***
11
***
"You could at least help, you nitwit!" Captain Popper shouted, squirming in the tangled mess he'd made of the sash's frayed remains. He hung by the joints of his legs, an area he could not, for the life of him, reach while he dangled so precariously.
Picadilly, who had been freed rather early on in the process, was sitting idly on the tree branch snickering at him.
"No, I think I'd rather let you do it yourself." Picadilly said through a smirk. "After all, you're the captain of the Sun Catcher Squadron, what would you be needing the help of a silly little fairy like me for?"
"I order you to get down here and untangle me!"
The fairy stuck his tongue out. "Wouldn't want to make you look incompetent or anything, would I? I think I ought to continue after the ghoul while you find a dignified way out of this. After all, we can't keep King Short Stuff waiting, can we?"
"Picadilly, don't you dare!"
"Goodbye, Captain!" Picadilly called cheerfully. "Good luck!" and flashed by Popper's head in a blur of blue, circling back to hide behind the tree trunk. Captain Popper twisted and tried to see where he had gone.
"Picadilly?"
The fairy didn't answer.
"Picadilly! If you've left me here I'll bite your wings off and stuff you down an ant hill!"
There was still no reply. Spitting an impressive string of curses, Captain Popper flailed against the sash, kicking one foot free of the cloth which was, of course, worse than before, as he now hung by one tangled talon with no possible means of escape. His foot was going numb.
"I hate fairies!" he decided loudly.
"Aww, I hate you too." Picadilly cooed as though he were declaring his undying love. He flashed out from behind the tree trunk and hovered before Popper's inverted beak. "I can see we were truly made for each other, darling!"
"GAAAH!"
The resultant flailing did very little to free Popper's foot OR get him away from Picadilly, but it did send the fairy into a laughing fit, which quickly ended with a face and a frustrated whine as he folded his arms over his bruised stomach. Captain Popper stopped flailing and glared at him.
"HA!"
"That's not funny! My ribs actually hurt!"
"And this DOESN'T?!"
Picadilly stuck his tongue out again and drifted up to the branch to sulk. It was hard to have fun when laughing too hard hurt. He'd have to confine himself to snickering.
A minute passed in an uncomfortable tangle of blue threads and muttered curses as the blood settled to Popper's head. Picadilly settled back on the branch and watched him struggle with a quiet, amused expression on his face.
Popper puffed with frustration. "Picadilly, why must you be so insufferable?" he asked, wings falling to hang limply by his head. "You're the only person in the world who would just let me hang here when you could just as easily come untangle me!"
Picadilly snorted. "What, you think all the other fairies on the island would just come rushing to the aid of someone in your predicament?"
"Yes!"
"You're an idiot."
"Am not."
"Are too. The common practice in this situation is to point, giggle, and walk away. Trust me. Who else has defrocked, tied up, and hung upside down in public quite so many times as me?" Picadilly said bitterly. "Who am I to mess with tradition?"
"Oh, yes, poor little Picadilly." Popper mocked. "Those mean old bullies getting the best of you? Maybe if you weren't such a self-centered, whiney little fruitcake they wouldn't have any reason to pick on you, ever thought of that!?"
"Shut up!"
"Then untie me!"
"No!"
Picadilly crossed his arms and went from sulking to downright pouting, leaving Popper on his own to swear and pick at the tangles.
***
James Hook had refused to row. Some distant corner of his thoughts recalled softly the slatted light in the belly of the galley, the burning smells of blood and sweat and smoke, and of a hundred unwashed bodies held fast to their benches by their ankles. He heard the creak of wood as the oars strained against their muscles. He heard the steady thumping of a beating drum, pushing against his ears like the infernal heartbeat of the machine, willing him to obey it.
But Hook had not obeyed.
Hook had refused to row.
He'd known his brother would be back for him, even if his capture was his own stupidity and their relationship was not at its best. His brother had called for them to pull back to the Rake, the soldier compliment of the row galley proving too much, but James had been lost in a blood rage and had either failed to hear or ignored him. He knew, though, that somehow this flighty little ship would be overtaken once again by his brother's sloop, and James would be given the opportunity to gut the overseer himself. James had just looked at the oar in front of him, laughed, and crossed his arms impudently.
The overseer clapped his studded club against Hook's back, ordering him once more to row in a language Hook didn't speak, though he had replied fluently enough by shoving him. The overseer raised his club and it hadn't occurred to Hook, even then, that he was about to be beaten to death, though it apparently did to his bench-mate. He hadn't even realized there was a man there. He was nothing more than rags and a wild man's beard, with the shiny portals of spectacle lenses set in the mess; he'd been a slave on this galley far too long.
Hook had no idea what the spectacled man said, though expletives and insults need no translation, no matter what the language. The overseers face widened with shock and his mouth pulled back into a snarl. Hook's poor bench mate threw his spindly arms over his head and cowered until the club came down on him, crashing through skin and bone while the overseer cursed him furiously. His rage only wore down when his target stopped flinching.
