Hi, my dear readers!
Thank you for the feedback and I love it, how you speculate what will happen next. It shows, how much thoughts you spent on the story. And I don't want to let you wait any longer.
Here comes the next chapter and you will see that Red-Handed Jill is back! Hook and his crew get a first taste what to expect in 'modern' days, and concerning Peter – well, he's about to face his worst fear coming true.
Have fun
Yours Lywhn / Starflgiht
Chapter 40 – A Failed Escape Attempt
As Brynna walked briskly to Wendy's guest room, the shouting and pounding became louder. Of all things, why just this moment? Taking the key from the pocket of her morning gown, she unlocked the door and opened it. "Miss Darling, why all the noise?" she asked with forced courtesy, and stopped when she saw the empty bed. "Where … GAHH" The exclamation came as a hard shove from behind sent her toward the bed. Brynna found herself fallen partially on the bed and the floor. She attempted to regain her feet, but Wendy was quicker. Throwing the comforter in her hands over the old woman, momentarily disorienting her, the girl rushed out of the room, slamming the door and twisting the key. Bumblyn ran after her, carrying the heavy warming pan she had assigned to him.
"Thank you," Wendy breathed and took the device from him and ran down the hallway, Bumblyn on her heels. The large brass pan with cover on a long stick was a poor weapon, but better than nothing.
A wrinkled little creature in a faded tartan dress hopped towards her, waving the too long arms. "Quick, Milady, to the horseless coach they take the boy!" she squeaked.
Wendy knew that this had to be the Brownie Bumblyn told her about. Feeling the effect of the drugs again, Wendy shook her head, clinging to the handle of the warming pan. She passed the Brownie with a "Thank you, Nissa!" and hastened to the staircase. "Stay hidden, you two. Whatever happens, stay hidden!" Gathering the long coat she wore over the nightgown, she ran down the stairs. She would free Peter, no matter the cost!
*** PP ***
Peter still struggled against Wickham and Anders as they reached the Wolseley, the open motorcar with the removeable top Brynna usually used. While Fulsom climbed onto the driver seat, the two hunters set the boy on his feet, wrapped him into the blanket as a full-body-binding and dumped him carelessly onto the backseat.
"Let me go, you pig droppings!" he shouted. "You'll know you're finished when Tinker Bell comes and-" Another slap and Peter felt tears of rage and frustration rising in him. They couldn't do this to him! Dammit, even Hook had shown more respect when he was still his enemy!
Fulsom started the motorcar, and Dalton handed him an envelope. "Here is the letter and the money for Mr. Primley. Give him my best regards and my sincere thanks for his help. I -"
"LET HIM GO!"
Dalton whirled, startled, jaw dropping when he saw the slender figure with the long, walnut hair shoving Reuben Jackson aside and running down the wide stairs. "Wendy…" he began; flabbergasted. He met her furious, flashing eyes, and Anders stepped in front of him.
Lifting both hands he said, "Hey, Missy, calm down! We only-" He got no further as the warming pan met his upraised arm and then his temple with strong blows. He fell, stunned and starting to bleed.
Wendy was happy to do it. Each of these men had a part in James' death, murdering fairies and other Little People, bringing tragedy to Tiger-Lily's people and the dragons. And they had KIDNAPPED Peter and were about to take him away to an orphanage, forcing him to grow up! No, there would be no mercy for those low-downs!
Peter had managed to sit up and saw her out the window, his friend, clad in a nightgown and coat. A new hope rose in him. Grinning, he watched her turn to the viscount, holding her makeshift club. This truly was Red-Handed Jill!
As Wickham knelt beside Anders, Ashford tried to intercept the girl. "Wendy, stop it! Your friend isn't in any d-" He leapt back to avoid the warming pan, but he hadn't reckoned with Wendy's reflexes, fed by the fury that overpowered the aftereffects of the drug she was still fighting. She chased him, her voice was sharp with emotion.
"You unconscionable wicked beast! You even kidnapped Peter? You let him go! Now! This instant! Or – God help me – I will beat you into the ground!"
"WENDY, LOOK OUT!" Peter shouted, seeing Jackson approaching from behind. Wendy whirled and struck out with the "club," keeping Jackson at distance. Dalton tried to grab her arms, but she recalled the last time she had to defend herself against him and one of his goons. She ducked and slipped behind him, slamming her weapon onto his back. Ashford stumbled with a yelp.
Anders regained his feet with Wickham's help. He staggered towards the little tumult, shouting, "Fulsom, leave this hellcat to us and take the brat away!"
"Wendy, for God's sake, calm down! We won't hurt your little friend -" Dalton gasped, while regaining his balance.
"Don't believe him!" Peter yelled, while he wriggled on the backseat towards the door. "He killed Hook. He shot him right in the chest! I saw it! His witch stole my blood and they want to take me to a carphanage!"
Wendy knew he meant orphanage. Just like Bumblyn had told her. And Peter had seen how Dalton shot James – in his chest? The mustard seed of hope of her beloved being alive had shriveled. James was indeed gone – and his murderer stood before her, promising harm to another one she loved!
