***
28
***
It was utterly unfashionable for fairies to arrive on time, but in cases like this, the council made exceptions. When Peter, Wendy, and the Lost Boys made it to the stone ridge where they would meet the council the fairies were all present, each a sight in their own respect, perched perfectly on a ring of white phosphorescent mushrooms. Wendy covered her mouth prettily at them. There were twelve fairies, five of them ladies in intricate dresses, one swarming with white embroidery that Wendy realized a moment later was white fleas, all forming and redesigning themselves in their quest to beautify their mistress. The other seven were gentlemen, who despite their gender were no less flamboyant, a few of which had tiny guppies with glaring tails floating above them on jeweled leashes. A pet of a floating fish was perhaps one of the stranger court fashions Wendy had ever heard of.
General Tory hopped to the right of the circle and bowed curtly. "Peter Pan." He grunted by way of introduction. The nearest lady waved him off. He happily went on his way into the night.
"Peter. Wendy." Said the lady with the fleas politely. Then, coolly, "Bird."
Wendy curtsied. Peter stood there with his fists on his hips, while the rest of the boys looked uncomfortable.
"Did General Tory tell you why you are here?" She asked.
Peter shook his head. "He said you were going to tell us."
She sighed. "He would, of course. Alright. Peter Pan, I'm sure you know of the crisis that had come upon Neverland?"
Peter frowned. "Crisis?"
"Billy!" Wendy hissed at him. He blinked.
"Oh yeah. Billy."
The court lady brushed the front of her bodice absently, sending fleas up in a hopping flurry to resettle in the shape of a star. "That may well be its name. Of course, we don't care for that sort of information. It was a pirate on the Jolly Roger until yesterday, when it turned on its crew and was chased away for it. That Billy?"
Peter nodded "That's him!"
"Yes. Unfortunately for us, Neverland did not deem fit to inform us of the arrival of the ghoul when the Jolly Roger first appeared, or we would have dealt with this matter a long time ago. The last time the island made a protest, the Princess Nitbittle was punished for it. I believe Oberon scared the island into silence since then."
Some of the Lost Boys frowned. "Princess? Neverland doesn't have a princess." Curly said.
"Not that YOU'D remember." One of the men with a guppy snorted. His fish was the same neon electric blue as his jacket. "Peter might, however. Peter? Do you remember Princess Nitbittle?"
All eyes turned to the boy accusingly. He fidgeted. "There never was such a person. Oberon and Titania said they never had kids."
"Oberon and Titania lied." The man said simply.
The flea lady shushed him. "I don't think whether Peter remembers the Princess is of any consequence now. Peter, do you remember a fairy named Tybalt?"
Peter stared blankly at the flea woman, watching the little insects become Japanese paper fans on the hem of her dress.
"Tybalt's the name of the King of Cats." Wendy said helpfully. The woman nodded.
"He did indeed have a fondness for the animals. But Peter, think hard. Who-Was-Tybalt?"
Peter admitted he didn't know, and why should he? He couldn't be expected to remember every old fairy who wandered through the island. The council members looked at each other.
"Peter," a woman in a blue dress said softly. "Tybalt lived with you for three years. He's been dead for nearly five. Now do you remember?"
Nibs and Curly looked at each other, suddenly uncomfortable. John raised an eyebrow. "Do you know the bloke they're talking about?"
Nibs nodded hesitantly. "A little. I think he used to tell stories."
"He was blue." Curly added.
Peter frowned at them. "Were you two hiding a fairy from me back then?"
They gave him blank, astonished looks. "Peter, he was YOUR fairy!" Nibs said. "I remember him now! He had all those tiny books inside a little paper house on the shelf. When he disappeared you tore the house apart and said there wasn't any Tybalt anymore."
"I never did!" Peter protested. "Tink is the only fairy I ever had!"
At the look the boys were giving him, Wendy felt suddenly sorry for Peter and came to his defense. "Maybe you were mistaken." She said calmly. "Maybe that was an old friend of Tinkerbell's you're remembering."
"Maybe." Nibs said halfheartedly.
A man in silver brocade said "No, Miss Wendy, I'm afraid the boys there know full and well what they're talking about. There WAS a fairy named Tybalt, and he DID live with Peter Pan. Peter is well known for his selective memory. Indeed, that's the only reason he's stayed on the island for so long."
