Day of the Dead (cont.) "Rosie-love?"

The girl opened her eyes and sat up in bed, seeing her father in the doorway. "Dad . . ." she whispered, sleepily.

"I'm sorry. Ye were sleepin," Mullins began to back-track, closing the door as he went.

"No, I wasn't," Rosie lied, stifling a yawn. Robert smiled and walked toward Rosie's bed, enveloping the girl in a hug. Rosie breathed him in deeply; she could still smell the ocean in his clothes. The ocean that he would probably be going back to in a couple of days.

Her eyes filled with tears, despite her best attempts to blink them back. "When are you leaving?" she asked, before she could stop the words from slipping out.

Mullins winced, feeling a stab of guilt in his heart. He put her and her mother through so much . . . he wondered grimly how long it would be before Rosie began to blame his absence for her problems the way Sarah did. While he was out at sea for all those years, he and his wife had become complete strangers. Robert hugged his daughter closer to him, unwilling to let her go 'lest the same thing happened between them.

"Much sooner than I'd like, lass. Believe me." Mullins kissed the top of her forehead and leaned back to look down at her. "You allright?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I know ye were listenin' to us fight."

"Oh . . ." Rosie smiled sheepishly, an apology on the tip of her tongue.

"Don't worry, you ain't in any trouble. And yer mother's right about some things . . ."

"But not the frying pan," sang Rosie, smirking.

"Aye, not the blasted frying pan."

Rosie giggled and leaned into the warmth of her father's arms. She remembered something then and gave a small cry. "I made something for you!" She reached under her pillow and drew out something that sparkled. Mullins couldn't make it out in the dark room, so he moved his fingers over it when Rosie placed it into his hand. It felt like a chain with a smooth shard-like attachment. "What is it?"

"Every night, I kiss it and pray for you to be safe. It's a protection charm. It'll keep you safe from bad things."

"Like demons and monsters, eh?"

"Yep!"

"An' frying pans?" he asked hopefully. Rosie burst out laughing and Robert joined in. "Well, whether it does or doesn't, I treasure it all the same," he chuckled, slipping the pendant into his shirt pocket. He reached out and caressed his daughter's face. "I love ye, Rosie."

"I love you too."

"You get some rest. And don't you worry bout them kids at school. If anyone bothers you, you give 'em a good pop in the nose!"

"I will," Rosie promised, lying on her back. Mullins brought the coverlet up to her shoulders and kissed her forehead. He turned back once more before he left to gaze upon her from the doorway.

"G'night," he whispered. "May angels guard your sleep."

"You too," Rosie replied softly as the door clicked softly shut behind Robert.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lunch eez served!" yelled the chef of the Jolly Roger, banging on a pan to signal to the other pirates. Ballast brought up the bowls and spoons from the galley; yet another job that should have been a certain cabin-boy's.

That certain cabin-boy was alternating between helping Mason carry piles of lumber across the deck, replacing rotten planks with new ones, and ever so often staring out at the sea forlornly. He's not coming back, if he knows what's good for him, kid, Ballast smirked inwardly and held a bowl under Cookson's ladle to hand to one of the approaching pirates.

Starkey and Mason exchanged looks as Smee started in on his stew with relish; the bosun was perhaps the only living thing on the ship who could stomach Cookson's food without complaint. "Come on, old chap, we might as well get it over with. What do you say, Billy?" Starkey asked, nudging the young gunner.

He shrugged miserably. "I don't know. I'm not hungry."

"Ya need something in yer stomach, even if it's made by Cookson. Come on now, I'm sure it can't be worse than breakfast," cajoled Mason.

"One can always hope," Starkey muttered under his breath.

Billy smirked slightly, overhearing the British gentleman's comment. "Why not . . . I guess I could use the distraction, since we're lacking for nourishment."

Cookson finished ladling out the portions of stew and once they had been handed all around, the men looked around apprehensively, as if daring one another to take the first bite. It was Starkey who braved the peril and his response was quite unexpected. "My gracious! Cookson, old boy, did you actually follow a recipe? This tastes marvelous!"

The men stared incredulously. "Are you joking with us?" Mason rumbled, frowning. He decided to see for himself, and his response also was similiar to Starkey's. "Keelhaul me for a porpoise! This is good!"

