Never, Never (13 page)

When he finally walked back toward his ship, he was not as disappointed as he expected he'd be to have found nothing of a hideaway. Rather, he was in quite a good mood, and determined to have that bath, and to be back to Tiger Lily's village as soon as possible.

W
HEN
J
AMES GOT BACK TO HIS BOAT, IT WAS SITTING
peacefully at the dock, as James knew it would be. But its inhabitants were not nearly so serene. They were scrambling back and forth and yelling at one another, looking like a collection of bugs running from a bird. James wondered for a moment how exactly they'd gotten on at all before he'd shown up.

“Captain,” Starkey said, thundering up to him, out of breath.

“Don't bother me now, Starkey. I've got things to attend to.”

He knew in his inmost self that the odds of taking that bath and returning to Tiger Lily with any sort of haste were not high in light of this mysterious chaos, but he pressed on toward his cabin nonetheless.

“But, Captain, it be of the utmost importance.”

“Later.”

Starkey stepped in front of him, and he was hulking and no easy man to step through. James stopped and flared his nostrils, frustrated but largely unsurprised.

“Please, just take a look.”

Starkey handed him a spyglass, which he took with exaggerated reluctance. What he saw snapped him quickly out of his apathy. He strode quickly across the deck and
leaned over the edge, as if that would give him a clearer view.

“A ship.”

“Aye.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Pirates?”

“I doubt Pan would allow a regular sailor dream into Neverland,” said Starkey, and James nodded.

He pursed his lips and tossed the spyglass aside. “Take in the anchor! We're heading out to sea!” he hollered, hand cupped over his mouth, voice booming and echoing. And, in the few minutes it took his crew to ready the vessel, he prepared himself. He put on the hat and coat and boots which, by now, were like pieces of him, then took a deep breath.

The ship freed itself of the shore and began to sail slowly toward the other boat. There was a tense hush that fell over the crew as they came closer and the distant ship became larger and larger, and, consequently, more and more real. The closer it came, the more details James could make out about it. It was made of a similar wood to his own ship, dark and polished, swirls and knots everywhere in the grain, and it was only slightly smaller than the
Main
. The fellow who captained it wore a scabbard at his side, a dark, scraggled beard, and a wicked grin on his face.

“That man is certainly no merchant,” James muttered, and Starkey simply shrugged.

There were men of several shapes and sizes—tall, short, skinny, large, all in various states of filth, blackness in the air around them. They wore eye patches, peg legs, and all. He could almost smell the rum sweat radiating off them from here. Swords glinted on the deck, lying around or hanging off the pockets of men who carried them so casually; there was no explanation but that they used them often.

He wondered, then, having had little to no real exposure to pirates other than his own, if there was some sort of code amongst these ruffians. Would they pass peacefully by one another, nodding to their shared love of criminality? Or were they supposed to stop and board each ship together and have a grand lecherous celebration and drink rum and sing and dance until morning? Or, were they expected to fire upon one another and plunder and pillage, business as usual? His musings were answered with the sound of a cannon.

James jumped and immediately fell to his stomach as a cannonball blasted over him, landing on the other side of the ship into the water with a thunderous splash.

There was sudden pandemonium aboard the
Spanish Main
as men who were not accustomed to sea battles were forced to evolve into war strategists rather instantly. Smee tottered about, scrambling as quickly as his round little body would allow him, accomplishing less than nothing, but that was unsurprising. Jukes grabbed at a weapon and hurtled toward the cannon, another pirate with missing teeth beside him. And Flintwise jerked on the wheel so hard that the ship threatened to topple.

Only Starkey stood solid and resolute, hand on his blade, tense and ready for battle.

James pretended that the rattling he felt was not the shaking permeating him to his bones, but the vibration of cannon fire.

“Take them, men!” James snarled, forcing himself to be brave. “Aboard the ship! No mercy!”

A mighty cry went up from the pirates, and they drew their blades and clambered on board the other pirates' ship. James steadied himself, steeling his wicked nerves, and took a running start. Then, drawing his sword above his head and looking magnificent, he leapt from his deck
to the other, landing with a less-than-graceful thump into terrifying, bloody chaos.

