I hope you enjoy the chapter, let me know what you think of it!
Anna-Maria had little sleep that night. She tossed and turned on her trunk, unable to dwell on anything other than the mutiny.
As if sensing her agitation, the beast in her mind gained new strength. She could feel it below, prowling and circling the ship all night long, voraciously searching for her. It pleaded with her to come down into the water and join it. The thing seemed almost eloquent, as if time had granted it new complexity, new emotions. She did not want to think of the implications of that.
She ignored it as best she could, but excitement would have kept her awake even if the beast had not. The men would have had their nightly meal by now. The seeds of dissent could have already been sown. She could not hope to win Smee, she knew that now and regretted that he was so closely tied to the Captain, for she was beginning to care for him. She could only pray that the other pirates would have the good sense not to talk mutiny around him. Long Eyed Pete had probably been lost to her since she had melted that pirate, but she had hopes for many of the others. Saltson had seemed interested, at least, and Mr Bell was hers, and he was quite well liked by the rest of the crew, as far as she could see. It was possible that he could convince the rest of the crew.
She was no great orator, and she knew that she did not have the acumen to bend them to her will. More than anything she might have said, she put her hopes for success on the fact that the mens desires to go back to their families, and their own simple desire to have the money that they earned for themselves would sway them.
It was no use. She gave up on sleep and looked out the window to an ocean bathed in moonlight. The stars adorned the heavens with all their eternal cold beauty. It was a clear night and the ocean was like a mirror reflecting the stars above. She could not help but admire it. She would never have seen such a sight in England. The view calmed her restless mind and though she did not sleep, neither did she descend into useless panic.
She watched the sun ascend into the sky and tried to guess what time it was. She flicked through the trunks again to keep herself occupied. There was nothing else to do, other than pray or think. Truthfully, she did not know what God would think of all this, and was she not now a murderess, as well as a sinner? What would God think of mutiny? She did not beseech Him very often anymore. She was afraid of what He would say if He did talk to her.
She looked out at the sun thoughtfully. At the very least, it was late morning. Her breakfast was late. Could that mean… She could think of no other reason for it other than that her plans had gone ahead. Whether she had succeeded or failed, she had no idea. She had heard no gunfire, no canon. Was that a good sign? Could they have come upon the Captain in his sleep and killed him?
She had her answer when the door swung open to reveal Mr Smee, wringing his hat and looking downcast. Her heart sank to her stomach and a chill washed over her. She wished she could tell her sister that she was sorry.
"You are wanted in the Captain's quarters, m'lady." The bosun said. He shook his head. "What were you thinking? Things were going so well."
She could not reply. She could not explain to him what it felt like to be a prisoner, then to be freed while your cellmate and sister continued to suffer. Nor could she explain how much she owed Charlotte, and how she had so wanted to earn her love and respect. The guilt of her liberty had motivated her to act, as much as her love for Charlotte, the only family she had left. There would be nothing to gain from explaining it to Smee, anyway. He would not understand.
It did not matter. She had failed.
She could not feel a thing except disappointment in herself.
She felt as she had when she had followed Charlotte and the Captain below deck that terrible morning; pulled along by fate, unable even to stray a step from the path before her. She followed the bosun up on deck, not looking at any of the men standing around there, just as they did not look at her. The air was heavy with heat and dread. She opened the door with the little plaque upon it and went in to the Captain's quarters with Smee on her heels.
The Captain wore his burgundy and gold again and reclined on the throne at the far end of his long table. She was not surprised to see a feast laid out. It was all part of setting the scene, to remind her of what had happened the last time they had been together. As if she could forget.
He waved her to her seat. "Sit. Eat." He did not look angry. If anything he looked serene. And yet he knew. Smee knew, so he must know.
She sat down. For once, she was not hungry. "A last meal, then?"
He simply smiled his pointed smile at her. They looked at one another for a long moment. "Smee, pour us some wine." The bosun obeyed with an uncanny fastness. She downed her glass in one draught. If he meant to kill her, he could do it, and she needed a drink.
The silence stretched on for an agonising time, and she was about to speak up when the Captain said, "A vainglorious, cowardly bully, hm?" His every word was a calculated, wrenching stab in her gut.