Mason's words were all the encouragement Jukes needed to try for himself. His shipmates were right; this wasn't bad at all! His hunger kicked in and he drank from the bowl of stew. He hadn't swallowed more than three gulps when a sharp pain stabbed through his abdomen like a knife. Mason, Starkey, Cookson, and Smee looked up in alarm as Jukes dropped the bowl and grit his teeth in pain.

"Jukes, you alright lad?" Mason asked, reaching over to the boy.

He groaned in response and seemed to be struggling to keep both lunch and breakfast down. Ballast was staring at the boy's bandanna where a small green light was pulsing that only he seemed to notice. His eyes narrowed as Billy lost the struggle and dashed over to the railing, shoulders heaving as he got violently sick over the side.

It seemed that Cookson's popularity had soared and fallen flat in the same instant. The men looked at him suspiciously and in unison set down their bowls, pushing them far away. Even Cookson was looking at the stew worriedly.

Billy spat dryly over the side, feeling drained, exhausted, and completely humiliated. A thick hand rested on his shoulder blade. "You allright?" Mason's voice asked in amused concern. Starkey was beside him, his expression mirroring Alf's.

"I'm sorry," Jukes apologized. "For once it tastes good and I had to go and ruin it for everyone."

"Heaven only knows what Cookson put in that stew, Mr. Jukes. Making it taste good may just have been a lucky accident," Starkey sighed, shaking his head.

"Are either of you feeling sick?"

"No . . ." Mason replied, thoughtfully. "I'm fine. You, Starkey?"

"Fit as a fiddle. Tis certainly odd, Mason . . . you and I were nearly finished and Jukes hardly had any . . . I'm starting to think it wasn't Cookson's food at all."

"Yeah," Mason said, a sudden new edge to his voice. Billy looked up to see both of the older pirates staring hard at Ballast. "I don't think it was either, Starkey . . ."

Billy's eyes widened as he realized what they were implying. "You don't think he did something . . .?"

"I wouldn't put it past him. Whatever the case, he's not gonna be in charge of any kitchen duty for a while if I have any say in the matter."
"I say, Jukes, what's this?"

Starkey's fingers lifted up Jukes' bandanna a little to see a silver chain fastened around the boy's neck. Jukes closed his hand around the green crystal and was surprised to feel heat emanating from it, as if the sun had been shining fully on it. "Something Robert gave me," he muttered.

"You miss him." It was more of a statement than a question, but Jukes affirmed it with a nod.

"Truthfully, I would rather Ballast had been the one to leave than Robert."

"I agree. The man's trouble, I tell you that. But for some reason, the Captain thinks he's valuable. Hook never would put up with such behavior if he thought otherwise," mused Starkey.

"I hate him," growled Billy, and pushed himself away from the railing to see if he could stand without provoking further nausea. He must have looked unsteady because Mason guided him back to it.

"Easy, boy. Ye don't have to move around just yet. We's still off duty for lunch."

"Aye, despite the fact that there's no lunch for us to eat. I certainly don't trust any food with Ballast presiding over it," sniffed Ignatious.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mullins' stomach growled painfully, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since the pitiful breakfast Cookson had prepared. If it there was one thing he wouldn't miss . . .

He sat up, wondering if he should go down to the tavern and get some lunch. He didn't feel like eating or being sociable, or even being around people. The noises downstairs, however muted, told him that the tavern was crowded with its usual patrons and then some. The thought of elbowing his way through a sweaty room just to force-feed himself wasn't very appealing. His landsickness would probably come back anyway.

He laid back on the bed with a sigh, feeling lethargic and cut off from the world. Perhaps he should take a nap? He dismissed that idea immediately. The room was too cold and his thoughts were not the kind one could sleep comfortably on. There were dreams and memories better seen awake than asleep and the ones in his head were those kind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Aye, Merry Christmas to ya too, lads!" Mullins called over his shoulder, as he walked down the gangway and onto the dock. Rosie and Sarah were not there to greet him, but he thought nothing of it since this was a surprise visit anyway. Traditionally, they would meet him here on Christmas morning, but this year he was going to be able to spend Christmas Eve with them as well. His heart praised the weather for being so placid this winter; letting him and his fellow crewmates finish their deliveries ahead of schedule.

