Cassandra sat cross-legged under the shade of a palm-tree, idly drawing circular patterns in the warm sand with a stick. She had already been sitting here for several hours, waiting. Her joints were starting to cramp, and her side itched.
At least it wasn't as cold and downright terrifying as the Titanic incident – she'd certainly pulled the short straw on that assignment.
A distant splash carried over the water. She looked up, shading her eyes from the sun with one hand. It was barely midmorning but already the wind held the promise of a swelteringly hot day. Great, now her nose itched as well… and stung. Oh crap, of course she had forgotten to put on sunblock… of course she had.
In the far distance, a fleet of small boats were just visible, bobbing about on the waves as they made slow but sure progress towards the shore.
As they drew closer she spied Hook – for who else would be wearing such an outrageous jacket on such a balmy day. He was of course, in the lead boat and had assumed a dramatic pose. He stood, staring straight ahead, one boot on the rail, the other on the bottom of the boat and his good hand resting upon the hilt of his cutlass. It was a sight worthy of the artistry of Caspar David Friedrich and would probably have given many less cynical members of the female persuasion heart palpitations.
Cassandra hoped they came across a bumpy patch on the tide, she would love to see the expression on his unfairly photogenic face as he toppled over the side, hopefully to be devoured by mermaids or something equally voracious.
But alas, it was not to be, fate seemed to smile on the captain, for despite his ridiculously impractical pose, he reached the shore without incident. He alighted with a flourish, leaving behind footprints which slowly collapsed back into nothing.
There was some discussion among the men now milling about on the sand, but they were too far away for her to catch more than the odd word. Hook walked up and down, barking out orders, the men scrambling to obey – unloading an assortment of sacks, nets and other accoutrements – tucking some under arms and slinging others over shoulders.
The boats were hauled further up the beach, well past the high-tide line where they wouldn't be taken by the sea. A handful of men remained with them, having been relegated to mind the boats – a highly sort after position, considering the task ahead.
As they made their way towards her, Cassandra unfolded herself and stood up, dusting sand from her skirts. She remained where she was, under the tree, arms folded, waiting for them to reach her.
There were close to three dozen pirates – thin and wiry, hulking and grizzled, tattooed, scarred… one with hands so twisted they appeared to be on backwards… and to a man, all armed to the teeth. Only a skeleton crew must remain aboard the Jolly Roger, she fancied.
And of course, Hook himself, sporting an enormous hat trimmed with a blue feather. His coat was a rich, blue brocade, trimmed with jet lace and silver buckles – a brace of pistols were tucked into straps criss-crossing his chest and a cutlass rested easily at his side.
As he strolled up the beach, taking his time about it, making her wait – Cassandra couldn't help but feel a sliver of satisfaction as she noticed his stride was marred by a very slight limp. He was doing an admirable job of concealing it, but it was there and that was enough.
She didn't as a rule make a habit of stabbing people with their own pens, but there was something about the man which seemed to drive her to acts of violence.
As he approached, eyes piercing into her she stared back, taking care to let her gaze linger over the twinge in his stride.
'Miss Haversham,' he purred, 'I trust you remain in good health.' He flicked his eyes over her with a critical air, 'tsk, tsk… my dear young lady, you have allowed your complexion to be spoiled by a most appalling case of sunburn – I am dreadfully afraid that shade of red, does not become you.'
She smiled thinly, 'curse of the pale complexion you know, so sweet of you to notice… but then you were ever the gallant gentleman.' She scuffed her toe over the patterns in the san, obscuring them.
'Although it would be truly lovely to stand here and chat about how terrible I look and how pitiful your limp is, I fear we have much to accomplish in a relatively short time.' She turned her gaze towards the sky, 'and it would be best if we were done before we lose the light, this may take some time and the night is dark and full of terrors. Plus I don't want to sleep in a tree again, and certainly not anywhere near you.'
She half expected him to retaliate or say something mocking about little girls being afraid of the dark, but to her mild surprise, his eyes only narrowed and he nodded, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his cutlass.