The flea woman interrupted him. "Peter, these are not just arbitrary question we're asking you. Tybalt was the fairy who lived with you before Tinkerbell. He committed a crime against the Council and the King and he died for that crime. REMEMBER, Peter!"
Peter suddenly shook his head violently, putting his fists to his ears. "STOP IT! I can't remember something that didn't happen! There is no Tybalt! There was no crime!"
One of the councilwomen, a plump, white lady with a silver dress that was orbited by luminescent satellites, lifted up from her mushroom stool and hovered near Peter's head. She had tiny, pointed hands, which she held out to the boy. His face went slack.
Wendy became alarmed. "Stop! What are you doing to him!"
"She isn't hurting him." The man with the electric blue jacket said gruffly. "We need him to remember. She's going to help him remember. He'll be perfectly alright, don't worry; Marvella is an excellent unraveler."
Wendy did not feel soothed. Peter's eyelids began to twitch and his eyes slid apart, vacant and hollow. They stood like that for nigh on three minutes, when Marvella's white glow trembled and she lowered her hands, puffing.
"It's going to take too long." She said. "Everything is tied in knots. He doesn't even remember his own name if he doesn't want to, I can't make him remember things he doesn't, not in the timeframe you've given me."
The blue man twitched. "We don't have a choice. It's night, in case you've missed it. The ghoul will strike again at night. We need to know what Peter knows so we can cast the spell when Aborigine finds the ghoul!"
"So Oberon can cast the spell." Someone corrected politely.
"Yes, yes, OBERON." He snapped. "Marvella, get to it!"
The woman puffed up indignantly. "Well if we're going to be here ALL NIGHT, at least give me the benefit of decent working conditions. Working without an audience would be nice. I'm sure you can find a place to put these children to bed while I work on Peter Pan."
"We're not leaving while you—"
"—mess with Peter's head!" the twins protested.
She frowned. "I am not 'messing with his head' as you so eloquently put it. I'm neatening things up a bit. Untying the knots, tucking in the frayed ends, wrapping it all up nice and neat like a coil of rope. All you children's minds are knots. None so bad as his, though. Yours I could tidy in a few minutes."
Wendy looked doubtful. "Why do you need Peter to remember things he doesn't want to?"
"Because Oberon has decided that he wants to keep the pirate boy alive. But to do that, we need the knowledge only Peter has. If we don't get it, we'll have no choice but to kill Billy Jukes when Aborigine captures him for us."
"That's terrible!" Wendy blurted.
Marvella smiled. "It is. But it is easily adverted if you simply leave Peter Pan in my care for the night."
"Wait a minute!" Nibs protested. "Why would Peter know anything that would help with Billy Jukes? We don't know Billy Jukes!"
The Council murmured. Marvella looked momentarily flustered, then smoothed herself and smiled again. "I think that's something Peter will be best to tell you as soon as he remembers. It's not my place to decide how he leads his boys."
The flea lady nodded. "Precisely. Now, since this is going to take longer than we thought, you'd best all find a place to sleep. Someone can light a fire for you and you can all catch a few winks before we're ready to go again in the morning." She made a shooing gesture with her hands. The children blinked at her.
"That's it? You expect us to just run off while you root around in Peter's mind?" Nibs protested.
"Not run off, go sleep. Look, over there." She pointed behind them, towards the place where stone gave way into brush. "The ground is nice and mossy and it's warm enough to sleep outside. You can doze, and Marvella can stay here and work on Pan while the rest of us go home and get some shut eye. The bird," she gave it a withering look "can report to whoever is up for some sort of watch duty. We'll deal with it later."
Wendy put her hands on her hips. "I'm not leaving Peter!"
The flea woman rolled her eyes. "It's up to Marvella. If she can work with you standing there, fine. If not, you MUST go to sleep!"
Marvella, frowning a little, said "I suppose I'll be fine if one or two of you want to watch. But it'll be long and boring. I'm not going to be doing anything worth seeing."
"We'll stay up." Nibs said firmly. Marvella nodded, and the council began to disperse.
Peter lay himself down on the stone slowly, his eyes never quite seeming occupied, and Marvella settled on his forehead with her hands pressed to his skin. The orbiting lights of her skirt bobbed around her in bright, irregular patterns seemingly dictated by the tics of her face. Wendy quietly put all the boys to bed in the moss, insistent, as their bedtime was surely coming if not already passed. Nibs didn't go with them. He sat down beside Peter, Indian style, and waited out Marvella's slow work. Wendy sat next to him. Within an hour, she was fast asleep on his shoulder.