He made his way home in high spirits, pack bouncing against his shoulders and filled with gifts for his two girls. "Rosie!" he called, knocking on the door. "Sarah!" He couldn't wait to see their faces when they opened the door and saw him standing there. But after a few more knocks, Robert realized they weren't home. Unusual . . . it was about six o'clock and the streetlamps were already being lit. Where would they be at this hour? Perhaps at a friends house? Mullins reached for the door handle and jiggled it, knowing it would be locked anyway ---

The door swung open at his touch. "Rosie?" he called. "Sarah!" They had to be home. They wouldn't leave the door unlocked if they had gone out . . . Something was very wrong here.

A soft coughing came from one of the rooms, followed by the sound of retching. Mullins swung thedoor shut behind him and hurried toward the sounds. "Rosie? That you, love?"

"Daddy . . ." came a pathetic mewl from the girl's bedroom. Heart beating in terror, Mullins opened the door and saw his daughter lying on her bed under the covers, face pale and specks of blood on her lips as well as the cream coverlet.

Robert knelt at once by her side, feeling her forehead. She was burning like a kettle on the cookfire. "Where's your mother?"

"Gone," coughed the girl.

"Where?"

"I don't know . . ." she moaned. Mullins gathered his daughter into his arms, rocking her gently and trying to calm her. Her body suddenly spasmed and shook with coughing. Robert winced at the severtiy; it sounded like she was tearing herself inside out.

"My God, lass, how did ye get so sick? I need to get ye a doctor!" He set her down and started to get up, but Rosie clutched his arm.

"Don't leave me. I'm scared. Mommy hasn't been back since the day before yesterday . . ."

Robert's blood ran cold. "The day before . . .? Ye mean, she left ye alone for nearly three days? In this state?" The girl needed a doctor immediately; she was probably starving and dehydrated besides. But first he needed money . . . much more than he had in his knapsack if he was going to be able to afford a doctor's services. He had sent his wages home to Sarah and she always kept them in a small box, hiding it under the floorboards in their bedroom should a robber break into the house.

Mullins entered the room and looked about him, noting that her bed was made as if she was never going to return. Please . . . please tell me she didn't do what I think she did . . . he fervently prayed to himself as he wrenched open the floorboards. He looked numbly down and let the sight before him confirm his worst fear . . .

The money box was empty . . . completely.

Inside his heart was screaming in denial, but his mind was fast and furious. She had abandoned Rosie. Fled for her own life for fear of catching whatever disease the girl had. His heart kept insisting it was impossible, that no mother would ever do this to her child, but his mind kept going back to all the times in the past in which Sarah had complained of living in such a small house, having no husband around to keep her company, falling to disgrace in the public eye, being borderline paupers. Perhaps it had all gotten too much for her and she had gone mad? But nothing could excuse this . . .

Mullins let the floorboards fall back into place and all but ran back to Rosie's room. He stopped short in horror; the girl was lying on the floor writhing in what looked like a fit, choking on something. Hurriedly, he lifted her up to the bed and held her forward, putting a finger in her mouth to try and clear the obstruction in her throat. His hand came away soaked in blood. It was then Robert knew that she was dying.

All he could do was hold her as she coughed up her life's blood onto the coverlet, turning it crimson. Do something, his mind screamed at him, although he knew not what he could do. The sickness was inside her, a place he could not heal. At last she grew limp in his arms and Robert worried that she was dead.

"Dad . . . I'm sorry," she choked out then.

"Sorry? For whatever are ye sorry?" Rosie had nothing to be sorry for. Sarah did, but that was not Mullins' concern right now. He held her feverish body close, letting her head rest against his shoulder so he could hear her words, however faint they were becoming.

"It didn't protect you . . . did it?"

Mullins remembered the pendant in the pocket within his shirt and tears sprang to his eyes. "It did protect me, Rosie. It's I who failed ye . . . I should have been here. Sarah was right, I should never have left ye alone . . . I'm sorry . . ."

Rosie didn't answer for a long time, breaths becoming farther and farther apart as the illness took over her small body. She felt a sense of peace overcome her. Perhaps because she was safe now that her father was near. She was just going to sleep for a while, that's all. "Goodnight, Dad . . ." she whispered, as the darkness pulled her in. Her eyes closed and her body became still.

