A/N Sooooo, basically, this is a re-telling, (just to clear that up). Barrie's characters are slightly older then depicted in the original work, and their personalities might be slightly altered too. Hope nobody finds that offensive! I love Peter Pan and I've had so much fun writing this. Please let me know if you like it too :) And now, on with the show!
(PS Part Two has already been finished and is just being polished up).
Neverland
An Imaginative Re-Telling Of 'Peter Pan' Based On The Novel "Peter And Wendy" By J.M. Barrie
PART ONE:
Mr Barrie's Theatre
Mr Barrie did not own the theatre on CherryTree Lane, but no one who lived in London would ever refer to it as anything other then Mr Barrie's theatre. (Well, almost no one, but we'll come back to that). Mr Barrie was a scottish playwright, quite well known already, even though he had yet to bring even a dozen plays to the stage and many people were curious as to what he was now doing running a theatre. He had received an offered to take on the management three months ago and had accepted promptly.
Perhaps it was because of his background, but everyone agreed that Mr Barrie had slipped into his role so efficiently and triumphantly it was a wonder he hadn't been there the whole time. He handled his customers with care, knowing exactly how to indulge the grand lords and ladies that came, and how to turn away ruffians before anyone even knew of their distracting presence. He was a marvel backstage too. He could restore the prima donna into a tranquil child, calm the playwright who fretted about his masterpiece being heckled and figure out exactly where the prop master left the pirate's swords.
He was a tranquil breeze which flowed through the theatre, relaxing all those he came into contact with. Amidst the rush of emotions and chaos that reigned on an opening night, he was the unflustered head that everyone needed. The eye of the storm.
"And after all", he told his friend, and fellow writer, Mr Doyle, after he'd announced his new position to him. "What better place for me to write a new play then in a theatre itself? I might find just the inspiration I need there".
Peter had never been to the theatre. While out on a scavenge, he often heard his clients talking about the shows they'd seen. They sounded incredible. Men and women performing stories the same way people imagined them.
The theatre on CherryTree Lane was a spot Peter often haunted. It attracted a lot of the lower classes, but a great deal of lords brought their families there for an evening out. A trip to the theatre for them was a time to dress up. The ladies wore sparkly jewellery and carried purses inlaid with gemstones. The gentlemen wore their pocket watches loosely and often dressed in gold and silver cufflinks.
It was the perfect time to relieve them of their possessions, when they were still merry after the performance and unobservant of the little waif scurrying about around them. However, the jewels on the ladies' trinkets were so tiny they fetched next to nothing at pawn shops, and the gold on the gentlemen's attire more often then not was old and tarnished. Such was the standard in that part of London. The people with real wealth went to Drury Lane and Covent Garden to see shows. But Peter was far too scared to chance thieving there, no matter how skilled he was. Peter had been picking pockets since he left the orphanage, and he'd become very good at it. Nowadays he was no more then a shadow to his victims. A fleeting shade that they could only barely remember when they realised that a robbery had taken place.
It was harder in daylight. The theatre never opened during the day, so Peter would trail several streets in London before finding a suitably crowded one, or at least one far from any constables. He only thieved in daylight when he was really desperate, as it was far too easy to get nicked.
And on this particular day, he was desperate.
He stood nonchalantly in the mouth of an alley, whistling under his breath. A group of respectably dressed gentlemen exited the building opposite him and made their way down the street, all save one who nodded to his companions and set off in the opposite direction. Peter waited until his friends had retreated round the corner, then made after the lone gentleman.
Coming out in the dark after a theatre show, people were never in their right minds, never on the alert. During the day, people's minds were sharper and their wits keener. So Peter had long ago thought up a useful tactic, which, though risky, had a tendency to work. Taking a back street, Peter raced down an alleyway and emerged at the top of Pearce Street, with his intended victim now heading towards him. He waited until the man was almost on top of him and then dashed out of his hiding place, straight into his path.
"Oh! I say!" the gentlemen cried, as Peter careered head first into him.
Peter pushed off the man and bowed his head quickly.
"Oh, sorry! I do apologise, sir! Please forgive me".
While the gentleman brushed himself down and adjusted his spectacles, Peter stooped down and pretended to pick up the handkerchief he'd concealed in his hand.
"Oh, sir? Is this yours?" he held it out and the gentleman patted the pocket Peter had managed to sneak it out of. "It must have fallen out, when I ran into you just now. Again, I do apologise for that, sir".
"Well, I-"
Peter folded the handkerchief and made a show of tucking it neatly back into the man's breast pocket.
"There we are, sir. Please excuse me, but it's the least I can do for you, being so awful as to almost run you down. My own terrible fault sir. I really should have looked where I was going. Why, I could have knocked you straight over!"
