Hi, my dear reads!

Thaaaaank you so much for the feedback. I'm so happy that you liked the last chapter, and I'm sure the new one will even be more exciting.

A lot is going to happen – serious but also funny stuff, and I'm sure you're going to love it! Hook arrives in London of 1909. And even after the 'history lesson' the older former Lost Boys and John gave him, there is still so much he had never heard of before. He and his men. And yet he tries to appear casual.

Have fun

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 42 – London Docklands, part 1

While Peter was refusing to eat one bite more of the so-called 'stew,' Ashford and the hunters lunched at the manor, together with Lunette but without Hutchings. Olivia, alone in the kitchen, turned from her prepared meal when she heard the kitchen door open. She was surprised to see the professor, clad in simple trousers, shirt and waistcoat, but no shoes. Pressing his finger against his lips, he signaled her to say nothing, looked back over his shoulder, then closed the door.

Olivia rose. "Can I help you, Professor?" she whispered.

Archibald approached, nodding. "Aye. I'm 'ungry, but I don't want t' eat anythin' that is served to the others. Bry … Miss Lunette, she surely put some sleepin' drops into my food an' th' tea."

"She did the same to Miss Darling," Olivia told him quietly, eyes wide. "I heard the viscount and Madame talking about it." She hesitated. "Would you like to join me here, professor?"

"I prefer not t' meet th' others by accident, so I will 'ave lunch in m' room," Hutchings replied. "I know this must sound … odd, but …"

"I understand that curious things are going on here, sir." She proceeded to make him a tray, filling his plate. "Glasses are there," she murmured; pointing toward another cupboard. Hutchings drank several glassfuls from the carafe that stood on the table and was also used by the maid, then filled it again and put it on the tray.

"I thank'e," he smiled. He took the tray and turned to leave, but Olivia held his sleeve. "Professor? Miss Darling is much as you. She was sedated, too, and is kept here against her will. And you both worry about that boy. Peter, right?" He nodded, listening, so she continued softly, "The viscount lied, sir. The boy was taken to an orphanage." She saw his pale demeanor turning red and continued, "I'm not sure where exactly, but I know that Fulsom lives in Finsbury, in London between Holborn and Shoreditch, near the old London wall, northern of the financial district. It's a civilized area, but only a mile away, to the east, where the poor boroughs begin. Maybe he took the boy to an orphanage somewhere around there. I heard His Lordship mention a Mr. Primley. He gave him twenty-five pounds to 'take the boy into his orphanage'."

"Tha' sneaky …" Archibald pressed his lips into a firm line to prevent language offensive to the young girl. He took a deep breath. "Thank ye for tellin' me. I give the boy m' word that I would take care of 'im if he couldn't return …" he paused and swallowed, "'ome." He chose the last word with care, but Olivia knew more than he thought.

"His home – it's the Neverland Miss Lunette and the viscount mentioned, right?" She saw him frowning and added, "And I heard something about … a James who was killed there, by the viscount!" The last word was spoken with horror. "And Miss Darling mourns him deeply."

Hutchings sighed. "Aye, tha' she suffers now was to be expected. As far as I know they … were rather close. And, aye, the viscount shot the man …"

"A man who was dead for two hundred years!" Olivia added, wondering. "They also said the viscount wants to return to this … Neverland to bring more boys back."

"'E really wants t' go back?" Archibald shook his head. "Tha' would be suicide. The dragons would tear 'im apart and the fairies …" He caught the startled look of astonishment on the maid's face and quickly closed his mouth.

Olivia bit her lower lip. "A man gone two hundred years, a boy with special blood, dragons and fairies … Professor, please, what is going on here? I mean, really going on?"

"The less y' know the better, or you'll be in danger, too," Archibald said kindly. "Please, be verra careful, Miss. The viscount is no a good man – far from it. And Brynna … well, I thought I knew 'er for decades, but in truth she is … an evil woman. Far more than I ever thought possible. They wouldna hesitate t' get rid o' you if they think ye be a threat, so – please! – be verra, verra careful."

Olivia nodded, heart thumping. She had thought as much, even if she were confused about the two-hundred-year-old man, dragons and fairies. She also knew that she would be better off with the professor and the miss as allies, that they were alone in a houseful of enemies. "I want to help you – and Miss Darling. The miss is so nice to me and … and she grieves so much for the man. I can't stand to see her so unhappy, so angry. And now she worries for this boy she cares for."