Mullins could hardly speak through his tears, knowing that her spirit had passed away in his arms, although to all appearances, she looked as if she was just tired and dreaming of awakening on Christmas morning. "May angels . . . guard your sleep . . ." he managed to choke, before his heart shattered in incomprehensible and senseless grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Robert listened half-heartedly as the priest peformed the graveside funeral service for his only daughter. His thoughts were torn between his grief over Rosie and his anger at Sarah. Why? He asked himself over and over. Why had she done this? How he wished he could see her one last time, just to ask her that one question.

Never again, he swore darkly, as the priest spoke of Jesus accepting the bright spirit of Rosie Mullins into his arms to share with her the joy of Heaven. I will never love again. And whatever the punishment for a mother who lets her own child die in pain and loneliness, may Sarah to feel it tenfold.

"Amen," finished the priest, making the sign of the cross over Rosie's small grave.

Robert picked up a handful of earth and sprinkled it over the small coffin. He stayed and watched until the grave-diggers had filled the hole and smoothed it level with the rest of the churchyard ground. He felt a gentle hand on his arm and turned to face the priest's kind face. "I offer my condolences to you, my son. This ritual is one of the saddest I have ever been asked to perform on what was meant to be a joyful day for all. I can not begin to imagine how it tears at your own heart."

"It's me own fault," the man murmured, lowering his head.

"No, it is not," the priest reprimanded gently. "And before you argue, know that every parent who has ever buried a child has blamed themselves until their tears ran dry. It does naught but harm. You cared for your daughter and the heartache on your face lets me know that you loved her well."

"But not well enough. I should have been there . . . could have stopped this perhaps . . ."

"Ah yes, perhaps . . . it is a question you may ask yourself forever and a day. But if you cherish her memory always, she will never truly leave you."

Mullins blinked back tears and nodded. "Thank ye, Father Dominic, for yer service and yer words. I'll be takin' my leave now."

Without a backward glance, Robert set off toward the dock. He would always treasure Rosie's memory, but he swore he would forget Sarah's face; forget he ever loved her. And he would never come back to this city; now there were too many painful memories . . . he would sail elsewhere, loving no-one and fending only for himself.

With a newly hardened heart, Robert set off into the world, alone and intending to stay that way for very long time.

The priest looked after him sadly. To deal with such a tragedy was bad enough for any parent, but on Christmas . . . He was shaken out of his thoughts suddenly when he heard frantic voices calling his name. "Father Dominic!" Two men were trotting towards him, wheeling something resembling the remains of a woman in a wheelbarrow.

"Good heavens!" cried the priest, putting a hand to his mouth. "What happened? Who is this?"

"We just found her in a pile of melted snow in the alley. The watch didn't want to let us out of her sight since we were the ones who found her," spoke the younger of the two males breathlessly."We were privy to a lot of witness reports. It was all helter-skelter; I've never seen a watchman so upset. I only hope the rumors of the haven't reached the killer because I don't want the bastard to have any warning. Especially if there's a chance he'll be caught and brought to justice."

"What did you hear?"

"Exactly two nights ago," started the older man, "Some people living near the alley heard a struggle out in the streets. According to a lame old grandmother, a woman was begging someone not to take her money; her child was sick and she couldn't afford a doctor if he took it all. Whoever the heartless crook was he did take it all. She hadn't a penny upon her poor corpse."

The priest shook his head numbly. "Tis a woeful day indeed for our Lord."

"Aye, Father," the younger one sighed. "Death is everywhere it shouldn't be today . . ."

Dominic looked behind him, letting his eyes rest upon the grave of the child he had just buried. "That it is, my son. God save us all."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The hunger was becoming annoying. Mullins had reflected and relived the incident which had made him swear off love, women, and almost anything that had to do with land. The ocean was his home. He'd never been hurt on the ocean . . . not until today when Hook had cast him off deck like a bucket full of bilge water. Dimly, he wondered how Billy was taking it, especially with that lout Ballast . . .

Mullins ended his train of thought abruptly. Lout? What was wrong with him? Ballast was no mere troublemaker, he was a demon! Worried now, Robert got off the cot and walked toward the small window. Ballast's constant shifting form had confused him, perhaps; made him doubt his own sanity.

Also, Robert felt weaker; more docile and less ready for a fight. In fact, he felt more than just weak. He felt old . . .

"What's become of me?" he wondered aloud. "Have I really given up the ghost?"

Behind him, he heard the door swing open. "Who's there?" he asked, turning around. The question was not who, but what. Mullins found himself staring at a small and rather transparent young girl with cornflower blue eyes and a strikingly familiar countenance.