With all her might, she hit Dalton again, causing him to stumble, another blow knocked him off his feet. Not looking back, Wendy ran to the motorcar Fulsom had just started. She had to get Peter and herself away, now! She could return later for the dragon egg and Bumblyn, but first she had to get Peter to safety. She had no driver's license, but she had learned to operate a car last autumn with her mother's help, and even without that ridiculous yellow document in her pocket, she could drive Peter and herself away from there.
Quickly dropping the warming pan, she clutched Fulsom's jacket lapels. "Get out!" she snarled, attempting to drag the older boy (who somehow looked familiar) from the seat.
Kenly would have loved to strike her, but he didn't dare, for his employer wanted her as his wife. At least … until now. Fulsom had a feeling that any chance for an engagement was rapidly decreasing. "Let go, you crazy bint!" he snapped, trying to free his jacket from her grip, but Wendy was strong, even now. She nearly had him out of the car when Jackson and Dalton reached her.
Ashford, whose ribs and back hurt, immediately wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her up. Instantly she kicked and lashed out. "Let me go, you Godless heartless murdering freak!" she shrieked.
"Fulsom, GO!" Dalton cried as Jackson came to his aid. Wendy was like an eel in her attempt to get free. Together with Reuben, he carried the wildly thrashing girl toward the manor, while Fulsom stepped on the gas and the motorcar got under the way.
"PETER!" Wendy screamed.
"For God's sake, girly, we only-"
Big mistake! That was the worst thing Jackson could call her – something Cookson learned when he met Wendy for the first time and got a taste of her temper. The moment Dalton set her down, she stomped on Jackson's foot with her booted heel, and he howled in pain! Jackson hopped away, just like the ship's cook had done five years ago. Anders and Wickham both cursed when they saw what happened to their comrade.
Glancing toward the car now heading toward the turn in the driveway, Wendy caught the driver's nasty smirk and the memory fell into place. "You!" she snarled, recognizing the message boy from those years ago. A different kind of anger rose in her now as she watched the car moving down the driveway – just like he had cycled away on his bike the day before she met Peter, bearing the fateful letter for her father in his pocket. Only this time his 'cargo' was far more important to Wendy than a few stupid lines written from a stern, old, clueless teacher.
Wendy tried her best to chase after the young man who abducted her Peter, but Ashford held her in a vise-like grip. With a snarl she glanced up at him. "Let Peter go, Dalton! He will die if he can't return to Neverland soon!" she begged, not sure if what she said was completely true.
Still holding both her arms, the viscount wheezed, "Dammit, Wendy, calm down! Fulsom is only taking him to the portal to send him back to Neverland!" he told her, saying the first thing that came to his mind.
"LIAR!" she snarled. "I KNOW you're sending him to an orphanage! I heard you and your nanny-witch as you talked about it-" Another lie. Bumblyn had informed her of their plans, but Dalton must never know that her friend was in the manor.
Ashford ground his teeth. Damn! Wendy hadn't been fully asleep when he and Brynna discussed it? Good God, this was … a problem he had no solution for.
Now down the drive Wendy saw Peter's desperate face, eyes wide as he realized that her attempt to free him had failed. She heard him shouting something but couldn't understand him, then the car passed through the gates, turned left and vanished in the shadows of the forest.
Ashford let go of Wendy's arms and straightened when she didn't attack him instantly. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Please, Wendy, calm down. Nothing will happen to him. He'll have a home and a basic education as well as -" He stopped as she slowly turned her head towards him. The icy fire in her eyes, the cold fury on her face made his words catch in his throat. He never saw it coming. The next moment she slapped him with all her might, hard enough to turn his head and cause the red to rise on his cheek and jaw.
Her palm burned with the force of the blow as she growled, "You killed James! You shot him, you murderer! You kidnapped Peter and now you deliver him to certain death – him, a little boy!"
"This is nonsense," Anders spoke up, still holding his bruised head.
"He will die without Neverland's magic!" Wendy hissed, hoping to make Dalton see reason, that he couldn't put Peter Pan, of all children, into an orphanage. Her attention was still directed at the viscount. "You took James from me, Dalton, the man I love. Now you would rather send a small boy – my best friend! – to his death rather than set him free? If you don't let Peter go, I swear, you, too, will be dead soon, you hopeless cretin."
"What will you do – kill him?" Jackson sneered, bending down and rubbing his foot. "You would be hung for murder," he stated, hating the girl for damaging his toes.
Wendy continued to set her burning gaze into Ashford's wide eyes. "Loss of reputation and fortune can be worse than death in our world. I will make sure you lose any reputation in society, that no-one will ever want to deal with you ever again. And I will arrange that your family's companies are ruined!" Her voice was low and sharp as a sword.
"Laughable, how can a single girl manage all this?" Anders mocked.
"I am young, I have time – and a goal. Revenge is a dish best served cold, haven't you heard? You, Dalton Ashford, ruined my life, you killed my mate and now send the boy who is like a brother to me to certain death. I will have your head for it – one way or another!"