Setting the tray down, Archibald touched the maid's cheek – a fatherly gesture full of comfort. "Ye're a verra sweet, warm person, young lady. I'll do m' best to get Miss Darlin' out of 'ere, and you, too, and t' find th' boy and … and t' stop Brynna from what she wants t' do next. Maybe Miss Darlin' and I will need your 'elp, but we'll let ye know." He took up the tray again. "And now I mus' leave before one of those I foolishly trusted come and see me." He winked at her and left. He had decided to seek out Miss Darling after lunch when the others were – hopefully – still occupied.

Olivia sighed, only now noticing that her mouth had gone dry. They wouldna hesitate t' get rid of you … She knew exactly what the professor meant. If the viscount hadn't hesitated to shoot a man – a rival – and sent a helpless boy to a horrible orphanage while keeping the girl he professed to love against her will, then there would be no mercy if he thought the servant a threat. Olivia knew she had to be cautious.

Looking at her cooling lunch, she realized that she had lost her appetite. She wasn't safe here anymore! Walking to the sideboard where the cutlery was kept, found a sharpened paring knife and secreted it in the pocket of her black dress. Just in case …

As she turned, she saw movement beside the stove, but it was gone so quickly; she knew she had to be mistaken. Walking back to the table, she saw the empty spot her own plate had been only a moment ago. Mouth open in surprise, she looked around, but found nothing unusual – except for the missing plate that had been filled with her lunch. What in the world … ?

*** PP *** PP ***

The combination of rising tide and a favorable wind were enough to allow the Jolly Roger sail up the Thames without the need of tugboats. They had passed Tilbury that once was the little village Chadwell St. Mary during Hook's youth, no more than a few houses surrounded by marshes and a ferry to the other side of the river. Now there was a deep-water port and even its own railway station. James could only shake his head as he saw the many large facilities and how much the town had grown. He decided to keep his face calm, smiling, and accept everything he was going to see from now on, to avoid looking like an ignorant rube, wide-eyed with wonder at every turn.

But it was difficult. Tilbury was twenty-four miles away from central London, and during the next three hours he saw one astonishing thing after another. Many places, the banks of the Thames were no longer wild but tamed. Little villages had grown into towns which grew toward each other. He saw people walking beside the Thames wearing strangely fashioned but obviously fine clothes. Did no one work anymore?

And more changes. Both sides of the river were soon covered with large buildings, most with long, large chimneys, constructed from bricks. Other buildings seemed to be oversized warehouses, mixed together with smaller homes where people lived or dogs ran. Boats large and small docked along the quays, and factory floors with rails reaching into the water where they became wharfs. Where once the river flowed free and unhindered, walls and riverside roads appeared. Often dark steam wandered along the streets on both sides of the banks, hoarse whistles mixed with other noises neither Hook nor his men had ever heard before – trains, Slightly explained.

So much was unfamiliar! There had always been traffic on the Thames but not like this! Ships moved up and down the river, crossed it or were about to anchor or to leave. Freighters, barges, passenger ships of all sizes ... The most of them ignored tide and wind, driven by steam engines. Sails were rare. Down the river, near the smaller towns, Hook had seen young boys rowing small boats – obviously training for some boat races, popular even in James' era when he still attended Eton. But here, as they reached Greater London as it was now called, private activities had ceased. The vessels on the water were all of transport nature.

But … no matter where they went, the reactions to the sight of the Jolly Roger were always the same: pointing fingers, smiling faces, waving hats, shouts of welcome, and loud haloooo's; other ships even blared horns loud enough to be heard half a mile away. "Those are horns," Slightly had told him, seeing the Captain's wide eyes in his frozen face. "They can be used when there is thick fog so that other ships know that another vessel is close, or they're used for greetings." The crew and boys were waving back at the people, as if on a holiday barge.

"You can consider yourself honored," Michael smirked. "Usually ship horns are used for greetings a king or a member of his family, or during official visits from other monarchs and presidents."

Hook snorted, wondering at the 'honor'. He still held a weighty grudge against the English throne. But all these captains and skippers thinking his Jolly Roger to be worthy of a greeting of a state visit was satisfying. Sighing, Hook glanced along main deck he saw that some of his men were likewise awestruck. The boys explained as much to his men as they could, to keep them from appearing totally ignorant of the new century. He saw Dark Owl wrapped in his plaid, looking like a deer caught in a trap. This had to be even more bizarre for him than for Hook and his men. A shimmer beside him, and he turned to the rail on his right. Aurora and the pixie, who had been napping, stood there gaping at the 'wood made of stones,' as Kailen put it. Tink had seen it many times with Peter on his brief visits.