James had little time to regret his decision, for the fellow with the terrible cry and rancid breath bearing down on him with an axe was worth much more immediate attention than his roiling emotions. James had no time to think, only to react, and react he did, plunging his sword into the soft belly of his attacker. He forced himself not to get sick when the blade came out, slick with another pirate's bright blood.

James's stomach knotted up, blood draining from his face as the blood of the pirate drained from his body. Until this moment, murder was something he had managed to avoid. He'd been proud of it. Running with Peter's crew, even Bibble had had to kill a pirate or Indian or two. But not James. Not until now.

He was a thread away from throwing up onto the deck.

He shut his eyes for a painful instant, and then opened them, telling himself that this was all make-believe. It had to be. He had to get past the killing if he was to survive this venture. So he pretended, and he killed.

Pirates were falling left and right, and the scent of blood was in the air. James carved his way through the slithering mass of bodies, as though he was clearing an overgrown forest and not a thicket of men.

Finally, he found himself face to face with the captain of the vessel. Their captain was the most horrible-looking of them all. He was short and squat with a shadow over his face from his unshaved whiskers. And several of his teeth were missing. When James felt his black gaze upon him, a chill invaded his blood.

Adrenaline coursed through James as the man smiled an ugly smile and drew his sword, laughing a sinister and drunken laugh. James pointed his sword at him and
hoped against hope that his opponent did not notice the shaking.

The man's battle strategy matched his look. It, too, was unrestrained, out-of-control, ugly. But, despite his lack of finesse, the force of the first blow resonated through James's blade, shaking his innards. This man could split him in two if he landed one.

James backed away, instantly terrified at the reality of it. The man struck and struck again. James blocked every blow, fairly cowering. But, something in him changed when the other man opened his pit of a mouth, flexed his muscles like a strutting peacock, and laughed, clearly and loudly, at him. In that moment, he resolved to give the captain nothing more to laugh at.

When the other captain struck again, James struck back. His foe's eyes widened and James drove him back, back to the ship's edge. Strike and counter-strike and parry and dodge. James could feel that the larger man was getting exhausted, and he knew that that exhaustion would eventually make itself apparent in a mistake. And it did. For, precisely when he shouldn't have, the captain raised his sword above his head with both hands. Seeing his opening, and knowing full well that in this instant he was to kill or be killed, James barreled into him, and drove his sword into the man's sternum, burying it to its hilt.

The captain dropped his sword. James slid his blade out and let the man fall to his knees himself, with dignity.

“I'm—I'm sorry,” he couldn't stop himself from saying.

The other captain sputtered, spraying out small specks of blood as he coughed and grabbed at his chest. James looked away for a second, trying desperately not to lose the contents of his stomach on the polished wood. Then, because he believed it good form, he swallowed down the horrified disgust inside him. And he removed his hat and
nodded solemnly, looking straight into the man's eyes as he died.

As man by man realized what had happened, the chaos came to a close, and James paced around the ship, surveying the damage. Most from his crew yet lived, while most from the other lay dead on the deck. There were several left, seven or eight. A few were cowering, sniveling, and James couldn't see them clearly. But standing tall before him were a large man with muscles that threatened to rip right out of his dark skin, a tan man with curls of shiny black hair whose stature nearly matched the black man's, and a pale one with several missing teeth and both hands fixed on backward. It was an odd sort of child who'd dreamed this crew up.

“You. You're all that live of your crew.”

The large, dark-skinned man stepped forward. “Yes, sir. We will happily go to the crocodiles waiting for us below.”

Honor, then. These men had honor. That was a rare trait, amongst thieves.

“Would you, truly?”

The man looked over the edge at the crocs that had recently appeared, waiting for a meal, and all three in the front stood still, eyes hard and bold.

“We will not die like cowards, sniveling and begging for our lives. We walk the plank ourselves,” said the one who'd taken charge of the exchange.

“Do it, then,” said James. The tan one and the one with the backward hands followed the large man solemnly to the ship's plank. The four who'd shrunk back simply trembled and stared. As the leader of their little group of survivors took his first step bravely onto the plank, James held out his hand.

“Wait.”

The other man stopped.

“Do you truly desire to die?”