'I assume you have come prepared,' she said a little sceptically, 'did you remember to bring everything I asked?' She hoped the man had been paying attention when she had been relaying the necessities of the plan. She had her doubts, but hope springs eternal.
He raised an eyebrow, twirling the end of his moustache between two fingers, 'your lack of faith pains me sweetheart. When I agreed to assist you I gave my word, and, Miss Haversham… I am a man of my word.'
As he said this a strange gleam flashed through his eyes. An involuntary shiver coursed down her spine as she remembered a similar look… his eyes clouding with ice as he promised to repay her for maiming him.
Cassandra didn't like the way Hook made her feel. He could be charming one moment, irritating the next and then in a heartbeat predatory and dangerous.
The mere fact he had managed to rile her up enough to stab him was worrying because it meant that he had in some small way gotten under her skin.
She wasn't squeamish when it came to violence, but she tried to be level-headed about it. It was one thing to assess a situation then calmly take action in the defence of one's own life, but it was an entirely different story to get mad and non-fatally stab a dangerous man… one she had to work with later.
And that wasn't even the point. Not that she'd ever been particularly good at following the rules, but it was in the missions statement: they were Time Agents – not the bloody Time Police. Time Agents weren't supposed to use force when other options were viable.
'Use your words,' her supervisor was always telling her, 'kill the wrong person and you screw up the timelines. Another agent will have to be assigned to scrub up your mistakes and you'll end up in head office explaining yourself.'
Cassandra only hoped his cooperation would last long enough for her to clap Walter in irons. After that, she had no compunction about striking first if it came to that, rules be damned.
Cassandra realised she had let her train of thought get away from her again, because they were all staring at her. She probably looked like she was possessed or something. Oh well, a little aura of mystery never hurt anyone.
'Excellent,' she said, grinning wolfishly as she shouldered her satchel, 'shall we press on then gentlemen.' Without bothering to wait for a response, she spun on her heel and began walking away in the direction of the tree-line. Towards the deep, dark forest through which, barely days before she had run for her life.
A steady crunch of leaves behind her indicated they were at least following her, but, she did not turn around. Here, in amongst the trees with the shadows dancing madly across the ground, there was a tangible drop in temperature. It felt as if all the warm air had been siphoned out of the atmosphere. Out on the beach the weather had been hot, almost tropical but under the dark leaves a chill hung in the air – cold and damp.
For a moment, a wave of doubt nearly swamped her. In her obvious haste to remove her person from the area, she had hardly been paying the closest attention to her surroundings. It was debatable whether she actually knew where she was going.
Out of the corner of her eye a flash of blue appeared and Hook materialised beside her, sweeping a low-hanging branch out of his path with a flick of his hook.
Weeell, then, that decided that. There wasn't even the slightest possibility she was going to admit to him she wasn't entirely sure where the heck she was going. His first reaction would probably be to laugh at her, his second… well… that wasn't something she particularly cared to find out.
So, they were just going to have to press on and hope for the best while she shamelessly pretended she had the whole situation under control.
They walked on in silence for what she estimated to be around half an hour. As they pressed further into the tangle of trees she began to recognise the odd familiar location… a particularly twisted tree… an unusually large rock.
Cassandra had already decided she whole-heartedly hated this place. It felt empty, dead – almost evil. She understood now, why so many horror stories and cautionary folktales were set in the woods. Out here you felt totally alone, never knew what might be watching you through the branches…
As she picked her way over the uneven ground, wincing slightly as her boots snapped the odd twig, she snuck a look at the man beside her. Although he was a good deal larger than her, he moved with almost unnatural stealth, generating barely a sound with his passing. It was wildly unfair, she was sweaty, sore and itchy and 90% sure her face was glowing like a beacon, whereas, he looked as cool and collected as ever, nary a hair out of place.
It was unsettling. He was unsettling – so tall but with all the predatory grace of a big cat.
The setting reminded her of a poem – long-since read and almost forgotten: Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; what immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
'Ah, William Blake,' Hook remarked, swiping away another branch.