She turned and walked, head held high, towards the entrance steps where Wickham, Alister and Lunette now stood. Wendy knew that she couldn't make a run for the gates; even if she were faster than her pursuers, she would be in the middle of nowhere, wearing nothing more than a nightgown, a coat and boots. And Bumblyn was still in the manor. She couldn't leave him behind.
"Wendy…" Dalton began, but stopped, as she looked back over her shoulder.
Her voice could have splintered ice.
"My name, Viscount Ashford, is Jill!"
*** PP ***
Olivia Simpson was in the kitchen when she heard odd noises from the entrance hall and then the voice of a boy screaming from the front yard for 'Wendy to look out'. More yelps and shouts reached her. Quickly, she dried her hands on her apron, and hastened out of the kitchen, crossed the entrance hall to a large window looking out at the drive.
The first thing she noticed was that everyone except Fulsom was clad in morning gowns and slippers. She clapped her hand over her gasp when she saw sweet Miss Darling attacking a few of those 'hunters' and even the viscount with a bed warming pan, before running to the motorcar where Fulsom sat at the wheel. And behind him Olivia recognized the face of a boy who seemed to be unable to move properly.
Voices from the first level distracted the maid.
"Thank you for your hellp, Mr. Alister!" Madame Lunette sounded furious as she approached the staircase.
Simpson knew they'd better not know she had seen more than she should. Quickly she ran into the hallway that led to the library and the green salon; hiding there in one of the niches. Holding her breath, Olivia waited. She understood only half of what was said outside; the screams and shouting made her shiver, then Fulsom drove away with the boy. Then the voices finally calmed, and Olivia heard Miss Darling saying icily, "My name, Viscount Ashford, is Jill!"
Jill? Was that her nickname? If so, there had to be a very special meaning behind it, for she said it like it was a threat. Or a warning.
Tucked into a dark niche, Olivia held her breath as they re-entered the house and ascended the staircase. Sneaking a glimpse into the hallway, she saw it was vacated and sped back to the kitchen. A curious and intelligent girl, not given to hysterics, the pieces of the puzzle she was collecting were painting an image – slowly but surely. A very ugly image, to be sure, where the viscount had murdered a rival, someone named James, somewhere in a place called 'Neverland;' he'd kept Miss Darling against her will in the manor and held a boy captive and locked in the cellars; a boy from whom Madame Lunette stole blood; that same boy had been sent away, presumably to die. And the old lady had a major role in everything, along with the viscount's sketchy friends. And the Darlings? They remained ignorant of their daughter's situation because of the viscount's lies.
Mouth dry and mind whirling, Olivia walked to the garden entrance to the kitchen and looked out onto the late winter garden where, even though April, practically nothing was turning green in the chill. At least the sun was visible today, but its light was diffused by the clouds. Olivia understood that she would be in danger if anyone suspected her of being aware of their 'mischiefs.' Why hadn't the feisty Miss Darling simply called the police? Accused the viscount officially of murder and kidnapping? Perhaps there was no proof, so Miss Darling would have to avenge her lover on her own.
Olivia sighed. There were many unanswered questions, but one thing was clear: she would help the lovely young Miss Darling. Hadn't she told her, "We girls have to stand together, and if we do, the grownups don't have a chance!" Both she and the strange boy were at stake in this dark game the viscount was playing, and if they stood together, perhaps they could still outmaneuver her shady bosses.
*** PP *** PP ***
"Ship starboard ahead!" Akeele's voice sounded from the crow's nest down to the bridge and the main deck. It was late morning and they were nearing the mouth of the Thames. The little town Southend-on-Sea lay to their right and Canvey Island was in sight. The wind still blew from the southeast and most of the clouds had retreated to the northwest, giving the east coast of England a sunny day for the first time in weeks. Yet it was still cold, and the pirates were gathered around the fires.
Hook lifted the telescope. "Alas, what kind of ship is that?" he gasped.
Dark Owl and the boys were quickly beside him. Nibs stretched his hand towards the telescope. "May I?" he asked politely, and Hook gave him the spyglass without a word. "Oh, a smaller freighter, nothing unusual."
"A 'smaller' freighter. Nothing unusual?" James replied hoarsely. "That … that thing is almost twice the size of the Jolly Roger, no masts and no sails. Pray tell how does it even move?"
The boys looked at each other, smirking. "Steam engines have replaced the sails," Slightly explained.
"I thought Wendy told you about the new discoveries?" John asked.
"I saw a drawing in her book 'Around the World in 80 Days', but the ships still had sails," Hook replied, frowning at his ignorance.
"Yes, and steam engines, too. But shipping changed within the last thirty years or so," Nibs explained. "Now they're only driven by engines." He pointed towards the other ship. "See the exhaust stack?"
"I may be two hundred years old, but I'm not blind," Hook grumbled.
Nibs shook his head. "No offence meant, Captain. The engines of the ship are below deck and are powered by steam from boiling water that is heated up by an oversized coal furnace. The black smoke you see? That comes from the furnace. The steam pushes the conrods which are connected to the ship's propeller, aft below the water line, and drive the propeller. The propeller moves the ship forward."