The Thames made a large loop around the Isle of Dogs and they headed north again. Greenwich was on the other side of the river. Hook could only snort in disbelief when he saw what had become of the little settlement in Kent. It had attained in importance as the center of the Royal Navy and the Greenwich Meridian (0° longitude), which gave us Greenwich Mean Time as the measurement for all time zones across the world. The little town with a few impressive buildings on the soft hills now flowed into other streets and houses. Curly said they already were a part of Greater London.

The Thames changed direction again around the Isle of Dogs. Hook remembered the bridges John had drawn on the old map, and glanced at Nibs. "We are near the docks you spoke about, aye?"

"Aye, you'll see them when the river straightens again at starboard," Nibs affirmed.

Hook only nodded and raised his voice. "Brutes, top sails only! Four men to the anchor winch! Two men to the fo'c'stle, the river will be difficult! MR. AKEELE?" he shouted up the main mast.

"Aye, Capt'n?"

"Tell me when you see a bridge with two large and two smaller towers!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!" Akeele yelled back.

"All those large buildings, quays and pitchin' ships …" Smee shoved his red hat back, leaning his hands on his round hips. "And then all the traffic around us on the river … This recalls Cookson's noodle soup, not a 'arbor."

James smiled grimly. "A new day, Mr. Smee. It's a different world since we were in London. And I'm sure you'd have trouble recognizing the Ring of Kerry if you could travel to Ireland."

He sighed and turned toward the bridge when Akeele shouted with a surprisingly loud voice, "CAP'N, YE'VE GOT T' SEE THA', SIR!"

The next moment the men cresting the shrouds also pointed straight ahead – more surprised and excited than shocked. The boys looked at one another. They knew what Akeele had spied.

The newest symbol of Great Britain's capital revealed itself as they rounded the bend: London's Tower Bridge. The view of the high, huge sand-colored bridge with its two smaller towers on the banks and the two large ones in the in the river, all constructed in the current style of neo-classic with windows and balconies, was enough to make even the buccaneers breathless.

John, Slightly and Nibs as well as the two fairies and the pixie, followed Hook to the forecastle, where he stood now with a look of amazement he subdued with difficulty. His gaze took in the bright façade of the towers, the thick blue steel cables which held the broad bridge over the water and the coupler far above, linking the two towers together. He had seen large bridges – the old London Bridge had been large and strong, even bearing houses – but this was not just huge, it was also elegant.

And then it happened. A tall ship came from the other side of the bridge – and the lower horizontal bridge began to split. Slowly it separated in the middle and tilted up. The ship acknowledged the action with a long blare of its horn, causing the two fairies to slap their tiny hands over their pointed ears. Placing hand and hook on the railing, James could only stare at this wonder of a new age. "How does it function?" he asked quietly.

John replied, "A hydraulic system moves the carriageway. The walkways," he pointed upwards to the connection of the two towers far above the river, "are unaffected."

"T'ey… t'ey must'a worked on it fer a hunnert years!" Mason said beside them.

"Only eight years," Slightly said. "Yet it was a challenge to build the high towers that would meet the demands of all traffic: the motorcars and carriages, the people on foot. It also has to let larger ships pass."

Kailen scratched his head, understanding only part of what was said.

"The distance between the banks has to be over seven hundred feet," Hook murmured.

"Eight hundred, actually. And the tall towers are 213 feet high," John explained. "She's quite a sight, don't you think?"

Hook only nodded and took a deep breath that smelled of … coal dust, other things unfamiliar to him. "Incredible!" he mumbled. His eyes fell on something familiar: a part of the Tower of London. It was on the other side of the bridge, massive and grey as he remembered it. Then he looked more carefully at a row of old houses along the river downstream of the bridge; behind them higher modern buildings rose, obviously warehouses. "Is that our anchorage?" he asked Nibs, pointing ahead.

"Aye, the entrance to St. Katherine Docks is just behind the long chimney you see over there. And…"

Hook signaled the boy to stop, while he scanned the shoreline. "The docks are inland – and we need access, even an assigned berth." He pressed his lips together, considering. "And we need room for the maneuver to heave to. Certainly the harbormaster has to arrange a few things." He nodded to himself. "We anchor first along the quay. The tide is high enough for us – yet!" A moment later he was already on his way down to the main deck again. "TRIM ALL SAILS, READY ANCHOR, FOUR MEN TO CABLES! JUKES, BE READY TO LASH THE SHIP!" He looked to the bridge. "HERBS, BRING HER ALONGSIDE A FREE BERTH ALONG THE QUAY AT STARBOARD!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" the helmsman shouted back.

