This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to
Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J.
Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel
[1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens
[1904]).
NOTE: This chapter might seem a little un-PC to some, but please bear in mind that I am trying to stay true to the original style and era in which Barrie's novel was written, when ideals were much different than ours and people accepted stereotypes as facts. My intention is not to offend, so please don't take it thus! :-)
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...I don't take money from sick kids like Michael Eisner (heheheh)...
Here's Chapter XII, a decidedly shorter one for a change! More comments please, good or bad! :-)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
XII. WEIGHING THE ALBATROSS
Did not this night seem unusually tranquil whence it met its end? Wendy thought so as she gazed out the bedchamber window from under her quilts. Not a leaf rustled, not a star winked, not a cloud breathed. One would scarcely be able to tell of all the mayhem which had occurred earlier.
None except Wendy, whose arm throbbed under fresh stitches and ankle aggravated anew from her tussle with the mermaid. Though 'twas not these physical grievances which kept her awake. As she aimlessly twiddled betwixt her fingers the opal necklace still about her neck, her thoughts whirled round the man who had given it to her. A Man indeed. And how he behaved as though she was such a lady. Truth be told, Wendy had to finally admit to herself that she did enjoy it.
Oh, the troublesome irony of it all – that she had come back to Neverland to escape the inevitable, to latch onto the last waning threads of her childhood, and all she had found was a cruel rejection from that which she sought and a startling acceptance from that which she was dodging. The question plaguing her now, above all else, was whether or not 'twas worth it to continue to struggle against it.
And just what, pray tell, was she expecting to happen when the Captain held her still and close in his arms at dinner? This matter was almost too disconcerting for Wendy to even allow her mind to focus upon for one second. But the harder she tried, the more insistent it became, stampeding like a bull through all other thoughts and standing brazenly center stage, daring her to look away. She had come to regard Captain Hook as almost a surrogate father – at least, inasmuch as one could consider the jaded pirate thus. But recently she had caught herself stealing a spare glance or two in his direction, and scribbling a note only within her most private internal diary that he was actually quite handsome when he was not scowling or brooding about. He had an enchanting smile, though it typically appeared as if it brought his face great pain to produce one. Wendy thought this most piteous.
But she could see his whole disposition alter at her presence. She knew it dangerous and rather pretentious to think that she, Silly Little Wendy Darling, possessed any sort of power over the mind-set of a man who had spent centuries wallowing comfortably in his own rage and despair. Yet, there it was. And with it came a new question: What on earth was that odd little tickle in her belly when she thought of this? And when she recalled once more the bizarre interlude at dinner, why did that tickle reach further down...?
Wendy abruptly turned over on her side in the bed, her knees to her chest and her eyes shut tight. No, she would think these things no more tonight. In her head, she stood resolutely before the bull and told him to be on his way – she'd had quite enough of his mischief and would prefer to get some much-needed rest. The bull gave an inconvenienced huff but did as he was told, regressing back to the most shadowy corners of Wendy's mind for now. He did so only because he knew he would return before long.
Wendy needn't do anymore worrying that night anyhow, for in the very next room sat a dark figure doing quite enough fretting for the both of them. His elbows upon the table, he rubbed his throbbing temples, his mind wrestling with all the same cursed thoughts as if he were trying in vain to steer a wayward brig. He was well aware his destination, and it was NOT the young girl in his bedchamber. How could he allow himself to veer so far off course? It mattered not how much he internally cried out for it to cease, for his mind was the one footsoldier whom he could not command.
Aye, 'twas all becoming terribly out of hand. But he was too close to his objective to turn back now. He had proven to Wendy that she could trust him with her very life. Soon she would think nothing at all of divulging to him the location of Peter Pan's new hideout, and he would at long last be able to toast to his victory over the Boy.
But what then? Hook was beginning to gravely question whether he would adhere to his original plan of keeping Wendy all to himself. All these wicked affections he had for the girl were threatening to only get worse. But with Pan rid of and his Mission accomplished, would it then be an issue? He could only imagine it would, for if this girl was capable of so heavily distracting him even from his interminable fixation on Peter Pan, he shuddered to think how far he would enslave himself to her wiles should Pan be of no concern any longer. Much would there need to be done whence Hook had liberated himself from the Neverland, and he would require a yogic focus with which to accomplish them. Perhaps his best bet would be to leave Wendy behind after all was said and done. Yes, this may be the only suitable solution. He naturally assumed that having Wendy out of sight would drive her effortlessly out of mind. Certainly, he would miss her company, but with his freedom from this infernal island would come a plethora of new opportunities for female companionship at his fingertips. Oh, to cavort with a buxom Italian maiden once again!
