"Arms aching, backs breaking, legs aching, neck!"
Arms aching, backs breaking, legs aching, neck.
"This whole bloody ship is a huge creaking wreck!"
This whole bloody ship is a huge creaking wreck.
"We've flown ten thousand miles with this thorn in our side!"
We've flown ten thousand miles with this thorn in our side.
"But the wind's steady strong and no clouds in the skies!"
But the wind's steady strong and no clouds in the skies.
"Bosun!"
"Aye, cap'n?"
"Run up full sail and give her all she's got. The sooner we're through this storm, the better."
"Aye, cap'n!" You heard the skipper lads, look sharp! Turn to, haul up the mains! Cox'sun at the wheel, go to full thrust if ye please!"
Aye aye, sir.
The creak of the rigging and the whine of the propellers increased in volume as the Cox opened the throttles. The wind took hold of the flapping canvas, driving the ominous silhouette of the H.M.S.S. Vengeance across the darkened skies. As the nose of the craft dipped with speed, the huge gasbag high above strained at its tethers like a leashed Rottweiler.
The Bosun resumed his lead of the shanty, his voice barely audible as the slipstream tried to tear his words away.
"Ropes creaking, ship's leaking, sails are on fire!"
Ropes creaking, ship's leaking, sails are on fire.
"And this whole bloody ship could go up like a pyre!"
And this whole bloody ship could go up like a pyre.
"We've got smiles on our faces, but we've been here before!"
We've got smiles on our faces, but we've been here before.
"No telling just now, what we have in store!"
No telling just now, what we have in store.
At last, the airship broke through the murky storm stratus and the sky ahead was blue and clear once more, with no sign of the dark clouds that had surrounded the Vengeance until moments before. Immediately, a shout from the lookout sounded from the tip of the for'ard observation pylon.
"Ship ahoooooy! Over on the starboard bow!"
His Majesty's Sky-Captain William Paul Taggart stood besides the port railing, hands planted firmly on his hips as the wind whipped through his long black braids and the sun picked out the grey flecks in his deep brown eyes. His coat tails billowed out behind him in the slipstream of the portside airscrew, exposing a waistcoat encrusted with gold and a pistol belt slung across his chest. His short deck trousers bared knee-high leather boots and upon his head sat a magnificent tricorn hat, adorned with a single purple feather.
The Captain took an appreciative sniff of the morning air and strode across to the starboard side of the deck, immediately setting eyes on a ship lying upon the glittering ocean many thousands of feet below. The aforementioned lookout, a boy of about thirteen, hastily scampered up through the for'ard hatch and handed his Captain a polished brass telescope. Taggart took it, extended it, and raised it to his eye in a well-practiced motion.
"Sir… It's him." The boy said breathlessly.
The Captain swept a trained eye over the deck of the seafarer below, searching for any sign of life. He noticed the flag on display and acknowledged it with a slight curl of his upper lip.
"Apparently."
"Orders, cap'n?" The boy's voice was high-pitched with excitement.
The Captain pondered for a moment before replying, his eye never leaving the deck of the ship below.
"Alas Master Roberts, Hook is not our objective at this time." A hint of reluctance crept into his voice.
"Our mission is simply to locate and safely return the abducted chil…" Taggart stopped short.
"Unless of course… Hold on a minute…"
The Captain had detected a sudden surge of activity on the deck of the pirate ship, and in particular, the presence of a certain figure – one dressed in a white nightdress.
"I might have guessed." He muttered.
"Sir?" Master Roberts was desperate to win the skipper's approval.
Taggart paused a second more before finally slamming shut the telescope and handing it back to his youthful companion. He smiled at the boy's eager expression.
"It appears we are on the right track after all, Master Roberts. Superb work, young man." He said warmly.
"Thank ye kindly, sir!" The boy's response was accompanied by a grin so wide it could have accommodated the entire ship.
"Mister Sullivan! Kindly fetch me the scanner." Taggart called to his portly First Mate, who burst out of the aft cabin at a trot.
"Here ya are, cap'n."
The Captain took the device and aimed it in the direction of the Jolly Roger. The screen displayed a highly magnified picture of proceedings on the deck below, but with the augmentation of a number of red rings that clearly identified Hook's crew. Crucially, there were also three green rings that designated the objectives of Taggart's mission – the three missing Darling children.
"Superb work indeed…" He muttered. Master Roberts looked like he was about to burst with pride.
