Title: Whither By Moonlight
Author: squeezynz
Chapter: Seven - The fly in the ointment.
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Peter flew low over the dank swamp that hid itself near the center of the island. He hadn't visited the area for years, taking at face value the reports from the Indians that the legendary ticking crocodile still haunted the muddy ponds and slimy banks. He had only seen the beast a few times himself since Hook had been devoured, and those few times had only been glimpses when he'd flown over the area, always passing, never stopping. Now he sought it in earnest and his eyes skimmed over the greasy looking water, marred here and there with the skeletal arm of a rotting tree branch sticking out of the ooze. The day was drawing to a close and the light under the tall swamp trees was green and gloomy, a shiver chasing down his spine as he dodged the dark tree-trunks, all the time looking for signs of the crocodiles recent existence. He rounded a bend and pulled up short, hovering in the air above a shallow pool, the huge rotting carcass of the giant croc laying on its side in the middle. Peter drew closer, inspecting the grisly find with curious eyes. The beast had always been a part of Neverland, always a danger to avoid, its lumbering body easy to hear approaching when it left its swamp home and headed for the coast. Now it lay, already a skeleton, the flesh barely hanging on the bone, white showing through the leathery hide, its body half buried in the mud. It had obviously been dead for a long time, a lazy crowd of flies hovering over the remains. Landing on a convenient log, Peter crouched down and inspected what was left, his nose wrinkling at the still nauseating smell of rotten croc, his eyes tracing the curve of the creatures belly, noting the wide gash that had split the beast open from breastbone to tail. It was a wonder to Peter that there was anything to find at all after all this time, but he didn't dwell on it for long. It was obvious the creature had made it back to its lair only to have its meal hack its way out from the inside.
What did strike Peter as curious, was the fact that if Hook had clawed his way out of the creature, and presumably survived as there was not other skeleton to be seen, why had Hook taken so long to reappear?
Wrinkling his nose again, Peter rose to his feet and turned away from the stinking pond, his mind already leaping ahead to try and figure out Hook's next move. His heart thumped in his chest as he rose into the air and set off across the island, his eyes narrowed as he searched for anything that would give him a clue to where Hook might be. That Skinner had joined forces with Peter's old enemy was no surprise. Skinner had been trouble from the moment the Jolly Roger had been returned to the pirates. Skinner had immediately assumed command, but was just as quickly ousted by the crew, none of them wanting to implement his plans for pillage and mayhem against the Indians. Skinner had remained aboard, but had continued to try and turn any and all of the crew to his way of thinking. Largely he was ignored, eventually seeming to blend in with the other pirates, building himself a shack at the end of town and living peaceably. All that was shattered the night Sam Owens was found with his throat cut and his boat missing. The other pirates had searched for the missing man but not found a trace of him or the boat and it had been assumed that he'd sailed for the horizon and drowned. Now it seemed the man had fled into the island and been hiding, somehow finding Hook and once more combining to spread fear over Neverland. Obviously the pirates knew something of the situation, Smee knew that Hook was alive and feared for his own skin, it remained to be seen how much the Indians knew. But first, he had to pay a visit to a certain lagoon and find out from those that knew everything what was really going on.
Leaping into the air he twisted around and flew like an arrow towards the coast, the black castle a beacon that drew him onwards as the sky darkened and the sun sank like a fireball below the sea.
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Wendy sat fiddling with the beaded edge of her dress, her head bent, face downcast, listening half-heartedly to the babble of voices as Little Creek's family prepared the evening meal. They had been kindness itself in opening their home to her, Little Creek bringing a dress that had been offered by one of her son's wives for Wendy to wear in place of the crumpled dress. Not wanting to offend her hostess, Wendy complied and found herself wearing a silky soft knee length dress, its edges fringed and decorated with small bead work, the colour complimenting her honey blond hair and creamy skin. Soft moccasins cushioned her feet and a pretty shell necklace adorned her neck. Little Creek beamed at her when the women were finished, telling Wendy she looked like a princess, but Wendy could only smile wanly, allowing herself to be lead around like a doll, her heart heavy. She'd tried at the start to find out what was happening with Peter, her questions seemingly falling on deaf ears until she gave up, submitting to the pampering and vowing to get Peter to give her the answers when he returned. Now it was dark and he'd not come back and no one could tell her when he would return.
A hand on her arm drew her attention to the right. One of the grandchildren was sitting beside her and held out a bowl, the child's face expectant. Smiling, Wendy took the bowl.
"Thank you."
"You're Peter's Lady, aren't you?"
"Um....yes, I am. Who are you?"
The girl child settled herself beside Wendy, her small hands smoothing her dress importantly. Wendy guessed that she was no more than ten years old.
"My full name is Most Precious Butterfly, but my family call me Fly."
"Well my full name is Wendy Moira Angela Darling, but my family just call me Wendy."
"Oh.....can I call you Wendy?"
"Please. And may I call you Fly?"
The child nodded. Wendy took a sip from her bowl and found it contained a herbal tea, sweet and fragrant. After a mouthful she found that she was thirsty and downed the whole bowl, the flavour very pleasant on her tongue. Fly watched her and grinned when Wendy frowned to find the bowl empty.
"Would you like some more?"
"Yes please Fly, that was delicious."