The gentleman seemed completely disconcerted by Peter's hasty speech and the dusting off Peter was giving his coat.
"Now, that's better, sir. I'll be leaving you in peace now. Good day, sir".
And with a nod of his head, Peter dodged around the man and started briskly away. The gentleman straightened himself up, coughed into his hand, then felt for his pocket watch, which was suddenly not there.
"Constable!" he roared.
Peter ran for it, but luck was not on his side, as he turned the corner and ran right into the approaching constable's waiting arms. He struggled and fought but the sergeant held on tight.
"Excuse me, constable, I think you dropped this?"
Both Peter and the constable turned at this new voice. A man was straightening up from the ground and as he raised his head he also raised his fist. It connected with the constable's jaw and sent the man sprawling backward.
"Get those men!" shouted the gentlemen whom Peter had robbed. He had raced up the street and would reach them in a moment.
"Quick!", hissed Peter's saviour.
He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and yanked him away. They ran until they were out of sight and then dodged down a back alley, only stopping when the shouts of the law had faded out of earshot. Then they both collapsed against the rough brick wall, breathing heavily.
"Thank… you…" Peter panted.
The stranger removed his shabby bowler hat and brushed his long hair out of his eyes. It was tied in a ponytail, but several wild strands still covered his face.
"Don't mention it", he said.
Peter was reluctant to agree, instead he scoured the man suspiciously. "Why did you do it?" he asked.
The man grinned and instantly Peter's view of him changed. He knew that he was going to like him. His grin showed mischief and daring, such a rare thing to see on a grown up's face. It was cocky and confident, and Peter hoped when he grew up he'd still be able to grin like that.
"I saw your performance, back there in the street. I couldn't let such a wonderful thespian get caught after a show like that", the stranger explained.
Peter grinned back and while the man replaced his hat, he looked him up and down. He wore his hat back on his head, seemingly ignoring the blonde strands that continued to fall into his eyes. His clothes were posh, but well worn, obviously he wasn't as rich as he'd once been. The evidence of his fall from grace though, was in the earring he sported; a small gold hook, curving halfway around in his left ear.
"Well", the stranger said. "Until we meet again".
"Yeah. Thanks".
He tipped his hat and smiled crookedly, giving Peter a wink. "Take care, boy".
Peter wished he'd stay. He longed to reach out and pull him back, ask him who he really was, what he did, where he was from. But the man had already saved his life. Peter couldn't really ask anything more from him.
Peter lived in the abandoned warehouses fifteen minutes away from the theatre. It was a place no one went to, except those who had escaped the workhouse or prison. Peter had managed to claim himself a room on the second floor. It wasn't very big, but it was long enough for him to stretch out on his blanket bed and not feel the walls either side of him. The floor below him was occupied by an older man named Bill Jukes who Peter, on first meeting, had suspicions might be Father Christmas, and the floor above was the residence of an old witch Peter and the elder man liked to call the Beldam.
On that night, the November wind began to blow a winter chill into London's streets. Peter tucked the collar of his coat up around his neck and ducked his shoulders to fight off the worst of the cold. His roommate was outside, standing with some men from the next building around a small fire they'd started.
"They'll probably lynch us for this", the Bill Jukes said to Peter, gesturing to the flames. "But I'd rather spend Christmas in the clink then freeze to death in this rotten place", he looked the boy up and down. "You off again?"
Peter nodded.
"Why don't you stay here and warm yourself? Take the night off".
"Can't", Peter shivered. "But thanks anyway".
The old man frowned but let it go. "You look after yourself, lad".
"You too, Mr Jukes".
He shook his bushy beard at the boy and Peter smiled before waving him off. Peter often thought it a shame the the old man hadn't been employed at his orphanage. It might have been enough to make him stay with someone like him there. The men who did work there were cruel, greedy people and Peter had been beaten by them on many occasions. The women were not much better either. They all but starved their wards and never raised so much as a hand of comfort.
Peter curled his hands into fists and pulled them further into his sleeves. You know times are bad when freezing on the streets is more appealing then going back to an orphanage, he thought.
Mr Barrie's theatre was brightly lit when Peter approached. Several people crowded outside, enjoying a cigarette or two before the beginning of the performance. A hansom cab rolled into the street, and a stout group of ladies emerged, huddling close together and discussing the play loudly.
"I hear Ariel really flies!" one of them chirped.
"Oh, can you imagine?" another cooed.
Peter breathed in the cold air. He knew the theatre often involved stunts, like sword fighting, but to fly? Could it be true?
A figure suddenly brushed past and Peter shuffled backwards, not used to being noticed in the dark. He was more surprised to find that it was a boy, smaller and younger then Peter, but every bit as thin and scruffy. He watched the little waif burrow through the gathering theatre arrivals until he was joined by another two boys that looked Peter's age. They were carrying a large, heavy looking, package between them and the little boy had his own armful of brown paper parcels, tied together with string. The three of them glanced around each other, trying to see if they were being watched, then slunk quickly out of sight towards the theatre.