All these contemplations were quite easy to weigh when Wendy was not within his immediate presence. But even so, only but a wall – one door – separated them presently. Hook need only take a single casual stride to reach it, open it, and then......what? How would his mind process the sight of the young beauty sleeping peacefully, already in HIS bed? What wretched messages would it send to the rest of his body as it mulled over her rose-kissed lips and skin – oh, that skin – so flawless as to make Aphrodite herself weep with envy? How should his hand start to twitch whence he gazed upon the gentle rising and lowering of her chest with every unruffled breath, the delicate nightdress she wore hugging every crook of her maturing body? Would his mind then whisper roguishly to his hand, "Go on..." and bid him approach the tempting figure, his arm aloft – nay, the left one this time – his hand hovering above her heart space, and then gently lowering it to...
Hook stood with a start, nearly upending his chair behind him. No, no more of this! he pleaded with his head. Indeed, he had done some despicable things in his life, but none so debauched as to infatuate the body of an adolescent girl. He ought to be whipped! But he would settle for a spot of fresh air instead.
Thus he dashed from the stifling stateroom and out onto the deck of his ship, taking in a healthy gulp of the briny draft. A handful of his men still milled near the mizzenmast, sorting out the remainder of the loot from their abandoned mission onshore. The Captain decided his pretense for his sudden appearance on deck was to assess their progress. He strode authoritatively past the men, scrutinizing them, until he was quite near the forecastle. He had only been gone from his cabin a few moments, but that was all the time they needed...
Wendy was still only half-asleep when she felt the warm pressure pushing down over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, and in the darkness of the bedchamber she could only make out the dubious outline of a wiry man, two braids sprouting from his head and flanked by what appeared to be feathers. He was not alone. Two more figures lingered at his side, each of them bearing down on her. With the quickness and stealth of a cheetah, they had her bound and gagged soundly. And before the word 'Mohican' could form in her brain, she was carried off...
As Wendy had, Captain Hook took notice of the queer stillness of the night. It was a most unsettling calm – like one preceding a dreadful storm. Though it was not the weather which sent an uneasiness through Hook's bones. As his blue eyes swept over every corner of the fo'c's'le before him, he sensed something wholly sinister lurking. He could detect all things of a wicked nature, as wickedness was his chief milieu. And it was all about him now.
With one hand to his cutlass, Hook continued to inch toward the stern, his every sense heightened like that of a wolf on the hunt. His men on deck became aware of his graveness and ceased their work, watching him carefully and silently preparing for what their Captain might find.
Hook's stride was stayed when his keen eye settled upon the railing at the stern. Several ropes in various split knots and bowlines were attached, as per usual, but there were at least three he could see that did not belong to his ship, and they hung limply overboard. But wait – no, they were not limp. They were quite taut, as if being pulled on from below, and they quivered subtly under the unknown weight.
Hook furtively drew his cutlass as the ropes grew tighter and leaned further from the frame of the ship. Whence they saw this, the men on deck scrambled to their feet, and one of them scurried below decks.
Hook moved to take a step closer, and at that moment, no less than five bronzed and painted bodies soared over the railing and onto the deck before him, whooping up a small proclamation of their advent.
Redskins, Hook growled to himself, holding his sword and claw aloft.
The five dashing warriors stood in a semi-circle with their arms folded and feet spread apart, exuding an intimidation no other race of being could under the same such motionless stance. The brave at center spoke first.
"You have wares which belong to us, Captain Hook." He spoke the English well, though with little enthusiasm, as if loathing that he had to.
"To the contrary, my noble Savage, I believe they belong to me now," Hook hissed.
"We not leave this boat until you give it back."
Hook's lips formed to a smug smirk. Who was this lad trying to kid? Five deficiently-armed Indians against an entire crew of pirates with pistols and cannons?
But then, it struck Hook like lightening.
His men, seemingly every last able-bodied one of them, were suddenly encroaching the fo'c's'le behind their venerable Captain, swords drawn. Hook turned to them abruptly, his face awash in panic.