***
Aborigine's sling had been ready to go an hour after the sun set. The egret himself gave them no more trouble, and Picadilly made a bright and shining beacon as they maneuvered their way through the woods. The fairy went first, followed by two horned beasties who tamped down the brush as they went. The rest of the herd hopped along carefully behind, their antlers tied up with vine ropes and an apparently sleeping Aborigine knotted up between them. Captain Popper followed in the lowest branches of the trees. It was dark, and his eyes were not at their best, but he could sight out any cougars or tigers who might think a jackalope dinner would be nice and save the herd the worry.
They made it to the beach after slow travel, and the jackalopes sat down on the sand and puffed at each other, looking to their leader for new instructions. The sea was an infinite barrier, it seemed. The jackalopes couldn't swim it, and Aborigine wouldn't survive it if they tried. Captain Popper landed in the sand beside them.
The herd leader shook his antlers loose and gave Popper a cool, level stare.
"They can't go across the water." Picadilly said. "They can't help us carry Aborigine to Small Monday Island."
"Obviously." Popper said flatly.
The rest of the jackalopes began to wriggle their way free. Aborigine dropped to the ground unceremoniously and let out a dull, groaning sound, but didn't move.
"So what now?" Picadilly asked.
Popper had no idea.
Picadilly softly told the jackalopes that they were both very grateful, and greatly in debt, and that it was alright if they all went home now. Their leader gave his assent. They all turned around and thumped back into the bush with sore necks and sore shoulders. For a moment the ocean rolled behind them in silence, then a little pink nose stuck itself back out, and Lavidia crept back towards Picadilly and chattered something low in her throat. Popper, who did not speak jackalope, just stared at them blankly, but Picadilly chattered back. After a few moments of noise Picadilly kissed her on the forehead, and she scampered off after her herd and her father, who was waiting for her at the forest line.
Popper was giving Picadilly a rude look. The fairy looked confused for a moment, then sputtered and turned red, realizing what Popper was thinking. "It's not like that, you scum ball! She didn't know if she'd see me again before morning and she wanted to say goodnight!"
"Uh huh." Popper deadpanned. Picadilly fought down the urge to smack him.
"I can just leave you here with Mr. Psycho-beak and let YOU figure out how to get him there." Picadilly said hotly. "I'd like to see you try to carry him there on your own!"
"You won't be any help in that department." Popper said.
"Oh no? Well it seems to be that if WE can't carry him, we need to find someone who can. Someone who can fly."
"There isn't a bird in Neverland big enough to carry an egret."
Picadilly grinned. "Not a BIRD maybe. But a fairy could. With fairy dust!"
Popper frowned. "You haven't got a speck of fairy dust in you. Where are you going to find a fairy willing to help us out? At this hour?"
Picadilly looked smug. "I know one fairy who owes me a favor. I smuggled him a love potion under the counter to make his mother fall in love with a chickadee. I can collect on that!"
"You think he'll agree to it?"
"Do you have a better idea?"
He didn't. Picadilly said "Wait here and keep an eye on Psycho." and flew off over the waves, his light fading into a star. Aborigine made a pitiful sound in his beak and fidgeted in the binds, unconscious.
"Oh, shut up."
***
Four hours before dawn, Mason decided his watch was over. Billy didn't feel too inclined to complain; they'd been glaring at each other in the dark, doing nothing but thinking horrible things while Billy tried to stay awake despite the fact his brain was turning to pudding. He was used to long watches on the Jolly Roger, since they were so desperately undermanned, but it had been two days of panic and fighting and terror and stress and now that he was sitting still, the sailor in him wanted to go to sleep. Sleep was never wasted on board ship.
Mason prodded Slightly with his boot and the boy didn't wake up, but with insistence he rolled over and glared blearily up at the darkness.
"Your watch." Mason said gruffly.
Slightly nodded and sat up. He could see Billy sitting on a stone, just a dark shape against the mountain, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the night. He scrubbed at his face with his palms and scooted the short distance to Billy's feet.
"Any nightmares?" Billy asked.
Slightly shook his head. "I didn't dream anything. Not even the slightest bit."