Peter was not the only pick pocket in London, and he was by no means the youngest. He'd seen children group together to scavenge for savings. Sometimes they were family, sometimes they were just friends. While in the orphanage, there had been two boys who detested each other, but being the oldest they'd worked together to bully the other children. This trio might be no different, but wether they were working tonight or not, they intrigued Peter. Perhaps they were trying to sneak into the theatre?
Glancing one last time at the smoking gentlemen in their gold wrist cuffs and silver handled canes, Peter darted past them and followed the shadows the boys had disappeared into. The trio had made for the back of the building and the thin stairwell that led to the stage door. Peter watched them enter and then snuck after them. He was so excited at the prospect of seeing the show, he might have followed them right out of London.
He had never been inside the theatre, and was surprised by how shabby it looked. The red walls were peeling in places and the carpet was scuffed so badly it looked like rats tails. But it was warm, and the gaslights gave off a gentle glow, chasing away the November wind. At the end of the corridor, the boys were slinking through a door on the right and Peter followed close on their heels.
Voices blasted into his ears the moment he opened the door and he was tempted to run, but he poked his head a little way in and saw something that made his jaw drop. The stage. He was so close to it he was practically on it. But he was only on one side of it, in the wings. A big heavy curtain closed the view into the auditorium and darkened the backstage until those standing in the wings were almost in darkness.
"Will somebody get some lights on here? I can't see what I'm doing!" an angry voice bellowed.
Coloured lights filled the space, turning the world into an assortment of jewels. Peter saw the man who had spoken standing close to his side. He had several pins sticking out of his mouth and was trying to fasten a royally dressed man into his costume. Around him were a flurry of other people. Ballerinas were warming up in the corner, a man in a robe was getting his fake beard powdered so it looked more white and a woman with a pinched-face was trying to make herself look younger with the help of face paints.
In the far corner, the trio of boys were at work with another lad, rigging up some ropes that hung from the ceiling and ran right the way across the stage. A brute of a man lifted up the parcel the boys had carried in and heaved it onto his shoulder, carrying it away. Peter ground his teeth at his idiocy. The boys hadn't been sneaking in to see a show. They worked there. A woman approached them and started gesturing to the ropes above their heads, giving them instructions of what to do.
Peter watched all this from his position inside the doorway, until he was ruffly yanked inside by a towering barbarian dressed in animal skins.
"What are you doing here?" he rumbled.
Peter froze at the sight of him. His face was dark and patchy and long red scars covered his bare arms and chest.
"Shouldn't you be helping someone?" he boomed.
He hooked one hand into Peter's collar and dragged him across the stage to where a heavy set man was sitting with a satin cape draped over his knees. He was whistling through his teeth as he stitched up a hole in the back.
"Hey, Smee!" the savage holding Peter called. "Here's one of your boys".
So saying, he brought Peter to a halt in front of the seamster. The man observed Peter from above the rim of his little owl glasses and frowned.
"He's not one of my boys", he said.
Peter was ready to make a break for it. To run as fast as he could back to Bill Jukes and his room in the old warehouse. But before anyone could move or speak, an earsplitting scream erupted from the middle of the stage and everyone turned to look at the figure hanging from the rigging above the lights.
"She's stuck on the rigging!" someone shouted.
One of the boys Peter had followed in, elbowed his way forward and stared in horror at the girl dangling above them. "Her flying rope snapped!" he said.
"Someone help me! Please!" the girl cried.
"Get some fabric, something to catch her in", yelled the barbarian next to Peter.
Mr Smee jumped up from his chair and darted away to his costume cupboard. Some people tried to call encouraging words to the girl, others panicked and ran about, trying to find some way to help. And still, the girl dangled by her hands from the snapped flying rope.
Peter eyed the pulley system of ropes against the wall. Tugging on one of them, he saw that it's counter weight was on the other side of the stage, making it taught to pull on. Spitting on his hands, Peter leapt up and clung to the coarse rope, scaling hand over hand and pushing his feet against the wall to quicken his pace. Climbing until he was higher then the actors' heads.
"What's he doing?" yelled the savage, finally spotting Peter's stunt.
"Calm down, Starkey", said Smee, who had just returned with an armful of blue cotton. "I think the boy's onto something".
Peter climbed further up the rope, encouraged now by the motivation Smee was calling out to him. He reached the top and paused to look about. The rope he was on went the length of the stage and in the middle it ran right over the lighting bridge; a wooden walkway that dangled precariously from chains hooked to the ceiling. Peter wrapped his legs around the rope and shimmied upside down along it, heading for the bridge.