The child gracefully climbed to her feet and padded over to the other side of the tent where several women were attending to a bank of pots containing the evening meal. Fly handed one the empty bowl and it was quickly refilled from a jug to the side. She returned and handed it to Wendy who smiled and thanked her. They sat companionably side by side watching as the tent started to fill up with people. The men, tall and handsome, sat in a circle on soft furs around a small central fire, the smoke spiraling up to disappear through a flap in the roof. The women passed out bowls and beakers to the men, the smell of food filling the tent. Other children were scattered around the edges of the tent, some grouped together playing quiet games while the adults ate their meal. Fly stayed with Wendy, content to watch her family taking their meal, offering snippets of information on one member or another as an aside to Wendy, adding amusing anecdotes about one or an others prowess with the bow, or hunting successes. It kept Wendy amused and took her mind off Peter completely. Fly chattered all through the meal, Wendy contributing by telling the girl about London and her life in the little house in Bloomsbury, Fly agog to hear about the most ordinary and everyday things. The two were so caught up in their sharing of lifestyles that it was a surprise when Little Creek approached to show Wendy where she would be sleeping that night. Most of her large family had departed to their own tents after consuming their meal, their wives and children already gone to bed. Fly had already asked her mother if she could stay with Wendy and had been told not to keep Peter's Lady up all night with her chatter. Little Creek led the pair to two soft fur covered pallets near to the door, the two girls laying down as Little Creek extinguished the lamps hanging from the tent poles, leaving one to provide a night light.
As the sounds of the tent settled down and the soft rumble of sleeping people filled the night, Wendy lay under her warm blanket and stared up at the walls of the tepee. Beside her Fly wriggled to get comfortable, her knee bumping Wendy as she turned over.
"What's the matter Fly? Can't you sleep?"
"I have to go.......out."
"Oh.....I think I need to go "out" too...."
As quietly as they could, Wendy and Fly made their way to the opening of the tepee and stepped outside, breathing deeply of the cool night air as they stretched before setting off for the camp latrine. Here and there a fire still burned and they saw the silhouettes of the braves who were set to guard the camp, more as a routine than because they feared an attack. Wendy and Fly passed beyond the line of tents and followed the path to the rough lean-to that sheltered the latrine. After taking care of their personal needs, the two girls walked back along the path. Dawdling, Wendy staring up at the bright stars like diamonds scattered on velvet across the sky, Fly pointing out to her various constellations that were as familiar to her as the freckles on her nose. Fly led Wendy off the path and up a small knoll to better see the sky. There they sat side by side, the small breeze making the tall grasses around them rustle and sigh.
"I often come here. It's quiet at night."
"I used to sit at my window and stare out at the stars on a summer evening, the air was always so soft......just like here."
Companionably they sat staring up at the wide expanse of clear sky. After a long while Wendy felt goose bumps start up on her body. Shivering she rubbed her arms, turning to Fly to suggest they go back. As the Indian girl turned towards her, Wendy saw her eyes open wide and her mouth open to scream. At that moment a hand clamped down on Wendy's mouth and an arm encircled her chest, pulling her roughly to her feet. Fly was also being treated similarly, the Indian girl kicking and lashing out at her captor. Wendy bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth. Her attacker let out an oath and drew his hand back, his fist connecting with Wendy's jaw as he spun her around to face him, her body slumping to the ground as he flapped his injured hand and swore loudly.
The other man was still holding a wriggling Fly, his arms clamped around her small body, his hand firmly muffling her cries.
"Keep it quiet you fool....you'll have every brave in the camp down on us...."
"She bit me!"
"Let's hope you didn't kill her with your great ham fists....pick her up, we'll have to take both of them."
"Why not just cut 'er throat and be done with it?"
"Blood thirsty cull, ain'tcha.....I'll dump her when we're far enough away, she'll run back and alert the camp, but they won't bother coming after this one......she's not one of theirs. But if this little brat went missing.....there'd be all hell to pay....we don't need a feud with the redskins....just stick to the plan!"
"Whatever......still think you should cut 'er throat..."
Still muttering the man bent down and hoisted Wendy onto his shoulder, grunting at her weight as he shifted her to a more comfortable, for him, position. The other man tucked Fly into his waist, careful to keep his hand still clamped over her mouth.
The two men loped off down the slope and carried their burdens into the dark of the forest, heading steadily away from the coast. After an hour, Wendy was still unconscious and the man carrying Fly dumped her unceremoniously on the ground.
"You can go home now brat....tell your family that the other one is now the property of James Hook....and not to follow or try to find her...understand?"
Fly lay crouched on the ground, staring up at the men as if committing their features to her memory, before she nodded slowly. The bigger of the two men grunted and took a swipe at her, his huge fist just missing her as she scrambled away.
"Get lost......go 'ome......."
"Leave her....she'll go...."
The two men turned to leave, the shorter glancing back at Fly to make sure she wasn't following. Fly stayed where she was, not moving until the shadows swallowed the men's bodies, Wendy's hair a bright banner in the moonlight where it hung down the broader man's back.
She was torn, not sure whether to run as fast as she could back to the camp to raise the alarm, or to use all the cunning taught to her by River Dog and track the men, find out where they were taking her friend. Fly chewed her lip, frozen by indecision for a minute or two while the moon looked down unblinkingly. Around her the sounds of the night were once more filling the air before Fly finally moved. On stealthy feet she slipped between the trees, her face intent as she followed the path taken by the abductors.
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Above the forest that hid Wendy's kidnappers from his gaze, Peter flew towards the Indian village. He'd spent hours trying to get information out of the mermaids. He felt frustrated and angry that his usual source of all things happening in his world had suddenly decided to become mute. After leaving the swamp he'd stopped back at the house in the valley and collected his pan-pipes before continuing on to the Black Castle and the Mermaid Lagoon that nestled over the headland. He'd settled down on the flat rock with the starlit waves lapping at its edge. There he'd started to play a haunting tune that wafted out over the water, combining with the rippling water to produce a magical effect. Almost immediately heads started to pop out of the water, curious Mermaids, their gleaming eyes fixed on the youth playing for them in the moonlight. Well aware of his audience, Peter continued to play, seeing the Mermaids out of the corner of his eye, their sleek bodies diving below the surface to appear a little closer each time until they were only a few feet away, watching him intently.
