed the river back to the bay.
 
The walk was quick, except for the bear we passed along the banks.
 
It stared into the water and readied its paw to strike until a salmon jumped up and bit it.
 
The bear howled and ran into the Crescent Wood.
 
I laughed the rest of the walk.

When we got to the boats, I told Jukes to take most of the men back and to get a message to Smee.
 
“I need a favor from the old bastard.”
 

“You’re not coming?”

“No.
 
You’re going to need both cutters.
 
I’ll stay here with Noodler, Teynte, and Starkey.”

“What kind of favor is this?”

I looked at him and smiled.
 
“A big one.”
 

I told him what it was and he smiled as well.
 

Chapter Eighteen

Everything was set, all of it in under four hundred verses of the Dread Song.
 

I walked up the path to the castle alone.
 
There was no way to avoid being seen and that is the way I wanted it.
 
When I got within twenty yards of the gate, I pulled my pistol and fired into the arrow loop of the nearest tower.
 
The shot echoed against the dull gray stone and I listened.
 

Hearing no response, I reloaded the pistol and aimed at the far tower.
 
Before I could pull the trigger, a large green head rose up from the ramparts behind the gatehouse wall.
 

“There are more polite ways to call on an old friend, Captain,” the Green Knight said, his grassy beard shaking with each word.

“This was easier.”

“Well, you now have my full attention,” said the Green Knight.
 
He gripped the stone and leaned his massive frame over the battlements.
 

“I don’t want your attention,” I said.
 
“I want this over.”

The knight smiled, flashing bright green teeth.
 
“Do you intend to apologize?
 
Well then I graciously accept.
 
Come, Captain, let us drink to our union and the deaths of our enemies.”

“I intend to separate you from your fool head,” I said.

The Green Knight shook his head and sighed, never once losing his smile.
 
“I accept that as well,” he said.
 
“Are you coming in?”

“And trap myself in an oubliette or between the gates and be shot at through the murder hole?
 
No.”
 

“Then it seems we are at an impasse, because what incentive would I have to come out?”
 

“Company,” I said, “however brief.”
 
I made a show of looking at the overgrown ivy on the castle walls.
 
“It must be awfully lonely in that castle by yourself.”
 

“I should have had your men killed instead of jailed.”

“
Should haves
and
could haves
are the poetry of regret.”

“Ah, yes.”
 
The Green Knight stepped back behind the castle walls.
 
Moments later he returned with a canvas bag, which he threw down to the dirt at my feet.
 

I knelt down and pulled the two books from the bag.
 
I held the volume of Roman history high up and gave the knight a questioning look.

“I found it boring and filled with more myth than even I have a stomach for,” the knight said.
 
“Your historians should stick to recent history.
 
The distance of time is better suited to the romantic writer.”

“That’s a bold critique.”

“You haven’t heard my thoughts on the other one.”

I put the Roman history book away and held the Chaucer book high in the air.
 

“Unimpressive.”

“Even the knight’s tale?” I asked.
 
“I thought that you’d at least find that entertaining.”
 

“Yes, a tournament built around two men fighting to the death over a woman,” the knight said.
 
“I’d be entertained if it weren’t like every other story I read at the time I lived it.
 
Those tales are best saved for the masses.
 
Short, quick reads.
 
No attention required.”
 

“That’s a shame,” I said.
 
“I got more out of it than that.
 
There are historical and religious subtleties that I’m sure you’re missing.”
 

“No doubt.”

“It influenced centuries of literature.”

“Then I am glad that you did not bring me more of your literature,” the Green Knight said.
 
“
Troilus and Criseyde,
on the other hand, was quite good.
 
Although I don’t recall Troilus ever being written as a lover before.”