While Dark Owl watched Nibs in utter confusion, Hook nodded slowly as he remembered that Wendy had told him that ships of today were driven by steam. So, this also had a steaming-engine?
The ship in question had approached and passed them rather quickly. Not depending on the wind's direction had its advantages. Shaking his head, Hook and the crewmembers examined its hull, obviously constructed of metal plates. A low pitched thudding grew more and more recognizable the nearer the ship drew near; black smoke poured from the tall chimney. Then men appeared at the freighter's railing and, within minutes, it seemed as if the whole crew had gathered there. (One doesn't see an 18th century galleon under full sail every day!)
As they drew alongside, the seamen on the freighter waved, smiling down to them; the main deck of the freighter a few yards higher than that of the Jolly Roger. Cries of 'ahoy' and 'hey, beautiful ship!' were heard, mingled with a few cheers. A few pointed at the hoisted main sail that still bore Hook's Jolly Roger; laughing and whooping. A man appeared at the railing, wearing a short dark coat with two rows of golden buttons on the front which winked in the sun. The sleeves bore four gold stripes and on his head was an odd blue cap. He saluted, and Hook returned the greeting. It was obvious that the older man in the dark blue coat was the captain of this ship, and paying mutual respect among captains was common behavior at sea.
"Amazing," Billy Jukes grinned, waving back at the other crew. "I used t' see a crew reachin' fer their guns when we near a ship, but dese mates're happy?"
"Dey t'ink we're fake pirates," Mason grumbled. That morning, Hook had drummed into everyone's heads the background story John, Nibs and Slightly had come up with, and what he expected from his men to do and to say from now on.
"Hey, at least t'ey love 'r ship," Mullins laughed.
The freighter passed by and increased speed once beyond them, leaving in its wake waves in which made the heavy Jolly Roger rock. Hook could only shake his head while he tried to ignore the smell of the smoke. "If this is the way we're greeted everywhere, I fear for my reputation."
Slightly smirked at him. "Don't forget, from now on you only pretend to be a pirate! So your reputation has … uh … changed."
"Incredible," he grumbled. He heard giggling jingles behind him and looking over his shoulder he saw Tink and Aurora sitting on the railing beside the helm, whispering to each other and clearly amused. Kailen sat beside them and looked greener than usual. It seemed the increased rolling of the ship affected him. Sighing, James turned his attention to the mouth of the Thames, a few miles ahead.
"Can we sail up th' river?" Smee asked, who stood beside Hook, and the captain looked thoughtful.
"Well, we have an incoming tide and the wind is blowing from behind. With a little luck we'll make it to London like this. Otherwise we'll be needing tugboats."
*** PP *** PP ***
Wendy had returned to her room and slipped off her coat. It seemed her outburst in the yard had finally driven a point home, because no one attended her – not the viscount, not this hag of a housekeeper, nor any of the other men. Walking to the wardrobe, she pulled out a skirt, a blouse and a jacket before she began to pack her luggage. She was seething. Of course she had been aware that her useless attempt to free Peter had no chance of success, but … it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. While she remained in the manor, her opportunity for action was limited.
But no longer! She would leave within this hour, and -
"Wendy?" The treble voice was very quiet, and turning around, the girl saw Bumblyn peeking around the half open door – ears down, eyes big, both hands kneading the tuft on his tail he had wrapped around himself.
Sighing, Wendy stopped what she was doing and told him, "Come in before one of them sees you," she whispered.
Bumblyn entered the room with the other tiny being that was following him. She was now able to examine the Brownie closely. She was a head taller than the Hobgoblin, had brown wrinkled skin, long pointed ears, an upturned nose and disheveled, fuzzy hair. The large eyes remained fixed on the human girl, gnarled hands gathered the skirt of the weathered tartan dress. Then the Brownie curtseyed.
"Milady." Her voice was aged, high, rough; deep brown big eyes looked hopefully and shyly at Wendy.
Curtseying too, the girl swallowed her anger and smiled at the newcomer. "Good morning Nissa. I'm very happy to meet you."
The Brownie's face flushed a warm dark brown, before she murmured, "Good morning, Milady. Milady shouldn't curtsey to Nissa, who is only -"
"You are 'only' the loyal friend of the truly family of this manor – the Shalfords." Wendy told her firmly. She took a deep breath as James' face rose in her mind. But once again she forced back the tears that came with the imagination. Now she had tasks to perform: escaping the manor; saving Peter; saving the unhatched dragon baby. "And, you should know, all of the Little People have my greatest respect. Bumblyn told me about you and I am honored to finally meet you."
Nissa gaped at her, then blinked rapidly. "Only … only speaking like this Madame Shalford and Master Jamie did." A beaming smile widened on the crinkled little face. "Honored is Nissa to meet the chosen one of Master Jamie, his other half."
Wendy understood her reference, and felt a lump rising in her throat. "Yes," she whispered, "somehow he was my other half. You're right." She took a deep breath and stood tall. "And if we want to avenge his death, we have to act – hopefully before our 'host' makes another trip to Neverland to get the boys and comes back leaving another path of destruction."