"Go on, lad!" Smee called from below. "That's the ticket!"
It had been a long time since anyone had cheered for Peter over anything, (except when Bill Jukes had cheered him on during the worm eating contest last spring, and that hadn't amounted to much more then a sick stomach). Now he was being encouraged for something worthwhile and he felt himself getting daring. Pausing his journey, he titled his head back to look at his audience.
Smee's face swam dizzyingly and for a moment Peter felt his fingers loosen. He was higher then he'd thought. From here, Starkey didn't look so much like a barbarian as he did an ant. Turing his head back to the ceiling Peter swallowed and forced his hands to tighten their grip, even though they were sweaty with fear. But he didn't get afraid. He was Peter. He'd survived the orphanage and the streets of London, all on his own. I'm not about to give up now, he thought.
Shuffling along the rope, he forced himself to keep moving until he was stretched out over the lighting bridge. Clinging on with two hands, he swung his legs down and dropped onto the walkway. It swung dangerously from his sudden weight and caused a loud gasp from everyone on the stage. Righting himself - and discreetly wiping his hands on his trousers - Peter turned to the girl who hung nearby on the frayed flying rope.
She was staring at him as though she'd never seen anyone like him before. Peter gripped the railing of the walkway with one hand and stretched out his other towards her.
"Can you reach my hand?" he asked.
She shook her head firmly, her dark hair bouncing with the movement. "I cannot let go of the ropes".
Peter leaned further over the railing, arching his fingers as close to her as he could go.
"Now?"
"I cannot let go!" she insisted.
Peter frowned. She was going to have to let go, one way or the other. If her fingers didn't give out before too long, the rope would. Eying the chains that held the bridge up, Peter began to rock backwards and forwards, causing the platform to move gently with him.
"What are you doing boy? Are you crazy?" Starkey yelled.
Peter swung the bridge until it rocked like a swing, sailing closer and closer to the girl.
"When I tell you to", Peter instructed her. "You're going to grab my hands and jump onto the bridge".
"I-"
"You have to", Peter ordered. "Trust me".
A mist had come into the girl's eyes and she blinked to clear them, then nodded slowly. Peter continued to let the bridge swing and the chains supporting it groaned theatrically. Down on the stage, everyone was biting their lips, holding their breaths and chewing their finger nails.
"Ready?" Peter called. "Now!"
He thrust out his hand and the girl released the ropes she'd clung to so dearly, grabbing Peter's hands instead. In the space of a heartbeat, the bridge swung back so far it was in danger of tipping Peter out and killing them both. Then Peter pulled on the girl's arms and heaved her onto the platform, where they both collapsed in a heap, clinging to the railings and each other.
"Hooray!" came the cheer from below.
Smee tossed his hat in the air and everyone applauded.
Peter lay still, not even hearing their praise. His heart was thumping wildly, threatening to break out of his rib cage. One of the stage hands fetched a ladder and secured it against the walkway, allowing first the girl and then Peter to climb down. As soon as his feet had touched the ground, the girl flung her arms around his neck and hugged him hard.
"You saved me!" she cried. "Thank you!"
"Uh", Peter patted her back awkwardly. "Don't mention it".
Seeing his embarrassment, she released him and smiled instead.
"What is your name?"
"Peter".
"I am Lily", she said.
Her accent was thick, and she spoke as though she found it hard to pronounce certain words.
"Lily? Lily! Are you alright?" a man appeared out of the crowd and wrapped the girl in a huge bear hug. "Oh! My sweet little girl! You are alright".
Peter eyed the pair. They were both tanned, with dark hair. Not like Starkey though, these two had the distinct appearance of people from another land.
Maybe they're Indians, thought Peter.
"That was quick thinking, lad", Mr Barrie said.
Peter raised his head an inch, surprised with the praise. He had been hauled into the Manager's office by two stage hands, certain he was going to get a flea in his ear and a clap around the head. Mr Barrie, instead, smiled encouragingly at Peter.
"Where do you live, boy?"
Peter shifted uncomfortably. "Just… a place… not far from here".
Mr Barrie nodded understandingly. "Do you work?"
Did thieving count as a profession? "Not really".
"Then how would you like to work here?"
Peter stared at him, wondering if it was some kind of cruel joke.
"Would you like that?" Barrie asked.
"Y-yes… yes, sir".
"Good!" Barrie beamed. "You can be a stage runner".
"What's that, sir?"
"A stage runner is someone who has their hand in everything. One night you might be the one to call people to stage, another night you'll assist the prop manager, sometimes you might be asked to fix costumes. Can you sew, lad?"
Peter shook his head.
"Well, no bother! Neither can most of the other boys, except Tootles. You'll soon pick it up".