Slowly Peter wound the tune to its end, the last note hanging on the night air, fading away to leave only the lap of the waves in its wake. Looking up he saw a bank of eyes regarding him, the Mermaids sleek heads rising above the water but not coming any closer. Leaning forward Peter called to them in their tongue, his lips and teeth forming the complex clicks and whistles that bid them come closer. For long minutes they remained unmoving, then one dived under the water and approached the rock. When she surfaced she pulled herself half out of the water, her webbed fingers splayed on the rock ledge as she leant towards him.
"What does the Pan want with us?"
"I want to know where Hook is?"
"Hook is dead......long time."
"No.......Hook is not dead....the crocodile is dead...but apparently Hook is very much alive. Where is he?"
"Why the Pan want to know.......Hook not bother the Pan for long, long time. Why Pan want to know now?"
"I should have known that Hook wouldn't die that easily.....and you should have told me what you knew.....why have you kept me in the dark?"
"We fear you Pan.....you have the power to do us great harm. We fear you but we fear him more.....he has changed.....where he was cruel, now he is without mercy, where he was uncaring, now he is deadly to our species.....Hook has become what we fear most.....our extinction."
Peter blinked at the creature, not understanding how these masters of the water could fear a mere human.
"I don't understand you....how can Hook cause your extinction?"
"Has the Pan not wondered why there are so few fairies in Neverland?"
"What do you mean? There are plenty of......" Peter's voice trailed off. He had lost contact with the Fairy population after Tink's passing. He'd been offered another fairy child to take her place, but Peter had declined, not wanting to usurp his friends memory. Since that time he'd only had sporadic encounters with the fairies, their lives only touching occasionally over the years. Now that he thought about it, the fairies had been less in evidence the last few years. Peter had put it down to his simply not noticing their absence, now it took on a more sinister implication and he turned troubled eyes to the Mermaid.
"What has happened to the fairies?"
"The Pan forgot his friends, no longer visited the fairy tree, the Pan no longer the protector of the fairies...they started to die."
"No..." Peter's whisper interrupted the mermaid, but she ignored it and continued.
"They started to vanish from the wild woods, started to disappear from the favourite places....until now they are almost all gone....and it is all Hook's doing."
"I didn't know.....I....." Peter ducked his head in shame. He'd been so caught up in his own problems he'd completely missed what had been happening in his own world. "Is it too late?"
"Not too late.....the Queen still lives, in hiding with the remains of her people. If the Pan wants to keep them alive, he must safeguard their future and destroy Hook, before he destroys Neverland forever."
"How do I find Hook?"
"Find your Wendy.....and you will find Hook."
"But she's safe with Little Creek....how can Hook harm her there?"
"She is not safe at the village anymore....."
At her words, Peter reared back, already leaping to his feet to race back to the Indians, but the Mermaid grasped his ankle and held him when he would have flown away.
"Always impetuous, the Pan need to learn caution. Hook wants you to fly to her rescue....but you will need help. Go to the Indian's they will help, also the pirates of the Jolly Roger...they will help too."
"And you?"
"The Mermaids will help too.....it is in our best interest to keep the Pan happy." She grinned toothily at Peter before letting go of his leg and slipping back into the water.
With his release Peter leapt into the air and flew quickly along the coast, over the headland and across the tops of the trees of the moonlight forest, their leaves like waves, marking his passage.
When he arrived at the Indian encampment he found it in a uproar. Little Creek's tent was surrounded by a crowd of noisy braves, the campfires blazing merrily, casting a rosy glow over the faces of the Indians. Peter's arrival caused another uproar as he strode through the gathering, the people parting to let him through. Little Creek met him at the entrance to her tepee, her face looking old and lined as she bent her head at his approach.
"We have failed you Peter.....your woman has been taken, along with one of my grandchildren....they have been gone an hour or more."
"The mermaids warned me as much....did anyone see which way they went?"
"Fly likes to watch the skies from the knoll above the village." A women with anxious eyes pushed herself forward, Little Creek introducing her as Fly's mother. "She often slips out at night to count the stars, if they were out seeing to their business, Fly would certainly want to show the Wendy Lady her favourite place."
"Show me."
The woman pushed through the crowd of onlookers and jogged across the compound, Peter following with Little Creek and her sons behind. When they reached the top of the small hill the braves brought forward the torches, the flames showing the flattened grass and scuffed ground indicating the struggle that had taken place in the dark. Peter saw something and bent down to pick it up. It was the beaded shell necklace that Wendy had worn, it lay in Peter's hand, broken and forlorn.
"Who has done this...who has stolen our child and your woman?" Wailed Fly's mother, her face stricken.
Peter clenched his fist, the beads digging into his palm.
"Hook.....he wouldn't have done the deed, but he is behind this."
Little Creeks silence said all Peter needed to know. The Indians knew about Hook and hadn't told him.
"How long, Little Creek....??"
"We had heard rumours....not proof. We weren't sure if they were true."
"So you didn't bother to tell me?"
"We didn't believe them....we'd seen nothing to indicate he had returned, and you were so caught up in what was happening to you."
"You should have told me Little Creek. Now Wendy and your grandchild could pay for your silence with their lives."
Enraged Peter swung on his heel and marched down the hill, the Indians parting to let him go. The braves looked to their mother for guidance, the old woman shaking her head and waving for them to follow Peter, but at a distance.
Peter stalked blindly back to the Indian village, his mind in turmoil, his heart heavy. He couldn't believe how he'd been deceived by those he trusted. He was supposed to be the guardian of Neverland, its Champion, its Protector. But now he had found out that the people he was supposed to protect were keeping the most important information from him, treating him like a child, putting his Wendy in harms way as well as one of their own.