There was a silence, one that was only interrupted by the quiet and strange tick-tocking that accompanied one of the crocodiles in the water. Then: “No. But I accept it.”

James peered at him, and then at the rest of them, locking eyes with them one by one, evaluating. “Then, you will not die. Join me.”

He frowned and stepped back onto the ship, eyeing James suspiciously.

“Men as brave as you are rare, in my experience. And I've lost a good many today. Sail under my flag, the lot of you.”

The men looked surprised, relieved, confused. James stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “Do it now, or go to the crocs. The choice is yours.”

The large man stepped forward and knelt before James.

“I give you my sword. Daniel Thatcher.”

And the tan one. “Cecco.”

And the one with the odd hands. “Noodler.”

James held his hand out as the four terrified pirates approached him, eyeing a knock-kneed one who'd only just slunk out from behind the wheel.

“Not you. You four cowards will not sail with me. You will take this broken vessel and sail across the rest of the Never Sea and tell all you meet of the terrible and wonderful crew of the
Spanish Main
. And of their brave and horrible Captain, James Hook.”

The knock-kneed man stepped back quietly to the wheel, shaking with the other three, and James nodded to his crew to board their own ship again. So they, with three new pirates aboard, released themselves from the ill-fated ship and sailed back to shore. James stared expressionlessly ahead, wishing he could push away the haunting thought that today, when he had killed those pirates, he had killed
the dreams of a child, just as Peter had killed his so long ago.

When they were docked again, James chose to ignore the celebrations of his companions. Instead, he looked at the sweat and dirt and blood on his chest and hands and blinked slowly. He quietly made his way out onto the beach and stared over the ocean, wondering if he was imagining the little stripes of blood coming in with the tide. He was almost certain that he was. Nonetheless, he privately, and as quietly as he could, fell to his hands and knees and lost the contents of his stomach in the water.

I
T WAS SOME TIME BEFORE
J
AMES DECIDED TO VACATE
his room. It was unreasonable, James knew, for death to affect him so when his chosen vocation was captain of a pirate ship. But staring a man in the eyes as he dies, particularly when you are the one causing the dying, is not something one gets over quickly.

He sat on his bed, occasionally relocating to his floor or his closet in the rare moments he decided to change clothes, and he ran his fingers darkly over his sword. Jukes and Starkey came in from time to time attempting to rouse him, Smee delivered him food, and once Cecco came in, offering to clean the blood from his sword. James had refused, rather viciously. He wanted to see it. Wanted to feel it. Wanted to remember the look on that first man's face and on that of the captain. He pondered the strangeness of taking a man's life, not a man's gold or his ship, his
life
, and what were the implications of that when the man was invented anyway? Did a figment of imagination have a soul? Was it worse for him to murder someone if he did or didn't have one?

James didn't know, and neither did the wine. Nothing made him feel better. So, he allowed himself to wallow for a while.

But one evening, when the hurt had finally let up and the boredom set in, he lowered himself into the tub for
the bath he'd needed for several Neverdays, ran a comb through his hair, pulled on his trousers and linen shirt, and slung a pack over his shoulder. And, to the open jaws and wide eyes of every man on the
Spanish Main
, he opened the door and stepped off the ship.

The night was crisp, without the coldness of winter or the warmth of the summer. Generally though, nights in Neverland were always crisp. In fact, when James had first become a resident of the island, he'd wondered often if it had any sort of seasons at all. He concluded eventually that it did not.

But the crispness of the night mattered little to James at the moment. He didn't have room in his head for much consideration of the weather. No, with his mind cleared of murderous distractions, he was focusing only on the destination ahead. And that destination consisted of a fire and food, and, he hoped, a beautiful Indian princess.

The forest in Neverland was always darker than he thought it would be. Always darker and always scarier, as though it would eat him up if he forgot, for a moment, where he was. But, James ignored the lick of fear that trailed up his spine and ventured further into the darkness, toward the Indian encampment. He began to doubt himself as he came closer to it, and when he was so close that he could smell the smoke from the fires in the camp, he stopped, intending on doubling back. Surely Tiger Lily would think him a fool for coming out here. She hadn't really invited him, had she? If anything, she'd discouraged him from coming. He sighed forcefully and resolved to head back to the
Main
.