"NO! ALL OF YOU! STOP!"
But it was too late. The five warriors sent out a battle cry which was instantly answered by nearly a hundred more all about the ship, and in a flash of feathers and war paint, the Jolly Roger was completely infiltrated with Indians from all sides. With Hook and his entire crew cleverly distracted by the braves at the stern, the rest of the tribesmen easily overtook the ship to reclaim their stolen property piled unguarded on deck.
The pirates charged on them at once, though 'twas quite already a lost cause, thus they prudently focused on driving the Indians from off their ship. As for Hook, he spun back round to face the five decoys, but alas, they were gone! A subtle rage began to swell in Hook's gut whilst he stood upon the fo'c's'le and observed the chaos below. But amid all this disorder, Hook's attention was drawn to an unremarkable but no less harrowing sight – on the other end of the ship, he saw his cabin door completely agape...when he was certain he had closed it. His heart leapt into his throat.
Racing down the stairs off the stern, Hook stormed head-on into the melee on deck; dodging swords, arrows, and flailing bodies, to make his way to his quarters. He charged inside and beelined toward his bedchamber, where he flung open the door and bellowed:
"Wendy!"
But she was not in the bed where he had left her. In her stead, a small hatchet protruded from the headboard. Hook felt dizzy with fury and offense. Though there were no signs of a struggle or bloodshed, foolish is the pirate who would dare underestimate a Redskin.
Staggering back to the door of his stateroom, the Captain saw that the Indians were gone, and his men milled confoundedly about in the aftermath of battle. Hook's faithful bosun was the lone one of them to step forward.
"Cap'n! They got our boats! Every last one of 'em!"
Hook gnashed his teeth and approached the beleaguered deck. He stood at the nucleus of his crew, looking all about him at the smears of blood on the floorboards and meager scraps of provisions which the Indians had carelessly left behind. Hook stroked his claw, taking stock of what had occurred and what he intended to do in response. His men eagerly awaited his instruction.
"All hands, gather round!" Hook hollered.
The pirates dutifully closed in on him to listen. At once he began doling out orders for the new mission to take place that night. And as he spoke, only one single thought surged through his mind:
They have taken Wendy from me!
NOTE: This chapter might seem a little un-PC to some, but please bear in mind that I am trying to stay true to the original style and era in which Barrie's novel was written, when ideals were much different than ours and people accepted stereotypes as facts. My intention is not to offend, so please don't take it thus! :-)
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...I don't take money from sick kids like Michael Eisner (heheheh)...
Here's Chapter XII, a decidedly shorter one for a change! More comments please, good or bad! :-)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
XII. WEIGHING THE ALBATROSS
Did not this night seem unusually tranquil whence it met its end? Wendy thought so as she gazed out the bedchamber window from under her quilts. Not a leaf rustled, not a star winked, not a cloud breathed. One would scarcely be able to tell of all the mayhem which had occurred earlier.
None except Wendy, whose arm throbbed under fresh stitches and ankle aggravated anew from her tussle with the mermaid. Though 'twas not these physical grievances which kept her awake. As she aimlessly twiddled betwixt her fingers the opal necklace still about her neck, her thoughts whirled round the man who had given it to her. A Man indeed. And how he behaved as though she was such a lady. Truth be told, Wendy had to finally admit to herself that she did enjoy it.
Oh, the troublesome irony of it all – that she had come back to Neverland to escape the inevitable, to latch onto the last waning threads of her childhood, and all she had found was a cruel rejection from that which she sought and a startling acceptance from that which she was dodging. The question plaguing her now, above all else, was whether or not 'twas worth it to continue to struggle against it.
And just what, pray tell, was she expecting to happen when the Captain held her still and close in his arms at dinner? This matter was almost too disconcerting for Wendy to even allow her mind to focus upon for one second. But the harder she tried, the more insistent it became, stampeding like a bull through all other thoughts and standing brazenly center stage, daring her to look away. She had come to regard Captain Hook as almost a surrogate father – at least, inasmuch as one could consider the jaded pirate thus. But recently she had caught herself stealing a spare glance or two in his direction, and scribbling a note only within her most private internal diary that he was actually quite handsome when he was not scowling or brooding about. He had an enchanting smile, though it typically appeared as if it brought his face great pain to produce one. Wendy thought this most piteous.