On his return to the village the people stood back, leaving him at its center, his angry expression keeping everyone at bay. Little Creek arrived back with her sons and approached Peter.
"What can we do Peter? They already have a head start of several hours and it will be difficult to track them before morning."
"Then lets make the most of the hours we have before dawn. Tell me everything you've heard about Hook and his henchmen.....everything!"
Inclining her head, Little Creek indicated for Peter to precede her into the tent. With a last sweeping glare at the people standing around him, Peter ducked down and entered the tepee, Little Creek and her sons just behind him.
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Wendy awoke with a jerk, her stomach lurching, propelling her onto her side to retch weakly what little she had onto the dusty floor. Her jaw ached abominably, her fingers finding the whole side of her face sore and bruised. With a final cough, Wendy flopped onto her back and stared up at the wooden ceiling wreathed in cobwebs, chinks of light squeezing through the cracks and knots in the planking. She felt sore all over, her ribs aching as if she'd been pressing them against something for a long time. Her head ached as well, her eyes gritty, her mouth dry. Rolling onto her other side, she tried to rise only to find her limbs unbearably weak and shaky. Sucking in a deep breath, Wendy pushed herself upright and sat up, her head hanging as she waited for the room to stop spinning. After a minute she raised her head to stare around her prison, the small room comprising nothing so much as a potting shed in size with a plank door on one side and no windows. Pushing herself to her feet she leant against the rough wall a moment to catch her breath before feeling her way along the splintery wood towards the door. It was secured with a simple wooden lift-latch but despite her best efforts she couldn't budge it. After rattling the catch she gave up and panted before pushing herself away from the door and feeling her way along to the opposite corner. Her bare toes kicked something and the she bent over to find a stool laying on its side. Righting the only bit of furniture in the dingy room, she sat down and rested her aching head against the her prison wall.
She remembered little of the journey, her last recollection being of staring up at the bright stars before something connected with her face, the blow sending her to oblivion filled with coarse hands and evil smelling clothes. As she sat trying to remember, several sounds started to impinge on her consciousness. From the light coming through the narrow slats it was obviously morning and she could here the sound of rushing water to her left. Not the lap of waves but more like a stream or cascade. Closing her eyes, she listened harder and heard the low murmur of voices along with the crackle and pop of a small fire. She couldn't make out what the voices were saying but they appeared to be male, presumably her kidnappers. Wendy licked her dry lips and wished they had left her a pitcher of water or something. Feeling a little stronger she rose to her feet and went back to the door, pressing herself to the wood and raising her fist to thump against the planking.
"Hey out there.....let me out of here!"
She listened and heard footsteps approach.
"You shut ya'self up in there....no point in shoutin' and carry'n on, there's nowt to hear you missy."
"Please, I'm thirsty, can't I have some water?"
"No....master say nothin' about giving you nowt...so quite yelpin'"
Her jailor moved away from the door and Wendy thumped the door again several times but he didn't return. Shortly the faint murmur of voices started up again and Wendy felt tears prick her eyes with her helplessness. Nausea gripped her again and she collapsed to the floor, one arm wrapped around her waist while her other held her hair back as she wretched again, producing nothing but more pain and leaving her sobbing in frustration.
Finding her way back to the stool she sat down. She wondered anew who the man was that had attacked her at the pool, and why Peter wouldn't tell her about it. She also wondered what had happened to Fly, whether she had been killed or kidnapped as well. Wendy hoped that she'd managed to escape, maybe even been able to raise the alarm back at the village. But if she had, surely Peter would have found Wendy and rescued her by now, just as he did when she had walked the plank, catching her in his arms before she hit the turbulent surface of the sea. The thought that little Precious Butterfly had been killed brought tears to Wendy's eye, her hand muffling her sobs as she wept for the girls fate, unmindful of her own perilous state.
The minutes lengthened into hours as the morning wore on and the hut began to heat up, becoming stifling with no opening to bring relief for the prisoner. Wendy started to feel faint from the heat and lack of water, the thin stripes of sunlight dancing in front of her eyes as she rose from her hard stool only to collapse senseless on the dusty floor. Minutes later a commotion outside announced the arrival of the real reason she had been brought to the hut. Striding up to the door, the man ripped away the plank of wood used to secure the latch and flung open the door, bracing himself on the flimsy framework while he waited for his sight to become adjusted to the gloom. What he saw brought an oath to his lips and the men standing behind him shrank back a little.
"Didn't you think to leave the wench a bucket of water or anything?"
"You didn't leave us any orders of what to do with 'er after we nabbed her."
"Dolt....." The man entered the cabin, his aristocratic nose wrinkling from the smell of bile and dirt. Gazing down at his disheveled prisoner, he lifted the undamaged corner of his mouth in a sneer of disgust. "Not so sweet now my lovely.....but we'll fix that. Don't want dear Peter to think we've been mistreating his precious darling...."
As if just realizing his pun, the man threw back his head and laughed, before turning on his polished heel and striding out of the tiny hut.
"Bring her to the cave, and make sure there's no evidence of her having been here.....don't want to make it too easy for the lad, now do we?"
The men leapt to carry out his orders, almost getting stuck in the doorway as they hurried to retrieve their insensible captive from her inadequate prison. The bigger man carried the limp body out into the sunshine, following his master along the beach to the cave entrance, cunningly concealed from view by a series of huge boulders that formed a maze like pathway to the cave mouth. The remaining man gave the hut a cursory glance before leaving it as they'd found it and turning his attention to gathering up their few belongings and dowsing the fire. He then hurried after his companions until all three disappeared into the side of the cliff as if they'd never been.
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(aha!! me hearty's....me thinks the game's afoot...and it ain't twelve inches!! (strange british humour there)....anyway, will try to hurry up with the next installment....I want to know what happens next too!!....)