“Leaving so soon?”

James started. “Ah.”

“Indeed.” Tiger Lily raised an eyebrow and chuckled at him.

He raked a hand through his hair and looked back over his shoulder, toward the beach, and then at Tiger Lily. He chewed the inside of his cheek, corner of his mouth turned up.

Tiger Lily sighed and shook her head. “Really, James. There's no sense in coming all the way out here and then leaving all on my account.”

“Your account?” he asked, smirking.

“I doubt you've walked here to see my father.” A playful glint sparked in her eye, and James quickly forgot how embarrassed he was supposed to have been.

“No, you're right. I told you; I'm scouting.”

He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes, then started to walk in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the forest. The leaves were slow and quiet tonight, silver and blue, and James could not decide if that was ominous or relaxing.

“Where are you going?”

She looked back at him, over her shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘Where am I going?' Follow me, you fool pirate.”

James snorted, but followed her anyway, more relieved than his masculine pride wished to admit that he had a guide through the black wood. Eventually, they came upon a large clearing, and Tiger Lily sat right in the middle of it. James walked slowly up to her and sat as well, inexplicably uneasy. There was something off about this place, something he could not put his finger on. He peered at their surroundings, but they were so cloaked in shadow, he could barely see anything.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, burying her hands in the cool grass.

“Nothing, I suppose.”

“Well, have you brought anything to make a fire? It's freezing out here.”

James opened his pack and pulled out a small piece of flint, which Tiger Lily took from him immediately.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“What?”

James frowned. “How am I supposed to build a fire if you've taken my things?”

She just looked at him for a moment, where he, unexplainably, felt very foolish.

“Come now, James. How many fires have you built the entire time you've lived here?”

It was a fair question. The answer was, as Tiger Lily had clearly surmised, none.

James scowled. Tiger Lily just laughed and collected a small pile of kindling from the area where they were seated.

“Have you got any steel with you?”

James shrugged and tossed her his sword.

“Are you serious?”

“Why?” James frowned, glancing at his sword, back to her eyes, lingering there. “What do you need it for?”

She shook her head. “I sincerely hope you never find yourself in the Never Wastes. You'd die in a breath.”

James narrowed his eyes.

“This will not do good things to your sword if it takes me long, pirate.”

“Well, then don't take long.”

Tiger Lily shook her head, clearly trying to disguise the little smile playing on her lips, and took a small box from the folds of her clothes, in which was some sort of black material. She struck the flint against the sword several times, during which James flinched over and over. She succeeded in drawing a few sparks, and they set fire to the black cloth in the box. Before long, there was a small fire glowing in front of them. James's sword, however, was a bit worse for the wear.

James snatched his sword back from her and a jolt of heat traveled up his arms at the little brush of her fingers against his. Tiger Lily warmed her hands, sleeve falling back, exposing her delicate wrist. James looked away. He'd never thought a wrist could be so alluring. Tiger Lily, thankfully, chose this moment to speak and distracted him from the observation.

“Do you always carry that thing with you?” she asked.

James cocked his head. “Generally.”

“Why?”

James sat up, quite intentionally looking away from her, focusing on the orange flames waving and jumping into the air. “A pirate's got to have his weapon always, and he's got to be prepared, lest some ruffian catches him unaware.”

While he was saying this and staring into the fire, Tiger Lily had gotten up and snuck behind him. He realized this only when he felt the cold of a small blade against his throat and a feminine voice whispering, “Someone like me, you mean?”

His breath caught and his pulse pounded wildly; he could feel her lips against his ear as she spoke, and he prayed she'd do it again. “Perhaps,” he mustered, swallowing hard.

“I'd like to see what use your sword would be to you now.”

The longer she spoke, mouth touching his skin, the hotter his skin became. “Yes, well, I believe we've established that I'm quite powerless against you.”

The blade softened against his throat and he could feel Tiger Lily's smile on his ear, the pulse in her neck jumping against his. She released him, and he leaned over, elbows on his knees, trying to make up for the breath Tiger Lily had stolen when she'd been so close.

It was so strange, after so long avoiding her entirely, to be there with her, letting himself feel the buzzing in his veins and the crackling on his skin when she breathed near him. To wish to kiss her and not be concerned what Peter would think about it.