The overseer stalked off and spat at them all to continue. Hook's bench mate sputtered and collapsed against the hull of the ship, shivering through and through and breathing through bloody pipes. Hook had stared in dumb shock at the mess the man had made of himself for his sake, without even knowing his name. Shaking a little himself, Hook took the oar and began to row.
Hook remembered the trail of the man's blood dripping slowly from his split scalp down the curved boards of the hull. He remembered unsteady eyes staring at him under trembling lids, spreading an unease through his system as the pounding pulse of the machine spurred him onward.
There was no question that Hook would not have done the same for him. Then and now Hook was interested in himself more than anyone, and if their situations had been reversed Hook would have let that Irishman be beaten to death right there beside him without a second thought. But it can't be said that Hook doesn't pay his debts; when his brother's ship overtook the galley, Hook had spared Smee's life while the rest of the rabble was killed. Their scores had been even the moment he lowered his sword.
He had no reason to feel guilty NOW.
"Hell-ooo! Anyone spare a moment?" shouted an awkward, vaguely inhuman voice. Hook blinked out of his meditations and scowled at the trees.
"Who's there?!" He snapped at the brush. Starkey and Mason followed forward and looked at him with some confusion.
"Ah! Good, I thought maybe you were a goat or something!" The voice called back. Hook drew his cutlass and followed towards the sound. "God knows what makes noises in these woods anymore. You think you might come give me a hand? I seem to be rather stuck!"
"No fair getting help!" a second voice, much higher and somehow more irritating, whined.
"Oh, shut up, Picadilly, this isn't a game!" the first voice snapped.
Hanging upside down from the branch of a tree was a little grey falcon of some sort, one foot tangled helplessly in the torn, fraying ends of a strip of blue cloth. Sitting on the branch above him was a blue glow that could only be a fairy.
"Right, you think you chaps could be good sports and get me out of this mess?" The bird asked politely in an affected, cheap accent. "I'm on rather important business, you see…"
"Cheater." The fairy hissed at the bird, glaring through a sea of freckles.
"What sort of business?" Hook growled.
"I'm looking for the little Negroid pirate, I guess you gents are pirates, too? Then I suppose you know what the problem is. King Oberon wants the boy found so the fairies can take care of him. We can't have any ghouls in Neverland, you know." Popper fidgeted uncomfortably in the restraint. "We were just told where we could find them when the nasty fellow with a mustache came through and tied us all up. So if you could just cut me loose we can be on our way—"
Hook's cutlass sliced through the air a bare millimeter above Popper's leg and split the fabric, sending him sprawling to the earth with a squawk. The tip of the blade pinned his breast to the earth before he could roll to his feet.
"Tell me where he is."
11
***
"You could at least help, you nitwit!" Captain Popper shouted, squirming in the tangled mess he'd made of the sash's frayed remains. He hung by the joints of his legs, an area he could not, for the life of him, reach while he dangled so precariously.
Picadilly, who had been freed rather early on in the process, was sitting idly on the tree branch snickering at him.
"No, I think I'd rather let you do it yourself." Picadilly said through a smirk. "After all, you're the captain of the Sun Catcher Squadron, what would you be needing the help of a silly little fairy like me for?"
"I order you to get down here and untangle me!"
The fairy stuck his tongue out. "Wouldn't want to make you look incompetent or anything, would I? I think I ought to continue after the ghoul while you find a dignified way out of this. After all, we can't keep King Short Stuff waiting, can we?"
"Picadilly, don't you dare!"
"Goodbye, Captain!" Picadilly called cheerfully. "Good luck!" and flashed by Popper's head in a blur of blue, circling back to hide behind the tree trunk. Captain Popper twisted and tried to see where he had gone.
"Picadilly?"
The fairy didn't answer.
"Picadilly! If you've left me here I'll bite your wings off and stuff you down an ant hill!"
There was still no reply. Spitting an impressive string of curses, Captain Popper flailed against the sash, kicking one foot free of the cloth which was, of course, worse than before, as he now hung by one tangled talon with no possible means of escape. His foot was going numb.
"I hate fairies!" he decided loudly.
"Aww, I hate you too." Picadilly cooed as though he were declaring his undying love. He flashed out from behind the tree trunk and hovered before Popper's inverted beak. "I can see we were truly made for each other, darling!"
"GAAAH!"
The resultant flailing did very little to free Popper's foot OR get him away from Picadilly, but it did send the fairy into a laughing fit, which quickly ended with a face and a frustrated whine as he folded his arms over his bruised stomach. Captain Popper stopped flailing and glared at him.
"HA!"
"That's not funny! My ribs actually hurt!"
"And this DOESN'T?!"
Picadilly stuck his tongue out again and drifted up to the branch to sulk. It was hard to have fun when laughing too hard hurt. He'd have to confine himself to snickering.
A minute passed in an uncomfortable tangle of blue threads and muttered curses as the blood settled to Popper's head. Picadilly settled back on the branch and watched him struggle with a quiet, amused expression on his face.
Popper puffed with frustration. "Picadilly, why must you be so insufferable?" he asked, wings falling to hang limply by his head. "You're the only person in the world who would just let me hang here when you could just as easily come untangle me!"