Fascinated, the boys watched how the large and sometimes ponderous working galleon slowly and perfectly neared the quay that was built along the row of houses and came alongside. Having learned to use any given natural anchorage for a ship around Neverland's unruly shores had trained the pirates to perfect their docking technique, and this was no exception. Within ten minutes the Jolly Roger lay secure at the quay; her thick ropes kept her firmly in place between a smaller steamboat and a launch. Hook was satisfied with his crew's work; it was clear they'd done their best work by the gleam in his eye.

While the two fairies and the pixie darted up into the riggings to be able to see everything in secret, the boys braced themselves on the railing and looked along the row of houses. Most were small, made of wood, with several stories, well over a century old. Shops, a few pubs, an inn on the ground level, and living space above, where more and more faces appeared at the small windows – gaping at the Jolly Roger. In front of them ran St. Katherine Way that rose higher to the boys' right, between street and river's surface. Behind the row of old buildings, the warehouses of the St. Katherine Docks looked over the roofs, covered with weathered shingles. The difference in style and architecture couldn't be more apparent.

Now, with the Jolly Roger towed to the quay at the north side of the river and the boys and most of the pirates standing at the starboard rail, the Tower Bridge rose to their left; behind it was the Tower Hill with the London Tower itself. Once the king's seat, then the treasure chamber of England, prison and execution site, it now had other functions, but one thing remained unchanged: the many ravens. Legends reported that Great Britain would last as long as ravens nestled in the Tower of London. And so they were a well-fed lot, pampered by the local residents.

Dark Owl remained close to John and whispered, "So many stone and wooden tepees, so many people everywhere … How do the palefaces find their way in this?"

"We grew up here," John answered. "It's the same for you and the other braves, growing up living and moving in the woods and mountains."

The young seer nodded slowly. "Three Strengths is right. Tiger-Lily would not do well in this place. And Dark Owl isn't sure that he … will do well in this world."

John understood, touching the other's shoulder. "I know what you mean. When you leave the ship one of us will always be with you. And it's only a few days. If things go according to plan, we'll free Wendy and Peter, save the egg, and then you and Peter can return to Neverland." He smiled encouragingly at his friend.

"Nothing easier than that!" Hook growled behind them, while gazing at the old houses. At least they reminded him of the London he once knew. "So how do I reach Surrey from here?" he asked any of them.

"What would you have done in your time?" Curly asked.

"Rented a horse and ridden to the manor," came the short answer. "Maybe with an overnight stay somewhere near the river Wey. At least, in my time, there were a few inns which offered rooms to rent."

"Okay," Tootles smirked. "There are still a few inns, but none are needed for a travel from London to Surrey. Now you buy a ticket for the railway, travel to Surrey and rent a car with a driver that can take you to the manor in about … um, three hours?"

Hook blinked. "Three hours?"

"It's called a taxi," Slightly added. "It's a motorcar that you can rent together with a driver like in earlier times when you had a coach and four."

"CAAAAP'N!" The fearful screech came from the left, and rolling his eyes, Hook answered with impatience, "What is it now, Mr. Mullins?"

"W-w-w-witchcraft, s-s-s-sir…" the carpenter stuttered.

"I'm sure, whatever it is, there is a logical explanation for it," James murmured, turning to his most superstitious crewman. He was pointing at, of all things, one of those motorcars heading towards St. Katherine Way. The boys assumed (correctly) that this was the reason for the carpenter's alarm.

"A … a carriage, cap'n … it moves wivvout 'orses," Mullins whispered, terrified; pointing at the approaching vehicle.

Hook glanced in the indicated direction and saw the vehicle slowing down and finally stopping not far away, while the driver just sat there and stared open-mouthed at the Jolly Roger. "A motorcar," he said casually, as if this were nothing special, though he had only learned about the 'horseless carriages' last night with his history lesson; but seeing one now was definitely … a moment to remember! But – alas! – as the captain no gaping or astonishment were allowed!

Seeing that the driver was an older man, Hook simply tapped his claw against the brim of his hat in a silent greeting and then turned away. "Mr. Mullins, this is only one of the many new inventions you will encounter. So please don't panic every time you see something unfamiliar. You will be amazed many times today."

What wasn't normal were all the people approaching the ship. First there were only a few – mostly children – but then more and more came from the inns, pubs and the side streets. The narrow avenue was soon filled with men, women and children. And they all stared in wonder at the Jolly Roger, excited. "Better retreat, lads, or Hook will have problems explaining seven boys on his ship," John suggested to the rest, and they moved away from the rail. The ship and the crew were already drawing enough attention, as the pirates began to set out the gangway. And as they all wore authentic period clothes, out of fashion for nearly 200 years, their appearance did nothing to allay the growing curiosity and excitement of the crowd.

