CHAPTER V - A Flash Of Red
DISCLAIMER: No one except Weasel is mine in this chapter; Hook and Smee © J. M. Barrie.
Well, we're back with the "Jolly Roger" and its crew - and a certain diary is poised to cause a stir…
Enjoy, and please R&R, especially with your views on how I've portrayed Hook who, for the record, is based on Jason Isaacs' interpretation of the character.
"Get up." The order was hissed from the corner of bloodless, slender lips. It made the crew scramble to their feet and stand, frozen, around a quivering Smee, who was still clutching his diary.
James Hook flung his hair over his shoulder impressively and stared around at his fellows.
"Which one of you dogs would care to explain why you are acting like possessed children?" The last word was barbed, baited and ready.
There was a rushing silence. The man beautifully dressed in rich navy material and black leather boots narrowed his sword-blooded blue eyes and twisted his mouth in the beginnings of a snarl. White teeth flashed for a fraction of a second, and the crew began to chatter, frightened by authority.
"We -"
"Captain - "
"T'ain't -"
"SILENCE!"
The Captain took a step forward, lifting his hook and holding it aloft.
"Smee."
The bos'un couldn't have looked more terrified if faced with an army of sea serpents. He squeaked and his breathing quickened, his eyes wide and laced to the hook with burning ropes of obedience.
"Tell me, Mr. Smee, why this group of halfwitted fleabags were rolling around on the deck like gutted Lost Boys?" asked Hook with a growl.
"Uh…um…"
The crew stared about, looking anywhere but at their Captain.
"Well?" The word was laden with restrained impatience.
"It was, 'cos of my…" started Smee squeakily. He hiccupped nervously and attempted to regulate his breathing.
"Because of your what?"
Hook's eyes, always ready to search for small details with the precision of a leopard, switched to Smee's hands - and the book clasped in between them. Smee jumped as though startled and tried to whip the diary out of sight. But his fumblings were useless.
"Mr. Smee," began Hook evenly, twirling the maladroitly-curved hook contemplatively.
The pirates' eyes widened. A few gulped.
"Would you care to show me that book?"
If Smee hadn't been Smee, and if Hook had been most any other man in the entire world, the answer could well have been "No." But Smee, being Smee, and realizing the horrible fact that he could never say anything but what his Captain wanted to hear, mustered just about enough breath to mumble, "Yessir."
The long-fingered left hand extended in the air.
Smee found he couldn't move his feet, or indeed any other part of his person.
"Mr. Smee."
"Yyyesrightsir!" babbled Smee, falling forwards. Weasel sniggered with derision.
A bang exploded into the air and Weasel slumped onto the deck, a smoking bullet hole in his chest. Hook replaced the gun in his belt and took the diary from Smee's chubby, sweating fingers.
Smee wished for a timely crocodile appearance, or an Indian attack, or a Pan flyover - anything to stop that diary being opened…
Hook held the red book in his left hand and lifted the cover with his hook. He saw the scribbled writing and narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the many grammatical and spelling mistakes.
The page was turned, turned again…
Smee's breathing became squeaky and panicked. He wanted to step backwards, away from the cruel hook that would surely bring death to him today.
Another page.
Smee watched the forget-me-not blue eyes slide over the words - and saw them stop.
The hook became motionless.
A hiss of breath escaped the Captain's lips.
A red flash darted crazily across the black pupils.
The pirates scattered. Only Smee was left, cowering like a cornered rabbit.
"C-Captain…p-please…"
"Get out of my sight."
Smee fled.