Cassandra was mildly impressed he recognised the quotation. Currently irrelevant but still interesting, this information put his birthdate somewhere after the 1770s.
'I didn't know you liked poetry,' she said conversationally, scrambling over a log.
'I reap enjoyment from many things – however I must give my English master credit for drumming that particular verse into my head,' he replied, vaulting over the same log with barely a break in his stride.
Cassandra nodded, and they continued a little further in silence.
'So you went to Eaton?' she said. It was more of a statement than a question.
'I had that pleasure. My father, whoever the man was, while not actually deigning to acknowledge me in any other material way, at least ensured I was given a halfway decent education,' he replied, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.
Cassandra laughed humourlessly, 'at least yours did that much for you. My dear old dad was three-quarters drunk, two-thirds of the time and completely plastered the other third. He liked to give us a hiding with the sharp end of his belt if he could catch us.'
Hook barked out a laugh, 'a not entirely unjustified course of action in relation to your fair self, upon occasion, I have no doubt.'
Cassandra rolled her eyes, 'do you try to be unpleasant or is it a default setting. At least you got an education. We were all dirt poor, and, there were nine of us kids, we had to work to live.'
She grinned suddenly, 'I did however do a spell at Eaton myself later on though. Much, much later on. It was well after your time. It also may have been… well, kind of, a little bit… come to think of it, definitely my fault, it, sort of… burnt down in a tragic and totally unintentional accident…'
Hook frowned and appeared to be about to inquire further, but before he could speak, Cassandra skidded to an abrupt halt, arm extended to stop him.
'We're getting close… at least, I think we are,' she amended. 'The general area looks familiar, and the trees just got a whole lot creepier. Since maintaining an element of surprise is important to the overall plan, as well as our continued survival, I think it best I reconnoitre ahead. Alone.'
'I agree,' Hook replied quietly, drawing and cocking a pistol, 'the rest of the men will remain here, and any who raises a noise will face the consequences upon my return. I however, will be accompanying you.'
'I don't think so,' Cassandra hissed.
'Oh, but I must insist. This may well all be a ruse, a trap... a subterfuge. I have no assurance you have not made some sort of covenant to deliver us straight into their tender embrace.' The Captain smiled, his eyes cold and very blue as he ran the tip of his hook gently along the barrel of his pistol, 'and in the event of such an occurrence, I deem it wise to lay down some form of insurance. Namely myself and the accompanying knowledge that I will gut you without hesitation should you cross me.'
'You could try,' Cassandra muttered, but grudgingly even she had to admit to herself that there weren't really many relevant arguments for arguing the toss on this one. She already knew he could move with uncanny silence, and it wouldn't exactly hurt to have an extra pair of eyes.
She sighed theatrically and threw up her hands, 'fine. You can come. Just try not to do anything stupid and remember to follow my lead.'
Hook gave a slight nod and signalled to his men to maintain their position. At least, Cassandra mused as they moved forwards cautiously – since she could trust him not to put his own life in jeopardy, he would probably listen to her… for now.
They kept very low to the ground, taking care to leave the debris littering the forest floor undisturbed. After creeping forward through the trees for several hundred meters – she thought she could make out the clearing and the enormous tree at its core.
There was a flicker of movement not far away. Cassandra dropped down behind a shrub, dragging Hook with her, ignoring his grunt of annoyance as the bottom of his coat came into contact with the damp earth.
They crouched there motionless, eyes fixed on a single scruffy, adolescent boy who floated down through the trees and scampered off into the clearing with a series of animalistic yells.
Cassandra was unspeakably glad that Hook had abstained from wearing his habitual scarlet for once. The man might be flamboyant to a fault, but he wasn't a complete idiot.
After a few minutes of peering over the shrubbery, Cassandra shuffled around on her knees to face Hook and mouthed 'time to go.'
Bent low she crept back, flitting behind the trees and occasionally glancing behind as Hook followed her, silent as a shadow.
The pirates were still exactly where they had left them – extended exposure to the notoriously volatile captain had long since educated them to the merits of silence – albeit a rather sullen one. They were a superstitious lot and to say they didn't wish to be here, was putting it lightly.