"Determined he is to go back for the boys – the reason is a riddle," the Brownie snorted. "The key to the portal he renewed. Blood Lunette took from the young lady to brew new potion to open the portal for the dorcha bhiorach,."
Wendy frowned. "She took blood … from me? But when …?" She pulled up the sleeve of the nightgown and there it was: a new red dot like the bite of a mosquito. She gasped. "He didn't inject me with anything when I was the first time here, but instead he took my blood? Why?!"
Nissa looked at her gravely. "The portal opens with blood from someone who's attached to the fairy realm. A real witch Lunette is. Increasing does her power month by month since crossing from good to bad magic."
Wendy was absorbing this new information. "So, Dalton took some of my blood so that Lunette could open the portal, then he followed me with his men; leaving a wake of devastation in Neverland. But why did he follow me in the first place? I'm sorry, but I can't imagine that he did it out of 'an undying true love' for me. Considering his character, I doubt that he can even feel a sincere love."
"For the old lady and the dragonling he went to the island," Nissa answered.
Another motive! "I knew he had a different goal, that miserable wretch! And then he feigned 'love on the first sight' for me!" She sighed deeply to calm herself. "Where is the dragon egg kept?"
"In the witch's kitchen in the cellars, a level above the dungeon," Bumblyn replied.
"Right, before I leave, we somehow have to get the dragon egg. I must take it with me, along with her opening potion, so that Peter and I can return to Neverland."
"Wendy," Bumblyn interrupted her quietly. "Very careful you must be with the egg. Crucial the last days before the hatchings are. Taking it with us means to endanger the dragonling. We are not knowing where the portal is and-"
"Waverly Abbey," Nissa said. "Long ago, before frenzy over different beliefs assaulted the land, a holy place it was. Praying men lived there – first those who respected the green prankster and the fairies, later those who pray to the cross in their praying rooms. Then torn down the buildings were. A sad place it is now, but residing there is magic still. The ghost of a holy man walks the ground, clad in red, and other ghosts like those of singing men in cowls or that of the Black Cat. Listening to the men in the library did Nissa learn of the portal."
Wendy rubbed her chin. "The ruins of a former abbey hold one of the portals to Neverland? That makes sense." She cocked her head. "I think … Vicky once told me about this abbey. It's a few miles to the west." She shook her head. "If we could steal a motorcar, I could drive to London, search for Peter, get him out, return, get the egg and some of the potion that opens the portal, and then we all could leave for the abbey." She groaned at the multiple tasks that lay ahead. "Nothing easier than that!" she sighed, wondering how.
"First step, Milady must get away from here," Nissa said quietly.
"Easier said than done. Bumblyn told me how Dalton convinced my parents to keep me here until the holidays are over. So, if I could call them and tell them the truth about what happened … but no, Father is grateful that Dalton got me out and that he's returning to Neverland to get the boys. I doubt he would see any reason why should leave the manor – but I have to try! If he learns how Dalton treated me in Neverland and that I was sedated – that Lunette even took blood from me – I'm sure he'll come for me right away. He might even confront Dalton." She paused to think. "If I tell Father that Peter would bring the boys home, but first he had to be freed, then maybe he would help me to find Peter." She scratched her head. "It won't solve the problem of the egg and the potion, but it's a start."
"The dragon egg … The fat old man is very worried about the dragonling," Nissa murmured.
"The 'fat old man'?" Wendy asked.
"The man who gave aid and compassion for Peter, giving him parts of his own clothes," Bumblyn said. "Protective of the dragonling he is…"
"Knowing much about dragons he does," Nissa added. "He teaches older human children in the Land of the Red Dragon. And discussing with the witch about her dark ways he did, accusing her of betrayal. Naïve he was first, now waking up he did and wants to help."
" 'Professor', Peter called him," the Hobgoblin added. "And sleeping drops made of broom flowers the Lunette-woman gave him – like she did with Wendy. Sleeping deeply, not talking to Wendy's parents could he, and not sparing poor Peter to be taken away."
The girl had started to listen attentively, untwisting their words to make sense. "So, he is an ally? And he wants to protect the dragonling?" she asked slowly; now assuming who this man was: the very same she kicked in the back as she and James fled down the hill, with the hunters hot on their tracks. As both bogeys nodded with a smile, her mouth curled upward, too. "Well, maybe I can have a little talk with him, too – without that the others nearby, of course! Maybe he could care for the egg and I can search for Peter." Twisting her head to loosen her neck, she mused, "But this time we must be more careful. I need to know to what Dalton is up to – not only concerning the boys, but also me. There must be a reason why he wants me here." She glanced at her little friend and the Brownie. "Can you two collect a more information?"
They both grinned at her. "As you wish, Wendy-lady," Bumblyn piped "Many little secret passages are in the wall Nissa built during the last two centuries. Almost every room is reachable – except for this one, the witch's kitchen and a few others."
"But accesses to the dorcha bhiorach's study and the library I built. Nissa will listen," the Brownie agreed, then she scratched her head and added, "And sure she must make that Milady gets nourishment and something to drink without sleeping drops!"
"Thank you," Wendy smiled. "Peter needs me wide awake!"