Her mouth had gone so dry she could not speak. The Captain raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response, but she could not give one. She was on the razors edge of terror. It was not just that he knew of the mutiny, oh no, he knew everything, word for word. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling, his booted feet thumping on the table. She saw that even his boots were emblazoned with the symbol of piracy in what looked like solid gold. He still seemed perfectly at ease.
In a low drawl, the Captain asked, "Tell me, Miss Besswicke. What do you suppose the penalty for mutiny is aboard pirate vessels?"
Wetting her lips, she said as bravely as she could, "Are you about to enlighten me as to what exactly keelhauling is, Captain Hook?"
He laughed. Not his mad laugh, but a hearty one. "By Jove, you have spirit, don't you?" He sounded admiring. He looked at her frankly. "I think you and I shall talk." Without being told, Smee refilled their glasses. Anna-Maria held hers in her hands.
She felt that she had to say something. The silence as he drank and looked at her was terrible. "What else have we been doing?"
"You have been slithering about my feet like a little snake, scheming and biting me at every turn. And I have been trying to fathom why."
She lashed out. "You have kept us prisoner-"
"Prisoner?" He barked. "You know nothing of prisons, woman, if you think my dressing room is a prison. Why, you have lived better than most englishmen, under my care."
Did he actually believe the things he was saying? She was shaking, outrage and fear made a heady cocktail. In a low, furious voice, she said, "I was not speaking of the dressing room, and you know it."
"What I know, you ill mannered thing, is that a liar and murderess such as yourself deserves what she gets. You are damned lucky I did not have you thrown overboard weeks ago instead of just imprisoning you, as you so self-righteously call it. I grow tired of your ingratitude."
"Ingratitude?"
"Yes, ingratitude! Without me, you would be eating coconuts and scrounging for fruit on that cursed island. I am your saviour. You should be on your knees singing my praises."
She remembered the primordial terror of their flight through the jungle, jumping at every sound, running past the point of exhaustion as they were hounded by this man's filthy pirates. She remembered being so afraid that she had killed to protect herself and her sister, she remembered how the pirates had surrounded them in a circle with their weapons drawn, and how she had committed herself to suicide by Siren's song rather than come aboard this ship.
And he expected her to be grateful? He expected her to thank him?
Had she ever been angry, truly angry, before she met him? Had she ever known hate?
The Captain was still raving, "And how do you repay me? You plot and scheme and threaten the natural order aboard my ship. Murder and theft and deception was not enough for you, oh no, you plot a damned mutiny. Wicked, seditious thing. I should have you skinned."
Her head was spinning. She had expected to be tortured and murdered as soon as she opened his door, not challenged to a debate. She was so enraged, so ill prepared for his accusations that could barely keep up with what he was saying, let alone argue against him.
"What right do you have to call me a liar and a murderess, Pirate?" She could not dispute that she was a thief, since she had stolen his beef in this very room. Nor could she exactly say she was not a mutineer, even if she was clearly a very poor one.
The Captain answered confidently. "That you are a liar is without question. You and your sister both gave false names when I rescued you."
Her heart stopped within her chest. How much did he know? Rage was forgotten, cast aside in favour of fear. "False names? That is absurd." She teetered over an abyss. She tried to distract him. "And you did not rescue us, you used us as bait for shooting. You brought us on deck only to further torment us."
His anger visibly melted away and his gaze became wistful. "Yes, and remarkably fine shooting that was, too. I have not had such a challenge since…" He caught himself as he realised what she was doing. "My, we are cunning, aren't we? Well, you are a liar again, because I know that you are not who you pretend to be. Your sister- Charlotte, I believe- gave me your real name days ago, Anna-Maria." He said the name slowly, as if savouring it.
She wanted the ship to sink at that moment. With her still on it. "I suppose, then that you know…" She drifted off.
"That you are both at risk of losing your family fortune and that you have no great reward to offer me for your safe passage back to old England? Oh yes, I know." He looked very smug. He raised a glass in toast to her. "I must say, mutineer or not, murderess or not... good show."
That still offended her. "A liar, yes, but a murderess I am not. You shot that crewman yourself. I only took his hand off."