Picadilly snorted. "What, you think all the other fairies on the island would just come rushing to the aid of someone in your predicament?"
"Yes!"
"You're an idiot."
"Am not."
"Are too. The common practice in this situation is to point, giggle, and walk away. Trust me. Who else has defrocked, tied up, and hung upside down in public quite so many times as me?" Picadilly said bitterly. "Who am I to mess with tradition?"
"Oh, yes, poor little Picadilly." Popper mocked. "Those mean old bullies getting the best of you? Maybe if you weren't such a self-centered, whiney little fruitcake they wouldn't have any reason to pick on you, ever thought of that!?"
"Shut up!"
"Then untie me!"
"No!"
Picadilly crossed his arms and went from sulking to downright pouting, leaving Popper on his own to swear and pick at the tangles.
***
James Hook had refused to row. Some distant corner of his thoughts recalled softly the slatted light in the belly of the galley, the burning smells of blood and sweat and smoke, and of a hundred unwashed bodies held fast to their benches by their ankles. He heard the creak of wood as the oars strained against their muscles. He heard the steady thumping of a beating drum, pushing against his ears like the infernal heartbeat of the machine, willing him to obey it.
But Hook had not obeyed.
Hook had refused to row.
He'd known his brother would be back for him, even if his capture was his own stupidity and their relationship was not at its best. His brother had called for them to pull back to the Rake, the soldier compliment of the row galley proving too much, but James had been lost in a blood rage and had either failed to hear or ignored him. He knew, though, that somehow this flighty little ship would be overtaken once again by his brother's sloop, and James would be given the opportunity to gut the overseer himself. James had just looked at the oar in front of him, laughed, and crossed his arms impudently.
The overseer clapped his studded club against Hook's back, ordering him once more to row in a language Hook didn't speak, though he had replied fluently enough by shoving him. The overseer raised his club and it hadn't occurred to Hook, even then, that he was about to be beaten to death, though it apparently did to his bench-mate. He hadn't even realized there was a man there. He was nothing more than rags and a wild man's beard, with the shiny portals of spectacle lenses set in the mess; he'd been a slave on this galley far too long.
Hook had no idea what the spectacled man said, though expletives and insults need no translation, no matter what the language. The overseers face widened with shock and his mouth pulled back into a snarl. Hook's poor bench mate threw his spindly arms over his head and cowered until the club came down on him, crashing through skin and bone while the overseer cursed him furiously. His rage only wore down when his target stopped flinching.
The overseer stalked off and spat at them all to continue. Hook's bench mate sputtered and collapsed against the hull of the ship, shivering through and through and breathing through bloody pipes. Hook had stared in dumb shock at the mess the man had made of himself for his sake, without even knowing his name. Shaking a little himself, Hook took the oar and began to row.
Hook remembered the trail of the man's blood dripping slowly from his split scalp down the curved boards of the hull. He remembered unsteady eyes staring at him under trembling lids, spreading an unease through his system as the pounding pulse of the machine spurred him onward.
There was no question that Hook would not have done the same for him. Then and now Hook was interested in himself more than anyone, and if their situations had been reversed Hook would have let that Irishman be beaten to death right there beside him without a second thought. But it can't be said that Hook doesn't pay his debts; when his brother's ship overtook the galley, Hook had spared Smee's life while the rest of the rabble was killed. Their scores had been even the moment he lowered his sword.
He had no reason to feel guilty NOW.
"Hell-ooo! Anyone spare a moment?" shouted an awkward, vaguely inhuman voice. Hook blinked out of his meditations and scowled at the trees.
"Who's there?!" He snapped at the brush. Starkey and Mason followed forward and looked at him with some confusion.
"Ah! Good, I thought maybe you were a goat or something!" The voice called back. Hook drew his cutlass and followed towards the sound. "God knows what makes noises in these woods anymore. You think you might come give me a hand? I seem to be rather stuck!"
"No fair getting help!" a second voice, much higher and somehow more irritating, whined.
"Oh, shut up, Picadilly, this isn't a game!" the first voice snapped.
Hanging upside down from the branch of a tree was a little grey falcon of some sort, one foot tangled helplessly in the torn, fraying ends of a strip of blue cloth. Sitting on the branch above him was a blue glow that could only be a fairy.
"Right, you think you chaps could be good sports and get me out of this mess?" The bird asked politely in an affected, cheap accent. "I'm on rather important business, you see…"
"Cheater." The fairy hissed at the bird, glaring through a sea of freckles.
"What sort of business?" Hook growled.
"I'm looking for the little Negroid pirate, I guess you gents are pirates, too? Then I suppose you know what the problem is. King Oberon wants the boy found so the fairies can take care of him. We can't have any ghouls in Neverland, you know." Popper fidgeted uncomfortably in the restraint. "We were just told where we could find them when the nasty fellow with a mustache came through and tied us all up. So if you could just cut me loose we can be on our way—"
Hook's cutlass sliced through the air a bare millimeter above Popper's leg and split the fabric, sending him sprawling to the earth with a squawk. The tip of the blade pinned his breast to the earth before he could roll to his feet.
"Tell me where he is."