Billy grunted something that sounded vaguely like 'good' and scratched at the back of his head. His hair was in tangles and he felt even greasier than usual, which was saying something, considering his lack of a bathing regime. The night was too quiet here. He couldn't hear any Night Things in the forest; he hadn't heard them all night, and he had been listening very closely. He wasn't sure if he should be relived or not.
Slightly was staring off into the sky, just above the trees, at the dark, jagged lip they made. His back was propped against the stone, his shoulder leaning just a little into Billy's leg. It was a comfortable sort of silence that didn't help Billy stay awake one bit. He didn't feel too inclined to change it, however.
Neither boy made much effort to change it; Slightly was too engrossed in his own thoughts, whatever they were, but after some minutes when Billy found himself snapping his head back up from his chest with a stifled yawn, Slightly noticed.
"You tired?"
Billy nodded. "Talk to me, cully. It's harder to stay awake with you around than with Mason."
The boy twisted around till he could fold his arms by Billy's thigh and drop his head down onto them. It may have only been because of the dark, or the shadows, but Slightly looked a little bit older than he did yesterday. Billy felt a vague pang of guilt.
"What did you do before you were on the Jolly Roger?" Slightly asked finally, dredging up an attempt to keep Billy talking. Billy frowned into the general darkness.
"I was on ships."
"What ships?"
"The Sure Security. Then the Walrus. The Jolly Roger is a sight better than both of them, believe it or not."
Slightly squinted up at him. "How's that?"
"The Sure Security ran slaves." He explained. "We ran a triangle from Britain to Africa to America and switched cargos every time. Captain Flugal kept threatening to sell us cabin boys off with the cargo if we didn't behave."
"Why would he sell the cabin boys?"
Billy snorted "We were black. Well, he was black, anyway. Black as a cow's eye. They didn't know what I was, but I was dark enough to sell. Too young to fetch a good price, though. Still, scared the hell out of Patrick."
"The other boy?"
"Yeah."
"What happened to him?"
Billy paused. The Sure Security had been overtaken by the Walrus. The Walrus had been masquerading as a legitimate vessel, and Flugal had dumped the whole cargo into the sea to escape their inspection; a long line of shrieking faces with white teeth and white eyes, scrabbling at the deck as they went over, dragging the next man on the chain with them. The Walrus had boarded them and found their cargo holds empty.
Slightly noticed the silence and looked up at him. Billy smiled shakily. "I don't know what happened to him. We parted ways when I changed ships."
He didn't look quite like he believed that. "What about you?" Billy asked, shifting subject. "What were you before you came to Neverland?"
Slightly shrugged, and stifled a yawn. "I slightly don't know." He said, tugging at a stray thread on Billy's vest. "I wasn't anything, I guess."
"You must've been something?"
Slightly shook his head. "I wasn't."
Billy's vest, frayed as it was, pinched together as the thread pulled out. Billy snatched Slightly's hand away before he could unravel it. To his surprise, Slightly's fingers closed tight over his and didn't let them go, settling down between them and squinting at the contrast in the dark. Slightly's fingers seemed colorless against his. The gunner's hand had calluses and smooth specks of scars where he'd cut himself working, while Slightly's were smooth and only scraped at the palms, with neat little crescents of fingernails. Slightly traced the tendons with his thumb, and Billy shot a nervous look to Mullins. The man was asleep.
In port, once, when the crew had been drinking themselves stupid, Mullins had the misfortune of stumbling across the innkeep's son in the alley behind the bar when Mullins snuck out back to relive himself. The boy had been pinned between a dirty brick wall and a strapping young sailor, both sweating, and both unbuttoned. For thirty minutes Billy had listened to Mullins rant about hellfire and filthy queers and eternity in a lake of shit. Billy had just stared into his beer and willed the earth to swallow him up before his ears got any redder or Mullins slowed down enough to notice them. By the time they returned to the ship Mullins was still growling, and Billy spent the night fighting in his sleep while Captain Flint filled up his nightmares.
But Mullins was asleep, and Slightly probably didn't know what he was doing, probably didn't know that boys weren't supposed to hold hands, not at their age. He probably didn't know…
Slightly kissed Billy's knuckles and mumbled something the boy didn't catch. He was beginning to doze off, being unused to watch shifts, and not having slept right the night before, and Billy, feeling suddenly like his teeth were glued together and his lungs were too tight, let him. Slightly slept through his whole watch, but he'd done his job well anyway; Billy stayed wide awake.