He sighed. "Yes, yes, but I sent five pirates after you on the island, and only four returned to the longboat with you. Since your dear sister would not sully her precious hands with killing, I've surmised that you must be responsible. Am I wrong?"
She could only stare at him dumbly. Good God, the pirate knew arithmetic! Had he known they had killed his crewman when they first came aboard? She was starting to understand just how hopeless their attempt at persuading him to take them in had been.
His gaze had all the warmth of winter, despite the smile that curved his lips. "Oh, you have nothing to say? No excuse to give me? Your sister at least made something up. What was it, Smee?" He did not take his eyes off her.
"Something about a ravine, Captain. Fell in, banged his head."
Captain Hook gave a chuckle of disbelief. "Oh yes, that was it. A pirate of ten years. Fallen dead in a ravine. Remarkable." He held his glass up, Smee refilled it. He was enjoying this, she realised. "Is the game over, Anna-Maria?"
Anger seized her again. Very few people had ever called her by her given name, and all of them were beloved. It sounded wrong coming from his lips. She spoke contemptuously, "Do not use such familiarity with me, Captain. We are neither friends nor family."
"Are we not?" His voice was surprisingly calm; she had expected him to fly into a rage at her rebuke. "Is there not a special bond between those who have tried to kill and injure one another?"
She remembered killing the pirate with a rock to his forehead. It had been over so quickly that she had not felt a thing as she had done it. And watching the pirate get pulled underwater by a shark, which she supposed was also her fault since it had been her idea to split the boat apart. "I cannot say." She said honestly.
"Hm. Perhaps you will see fit to bless me with your thoughts on the subject some other time. But you have not answered my question, Miss Westwood" he said her true surname mockingly, "Is the game over?"
She took a sip of her wine. The man had figured it all out. He knew that they were all but penniless. He knew she was a murderer and that she had tried to incite his crew to overthrow and kill him. She shrugged, resignation lending her some strange comfort. "I suppose so." Now that she drank it slowly, she could see the wine was very good.
He pouted. He looked very young when he did that. "A shame. I've had Admirals give me less sport than you girls."
It was clear that his good mood had not broken. Could she salvage this, despite everything? Slowly, carefully, she said, "We still have property. We could sell the manor, or the house in Cornwall. There could still be a profit in this for you, if you only let us return to England and pay you."
His answer was so quick that she could only assume he had been prepared for her offer. "Your sister has assured me that she would rather die, and I think you would too. What strange creatures women are. They are only houses."
How wrong he was. They were not only houses; they were receptacles of time and memory. They had been raised there, and Charlotte would not part with a single floorboard that mother may have walked upon. Their brothers had grown up there too; William and poor dead Charles. She had not known how precious her childhood home was until she left it, and all the history in its walls. Perhaps pirates did not know what it was to have a home, but she did and ached to be back in hers.
"Why don't you just kill us, then? You know we have no money to offer you, and the game is up. As a mutineer, I should already be dead."
"If only. But as I said, we will talk."
"I cannot think of what I could say that could possibly make a difference."
Frustration clouded his face. "Then you should think harder. The well on the island, you drank from it, yes?"
She was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. "Yes. I have been meaning to ask you of it."
"Before or after you had me murdered by my own crew? No, don't answer that. I suspect that you did not think that far ahead."
She seethed impotently. He was about to give her the answers she wanted. She had to keep the reins on her temper. "This well," She managed to say, "What does it have to do with what happened to me? With my… transformation."
"Why, it was magic, what else?"
Magic? Slowly, she said, "That tumbled down old thing? The one with the rusty bucket and the dirty water?"
With a grimace, he said, "Shocking, I know. One of these days, I must get around to gilding the thing. As magical items go, it looks appallingly pedestrian."
"A magical well? Like a…" It did sound familiar. "A wishing well? From the stories? That's impossible."
"Do you think so? But then, this world has very little magic compared to where I come from. Water that grants the wishes of those that drink from it is almost sensible, in my experience."
"So, if it grants the desires of those that drink from it…"
He looked as if he wanted to laugh at her. "Then you wished to be a monster. What a strange woman you are. The slime must play havoc on your hair."