Peter still couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation. He looked from his own patched and frayed clothes to Mr Barrie's charming suit. The contrast between the two were amazing.
"Do you really mean it, sir? Can I really have a job?"
"Of course!" Barrie eyed the boy bemusedly. "I'm afraid I can't pay you much. You'll have room and bored with the other lads and get a penny a week if you do a good job".
"I will do, sir!"
Barrie laughed. "Good man! Good man!"
He skirted his desk and clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. Then led him out into the corridor near the stage, checking his watch as he went.
"The show is due to start at any moment and I'm afraid I have another interview to deal with", spotting a figure at the end of the passage he called out to him. "Slightly! Come here".
Peter recognised the boy as being one of the trio he'd followed earlier.
"Slightly, this is Peter", Mr Barrie introduced. "He's going to be joining you boys. Do me a favour and show him around", he winked at Peter. "I'd say 'show you the ropes', but I think you've already seen far too much of them!"
Peter grinned and Barrie waved the duo off. He had a feeling Peter would fit in beautifully with the Lost Boys. He just hoped they would be happy with the new addition to their gang.
Clicking his pocket watch open again, he muttered under his breath at the lateness of the hour and set off to meet his next client. And hopefully, the theatre's new prompt.
"So, what's it like?" Peter asked.
Slightly eyed him warily. "What's what like?"
"What's it like to work in the theatre?"
Slightly shrugged. "It's okay, I suppose".
Peter's forehead creased and he gave his companion a once over. The boy was his height and looked about his age. But that was where the similarities ended. Slightly was pinch-faced with a mop of blonde curly hair and he walked with a slight hunch, as though he was trying to fold himself inwards. He was also scowling, so hard Peter would have had to be blind not to see it.
"I suppose you get to see all the shows?" Peter said, in an attempt at conversation.
"Not if you're helping out backstage, you don't. Which I assume you will be, now that you're working here".
Peter frowned. "What do you do here?"
"I'm a stage runner, same as you. But mostly I'm in the props room".
"Do you make props?"
It was the right thing to ask. Slightly's mouth quirked and he smiled to himself, as though he couldn't help it.
"Yeah", he mumbled.
They had reached the stairs and descended into the basement. It was quite a large room, but taken up by large pieces of scenery and props. Scattered in amongst them, were three wrought iron beds, each of which currently held a boy. The smallest, Peter recognised as the little lad he'd initially followed into the theatre. He sat next to a tall figure in a flat cap, who looked the oldest of the group. Across from their bed, was a dark, heavyset boy wearing a grin on his round face.
All four of them looked up intriguingly as Peter and Slightly descended.
"We've got a new recruit, lads", Slightly told them. "Mr Barrie hired him as a stage runner".
"You're the one who climbed the rigging, aren't you?" asked the tall boy. "The one who saved Lily?"
Slightly hunched further over and shuffled away to sit beside the dark boy. Peter nodded humbly. The tall boy grinned widely and got to his feet, holding out his hand to Peter.
"Names Nibs", he said. "Glad to be working with you!"
Peter shook his hand enthusiastically. A clatter of feet turned everyone's attention back to the stairs where another boy was descending, almost falling over himself in his haste to get down.
"Where's the fire, Twins?" Nibs asked.
The boy looked in a frightful state, his shirt askew and his cap dangling off the side of his head.
"Lily's getting ready to fly. They want Peter standing by, just in case", he said.
"Me?" Peter piped.
"See that?" Nibs laughed. "You're famous already!"
"Come on! Come on!" Twins banged his feet on the stairs and the whole room jumped to action, ushering Peter upwards.
Together, the boys hurtled along the corridor towards the stage, being led by Twins who lost his flat cap in the mad dash and had to let the youngest boy - Curly, Peter heard him get called - pick it up. Smee poked his head out of one of the dressing rooms ahead of them and frowned like thunder.
"If you don't keep the noise down, I'll box each and every one of you about the head, you mark my words I will!" he hissed.
Nibs steered Peter into the wings of the stage, whispering in his ear as he did.
"Smee wouldn't harm a kitten! I've been here three years and he's never once laid a hand on me. We have to pretend to fear him though, otherwise his feelings would be hurt".
Peter pressed his hand over his mouth to cover his laughter. Nibs winked at him and slipped away to another part of the stage.
"'If by your art, my dearest father, you have put the wild waters in this roar…'"
Peter hadn't noticed the stage yet. The man Peter had previously seen powdering his beard was standing on a large pile of rocks, holding a wooden staff high in the air. His robes, brown and dirty, flared out around him and by his feet, hunched a thin girl in a frayed dress.
"'With those that I saw suffer'", she cried. "'A brave vessel dashed all to pieces!'"