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Peter flew low over the dank swamp that hid itself near the center of the island. He hadn't visited the area for years, taking at face value the reports from the Indians that the legendary ticking crocodile still haunted the muddy ponds and slimy banks. He had only seen the beast a few times himself since Hook had been devoured, and those few times had only been glimpses when he'd flown over the area, always passing, never stopping. Now he sought it in earnest and his eyes skimmed over the greasy looking water, marred here and there with the skeletal arm of a rotting tree branch sticking out of the ooze. The day was drawing to a close and the light under the tall swamp trees was green and gloomy, a shiver chasing down his spine as he dodged the dark tree-trunks, all the time looking for signs of the crocodiles recent existence. He rounded a bend and pulled up short, hovering in the air above a shallow pool, the huge rotting carcass of the giant croc laying on its side in the middle. Peter drew closer, inspecting the grisly find with curious eyes. The beast had always been a part of Neverland, always a danger to avoid, its lumbering body easy to hear approaching when it left its swamp home and headed for the coast. Now it lay, already a skeleton, the flesh barely hanging on the bone, white showing through the leathery hide, its body half buried in the mud. It had obviously been dead for a long time, a lazy crowd of flies hovering over the remains. Landing on a convenient log, Peter crouched down and inspected what was left, his nose wrinkling at the still nauseating smell of rotten croc, his eyes tracing the curve of the creatures belly, noting the wide gash that had split the beast open from breastbone to tail. It was a wonder to Peter that there was anything to find at all after all this time, but he didn't dwell on it for long. It was obvious the creature had made it back to its lair only to have its meal hack its way out from the inside.
What did strike Peter as curious, was the fact that if Hook had clawed his way out of the creature, and presumably survived as there was not other skeleton to be seen, why had Hook taken so long to reappear?
Wrinkling his nose again, Peter rose to his feet and turned away from the stinking pond, his mind already leaping ahead to try and figure out Hook's next move. His heart thumped in his chest as he rose into the air and set off across the island, his eyes narrowed as he searched for anything that would give him a clue to where Hook might be. That Skinner had joined forces with Peter's old enemy was no surprise. Skinner had been trouble from the moment the Jolly Roger had been returned to the pirates. Skinner had immediately assumed command, but was just as quickly ousted by the crew, none of them wanting to implement his plans for pillage and mayhem against the Indians. Skinner had remained aboard, but had continued to try and turn any and all of the crew to his way of thinking. Largely he was ignored, eventually seeming to blend in with the other pirates, building himself a shack at the end of town and living peaceably. All that was shattered the night Sam Owens was found with his throat cut and his boat missing. The other pirates had searched for the missing man but not found a trace of him or the boat and it had been assumed that he'd sailed for the horizon and drowned. Now it seemed the man had fled into the island and been hiding, somehow finding Hook and once more combining to spread fear over Neverland. Obviously the pirates knew something of the situation, Smee knew that Hook was alive and feared for his own skin, it remained to be seen how much the Indians knew. But first, he had to pay a visit to a certain lagoon and find out from those that knew everything what was really going on.
Leaping into the air he twisted around and flew like an arrow towards the coast, the black castle a beacon that drew him onwards as the sky darkened and the sun sank like a fireball below the sea.
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Wendy sat fiddling with the beaded edge of her dress, her head bent, face downcast, listening half-heartedly to the babble of voices as Little Creek's family prepared the evening meal. They had been kindness itself in opening their home to her, Little Creek bringing a dress that had been offered by one of her son's wives for Wendy to wear in place of the crumpled dress. Not wanting to offend her hostess, Wendy complied and found herself wearing a silky soft knee length dress, its edges fringed and decorated with small bead work, the colour complimenting her honey blond hair and creamy skin. Soft moccasins cushioned her feet and a pretty shell necklace adorned her neck. Little Creek beamed at her when the women were finished, telling Wendy she looked like a princess, but Wendy could only smile wanly, allowing herself to be lead around like a doll, her heart heavy. She'd tried at the start to find out what was happening with Peter, her questions seemingly falling on deaf ears until she gave up, submitting to the pampering and vowing to get Peter to give her the answers when he returned. Now it was dark and he'd not come back and no one could tell her when he would return.
A hand on her arm drew her attention to the right. One of the grandchildren was sitting beside her and held out a bowl, the child's face expectant. Smiling, Wendy took the bowl.
"Thank you."
"You're Peter's Lady, aren't you?"
"Um....yes, I am. Who are you?"
The girl child settled herself beside Wendy, her small hands smoothing her dress importantly. Wendy guessed that she was no more than ten years old.
"My full name is Most Precious Butterfly, but my family call me Fly."
"Well my full name is Wendy Moira Angela Darling, but my family just call me Wendy."
"Oh.....can I call you Wendy?"
"Please. And may I call you Fly?"
The child nodded. Wendy took a sip from her bowl and found it contained a herbal tea, sweet and fragrant. After a mouthful she found that she was thirsty and downed the whole bowl, the flavour very pleasant on her tongue. Fly watched her and grinned when Wendy frowned to find the bowl empty.
"Would you like some more?"
"Yes please Fly, that was delicious."