*** PP *** PP ***
Four strong hands were necessary to keep Peter under control from the moment he was dragged out of the motorcar and placed on his feet. Even fuzzy from the blood loss, he put up a fight, but for naught. His hands were still manacled behind his back and Fulsom had gagged him when they were somewhere between Guildford and London, tired of the boy's deprecations and threats. He then shoved him to the floor under his feet to keep him unseen in the streets, so Peter did not see his surroundings, feeling rather sick from the movement of the horseless coach.
"He's a bit of a handful, ain't he?" one of the two men asked, pulling the blanket away from Peter and handing it to Fulsom. He was very tall thin man with a haggard face, watery blue eyes and fuzzy hair that was a mousy greyish brown. He seemed to be in his late twenties, but one couldn't be sure.
Fulsom threw the blanket onto the backseat, pushing the brim of the cap up, mocking smirk on his lips. "He's a wild one, so be careful. He gave us no end of trouble before we could catch him."
The other man, maybe Fulsom's age, but much wider, gave his former schoolmate an exasperated glance from dark eyes, nearly hidden by a dirty blond thatch of hair. "Ya said he's a beggar aroun' ten or twelve yars old 'oo tried thievin' at yer boss's manor, but this 'ere is a savage." He looked at Peter's leaf trousers with the jumper and jacket the professor had given him. "Are those leaves?" he asked sneering.
"He's a special little beggar," Kenly answered. "Tells stories about fairies and a mystical island he hails from. He's balmy, for sure, and the viscount's current guests wanted to deliver him to the police, but my employer is a softie and said the lad should get a second chance to do something right with his life, so he wanted to send him to an orphanage." He watched Peter's glaring with his trademark smirk.
"And ain't no one knows where he comes from?" the older one wanted to know.
"No, Joe. He came from the woods, where the manor is located," Fulsom answered.
Peter seethed with anger. That freckled liar had delivered him to someplace … horrible. He was in paved yard, surrounded by high walls of dirty stones. An iron gate led to the street outside, but now was now locked. In front of him was a large house that had been carelessly built from the same stones, now blackened. The few tall, narrow windows above him were dirty and trellised. He momentarily noticed few pale faces behind the windows, watching him and the others, but they vanished so quickly he wasn't sure if he'd seen them at all.
Looking carefully about himself, Peter thought he'd never seen a more bleak house. There were no plants – no tree, no grass, no flower, no climbing ivy, only stones covered with smoke and ash. The sky above him might have been blue, if not for a reeking layer of yellow that covered whole neighborhood, and instead of birdsong or the rustle of leaves, he heard strange noises like rattling, blaring and honking. From somewhere a tower clock struck the hour, a grim and sad noise that quavered around the yard. The air reeked of cold smoke, old fish, dirt and other smells Peter had no name for.
"Why is he gagged?" Joe asked.
Fulsom grimaced. "I couldn't listen to his curses and foul language any longer!"
"Hm, leading him through the house gagged will upset the others. Ungag him," Joe ordered and Kenly shrugged.
"It's your decision."
Peter swallowed the sigh of relief as the gag was removed, and he moved his jaw a few times to loosen the joints held open almost two hours. "Take him inside," Joe stated. "Director Primley will soon be here, and he expects us in his office then."
Peter was half dragged, half shoved to the door and into the house. A strong smell of cheap soap, mouse droppings and bland food cooking filled the air. They passed down the hall. Peter grew anxious and angry as he looked around. Once the walls had been sand colored, now they were of no discernable color at all, as if this was where color came to die. The wooden panels covering the lower half of the were dark and crossed with cracks and many scratches. The floor had once been black and white tile but were stained and dirty and broken. The glass chimneys on the few gas lamps, were sooted, allowing little light. There was no other decoration, like paintings or carpets, like Peter had seen in the Darling house, or even the occupied area of the Black Castle. There were no bright colors, no greenery, not even a clean surface. This was the most grim, drab place Peter ever had seen.
Turning a corner, they reached a room. A desk with ledgers, papers, boxes with more papers, shelves with dingy books greeted them. Along the wall, a few arm chairs and a table stood beside long threadbare velvet curtains.
While Elmer lit the lamps at the wall, Joe pointed to one of the chairs addressing Peter. "Sit down there, boy, and not a word! Or you -"
The door was pushed open and a man stepped in. He seemed to be around fifty and was a plump man with a round head and a large belly that told of too much greasy food. His short grey hair was parted neatly in the middle, fixed with hair wax. His dark eyes were small and a twirled moustache couldn't hide his turgid lips. His clothing didn't match this sinister place. He wore an elegant black suit, waistcoat, gold chain with a pocket-watch, white shirt with a high collar that seemed to squeeze his wide neck and a dark red necktie. It seemed he had other plans for later.
He clomped nearer, looking at Peter, straightened his stout figure, lifted his chin and adopted a grave expression on his face. "Whom do we have here? Our newest arrival?" His voice sounded pinched, raising the tone.
Fulsom faced him and bowed, cap in hand. "Mr. Primley, His Lordship directed me to tell you that he is very grateful for your immediate and unbureaucratical help in this rather unusual case." He placed his cap back on his head and took the envelope out of his uniform jacket. "He asked me to give you this here."
