neverland_is_forever@yahoo.com


Chapter Two: Puerto Bello, Part I

"Full sail, Mason!" Hook shouted from on deck, watching his men unfurl the canvas with a grim satisfaction. "The Jolly Roger must have sufficient speed to set a course through those damnable mists."

From his perch on the mainmast, Mullins stared out into the rolls of approaching fog. He shivered. "I can't see a blasted thing. 'Tis witchcraft, I say. We'll never make it out alive."

"Cut it with the superstitious nonsense," Starkey snapped. "Don't you cause enough problems around here without fear as a distraction?"

"I'll give you a distraction!" Mullins shouted, standing up on the wooden bar, swinging his sword to take swipes at the eloquent pirate of so many words.

"Less jabbering, more hammering!" Hook's voice bellowed, echoing up from below. "Gall and brimstone! Get those ropes secured to the mast double quick, or I'll have you all dragged along with the anchor!"

The men groaned and sped up the work pace. Mullins grumbled, sitting back down next to the crow's nest. "I'm tellin' ya," he turned to Jukes, "I'm gonna feel yards better when we're safely docked and looting on the coasts of the Spanish Main."

Jukes said nothing, but nodded a little nervously, tensing and looking about him.

Mullins continued. "Keep a sharp lookout, matey. I ain't never seen anything that comes close to this stuff. There's no tellin' where we'll turn up!" He wiped the sweat off his brow and glanced out to sea again, as if expecting to spot flying banshees and specters looming on the horizon.

"If we sailed into Neverland this way," Jukes commented, "it would be the most plausible route for sailing out."

"Mayhap," Mullins shrugged. He leaned close to the young gunner and whispered in his ear. "There's evil in it, nonetheless."

Jukes looked worried. "Aye, Mullins, but keep it to yourself. Don't let the Cap'n overhear you, or he'll string you up. You know how he hates talk about the supernatural." Jukes grabbed a coil of rope and busied himself with tying knots. You've even given me the creeps, and I don't scare easily."

"BOO!"

"Aaaah!" Billy jumped two feet into the air, trembling and shrieking. "Help! Help! Get it away from me!"

Starkey rose up over the rim of the crow's nest and out of his eavesdropping spot, grinning. "I think you may be a few barrels shy of what we gentlemen prefer to call 'courage,' Jukes," he lazily remarked, accenting the name in an obnoxious manner.

Billy immediately discovered the ruse. "Oh, it's just you," he replied sarcastically, pushing Starkey with one outstretched hand and sending him over the side He screamed and clung to a mast for dear life.

"I say, that was quite uncalled for," Starkey gasped, fighting to secure a foothold.

Jukes leaned over the side of the structure and waved down at him. "So sorry, old pal," he smirked. "My hand slipped." He grinned.

"Sit down, lad," Mullins chuckled. "Save the energy for port."

"I can see you're really itchin' for a fight." Billy watched Mullins polish his blade, admiration in his eyes.

"It's been too long since I cut a man's throat." Mullins growled. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I've forgotten how!"

"Zat not what I mees," Cookson piped up cheerily. "Me git some good grub 'n' ale in me. Fine vining and dining, ja!"

The crewmembers looked at each other for a minute, then burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"I say, Mason," Starkey gasped, wiping an eye, "What are you looking forward to, old chap?"

"Gold. Lots of treasure," Mason answered. "I suppose you'll be after the wenches again, eh?"

"Not wenches," Starkey corrected him, waving a finger. "Women! The finest lasses of the Western World, flocking in droves from the streets of Port Royal to the shores of the savage lands, all the way to Maracaibo's taverns!" he exclaimed. "All waiting for a debonair nobleman of class to sweep them off their feet with my unsurpassed wit and divine performances of poetry and prose." He adjusted the feather on his hat, imagining many scenes of charm and pleasantry with a smile.

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Mason sighed, batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands in mock emotion. "Don't forget to bring your purse, Sparky. Their prices will go sky-high once they spot you." He smirked and shoved the startled pirate's hat down over his face.