28
***
It was utterly unfashionable for fairies to arrive on time, but in cases like this, the council made exceptions. When Peter, Wendy, and the Lost Boys made it to the stone ridge where they would meet the council the fairies were all present, each a sight in their own respect, perched perfectly on a ring of white phosphorescent mushrooms. Wendy covered her mouth prettily at them. There were twelve fairies, five of them ladies in intricate dresses, one swarming with white embroidery that Wendy realized a moment later was white fleas, all forming and redesigning themselves in their quest to beautify their mistress. The other seven were gentlemen, who despite their gender were no less flamboyant, a few of which had tiny guppies with glaring tails floating above them on jeweled leashes. A pet of a floating fish was perhaps one of the stranger court fashions Wendy had ever heard of.
General Tory hopped to the right of the circle and bowed curtly. "Peter Pan." He grunted by way of introduction. The nearest lady waved him off. He happily went on his way into the night.
"Peter. Wendy." Said the lady with the fleas politely. Then, coolly, "Bird."
Wendy curtsied. Peter stood there with his fists on his hips, while the rest of the boys looked uncomfortable.
"Did General Tory tell you why you are here?" She asked.
Peter shook his head. "He said you were going to tell us."
She sighed. "He would, of course. Alright. Peter Pan, I'm sure you know of the crisis that had come upon Neverland?"
Peter frowned. "Crisis?"
"Billy!" Wendy hissed at him. He blinked.
"Oh yeah. Billy."
The court lady brushed the front of her bodice absently, sending fleas up in a hopping flurry to resettle in the shape of a star. "That may well be its name. Of course, we don't care for that sort of information. It was a pirate on the Jolly Roger until yesterday, when it turned on its crew and was chased away for it. That Billy?"
Peter nodded "That's him!"
"Yes. Unfortunately for us, Neverland did not deem fit to inform us of the arrival of the ghoul when the Jolly Roger first appeared, or we would have dealt with this matter a long time ago. The last time the island made a protest, the Princess Nitbittle was punished for it. I believe Oberon scared the island into silence since then."
Some of the Lost Boys frowned. "Princess? Neverland doesn't have a princess." Curly said.
"Not that YOU'D remember." One of the men with a guppy snorted. His fish was the same neon electric blue as his jacket. "Peter might, however. Peter? Do you remember Princess Nitbittle?"
All eyes turned to the boy accusingly. He fidgeted. "There never was such a person. Oberon and Titania said they never had kids."
"Oberon and Titania lied." The man said simply.
The flea lady shushed him. "I don't think whether Peter remembers the Princess is of any consequence now. Peter, do you remember a fairy named Tybalt?"
Peter stared blankly at the flea woman, watching the little insects become Japanese paper fans on the hem of her dress.
"Tybalt's the name of the King of Cats." Wendy said helpfully. The woman nodded.
"He did indeed have a fondness for the animals. But Peter, think hard. Who-Was-Tybalt?"
Peter admitted he didn't know, and why should he? He couldn't be expected to remember every old fairy who wandered through the island. The council members looked at each other.
"Peter," a woman in a blue dress said softly. "Tybalt lived with you for three years. He's been dead for nearly five. Now do you remember?"
Nibs and Curly looked at each other, suddenly uncomfortable. John raised an eyebrow. "Do you know the bloke they're talking about?"
Nibs nodded hesitantly. "A little. I think he used to tell stories."
"He was blue." Curly added.
Peter frowned at them. "Were you two hiding a fairy from me back then?"
They gave him blank, astonished looks. "Peter, he was YOUR fairy!" Nibs said. "I remember him now! He had all those tiny books inside a little paper house on the shelf. When he disappeared you tore the house apart and said there wasn't any Tybalt anymore."
"I never did!" Peter protested. "Tink is the only fairy I ever had!"
At the look the boys were giving him, Wendy felt suddenly sorry for Peter and came to his defense. "Maybe you were mistaken." She said calmly. "Maybe that was an old friend of Tinkerbell's you're remembering."
"Maybe." Nibs said halfheartedly.
A man in silver brocade said "No, Miss Wendy, I'm afraid the boys there know full and well what they're talking about. There WAS a fairy named Tybalt, and he DID live with Peter Pan. Peter is well known for his selective memory. Indeed, that's the only reason he's stayed on the island for so long."