"I did not wish for this." She said very firmly. This was insane. The only thing she wished for on that island was for safety from pirates, or to have never been spotted by them in the first place. How could that possibly have resulted in her deformity? "How do I even know that the well was the cause?"
He gave a lazy shrug. "I know of nothing else that could have done it. But whether or not you believe that the well is the cause of your present- ah, enhancements, is of no matter to me. I am simply extending a hook in friendship to a fellow drinker."
Anna-Maria looked at him in amazement. "You drank from it?"
"How do you think I knew of the island in the first place? Do you have any idea how vast the ocean is? Use your brain. I knew where it was because I had been there before."
She looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. A proud nose, the pale skin of an aristocrat, fine cheekbones, clear cold eyes, dark curled hair. His form was fit and strong, for all that he only had one hand. He looked… human. "You don't look like a sea-beast." She said begrudgingly.
He huffed. "I should think not. I have no idea why you would wish for such a thing, but I wished properly. Eternal youth, immunity from harm, all that."
There was so much about it that made no sense to her, but when she thought about it, she could not dismiss the possibility entirely. After all, had she not been seduced by a Siren herself, and seen the bruises it left upon her sister? She could not dispute that there was magic in the world after what she had seen. And the little lake around the well had looked odd, now she looked back on it.
Her cunning mind worked around the problem and eventually started looking for a solution, an advantage, anything she could use. It did not take long.
"Prove it." She said, a challenge ringing in her voice.
He drew his eyebrows together in surprise. "What?" He pronounced the 'h' so strongly that she could have laughed.
"This is nothing but another one of your games. If you were immune from harm, then you would not be crippled as you are, surely. You see? It is an obvious trick." She smiled a little, the logic of the argument was such that Charlotte might have been proud.
He seemed lost in thought. "Whyever would I want my old hand back? This one serves me far better." He fell quiet as he stroked his namesake tenderly. His eyes narrowed as he thought it over. Then he smiled. "Alright, thief, I'll prove it." He spread his arms grandly. "Go on. Try to kill me. You've been wanting to since the day we met. Here's your chance. Pistol or sword?"
Was that a joke? She stared at him, waiting for him to laugh. He did not. He just sat there with his arms spread. She looked to Smee, still standing behind his master. He did not look afraid for him, only interested.
"Kill me, and your sister walks free. Go on. Take up this pistol and shoot me with it. It is loaded." He took out his pistol and threw it down the table at her. Smee flinched at his carelessness.
She could not believe her luck. Had her jailer, her tormentor, really just invited her to kill him? Could he be bluffing? But why would he really risk his life for some proud boast or elaborate lie? She looked at the pistol. It would not do. It could have been tampered with, and she was too proud to ask her enemy to teach her how to shoot. They could be here all day while she shot at his furniture. She could think of a much more direct approach. She smiled.
"If you are immortal, as you claim to be, you would not object to any method I use."
He frowned at her. "No." Already she could see the gears turning behind his eyes. Best not give him time to think it over. Bolstering her courage with thoughts of freedom, she stood up and walked over to the Captain, her bare feet sinking into the plush red carpet. He looked her up and down as she approached him. She felt acutely self conscious in her second-hand mens clothes. Her skin crawled, she could almost feel his eyes upon her.
She stopped when she was near enough to touch him and reached for his empty wine glass with one hand, then reached up into her hair with the other. His eyes widened in realisation and his face became even paler. "Would you like to withdraw your offer, Captain? Do you admit you are nothing but an ordinary man?"
Her old accusation of cowardice lay thick in the air between them. He knew it, she knew it, Smee knew it. He could not back down from her challenge without losing face, and the fear and admiration of his peers was something he craved, she knew that for a fact.
He tried to look nonchalant, but the tightness of his features betrayed him. He was afraid. He had seen what her ink had done to the pirate who had tried to move her against her will. His eyes flickered between her, the glass, her hair and Smee. She felt that she could read his thoughts as he tried to think of a way he could escape the noose he had tied for himself without forsaking his pride.
She would gladly tighten it for him.