"That's- mmmph. NOT-Rrrph! FUNNY!" Starkey tugged at the cap and finally managed to tug it loose of his jaw, spitting out bits of fabric. The pirates were guffawing hysterically, trying not to lose their balance and fall off the narrow lengths of wood.

"Careful there, Sparks, don't lose your temper!" Jukes laughed.

The Englishman sniffed. "Coins, indeed," he muttered.

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The Mists. Time Unknown.

"Are you sure Neverland is this way? We need to stop soon! I'm awfully tired." Peter's voice barely cut through the thick fog that blanketed the sky.

"Of course I'm not sure! I can't see a blasted thing!" Tink exclaimed in exasperation. "We've gone too far, Peter. It didn't take half this long to travel into the future. We should turn around, now!"

"Relax, Tink," Peter smiled self-assuredly. "The island's bound to be around here somewhere."

The irked fairy sighed, too tired too argue. "Stupid…human," she yawned.

The clouds shifted. Tink glanced ahead, did a double take, and darted over to Peter, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. "Um. Peter, there's something you ought to know."

"Ssh!" the boy whispered. He peered into the unconscious girl's face. "I think she's waking up."

"This is important!"

"Not now, Tink."

"But Peter-"

"I said, not right now! Can't you see that I'm-"

He never had a chance to finish. There was a low, rumbling sound, and a loud shriek followed. Tink barely had time to yank Peter downwards before a cannonball nearly took off his head. It whizzed past them in the air, the deadly arc narrowly missing its target before plunging back towards the sea below.

Peter lifted his head up, astonished. A standard shot couldn't reach that far, not to mention that high. It was unattainable perfection. No one was that good.

"That nearly killed us," he said quietly. He looked down at the miles of ocean, then at Tink, nonplussed. "We're above water?"

"I was trying to tell you about our present… complications," Tink replied crossly. "Apparently, we seem to have traveled a little farther back in time than I'd hoped. The ships in the harbor over there, and the fortifications-" Tink rapidly indicated the images on the coastline in succession, "-look Spanish to me. That is, if I remember my mortal history correctly." The fairy squinted, trying to make out the blurs from a couple of miles away. "And judging from the climate, the designs of the walls and the gunnery, I'd say we're stuck somewhere in the late sixteenth or seventeenth century Spanish Main."

"Well, that's a new one." Peter bent to check the girl's breathing, then straightened, realizing what was wrong. "The mists!" he cried, swiveling around frantically. "Where are they? We can't get home!"

"I know, dunderhead. We'll have to wait here temporarily. They'll return in a couple of hours, a day at most."

"A day?!?" Pan screamed. "We don't have a day to work with here! Your patient is comatose!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Peter," Tink admonished scornfully. "She'll be fine, really. Besides, I'm a little more concerned about this little problem at the moment." She pointed to the galleon that had attacked them. It was less than several hundred yards off. A flag clearly displaying a skeleton and bleeding heart waved in the breeze. "I'd suggest flying out of firing range and fast. Although I have no idea why anyone would think to fire up here, or at us…"

Before she could say anything to stop him, Pan swooped lower, nearing the mainmast. "What the-" he murmured. He stopped short, paling. It was impossible.

"Not to alarm you or anything," Tink shouted, "but they're reloading!"

He knew that ship. No wonder the shot was so perfect! The lone, sleek gunman, the cannon molded like an alabaster statue, and a large man in black, adjusting his hat with a curiously odd- shaped hand that gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun...

"Tink, go!" Peter yelled, turning around and flying as fast as he possibly could. His muscles ached from holding his refugee for so long. And we're centuries from home…

"As if I wouldn't!" Tinkerbell answered, zooming up beside him and the stirring girl. "Did you see anything?"

"Yes," Peter grimaced. "I saw Hook."

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"Peter Pan spotted! Four degrees off the port bow!" Mullins shouted, peering through an eyeglass at the figures traveling fast towards shore.

