Hi, my dear readers!

Thank you so much for the feedback. I'm happy to get some reviews – especially now, when there isn't so much action but important stuff for the next 'step' of the story.

Like I already mentioned in the last little private 'epilogue', in this new chapter Wendy will meet Bumblyn again, what leads to a lot of exchange of information, and Nibs comes up with a background-story for Hook. I hope, you're going to like it.

Have fun

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 39 – A Background-Story for Hook

As the Jolly Roger made history crossing the skies with Hook, his crew, and the boys, in Ashford-Manor everyone was sleeping, including Bumblyn who still snuggled against Wendy's shoulder. The girl's slumber had become more peaceful over the last hours and so the little Hobgoblin had thought it was safe to take a nap on his own.

But her sleep grew restless again as the night wore on and for good reason. In her dreams she saw the skirmish near the portal, in Neverland. Her dreams painted pictures. And noises …

… Gunshots boomed, pirates, fairies and other Little People came racing towards the men around her. Her body tensed when she saw the tall figure with the long black curls leaping forward. Wendy knew what would happen and tried to shout a warning, but, dreamlike, she couldn't move, words stuck in her throat. Horrified, she saw a pistol aimed at him, firing, and hitting him in the chest, but … he didn't fall. He paused in his forward attack, looked down to his chest and broke out in a grin. There, visible at the opening of his shirt, she saw the glittering gold of the necklace and the shimmer of the dragon scale. And in the middle of the scale: the bullet.

Looking into her eyes, his feral grin changed into a warm smile while his eyes shone with love and comfort. "Don't mourn, Beauty, I am well."

Wendy held his gaze while the woods around her changed into …

… his quarters. He now sat at his desk, dark hair tousled, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue, face pale but determined. For a long moment they only looked at each other, then he murmured, "I'm on my way, m'Hearty. Hold on! I'm coming and get you …"

With a gasp, Wendy awoke and sat up, eyes darting around the room. A dream! It had been a dream, but … it had felt so real. She had smelled his tobacco, his pachouli and the salty air, together with the scent of well-oiled furniture, but there was also another smell under it all – like charred wood. She had heard the creaking of the ship's movements, the wind in the sails and the singing in the lines; his voice had washed over her like a warm wave.

What if it were true? What if he had survived and was really on his way to England? She knew that he was bound to the island …

"Wendy-lady?" The high-pitched, familiar voice spoke behind her. Still sitting, she whirled about. Her eyes widened as a little face with big eyes and a round nose looked up at her. Large pointy ears moved between the fire-red wool-like hair, and a long tail with matching red tuft moved in a wagging motion.

"Bumblyn?" she croaked, hardly believing her eyes. Am I still dreaming?

The little Hobgoblin smiled sadly. There was so much compassion and pity in his eyes, Wendy could have wept if not for the echo of her dream that still reassured her with a very tiny hope.

"Oh Wendy-lady, Bumblyn is so sorry for you," the bogey whispered and crawled in her lap. As she bent forward, they both threw their arms around the other. It was only a hug, but the feeling was so welcome.

"Bumblyn," the girl murmured, holding him close. "How did you ger here?"

"Hiding in this sack where the dragon egg was I did. Visit your world I did." He sat back and stroked one tiny hand clumsily over her cheek. "So sorry I am," he murmured.

Wendy nodded. Or rather, she wanted to nod, but her head felt thrice its size by now and she moaned. Licking her lips, she whispered, "Is there anything to drink?"

"Yes, but don't drink it. This witch put something in it so that you sleep," he said, frowning.

Blinking, Wendy sat up straighter. "Miss Lunette gave me … a sleeping drug?" she asked shocked, then she moaned as her headache increased. "That explains the hammer pounding in my head," she groaned and rubbed her temples. "Oh woe to you, you … old hag!" Not her normal way of speaking, but for now, she didn't care. She lowered her hands and glanced around, eyes landing the door. "Let me guess, it's locked," she frowned.