"Do you think it's odd," Slightly asked his cousins, "that most of them don't look like they would have come from work? And we saw many ladies and gentlemen along the river, wearing their finest?"

The Twins rubbed their chins. "Yes. Three possibilities," Twin 1 began.

"Sunday, Easter Monday or St. George's Day," his brother finished.

Nibs nodded and scratched his head. "One way to find out." He jogged over to Hook, who supervised the men' work. "Permission to leave ship, Captain?" he asked formally.

Turning towards him, Hook frowned, "Because?"

"I want to find out the date, sir," Nibs replied.

Hook nodded. "All right – but don't make it look as if the captain of the ship can't count his days at sea."

Nibs chuckled. "Your reputation is safe with me," he grinned, then he hopped onto the gangway and descended to the quay.

Smee watched him walk straight into the crowd. Most of them were dock workers. It wasn't unusual that even on official holidays to find shipyard and dock workers on duty. 'A harbor never sleeps' was the old saying, because the sea was always open, with no special regard of date or time. Nibs shared jibes with the other boys for several minutes, gesturing to the ship, shrugged, smiled and finally returned. Nearly bouncing up the secured gangway, he hopped onto the main deck and reported to Hook, who was talking with Herbs and Mason.

Looking up, the captain lifted both brows. "And?"

"It's Easter Monday," Nibs told Hook and the other boys. "So we were away in Neverland only a week London time. And it's only been a few days since Ashford came back from Neverland. Wendy and Peter aren't here long."

James took a deep breath. "Good news," he mumbled. "Wendy is not in danger, but Pan is the longer he stays here." He turned to Slightly, asking, "What did you tell them?"

The boy shrugged. "I wondered why most people were not at work, I was informed then that it's Easter Monday."

"Isn't it always a holiday in our home country?" Hook asked, confused.

"In Great Britain it is, but not in the United States," Nibs replied. "I told them that I've a bet going with one of the sailors if this day is an official holiday in England or not."

Hook nodded, satisfied. "Well done, young man." His gaze wandered up the river to the direction of the Tower Bridge and saw a smaller boat approaching from the right. So, there was the entrance to these new docks. Pulling on his beard, James pondered the two options he had: let the Jolly Roger anchor here, subject to the tide, or try to get a safe place within the docks, still not understanding how the water remained in these 'pools' the boys spoke of. When the low tide lowered the Thames' level, then nothing could stop the water from retreating, pool or not.

"Where can I find the dockmaster?" he asked Nibs, who seemed to know a lot about these harbors and ships. (If the boy had come from a noble family, James would have suggested that he make a career at the Royal Navy as an officer, given the lad's adept strategizing and interest in seafaring. He couldn't know that it was no longer required for new officers to be of noble heritage.)

"I don't know," Nibs replied. "I've never visited St. Katherine Docks before. But despite the holiday I'm sure his office is open even today."

"Those men down there could show you the way," Michael pointed.

Smee, who had remained beside his commander, murmured quietly, "Do ya really want t' involve an official, Capt'n?"

Hook grimaced. "It seems I've no other choice. When the tide changes, the Thames will be too shallow for our ship. We need a berth with deeper water, and if I have understood our young allies here correctly, the docks behind these houses are offer safe mooring." He straightened. "Let's go."

Bryan's eyes widened. "Y' want me t' go wit' ye, sir?"

Surprised, James looked at him. "Why not?"

The old Irishman swallowed. He had already seen too many new things today, he didn't think he could bear more. And dealing with officials always had been something he tried to avoid at any cost. "I uh … I think, Master Nibs would be of greater service te' ye, sir. He's familiar wit' evert'in' 'ere and …"

Hook knew Smee in and out and understood the man's conundrum. But before he could make any comment, Nibs came to them. "Mr. Smee is right, Captain. Maybe it would be best if I accompany you. There are … uh … certainly a few unfamiliar things you will encounter despite our … history lessons last night."

Lifting both brows, the captain considered the lad standing tall before him, then he nodded. "Well, Master Nibs, show me what you're made of – cabin boy!"

Nibs grinned at the label and followed Hook down the gangway. In his time, people had run in terror when pirates approached, now Hook found himself in the middle of laughing faces, claps on his shoulder, compliments on his 'great costume!' and admiring gazes from the children and flirtatious smiles from most of the women. (Well, that hadn't changed.) And as he asked where he could find the office of the dockmaster, a dozen younger boys and even a few grownups immediately offered to escort him, hoping for more details about the ship.