Taggart handed the scanner back to Sullivan and began to issue orders to his crew, his voice containing a note of command that carried his instructions the length and breadth of the deck despite the wind.
"Gentlemen, there is a hostile presence below. Prepare to go to action stations. Mister Sullivan, prepare a boarding party – we're going for a little jolly. I shall handle this one personally."
"It'd be my pleasure, cap'n!"
The Captain disappeared into the aft cabin. Sullivan wasted no time.
"Avast ye filthy lubbers, ye heard the skipper! Ta action stations, the lot o' ye!" If Sullivan lacked the Captain's commanding tones, he certainly made up for it in volume. The crew scrambled to obey as the ships bell tolled thrice and the helmsman brought the ship about.
"Cox'sun at the wheeeeeeel!" Sullivan screamed at the top of his lungs. The Bosun rolled his eyes as he unfastened the aft weapons locker.
"Hard-a-starboard, attack position! Set engines to dive-dive-diveeeeeeeee!"
Aye aye, sir.
"Waaaard! Eggnog! Jaaaaaaacobs! Swindles! Gruuuuuuunt! You have the h'undoubted honour of accompanying the good Captain on his little jaunt! Now, get yeselves to the Quartermaster and prepare for h'immediate h'aerial h'insertion!"
"Aye aye, sir!"
The five crewmen dived below decks and quickly returned wearing light leather breastplates, helmets, goggles and bulky packs on their backs. By way of weaponry, they each carried two cutlasses, a belt of three pistols and large repeater-muskets strapped to their chests.
Moments later, Taggart reappeared from the depths of his cabin. He was now dressed in a leather flight suit trimmed with velvet, a wicked-looking Skirmisher blade swinging by his side. As he emerged, the Bosun buckled a large pack onto the Captain's back.
"Mister Sullivan, are we in position to engage the ship?" Taggart addressed his First Mate.
"Cox'sun at the wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!" Sullivan bellowed, by way of reply. The Bosun jumped and banged his head on the starboard engine cowling.
"Thirty seconds out, sir!" Came the reply from the bridge.
"Thirty seconds, sir!" Sullivan repeated pointlessly.
"I am equipped with ears, Mister Sullivan." Captain Taggart deadpanned.
"Aye, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Fifteen seconds, skipper!" The Cox called down.
"Excellent." The Captain allowed himself a small smirk of anticipation. "At last, some field work. Master Roberts, inform the Gunmaster that we shall be requiring his services shortly."
"Aye aye, sir!" The boy scampered down the ladder to the gun deck.
"Ten seconds."
"Gentlemen – to your battle stations if you please!"
A ragged cheer went up as the crew took their positions, eagerly anticipating the action they'd signed up for.
"Mister Sullivan, take command. You know the drill."
"Aye, sir. And the best of luck to ye."
"Five seconds."
"Stand by to board."
Captain Taggart took up position by a small sunken area in the starboard railing. The five crewmen detailed by the First Mate to accompany him moved to his shoulder as the crew began to sing the final verse of the shanty.
"Four."
"There's back-stabbing, loot-nabbing plans behind doors…"
"Three."
"Running low on the rum and depleting our stores…"
"Two."
"Can't tell who's on our side and who's ready to flip…"
"One."
"When we hit the next port, the whole crew could jump ship!"
"Dive, dive, dive!"
Captain Taggart hurled himself out into the slipstream, followed one-by-one by his wingmen. As soon as they were clear of the Vengeance's airscrews, they spread their limbs into skydiving crosses and began their freefall toward the hostile vessel below. Taggart gestured for his boarding party to form up and they did so with well-drilled precision, forming a textbook victor formation with the Captain in the lead. High above, the valves regulating the mighty airship's gasbag popped open as the Vengeance prepared to descend.
"Bridge to Cap'n Taggart." Sullivan's voice crackled over the Captain's intercom.
"Go ahead, Bridge."
"Stand by to pop HALO system sir, angels 'oh three coming up by my reckoning."
Captain Taggart glanced at his wrist altimeter. The reading was correct.
"Standing by."
The needle on the altimeter hit the red mark.
"Now, Cap'n!"
Taggart tugged the release toggle and felt a brief shudder as the carbon-kevlar composite parabrake deployed from his backpack, then the serene glide resumed. He looked around him and saw that his wingmen had also deployed their airbrakes successfully.