Bumblyn sighed. "Yes. The dorcha bhiorach – that dark viscount – locked it after your parents departed."

That caught Wendy's attention. "My … my parents were here?" she repeated, forgetting her grief for a desperate hope.

"To be sure," the Hobgoblin affirmed. "In the afternoon they came. Shocked they were when seeing you, and learning about … the captain." His head bowed as he spoke. Biting his lips, he looked up at her. "Lying did the bad man to them … about the way the captain … died."

Wendy tensed. "What do you know about … what happened to James?" She feared the answer but she had to know!

The bogey lowered his voice and whispered. "Not seeing Bumblyn did how it happened but listened to the other men as they talked. Not struck by a ricochet was the captain. That bullet was aimed."

"James wasn't killed by accident?" the girl asked, eyes widening. She didn't want to lose her hope that he somehow had survived and that her dream hadn't been a dream but a vision. But even if it had been nothing more than a dream, the prospect of him being shot on purpose made her head spin.

Bumblyn shook his head and hastily put a finger to his lips. "Hush! Silent you have to be now, not to cry out or shout – all asleep the bad people are, but hear you they could. That the truth you know, but they mustn't know that. Guessing that allies you have here, they would." As Wendy nodded slowly in understanding, he took a deep breath and revealed, "Ashford it was – the dorcha bhiorach – he shot the captain."

It felt like a bucket of ice-water had been dumped over Wendy, but a moment later the 'ice' turned to fire. "What?!"

The little Hobgoblin gulped. "Shhh!" he pleaded, pressing a finger against his mouth again, then continued, "Running towards the bhiorach the captain did as you were carried to the portal and then … the dorcha bhiorach took his gun and shot him."

All color had fled Wendy's face, only to return now until her skin seemed to burn. "Dalton … shot James?" She had to be sure she heard correctly.

"Yes. Bitter reproaches one of the men – the older one on our side – addressed to the dorcha bhiorach and murder he called it. That same man warm clothes he gave Peter, and got him food, but…"

Wendy, who had just learned that her James had not been killed accidentally but had been murdered, went rigid again. "One moment! What about Peter?"

Nervously, Bumblyn kneaded the end of his tail. "Down in the cellar he is. The witch wanted his blood for a young making potion and the dorcha bhiorach sends him to an orphanage. Money someone gets from him for -"

"Peter is here?" Wendy couldn't prevent the exclamation. "And Dalton wants to send him to an orphanage?" Her breath was caught in her throat as her friend nodded slowly. Dalton had not only killed James and kidnapped her, but he also abducted Peter? Because that nanny-witch wanted Peter's blood? AND was going to force Peter to remain here and grow up?

This all was too much. Hot white fury roiled up in her. Throwing the blanket aside – covering the bogey – she stood on the carpet beside the bed, and closed her eyes as she grew dizzy. 'Just wait, you damn hag! You will pay for drugging me – you and that bastard who killed my James and wants to make Peter face his worst nightmare!' she thought, took a few deep breaths. The room was spinning around her and she was glad to use a bedpost to steady herself.

"Oi!" Bumblyn squeaked, struggling under the blanket and finally got free.

Wendy felt her knees wobble and leaned on the bed again, room spinning around her. Whatever Lunette gave her was still controlling her body. "Bumblyn, do you know how late it is?" she asked.

"No, not seen the stars have I," the bogey answered, glancing up at her pale face. "But I think, over the longest part of the night is."

"So, if we want to free Peter and keep him out of an orphanage, we've to act now." She glared at the door. "But this blasted door is locked and I can barely stand, we've a problem." She sighed in frustration.

"Several problems. The keys to Peter's cell and shackles has the Lunette-woman," Bumblyn said.

"Shackles?" Wendy's eyes narrowed again as she pushed grief and wishful thinking aside and concentrated on their current task. "Yes, of course Ashford would put him in chains. James warned Peter that he was on Ashford's blacklist." She rubbed her brow thoughtfully. "Lunette has the keys?"