Hook was careful not to shake his head in disbelief. These people were clueless about his ship's true status, and that he and his men were true buccaneers, but it surprised him how dewy-eyed they were. He covertly examined their clothing, trying not to grimace. Was the fashion of this day so … simple, so plain? It seemed so and James sighed inwardly. Yes, times had definitely changed!

*** PP ***

For seven years now, Stephen Davies had been the dockmaster at St. Katherine Docks, opened on the 25th October 1828. Where St. Katherine Hospital had stood from the 12th century, now three large buildings stood, along with floodgates connected to basins, surrounded by warehouses, cranes and other facilities. The hospital had been moved to another borough, but the name had stuck.

Davies was proud of his position in the rather traditional dock that was one of the oldest in its original form. His reputation described him as correct and strict. This had saved his position after the different harbor administrations had been united in the newly minted Port of London Authority on 16th of March this year – combining the organization of port business. Rules, new laws and a firm management of the daily comings and goings of ships (including stevedoring the cargos of the ships and handling the customs) had reduced mistakes and accidents. Returning to his office after lunch and working, despite the general holiday, only served to illustrate his dedication to his duties.

Usually on holidays, the routines were less busy, easier to handle, but just now his assistant, Jacob Brown, barged into his office – without knocking! – he knew that the quiet day was about to change. "Sir, there … there is someone who wishes to speak with you," he said breathlessly.

"Brown!" Davies snapped. "I get visitors every day. Why do you almost tear my door down and forget to knock? Is it His Majesty in the flesh?" he added sarcastically.

"N-n-n-no, sir, b-b-but…"

He snapped his mouth shut as behind him a dark, rich voice added, "My ancestor was called the pirate king, as I have discovered, but I don't think you're referring to him, sir."

Davies' jaw dropped as the door was pushed wider open and a tall well-muscled man stepped in, looking for all the world as if he'd just stepped out of a history book. Stunned, the dockmaster examined the stranger. He wore a blood red captain's coat and waistcoat beneath it, all heavily embroidered in gold. A ruffled shirt in black, black breeches in long black, polished boots and a large, brimmed hat with many exotic feathers accompanied the outfit. A sash with golden decoration and gems was slung over the left shoulder and held a sword with a glittering hilt on his right. Dark, almost black curls hung past his upturned collar and – to make the pirate-image complete – a trimmed moustache and goatee surrounded a sardonic mouth. Eyes blue as forget-me-nots pierced his own, and the strength in them nearly took his breath away.

"What in God's name…" Davies whispered in awe.

Hook knew exactly the effect he had on people when they first laid eyes on him, and gave the older man a dashing smile. A smile that seemed to scream 'danger.' "Good afternoon, sir. I was told that I find the dockmaster here."

Davies realized that his mouth still hung open and closed it hastily while he rose. "That's … that's correct, sir. My name is Stephan Davies. Good afternoon and … and a very late Blessed Easter to you."

The newcomer nodded, swept off his hat, and, pressing it to his chest, he bowed elegantly – a beautifully performed gesture of courtesy that was out of fashion, but executed so naturally, it made Davies wordless. "The same to your and your family, sir. I'm Captain James Hook." He looked behind him and waved his right hand …

Hold it! There was no hand but… a hook? Well, accidents still happened at sea, or maybe this man had attended the Boer War, but – sweet Lord – had he never learned about a prothesis? And his hair … This was no wig, but his curls were really that long. Who wore his hair like that?

"This is my cabin boy," the stranger introduced a young boy who lifted his cab and bowed.

"Ethan Shepard, at your service, sir," Nibs greeted Davies, who could only nod.

Then the captain spoke again, and Stephen found himself in the focus of the bluest eyes he had ever seen. "My men and I just arrived in London, and we require a berth within your amazing dock for our ship." The dark voice was very cultivated and clearly of English heritage, yet a strange accent resonated in those words, Davies couldn't place it.

"A-a-a-and what type of ship do you have?" he asked; hearing to his horror how high his own voice suddenly sounded. The wolfish grin the captain gave him didn't calm him. Something about this man was simply … perilous, despite his costume!

"A Spanish galleon, four masts. We've a draft of approximately 8 yards, so the ship will need a depth of water the Thames will not offer when the tide retreats," the commander answered.