But she could see his whole disposition alter at her presence. She knew it dangerous and rather pretentious to think that she, Silly Little Wendy Darling, possessed any sort of power over the mind-set of a man who had spent centuries wallowing comfortably in his own rage and despair. Yet, there it was. And with it came a new question: What on earth was that odd little tickle in her belly when she thought of this? And when she recalled once more the bizarre interlude at dinner, why did that tickle reach further down...?
Wendy abruptly turned over on her side in the bed, her knees to her chest and her eyes shut tight. No, she would think these things no more tonight. In her head, she stood resolutely before the bull and told him to be on his way – she'd had quite enough of his mischief and would prefer to get some much-needed rest. The bull gave an inconvenienced huff but did as he was told, regressing back to the most shadowy corners of Wendy's mind for now. He did so only because he knew he would return before long.
Wendy needn't do anymore worrying that night anyhow, for in the very next room sat a dark figure doing quite enough fretting for the both of them. His elbows upon the table, he rubbed his throbbing temples, his mind wrestling with all the same cursed thoughts as if he were trying in vain to steer a wayward brig. He was well aware his destination, and it was NOT the young girl in his bedchamber. How could he allow himself to veer so far off course? It mattered not how much he internally cried out for it to cease, for his mind was the one footsoldier whom he could not command.
Aye, 'twas all becoming terribly out of hand. But he was too close to his objective to turn back now. He had proven to Wendy that she could trust him with her very life. Soon she would think nothing at all of divulging to him the location of Peter Pan's new hideout, and he would at long last be able to toast to his victory over the Boy.
But what then? Hook was beginning to gravely question whether he would adhere to his original plan of keeping Wendy all to himself. All these wicked affections he had for the girl were threatening to only get worse. But with Pan rid of and his Mission accomplished, would it then be an issue? He could only imagine it would, for if this girl was capable of so heavily distracting him even from his interminable fixation on Peter Pan, he shuddered to think how far he would enslave himself to her wiles should Pan be of no concern any longer. Much would there need to be done whence Hook had liberated himself from the Neverland, and he would require a yogic focus with which to accomplish them. Perhaps his best bet would be to leave Wendy behind after all was said and done. Yes, this may be the only suitable solution. He naturally assumed that having Wendy out of sight would drive her effortlessly out of mind. Certainly, he would miss her company, but with his freedom from this infernal island would come a plethora of new opportunities for female companionship at his fingertips. Oh, to cavort with a buxom Italian maiden once again!
All these contemplations were quite easy to weigh when Wendy was not within his immediate presence. But even so, only but a wall – one door – separated them presently. Hook need only take a single casual stride to reach it, open it, and then......what? How would his mind process the sight of the young beauty sleeping peacefully, already in HIS bed? What wretched messages would it send to the rest of his body as it mulled over her rose-kissed lips and skin – oh, that skin – so flawless as to make Aphrodite herself weep with envy? How should his hand start to twitch whence he gazed upon the gentle rising and lowering of her chest with every unruffled breath, the delicate nightdress she wore hugging every crook of her maturing body? Would his mind then whisper roguishly to his hand, "Go on..." and bid him approach the tempting figure, his arm aloft – nay, the left one this time – his hand hovering above her heart space, and then gently lowering it to...
Hook stood with a start, nearly upending his chair behind him. No, no more of this! he pleaded with his head. Indeed, he had done some despicable things in his life, but none so debauched as to infatuate the body of an adolescent girl. He ought to be whipped! But he would settle for a spot of fresh air instead.
Thus he dashed from the stifling stateroom and out onto the deck of his ship, taking in a healthy gulp of the briny draft. A handful of his men still milled near the mizzenmast, sorting out the remainder of the loot from their abandoned mission onshore. The Captain decided his pretense for his sudden appearance on deck was to assess their progress. He strode authoritatively past the men, scrutinizing them, until he was quite near the forecastle. He had only been gone from his cabin a few moments, but that was all the time they needed...
Wendy was still only half-asleep when she felt the warm pressure pushing down over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, and in the darkness of the bedchamber she could only make out the dubious outline of a wiry man, two braids sprouting from his head and flanked by what appeared to be feathers. He was not alone. Two more figures lingered at his side, each of them bearing down on her. With the quickness and stealth of a cheetah, they had her bound and gagged soundly. And before the word 'Mohican' could form in her brain, she was carried off...
