Chapter 7

"We're being followed!" hissed Casey from the back of the group. Instantly, the men had their weapons drawn as they turned to assess the danger; faint cries of discovery told of soldiers tracking their path through the trees. Starkey swore and then addressed his captain.

"I c'n circle back; maybe draw some of 'em off?"

A quick nod from Hook sent the bosun hurrying back the way they'd come. With a grimace, Hook quickly studied their surroundings. If they split off in several directions, their pursuers might follow suit… or they might focus on one trail, leaving that unlucky pirate to deal with the whole mob. They were unlikely to be successful at outrunning the well-trained and probably well-rested soldiers. Which left only one grim option.

"We'll have to make a stand, mates. Find cover; try and take them by surprise."

Nervously, the pirates scattered. The captain ducked behind a nearby trunk, Smee close on his heels. Hook painfully shed his coat, fearing it would restrict his movements. He couldn't help wishing he had the use of his hook. Smee stashed his satchel and sack of supplies against the tree's roots as he murmured,

"S-stick with me, s-sir. We'll be all right."

Hook flexed his grip on his cutlass; the damn tingling had returned with a vengeance. "Bloody hell."

The shouts were nearing. Suddenly, a commotion told of Starkey's intervention: angry yells and ringing steel meant he'd engaged at least some of the soldiers. But it was apparent that the majority still stuck determinedly to the trail.

"Onward, men! We're closing in!" came the command. Then a voice rang out from just beyond Hook's tree:

"Sir, I think-"

The scout's report was cut off by a pirate blade, and without waiting for orders, the soldiers charged - to the chagrin of their officer. Several ran right past Hook's concealed men, and were slain for their haste. Smee and Hook each dispatched a soldier on either side of their tree.

The advance slowed, the remaining soldiers chastened by the deaths of their comrades. But now they knew the pirates' positions, and even how many they were. Whispered orders accompanied the rustling of movement. Hook struggled to focus through the blaze from his shoulder.

If they had archers in their ranks, they would probably attempt to circle their hiding quarry to get within sight. But Hook didn't dare leave his cover, in case there were also archers among the main force.

"Give up, pirates!" mocked the commander. "You have no chance. If you come with us peaceably, you may yet receive my mercy."

"Is that so... how very magnanimous of you." Hook pretended to lose his balance, knocking into Smee with his good shoulder and elbow. The first mate lost his footing and fell to his knees with a whimper - right into the soldier's line of sight. No arrows flew as he scrambled back into cover: no archers, then. "Perhaps it's you who should retreat. We pirate-types excel at killing soldiers."

"And deserve death yourselves," the commander spat. "A lingering, painful death, followed by an eternity of suffering in Hell."

His words were definitely covering the sounds of movement. Hook listened closely. Several pairs of feet indeed flanked them, unable to completely mask their steps among the foliage.

"Hey! Are you listening to me, pirate? Do you fear for your immortal soul?"

Thinking furiously, Hook finally allowed a tremor in his voice as he replied,

"You… you can save our souls?"

Hook could feel Smee's confusion as he watched his captain remove the sling from around his neck, a low grunt of pain accompanying the movement. As he draped the white fabric on the tip of his cutlass, Hook continued his charade.

"Please, I don't want to end up in Hades' clutches. Parley?"

He poked his makeshift white flag out beyond the trunk and waved it so the soldiers would see. Then he cautiously followed, wearing his best expression of pitiful terror.

There were less than a score of soldiers in the immediate area, including their commander. Not great odds, but better than they would be had they decided not to split their forces. Each man gripped his sword tightly, ready for any sudden move on Hook's part. The officer studied Hook disdainfully.

"If you surrender now, I will arrange for religious instruction before your hanging. But I can't guarantee it will be enough to cover a lifetime of dark deeds."

"I… I'll try anything," sniveled Hook. He lowered his cutlass, and the sling slid off the tip onto the dirt. "Come out, lads. This man of mercy is offering a chance at salvation."

His crew cautiously obeyed, each pirate looking as if he wanted to trust his captain, but secretly wondered if he'd gone off the deep end. Hook flashed a watery smile at the officer, who nodded smugly.

"Drop your weapons."

In an instant, the pirate captain's demeanor changed. His men were protected from ambush, for now; they knew what they were up against, and he trusted them to be victorious. Hook raised his blade with a cold laugh.

"Come and get them."

The commander looked baffled for a moment, then his gaze darkened. "Show 'em what we're made of, boys."

With a terrifying rush of booted feet, the soldiers charged. They were disciplined enough, wordlessly breaking into groups of two or three to take on each pirate. The largest contingent went for Hook and Smee, obviously hoping to take the fight out of the rest by dispatching their leader. Unsurprisingly, the officer hung back to observe.