And suddenly Peter could see it. He saw the beach the duo stood on. In his mind he could also see the ship they spoke of, flailing in the waters. The wind was howling from the aftermath of the storm and Peter shivered from its cold breeze.
"This way Peter".
Peter blinked and the scene ended. He saw the actors on a stage bare of anything but the wooden rocks the man stood on. There was no wind, nor any sound of the storm he'd thought he heard. Standing at his shoulder, was the dark boy, smiling as though he knew exactly what Peter had just experienced.
"I'm Tootles, by the way", he whispered.
The boy who can sew, thought Peter, thinking back to his conversation with Mr Barrie.
Glancing one last time towards the stage, he followed Tootles to the last wing where Lily was waiting. At first he wasn't sure it was her. Her black hair was fanned out down to her waist and she was swathed in an array of different glittered silk. She looked like fairy from a storybook. Her flying rope had already been attached and she was fidgeting from foot to foot when the boys approached.
"Hello Peter", she whispered.
He couldn't help it. "Who are you?" he asked.
She frowned. "Ariel of course. Who else would wear something like this?" she indicated her shinning dress.
Pursing his lips, Peter prompted: "Is Ariel a fairy?"
Lily smiled, but it was not unkind. "Have you never seen Shakespeare's The Tempest? Prospero and his daughter Miranda have been shipwrecked on an island for almost fourteen years", she said, indicating to the pair on stage.
The woman playing Miranda was spouting words so quickly now and in such an awful muddle, Peter found it hard to make out what she was actually trying to say.
"Prospero's a magician", Lily continued. "And he has used his powers to keep the spirit Ariel as his slave".
Across the stage, Peter saw Starkey the Barbarian pacing anxiously in the wing.
"What about him?" Peter asked.
"That's another slave that Prospero has. His name is Caliban and in some scenes he's a monster, and in others I have such pity for him".
From the corner of his eye, Peter could see Lily watching the actors on stage, her eyes dreamy. He wondered if she could see things on the stage the same way he had just done.
"'Know thus far forth'", said Prospero from his position on the rocks. "'By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune…'"
"Lily! It's almost time for you to go on!" hissed a man in an important looking hat.
She fluffed her hair out and licked her lips, suddenly looking very nervous. With one hand, she tested the tension on her harness. Unsure what to do, Peter gave her a nudge with his elbow.
"Good luck", he said.
She stopped flapping about and looked at him, smiling.
"'Approach my Ariel, come!'" shouted Prospero.
Lily raised her arms and the man in the hat pulled on her rope. She flew upwards, almost knocking Peter back she went so fast. The audience in the auditorium gasped as she sailed across the stage, the lights catching her dress and making her glow. Peter could only gape as she twirled around and landed safely by Prospero's feet, dropping into a bow as the audience clapped and cheered.
"All hail, great master! Hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure; be it to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curled clouds. To thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality!" Lily recited.
"Oi!" Smee was stood in the entry way to the stage, trying to get Peter's attention. "Twins stood on Prospero's cape from Act Five and put his foot straight through it. Run up to the costume cupboard and get me the biggest piece of red fabric you can find!"
Peter had no idea, where the costume cupboard was, but it seemed like the best time to find out. He skipped out of the stage and down the corridor, further into the warm theatre. Letting the gaslights carry him forward.
"Good night tonight, lads", said Nibs.
Twins flung himself onto his bed and sighed deeply. "When Caliban's tarp failed to open on stage I was sure Starkey would take it out on us!"
"Me, you mean", said Curly, curling up on his pillow, his eyes already half shut. "I'm always the lynch pin".
"That's because you're so little and sweet, no one can take it upon themselves to get angry with you", Slightly told him.
"I am not sweet!" Curly roared.
Peter hesitated at the foot of the basement stairs. He wasn't sure if Mr Barrie had explained that he would now be living with the boys. They had already assigned themselves beds and were starting to get ready to sleep when Nibs noticed Peter standing alone.
"Sorry, Peter", he said. "I'm afraid you're going to have to share with Tootles".
Tootles looked apologetic. The beds weren't a very large size anyway, but Tootles took up most of the room there was.
"Thanks Toots", Peter said anyway, and the boy grinned.
As the gang continued to chat and squabble amongst themselves, Peter eyed the scenery pieces standing around the room. There were some big canvas boards, painted to look like beaches and forests and towns.
"Do you ever use these?" Peter asked.
Slightly frowned. "Of course. The operatics use them all the time".
"No I mean, do you guys ever use them. While they're not in use up there?"
"What would we use them for?" Twins said.
"Do you want us to put on our own play?" Curly added.
"No. I was just thinking of the games you could play with them. That's all", said Peter.
Slightly snorted. "Games?" he snickered.
Rather then back down on his idea, Peter grabbed the town scenery and dragged it over beside Nibs and Twins' bed.