She did not really know what she was doing, but she willed the tentacles to understand how much she hated this man, and how crucial his death was to her. Nothing happened, at first, save for the extremely distracting sensation of feeling her hand through her tentacle. She would not lose herself in it this time. She squeezed tentatively, a disgustingly squishy feeling as the things had no bones, and her hand became wet. She withdrew it to find it covered in black, oily ink. The Captain looked at her hand with a grimace. Smee was visibly shaking, she did not know if it was in fear of her or fear for his Captain. Either way, the faith the crew had that their Captain could not be beaten was about to be dismantled. Her mutiny had failed, but here was victory. She stopped when the glass was almost a quarter full with the black liquid, then proffered it to Captain Hook with a wide smile. It was enough to burn his throat, likely enough to kill him.
Their eyes locked. The gauntlet had been tossed.
He managed a smirk and took the glass. He held it to his lips. His breath fogged the glass as he looked up at her. She watched breathlessly and willed him to drink and die, and be gone from her life forever. He dipped the glass to her in a little toast before tipping his head back and downing it in one swig.
His eyes widened and he raised his hook to his lips. She gasped in delight as he choked and swallowed. Her gasp became a wild and joyous laugh that rang throughout the room. She could not help herself. It might have been the happiest moment of her life. Was it wicked, to be so happy at the sight of her enemy dooming himself? She found she did not care. His pride, his pretensions, had sealed his fate. No man had ever deserved death more. At best, he would die on the spot. At worst, he would be so grievously wounded by the ink that she would be able to finish him off. Either way, he was done for. It was over.
Captain Hook grimaced and made a gasping, hacking cough as he doubled over. His head hit the table as he clutched at his throat in clear agony. Smee fluttered over him like a distressed bird over her fallen chick. Anna-Maria rejoiced all the while. She and her sister were free.
Her laughter died as he went still, if only because she had run out of breath. It was over. She sent up praises to God. When she got home, she would sell everything in this room, no, she would sell the whole wretched ship, and use the funds to build a house for the poor. After her debts were settled, of course.
His pale fingers twitched. She frowned. His death throes, perhaps? His hand spasmed, then reached up to curl round the wine glass. Her joy turned to ash in her mouth. No. No no no. Damn you, devil, die. Slowly, weakly, he raised up the glass.
Smee jittered forward and filled it with wine. With a sigh, the Captain heaved himself upright and looked up at her. His mouth was smeared with a foul yellow liquid, but he was very much alive. His eyes were both tired and amused as his lips curled into a smile. He drank the wine without so much as acknowledging Smee.
"Well, that was unpleasant. Dreadful stuff, your ink. Are you satisfied?" His voice had lost its silkiness, but he could still speak. How? She had seen the ink melt flesh off the bone!
She could only stare at him. All signs of pain were gone from his face as he dabbed at his mouth daintily with a napkin. "Why won't you die?"
"As I said, I am to be young and strong forever. Do you still doubt me? If you do, I do not know how I shall ever convince you."
She could only stare.
"Perhaps you could fill a barrel with the stuff and push me into it." He suggested. She could not kill him and there would be no mutiny. It was hopeless. She tried and failed to stifle a sob, and soon she was crying outright.
"Oh stop that girlish bawling. Smee, get the lady into her chair."
That afternoon in his quarters, Hook was being very unkind to Anna-Maria. He was also lying to her. This may not shock us, but we are entitled, of course, to be disappointed in him.
You see, Hook was not really as invulnerable to harm as he needed Anna-Maria to believe. It was true that after his final day in Neverland he had finally vanquished time with a long drink from the wishing well, but a bullet through the eye or a sword through the heart could kill him, just as well as it could kill any man, though lesser wounds healed faster for all drinkers of the fated well. Certainly he had the magic of the Wendy to strengthen him too, but such blessings were few and far between these days.
The truth of it is that after seeing Anna-Maria reduce his crewman's hand to its bare bones quite by accident, he had cultivated a justifiable fear of the young woman. His days and nights were haunted by visions of being burned by her. He knew that he could kill her from a distance, of course, but what if she got up close? Snuck into his chambers at night and strangled him? Melted a hole through the hull and sent him to a watery grave? Hook was a paranoid man and he did not want to die. And greater still was the fear of her injuring him, of inflicting another wound such as Pan had done. He had made his hook into a useful thing, but he could not bear the idea of losing another hand, or a leg.