"Taggart to Bridge, boards out for landing."
"Copy that, skipper. Set heading, left-left fourteeeeeeen!" Sullivan was shouting at the radio.
"Roger, left-left fourteen." The Captain confirmed and made an adjustment to a small wheel attached to one of his pack straps. There was blessed silence for a moment before Sullivan bellowed again.
"Course correction! Right-right two degreeeeees!"
"Understood. Right-right two degrees." Taggart also dialled in this change. There was another brief pause.
"You are now on course for touchdown, Cap'n!" Sullivan yelled happily.
"Superb. Commence cloaking procedure." The Captain instructed.
"Aye aye, sir!"
"Oh, and Sullivan?" Taggart added.
"Aye, sir?"
"That means stop shouting."
"Aye aaaaaye, sir!" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I mean… aye aye, sir."
Taggart briefly entertained a mental image of the Bosun's celebrations.
"I'll see you presently, gentlemen. Taggart out."
The crewman to the Captain's left reached out an arm and thumped Taggart on the shoulder, before pointing furiously at the pirate ship below. The deck was now apparently deserted, save for a huddle of small figures on the starboard side and two others – apparently a child and a man – duelling furiously beside the mainmast.
Taggart gave his wingman the thumbs up and steepened the angle of his dive.
It seems they have begun without us. How rude. Perhaps we should teach them some manners.
The boarding party silently continued their descent toward the deck. The two figures were far too intent on their battle to notice, weaving and pirouetting about the deck as they clashed swords. As they closed on the pirate ship, the Captain was able to make out the features of those below – he recognised the all-too-familiar stature of Captain James Hook, who was brandishing a cutlass in the direction of someone else Taggart had set eyes upon many a time before; Peter Pan.
The Captain glanced at his altimeter and twisted another toggle. This deployed a small drogue chute to raise his upper body, minimising the aerodynamics of his parabrake and slowing his descent even further. But then he was among the sails, and Taggart lost sight of Peter and Hook.
The boarding party alighted on the poop deck with barely a sound and deftly detached their backpacks with a flick of the quick release buckle.
"Taggart to Bridge. Combat insertion complete. Commence attack."
There was no reply.
The Captain frowned slightly and tried to raise the Vengeance again.
"Captain Taggart to Vengeance. Do you read?"
Again, there was silence.
"Strange. Mister Eggnog, any luck?" Taggart asked the burly aviator standing to his left.
"No sir." Eggnog replied. "Comms dead for me, too."
"Anyone?" Taggart inquired of the rest of his crew, all of whom shook their heads sorrowfully.
"Looks like it's just us and them, then." Taggart muttered. "On your guard, gentlemen."
The Captain crept to the railings and saw that things had turned nasty for Peter on the deck below; the boy was now surrounded by the blades of at least twenty pirates who, judging by the loose ropes, had been previously concealed in the rigging of the mainsail. The situation did not look promising.
Taggart addressed his wingmen. "Let's cut them down to size. Hostage drill."
With that, the Captain took a flying leap off the poop deck, grabbed one of the dangling ropes and swung nimbly towards the cluster of pirates. He released his grip at the peak of his swing and landed on one knee beside the encircled boy. Slowly, deliberately, he stood and surveyed his surroundings. It was hard to discern who was the more surprised, Peter or his captors.
"Miss me?" Taggart inquired, moving so he and Peter were standing back-to-back against the pirates.
"Not really." Although he tried to conceal it, Peter's relief was obvious as his face melted back into its usual grin.
Hook was apparently infuriated he was no longer the full focus of attention.
"Leave the boy, Taggart! He's mine, fair and square." The pirate snarled.
Taggart ignored Hook, angering him all the more, and turned his head to look at Peter. "I take it you have a plan?"
"Of course." The boy replied cockily. "Bet you don't."
"Naturally. So tell me, does this plan involve brutal maiming and/or slaughter at any point?"
"Might do." Peter replied innocently, beaming back at the Captain.
Taggart sighed resignedly. Peter decided to take this as an affirmative and shouted at the top of his voice.
"NOW!"
Out from the Captain's quarters burst a motley gang of children, armed to the teeth with a variety of weaponry and yelling shrill battle cries as loudly as they could. The sheer surprise and severity of this attack actually caught the pirates off-guard, and suddenly the deck was awash with the sounds of mortal combat. Taggart simply stood and shook his head sadly.