The child gracefully climbed to her feet and padded over to the other side of the tent where several women were attending to a bank of pots containing the evening meal. Fly handed one the empty bowl and it was quickly refilled from a jug to the side. She returned and handed it to Wendy who smiled and thanked her. They sat companionably side by side watching as the tent started to fill up with people. The men, tall and handsome, sat in a circle on soft furs around a small central fire, the smoke spiraling up to disappear through a flap in the roof. The women passed out bowls and beakers to the men, the smell of food filling the tent. Other children were scattered around the edges of the tent, some grouped together playing quiet games while the adults ate their meal. Fly stayed with Wendy, content to watch her family taking their meal, offering snippets of information on one member or another as an aside to Wendy, adding amusing anecdotes about one or an others prowess with the bow, or hunting successes. It kept Wendy amused and took her mind off Peter completely. Fly chattered all through the meal, Wendy contributing by telling the girl about London and her life in the little house in Bloomsbury, Fly agog to hear about the most ordinary and everyday things. The two were so caught up in their sharing of lifestyles that it was a surprise when Little Creek approached to show Wendy where she would be sleeping that night. Most of her large family had departed to their own tents after consuming their meal, their wives and children already gone to bed. Fly had already asked her mother if she could stay with Wendy and had been told not to keep Peter's Lady up all night with her chatter. Little Creek led the pair to two soft fur covered pallets near to the door, the two girls laying down as Little Creek extinguished the lamps hanging from the tent poles, leaving one to provide a night light.
As the sounds of the tent settled down and the soft rumble of sleeping people filled the night, Wendy lay under her warm blanket and stared up at the walls of the tepee. Beside her Fly wriggled to get comfortable, her knee bumping Wendy as she turned over.
"What's the matter Fly? Can't you sleep?"
"I have to go.......out."
"Oh.....I think I need to go "out" too...."
As quietly as they could, Wendy and Fly made their way to the opening of the tepee and stepped outside, breathing deeply of the cool night air as they stretched before setting off for the camp latrine. Here and there a fire still burned and they saw the silhouettes of the braves who were set to guard the camp, more as a routine than because they feared an attack. Wendy and Fly passed beyond the line of tents and followed the path to the rough lean-to that sheltered the latrine. After taking care of their personal needs, the two girls walked back along the path. Dawdling, Wendy staring up at the bright stars like diamonds scattered on velvet across the sky, Fly pointing out to her various constellations that were as familiar to her as the freckles on her nose. Fly led Wendy off the path and up a small knoll to better see the sky. There they sat side by side, the small breeze making the tall grasses around them rustle and sigh.
"I often come here. It's quiet at night."
"I used to sit at my window and stare out at the stars on a summer evening, the air was always so soft......just like here."
Companionably they sat staring up at the wide expanse of clear sky. After a long while Wendy felt goose bumps start up on her body. Shivering she rubbed her arms, turning to Fly to suggest they go back. As the Indian girl turned towards her, Wendy saw her eyes open wide and her mouth open to scream. At that moment a hand clamped down on Wendy's mouth and an arm encircled her chest, pulling her roughly to her feet. Fly was also being treated similarly, the Indian girl kicking and lashing out at her captor. Wendy bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth. Her attacker let out an oath and drew his hand back, his fist connecting with Wendy's jaw as he spun her around to face him, her body slumping to the ground as he flapped his injured hand and swore loudly.
The other man was still holding a wriggling Fly, his arms clamped around her small body, his hand firmly muffling her cries.
"Keep it quiet you fool....you'll have every brave in the camp down on us...."
"She bit me!"
"Let's hope you didn't kill her with your great ham fists....pick her up, we'll have to take both of them."
"Why not just cut 'er throat and be done with it?"
"Blood thirsty cull, ain'tcha.....I'll dump her when we're far enough away, she'll run back and alert the camp, but they won't bother coming after this one......she's not one of theirs. But if this little brat went missing.....there'd be all hell to pay....we don't need a feud with the redskins....just stick to the plan!"
"Whatever......still think you should cut 'er throat..."
Still muttering the man bent down and hoisted Wendy onto his shoulder, grunting at her weight as he shifted her to a more comfortable, for him, position. The other man tucked Fly into his waist, careful to keep his hand still clamped over her mouth.
The two men loped off down the slope and carried their burdens into the dark of the forest, heading steadily away from the coast. After an hour, Wendy was still unconscious and the man carrying Fly dumped her unceremoniously on the ground.
"You can go home now brat....tell your family that the other one is now the property of James Hook....and not to follow or try to find her...understand?"
Fly lay crouched on the ground, staring up at the men as if committing their features to her memory, before she nodded slowly. The bigger of the two men grunted and took a swipe at her, his huge fist just missing her as she scrambled away.
"Get lost......go 'ome......."
"Leave her....she'll go...."
The two men turned to leave, the shorter glancing back at Fly to make sure she wasn't following. Fly stayed where she was, not moving until the shadows swallowed the men's bodies, Wendy's hair a bright banner in the moonlight where it hung down the broader man's back.
She was torn, not sure whether to run as fast as she could back to the camp to raise the alarm, or to use all the cunning taught to her by River Dog and track the men, find out where they were taking her friend. Fly chewed her lip, frozen by indecision for a minute or two while the moon looked down unblinkingly. Around her the sounds of the night were once more filling the air before Fly finally moved. On stealthy feet she slipped between the trees, her face intent as she followed the path taken by the abductors.
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Above the forest that hid Wendy's kidnappers from his gaze, Peter flew towards the Indian village. He'd spent hours trying to get information out of the mermaids. He felt frustrated and angry that his usual source of all things happening in his world had suddenly decided to become mute. After leaving the swamp he'd stopped back at the house in the valley and collected his pan-pipes before continuing on to the Black Castle and the Mermaid Lagoon that nestled over the headland. He'd settled down on the flat rock with the starlit waves lapping at its edge. There he'd started to play a haunting tune that wafted out over the water, combining with the rippling water to produce a magical effect. Almost immediately heads started to pop out of the water, curious Mermaids, their gleaming eyes fixed on the youth playing for them in the moonlight. Well aware of his audience, Peter continued to play, seeing the Mermaids out of the corner of his eye, their sleek bodies diving below the surface to appear a little closer each time until they were only a few feet away, watching him intently.