No . . . no it isn't . . .

The ghost stepped forward, reaching out for Robert, her mouth moving in an unmistakable 'Daddy'. Mullins shuddered, gasped, and promptly fainted.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ballast fumed to himself as he helped a crest-fallen Cookson carry the stewpot and bowls down to the galley to wash them. That stupid boy! Not one pirate had finished his stew; and here he'd been hoping they'd clamor for seconds in order to get the full dosage of his 'medicine'. This was going to set things back. And what the hell was that glowing thing?

"Ballast! What you waiting for? Dish-washing time!" yelled Cookson, tossing him a wet rag. Grumbling, Ballast set to work, scrubbing away. He was worried and knew he had good cause to be. The other pirates were suspicious of him; that much he could discern from the looks Mason and Starkey were giving him. Only Smee was idiotic enough not to make any connections.

On the brighter side of things, Captain Hook hadn't seen the little display on deck and he had surely finished his stew with relish. The men may not be under Ballast's control yet, but if the Captain was, perhaps it was just enough . . .

A loud crow filled the air for the second time that day. "Hoy!" Cookson yelped. He grabbed the nearest weapon which turned out to be a skillet, threw off his apron, and ran up toward the deck as fast as his chubby legs could go. Ballast heard other angry yells of recognition and realized that whatever was crowing was a threat to the Jolly Roger and he didn't want to be caught lollygagging about while the others fought it.

He arrived on deck in the middle of a strange melee. Flying boys were fighting the pirates wooden sword to cutlass. The Captain himself was tangling hook and dagger with what seemed to be the leader of the other boys and at first glance, looking quite infuriated as he did so. But as Ballast stared, he realized that the man was enjoying himself. Emotions were rather peculiar for someone who had just eaten what Ballast had prepared . . .

"Oy, Cookson," he yelled to the chef who was busy swatting Nibs away with the skillet.

"Wat?! Is you blind? Can't you see Cookson ees busy?!"

"I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle. How did the Captain like your stew?" Ballast asked, casually, looking for someone to fight.

"Cookson no give Captain stew! Stew for salty dogs like yous! Captain get special entree lobster wrapped in grape-leaves and barbequed on forge!"

Ballast cursed inwardly. So that's why Hook was unaffected. Ballast was back to square one. Hook noticed his lack of participation and glared. "Find yourself an opponent, ya brain-fried scurvy lummox, before I cleave your spine!"

"Codfish, you're getting better at insults!" praised Peter, effortlessly ducking Hook's swinging sword.

"Belay that talk, you mangy brat, and focus on the battle at hand!" roared Hook, though but for a split second he unmistakably grinned.

Ballast was going to have to make a name for himself. He had no control over anyone thanks to that fool of a cabin-boy; he couldn't afford to lose more face than he had already. His eyes scanned hurriedly for something he could do to prove his worth and found it while he watched Jukes struggle to load Long Tom. With a shark's grin, Ballast made his way over to the cannon and thrust the boy aside.

"Like I said, don't give a whelp a man's job," he smirked as Jukes struggled to regain his balance. When he did, the youth glared hotly at Ballast, then smirked back.

"Well in that case, Ballast, what are you doing here?"

Ballast snarled and reached for the cannonball in Jukes' arms. "Fork it over, sonny. There's some dishes for you to wash in the galley like a good little cabin-boy."

"If you want it, then by all means, take it!" Jukes growled, shoving the cannonball at Ballast. He fumbled to catch it, missed, and yelled in pain as it landed with a crunch on his foot. Billy winced. Now he was in for it. The cannonball would have surely broken a good half of the bones in the man's foot and Hook would have to pay compensation if Ballast was crippled. However, Ballast was no mere man . . .

He finished hopping up and down in pain, then set his foot down and glowered at Jukes with unsurpassed fury. "You'll pay for that, boy! By the time I'm through with you, your own mother won't recognize you!"

Jukes swallowed a yelp and did the only thing he could. He ran, with Ballast in hot pursuit. Caught up in the game of cat-and-mouse, the two did not notice the battle drawing to a close.

"Allright boys, let's heed Wendy and give back what we borrowed!"