Bumblyn watched her, feeling his friend's anger like an open torch. "Yes. Tried to get them, did me and Nissa, but very carefully this witch is."

Wendy asked, "Nissa?"

Bumblyn gave her a shy, conspiratorial smile. "House-sprite she is of two hundred years. A Brownie-lady. Helping Bumblyn to vanish before the bad men saw him, she did, and-"

"Wait," the girl murmured. "She is over two hundred years old? So, she … she knew James?"

The Hobgoblin sighed. "Master Jamie, she calls him, and weep she did when she learned of … of his demise. Try to warn him she did, as the Mainland and Neverland were close and …"

"James spoke of another high-pitched voice he heard after having a vision of me," Wendy interrupted him; heart thumping in her chest. "So, it was this Brownie!?" She looked toward the open fireplace. "I told him that maybe a member of the Little People from his old home tried to reach him, but he denied that any of them existed here, in England. So I was right, but to what end? Death found him despite all our warnings." Her voice trembled while pain ripped through her like a burning knife.

Bumblyn touched her right arm. He felt the golden bracelet the captain once gave her under her sleeve.

His touch reminded her of the job she had to do. She would mourn later, now she had to save Peter. "Alright. We have to get Peter out. I won't allow that … what did you call him?"

"Dorcha bhiorach," he replied

"… that dorcha bhiorach to hurt someone else dear to me." She took another deep breath, thinking. "First, unlock the door, then we can go to work. So, we'll wait until morning, but we'll be prepared."

They sat together with their own thoughts, Bumblyn quietly told her of his bold move to accompany her, and she nearly wept in gratitude for his courage.

Waiting for rescue, waiting for a chance escape, waiting for some chance to free Peter … She hated it, yet just now she couldn't do anything else. At least she had something to distract herself. James? She hesitated. The hope ignited in her after that unusual dream rose up again. Bumblyn hadn't seen how Hook was shot, only heard the others talking. Could her dream actually be what happened? More importantly, could he still be alive? One way to find out. "Bumblyn, where is this portal in Neverland?"

"An archway behind the Black Castle – a wall behind the ruin. Around it be forests …" He stopped, as Wendy took a sharp breath.

"I … I had a dream before I woke up. I saw Ashford's men around and in front of us, Little People, fairies and pirates, all attacking from the woods. James was at the front when the bullet hit him, but …" she looked at the hobgoblin, "it was stuck in the dragon-scale I gave him at the beach. Is there a chance that this wasn't a dream but a vision?" She moistened her lips. "James had visions of me before I returned to Neverland. Perhaps now … I'm having them? Is he coming here?"

Bumblyn's eyes grew wide; he didn't know what to say. He didn't want her to have her hopes dashed a second time if the vision proved fantasy. On the other hand, Neverland had a way of granting wishes. Could the magic have intervened when the bullet was fired at the captain?

Wendy wasn't expecting an answer and she got none. Glancing at the final flames in the fireplace, she wrapped her arms around herself. "If it was only a wishing dream, then I will have to learn to live with the memories of the man I love and who loves me. But if he is still alive, I know he'll find a way to the Mainland, even if he is confined to Neverland! Nothing can stop James Hook's determined purpose!"

*** PP *** PP ***

As the borders between the realms were lifted again and Neverland's magic reached Wendy to soothe her grief, the Jolly Roger's keel descended the cold grey waves of the North Sea. As the forward motion slowed, the jerk went through the ship, shaking everybody aboard awake. The pirates on the main deck clung to the ropes, those who had been asleep swayed in their hammocks. Much grumbling followed.

Nibs and Herbs, who had grabbed the wheel to steady themselves as it became clear that the Jolly Roger was about to touch down, grinned at each other. Moments later, the captain flung his door aside, and his voice rang out, "What the hell is going!?"