Tiger Lily cocked her head toward him. “And what would you do if I'd caught you and decided to kill you? Or tortured you for information? If your blade failed you, what would you do then, pirate?”

“I keep this on me as well.”

He tossed her a small vial, filled with green liquid. It was a poison he'd dreamed up as a boy, figuring that all good captains must have something deadly on their person, something to drink lest they were caught. It was all very dramatic, but James kept it anyway. An homage to the child who'd died there some time ago.

“Poison?”

“Aye.”

Tiger Lily scowled. “That doesn't seem very heroic.”

“It isn't. It's a last resort.” He held out his hand, not liking the idea of something so deadly being so close to her. She gave it back without protest, and he curled his long, slim fingers around hers momentarily. When he let go, he swore he saw her blush.

Desiring to change the topic from death, he asked her, “Why aren't you back at your camp tonight?”

Tiger Lily sighed. “Apart from the fact that a rogue pirate stole me away?”

“Apart from that.” James grinned.

“They're having a celebration tonight, in my honor. Again.”

“That doesn't seem so horrible.”

Tiger Lily shifted, focused on the leaves upon the ground, picked at them. “Not by itself. But they have
these little parties all the time. Whenever Father believes he's found someone suitable for me.”

James felt a hot flash of jealousy, and bit down on his tongue.

“Of course, every gathering is wasted. I hate them, and then the wedding is cancelled and life goes on as usual 'til the next one. ”

He glanced up at her. “You don't wish to get married?”

“No. Never, not to anyone,” she said, looking out at the darkness over James's shoulder.

“Why not?”

Her eyes flicked to the scar on James's neck and away again. And then he realized what it was.

“Because of Peter,” James said.

Tiger Lily bristled. “Peter? Absolutely not. What would make you say that?”

“You love Peter.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, but his voice was soft. “It's all right. Everything on this island does.”

He looked away from her darkly, not wanting her to see the expression on his face. Then, without knowing why he asked it, he said, “Has he ever kissed you?”

“Excuse me?” Tiger Lily said, taken aback.

“I've seen him killing Neverbeasts with you, and battling and racing with you and swimming with you. But has he kissed you?”

“No. Of course not.”

James felt his pulse spike at that, and he noticed, then, that they were sitting a good deal closer than they'd been at the beginning of the evening.

Tiger Lily narrowed her eyes. “I suppose you've kissed hundreds of women.”

James smirked. “Not hundreds.”

Tiger Lily pursed her lips.

“Only one,” James said. He rather enjoyed the small smile that played at her lips. “Susan Weaver. I was twelve years old, and she was my girlfriend. It was all very romantic and serious.” He smiled. “We didn't much know what we were supposed to do, being together, so more often than not, we just held each other's hands or said nice things to each other. But once, she kissed me.” He couldn't help but notice the spark of jealousy in Tiger Lily's eyes, and he tried to camouflage the grin in his own. “We kissed quite a bit after that, but I suppose we weren't very good at it. Anyway, eventually, I caught her in the schoolyard holding Edwin Booker's hand, and our committed love affair came to a very explosive end. Tragic, tragic.”

He chuckled, remembering how he'd thought it the end of the world. But, the chuckle faded off quickly, for he realized then that he hadn't kissed anyone since. It wasn't the lack of kissing, really, that bothered him. It was the reason for it. There wasn't much opportunity in Neverland, was there?

“Where is this ‘Susan' now?”

“Back home.”

He said “home” with such longing in his voice, such pain, that it surprised even him.

Tiger Lily bit her lip and moved closer to him. “Where is home?”

“Not here,” was all he said. He feared that if he said the word “London,” he would start to cry, right there, in front of Tiger Lily. That sort of thing was hardly acceptable when one was a little boy. But it was certainly disallowed when one was a grown man.

“I'm sorry,” Tiger Lily said simply, and she laid her head on his chest. He could smell the sweet perfume of her hair as it spread out over his shirt, and her cheek was touching his skin where his shirt laced open. He was not entirely sure what to do, but decided to lay his arm
over her shoulder and hold her as long as she allowed, breathing in the scent of her.