At Hook's order, in pairs they grudgingly took up position scattered through the trees – nets held at the ready. Some scaled trees to string nets up where flying boys might careen into them – were they paying less than usual attention to their surroundings. Others strung their nets between the trees at mid-height or crouched low to the ground, ready to be pulled taut at a moment's notice.
They were under strict orders to sound the alert the moment that a lost boy was contained, and then they would all haul ass out of there as fast as humanly possible.
Now for the unpleasant part, Cassandra had to walk back up there and poke the proverbial bear with a very big stick. She might just throw up first. Or faint. Or run away screaming in the opposite direction. It wasn't too late to say screw them all and join the settlement. But no, she wasn't a coward so she squared her shoulders and stuck to her guns.
Hook watched with slight amusement the rather interesting array of expressions which worked their way in rapid succession across Cassandra's face. She shifted from one leg to the other, closed her eyes, tilted her head from side to side, rolled her shoulders, sucked in a couple of deep breaths and then took of back towards the clearing, apparently having psyched herself up enough to do the deed.
There was almost absolute silence for an inordinately long amount of time. Almost too long. Hook began to wonder if she had been struck down without warning, or captured. But, he fancied if she had been set upon, there would have been a few more shrieks – on both sides.
Then came the faint pounding of running feet followed by a mad cacophony of whoops and yells, as if all the creatures of hell had been spewed forth to torment them.
As these sounds grew closer the pirates grew tense, eyes wide – watchful and home to more than a hint of terror. Hook's crew were vicious, murderous cutthroats – rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves – they pillaged and plundered, kidnapped and ravaged without the smallest ounce of regret. But, they were intimately familiar with what these unnatural children could do to a man, and this struck fear into even the blackest buccaneer of them all.
This fear pulled taut like a bowstring, until finally it was overreached, and snapped. An enormous grizzled pirate, every inch of him tattooed, turned tail and ran. Without turning around, Hook raised his pistol and shot the man in the back. The ball passed clean through his chest to bury itself with a hail of splinters, in the trunk of a tree.
'The next man,' Hook said calmly, 'will take a shot to the leg. After serving as a plaything to the demon spawn, he will beg for such a merciful death.'
The unfortunate who had sought to flee, took a final rattling breath, and with a gurgle expired, a pool of blood leaking out of his ruined chest to soak into the hungry ground. Hook reload his pistol.
Cassandra burst through the branches and hurled herself down beside Hook who was concealed behind the trunk of an enormously tall and thick pine tree. She stayed there, eyes level with his boots, breathing hard.
Seconds later, the horde came careening down – ready for blood.
The nets, made of very thin, but strong cord, nearly invisible among the leaves were pulled taut.
Hook raised his pistol.
Cassandra scrambled to her feet, reaching for the knife in her boot.
There was a chaos of sound.
The crashing of branches.
The snap of ropes.
A pistol shot.
Yells of surprise, rage, glee.
Screams of pain.
A pistol shot.
The wet, meaty thunk of steel through flesh.
A single voice, almost desperate in its articulation, resounded through the pandemonium – 'we caught one!'
'Retreat,' Hook bellowed, 'damn you all, run! And if the brat doesn't make it to the boats I'll skin the incompetent fool responsible ALIVE!'
So they ran. Faster, and harder than they had ever run before.
The air was heavy with the scent of blood, gunpowder and fear. Men were falling all around as Cassandra dodged through the trees. A man went down just in front of her, an arrow protruding through his left eye-socket and another through his thigh. She skidded and would have gone down with him if Hook hadn't grabbed a fist-full of her collar and yanked her along with him.
He released her, and turning, fired behind him, each pistol finding its mark, sending a flying boy hurtling downwards to his death. Normally Cassandra wouldn't advocate child murder, but under the circumstances, she wasn't judging. Without time to reload, he shoved the pistols back into his belt and kept going.
There was an unholy shriek as several men crashed down into perhaps the self-same pit Cassandra had herself escaped only days before.