"Aiming there now," Billy Jukes answered, straining to wheel Long Tom around for another.

"Aye, Jukes," Hook remarked cynically. "But will you fire in time, or will Pan have reached shore before you've loaded?" He turned to the remainder of the crew, summoned on deck. "Well?" he shouted. They fell over each other, scrambling to assist the young gunner.

"Shell and mortar?"

"Blast him out of the skies."

"Yes, sir. You heard him, Jukes!" Smee repeated sternly. "Blast him out of the skies, and double-quick. Hurry up, ya lazy bilge rat!"

Jukes gritted his teeth. Bilge rat? Someday I'll show you what it's really like to pump the hold, he thought silently.

Billy was steaming, but he swallowed his pride and shoved the necessary powder in the barrel in silence. The rest of the crew was about as able to work the artillery as Smee was capable of evading stupidity for more than a minute. Luckily, the reserve cannon gallery rarely required use, and Jukes knew the Jolly Roger wouldn't survive a battle without him. So he continued to work without protest.

The gunner stepped up to the fuse with flame in hand, tensed and waiting for the Captain's signal.

"Fire!" Hook shouted.

At the captain's command, Jukes held his breath and lowered the stick to the cannon.

The gunpowder exploded in a flash of sparks, shaking the deck as the missile launched from its holster. The extra gunpowder was dangerous, but hitting a flying target at that distance required no less than a full kick.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n," Mason interrupted. "But are we gonna chase that boy all day if we miss, or are we gonna raid like pirates?" He shook his head. "Did the lad follow us?"

"I know neither his origins nor his oracles, Mr. Mason. That boy is free to tramp about and follow whatever fate he pleases." The contempt in Hook's voice was unmistakable. "It serves common logic to make the best of our present circumstances," the captain chortled, an evil glint in his eyes, "and that is precisely what we are doing. If he escapes, Pan will eventually return to Neverland. And rest assured, we will be there to give him a warm welcome."

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"Look out!" Tink cried. Peter could fly at a decent speed, but Jukes had predicted the trajectory to line up with his pace. The cannonball was in his path before he had ever flown it.

The shell exploded, sending shrapnel whistling through the air as Pan threw himself to one side and Tink to the other. Peter's nosedive towards the sea rudely shook the girl, wresting her from unconsciousness. It was less of an awakening than it was a free fall towards the water.

She didn't have time to scream. They fell almost a hundred feet, the blue rushing up at lightning speed with nothing to stop them from meeting it. She shut her eyes, gasping for sanity right before they hit.

Suddenly, she wasn't falling anymore. The girl opened her eyes, astounded to find that she and Pan were gliding a few feet above the waves. Peter had righted himself and resumed his steady grasp so that she wouldn't fall.

"What- what the hell was that?" The words emerged in a half-whisper, a mixture of shock, fear and rage blending into one disbelieving voice.

"Oh, so you can talk. That's always a good sign." His answer seemed like self-amusement. Peter laughed heartily as they swooped up into the air, now out of the Jolly Roger's firing range.

"Of course I can talk!" the girl shot back. "Who the hell are you? Where are we? And how in the heck are we FLYING?!?"

Tink reappeared beside them. "Are you all right?" she asked Peter, eyes bright with worry. Tink noticed the girl. "She's awake! Does she seem fully recovered?"

Ignorant as he was, Peter lifted a hand to put it on her chest and check her breathing. She slapped him hard in the face. "I'd say definitely close to it."

"Ha!" Tink snorted. "You're going to get us all killed someday, Peter Pan!"

"Not likely," he confidently replied. "What's your name, strange lady from the future?"

"Her name's Evangeline Winterson. It was on that card we saw on her bag. Try not to be so pushy. She won't remember much of anything right now!"

"All right, all right," Peter grumbled. "Sheesh. I was just curious." He shrugged. "Anyway, that's too long a title. Henceforward, I shall call you Eve."