"Aye, aye, Peter!" chorused the boys, dumping sail-cloth, rope, and rigging down on the pirates. Jukes lost sight of Ballast underneath a large piece of sail and looked up to see Slightly waving down at him. Billy barely had time to give him a quick grin before a loud roar and the sound of a sword slicing through material grabbed his attention. It was Hook rather than Ballast who had cleared himself a way out of the tangled mess, and the man delivered a string of curses that made a slight blush cross over Billy's face. He was going to have to remember some of those words; a few of them applied to Ballast quite accurately . . .

"Ar revuar, Captain Codfish!"

"It's 'Au Revoir' ya brainless ---GRAAAAAAAR!!! SMEEE!"

"Present, to be sure, Captain!" chirped up the bosun, popping out of a coil of rope.

"Where are the rest of the men?"

Collective groans sounded about and one by one the pirates tossed aside various objects in their fight to unbury themselves from the heap that was formerly a decent-looking main deck. Billy looked at a thrashing, struggling form before him and after doing a quick head-count of those who had emerged, slowly backed away knowing who was preparing to burst forth next -- most likely with the full intent of splitting him stem to stern.

"You'll pay for this boy!" the pirate screamed, and something sharp sliced through the cloth, ripping five long gashes in it. With a burst of shredded material, Ballast shoved and cursed his way out of the pile of debris and looked around for Jukes.

"What is the meaning of this display?" Hook growled at him. The other pirates stopped their task of clearing the obstructions for repairs to listen.

"That boy," hissed Ballast. "Decided to play a game rather than perform his duties. He deliberately disobeyed me and what's more, he struck out at me! Do you normally allow your cabin-boy to show such a display of disrespect to his elders? I weep to think how he must walk all over you."

Hook moved dangerously fast and within the next second had the tip of his claw pressed against Ballast's throat. "What have you been doing since you came aboard this ship? What line of work? Shall I tell you, since you don't seem to have nearly half the brains of one of Cookson's entreès?"

"The . . . duties of a cabin-boy," Ballast muttered.

"Exactly. Methought it would teach you some humility since you decided to target what looked like easy prey. I seemed to have been mistaken in that regard. You have learned nothing but even more contempt. Thus you will not only take over his chores in the galley, but you will take over all his chores, from morning till night, until I see an improvement."

"But what about what he did?!" Ballast protested. "Surely you won't let him get away with--"

"Gall and Brimstone!!!" interrupted Hook in frustration. "Are you a man or a sniveling school-boy?! If there is to be a punishment, it will be dealt out by me and no other!!! Is that perfectly clear?"

"Aye, aye," he replied sourly and Hook lowered the claw at his throat.

"Cap'n . . ." Mason spoke up nervously.

"What?!" the Captain snapped impatiently.

"Well, er, I don't think it's a good idea to leave Ballast in charge of the food, that's all . . ."

Hook studied Mason closely and saw that the man knew more than he was telling. "What happened, Mason?"

After a look exchanged with Starkey, Alf told what had occured less than an hour before the battle. The look that Hook gave Ballast next would have made him for his life if he wasn't already immortal.

Ballast was, however, afraid of other consequences than Hook could ever bestow upon him. If he failed Mandryd, he could look forward to an eternity of suffering. The more he watched himself falling from grace, the more he envisioned getting closer to the gates of his own personal hell.

And if he had to enter it, Ballast swore vehemently, he was taking someone with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The touch of a cold cloth was the first thing Mullins was aware of when he came to. The second thing was the hand that held it. And third, the fact that he could see the ceiling through the hand.

With a muttered prayer, Mullins got up and scrambled away until his back pressed against the wall. Trapped. He was trapped in here with a . . . with . . . No, it couldn't be. He was hallucinating. It couldn't be . . .

The girl stared at him and lowered her hand, letting the cloth drop to the floor. Mullins saw a sadness that went beyond Rosie's years and he shivered.

"Rosie-love, what happened to you? Ye've . . . changed . . ."

The girl's spirit moved closer to him and reached out to place a hand on his arm. Robert gasped as her 'flesh' connected with his; solid yet transparent, and the temperature of ice. Mullins took her hand in his and vainly tried to rub some warmth into it with his fingers, but Rosie shook her head and smiled.

He let his hands drop in defeat. "Rosie, I'm sorry . . ." he whispered.