As Wendy had, Captain Hook took notice of the queer stillness of the night. It was a most unsettling calm – like one preceding a dreadful storm. Though it was not the weather which sent an uneasiness through Hook's bones. As his blue eyes swept over every corner of the fo'c's'le before him, he sensed something wholly sinister lurking. He could detect all things of a wicked nature, as wickedness was his chief milieu. And it was all about him now.
With one hand to his cutlass, Hook continued to inch toward the stern, his every sense heightened like that of a wolf on the hunt. His men on deck became aware of his graveness and ceased their work, watching him carefully and silently preparing for what their Captain might find.
Hook's stride was stayed when his keen eye settled upon the railing at the stern. Several ropes in various split knots and bowlines were attached, as per usual, but there were at least three he could see that did not belong to his ship, and they hung limply overboard. But wait – no, they were not limp. They were quite taut, as if being pulled on from below, and they quivered subtly under the unknown weight.
Hook furtively drew his cutlass as the ropes grew tighter and leaned further from the frame of the ship. Whence they saw this, the men on deck scrambled to their feet, and one of them scurried below decks.
Hook moved to take a step closer, and at that moment, no less than five bronzed and painted bodies soared over the railing and onto the deck before him, whooping up a small proclamation of their advent.
Redskins, Hook growled to himself, holding his sword and claw aloft.
The five dashing warriors stood in a semi-circle with their arms folded and feet spread apart, exuding an intimidation no other race of being could under the same such motionless stance. The brave at center spoke first.
"You have wares which belong to us, Captain Hook." He spoke the English well, though with little enthusiasm, as if loathing that he had to.
"To the contrary, my noble Savage, I believe they belong to me now," Hook hissed.
"We not leave this boat until you give it back."
Hook's lips formed to a smug smirk. Who was this lad trying to kid? Five deficiently-armed Indians against an entire crew of pirates with pistols and cannons?
But then, it struck Hook like lightening.
His men, seemingly every last able-bodied one of them, were suddenly encroaching the fo'c's'le behind their venerable Captain, swords drawn. Hook turned to them abruptly, his face awash in panic.
"NO! ALL OF YOU! STOP!"
But it was too late. The five warriors sent out a battle cry which was instantly answered by nearly a hundred more all about the ship, and in a flash of feathers and war paint, the Jolly Roger was completely infiltrated with Indians from all sides. With Hook and his entire crew cleverly distracted by the braves at the stern, the rest of the tribesmen easily overtook the ship to reclaim their stolen property piled unguarded on deck.
The pirates charged on them at once, though 'twas quite already a lost cause, thus they prudently focused on driving the Indians from off their ship. As for Hook, he spun back round to face the five decoys, but alas, they were gone! A subtle rage began to swell in Hook's gut whilst he stood upon the fo'c's'le and observed the chaos below. But amid all this disorder, Hook's attention was drawn to an unremarkable but no less harrowing sight – on the other end of the ship, he saw his cabin door completely agape...when he was certain he had closed it. His heart leapt into his throat.
Racing down the stairs off the stern, Hook stormed head-on into the melee on deck; dodging swords, arrows, and flailing bodies, to make his way to his quarters. He charged inside and beelined toward his bedchamber, where he flung open the door and bellowed:
"Wendy!"
But she was not in the bed where he had left her. In her stead, a small hatchet protruded from the headboard. Hook felt dizzy with fury and offense. Though there were no signs of a struggle or bloodshed, foolish is the pirate who would dare underestimate a Redskin.
Staggering back to the door of his stateroom, the Captain saw that the Indians were gone, and his men milled confoundedly about in the aftermath of battle. Hook's faithful bosun was the lone one of them to step forward.
"Cap'n! They got our boats! Every last one of 'em!"
Hook gnashed his teeth and approached the beleaguered deck. He stood at the nucleus of his crew, looking all about him at the smears of blood on the floorboards and meager scraps of provisions which the Indians had carelessly left behind. Hook stroked his claw, taking stock of what had occurred and what he intended to do in response. His men eagerly awaited his instruction.
"All hands, gather round!" Hook hollered.
The pirates dutifully closed in on him to listen. At once he began doling out orders for the new mission to take place that night. And as he spoke, only one single thought surged through his mind:
They have taken Wendy from me!