Eve looked at the two of them, thinking that they were both completely insane. "Okay…"

"So what do we do now, Tink?" Pan asked.

"We fly towards civilization, that's what," she answered, passing them to veer straight towards the harbor ahead, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

The port was a living being- a bustling, thriving center of commerce in the midst of tropical wilderness. Armed on both sides with formidable cliffs, there was little beside the man-made walls lying along the rocks to separate the dense foliage that stretched hundreds of miles inland to the mountains from the town itself. Fortifications spanned the outer perimeters of the bay, the new pearl color of whitewashed brick gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

There were merchant ships lined up in the harbor, budging for space in a city that wouldn't stop moving. The shipping industry fed the endless train of people and goods that wove its way around the docks and into the narrow streets beyond. Fish, jewels ten times more costly than gold, fine silks from the East Indies-it was all on display, passing from one hand to the next as the wealthy inhabitants exchanged coin for wares.

Ever cautious, Tink led them around the battlements, flying low along the walls so that they wouldn't be spotted. "Wait here," she whispered, and disappeared around a corner. Peter and Eve crouched down, not making a sound.

In a few minutes, the fairy returned, motioning for them to follow her. The trio crept along pushed up against the ramparts until there were no more guards. Then they moved onto the little dirt side road that eventually led into the village.

Suddenly, Eve let out a shriek and jumped off the path, startling the others.

"What's wrong?" Tink cried. Trembling, Eve pointed to a large wooden barricade on the left several hundred yards off. A musket barrel stuck out of a window, at it pointed straight at them.

"Oh, that," Tink dismissed the girl's suspicions with a wave of her hand. "I put the guards in that lookout to sleep." She flew up to the window and tapped on the barrel of the gun with her toes. "See? They're perfectly harm-"

BAM!

The shot hissed past them a foot from Peter's ear and ricocheted off the far wall. Eve yelped and ducked again. Peter gave Tink a look that would fry the Ice Caverns.

"Heh," Tinkerbell gave a sheepish grin and shifted nervously from side to side, scuffing her feet. "Maybe I should have taken their fingers… off the triggers?"

Peter just crossed his arms and glared.

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Mullins paced the back and forth impatiently. "Cap'n, I know I's askin' a repeated question here, but when are we gonna go in there and do some real buccaneering? We've been stationed in this here cove for hours!"

"The anticipation of the prize, dear Robert, should always earn appreciation equivalent to the act itself," Hook replied, sipping champagne from a glass that Smee attempted to balance on a silver tray. "Like fine wine, acts of barbarity are all the more enjoyable if taken in measure."

"Cap'n Hook! Six ships spotted off the coastline at seven leagues, sir!"

Hook sputtered, choking on the drink. The Bosun, frightened as ever, raised the tray to his face in a cowering defense.

"No, wait! Correction-make that eight!"

This time, he spit out the liquid entirely. "By Lucifer's beard!" Hook roared, and as Smee finally lowered the tray, the Captain swung his arm around, smashing the glass smack in the middle of Smee's forehead. "Make up your mind, Mr. Jukes, before my hook does it for you!"

"Eight, sir," Billy replied, squinting into the glass. "The leader is an English flagship with La Jolie Rouge displayed."

Hook cursed and heaved himself up onto the rigging, climbing until he reached the crow's nest. "Give me that blasted thing," he snapped, grabbing the spyglass from Jukes. At first, his face showed no emotion at all as he scanned the horizon, inspecting the ships and discerning their intentions. Then a broad grin spread across his face from ear to ear, and his rich laughter echoed across the decks.

"Captain?" Starkey inquired from the bow.

"Not to worry, men," the Captain chuckled, tossing the device back to Jukes. "It seems that a dear, old friend of mine has come to call on yonder port this evening." He addressed the entire crew from above, a smile of feral-like satisfaction lighting up his features. "I believe you wretched cullies might just end up with more action than you ever bargained for."