The flea woman interrupted him. "Peter, these are not just arbitrary question we're asking you. Tybalt was the fairy who lived with you before Tinkerbell. He committed a crime against the Council and the King and he died for that crime. REMEMBER, Peter!"
Peter suddenly shook his head violently, putting his fists to his ears. "STOP IT! I can't remember something that didn't happen! There is no Tybalt! There was no crime!"
One of the councilwomen, a plump, white lady with a silver dress that was orbited by luminescent satellites, lifted up from her mushroom stool and hovered near Peter's head. She had tiny, pointed hands, which she held out to the boy. His face went slack.
Wendy became alarmed. "Stop! What are you doing to him!"
"She isn't hurting him." The man with the electric blue jacket said gruffly. "We need him to remember. She's going to help him remember. He'll be perfectly alright, don't worry; Marvella is an excellent unraveler."
Wendy did not feel soothed. Peter's eyelids began to twitch and his eyes slid apart, vacant and hollow. They stood like that for nigh on three minutes, when Marvella's white glow trembled and she lowered her hands, puffing.
"It's going to take too long." She said. "Everything is tied in knots. He doesn't even remember his own name if he doesn't want to, I can't make him remember things he doesn't, not in the timeframe you've given me."
The blue man twitched. "We don't have a choice. It's night, in case you've missed it. The ghoul will strike again at night. We need to know what Peter knows so we can cast the spell when Aborigine finds the ghoul!"
"So Oberon can cast the spell." Someone corrected politely.
"Yes, yes, OBERON." He snapped. "Marvella, get to it!"
The woman puffed up indignantly. "Well if we're going to be here ALL NIGHT, at least give me the benefit of decent working conditions. Working without an audience would be nice. I'm sure you can find a place to put these children to bed while I work on Peter Pan."
"We're not leaving while you—"
"—mess with Peter's head!" the twins protested.
She frowned. "I am not 'messing with his head' as you so eloquently put it. I'm neatening things up a bit. Untying the knots, tucking in the frayed ends, wrapping it all up nice and neat like a coil of rope. All you children's minds are knots. None so bad as his, though. Yours I could tidy in a few minutes."
Wendy looked doubtful. "Why do you need Peter to remember things he doesn't want to?"
"Because Oberon has decided that he wants to keep the pirate boy alive. But to do that, we need the knowledge only Peter has. If we don't get it, we'll have no choice but to kill Billy Jukes when Aborigine captures him for us."
"That's terrible!" Wendy blurted.
Marvella smiled. "It is. But it is easily adverted if you simply leave Peter Pan in my care for the night."
"Wait a minute!" Nibs protested. "Why would Peter know anything that would help with Billy Jukes? We don't know Billy Jukes!"
The Council murmured. Marvella looked momentarily flustered, then smoothed herself and smiled again. "I think that's something Peter will be best to tell you as soon as he remembers. It's not my place to decide how he leads his boys."
The flea lady nodded. "Precisely. Now, since this is going to take longer than we thought, you'd best all find a place to sleep. Someone can light a fire for you and you can all catch a few winks before we're ready to go again in the morning." She made a shooing gesture with her hands. The children blinked at her.
"That's it? You expect us to just run off while you root around in Peter's mind?" Nibs protested.
"Not run off, go sleep. Look, over there." She pointed behind them, towards the place where stone gave way into brush. "The ground is nice and mossy and it's warm enough to sleep outside. You can doze, and Marvella can stay here and work on Pan while the rest of us go home and get some shut eye. The bird," she gave it a withering look "can report to whoever is up for some sort of watch duty. We'll deal with it later."
Wendy put her hands on her hips. "I'm not leaving Peter!"
The flea woman rolled her eyes. "It's up to Marvella. If she can work with you standing there, fine. If not, you MUST go to sleep!"
Marvella, frowning a little, said "I suppose I'll be fine if one or two of you want to watch. But it'll be long and boring. I'm not going to be doing anything worth seeing."
"We'll stay up." Nibs said firmly. Marvella nodded, and the council began to disperse.
Peter lay himself down on the stone slowly, his eyes never quite seeming occupied, and Marvella settled on his forehead with her hands pressed to his skin. The orbiting lights of her skirt bobbed around her in bright, irregular patterns seemingly dictated by the tics of her face. Wendy quietly put all the boys to bed in the moss, insistent, as their bedtime was surely coming if not already passed. Nibs didn't go with them. He sat down beside Peter, Indian style, and waited out Marvella's slow work. Wendy sat next to him. Within an hour, she was fast asleep on his shoulder.
