I did not find it odd at the time that I could understand. I was so embedded in the deep magic of that world, it did not seem such a wonder.
"If that is true, how can I not believe the boys to safety?"
Can you? She crossed her arms, teasing.
"I cannot."
Just so.
I had only been speaking out of frustration, but now I gave more thought, "If I could make myself believe Hook is dying of some horrible consuming disease..."
He would know it was not true. You cannot make him something he is not.
"And what if I believed Peter did not hold this secret that Hook desires?"
Does it matter whether or not he does? Jas believes he has it, so there it is.
"That's not fair," I sat on the floor and crossed my arms, "How come Hook can change Peter, but I neither of them?"
Peter is indeed a boy forever, and Jas still desires that. Between the two, our current predicament is unchanged, whatever you chose to believe of them.
"Why does Hook think he can harvest this from his heart? Surely it only pumps blood as any other."
Tink looked down. Whether the secret can be found in his flesh, I do not know. If it does not... our predicament may be even more grave.
I lay on the floor, "There must be a solution to this."
The fairy rang cheery comforting bells, Sweet girl. I know you find a way for my dear boys. I am sorry.
I did not ask her what for. I thought of my brothers. Locked away somewhere. Little Michael hugging his bear, pressed tight to John, who would be acting hero. I knew he would be thinking of escape now, creating stories, grand plots... Logic, he would say. The scientific methods are orderly, and will solve any problem.
I could not take Hook's offer. I had seen his hatred and cruelty, and he would not stop at the heart. Hook held so much over me now, though. I could I refuse? I was only a pawn. Only one line of attack, and the only escape was to sacrifice a piece I would not lose. The black heart blood red pieces pressed toward me. The lost boys, my brothers; if I moved in a way Hook did not approve of, they would be taken. One by one, knocked to the wood floor. So long as they were hostages, I could make no move. Tinkerbell. She too would be used to leverage me. I could not bear to watch her die again. My own life. I would be spared, but only under the protection of Hooks estimation of my use. Peter would live, at least, as long as the pirate felt he needed his heart.
Each would have to be saved in order to break from this trap. I tapped my fingers wishing the boys were with me. They would know what this ship was called, and where the prisoners were kept. But the idea was meaningless. The hour was late and my head was tight. I needed to find a candle to exchange with Tink. It would provide a ruse for only a limited time, but it might be enough to find help. I lifted my heavy lids high enough to let the Tink's light catch my lashes. I would exchange her for a candle. The pirates would believe it to be her. I wondered if the candle might even become some wax-skinned doppelganger of the fairy, by this misplaced belief. Or perhaps the candle was aware that it was not a fairy.
The lantern's shadow swung in arcs across the wall. As sleep's sand touched my dry eyes, I began hatching a plan.
I felt I was sinking through the wood floor. As it wrapped around me, a bright spark formed in my chest and grew. The wind through my window at home. The broken window. If I could not fly for fear, then I would refuse fear. The spark rumbled. A hook at my throat, and the knife at my side. My fathers voice. The cracked lines that aged his face. Peter's silhouette set against harsh noon sun. And the spark was the sun itself. Blinding.
I woke in darkness again. I heard the tinkling of a tiny yawn. I went to her, and explained my goals in a hushed tone. She corrected some finer points, and approved them. After some time, some one finally came to our door. It was the older, second man.
"G'mornin' little girl. I am sorry about the bed here," he gestured to the floor where I slept.
"That's quite alright, good sir. I expect I am to be taken to the captain?" I straightened my skirt and re-tied my vest.
"That's right." He took me back out to the deck. The morning was still cold and gray. It was a damp day. The deck was slick. The droplets in the air were so small it was more cloud than rain. We re-entered the captain's quarters. The broken window was closed with wood and sail cloth.
Hook was at his desk, twiddling a curl between two fingers. A plate of food sat in front of him, untouched. Another was at my place. He motioned to it, face expressionless. We ate in silence for a time. I could feel him considering his moves. Knowing it was my turn. I took my time, politely finishing breakfast. Business at breakfast is bad form, after all. Finally, I folded my napkin neatly and looked to him. He stared for a second, then drew his chair up closer.
"Have you reconsidered my offer?"
"I have."
He was taken aback, "You have?"
"The boy is an enigma. I'd like to see what he's made of," I used words from my father. I was not a helpless seamstress now. Nor grieving sister, or mother. I was now I was a cold, calculating businessman. People would do as I said.
Hook smiled.
"Am I to understand you have a room ready for our work?"
His smiled widened, "I do."
"Far better than the little space in the attic I used at home, I'm sure."
He laughed, "I'm sure. Come, Miss Darling."