The man – Primley – took the envelope, opened it, peeked inside, smiled, put it into his pocket, nodded at Fulsom and then directed his full attention to Peter. Closing the distance to the boy, he looked at him, assessing, judging. "So young and already a thief." Peter's eyes began to flash. He was NO thief! "Well, be grateful that His Lordship didn't hand you over to the police. In former days you would simply have been hanged, but the viscount was kind enough to give you a chance to have a decent life one day."
"By locking me up in his cellar and handing me over to this God-forsaken place and you?" Peter asked.
Lifting both thick brows, Primley stared into the boy's eyes – the most startling crystal blue he had ever seen. "This 'God-forsaken place' was founded to rescue children who have lost their families and would live on the street without us. It's not for naught that our home bears the name 'Little Haven Orphanage'." He narrowed his eyes. "And sometimes we even host boys who are about to become criminals." His voice became ponderous. "Just like you, so be grateful that I am able to take you in even today. If not for you, I would be with friends in Chelsea for Easter Monday lunch."
Peter shrugged casually. "Then go. I won't stop you,"
Primley snorted. "I think we have a jokester here." Again he looked hard at the youth, who returned the glaze, unwavering. Finding himself unable to hold the look of those incredibly innocent clear eyes any longer, he looked at his clothes. "What, for God's sake, is he wearing?" he asked and pointed at Peter's ragtag clothes.
"The brat was only wearing those trousers made of leaves when he broke into the manor. One of the viscount's current guests, a professor from Wales, kindly gave the boy a pullover, a jacket and a pair of stockings from his own wardrobe to keep him warm."
Primley again looked back at Peter. "I hope you had enough civility to thank the professor." He turned towards Kenly again. "And does the professor want his clothes back?"
"Most generous, your Lordship, sir," Fulsom replied.
Smirking at the title, he replied, "He'll be supplied with our standard uniform. You can wait for the professor's clothes." He turned back to Peter, only now noticing that his hands were bound behind his back and turned again to Fulsom. "Do you have the key?"
"Yes, but best not to free him too soon."
Primley lifted a brow. "Oh, he won't do anything stupid. There is no escape from this room. Loose his hands."
Reluctantly, Fulsom obeyed and Peter rubbed his wrists. He noted briefly that even his shoulders ached as well. The director watched him without any sympathy. "What's your name?"
"Peter Pan."
"Pan?" Primley blinked. "Heavens, what family wears the name of a Greek god?"
"I don't have a family. The fairies gave me the name," the boy answered calmly.
"The fairies, uh-uh," the man nodded and exchanged a significant glance with Fulsom, who only rolled his eyes. "I'm sure they're little sweet girls with wings that took care of you so far."
Narrowing his eyes, Peter glanced at him. He knew this fat grown-up was mocking him. "If you already knew, why ask?"
Primley frowned. "Don't play smart with me, boy, you'll come out on the short end, you'll find out! So, again, what is your name?"
The boy looked at him as if he doubted his sanity. "I already told you, Mister. My name is Peter Pan."
"And I'm Wyland the Smith," Primley sneered.
Peter had never heard of the name Wyland before, but he knew the man was taunting him again. So he answered with a smile but with a challenging flash in his eyes, "Hello, Mr. Wyland."
The younger man of the two – Elmer – snorted with laughter, which he swallowed with a harsh glare from the fat man. "For your information, young man," he addressed Peter again, "I'm Lester Primley and I'm the director of this orphanage. For all-"
"You already introduced yourself as Wyland the Smith, so what is it really?" Peter interrupted.
He saw the man lifting his hand and braced himself, but the slap never came. Instead of getting the blow, the director took a deep breath and said slowly, "Listen, Peter, and listen good, because I won't repeat myself. I won't be trifled with – never! You will speak to me with respect, only speak when you're spoken to, and if you address me, you will call me 'Sir' or 'Director'. Every act of rebellion will bring a consequence, which can range from a few blows with the cane to missing meals or being locked into the coal hole. You can talk with the other children here, but no one – absolutely no one – is allowed to disturb the order in this house, meaning no loud noises, no silly pranks and no agitation. What we do here for you sorry little buggers is more than the most of you deserve, so be grateful that you are given a roof over your head, food in your stomach, and …" he looked over Peter's trousers. "… and something worthy of being called clothes. You will grow into a respectable man. Do you understand me?"
Peter only glared at him, then smiled insincerely, "You can go to your lunch and eat your rules until you choke on them. I'm out of here quicker than you can say Jack Robinson! No one will ever hold Peter Pan! And one thing more, Mr. Wyland-Smith-Lester-Primley-Sir-Director: I will be no man! Not 'young' nor old. And no one will ever change that!" He sounded not only determined, but most offended by the last statement. Well, for him it was a major offense.
Primley gaped at him – and turned quickly around to Fulsom, pointing a finger at the boy; speechless. Kenly only shrugged, "Like I said, he is crazy."
"Or cleverly avoiding truthful answers," Elmer spoke up.