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"This can't be real," Eve whispered, incredulous. "I'm dreaming. I am not walking around in a Central American outpost of the Conquistadors. I am not trying to look inconspicuous in jeans while talking to a pixie, hidden under the cloak of a boy who claims he's the living embodiment of a fictional legend. Better yet, I am not having a nervous breakdown."

"Fairy, not pixie!" Tink hissed from her hiding place. "Fairy! Fae and pixies are two entirely different species altogether."

"Right, of course. How could I forget?" Eve exclaimed sarcastically. "It's already been at least, oh, two hours since a flying boy nearly dropped me a hundred feet into the Caribbean, and that was after a ship that's been extinct for three hundred years tried to blow us to bits with an exploding cannonball. I've had plenty of time to learn all about the plentiful kingdoms of the supernatural that aren't supposed to exist. I should practically be a living encyclopedia on the subject by now!"

"Ssh!" Peter warned. "Tink's joking around. But we need to talk in a place a little less open than this. And we'll be lucky if we find someone who speaks English around here. I don't understand a word of what they're saying." He indicated towards the dozens of people that were passing by the group on the street, giving them odd looks and speaking in a Spanish dialect.

"Pan's right," Tink whispered. She peeked out and took a quick glance of the area. "See that wide, busy street over there? Go down that one. We're bound to run into a tavern or inn of some sort, and I have a few gold coins left over from a bet I won with Queen Titania recently."

Peter ducked his head. "Healing powers, memory loss, sleeping spells, and now gambling in Tintagel?" He clucked. "Tink, Tink, Tink, when are you finding time to acquire all this knowledge?"

"Well, what do you think I do when you're off screwing things up? Brush my hair?"

"Who's Titania?" Eve asked. "Never mind," she added quickly, sighing. "I don't want to know."

The first tavern they ran across, The Menagerie, wasn't incredibly crowded. Peter chose a table near the back of the inn, where the lamps didn't reach as well as they did in the rest of the room. A tall blonde girl nearing twenty sauntered over. To their surprise, she knew to speak English. "My name's Jezebel. What can I get for you today?" the girl drawled, in what Eve immediately recognized as a French accent.

"Just water, for now," Eve answered. "We're not hungry right now."

Jezebel smirked, tossing her air and flashing her emerald eyes at Peter. "Well, then, is there anything else that you want?"

Tink was ready to explode. Eve tried not to roll her eyes in disgust. I guess we picked the wrong tavern, she thought ruefully. Looks like this one's a lot less reputable than we thought. Then again, she was severely lacking on the particular details of saloon history.

Peter remained innocently clueless. "Actually, yes. We're looking for information about the town, and where one might rest for the night."

The girl snorted. "Ha! I could tell by your strange clothes and your English. You're not from anywhere near here, are you?"

"No, I come from the twenty-first century," Eve muttered. Pan kicked her under the table. "Ow!"

"You might say that," Peter smoothly interjected. "We traveled with one of the ships docked here, and we're going to rest for a bit in your wonderful establishment of…"

"Puerto Bello," the barmaid finished. "I traveled with the French household that founded this inn two years ago. I'll be back later." With that, the voluptuous girl gestured proudly towards the front of the room, gave a wink and strode off.

The group inclined their necks, straining to see the writing on the plaque above the door where Jezebel had pointed.

"Mercy," Eve breathed. The others just stared.

There, where the last dying rays of golden light arched along the wall and illuminated the bronze plate, etched in bold script, were the words they didn't want to believe.

"It's in Latin," Eve thought aloud, and she felt her throat tighten involuntarily as she read the words. "The Menagerie, founded by the Volere family, ANNO DOMINI MDCLXVI. In the Year of Our Lord, 1666."

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"It's been a long time, old friend."

"Quite so."

They were two pirate leaders, both cunning and eloquent beyond average expectations. One was a straight and simple man of the tongue, the other a warrior behind a mask of finery, ruthless and a born leader. The two men could not have lived more differently, yet they shared a common ground unique to their particular occupation- a patriotic adherence to English honor.