"Seriously, are all your plans identical?" Taggart asked, signalling to his men to join the fight and drawing his Skirmisher with a flourish.
Peter chose to ignore the dig and turned to re-engage a seething Captain Hook.
"Try not to die!" He yelled cheekily, blocking the pirate's lunge.
"Still haven't grown up, I see." Taggart groaned, deftly flicking aside a charging pirate and knocking him out cold with the guard of his Skirmisher. "Look, I'm here for a reason. I don't suppose you know anything about the Darling children?"
Peter blocked another lunge from Hook and this time countered, his feet briefly leaving the ground as he fought with every ounce of his strength. Somehow, he still managed to find the time to grin disarmingly in Taggart's direction.
"Might do." He said again. "What's it to you, anyway?"
Taggart was done playing games.
"You know the rules, Pete. You're only permitted to take orphans, not kidnap whoever you fancy." The Captain effortlessly disarmed a ludicrously fat pirate and kicked him in the shins. The ship actually shuddered as he faceplanted on the deck.
"I didn't kidnap her! She wanted to come!" Peter protested, his face turning a bright shade of red as he took a swipe at Hook's head.
"Oh, so it's a 'she' now! Well that makes all the bloody difference." Taggart shot back, clinically dispatching a particularly stubborn sailor brandishing a pistol.
Peter was about to come up with a suitably pithy response when the pirate Captain caught the boy's sword in his hook and flung it high into the air, disarming him.
"Pete!" Taggart finished off his latest pirate and span round, preparing to defend the unarmed boy… who was nowhere to be seen.
Quickly glancing around, Taggart finally laid eyes on him – hovering thirty feet in the air, and clutching his cutlass.
"…Almost gave me a bleedin' heart attack." The Captain muttered, and promptly rushed to the aid of a small child grappling with a thin and spotty pirate.
"Bill! BILL!"
A young voice cried Captain Taggart's name. The skipper was confused momentarily, until he looked straight up. Captain Hook had somehow managed to levitate up to Peter's height and had now cornered the boy with his back to mast – there was nowhere to go.
Cursing soundly under his breath (for there were children present), Taggart swiftly drew his pistol and let fly. The musketball flew wide of its mark, as was the intention, but it was enough to distract Hook momentarily and allow Peter to plant a solid kick into the pirate's stomach, sending him spiralling backwards into the topsail. Peter hastily zoomed high above the masts and out of sight. Hook shook his head to clear it and, rather clumsily, set off after him.
What followed was an indeterminate measure of time filled with intense hand-to-hand combat. Captain Taggart and his men fought side-by-side with the lost boys, and though they were vastly outnumbered, managed to hold their own in each of the small skirmishes scattered about the deck. But that was when a dark shadow fell over the ship.
Taggart looked up, expecting to see the huge gasbag of the Vengeance hovering above, but instead he clapped eyes on a vast storm cloud, not unlike the one they had flown through earlier. The Captain was about to comment to the nearest lost boy as to the changeability of the weather, but a sickening crunch made the words die in his throat. He span round quickly and saw, to his utter horror, that Peter had landed face down upon the deck of the pirate ship.
"Dammit Pete!" Taggart sprinted over to him and, to his credit, almost got there before Hook touched down beside his fallen adversary. As Peter struggled to his knees, Hook forced the boy's chin up with the point of his cutlass.
"Stay where you are." Hook's voice was flushed with victory as he addressed his enemies. "Or the boy dies."
Taggart felt the cold point of a dagger pushed up against his ribs. After exchanging a brief glance with his crewmen, he let his sword drop to the deck with a clang. Following his lead, the others did the same. As soon as the last weapon hit the deck, the pirates restrained Taggart and his men, while the lost boys were forcibly gathered together in a huddle.
Captain Taggart took a good look at Peter. He was bleeding from a cut to his forehead and numerous other scrapes, but there didn't appear to be any major damage. However, he looked badly shaken and apparently hadn't the strength to get to his feet. He was obviously very scared and there were tears in the youngster's eyes. He couldn't seem to bring himself to look at his lost boys, let alone the Darling children or even Captain Taggart. Without his usual cocky demeanour, Taggart saw him for what he was – a terrified boy among a group of cruel and violent men.