Hook took care of the first two easily; they seemed to underestimate him because of his injury, and didn't put much thought or power behind their movements. But the third and fourth - and then the fifth - attacked with more caution, working in tandem to quickly overwhelm him and back him right up against the tree. At his side, Smee handled himself admirably, but could provide no further assistance beyond engaging his own attackers.

Through his gasping breaths, Hook was only dimly aware of Jukes barrelling in from the left: having dealt with his own soldiers, he was free to come to his captain's aid. With the distraction, Hook managed a lucky hit to one of the two remaining. The soldier fell, his comrade snarled... and Hook's cutlass flew from his hand.

His completely numb hand.

Hook lunged sideways just in time, throwing his arm up to ward off what might otherwise have been a fatal strike. He only vaguely felt the bite of the blade as it sliced into his forearm. Then he was on his knees, disarmed; completely at the mercy of his assailant.

The soldier gave a wicked grin before kicking viciously at Hook's wounded shoulder. Hook cried out and crumpled to the ground, expecting the killing blow at any moment. But instead, the soldier joined him in the dirt, Smee's blade buried deep in his chest.

Between pounding heartbeats and hissing breaths, Hook heard Starkey snarling somewhere behind the tree. The bosun must have made it back in time to take on the would-be ambushers at their backs. The rest of Hook's men had gathered around their fallen captain, watching for further attacks that never came. Even the commander lay slain, reaching toward his village of origin, someone's dagger still protruding from his back.

Hook weakly pushed himself up to sit against the tree trunk, trembling with pain and fatigue. Smee knelt in concern.

"Captain - are you-"

Hook's rage gave him strength and he drove his hand into Smee's earnest frown, forgetting for the moment his inability to make a solid fist. Smee still toppled over backwards, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, though the impact likely did just as much damage to Hook's unsupported knuckles. But he couldn't feel it; he didn't care.

"Damn you, Smee! This is your fault! You're so bloody stupid!"

Hook winced and broke off. Smee rolled onto his knees, a hand to his face and a confused look in his eyes.

"I… I don't understand, sir," slobbered Smee as a panting Starkey stalked over to join his mates. Hook again unsuccessfully tried to control his hand, and felt his throat constrict with panic and anguish. He could feel tears prickling behind his eyes: it wasn't fair.

Smee's dazed expression only fueled Hook's fury, and the captain struggled to his knees before clumsily launching himself at his first mate. Smee went down yet again, with Hook sprawled on top of him, forearm pressed against his throat.

"I should kill you," Hook hissed, suddenly dizzy with pain. The first mate gripped his arm with both hands as he struggled to breathe; to push away the weight. Hook breathed in a sob, grimacing.

"'Ere, what's all this, Cap'n?" Starkey interjected, dropping to his knees beside the pair. Hook only growled, his attention still on Smee's slightly bugged-out eyes. The bosun solemnly beckoned for assistance; Jukes and Casey crouched on either side of the scuffle. Between the three of them, they were able to lift a savagely cursing Hook off of his first mate. Smee wheezed, clutching his bloodstained throat, and Hook aimed his venom at the others as he struggled unsuccessfully against their grip. They settled him back against the tree, and Starkey held a hand against his chest.

"Sorry, sir, but right now, we need 'im. You decide later 'e's deserving of execution, that's your prerogative."

Casey gently helped Smee to sit up, then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped anxiously at the blood on his neck. Smee waved him off, rasping,

"I'm all right."

Panting, Hook screwed his eyes shut as his shoulder radiated agony. Still at his side, Starkey quietly addressed the other men.

"How'd we fare, gentlemen? Anyone in mortal danger?"

The pirates took stock of their injuries; miraculously, most were minor, and none life-threatening.

"Get yourselves cleaned up. Smee?"

Smee knew what Starkey was after even without him spelling it out. He pointed to Hook's tree, behind which lay his bag of healing supplies. "Over there."

Casey helpfully went to retrieve it, and the others took what they needed and went off to tend to themselves. Starkey sat heavily with a sigh, studying his agitated captain. Shooting a surreptitious wink in Smee's direction, the bosun prompted,

"Well, sir. What's Mr. Smee done this time?"

"He's a damn fool."

"That's nothing new," scoffed Starkey. "So what's the real bother?"

After a heavy silence, the captain swallowed the lump in his throat.

"My hand," Hook admitted quietly. "It's gone."

With a raised eyebrow, Starkey glanced down to where Hook's hand rested loosely on his knee. Slowly, carefully, Starkey objected,

"'Fraid I don't follow, sir. Your 'and's right there."