"Try to use your imagination", he told Slightly, who scowled like thunder.
Grabbing the tartan blanket off Tootles bed, Peter wrapped it around himself like a cloak and and paced on top of the bed, before the scenery.
"Once there was a town: peaceful, quiet… no!" grabbing a broken broom, Peter held it out like a sword. "It was overrun by vicious pirates! Cutthroats, who took out any who stood in their way".
The Lost Boys looked at Peter as though he'd gone mad. Then suddenly, Nibs eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet.
"Pirates! Like Cecco, who carved his name into his gaoler's back after he was sentenced to hang", he stood on Tootles bed and acted it out with an old prop cane.
"Or Noodler!" yelled Curly, joining Peter in front of the town scenery. "Had his hands cut off during a duel, and they were sewn on backwards!"
"Alf Mason", said Tootles, stumbling onto his bed and wobbling there. "A pirate so ugly his own mother sold him for a bottle of muscat!"
"Who can I be?" asked Twins, still seated beside Slightly.
"Little Richard", Peter suggested. "A giant of a man. Ten feet tall!"
Twins looked thrilled by this suggestion. Nibs and Tootles grabbed another scenery canvas, this one depicting a stormy sea, and dragged it up to Tootles bed.
"En guarde", Nibs yelled to Peter and the two began to duel across the beds, one using a cane, the other a broom.
"Go on Nibs!" Twins called.
"Get him Peter!" Curly shouted.
"Hey!" the boys halted in their tracks and turned to face Slightly. He had thrown a black feathered hat onto his head, it had a hole in one side, and had obviously been discarded from Smee's prop cupboard because of it. In his hand, he held a long wooden rod. "Aren't you forgetting someone?" at the boys' blank looks, he explained. "Edward. Teynte. Ed Teynte was the meanest, nastiest, most cold blooded pirate the world's ever seen", he pointed his stick at Curly. "It was he that cut off Noodler's hands. And it was him that handed Cecco over to the authorities".
"But there's one thing Teynte never saw coming", Peter said, trying to keep the grin off his face.
"What?" Slightly asked.
"Me!" Peter cried, and attacked with his broom.
The boys duelled, all against all, hopping from bed to bed to floor. Sometimes one of them would die dramatically and the others all had to applaud, until they jumped back up and announced 'only joking!'. It was a long while later when they all finally collapsed, exhausted.
Peter rolled over in bed and landed with a thud on the floor.
"Sorry, Peter", came Tootles' hushed whisper.
"Don't worry about it Toots, I always roll out of bed in the night", Peter lied.
He squeezed himself back in beside his large new friend and tucked his blanket around him, like a cocoon to try and prevent himself falling out again.
"You know something, Peter?" Tootles whispered. "We've never played anything like that game you taught us tonight before".
Peter found it hard in his sleepy state to decipher that. "You mean you never imagined anything".
"I have. But we've never played at it. You even convinced Slightly to play!"
"Why did Slightly not like me at first?" Peter asked.
He was confident the other boys were asleep, judging by a the loud array of snores in the room.
"It was because you saved Lily. Slightly was the one who attached her rope, see. He was just upset because of what he'd done".
They were both silent for a long while before Tootles smiled broadly at Peter, his eyes shining.
"Things are going to change with you here", he grinned. "I can tell".
Mr Barrie led the blonde gentleman into the empty auditorium. The gaslights had already been lit, per his request and it gave the theatre a warm, homely feel.
"It seats almost a thousand", Barrie said.
"And is it usually a full house?"
"Usually, yes".
The gentleman ran his fingers over the base of the stage. Almost lovingly, Barrie thought. He moved about the space slowly, taking his time exploring it, or so it seemed. His eyes told a different tale. They roved constantly about the room, drinking in one thing and quickly moving to the next.
"You know, I can't tell you how excited I am to have you here", Barrie beamed. "My actors are phenomenal people, but even the best can leave room for improvements".
"I should hope so", the man replied.
Above the auditorium, the door into the lower dress circle opened and Peter's small figure slipped through. Hearing Mr Barrie's voice, he closed the door with extreme care, careful not to make a sound, and tiptoed down the aisle until he reached the balcony rail. He crouched before it and poked his nose over the top, curious to see who Mr Barrie's guest was.
"You've come at the perfect time too", Barrie was saying. "We've just begun rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet. It would be nice to have a really dramatic sword fight between the Montague's and the Capulet's", he leaned back against the stage, watching his companion's examination of the theatre. "And knowing your skills might help me in writing my own play. At least now I know there can be some good duels in it".
"Ah yes, I heard rumours you're still writing. How's the new piece coming?"
Barrie shrugged. "I've still not found the perfect inspiration to start it".