At last, Peter managed to stand and Hook forced his head up even further with the point of his sword. The pirate, finally tasting the blood of his hated adversary, cast aside his cutlass and sent the boy crashing back against the mast with a brutal kick. Peter's body slammed against the wood and he fell to the deck once more, the air gone from his lungs. Hook, still not satisfied, strode over briskly and lifted him up off the deck by the throat.
The other children went mad, kicking and screaming and doing all they could to escape from their captors, who just laughed and continued to watch the show. Captain Taggart averted his gaze as the pirate tightened his grip around the boy's neck, choking him. As Peter writhed and gasped for air, Hook dealt him a vicious blow to the face with his hook, held him up by the hair and then threw him roughly to the deck. The boy didn't even have the strength to cry out as his head hit the wooden planks, blood trickling down his cheek.
Taggart was trying desperately not to hear the sound of the beating Hook was mercilessly inflicting on Peter as he ran through his list of options in his head.
No comms, no weapons, and presumably the Vengeance is still sitting cloaked above that storm cloud, waiting for my signal… There has to be a way I can call in backup…
Then the Captain remembered.
The emergency beacon…
The Darling girl saved Taggart from having to plan a distraction by choosing this moment to headbutt her pirate captor, who howled in pain and dropped her like a hot potato to the deck beside Peter. The boy barely acknowledged her arrival, but she dragged herself up on her hands and knees and spoke into the boy's ear. Peter's eyes fluttered as he struggled to keep them open but, whatever she said, Hook took displeasure to it and hauled her up by the arm.
"'Tis but a thimble." She said to the evil pirate, quietly.
Hook seemed satisfied that there was no threat and allowed the girl to return to the deck.
"How like a girl!" He quipped, much to the somewhat forced amusement of his crew.
Slowly, she bent down over Peter and spoke not a dozen words before gently moving her face to his and planting a kiss on his lips.
Suddenly, Captain Taggart twigged.
The prophecy. She's fulfilling the prophecy.
When at last the girl pulled away, something had changed in the air. Somewhere behind Taggart, a young voice plaintively observed, "That was no thimble!"
A warm breeze began to rustle the sails of the Jolly Roger and, from high above there came a rumble, once, twice, thrice, as the dark clouds began to part. All these were things Taggart would have noticed had he not been completely fixated on Peter. There, lying on the deck, Peter's broken body had begun to levitate.
As one, the pirates left their captives and surrounded Peter's body, struck by a strange, helpless fascination. Captain Taggart seized the opportunity to speak crisply in the direction of his breast pocket.
"Santy Anno gained a day along the plains of Mexico." He enunciated clearly. A slight vibration from the suit's chest compartment confirmed that the beacon had accepted his command.
Fingers crossed.
Then, everything happened at once. Peter began to rise further from the deck. Hook stood still, transfixed, as a strong wind swept across the ship. Then, the boy's eyes shot open and he shot skywards, spinning and gyrating madly like some crazed spinning top. The lost boys instinctively dived for cover while the pirates simply stood and stared. This was to be their greatest mistake.
As Peter cleared the mast, another dark shadow loomed over the deck of the Jolly Roger. The Vengeance materialized from nowhere and unleashed a devastating broadside from its rotary cannons, the leaden chain-shot projectiles shredding the pirate ship's sails and rendering it immobile. A familiar voice drifted down from the airship as the Cox brought the gondola alongside.
"Throw down your weaaaaaapons and surrender immediately! Resistance is fuuuuuutile!" Sullivan screamed, the first mate now sporting a rather fetching spiked helmet and brandishing a megaphone in his meaty fist. Taggart couldn't help wondering if he actually needed it at all.
A second broadside rocked the Jolly Roger, sending the pirates flying into the starboard rail and their skipper, inexplicably, up amongst the rigging. Peter took this opportunity to swoop down and pick up his sword, pausing only to quip, "Not bad, huh?" before zooming off in search of Hook.
The Captain was suitably speechless. It was just a shame something similar could not be said for Mister Sullivan.
"I repeeeeeeat!" The First Mate continued lustily. "If you do not comply, we will be forced to use extreeeeeeeme and deaaaaaadly violeeeeeence!" There was something in the way he said those last few words that left Taggart in no doubt that he would take great pleasure in personally dispensing the promised actions should he be given the slightest opportunity. For example, if some unfortunate soul blew their nose too loudly, or decided to stroke the ship's cat without written permission.