***
Aborigine's sling had been ready to go an hour after the sun set. The egret himself gave them no more trouble, and Picadilly made a bright and shining beacon as they maneuvered their way through the woods. The fairy went first, followed by two horned beasties who tamped down the brush as they went. The rest of the herd hopped along carefully behind, their antlers tied up with vine ropes and an apparently sleeping Aborigine knotted up between them. Captain Popper followed in the lowest branches of the trees. It was dark, and his eyes were not at their best, but he could sight out any cougars or tigers who might think a jackalope dinner would be nice and save the herd the worry.
They made it to the beach after slow travel, and the jackalopes sat down on the sand and puffed at each other, looking to their leader for new instructions. The sea was an infinite barrier, it seemed. The jackalopes couldn't swim it, and Aborigine wouldn't survive it if they tried. Captain Popper landed in the sand beside them.
The herd leader shook his antlers loose and gave Popper a cool, level stare.
"They can't go across the water." Picadilly said. "They can't help us carry Aborigine to Small Monday Island."
"Obviously." Popper said flatly.
The rest of the jackalopes began to wriggle their way free. Aborigine dropped to the ground unceremoniously and let out a dull, groaning sound, but didn't move.
"So what now?" Picadilly asked.
Popper had no idea.
Picadilly softly told the jackalopes that they were both very grateful, and greatly in debt, and that it was alright if they all went home now. Their leader gave his assent. They all turned around and thumped back into the bush with sore necks and sore shoulders. For a moment the ocean rolled behind them in silence, then a little pink nose stuck itself back out, and Lavidia crept back towards Picadilly and chattered something low in her throat. Popper, who did not speak jackalope, just stared at them blankly, but Picadilly chattered back. After a few moments of noise Picadilly kissed her on the forehead, and she scampered off after her herd and her father, who was waiting for her at the forest line.
Popper was giving Picadilly a rude look. The fairy looked confused for a moment, then sputtered and turned red, realizing what Popper was thinking. "It's not like that, you scum ball! She didn't know if she'd see me again before morning and she wanted to say goodnight!"
"Uh huh." Popper deadpanned. Picadilly fought down the urge to smack him.
"I can just leave you here with Mr. Psycho-beak and let YOU figure out how to get him there." Picadilly said hotly. "I'd like to see you try to carry him there on your own!"
"You won't be any help in that department." Popper said.
"Oh no? Well it seems to be that if WE can't carry him, we need to find someone who can. Someone who can fly."
"There isn't a bird in Neverland big enough to carry an egret."
Picadilly grinned. "Not a BIRD maybe. But a fairy could. With fairy dust!"
Popper frowned. "You haven't got a speck of fairy dust in you. Where are you going to find a fairy willing to help us out? At this hour?"
Picadilly looked smug. "I know one fairy who owes me a favor. I smuggled him a love potion under the counter to make his mother fall in love with a chickadee. I can collect on that!"
"You think he'll agree to it?"
"Do you have a better idea?"
He didn't. Picadilly said "Wait here and keep an eye on Psycho." and flew off over the waves, his light fading into a star. Aborigine made a pitiful sound in his beak and fidgeted in the binds, unconscious.
"Oh, shut up."
***
Four hours before dawn, Mason decided his watch was over. Billy didn't feel too inclined to complain; they'd been glaring at each other in the dark, doing nothing but thinking horrible things while Billy tried to stay awake despite the fact his brain was turning to pudding. He was used to long watches on the Jolly Roger, since they were so desperately undermanned, but it had been two days of panic and fighting and terror and stress and now that he was sitting still, the sailor in him wanted to go to sleep. Sleep was never wasted on board ship.
Mason prodded Slightly with his boot and the boy didn't wake up, but with insistence he rolled over and glared blearily up at the darkness.
"Your watch." Mason said gruffly.
Slightly nodded and sat up. He could see Billy sitting on a stone, just a dark shape against the mountain, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the night. He scrubbed at his face with his palms and scooted the short distance to Billy's feet.
"Any nightmares?" Billy asked.
Slightly shook his head. "I didn't dream anything. Not even the slightest bit."