Slowly Peter wound the tune to its end, the last note hanging on the night air, fading away to leave only the lap of the waves in its wake. Looking up he saw a bank of eyes regarding him, the Mermaids sleek heads rising above the water but not coming any closer. Leaning forward Peter called to them in their tongue, his lips and teeth forming the complex clicks and whistles that bid them come closer. For long minutes they remained unmoving, then one dived under the water and approached the rock. When she surfaced she pulled herself half out of the water, her webbed fingers splayed on the rock ledge as she leant towards him.
"What does the Pan want with us?"
"I want to know where Hook is?"
"Hook is dead......long time."
"No.......Hook is not dead....the crocodile is dead...but apparently Hook is very much alive. Where is he?"
"Why the Pan want to know.......Hook not bother the Pan for long, long time. Why Pan want to know now?"
"I should have known that Hook wouldn't die that easily.....and you should have told me what you knew.....why have you kept me in the dark?"
"We fear you Pan.....you have the power to do us great harm. We fear you but we fear him more.....he has changed.....where he was cruel, now he is without mercy, where he was uncaring, now he is deadly to our species.....Hook has become what we fear most.....our extinction."
Peter blinked at the creature, not understanding how these masters of the water could fear a mere human.
"I don't understand you....how can Hook cause your extinction?"
"Has the Pan not wondered why there are so few fairies in Neverland?"
"What do you mean? There are plenty of......" Peter's voice trailed off. He had lost contact with the Fairy population after Tink's passing. He'd been offered another fairy child to take her place, but Peter had declined, not wanting to usurp his friends memory. Since that time he'd only had sporadic encounters with the fairies, their lives only touching occasionally over the years. Now that he thought about it, the fairies had been less in evidence the last few years. Peter had put it down to his simply not noticing their absence, now it took on a more sinister implication and he turned troubled eyes to the Mermaid.
"What has happened to the fairies?"
"The Pan forgot his friends, no longer visited the fairy tree, the Pan no longer the protector of the fairies...they started to die."
"No..." Peter's whisper interrupted the mermaid, but she ignored it and continued.
"They started to vanish from the wild woods, started to disappear from the favourite places....until now they are almost all gone....and it is all Hook's doing."
"I didn't know.....I....." Peter ducked his head in shame. He'd been so caught up in his own problems he'd completely missed what had been happening in his own world. "Is it too late?"
"Not too late.....the Queen still lives, in hiding with the remains of her people. If the Pan wants to keep them alive, he must safeguard their future and destroy Hook, before he destroys Neverland forever."
"How do I find Hook?"
"Find your Wendy.....and you will find Hook."
"But she's safe with Little Creek....how can Hook harm her there?"
"She is not safe at the village anymore....."
At her words, Peter reared back, already leaping to his feet to race back to the Indians, but the Mermaid grasped his ankle and held him when he would have flown away.
"Always impetuous, the Pan need to learn caution. Hook wants you to fly to her rescue....but you will need help. Go to the Indian's they will help, also the pirates of the Jolly Roger...they will help too."
"And you?"
"The Mermaids will help too.....it is in our best interest to keep the Pan happy." She grinned toothily at Peter before letting go of his leg and slipping back into the water.
With his release Peter leapt into the air and flew quickly along the coast, over the headland and across the tops of the trees of the moonlight forest, their leaves like waves, marking his passage.
When he arrived at the Indian encampment he found it in a uproar. Little Creek's tent was surrounded by a crowd of noisy braves, the campfires blazing merrily, casting a rosy glow over the faces of the Indians. Peter's arrival caused another uproar as he strode through the gathering, the people parting to let him through. Little Creek met him at the entrance to her tepee, her face looking old and lined as she bent her head at his approach.
"We have failed you Peter.....your woman has been taken, along with one of my grandchildren....they have been gone an hour or more."
"The mermaids warned me as much....did anyone see which way they went?"
"Fly likes to watch the skies from the knoll above the village." A women with anxious eyes pushed herself forward, Little Creek introducing her as Fly's mother. "She often slips out at night to count the stars, if they were out seeing to their business, Fly would certainly want to show the Wendy Lady her favourite place."
"Show me."
The woman pushed through the crowd of onlookers and jogged across the compound, Peter following with Little Creek and her sons behind. When they reached the top of the small hill the braves brought forward the torches, the flames showing the flattened grass and scuffed ground indicating the struggle that had taken place in the dark. Peter saw something and bent down to pick it up. It was the beaded shell necklace that Wendy had worn, it lay in Peter's hand, broken and forlorn.
"Who has done this...who has stolen our child and your woman?" Wailed Fly's mother, her face stricken.
Peter clenched his fist, the beads digging into his palm.
"Hook.....he wouldn't have done the deed, but he is behind this."
Little Creeks silence said all Peter needed to know. The Indians knew about Hook and hadn't told him.
"How long, Little Creek....??"
"We had heard rumours....not proof. We weren't sure if they were true."
"So you didn't bother to tell me?"
"We didn't believe them....we'd seen nothing to indicate he had returned, and you were so caught up in what was happening to you."
"You should have told me Little Creek. Now Wendy and your grandchild could pay for your silence with their lives."
Enraged Peter swung on his heel and marched down the hill, the Indians parting to let him go. The braves looked to their mother for guidance, the old woman shaking her head and waving for them to follow Peter, but at a distance.
Peter stalked blindly back to the Indian village, his mind in turmoil, his heart heavy. He couldn't believe how he'd been deceived by those he trusted. He was supposed to be the guardian of Neverland, its Champion, its Protector. But now he had found out that the people he was supposed to protect were keeping the most important information from him, treating him like a child, putting his Wendy in harms way as well as one of their own.