For the first time in the conversation, Hook opened his eyes; they flashed anger and pain at the bosun. "I can't feel it; can't move it… the bloody enchantment's taken it from me, surely as the Crocodile's blade took the other. If Smee weren't so damn gullible-"

"Now 'old on a moment there, Cap'n," interrupted Starkey. "I'm as much to blame for that as 'e is. We were equals in that decision. So if 'is life is forfeit, mine ought to be as well."

Hook just stared, fight gone; all light drained from his gaze. Smee sniffed and spoke up.

"I'm so sorry, Captain. We didn't know."

As Hook sagged back against the tree, Starkey leaned closer. "May I?"

The captain didn't object, so Starkey took hold of the lifeless hand and held it up. Timidly, Smee crawled closer to take a look; Hook made no move to resume his attack, dejectedly watching the examination that he couldn't feel. Smee gently spread the fingers, noting the swollen, bleeding knuckles as he lightly ran his own fingers along the skin. There was no response from Hook. The hand felt slightly cooler to the touch than normal; Smee compared it to the arm just above the cuff, and there was a noticeable difference. Starkey was absently twirling the cuff, looking for any trace of a seam and finding none. Smee flipped Hook's hand over and traced a line across his palm; no twitch, no sign of any sensation. Just then, Smee saw the blood running down Hook's arm and dripping off his elbow.

"Can I take a look?"

Hook remained silent, but offered no resistance when Smee lifted his arm further and positioned his limp hand over his bicep to access the deep slash that diagonally intersected the ulna.

"Bring me my bag, will you, Starkey?"

The bosun complied, and when he had returned, Smee instructed him how best to position Hook's arm so Smee could reach the injury. Starkey settled himself at Hook's side, but before assuming the two-handed grip requested of him, he fished out his flask.

"Rum, sir?"

Hook gave a single shake of his head, to the surprise of both men.

He would require assistance with everything, from that day forward.

He was in no hurry to accept that reality.

Hook barely flinched as Smee washed the gash; the constant torment from his shoulder and his dark emotions overshadowing the burn. His listless eyes locked on the forest beyond without really seeing it. Smee readied his trusty needle and thread, commenting,

"Maybe this wound's to blame for the hand; maybe once the inflammation goes down…"

"I lost the ability to grip my cutlass before I was cut," Hook contradicted, and Smee dropped his gaze.

"Oh." The first mate took a breath, then said, "Well, it's deep; down to the bone in places. Sorry." He held up the needle, and Hook nodded.

Starkey gripped Hook's bicep and wrist tightly, holding the arm as still as possible as Smee tended the wound. Hook closed his eyes and worked his jaw in silence.

"Maybe…" mused Starkey, hesitating. "Maybe it isn't permanent. Your 'and. Maybe once we find a way to get the damn cuff off, you'll regain its use."

Hook didn't react; apparently, he wasn't optimistic about the suggestion. More quietly, Starkey said,

"You… you know we don't mind 'elping you, aye?"

The statement caused Hook's eyes to snap open, a spark of wrath directed at the bosun's boldness. Starkey met his glare briefly, if only to assure the captain of his honest intentions, then he looked away.

"Sorry, sir."

Smee pushed the needle through once more, saying,

"Last one."

He quickly tied and tightened the knot, snipped the thread, and then selected a bandage to wrap around the wound. Hook had gone back to mindless staring, morose thoughts a million miles away. With the dressing in place, Starkey gently lowered Hook's arm.

"Maybe I should check your shoulder," mused Smee, noticing fresh blood on the bandage and not knowing whether it was from the leeches or if Hook had aggravated the wound during the fight. But the captain refused.

"We need to leave."

"Right this minute?"

When Hook didn't explain, Starkey guessed at his thought process. "Villagers'll miss the soldiers when they don't return. And soon enough, the vultures and ravens'll lead 'em straight 'ere."

"Still, it will only take a few minutes…"

"Which is a few minutes closer to the end of my strength," Hook retorted candidly. "So unless you'd enjoy carrying me…"

Smee studied him anew. His skin was pale, but his cheeks were flushed; beads of sweat gathered on his face; slight tremors wracked him in regular intervals. Smee swallowed.

"All right, sir. I'll round up the others."

The first mate stood with a groan. Starkey began to follow suit, then hesitated.

"Help up?"

Hook kept his sullen gaze averted as he nodded reluctantly. The bosun ducked under Hook's good arm and snaked a hand behind his back to grip his ribs, then stood, pulling the captain with him. While Hook caught his breath, Starkey went to fetch the discarded sling, as well as the cutlass… the one he'd be unable to use anyway. But Hook said nothing. Starkey slid the weapon into its sheath and then arranged the sling comfortably around his captain's neck.

"All right, sir?"

"Aye," lied Hook. "Move out."

Starkey gestured to the rest of the men, and they set off away from the place of slaughter.

They were more careful about covering their trail this time.