Sadly, in his inhumane treatment of her, he had given Anna-Maria ample reason to wish him ill, something he now cursed himself for. Not that he regretted locking an innocent young woman in a dark, stinking cell for weeks. It was simply that he regretted choosing the wrong sister to bribe with cups of tea, good food and the occasional song on the harpsichord by candlelight.
Given that he could neither kill Anna-Maria (for reasons that will become clear in time) nor allow himself to be killed by her, he did what he always did when presented with a challenge.
He cheated.
Decades ago he earned the enmity of the wishing well by stealing from its waters. Drinking from the thing had not been enough for him, oh no, Hook wanted to bottle the life-giving waters and take them with him. For emergencies.
So about five minutes before he sent for Anna-Maria, he brought out a flask from a chest he kept under his bed, and drank the whole thing.
It did not grant him a wish, as the waters only grant one wish for every drinker. But it did give him the regenerative capacity he needed to survive a confrontation with Anna-Maria, should she turn blood thirsty. In a way, he was paying her a compliment, for he knew full well that she was the only real threat that he had faced in years.
And it was a good thing that he did, for if he had not drank from the flask, Anna-Maria's clever dare would have been the end of Captain Hook.
Poor Anna-Maria was gently pushed, prodded and coaxed back into her chair. It said something for her state that she did not resist the bosun. She could not see for her tears.
"Miss Westwood, you do not seem pleased. Am I to assume you wished me dead? I am appalled."
His mocking was too much. Through her sobbing, she called him something very, very rude. If Father had heard her, he would have had a fit.
He merely tutted at her cursing before steepling his fingers and his hook together. "Since you cannot kill me, and my dogs know better than to turn against their master, perhaps we can come to an understanding? A sort of truce."
A more clever sort of young woman would have questioned why a man who was invulnerable needed to form a truce with her in the first place. After all, a man who could not be harmed would not need to negotiate with an enemy, he could simply cut them down. But Anna-Maria's suspicions were not raised then as perhaps they should have been. She was miserable, and understandably so.
Anna-Maria said nothing, she was too preoccupied with trying to control her tears. Smee patted her shoulder and said 'there, there' in a fatherly sort of way. It did not make her feel much better.
Hook took in her emotional state with smug satisfaction, knowing his ruse had worked. "Hush, now. You are quite safe here. I had no idea that you were superior person, like myself. Now that I am aware, I will behave accordingly."
Anna-Maria sniffed. "A superior person? Not five minutes ago, you called me an ill mannered thing."
"And not five minutes ago, you tried to murder me. I find myself in a forgiving mood, and eager to… reassess our situation. What about you, Miss Westwood?"
Captain Hook was not in a forgiving mood. He had never really known forgiveness and had no idea how to practice it. But when it came to saving his own skin, the man was a genius.
Anna-Maria had recovered enough to scoff. "Forgive you? You threw me in a dungeon. You starved me and tormented me, and cut me off from the sun." She refused to acknowledge that he might have had no choice if he had wanted to keep his supremacy over the crew.
He frowned at her. He had the grace to look, or at least pretend very convincingly to look, a little guilty. "I admit, the business with the brig was perhaps… bad form. Uncalled for. When I sent my men to bring you aboard, I had no idea you would run quite so far, or go to such lengths. It had been my intention from the beginning to ask if either of you had drunk from the well, but when your sister challenged me to a game of wits…" The man shrugged. "I could not help myself. I am not a man to back down from a challenge, it goes against my nature. And then your theft of my beef… It became a rivalry, and I can never refuse a rivalry. But that is all in the past now. Let there be a truce, at least. Do no harm to me, and I will do none to you. You cannot kill me anyway, as I have just proven, so why waste ink on it?" He smiled disarmingly, though he could never look innocent.
It seemed very out of the blue to Anna-Maria, but she could see the benefit to her. She had come in here expecting death, after all, and now he was offering her peace. "Will you swear it? On something that matters to you; on your school, Eton?" She had learned from Smee that the place was a school the Captain had once attended. She thought his attachment to the place laughable but considering how she felt about her childhood home, perhaps that was unkind of her.
With a solemn air, he laid his hook upon his heart. "As you wish. I swear upon that noble institution."