Billy grunted something that sounded vaguely like 'good' and scratched at the back of his head. His hair was in tangles and he felt even greasier than usual, which was saying something, considering his lack of a bathing regime. The night was too quiet here. He couldn't hear any Night Things in the forest; he hadn't heard them all night, and he had been listening very closely. He wasn't sure if he should be relived or not.
Slightly was staring off into the sky, just above the trees, at the dark, jagged lip they made. His back was propped against the stone, his shoulder leaning just a little into Billy's leg. It was a comfortable sort of silence that didn't help Billy stay awake one bit. He didn't feel too inclined to change it, however.
Neither boy made much effort to change it; Slightly was too engrossed in his own thoughts, whatever they were, but after some minutes when Billy found himself snapping his head back up from his chest with a stifled yawn, Slightly noticed.
"You tired?"
Billy nodded. "Talk to me, cully. It's harder to stay awake with you around than with Mason."
The boy twisted around till he could fold his arms by Billy's thigh and drop his head down onto them. It may have only been because of the dark, or the shadows, but Slightly looked a little bit older than he did yesterday. Billy felt a vague pang of guilt.
"What did you do before you were on the Jolly Roger?" Slightly asked finally, dredging up an attempt to keep Billy talking. Billy frowned into the general darkness.
"I was on ships."
"What ships?"
"The Sure Security. Then the Walrus. The Jolly Roger is a sight better than both of them, believe it or not."
Slightly squinted up at him. "How's that?"
"The Sure Security ran slaves." He explained. "We ran a triangle from Britain to Africa to America and switched cargos every time. Captain Flugal kept threatening to sell us cabin boys off with the cargo if we didn't behave."
"Why would he sell the cabin boys?"
Billy snorted "We were black. Well, he was black, anyway. Black as a cow's eye. They didn't know what I was, but I was dark enough to sell. Too young to fetch a good price, though. Still, scared the hell out of Patrick."
"The other boy?"
"Yeah."
"What happened to him?"
Billy paused. The Sure Security had been overtaken by the Walrus. The Walrus had been masquerading as a legitimate vessel, and Flugal had dumped the whole cargo into the sea to escape their inspection; a long line of shrieking faces with white teeth and white eyes, scrabbling at the deck as they went over, dragging the next man on the chain with them. The Walrus had boarded them and found their cargo holds empty.
Slightly noticed the silence and looked up at him. Billy smiled shakily. "I don't know what happened to him. We parted ways when I changed ships."
He didn't look quite like he believed that. "What about you?" Billy asked, shifting subject. "What were you before you came to Neverland?"
Slightly shrugged, and stifled a yawn. "I slightly don't know." He said, tugging at a stray thread on Billy's vest. "I wasn't anything, I guess."
"You must've been something?"
Slightly shook his head. "I wasn't."
Billy's vest, frayed as it was, pinched together as the thread pulled out. Billy snatched Slightly's hand away before he could unravel it. To his surprise, Slightly's fingers closed tight over his and didn't let them go, settling down between them and squinting at the contrast in the dark. Slightly's fingers seemed colorless against his. The gunner's hand had calluses and smooth specks of scars where he'd cut himself working, while Slightly's were smooth and only scraped at the palms, with neat little crescents of fingernails. Slightly traced the tendons with his thumb, and Billy shot a nervous look to Mullins. The man was asleep.
In port, once, when the crew had been drinking themselves stupid, Mullins had the misfortune of stumbling across the innkeep's son in the alley behind the bar when Mullins snuck out back to relive himself. The boy had been pinned between a dirty brick wall and a strapping young sailor, both sweating, and both unbuttoned. For thirty minutes Billy had listened to Mullins rant about hellfire and filthy queers and eternity in a lake of shit. Billy had just stared into his beer and willed the earth to swallow him up before his ears got any redder or Mullins slowed down enough to notice them. By the time they returned to the ship Mullins was still growling, and Billy spent the night fighting in his sleep while Captain Flint filled up his nightmares.
But Mullins was asleep, and Slightly probably didn't know what he was doing, probably didn't know that boys weren't supposed to hold hands, not at their age. He probably didn't know…
Slightly kissed Billy's knuckles and mumbled something the boy didn't catch. He was beginning to doze off, being unused to watch shifts, and not having slept right the night before, and Billy, feeling suddenly like his teeth were glued together and his lungs were too tight, let him. Slightly slept through his whole watch, but he'd done his job well anyway; Billy stayed wide awake.