The eerie notes of a lonesome harmonica echoed over the cove. The wailing music came from a large wooden ship floating gently on the waves. Weak lights flickered in the portholes and a lone lamp swung on its rope on the deck.
The ship was large and strongly built, it's hull shone waxy in the moonlight. Tall sturdy masts stood straight up cloaked in white sails which were at the moment hanging limply. Raucous laughter spilled out as the door to the galley opened. A man stepped out and shut the door, cutting off the talk and laughter of a large group of men. The solitary man walked to the edge of the deck, looking out towards the shore. A lock of his pale golden hair rustled against his forehead in the night breeze. He brushed it aside and narrowed his eyes, there was movement out on the water. A dark shape drew closer, and soon he could hear the lapping of oars against the ocean.
He gave a piercing whistle, which was then returned. He grabbed a rope ladder rolled up on the deck and threw it over the side. Soon another man, shorter, yet broader than he, with thick black hair and beard, pulled himself up over and onto the deck. He swung a sack from his back and threw it down. It made a strange squelching sound as it hit the wooden floor.
"Cap'n Hook is not going to be pleased," He intoned gruffly.
"How many returned, Silas?" The blonde man asked.
"Three of the five we sent out." The men he referred to had also pulled themselves over the railing of the deck and were beginning to hoist the small rowboat up and out of the ocean–securing it to the side of the ship.
"Well then, Phillipe, who will have the honor of bringing this news to the Captain?" Silas scratched at his beard and adjusted his belt, which held two large flintlock pistols on either hip.
Phillipe sighed, "I'll deal with it this time." He swiped up the bag and began to make his way towards the Captain's room.
"Oh, and one more thing Phillipe. The men say they saw Pan carrying someone up the mountain."
Phillipe didn't turn around but asked over his shoulder, "A lost boy?"
"No...a girl." Phillipe froze as Silas began to laugh, "Good luck with the Captain", and he wandered off towards the galley to get a pint of grog.
Phillipe continued his slow journey to the captain's quarters, wishing he had not volunteered. It was just like Silas to hold back that bit of news until he had taken up the task, the bastard. He made his way down narrow stairs and through a short hallway. At the end of it was a door of solid oak, heavy and edged in intricate metal designs. He tapped lightly on the door then pressed on the latch and pushed it open.
The room was dark, one candle flickering on the large desk at the back of the room. There was a bunk with a thin mattress on the left side, a heavy chest, and a chair on the right. The desk was covered in maps and parchment. Two porthole windows at the back allowed some moonlight to trickle through, but not enough to reveal the figure sitting at the high back chair behind the desk. Their feet were propped up on the desk and they ran a rag almost lovingly over a glinting sabre.
Phillipe cleared his throat and they stopped shining the weapon and laid it on the desk. "Captain, the scouts have returned."
Silence.
"Silas brought Jeffers and Wots back." Phillipe opened the satchel and removed two objects from it. He lifted them and placed them on the desk.
The Captain didn't react to the two severed heads now sitting on their desk, opened mouths and dead eyes staring blindly at them. Instead, they took their legs off the desk and stood. A right hand appeared in the dim light, fingers splayed on the desk. And then the left arm appeared, but where a hand should have been, a wicked-looking metal hook stabbed itself into the surface of the desk with a grating thud.
"Captain..." Phillipe tried to cajole but they swiped at the heads, tossing them against the wall. The heads bounced and rolled towards Phillipe's feet and he subtly shifted away from them.
"Are you incompetent, Phillipe?" a low, husky voice asked.
"No, Captain–"
"Then am I a fool?"
"No, Cap–"
They slammed the hook down again, "Then why the hell can't any of my men seem to find one single boy on an island that we've been on for eight years!"
"Captain, Pan is a crafty one, and the Lost Boys know these woods. The men you send are sailors..."
"Are you criticizing my choices?" The voice had a steely edge to it.
Phillipe quickly backtracked, "No of course not, it's just the men..."
"Of course, of course. Who led the scouting party?" Understanding layered with sinister sarcasm gave Phillipe chills.
"Co...Corey, Captain."
The Captain leaned forward, her face finally illuminated by the candlelight. Dark eyes glittered, "I want the wheel prepared for tomorrow. I plan to put on a small exhibition. It is clear to me that my men need...motivation."
Phillipe's stomach roiled, and he swallowed, "Yes, Jocasta." He paused, wishing he did not have to deliver the next piece of news.
Jocasta Hook did not miss a single thing. "What else, Phillipe."
"The men say–" he hesitated.
"Well, spit it out!"
"The men say they saw Petyr with a girl."
Jocasta tensed, her eyes narrowed, "A girl?"
"Yes." Phillipe cringed, stepping back in case–
Jocasta's full lips pulled into an ominous smile, Phillipe could feel his heartbeat increase.
"This is pleasant news, Phillipe. It has been so long since I've had any fun." her voice was sickly sweet, "Now, leave me. I have more plans to make."
Phillipe didn't need any more urging and he swiftly left the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.
Jocasta Hook turned from her desk and strode to the porthole to look out over the calm ocean. "Oh, Petyr. You just couldn't resist could you?" Her laughter was without mirth, instead, it was dark and eager. "I am coming for you Petyr Pan, soon."