That would have to do. "Thank you. Now, can you see that it is harmful to me to know my sister is locked up and suffering?"
The Captain sneered at Smee, who swiftly sneered right back at him. She did not see what was so funny about having empathy for another living creature. "What does it matter to you? I can see to it that your stay aboard my ship is pleasant." He asked, once he and his bosun were done mocking her.
"I love her. Have you no family? I cannot be truly comfortable if she is in pain."
He snorted. "Family indeed. How very… quaint." He mulled it over. "If I release her, you will both swear on whatever you hold dear- your fine houses, I suppose- that you will cause no more trouble. You will be civil until your sister goes ashore."
She nodded enthusiastically. Could he really be willing to be agreeable, to let Charlotte out of the brig? It was not the death she had hoped for, but it was a fair outcome.
The last thing he had said dawned on her. "I think you mean… until my sister and I go ashore." She hedged.
"I meant what I said, and - do not hiss at me like that, little snake- I assure you, I will not keep you prisoner here when we come to port. The choice will be yours. Never let it be said that Captain Hook keeps a woman aboard his ship against her will. I am a gentleman, after all."
She did not have the time or the inclination to explain to him the many reasons why he was no such thing. "Then… why would you think I would stay? What reason could I possibly have?"
He cocked an eyebrow slightly and looked at her as if she were very stupid. "Come now, Miss Westwood, you cannot go back. Not with your…" He pointed to her head and looked at Smee as if asking him for a diplomatic turn of phrase to describe the monstrosities growing on her scalp. Smee simply shrugged, at a loss for words. "Unusual headdress. You would never be accepted in polite society, you must know that."
With ruthless ease, he had taken the wind out of her sails. Once again, she was lost.
He was right. How could she go back home, freak that she was? What would happen if someone saw the things? She would be condemned. People would talk. Everyone who had considered themselves a friend of their family would pretend they had never known her.
She had not thought of it. Why had she not thought of it? Why had she not thought ahead? She could grow fins any day, for all she knew. She had been so focussed on overcoming him, on helping Charlotte, on everything else, that she had not thought about the long-term consequences of her affliction. All that had kept her going through this ordeal was visions of her returning home, of somehow making everything right and settling their debts, and being able to recover some sort of life from it all. And now he had exposed another obstacle getting in the way of her happiness, and this one was not so easily overcome as a Siren, or a desert island, or even a crew of pirates. The real problem would be herself.
Too late, the Captain realised he had struck a nerve and waved at Smee. Her lip began to tremble ominously. "Ah, enough of this for now. I can see you are out of sorts- damnation! Stop crying this instant! Blast! Smee! Take her back to her chambers and bring her a tray later- Miss Westwood! THAT IS MY GOOD LINEN, STOP THAT! What are you waiting for, Smee? Get her out of here at once."
If you've made it this far, stay with me, if you can. This is the last chapter inspired by the dream for a long while, so things will be a bit more normal from now on. Also try to be gentle and bear in mind that Peter Pan is kind of filled with ridiculous and silly things. We're talking about a story where happy thoughts beat gravity.
To the person who reviewed last chapter, thank you very much! I wanted to take a bit of time to apologise for the lack of Hook last chapter (I am sorry about that, I wanted him too, trust me) and explain why he wasn't there.
To be 100% honest, in the dream Hook actually sought Anna-Maria out a lot more in the beginning. But as I was writing, I felt it very important to give her space from him. Considering his really pretty disgusting behaviour, for the sake of their relationship I had to give her a bit of breathing space. Rest assured that for the last few days, while Anna-Maria has been stuck in his dressing room, Hook has been thinking of pretty much nothing else but her and how he can recover the situation, seeing as for weeks he treated Anna-Maria like rubbish and Charlotte like a peer.
Interestingly enough, in the dream Anna-Maria actually proposed mutiny to the crew while Hook was standing right there on deck with her. You can imagine how that went for her and Charlotte. So I've had to change quite a lot of things just to keep the situation as benign as it is.
From now on, Hook will be appearing a lot more in the story, so please don't worry.
Your thoughts, questions ect are always welcome! :) Thanks again! The next chapter should be up in the next couple of days.
