Dawn was creeping over Neverland's horizon when Captain Hook's small envoy rowed to the shore in search of the caravan that came apparently from nowhere. Mullins, Smee, Starkey and Mason sat in the small boat, rowing quietly but swiftly, small bundles of supplies and weapons at their feet. Captain Hook had decided that he would today find that caravan and inquire as to how they came upon this wretched island, one way or another. Mullins chewed on his lip softly, keeping his slight uneasiness to himself. He had lied to the captain, saying that Billy was up earlier than the rest of them, fixing something down below. If he found out that Mullins was lying, when Hook found Billy, they'd both get it for sure.
Elsewhere, on the mainland, a small figure trudged very quietly through Neverland's dense forest. His boat tucked away and hidden by foliage, Billy was being very careful not to use any of the main paths and roads the rest of the crew normally used. While he knew he had a head start on them, and that he was using deer paths to find his way, he also knew that Captain Hook would not be terribly far behind. The thought of what Hook might do to get the caravan to tell him how they got to be here chilled his heart, and urged his feet to move about faster.
Where could they be? Billy had been searching for nearly three hours, and still not even a trace of them. Had they found a way out of Neverland? Or did they simply not wish to be found at all? That was understandable, but even though he had forgotten so much of his caravan, he knew that they always left markers of some sort that only a gypsy would recognize. Always something to say that you weren't lost and were almost back to camp. Something like a bead on a flower, or tree leaves or grass woven together; something not terribly obvious, but there if you looked. And then there were the traps. Billy recalled that even if they had only been there a day or two, the leaders would have already had scouts put up one or two traps to put people off their guard. Traps were another way of knowing you were close to home, sometimes. There should always be at least one.
Suddenly, there was no more deer path, and it had led right out to a main road that the pirates and anyone else on the island frequently used. It was a little further in than they normally went, but it was still the main road, worn down and sandy. But up ten feet ahead of him is what caught Billy's attention - it was the sign he was looking for. Up the road was a large oak tree that marked the center of a fork, both roads leading to equally dense-looking forest. Behind the tree was a large, thick field of shrubs and shoulder-high sunflowers. The sign was an arrow, faint, and hurriedly carved, and pointing to the road on the left.
This was both sign and trap. Anyone who knew anything about how the signs worked would know automatically not to take the road the arrow pointed at, and would go right. Or, said persons might figure that the gypsies anticipated intruders knowing not to take the bait, but would also know that going right was to actually do what they wanted, and the intruders would head left, just as the arrow said. They would know that the arrow pointed left to make you want to go right, and would know to go left because that would be avoiding the clever traps. But either road you took, you were playing right into the gypsies' hands, and would fall prey to holes, nets, or even a guarded ambush. Billy stood a moment, huffing in slight aggravation. He knew this game, from long, long ago. He should know the answer to this riddle! And then, like dawn breaking though a window, the answer came to Billy Jukes; take neither road.
Walking around the massive tree and to its south side, Billy carefully inspected the ground and found the true sign he was looking for: three small flowers growing in a braid. He smiled, proud of himself for remembering such a long-forgotten riddle, and carefully trod through the high grasses and sunflowers, watching the path markers very carefully. Every few feet were three tall blades of grass, woven tightly at the base and then separated at the tops to keep it less obvious. He had solved the riddle, and was following the markers that would lead him to the caravan that was brought in by an odd-scented wind that always blew when Peter brought newcomers to Neverland. An odd feeling stirred in his breast, of comfort and joy, almost as though he himself were going home to his own caravan that vanished so long ago.
Hours passed, and the sun steadily climbed up in the azure sky. Captain Hook growled lightly to himself in agitation. He and his crew had been following the main road for some time when they came upon a sign that Billy hadn't seen while on the deer path. Hanging from a low branch on a yew tree was a short strand of green and brown glass beads that blended in with the foliage. Hook had taken this sign as a marker, and cut into the forest on a lesser road, following the occasional hanging bead. The five of them had been following this path diligently for miles upon miles, and seemed to be leading them only deeper into the forest as the road beneath their feet slowly vanished more and more.
"Begorah," muttered Smee to Starkey. "How can they stand to walk so far to get home?"
"I'm beginning to think this path was a decoy," Starkey whispered back. "I don't think it leads to their camp at all. Though I do wonder how any of them got through here to set the beads up in the first place."
As another token was found on the forest floor, Hook lashed out with his sword, tearing small branches and plants out of his way. The road they had been on was no more, and the troupe was standing in a forest with no human-trodden path. Hook pushed on, determined to find another sign that would lead them closer to the encampment. One last token was found, and as Hook hacked through the branches, he roared in frustration. They were back on the main road, and up a few feet could clearly see the path that they had entered on. Captain Hook and his four men had just walked in a complete circle around the whole island of Neverland.
"Odds, bombs, hammer and tongs," Hook bellowed. "From now on, we trust no more signs. Only instinct. Onward! We will find these gypsies and they will tell us how to get off this island, one way or another!" High in the trees, beyond where Hook would think to look, a pair of shining blue eyes looked downward at him, carefully translating Hook's words and carving deeply into his mind. As the pirates marched forward, a lithe and pale teenager quietly leapt down from the trees and walked behind them, his blond curls shining in the sun, and entered the deep forest on the same road that Hook took in the first place and began to make his way home.
The day was half spent when Billy was so close to the camp that the markers had all vanished. They weren't needed anymore. He could hear the chickens, and he could smell the burnt scent of the morning cooking fires. The markers in the field had led Billy back into the forest and almost to the heart of the island, where it became a thorny thicket with a very large clearing in it. He had found them at last. The camp filled the space with their liveliness, a handful of goats grazing off to the side. The caravan was small, much smaller than his had been, the back of the clearing lined with four large vardas and a large tent. Ten large and sturdy gypsy horses and Cobbs were tied off to large, low branches between vardas. To the right, two large dogs were staked, and remained unbarking but alert as Billy approached. Three pits had been dug into the earth for cooking fires, two smaller ones and a very large one closer to the center.
"Thought you'd never get here," came a voice from behind a pair of horses. "Pretty slow walker." The young man chuckled, his bright blue eyes and blond curls making a sharp contrast to Billy's nut-brown skin and black hair and eyes. The boy, only a few years older than Billy, crossed his arms as he leaned against a varda, looking Billy up and down, sizing him up. Hans was clad in an ivory shirt, and a bright red vest strewn with beads, and a pair of blue dungarees. "Come," Hans said at last. "Old Crone wishes to meet with you. She's been expecting you." Billy silently nodded, and followed behind Hans, staring perplexedly at his odd and unique pants. They were certainly nothing he'd seen before, and he'd been all over Europe at one point. Just how much time had gone by since he left that world?