The pirates of the Jolly Roger had boarded the first of the arriving ships, the Oxford, and they were more than a little nervous. It was not merely because more than four hundred and fifty men combined waited on board the group of ships, nor because the whole lot of them were bloodthirsty, savage, desperate men willing to do anything for jewels and gold. It was because their leader, who was clasping Hook's hand and pulling him into a warm embrace, was Sir Henry Morgan, the most successful, notorious, and feared pirate of the Western Hemisphere. And he was standing less than five feet from them.

"So, dear man, what are you doing in this part of the ocean?" Morgan asked, slapping Hook on the shoulder. "Mind if I drink?" He chuckled, taking a goblet and a bottle from one of his crew and pouring a full glass of red wine. Then he put the entire remaining contents to his lips and swigged a mouthful down. He glanced at Hook again out of the corner of his eye. "That's for you, by the way."

"Henry-" the Captain started.

"I never got drunk from one sip, and that's all I intend to have. My crew and I have important business to attend to this night."

Hook raised an eyebrow. "Really? Such as…"

Morgan twisted the bottle in his fingers, gently placing it on a barrel before walking steadily back to Hook. He looked him straight in the eyes. "Such as sacking Puerto Bello."

"Hook paused. "Puerto Bello?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Come now, Hook, let's not be coy. I have the papers. It's perfectly legal; the letters of marque are from the governor of Jamaica himself. Were you planning a little midnight raid, old boy?"

"If I were," Hook remarked impassively, "it would be the first time in eons."

Morgan grinned. "You are! I propose," he offered generously, "that you join me in this fight to defend the safety of our British colonials. The word is out that the Spaniards are mounting an attack upon Port Royal. But we're going to go in there and clean them out instead, you see." He twirled the end of his thin moustache, a naughty gleam in his eyes.

The Captain was mulling it over. "Puerto Bello is the third strongest fortified city in the Spanish Main. Pray tell, do you truly expect to pull this heist off?"

Morgan knew he was wavering. "Let me worry about the details. I'll let you keep your share of the profits and pick out whatever spoils you prefer, so long as you fight with us in the battles."

Hook knew when to give up. Any option is better than a mutinous crew, he thought. Even a dead one. If they want action, they can have it. "Agreed." They shook hands, and a vast majority of the crowd on deck cheered, hooted and hollered. A pirate's oath was his bond. The war was on.

"Now," Morgan continued, effortlessly winning over the men with his cavalier attitude, "this will require us to move swiftly, and in two different directions at once. The attack on the fort by the embankment commences in five hours. We break them at dawn."

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Puerto Bello, Middle Americas - June 5th, 1668.

"I still don't understand," Eve protested. "How did you find me? And why did you take me with you?"

"I don't know how," Peter responded truthfully. "Luck, I suppose."

"You were bleeding to death," Tink explained. "That's mainly what caught our attention." She traced her fingers across the white scars on Eve's wrists. They had diminished to fine hairlines, a side effect of Tink's magic. "That's also what left those behind."

"What?" Eve's voice rose in panic. "I almost died? Why? Was someone trying to hurt me?"

"Actually, you see-" Peter started, but Tink shot him a warning glance. They looked at each other, and then back at her. "We don't know," the pair answered simultaneously.

Eve looked at them, dismayed. "It's strange… I know there was pain, and this feeling of incredible sorrow and melancholy. I just can't remember." She shook her head in frustration as if trying to clear it.

"Everything's muddled and blurry. I see places I've traveled to, hobbies I've picked up, school, work, but I can't name anyone or see any of their faces…" Eve buried her head in her hands. Her face had the forlorn look of a lost child.

"How old are you, Evangeline?" Tink asked gently, crawling out of her hiding place after checking that nobody was watching them.

Eve raised her head and sniffled, her eyes wet. "Old enough to know I'm not supposed to believe in Neverland."