On his return to the village the people stood back, leaving him at its center, his angry expression keeping everyone at bay. Little Creek arrived back with her sons and approached Peter.
"What can we do Peter? They already have a head start of several hours and it will be difficult to track them before morning."
"Then lets make the most of the hours we have before dawn. Tell me everything you've heard about Hook and his henchmen.....everything!"
Inclining her head, Little Creek indicated for Peter to precede her into the tent. With a last sweeping glare at the people standing around him, Peter ducked down and entered the tepee, Little Creek and her sons just behind him.
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Wendy awoke with a jerk, her stomach lurching, propelling her onto her side to retch weakly what little she had onto the dusty floor. Her jaw ached abominably, her fingers finding the whole side of her face sore and bruised. With a final cough, Wendy flopped onto her back and stared up at the wooden ceiling wreathed in cobwebs, chinks of light squeezing through the cracks and knots in the planking. She felt sore all over, her ribs aching as if she'd been pressing them against something for a long time. Her head ached as well, her eyes gritty, her mouth dry. Rolling onto her other side, she tried to rise only to find her limbs unbearably weak and shaky. Sucking in a deep breath, Wendy pushed herself upright and sat up, her head hanging as she waited for the room to stop spinning. After a minute she raised her head to stare around her prison, the small room comprising nothing so much as a potting shed in size with a plank door on one side and no windows. Pushing herself to her feet she leant against the rough wall a moment to catch her breath before feeling her way along the splintery wood towards the door. It was secured with a simple wooden lift-latch but despite her best efforts she couldn't budge it. After rattling the catch she gave up and panted before pushing herself away from the door and feeling her way along to the opposite corner. Her bare toes kicked something and the she bent over to find a stool laying on its side. Righting the only bit of furniture in the dingy room, she sat down and rested her aching head against the her prison wall.
She remembered little of the journey, her last recollection being of staring up at the bright stars before something connected with her face, the blow sending her to oblivion filled with coarse hands and evil smelling clothes. As she sat trying to remember, several sounds started to impinge on her consciousness. From the light coming through the narrow slats it was obviously morning and she could here the sound of rushing water to her left. Not the lap of waves but more like a stream or cascade. Closing her eyes, she listened harder and heard the low murmur of voices along with the crackle and pop of a small fire. She couldn't make out what the voices were saying but they appeared to be male, presumably her kidnappers. Wendy licked her dry lips and wished they had left her a pitcher of water or something. Feeling a little stronger she rose to her feet and went back to the door, pressing herself to the wood and raising her fist to thump against the planking.
"Hey out there.....let me out of here!"
She listened and heard footsteps approach.
"You shut ya'self up in there....no point in shoutin' and carry'n on, there's nowt to hear you missy."
"Please, I'm thirsty, can't I have some water?"
"No....master say nothin' about giving you nowt...so quite yelpin'"
Her jailor moved away from the door and Wendy thumped the door again several times but he didn't return. Shortly the faint murmur of voices started up again and Wendy felt tears prick her eyes with her helplessness. Nausea gripped her again and she collapsed to the floor, one arm wrapped around her waist while her other held her hair back as she wretched again, producing nothing but more pain and leaving her sobbing in frustration.
Finding her way back to the stool she sat down. She wondered anew who the man was that had attacked her at the pool, and why Peter wouldn't tell her about it. She also wondered what had happened to Fly, whether she had been killed or kidnapped as well. Wendy hoped that she'd managed to escape, maybe even been able to raise the alarm back at the village. But if she had, surely Peter would have found Wendy and rescued her by now, just as he did when she had walked the plank, catching her in his arms before she hit the turbulent surface of the sea. The thought that little Precious Butterfly had been killed brought tears to Wendy's eye, her hand muffling her sobs as she wept for the girls fate, unmindful of her own perilous state.
The minutes lengthened into hours as the morning wore on and the hut began to heat up, becoming stifling with no opening to bring relief for the prisoner. Wendy started to feel faint from the heat and lack of water, the thin stripes of sunlight dancing in front of her eyes as she rose from her hard stool only to collapse senseless on the dusty floor. Minutes later a commotion outside announced the arrival of the real reason she had been brought to the hut. Striding up to the door, the man ripped away the plank of wood used to secure the latch and flung open the door, bracing himself on the flimsy framework while he waited for his sight to become adjusted to the gloom. What he saw brought an oath to his lips and the men standing behind him shrank back a little.
"Didn't you think to leave the wench a bucket of water or anything?"
"You didn't leave us any orders of what to do with 'er after we nabbed her."
"Dolt....." The man entered the cabin, his aristocratic nose wrinkling from the smell of bile and dirt. Gazing down at his disheveled prisoner, he lifted the undamaged corner of his mouth in a sneer of disgust. "Not so sweet now my lovely.....but we'll fix that. Don't want dear Peter to think we've been mistreating his precious darling...."
As if just realizing his pun, the man threw back his head and laughed, before turning on his polished heel and striding out of the tiny hut.
"Bring her to the cave, and make sure there's no evidence of her having been here.....don't want to make it too easy for the lad, now do we?"
The men leapt to carry out his orders, almost getting stuck in the doorway as they hurried to retrieve their insensible captive from her inadequate prison. The bigger man carried the limp body out into the sunshine, following his master along the beach to the cave entrance, cunningly concealed from view by a series of huge boulders that formed a maze like pathway to the cave mouth. The remaining man gave the hut a cursory glance before leaving it as they'd found it and turning his attention to gathering up their few belongings and dowsing the fire. He then hurried after his companions until all three disappeared into the side of the cliff as if they'd never been.
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(aha!! me hearty's....me thinks the game's afoot...and it ain't twelve inches!! (strange british humour there)....anyway, will try to hurry up with the next installment....I want to know what happens next too!!....)