However, for one reason or another (but certainly not because they hadn't heard him), the pirates recovered from their unexpected collisions with the deck and immediately began to recapture the loose children. Taggart could picture Sullivan rubbing his hands at this disobedience and watched as his airship fired its grappling lines, pulling alongside the pirate ship. Then, a scared voice reached the Captain's ears.
"Oww, oww! Stop it, please, you're hurting me!"
Taggart was alerted to the plight of a boy aged around eleven, who was being frogmarched into the aft cabin by a massive pirate with an apparent excess of facial hair. The cause of the boy's discomfort was apparently his right arm, which the pirate had twisted painfully behind his back. Taggart tut-tutted and, pausing only to take a brief swig from his hip flask and mutter "I'm getting too old for this," followed them into the cabin. He arrived just in time to find the vast pirate gleefully manacling the boy to a bunk bed.
How unkind.
"Oi, beardy!" Captain Taggart was momentarily disappointed at himself.
Such a terrible lack of manners.
"Ugh?" The pirate span around guiltily, instantly allaying Taggart's concerns over right and proper use of vocabulary.
"Get a haircut." He spat, and with a deft flick of his Skirmisher, severed the pirate's beard clean off. Captain Taggart wasn't to know it, but in years to come, this phrase would become immortalised in the annals of lost boy legend.
The pirate actually caught the clump of ex-facial hair on its way down.
"Ugh!" The pirate said again, an expression of pained horror frozen on his features whilst confirming that his seafaring phrasebook did, in fact, contain just the one word.
Taggart allowed himself to enjoy this spectacle for a moment, before knocking the pirate clean out with a blow from the flat of his sword to the right temple. He was snoring before he hit the ground.
Pausing only to retrieve the key to the manacles, the Captain strode over to the bunk bed. The boy's ankles and wrists had been chained tightly to the bedposts and he was lying on his back trembling, eyes tight shut.
Taggart tapped him on the shoulder. The boy opened one eye fearfully.
"Are… Are you… a… a…. p…p…pirate?"
Taggart shook his head with a smile and knelt down beside him.
"It's okay son, I won't hurt you. What's your name?" He asked soothingly as he unlocked the boy's ankles.
"If you please sir, they call me Slightly."
"'They' may well do, but I'm not going to." Taggart chuckled as he unlocked the boy's left wrist. "What's your real name, my boy?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir."
"Don't know eh… Well then, we'll have to give you one. How about… Finn? That's not too cliché, is it? I mean, that film doesn't come out for another seventy-five years or so…" Taggart mused.
"Finn…" The boy rolled the name around on his tongue.
"I think I like it." He concluded, and then winced as Taggart unlocked his right arm.
"That hurts, does it Finn?" Taggart asked.
"Quite a lot, sir." Came the reply.
"Let me take a look. And for the love of Grumman, stop calling me 'sir'."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"It's Bill."
"Sorry, sir Bill."
"I suppose that'll have to do."
Taggart sat Finn up and examined his arm gently. The boy seemed a little surprised by the tenderness of the Captain's touch.
"Yes… I think that may be broken. Not to worry though, the doctor onboard my ship will have you fixed up in a jiffy. Meanwhile, I'll just sort you out with something to keep it still."
The Captain sliced a square of fabric from the blanket and carefully began to fold Finn's right arm into a makeshift sling. The boy couldn't bring himself to watch.
"You have a ship, sir… Bill?"
"I certainly do, young man."
"What kind of ship?"
"An airship."
"What's it called?"
"The H.M.S.S. Vengeance."
"Vengeance… That's a pirate name. I thought you said you weren't a pirate?" The boy glanced at the Captain fearfully once again. Taggart chuckled.
"Well remembered. The 'H.M.S.S.' means we are by appointment to His Majesty the King – privateers, if you will; required to do the King's bidding and occasionally serve as a Navy vessel. Normally, though, we simply sail the skies and go where the winds take us, engaging what pirate ships and slavers we can find along the way."
Finn seemed entranced.
"So… You're a goody?"
Taggart smiled.
"I like to think so."
He finished the sling and helped the youngster to his feet.
"There you are young man, all fixed up. My advice is to stay put here until this all blows over."
"Thank you kindly, sir." Finn replied gratefully, and then added as a polite afterthought, "Pleased to have met you."
Taggart ruffled the boy's hair.