Still drowsy, wrapped in his thick cape, he had awoken from another dream (vision?) of Wendy, then had been shaken awake by the ship's sudden slowing of the forward momentum. Seeing a sleepy John and Slightly rising from the carpet (where they'd been thrown) and hearing Smee swearing from the floor, James exited to the bridge. Now, the cold, damp night air restored his senses. Nibs turned to him and answered casually, as a weather report, "We landed on the North Sea, Captain."

Hook stared at him. "Again?"

Herbs saluted quickly. "Aye, Sir, th' lad is right. We be in English waters again."

James looked at them, then hastened to the railing, glancing down. Yes, it was true! Sapphire but still dark waves lapped around the ship's hull, while she rolled on the calm sea. Wind billowed in the sails and once again, Hook smelled the strong, tangy, salty scent of the North Sea. "We made it," he murmured, grinning now. "We're back!"

"Ah, th' salty air o' Britania's coasts!" Smee stood outside the captain's quarters, holding his nose into the wind and smiling like a child at Christmas. He handed Hook his warm cape, which he threw over himself.

"Are we home?" "Where are we exactly?" Slightly and John pushed themselves around Smee and onto the bridge.

"A good question, Master John," Hook replied, closing the clasps of his cape while striding to the top deck. He ascended the companionway that led up to the top deck to have an unobstructed view of the sky. He knew that it was the middle of April from the position of the constellations and Wendy's tale of home. "Ship's time?" he called over his shoulder.

"Two bells into morning watch," Slightly called back. "Five o'clock in the morning," he translated.

"Thank you, Master Slightly, no need to decode," James shouted back.

"Uh, we're at the east coast of England," Nibs cried up. "At least according to Tinker Bell."

Hook grimaced and turned aft. As if he would trust a little fairy to locate a ship's position and… One moment! What was that? "And where is our flag?" he demanded, frowning threateningly at the empty flagstaff.

Nibs came climbing up the stairs toward Hook. "The fairies lowered it – on my order." He met the captain's hard glare and added, "Sailing under the black flag is still a crime, Captain, and we are in English waters. We don't need that kind of trouble even before your reach London."

One detail he'd missed. Yet… "A fair idea, but who gave you rank on my ship?"

Nibs smiled softly. "Because you were sleeping and I didn't want to prod the bear. The same for Mr. Smee. We already discussed the fact that we want to keep as low a profile as possible, which, given the Jolly Roger's and her crew's appearance, might not be possible. Flying the black flag might even have alerted the Navy."

Hook grimaced. The boy had foreseen a problem and had acted quickly to spare crew and ship trouble. "Hm, I like people who think ahead," he mumbled.

Nibs accepted the comment as praise and smiled, "You're welcome. The flag is below deck in one of the holds."

James' glanced at the empty flagstaff. "So tell me, Master Nibs, which colors should we hoist? Last time I checked a ship has to fly a flag."

"Regarding your background story, your men and the ship itself, I recommend the Stars and Stripes. I know that you don't have that flag aboard, because when you left the Mainland, there were no Stars and Stripes. So I suggest you set the white flag. It's neutral and it means that you have no hostile intentions."

"Stars and Stripes?" John reached the top deck, together with Slightly and a wheezing Smee. "The American flag?" he asked his adopted brother.

The boatswain had a different question. "Sir, th' fairies want t' take a short rest before they're flyin' back t' Neverland."

Hook looked at him indignantly. "Since when do those pesky fireflies ask my permission to do anything?"

"Well, they want to rest on the ship-" replied Slightly, translating for them when Hook impatiently waved his metal claw.

"Brimstone and gall, they can lie down wherever they want and take a nap – preferably without any snoring!" John wondered briefly what a fairy's snore sounded like. Or hundreds of them at once.

Peter's former second in command smirked and shook his head with a mock salute – typical Hook! – and returned to speak with Tinker Bell and Aurora. As he returned, the others were discussing the matter of the flag. "Stars and Stripes is the name of the American flag. Also Old Glory," John was explaining.