"A … a galleon?" Davies looked at Jacob Brown, who nodded enthusiastically. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, finding his composure again. "This is a joke, right?" He glanced at Hook. "You're an actor and this all is a prank from … from … someone."

Lifting both brows, Hook smiled again. "I know this must be very unusual for you, but I assure you, my crew, I and my ship are real!"

Glaring resentfully at Brown, hoping his assistant would solve this riddle, he got an answer he didn't expect. "There … there really is a large, old galleon at the quay of St. Katherine Way," Jacob stuttered. "The captain didn't come alone. At least seven dockworkers and a handful of children showed him and his cabin boy to our offices, Matt Bennett is among them. And you know how serious and trustworthy he is."

Gulping, Davies turned his attention back to the man in front of him. "So, you really command an old galleon," he murmured; knowing that someone like the dockworker Bennett would never lie.

"Aye," Hook nodded and continued to smile like a crocodile. "I'm sure you understand our need for a berth within your impressive dock. Galleons have a large draft."

Though he refused to show it, James was somewhat overwhelmed himself by what he had seen outside. Not only the three immense basins, but that they were cut off the Thames and therefore from the movement of the tide by two floodgates, assuring that the water remained inside. Moveable floodgates which operated by this mysterious 'hydraulic' was how Nibs explained it to him. Then those tall warehouses, the cranes moved by steam, the even street around the basins … amazing! This dock was nothing like anything he had seen in his time. And Nibs had told him in a hushed voice as they followed the helpful children and men that this was an old dock. The newer ones they had passed during their traverse in East London were even larger and more modern.

But there was more. This office where Davies sat trying to collect his equilibrium was in its own way special, too. Furnishings were of a different style than his era, but served the same purpose. But the equipment … what was this square metal box, open at the top, with all the lettered buttons in the lower part? And what was this device mounted on the wall, consisting of a box with a crank, a small metal funnel on the front and another funnel that hung at the side and was connected to the box with a rope? He couldn't know that those two things were a typewriter and a telephone.

Stephen Davies swallowed and cleared his throat; trying to accept that this ominous captain wasn't a late April fool joke, but a true seaman. A seaman who looked like a picture-book pirate and commanded a galleon! This had become quite … eerie. He decided he would handle this case just like all the others. That was safe territory for him and that was most important. A dockmaster couldn't look … incompetent and uncertain.

"Well, of course we have a few berths unoccupied just now suitable for ships with a large draft," he broached the reason for this captain's presence in his office. "Eight yards, you say? Then the west basins would serve your needs the best." Slowly he regained his self-assurance, even if he asked himself why this man – for God's sake! – was walking around in this baroque costume. It was Easter, not Mardi Gras!

"Thank you," Hook replied. "We also need a few tugboats to unberth from the quay where we anchor presently, to pull us into the dock. The sails are all furled and the Jolly Roger couldn't gather enough speed to maneuver herself given the short distance between our current berth and the dock's entrance."

"The … Jolly Roger?" Brown blinked.

"Aye, my ship's name," Hook replied casually.

"An old galleon commanded by a storybook-pirate is named after the Black Flag," Davies murmured. Then he raised his voice. "Captain … uh … what was your name again?"

"My true name is James Andrews, but since I refurbished the old ship of my ancestor and offer sightseeing tours aboard for people who are interest in nautical history, I go by the name James Hook." He lifted his right arm and smirked inwardly as he saw the other man gulping. Again!

'How fitting!' Davies thought, before asked carefully, "An … accident?"

"Aye, you could say that," James nodded, grateful that Peter wasn't here, who certainly would have boasted about him cutting off the 'big bad pirate's hand'. But, he knew by now that the eternal boy had developed a bad conscience concerning that 'incident' – now, after facing the dark wizard together.

Again the dockmaster cleared his throat. "Well, then I suggest we first settle the paperwork and then my assistant will accompany you so that we know exactly how many tugboats you're going to need. May I have your ship's papers and your passport, please?" This was the crucial moment, and Nibs couldn't help but be impressed how casually Hook reacted. The man really could be very cold-blooded.

"I must admit to a problem, Mr. Davies. You see, we had a fire aboard while crossing the Atlantic that destroyed a part of my quarters – and with it my escritoire in which the ship's paper and all the other documents were locked. I fear I'm currently unable to provide you with the required documents."

Silence. Davies – and a still shy Brown – stared at him and Nibs. "A … fire?"