"Likewise." The Captain went to leave, but turned back as he reached the door. "Listen, son… I can always use a brave lad like you aboard my ship. You'd be in good company, well taken care of, and you already call me 'sir'. Have a think about it."
The boy's smile was sincere. "I will, sir."
Taggart strode out of the cabin and was immediately greeted by a ragged cheer, followed by a loud splash. He jogged over to the starboard rail where the other children were grouped, but when he arrived there was nothing to be seen, save for a few fading ripples. That was when Peter swooped down from the rigging and stole his hat.
"I did it, Bill! I finally did it! I beat Hook! I did!" Peter whooped, dancing, twirling and pirouetting about the ship's rigging in sheer joy.
Seeing his bewilderment, two identical twin boys sidled up to the Captain.
"The crocodile…" Began one.
"…Ate Hook." Finished the other.
"Whole!" They chorused, before running away giggling.
For the second time that day, Captain Taggart was suitably speechless. In fact, he was still speechless when Mister Sullivan thundered across the deck in his direction, his face flushed with exertion.
"Sir, I wish to report complete and utter victooooooory!" He bellowed, obviously delighted with his afternoon's work. "All pirates are now safely in our custoooooody!"
Taggart managed to pull himself together.
"Excellent work, Mister Sullivan. What losses? Damage report?"
"None whatsoever, sir!" More than a hint of smugness crept into the First Mate's voice. "We crushed them like dungbeetles in a mousetraaaaaaaap!"
The Captain couldn't find the energy to question Sullivan's choice of rhetoric, so instead opted to humour his second-in-command.
"I'm sure you did. Now if you'd be so kind as to prepare a skeleton crew for this pile of…" Taggart trailed off as he glanced around distastefully. "Yes, well, this pile, then we can be off."
"Belay that!" Peter appeared out of nowhere, somersaulted over Sullivan's head and landed on the deck in front of them, wearing his insatiable smile once more.
"My ship." He said happily.
"And just what gives you that impression?" Asked Taggart.
"I killed the captain, and now I've got the hat." He replied, pointing at the Captain's hat, which now resided upon his brow.
Irritatingly, Taggart could see the logic behind the former part of the boy's argument. Sullivan evidently did too, as he reacted by clamping Peter's arm in one massive fist and rescuing the hat with the other.
"Your hat, sir." He boomed, handing it over and releasing Peter, who jumped back and hovered warily a safe distance from the First Mate.
"Who's your pet monkey?" Peter asked, keeping a safe distance.
Taggart sighed. "Mister Sullivan, Peter. Peter, Mister Sullivan. My First Mate."
"What happened to your last First Mate? Crocodile get him too?" Peter inquired suspiciously. Sullivan cast a sidelong glance at Captain Taggart, who shook his head in exasperation.
"That's enough, Pete. Mister Sullivan, there is a young lad in need of medical attention in the aft cabin. Kindly see that he is taken care of."
Sullivan nodded his compliance and strode off. Taggart stepped closer to Peter, who reluctantly alighted on the deck and prepared for the dressing down he knew was to come.
"I'm not going to ask you again. Where are the Darling children?"
Peter had no choice but to answer, and pointed them out individually to the Captain. "That's Wendy over there. There's John, and Michael is over there with Toots."
Taggart shook his head in disapproval and made off in the direction of Wendy. Peter, feeling the need to justify his actions, flew over the Captain's head and landed in front of him, blocking his path.
"She wanted to come, I swear!" Peter pleaded, an unfamiliar expression playing over the boy's features. Taggart realised that Peter truly did care about the Darling girl, an unusual emotion for the boy who never grew up.
"Be that as it may, you know the rules. You were the one that explained them to me, remember?" The Captain relented.
Peter nodded sadly, seemingly at a loss for words. Taggart placed a consoling arm around the boy's shoulders as he walked over to Wendy.
"Miss Darling?" Taggart inquired.
Wendy span around.
"Yes?"
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Captain William Taggart, skipper of His Majesty's Sky-Ship the Vengeance, finest airship ever to sail the twelve skies if I do say so myself. We've come to take you home."
Taggart went down on one knee, took Wendy's hand and kissed it lightly. Wendy, slightly taken aback by this display, could only stand and murmur "Wendy," in reply.
"Enchanted, ma'am."
Taggart got to his feet. Peter made a massive show of rolling his eyes.
"I would be delighted if you'd call me 'Bill'."