"No one's too old for Neverland!" Pan scoffed.

"People grow up. People age. People realize that they can't have their dreams and that the world is nothing but an illusion, and then they find jobs and make families and fade away. They die." Eve's voice was bitter, and she had no idea why.

"It's real, you know," Tink continued softly. "The land is full of magic and promises. Miracles incomprehensible, unconquered in the wildest and purest of minds." She spoke with a noiseless excitement. Eve almost believed she was whispering dreams using the very air itself, that Tink was speaking to her alone, that it had always been that way. This was what she wanted, what she had searched for beyond the brevity of childhood happiness, the truth behind the myth.

"Once we return, you'll never want for anything ever again, and all of the aching, the sadness, the regrets- they'll all disappear. Forever." Eve stopped crying. There was so much I needed to do… but she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember one moment. And the whole world was revolving in Tink's eyes…

An hour later, Jezebel approached their table again. Peter was finishing his dinner, his miniature companion conveniently hidden once more. "Enjoy that?" she purred.

"Why, yes," Peter replied amicably. "I'm afraid my cousin did not last long enough to enjoy your entrée, alas." He gestured to Eve, whose head rested on her arms, her form rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

"I recall you saying that you needed a room for the night." Jezebel picked up his empty plates, balancing them on one arm. "We only have one bed left here, and it's in the women's quarters. But the inn down the street has space, if I'm not mistaken." She looked back over one shoulder. "Although I'm not sure you want to take your kin there."

"My gracious thanks," Peter remarked, smiling. "I guess we'll be on our way, and… wait! What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing," Jezebel sighed, staring at the ceiling. "It's just that the Grape and Horns may not be the best place for a proper lady to stay. Honor, virtue and all the rest. It's quite rough in that part of town at night."

"The last thing I want to do is risk her life," Peter stalled, uncertain of what Tink would say. "Tink?" he whispered. But there was no answer. She was asleep, too.

"Did you say something?" Jezebel asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Peter responded hastily. "What do you suggest?"

"Well," the barmaid lowered voice, leaning close to Peter so as not to wake Eve, "best not to expose your blood relation to a possible affront on her dignity. Like I said, we have a bed open. Your charge could stay here with us and have a good night's slumber. You're a man and don't appear wealthy, so you would probably be all right at the other inn."

"How much?" Peter questioned warily.

"Ten sovereigns," she answered, not moving her eyes from his.

The boy shifted nervously. Think, Pan, he mentally scolded himself. What would Tink do? He weighed the odds of landing in a bad situation where he would have to defend them both. It might never happen… but what if it did, and they both ended up lying in some back alley gutter? He shuddered.

Peter knew Tink wouldn't like the idea of leaving Eve alone. He also knew that she would be cranky for hours if he woke her up, and that even if the fairy hated the girl, she wasn't vicious enough to deliberately lead her into a lethal situation. Try as he might, Pan could not imagine a better option than the one Jezebel had offered.

He sighed. "Take your money, and see that she is well looked after 'till the morning. I will return for her after breakfast."

"Of course," Jezebel smiled, feeling the coins drop into her hand. They burned like fire as her palm closed over them into a delicate fist.

Peter glanced down at the sleeping girl and smiled, letting his hand rest on hers. "Sleep safely, Eve," he murmured. He headed towards the door. I hope I've done the right thing… Peter turned back one last time, released his breath and headed off into the cooling night air. In moments, he was gone.

Jezebel leaned on the counter to stare at the girl, a wry, satisfied look on her face. She remained that way until a bustling, heavyset, middle-aged woman noticed and walked over to her. "What are you so proud about?" she demanded loudly.

The coy waitress dropped one coin into the elder's hand. "A big tip," she remarked carelessly, leaving the employee with nothing more until she lost interest and wandered off. A secret smile played at the corners of Jezebel's mouth. "A gift."

On to Part 2

Copyright © 2001 Cassandra Lynne.
May not copied or reproduced without permission.