Peter leaned further over the balcony, trying to get a better look at the blonde man. It was hard to see him properly from up high, and his face was covered by a shabby black bowler hat. Yet something about the blonde strands that poked out from it were startlingly familiar to him.
Lifting his head, the gentleman studied the gold rimmed boxes, which were always reserved for the wealthiest families. He looked at the muriel painted on the the ceiling, showing winged cherubim flying about in a cloudy sky. He turned on the spot to take in the engravings on the rim of the dress circle - and spotted the young boy peeking over the top of it. Barrie, seeing where the man's attention was focused, followed his gaze.
"Oh! Peter, what are you doing up there?"
Peter swallowed, not expecting to be spotted.
"Um, Mr Smee's gone down to the Black Swan for a drink with Gentleman Starkey. So I just thought I'd…"
"You thought you'd familiarise yourself with the theatre?" Barrie laughed and turned to his companion. "Peter is the newest member of our family, he's only been here two weeks. Peter, this is our new prompt and fencing master. In fact, I was supposed to show him around the theatre, but I'm quite behind in my work and I have some very urgent letters to send. Perhaps you wouldn't mind showing him around for me?"
Peter nodded mutely. Mr Barrie shook hands with the gentleman and bid both of them a good day. Peter could barely bring himself to reply. No wonder the blonde man had looked so familiar, he was the same man who had saved Peter from getting nicked the morning he came to the theatre. The one with the gold hooked earring.
"So, you became a real thespian after all?" the man said. "Decided to put your talent into practice?"
"I'm just a stage runner", Peter said.
He didn't like the idea of this man knowing he'd once been a pick pocket. No one had asked Peter how he got by before he came to the theatre, and he wasn't too keen for any of them to know.
"I'll come down and show you around", Peter said.
And maybe lock you in one of the cupboards while I'm at it, he thought.
"Don't bother, I'll come up", the gentleman replied.
He disappeared and a few minutes later was kneeling by Peter's side over the railing. Peter was surprised, usually grown ups never knelt or crouched, unless it was to pick up something they'd dropped.
"So, it looks like we were destined to meet again".
Peter narrowed his eyes at him, unsure what the man was playing at.
"How did you get involved here?" he demanded.
"The day we met, I was due to have a meeting with Mr Barrie. He was hoping only to hire me as prompt, but when he found out how handy I was with the blade he also asked me to teach the actors".
"You mean, you can fight with real swords?" Peter asked.
"I can teach you, if you'd like".
"Really? You would?"
He grinned and Peter remembered why he'd initially liked him.
"However, if we're to be friends I think we should be introduced".
"I'm Peter".
They shook hands formally and he smiled. "My name's Jimmy. Jimmy Hook".
Peter was sweeping the dress circle that evening when Jimmy came looking for him. The show was due to start in less then an hour and Peter had been told to make sure everything was clean for the higher classes.
"You're to assist me tonight", Jimmy told him. "Seeing as I don't know all the actors names, you're to tell me who they are if I get stuck".
"Okay, I'm almost done here anyway", Peter said, grinning.
They were both silent for a moment, before Jimmy said: "She's quite something isn't she".
Peter looked around, expecting to find the lead actress Maggie, or perhaps Lily on the stage. But the theatre was empty, except for him and Jimmy. Then he realised it was the theatre Jimmy was talking about.
"Yeah", Peter agreed. Then after a pause: "It's amazing".
Jimmy looked at him curiously. "Had you ever been to the theatre before you came here?"
"Never", Peter shook his head. "It's incredible. I mean, it's like never growing up, isn't it?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, the whole thing about being a child, is that you can play around and imagine things that aren't real. You know, make believe. But that's what this is, isn't it? You're trying to make the audience believe that you believe Lily's an air spirit, or Starkey's a deformed monster. It's children's games, but you don't have to be a child to play them".
"I've never thought about it that way before", Jimmy said.
Peter looked over the stage, imagining how it would look tonight, when the lights were lit and the floor was dominated by the actors in costume.
"We should give it a name", he said suddenly.
"The theatre?"
"Yeah. It deserves something special".
"Everyone knows it as Mr Barrie's theatre, they don't even tend to call it by its proper name".
"I know, but this would be a name only we in the theatre would know about. A secret name".
Jimmy seated himself in one of the plush red chairs and smiled intriguingly at the boy. "What do you suggest?"
Peter thought about it. "Neverland. Because you never have to grow up".
"Is that what you want Peter?" he raised his eyebrows. "To always stay a boy and have fun?"
"That's what you're doing isn't it?"
Jimmy laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "Very well, Neverland it is. Now come on, if you want to get some fencing practice in before the curtain rises we'd better get going".
Peter collected his broom and with Jimmy's arm around his shoulder the duo followed each other out. Leaving the theatre empty.
[End Of Part One