The director shook his head. No, he wouldn't be riled up by this unpleasant tike. Not on Easter Monday! Getting a grip on his rising anger, he glanced threateningly at Peter. "You will see, boy, what I mean!" Then he turned his attention to the two wardens. "Joe, Elmer, strip him and give the clothes back to Fulsom. Then bathe him and dress him in normal clothes. And this afternoon you will make certain that he understands the rules of the house." He smirked grimly. "I'll show you who is the stronger one here!"
"Just try, Smitty. There were other men – real men – who tried to better me. None of them succeeded!" Peter declared, lifting his head. Joe spun him around and roughly tore the jacket from his shoulders. "Hey, be careful!" Peter protested as he was shoved toward one of the visitor chairs. He regained balance and whirled around. "So brave, aren't you, shoving a boy around who is half your size!" he sneered at Elmer.
His arms were seized from behind, over the cut on his arm. A moment later Elmer had the pullover off him, Joe keeping a firm grip on Peter. "My, my, he looks like a chimney sweep," Primley said, seeing the tracks of the firefighting he'd helped with in the Indian village. Then he saw the bandage and the dots of scab along his throat. "Is he injured?" he asked Fulsom.
"He cut himself when he climbed through the broken window-"
"LIAR!" Peter raged. "His witch cut me to take my blood for some stupid potion she's concocting. I hope the potion goes wrong and it ages her!"
The director's eyes widened before he gaped at Kenly. "I think he only says these things to distract everyone from his true intentions," Fulsom stated.
Now Peter stood there like he had come from Neverland – clad only in his leaf trousers with the vine around his shoulder and one around his hip, holding the empty knife sheath and his pipe. Primley looked him up and down. "An impressive costume," he mocked. "Especially for this time of the year." He scoffed, "Ridiculous. Who are you supposed to be? Puck from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'?"
Peter's eyes flashed. It was cold in the office, and without the pullover and the stockings he felt the chill, aided by the blood loss, the lack of food and everything he had gone through. Yet he stood there, not ready to give these stupid grownups the satisfaction of seeing him shivering. "I'm Peter Pan, and not Puck, or Tuck, or Luck, whoever that is," he all but growled.
"Puck, a jester and sprite who serves the fairy king Oberon and his wife Titania-" Elmer's recited, proving he'd listened during his literature lessons, was interrupted by the youth.
"The fairy-queen's name is Niam, not Tania." The boy rolled his eyes. "He doesn't even know that!" he murmured beneath his breath. By the tails of the mermaids, these stupid grownups knew nothing, but boasted like peacocks!
Primley narrowed his eyes. "That's quite enough! You said you have no family. So where are you from?"
"Neverland," Peter answered.
Frowning, the director prompted, "Which is located where?"
Pointing out of the window, the boy replied truthfully, "Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning." Then he added with an amused smirk, "And before you ask: no, they don't use that on my letters, because I don't get any letters." He clearly remembered the exchange with Wendy the first time.
Primley snarled, "And how old are you?"
"Quite young," Peter shrugged; sticking to his standard answer, because he really didn't know how old he was.
Silence. Then the director took a deep breath. "All right, Mr. Funnyman, I can be funny, too." He glanced at his two wardens. "Take him to the common bathroom, shower him and burn his costume." Peter opened his mouth to protest, but the man said louder, "Burn everything he has with him. Then give him something to eat and then he shall read the rules of this house until he can recite them up and down!"
Peter wanted to tell him that he couldn't read but he was already being dragged away to the door. "You won't win this game, Smitty. Neither you, nor you, Fulsom, nor your villainous boss!" the eternal boy snarled over his shoulder at Fulsom.
Kenly only snorted and grinned scornfully at the boy; glad to see the last of the prankster. Then the Prince of Neverland was led into the depths of the house, watching for the first chance to flee, to return to the manor, to free Wendy and to deliver the viscount the payment he deserved.
TBC…
Well, one thing is for sure: Peter will give the guys in the orphanage a hard time. As you know, he never quits and fights 'til the end. Only in this case he faces a kind of battle that it utterly new to him and he can't react to it with a sword or dagger…
In the next chapter, you'll learn why Dalton wants Wendy as his wife, even if the prospect is worthless. And you'll learn more about his backgrounds and his true character. Furthermore George Darling receives a call that will take him away from London and Peter gets the first taste what lies ahead now for him.
I hope, you liked the new chapter, even if Wendy's attempt to free Peter and to escape with him failed. At least she is back to her fighting ways if a situation demands it, and now she's up to plotting. And she has a few allies by now. I also loved to write the scene where a modern steaming ship and its crew meet the Jolly Roger and the pirates on her. Of course none of the brave seamen believes the crew of the old galleon being real pirates, while Hook's men are baffled that they're greeted to cheerfully. It was pure fun to write this scene. Well, and Peter – let us say that he is in real need for rescue but this is coming up the Thames now without him knowing it.
Please leave some reviews; you know, how much I love to get some. It's a little thank-you for all the work my dear beta-reader Cheetah and I are putting into this story.
Have a nice Sunday and a good start into the next week,
Love
Yours Lywhn / Starflight