"Yeah, so officially it would be this ship's flag – " Nibs raised his hand to forestall the loud objections from captain and bosun, continuing, " – but sadly was destroyed in the fire in your cabin. As the flames broke through the windows they took hold of the flag and burnt it."

"But our flag wasn't burned," Smee pointed out.

Nibs smiled. "Certainly, but that's the story you'll give the authorities. There has to be a reason why the Jolly Roger is flying no flag." He glanced back at Hook. "And the fire will also have destroyed ship's and crew's records. Fortunately, the old logbooks of your ancestor survived, Captain, and they will reveal who you are."

Barely following the boy's narrative, Hook blinked. "And who am I?"

"Your own descendant," Nibs answered, grinning broadly.

Silence.

Then everyone was talking at once: "What?" "How did you come up with this idea?" "Th' Cap'n is what?" "I'm my own descendant?" Four pairs of eyes stared as if he'd lost his mind.

Peter Pan's experienced strategist shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and smiled. "It's your background story, your history. And it's rather straightforward. You wrote in your logbook, Captain, that you were fleeing the Royal Navy? You set course to the Carolinas, correct?"

"Aye," Hook nodded. "And then we got lost around the Devil's Triangle and landed in Neverland."

"You're not the first who had problems in this part of the Atlantic," John sighed. "There are a lot of stories about ships that went missing in that area."

"And it seems they're not ghost stories," Slightly nodded.

"No, they're not, but you found there a portal to another realm, and that should remain our secret. Our captain here never left our world but reached his destination. And that's what he should tell the authorities," Nibs stated.

"I shall tell everybody that I settled in the Carolinas?" Hook asked, staggered. "For how long? 190 years?"

"Not you, Captain, but your ancestor settled there," Nibs grinned. The four faces around him were picking up the story and nodding. "Let us create your past after you fled Nassau," the boy continued, looking at James. "You went to the Carolinas. The authorities there were corrupt, which you knew and used to your advantage. You hid your ship in one of the many bays or swamps, and waited for better times to put to sea again. Yet Rogers and the Royal Navy 'cleaned' the Caribbean thoroughly, preventing you from leaving over the following months, even years. History says that the last 'free' pirates were hanged 1724 in Nassau, so you had to remain on land. You fell in love, married and settled down, your crew struck out on their own. You used a part of your booty to begin a new life. And that's the story of the 18th century pirate-captain-"

"-who lived happily ever after," Hook said sarcastically.

"Well, do you want a 'happily-ever-after' with my cousin or not?" Slightly asked innocently, meeting the widening blue eyes. "You didn't believe that this thing between you and Wendy went by unnoticed, did you?"

"No, John filled me in."

"Yeh, us too," Nibs chuckled, then grew serious. "Now, to your background story. That pirate captain remained ashore and had a long and happy life. Now, you, his 'descendant', come into the picture. You lived somewhere else in the States. Your great-great-great-great-grandfather or so had moved to New Orleans or Florida generations ago. You got the message that a distant cousin of yours died and that you inherited his or her house, because you're the last known relative. You travelled to the Carolinas and visited the old house your 'ancestor', aforementioned pirate captain, once built. You wanted to sell it, but first you went through the house to learn its history. In the attic, you found some old boxes with paintings and books – among them the long-forgotten logbooks of your ancestor. You read through them, found hints of the hidden ship that the pirate had left a part of his fortune aboard – well hidden in the swamps."

Slightly seized the idea and continued with his own version. "Adventurous as you are, you began to search for the old galleon. You financed it by selling the paintings and the house. Months later you found the ship – mostly overgrown and half sunk in the swamp – an old wreck. But there was indeed the rest of a hidden treasure. You sold some of the jewelry and gold coins, paid your debts and used the most of the rest to salvage the galleon."

"And why should I do that?" Hook wanted to know, now fascinated by how easily these boys came up with a story for him.