Again, all Wendy could manage was a quiet, "Bill." Then, "You've come to… take us home?"
"By order of The King himself." Taggart gave Peter a dirty look.
"Home… The King… Who did you say you were again?" Asked Wendy, a tad disorientated.
Taggart grinned. "Correct, correct, and Sky-Captain Bill Taggart. Now, if you would be so kind as to collect your siblings, we'd be best served to catch the wind while it's favourable."
"Yes, of course." Wendy pulled herself together at this and headed off in pursuit of John and Michael.
Taggart took this opportunity to wind Peter up with a well-placed jibe.
"You see, that's how you handle the opposite sex. A tad of sophistication will get you everywhere. Your 'hey, I can fly, run away with me' tactic went out with the last century."
Peter laughed in spite of himself. "Don't forget I'm two years older than you, Bill. You should be coming to me for girl advice."
Taggart chuckled. "That was a long, long time ago, Pete. Things have changed, and they're about to change a good deal more."
Deep down, Peter knew what Taggart was referring to. "This whole prophecy thing… It's not true though, right?"
"Depends if you want it to be." Taggart mused. "I think we both know who to ask."
The boy nodded thoughtfully. "I never did believe in bedtime stories."
Wendy reappeared, John and Michael in tow.
"Ah, it appears we are ready to depart." Taggart turned to a passing crewman. "Sailor, see to it that a cradle is sent for our passengers to come aboard in comfort."
"Aye aye, sir!"
Taggart looked back at the children, only to find Peter and Wendy wordlessly gazing into each other's eyes. He sighed audibly, but waited politely for them to break apart. When they did, Peter looked at the Captain desperately.
"Look Bill… Do you think… Maybe… Perhaps… I could… Take them home myself? Like, on this ship? My new ship?"
Taggart was silent as he considered this proposal. He looked first at Peter, then at Michael, then at John, and finally at Wendy, who just nodded a little. This made up the Captain's mind and he span around, eyes searching for his first mate.
"Mister Sullivan!"
"Ayeeeeeeeee, sir?"
"Set about making this tub seaworthy. Captain Pan will leave with the tide."
He didn't have to look behind him to see the grateful smile on Peter's face.
His Majesty's Sky-Captain William P. Taggart stood besides the starboard railing, hands planted firmly on his hips as he stared down at the balcony of a small townhouse in Kensington Gardens. He took an appreciative sniff of the evening air as a boy of about eleven hurried over and handed him a polished brass telescope. Taggart took it, extended it, and raised it to his eye in a familiar motion, before ruffling the hair of the boy that brought it.
"Thank you, Master Finn."
"Thank you, cap'n."
Through the telescope, Taggart could see Peter bidding a heartfelt goodbye to Wendy and the Darling children through the window. He watched as the shutters closed and the boy who never grew up swooped skywards to his ship, alighting on the deck and pausing there for a moment, staring out into the star filled sky. The Captain smiled slightly, snapped his telescope shut and strode off to his customary position by the port railing.
"Bosun!"
"Aye, cap'n?"
"Run up full sail and give her all she's got. It's hammer time."
"Aye aye, cap'n! You heard the skipper lads, look sharp! Turn to, bring up the mains! Cox'sun at the wheel, go to maximum thrust! Heaaaaaaaaaaaaave-ho!"
"Cap'n!" Mister Sullivan's voice emanated from somewhere inside the aft cabin. "Videophone for you, sir! Says it's urgent! Some geezer calling himself 'Captain Harkness,' or sommat."
"Thank you, Mister Sullivan. Bosun, take command."
Taggart headed for the doorway, but was stopped by a shout from the Bosun. "Sir! What heading shall I set us on?"
Taggart paused for a second, then looked up at the heavens above. "Heading, eh… Well then… You see the North Star, right up there?"
"Aye, sir."
"Set us on course for the second star to the right of that. Then full ahead. I'll be back on deck by morning."
I think that'll be the title of my autobiography.
"Aye aye, cap'n! Second star to the right an' straight on 'till mornin'! Heave ho!"
Captain Taggart took one last look around the deck of the might Vengeance and then headed inside. As he closed the door of the warmly lit cabin behind him and prepared to receive the first arpeggios of what would doubtless be his next adventure, the opening strains of that familiar shanty reached his ears.
"Arms aching, backs breaking, legs aching, neck…"