Rosie looked at him for a few long moments, then lowered her gaze. She lifted a hand and pointed to the window, indicating the direction in which the Jolly Roger was harbored. With a prick of dread in his heart, Mullins remembered the danger his shipmates were in. .

Everything was happening so fast and so strangely that Robert's head swam. His daughter was here, but she was dead and he could barely touch her; there was a demon aboard his ship after God only knew what . . . Mullins should have been pressed against the wall shivering in terror from it all, but he was surrounded by a strange calm. Perhaps it was shock . . . or the fact that if he didn't do something and started freaking out, his shipmates would lose their souls to a dark and malevolent force.

Rosie's eyes were closed now and she seemed to be concentrating. As Robert watched, the ghost began to give a soft green glow. A glow that was reflected within the crystal around the neck of a sleeping young boy aboard the Jolly Roger.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ballast was laughing maniacally, his face melting and reforming into a creature that Billy had hoped never to face, even in his nightmares. The thing leaned close to him, licking away the foam on its lips, and Jukes cried out, trying in vain to back away. Something was behind him -- something hard and wooden -- and his arms would not leave his sides no matter how he struggled.

He looked around for his other shipmates and saw them standing in a stupor, unsure of what to do . . . perhaps even of who they were. Ballast turned his back on Jukes and barked to them in a series of grunts and clicks that may have been a language and they stepped toward him at once. But not to attack . . .

Jukes looked on in horror as one by one they kneeled before him, even Hook, and pledged obedience. Still speaking in the strange language, Ballast pointed at Jukes, then at Mason and Starkey. The two pirates rose and lurched unsteadily toward the boy, drawing their weapons. Billy's eyes widened in horror as he realized what the command had been..

"Shipmates, no! Mason!" he pleaded, "Starkey! Don't listen to him, he's a monster!"

Not heeding him or his cries, Mason and Starkey lifted their weapons and thrust forward, piercing Jukes' body. Billy cried out in horror more than pain, and thrashed helplessly in his bonds as they continued to stab him mechanically. He saw the blood flow from him as if in a dream; even could taste it in his mouth. Ballast gave another sharp order and Billy wondered what was coming next . . . He winced as the swords withdrew from him and weakly lifted his head to see the demon's face.

"Let him bleed to death," it said, this time so Billy could understand. "I want him to suffer."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, begorra!" muttered Smee when it was his turn to show his hand. "Go fish."

Mason and Starkey groaned and Cookson burst out laughing, slapping his thigh. "Smee!" he chortled. "Foolish fish-head, we playing poker! Wat you mean 'go fish'?"

"No . . . don't listen to him . . . please . . . he's a monster . . ." came a soft whimpering from one of the bunks.

"An' now just who're ye callin a monster?!" Smee yelled at Cookson, reaching for Johnny Corkscrew.

"Me not call you anything but fish-head . . ."

"Relax, Smee, it ain't Cookson. It's Jukes. E's havin a nightmare or somethin. Billy!" yelled Mason from where he sat. "Billy, lad, wake up!"

"I really wish Mullins wouldn't tell such frightful tales to the lad," sniffed Starkey. His eyes grew sad then as he realized Mullins wouldn't be telling any of his tales aboard the Jolly Roger again. Not unless the Captain allowed him to return.

Mason shook Jukes awake and the boy's eyes snapped open. He looked around frantically until his eyes adjusted enough to recognize his surroundings. Trembling all over, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

"Ees you allright, boy?" Cookson asked.

"Aye," he said faintly. "I . . . I just need to go above deck and get some air." Jukes stood up and avoiding the puzzled looks of his older shipmates, slipped out of the room. Mason shrugged and moved to sit down next to Starkey.

"'E'll be fine."

"Well," said Cookson, getting up and stretching. "Me better go get dinner ready. And this time, me make sure Ballast no come within ten feet of galley."

"How can he? He's in the brig coolin' his heels, remember?"

"Oh, that's right, eh? Cookson nearly forgot." The Chef shrugged and waddled toward the kitchen while Mason, Starkey, and Smee turned back to their game of poker.

Looking into the pot, Cookson sighed and shook his head. "How they think this taste good? It need more salt and olive-wine. Ey, wat this?" Cookson bent down to pick up a pouch. He looked inside and sniffed. When he could smell nothing, he reached into it and pulled out a pinchful of powder. He licked it, tasted it, and realized that it wasn't half bad. "Ah, perfect! Tis 'special spice', eh?" Cookson dumped a good half of the pouch's contents into the stew and put the rest aside for later.