Cassandra's vision was beginning to tunnel and her leg was on fire. Sweat rolled down her back and her breath burned down her throat.
There appeared to be an inexhaustible number of lost boys pursuing them, whenever one fell, there seemed to be two or three more to take his place. Every one more wild and baying for blood than his comrades.
With a final crash, the fleeing pirates catapulted out of the forest and onto the beach. The men who had been left to mind the boats snapped to attention, scrambling to unload their muskets into the midst of the pursuers.
There were a final few bloody minutes of battle before the boys turned and melted into the trees, apparently satisfied with their sport for the day.
The remaining pirates were rather a sorry bunch. More a third of their number had fallen along the way, and many of those remaining had not escaped unscathed.
Cassandra remained relatively unharmed, but was doubled up, clutching her stomach and wheezing as she tried to get her breath back.
Hook was bleeding from a long scratch which ran down the side of his face but otherwise seemed composed and insouciant as he cleaned and reloaded his brace of pistols.
Cassandra straightened up, still breathing heavily, but no longer winded. 'Did we get one?' she asked, 'I really hope we got one, because I will not be doing that again.'
As it transpired, they indeed had captured one of the band of merry miscreants. Two of the pirates, had netted a small and rather scrawny specimen and, had somehow managed to keep a hold of him in the melee, although they had received more than a few vicious scratches for their trouble. He lay on the sand, twisted up in the net like an unusual fish, wriggling, kicking and swearing. His vocabulary was both colourful and inventive.
'Excellent work,' Hook said, 'two extra tots of rum for the both of you. And, an extra ration for every man still fit enough to swallow.' There was a universal cheer at this, for nothing warms the heart of a pirate, despite any recent brushes with death, than an extra helping of rum.
As the boats were reloaded, Cassandra watched, uncertain of how to precede. She didn't deem it particularly wise to remain on the beach after what just transpired, and it was now rather bloodstained in places. However the last two visits she had paid the Jolly Roger hadn't exactly panned out well.
The thought of a hot meal, a hot bath and a decent bed won the day so she climbed into one of the boats and sat back, rubbing at her leg.
Hook boarded the same boat, and sat down beside her.
'My congratulations on the success of your enterprise,' he said as the boats were rowed back, slower than before due to the universal weariness of their occupants, to the ship. 'Although I lost a deal more men than I bargained for.'
'I didn't think you were overly concerned about the general well-being of your crew,' Cassandra replied, 'you seem to shoot enough of them yourself.'
'That may be true, but the loss of too many able-bodied sailors is always to be mourned. A captain can hardly call himself a captain if he has no crew.'
As they sat there, the sky darkening to night and the waves splashing gently all around them, for the first time in a long time, a companionable silence floated between them. How long this new found amicability would last… well, only time and the coming events would tell.
A/N:
I would like to dedicate this chapter to my dear, sweet, sister, Lucia. Luckily for Hook you're not the main character of this story – I doubt he'd still have all his limbs. Stay creepy and good luck with the bone collection.
I would also like to dedicate it to BookRain who has been patiently waiting for me to update for months
So firstly' I'd like to apologise for being a bad writer and not updating for ages, but real life kind of got in the way. I had finals at uni, but the good news is I passed law and all my other courses, so worth it. And then, I went away on holiday for two weeks, and the people I was staying with got Netflix while I was there, so obviously I watched that for hours instead of doing anything productive.
Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and followed so far, you guys are the reason I keep writing.
Relating to the Story:
David Caspar Friedrich was a painter who produced some very dramatic pieces – google Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog and you'll see what I'm talking about.
I referenced a couple of pirates from the book – ie Noodler with his hands on backwards and Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed.
Spot the Game of Thrones reference, there's a Doctor Who one in there as well, but it's less obvious.
I quoted the song Yo Ho (A Pirates Life for Me) from the Pirates of the Caribbean Disneyland ride. There were a bunch of other Pirates of the Caribbean references, in there as well.
Tyger, Tyger is a poem by William Blake which I studied in school.