"Aye. We crossed heavy sea and a petrol lamp I keep on the high shelf of my escritoire fell and burst. I swear, I thought I'd put out my cigar, but it turned out that I must not have been careful enough. That's the only answer to the riddle as to why the fire got started. I found the rest of the lamp smashed on the writing top around the ashtray – an accident that could have cost us our lives, if not for Master Ethan here, who spied the fire and gave alert." He clapped the boy's shoulder, who stood beside him. Nibs lowered his head in pretended embarrassment at the captain's bonhomie.

"And… the fire destroyed the, um, escritoire and with it all your papers?" Davies asked doubtfully.

"Not only the escritoire," Hook corrected him. "Regretfully also a shelf with old books, an oriental carpet, two valuable original windows and our flag." He sighed. "Like I said, we were very fortunate that my cabin boy discovered the fire and that we were able to douse it before it could spread through the ship. The modern ships of today are not so … vulnerable to flames as those made of wood."

"And your galleon … is really that old? It isn't rebuilt?" Brown asked quietly, yet cautiously.

"Aye!" Hook affirmed. "Well, after all the work that had been necessary to change the old wreck into a seaworthy ship you could call it a rebuild, but I'm proud that most parts of the hull and the inner equipment of the original ship could be saved."

"And… from where do you come? You said, from across the Atlantic. The United States or Canada?" Davies wanted to know.

"From South Carolina," James lied confidently through his teeth.

"And … you want to offer people tours on your ship?!" Davies shook his head. "Unusual, but I think this could be a successful business model. The tour on the Victory in Portsmouth is very popular and your ship must surely be even older." He took a deep breath. "Yet you can't run a business here without being registered first, and without papers …"

"The American embassy," Nibs whispered, loud enough to be heard by the two officials, and Hook nodded.

"Aye, this would have been my next question. Mr. Davies, where can I find the American embassy? I must acquire copies of our papers from the United States."

"I … can show you on the street map," Stephan replied. "But it will be few weeks before you get those copies."

Cocking his head, Hook required, "But my men and I are allowed to come ashore, correct? We need new provisions, repairs, and …" Another wolfish grin. "… I need new clothes. So much was ruined by the fire."

Ah, that's why the man was in costume. Well, Davies couldn't deny the crew access to the harbor. There still existed older traditions than those of entry and custom. "Yes, of course you and your men can come ashore." He rubbed his chin. "If you would subscribe an assertion under oath who you and your men are, then … I think … this will be enough for now. That means, until you get the witnessed copies of the ship's papers and new passports."

"An excellent solution," Hook replied, relieved. John had already told him that it would be good if he 'only' had to subscribe this odd declaration and that afterwards he would be left alone by the officials for the present.

Davies sat down again, offered Hook a visitor chair and took out a sheet of paper that was a printed form. "Right, your full name, your birthdate and birthplace, please, marital status, home port of your ship and the reasons for your visit in Great Britain. Furthermore I have to know if you have cargo to declare, and if there are relatives in Britain who could affirm your identity."

Hook sighed. "The reason you know: business. Well, and I'm here to find out about my ancestor, who was the last son of Marquess Shalford and turned pirate."

Both other men stared at him. "Your ancestor … was a true pirate?"

"Aye," James nodded with some pride on his face. "He was a companion of Charles Vane, Edward Teach and Calico Jack."

"That had to be … around 1718," Brown gasped. "Your ship is that old?"

"Aye, and in very good condition," the captain affirmed.

Davies rubbed his chin, rose and walked around his desk. "All right, I think I will take a personal look at your ship. Maneuvering a real galleon into the dock will be … problematic, and I don't want any accidents." He slipped into his coat and took up his bowler. "And, Captain James Andrews 'Hook,' I hope you understand that I want to be sure that this isn't a very late April fool joke!"

TBC…

Well, that poor Mr. Davies of course thinks that someone is pulling his leg, is understandable. Who wouldn't be suspicious of a prank if suddenly someone appears in the office, wearing clothes of two hundred years ago and announced that he owes an equally old ship, and even cannot identify himself or said ship, because all ID-papers burnt? Yes, of course, this would make anybody warily. But Davies will set right aboard the Jolly Roger and there the next chaos becomes inevitable, because the press appears. Jupp, you read correctly. Of course the Jolly Roger's presence elicited a lot of attention.

Furthermore, Nissa reveals herself to Professor Hutchings, Peter tries to escape from the orphanage and Hook and his crew get another taste of modern technics, today's money, etc.

I hope, you liked the new chapter and the more funny stuff that has gone one for once. I tried to catch the atmosphere in London's port and the realization for Hook and his men how much the town has changed. I would be very happy to get new reviews, so please leave some comments (smile).

Have a nice Sunday and a good start into the next week.

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight