A STARTLING MORNING

As Jack "The Artful Dodger" Dawkins was led out of the front door of Newgate Gaol by two humorless keepers, he shuffled his feet in the ankle chains, wondering how security conscious people could be of a boy not yet twelve.

Certainly the Dodger was a gifted fingersmith…but that didn't make him Harry Houdini. Jack looked up at one of the guards, with a wistful grin. "So that's it, eh? I'm to be transported for life…to Australia?"

Yes, the magistrate had gotten sick of all the thievery. They'd outlawed hanging pickpockets, but sending them and the other trash of the streets to the "New World" seemed the best plan now. The Dodger was to serve a sentence of two or three years, and then upon reaching young manhood, he would be taught an honest trade, and the idea just horrified him.

One of the guards, a balding fellow patted the Artful Dodger's shoulder good naturedly. He had a son Jack's age, but not as "old" as Jack in any way, thank Heaven. "You know young man" the keeplock said "You'll be happy and prosperous learning how to farm once your sentence is over. It's lovely country there."

Jack Dawkins was depressed enough. Before he'd left town, Charley Bates had visited, and advised Jack of Nancy's murder, Sikes's death and Fagin's hanging….it had been a bad spring.

"That's right" The Dodger observed to the balding guard sardonically. "I can just see myself now, an agricultural wonder; I can, wheeling about barrows of turnips, chasing Peter Rabbit and Uncle Wiggly out of the fields eh? Coo lumme."

All my friends dead, and Nolly Twist rich now, with his Uncle Brownlow. If the Dodger didn't know better, he'd think crime really didn't pay!

Even if Jack escaped, it would be rough going in London without any people. He'd spent six of his eleven years in service of Fagin, and the last blood relative he'd seen was granny, being taken away to the poorhouse covered in wine sores, and that had been some time ago.

As Dawkins and the guards crossed the cobbled street to the barred carriage that was to go to the ship, there was a peculiar flash in the air.

"What the devil—" said the bald guard. "Is that—Cedric am I going mad? Is that a flying boy in-in the sky?"

Indeed it was. A boy in a forest green tunic, crawled out from behind a cloud, doffing his impudent feathered Tyrolean cap. He resembled nothing as much as a helium driven goatherd.

The Dodger, looking up, wondered if the boy had jumped off a roof, but no, the young gent was alight, and not much older than Jack himself.

The boy in the green tunic swung down and tossed some dust of some sort on the Dodger, and instantly, the Dodger's leg chains collapsed, and the astonished street urchin found himself alighting in the air, after the green covered boy. Just before he got above the balding guard's head, though, he "nicked" the man's pocket watch and handkerchief…and over the rooftops they went!

EARLY MORNING OBSERVATIONS

Tonsils and Wrathful perched over the treetop, gazing down at the huge ship, the great Jolly Roger on the lagoon, just below the fog. "He's really taken over all right" Wrathful said, snickering. "Look at how he bosses Smee."

"Farand always was a bit pushy." Tonsils said thoughtfully.

The Lost Boys could see tiny figures. Smee, bespectacled, pudgy, with his little striped nightcap, messing with the riggings of the ship as his adolescent captain barked orders in a still changing voice.

"He looks ridiculous in that get-up. Hook's hat is falling over his eyes." Wratty said, shaking his head.

"You miss Farand, just a bit, don't you, Wratty?" Tonsils asked, cocking his head.

"Nonsense." Wrathful said, shrugging his shoulders, which were covered with a light bear skin. "He's history to us, really."

Tonsils smiled at his friend. "Yes, it's like Lucifer, Son of the Morning."

Wrathful, annoyed (as always) stared at Tonsils. "What, Tonsils?"

Tonsils, before abandoning his family of origin had had something of an Anglican upbringing, or at least as much as you can have before you're eight months old.. "You know, Lucifer rebelled against God because he wanted his own kingdom. The Yanks call it a hostile takeover."

Wrathful turned to fly back. "Farand is an idiot. I hope the croc gets him. He'd be a nice aperitif after Hook."

Tonsils peered down at Captain Farand with a sad smile. They'd had a great friendship. Wratty, too. The three of them, and of course Pan had had such fun teasing mermaids, and chucking pinecones at the Indians, teasing Tink..Who could want more than that? And they'd done it for over a century!

Farand of course, had not remembered the days of evil Captain Hook. He'd come to Never-Never Land after Hook had been eaten by the crocodile, and most of the others had gone to live with Wendy Darling's family in London.

Tonsils thought of his Cousin Tootles, and absent-minded Slightly. And of course, of the Twins. What were their names? Ethelred and Enfield? Enoch and Enfield? Edsel and Ethan? Or maybe Edsel and Austin…

They've got to have become rather old now or really…Arithmetic was not Tonsil's strong subject, but he realized it had been quite some time since so many of the Lost Boys had left for London.

More had come since then, of course, but Tonsils wondered what had become of his old friends.

The pirate Starkey looked up from the ship and shook his fist at Tonsils, who waved back gaily from the treetop. Starkey nudged Smee, who winked up at Tonsils. Farand of course was so pleased with himself and caught up with the grandness of his command, to notice.

Too bad the others, now Londoners were missing all this!

Tootles had become a barrister, or something, Peter had told Tonsils once. A barrister! Imagine! Like Bartleby the Scrivener. (Tonsils was an inveterate reader of the Book-of-the-Month Club, which delivered even to Never-Never Land, in the interests of capitalism.)

One Twin was a clergyman, or a curate. Or was that Curly? Nibs had once wanted to give his mother a cheque book of her own. Perhaps he was doing finances in the city. (Yes, Tonsils occasionally perused the pink pages of the Financial Times)

But Tonsils didn't really understand the appeal of a dusty office. Stocks and shares, bulls and bears, telephone calls. When you could eat melon and swing like a monkey, with cantaloupe juice all over your face! And make as much noise as you like, as late as you like without someone ordering you to come in and study your Latin when it grew dark.

Tonsils giggled as he saw Artemis, his favorite mermaid, come up in the water and posture, and then wave her arms as in imitation of Farand's authoritative nonsense.

Peter had gone back to visit Wendy the spring after nearly everyone had left, and brought Wendy back for Spring cleaning, two or three times, but then Wendy got rather tall, and a little bossy…and then Peter had forgotten a few springs, and then had brought back Wendy's daughter Anne Beth…"Boy, why are you crying?" Peter had always known how to instigate the initial feminine pick up line, didn't he?

And then Peter had brought Anne Beth's daughter one year, and then another girl later on. New girls had brought modern amusements like Yo-yo's, Slinkys, sticking plaster and bubble gum. But Peter hadn't brought a girl for the last fifty spring cleanings..

Tinkerbell, Peter's fairy companion thought that was prudent anyway. Who needed a Mommy when you had Tink, eh?

Tonsils strained his ever-youthful eyes down at the young Captain Farand, who was chasing a gunner's mate with a bit of knotted rope. What was Farand's plan? There was enough of Never-Never land to share, but Farand had always had such grand ideas, and plans.

Farand had greedily admired the caves that produced pretty emeralds and diamonds, and felt he could have planted seedlings over on Vagabond's Bluff, an area where Lost Boys who had grown too old sometimes lived. Many Lost Boys like Tonsils and Peter, seemed to stay about twelve years old, five foot two. and others got bigger, and Peter had to thin them out…but they stayed nearby!

Farand was still small, youthful, but he wanted the Lost Boys to sell things, to get rich. Like grown-ups. Tonsils shivered.

Sixpence and Buzz Bentley, two older Lost Boys, or Vagabonds who led the small contingent of older fellows residing along the Bluff, had laughed raucously at Farand's idea that the older "vagabonds" should be productive, planting and farming and mining when there was so much swimming, fishing and mermaid-chasing to be done.

When Farand had insisted, Buzz had given Farand a brisk head rub and Sixpence had thrown mud on Farand's Grecian nose.

Farand wouldn't be forgetting that, or that Peter Pan had had to rescue him, and that Farand was so poor at defending himself that Peter had just good naturedly pulled him away, kicking the Bentleys onto their bottoms so easily. It had mysteriously made Farand hate Peter Pan more!

Tonsils noticed now that Wratty was flying back and forth, irritatedly motioning at him to come along. Tonsils grinned and flew off after his dear friend. There was honeydew and grapes to eat, and possibly Tiger Lily was sun bathing. Life was grand! Why couldn't "Captain" Farand realize that?

BOY, WHY ARE YOU CRYING?

Natalia Darling Ponsonby popped her gum and looked intently into her Iphone. Thirteen and enraged, Nat was. Mom wasn't going to consider her question of Moira and the concert until Daddy got home from his trip.

Mother and Daddy were in the States, but they still haunted Natalia's every move!

After Nat had been asked to leave Brearley, the exclusive girl's school in New York, and been caught drinking with the girl's soccer team, and being thrown out of Episcopal Youth Group for wearing her bra outside her shirt…the folks had decided to send her to live with English cousins, all of whom were real OLD.

Bored to death in Kensington Gardens, London. But she'd made new friends, Moira and Fiona Appleby, who smoked and cursed…they'd invited Natalia to go out to a concert, and Mother, across the pond was torn over whether to allow this.

Mom was sweet, and wanted Natalia to make friends, but not to make trouble for Uncle Horace, guarding the door downstairs.

It was dusk now, and Aunt Verona had gone out. Nat couldn't get past Uncle Horace unless of course she went out by the window, and the window was twelve feet up. It was a big house, though not a skyscraper.

As Nat lazily looked out the window, she saw in astonishment that someone was trying to open it! Standing on the ledge, in danger of falling for his life, was a boy.

Suddenly the window blew open, and a boy in a very queer looking green hat and sort of ballet outfit climbed in, (not in a gay way, though)followed by another kid who was filthy, wearing a stovepipe black hat like Abe Lincoln had, and a long, disgusting raincoat thing. Nat wondered if the slovenly boy was like, the world's youngest indecent exposer or something.

I wonder if stuff like this happens to Paris Hilton. Nat got up and was ready to run for Uncle Horace and Scotland Yard. How did these two kids get up to the window?

The boy in the green was kind of cute, abs and all. The other one, if he were de-loused, might have prospects, too. But he looked like he had rickets, or one of those gross diseases. Oh God, yellow teeth, and only about five of them. Icky Poo Poo.

The boy in green looked about the bedroom, a little startled at the Marilyn Manson poster. HE then turned to Natalia. "Are you the new Wendy-girl?"

"I am not a girl. I am a WOMAN" Natalia said. "Wendy who?" Nat looked uneasily at the disheveled, top-hatted boy w ho experimentally ate one of her Doritos, and then upended the entire bag into his gaping, nearly toothless pie-hole.

Natalia sat down on the bed, and the green clad boy sat down next to her. Natalia wondered if he would make a move on her. She knew how to French Kiss. Did she want to? He was cute.

Natalia had been well schooled in what to do about possible sexual assault, which frankly she'd worried a bit about after Uncle Horace had been staring at her in her bikini when they'd gone to the pool. But this boy wasn't much older than Nat was, and he seemed sweet and harmless (and cute).

"No Wendy? What about Anne Beth?" The boy in green looked intensely into Nat's eyes.

"Anne Beth was my great grandma. She died when I was like, two." Nat looked over at the other creature, who was now going through her jewelry box. The boy picked up the diamond stick pin Daddy's partner had given her, and was appraising it greedily.

"Hey, put that down. That's not your stuff."

The dirty boy seemed to wipe his mouth and the stick pin disappeared. "Wot? Who're you Miss? Don't order a bloke around. Why're we 'ere, Pan?"

"That's like a good question, dude." Nat looked askance at the boy next to her.

"I'm Peter. Peter Pan?" He expected Nat to know who he was. What an ego.

Peter looked about the room. "Everybody's gone. I picked Jack here " Peter motioned at the grotesquely unhygienic boy—"up when I went through some spin in the—I don't know, but Jack was one of my lost boys once, I think, though he claims not to remember it. I saw him in trouble and took him away."

Jack waved a charm bracelet at Natalia. "This is rolled gold, mum. Gar-bidge really." He dropped it as if holding a turd. "I remembers nuffin' Peter. But I'm jolly glad you got me out of my little boating excursion…turnips an' all." Jack shuddered.

"I felt Jack calling me in my mind, I think, and so I picked him up and I went the wrong way again, and wound up back here in I guess, the present. I hoped that Wendy or Anne Beth, someone would be here. " Peter looked lost, and Nat wanted to hug him.

"You must've gone through some kind of time warp to pick up that one." Nat motioned to Jack, who was now attempting to clean his fingernails with the edge of a Taylor Swift CD.

"But-but everyone's gone! Girls keep growing up, and no one knows me! Usually the mother introduces me to the daughter." Peter began tearing up a little bit.

"Don't blub, Peter Pan. It's a bit nauseating." Jack said as he took a brief swig from a pocket flask.

Natalia's heart warmed to the weeping kid on the bed. She put her arm around him and said, "Boy, why are you crying?"

Peter leaned over and smooched the side of Nat's head. "That's called a thimble." They both looked at Jack doubtfully. He'd wandered into Nat's water closet and come out replenishing the contents of his flask with Uncle Horace's Nyquil PM.

AVAST, YE SWABS!

Farand looked over at Starkey darkly. The ruffled shirt of Hook's was a bit hot and sticky. Why was Starkey looking so disrespectful? There was something about that angry man.

Did Starkey want to be captain instead of Farand? Of course, why wouldn't he? But he had to know that Farand would brook no nonsense. As an ex-Lost Boy with a small amount of fairy dust, Farand had more power than the pirates did. He could fly around with his sword, poking and threatening…the pirates probably thought that Farand would eventually run out of dust, but little did they know that Farand had a source, Tinker Bell, who for some reason was aiding Farand.

Perhaps she just wanted Peter to have a foe to fight. That's what she'd tinkled to Farand, but he thought she must be having one on. She must think I won't kill Pan; or that I'm unable to. Just an amusement to Peter and Tinker Bell. She thinks Pan will just toy with me!

Farand's plan was to take over the entirety of Never-Never Land—there were caves filled with rubies and diamonds and amethysts and gold over on Vagabond's Bluff. Peter Pan, the idiot, had never been in favor of mining them beyond a few stones to wear around one's neck.

He'd never thought of planting or harvesting, of selling the melons and grapes to other less fertile islands. Peter Pan and Tonsils and those other fools just wanted to fly about and crow—such nonsense, think—if Farand could capture a couple of the mermaids from their perch on Mooner's Rock in the lagoon, he could market them to a traveling curiosities show in London—Barnum and Bailey, perhaps.

But Pan never saw the use of this, and had threatened to thrash Farand if he bothered the mermaids beyond a little aquatic teasing. Farand had long watched the mermaids batting their bubbles back and forth, and had thought the game would bring many pounds and shillings, half-crowns and sovereigns.

"But what would we do with them?" Nostrils, younger brother of Tonsils had asked.

"How stupid" Farand had answered. "You lay coins away…you can live a remarkable life, doing nothing if you have lots of money, do what you please, get what you want."

"But we do what we like now." Nostrils had said innocently, and of course Farand had given the idjit up as a hopeless case.

Would Farand have been less angry at Peter, less avaricious if he had been aware that the pirates that he was commanding were manipulating him for their own gain? For of course while Farand was a fair swordsman and flew well…he was also a sound sleeper and Starkey could have easily beheaded Farand as he slumbered in his hammock…but the pirates were clearly keeping their counsel.

JUST A BIT AIRSICK, I SAY

Natalia loved this flying business. Unlike Pan or Jack Dawkins, the Artful Dodger, Nat had flown in planes all her life, a cousin had taken her in a helium balloon once, and a very rich young boyfriend had taken her on a helicopter ride for her twelfth birthday.

But to be able to just swerve around in the air over London, and then through the countryside, over Ireland even. Nat had asked Peter if they could go to the States, to New York, but Peter felt it was too far out of the way, but still!

The Dodger however, was not faring as well. He had hurled green goo twice over Cheapside, once over Surrey, and more had been vomited on the land of Reigate.

"It ain't my way, this floatin' about, Pan. Can't we take a tram or somethin' more reasonable?"

Peter giggled and snorted. He now was unsure of whether or not Jack had actually been one of his lost boys; or had he just fallen through what Natalia referred to as the "space-time continuum." Either way, this was glorious fun, introducing the two others to a different life…the air life!

As they approached Never-Never Land, Peter looked regretful. "It's too bad Tinkerbell couldn't accompany us this time." He looked at the Dodger earnestly. "You do believe in fairies though, don't you?"

"Believe in 'em?" The Dodger retorted. "They're all over the street, wearin' women's rouge an' face paint, kissin' and slurpin' on each other. They should be 'ung for their sodomy, I'll say"

This last statement puzzled the innocent Peter, but made Natalia laugh out loud. How much better this was than a stupid Jonas Brothers concert! Looking down, Nat spied a number of boys about Peter's age flying about over the island, wearing various animal skins.

She looked up questioningly at Peter, who waved down at the apparent young cavemen, and then Peter dove down, Natalie following. The Dodger tried to follow in the proper way.

"'Ere wot's going on, I believe I do 'ave a nosebleed…"

Finally, after Nat flew back up to take his sleeve, Jack Dawkins went into freefall…not a happy way to get to ground, but at least barely efficient.