He didn't wonder where or who the pouch's previous owner had been, didn't care that below in the brig, Ballast was cursing and searching frantically for something he had dropped. That he snarled in defeat, realizing he had probably dropped it up on the deck. That his eyes glowed suddenly and the keys hanging on the wall flew over to him and landed in his open palm. Cookson stirred the powder into the stew, thought of a song, and began singing it badly in italian.

Meanwhile, Billy watched the sun sink below the horizon of Neverland. He was surprised he had fallen asleep before dusk; usually he never slept deep enough to dream until lights out. And when he had nightmares, he was usually able to shake them off. But this one was staying. Admittedly, it had been horrible enough to last an impression, but it was impossible. His shipmates would never turn on him. And Hook would NEVER bow to another man like a mere servant. Yet Mullins had seen a demon when he looked at Ballast . . . and Ballast should be crippled from that cannonball, but the way he had chased Jukes across the deck proved that he wasn't even limping.

He looked down as he saw a glimmer of green light and his eyes widened as he saw the pendant as its source. What the . . .? Curious, he picked it up. The red circle of the sun was but a faint line of horizontal light; it couldn't be a reflection . . . It flashed brighter suddenly, and Billy gasped as he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Nice view, isn't it?" commented a cold voice.

Jukes spun around to come face-to-face with Ballast. "How'd you get out?" the boy demanded, hand reaching for his dagger.

"The Cap'n decided my little 'time-out' was over. He told me that perhaps we should 'talk' our differences out." Ballast advanced toward Jukes. "You know, make up for all those times we fought."

Not liking the man's tone, Jukes backed up. "If you harm me in any way, the Captain will have your throat in a noose before sunrise, cully!"

"My, my. Someone thinks their hide is worth far more than it is."

"Stay away from me," Jukes hissed.

"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to kill you, boy," Ballast said, leaning close to him. "I want you to suffer," he whispered.

I want him to suffer . . . Billy felt chills as the line was spoken with just as much venom as it had contained in his dream. Without warning a fist slammed into his abdomen sending pain rippling all the way up to his heart. Gasping, Jukes fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his midsection. He struggled to take in a breath and felt something hot against his chest. The pendant was glowing, this time so brightly that it made spots dance in his eyes. Which is why, when he looked up at Ballast, he at first doubted what he saw.

It was so horrible, Jukes didn't have the voice to scream. It was incomprehensibly terrifying, not because of its ugliness - though the twisted, foam-flecked demon's face was ugly enough to make Hook's mother a mermaid's equal - but because of the pure evil in its yellow rolling eyes; the death it meant for all who crossed it. Jukes whimpered, too captivated by the sight before him to see the kick aimed for his chest, slamming him against the wood of the ship's side. "What are you!?!" Billy screamed with fear and pain. Ballast paused, seeing the terror on the boy's face. Shaking, Billy covered his eyes to avoid looking at the demon's face. It had been bad in his dream, now it was unbearable.

Ballast stared hard at the boy. He knows . . . but how did he see? Ballast wasn't aware of dropping his mask of humanity as he had to frighten and upset Mullins. Somehow this boy had seen past the barrier. Which meant that Ballast could not afford to let him live - or rather, die the slow painful death he had planned earlier. Such a pity . . .

Having been stripped of his sword, the creature let his hand split and lengthen into five long claws. Get out of here! screamed a voice in Jukes' mind and he looked up just in time to see the ghastly weapon raising above his body. Hurry!

Jukes scrambled to his feet and darted past Ballast, taking the demon by surprise. It was short-lived as Ballast regained his footing and lunged after the boy, howling in mad blood-lust. The five-taloned hand raked viciously at him, nicking his skin but not close enough to tear the cloth. The few seconds of Ballast's hesitation had spared Billy's life . . . for the moment. There was only one place for him to go, and he would be leaping blindly into it; not knowing whether he'd land safely or in the jaws of the Croc. Fate was with him, however, and it was merely the night-chilled water that rised up to enclose over him.

Jukes began kicking with all his strength toward the shore. Ballast cursed and decided to pursue him later. Jukes was no threat at the moment. He had other problems.

Time was running out for him, and fast.

On to Part 3 (coming soon!)