"Because you are still the descendant of a pirate – the sea is 'in your blood.' And during your research, you came to admire and respect your ancestor. No man who is a captain in his heart abandons ship. You wanted to see the ship sailing the seas again – for yourself and to honor your adventurous and wondrous ancestor."

"Adventurous and wondrous," Hook grunted. "I can do that. And why am I now in England – or, rather, my descendant?"

"Because of your ancestor's personal story," John now spoke up, adding his own flavor to the tale. "You learned in your research that your ancestor was the last son of an English marquess who had been falsely accused of high treason, and this had cost his family their home, their reputation and the marquess and two of his sons their lives, while the youngest was forced to flee and became said pirate. You're here to do your own research into the matter, inspired by the amazing successes of finding your ancestor's ship and treasure."

"Over the last few years, a lot of United States citizens are visiting Great Britain to follow their ancestors' footsteps," Slightly added. "Just like you."

Captain and his boatswain looked at each other. "And you think people will believe this cock-and-bull story?" Hook asked skeptically.

John and Slightly grinned, while Nibs chuckled. "Aye! You cannot imagine what the people of the higher classes will swallow today! It only has to be extraordinary and exotic, and they'll eat it up! You just need to be your flamboyant, charming and dangerous self, and they'll be hooked." He glanced at the captain's right arm. "Sorry, couldn't resist," he added.

James looked heavenward, as if for strength, then he took a deep breath. "Adventurous and wondrous, flamboyant, charming, and dangerous. I can do that as well. So, that's the persona. And the rest …"

"You set sails and crossed the Atlantic, but during the travel, heavy sea led to a fire aboard. A few pieces of furniture in your cabin and a part of the hold were victim to the flames," Nibs wove the next part of the biggest fish story any of them had heard in years.

"Aye, including our flag," James commented wryly; wondering if storytelling was infectious, as two of the growing Lost Boys had developed the same talent like a certain young lady he was head over heels with.

"Yes, including the flag," Nibs nodded. "The fire destroyed your escritoire that held the file with the ship's papers as well as yours and the crew's identification. They were locked up to keep them safe during the storm, because old sailing ships leak during a heavy sea. Tragically, one of the burning petroleum lamps hanging above it fell onto the desk in the violent rolling of the sea, and thus the fire started." Nibs shook his head in mock sadness. "It was only with the superhuman and heroic efforts of your fine crew that the fire was finally extinguished, and alas, losing so many of your important papers." He lowered his head as if in mourning.

"And you think that will satisfy the harbor authorities' curiosity concerning our missing papers?" Hook asked.

Nibs brightened suddenly and grinned. "Aye! It's why you can't present them the usual documents."

"Because they burned completely," John deadpanned, also shaking his head in mock sorrow. "So now you have to request new ones, meaning, you'll have to visit the American embassy. Eventually. The new documents must be produced in America – for all of you – and this will take a long time. A loooong time. And by the time you get them, a lot of water will flow down the Thames, and no-one need get suspicious."

"In other words, until the authorities again demand papers, you'll be able to counterfeit some documents you can present to them," Nibs added.

"Nibs!" John cried, looking shocked.

"Hey, he and the others need passports, and the American embassy can demand copies from home as often as they want, they never will get an answer, after all, Captain Hook doesn't exist officially – and the same goes for the Jolly Roger and the crew members. Therefore the… uh… papers have to be gotten in another way."

"What are passports?" Hook wanted to know.

" 'A passport certifies the nationality and identity of its owner' ," John cited from a test he'd studied for.

"You're right, Nibs," Slightly said to his cousin. "There's no chance in Hades to get real passports or ship papers, so they should never be requested officially at the American embassy, but obtained … uh … unofficially." He glanced at a frowning Hook. "The harbor authorities also will want to know at least your name and those of the crew. So, if you're your own descendant, then your name has to be the same you once used when you still sailed the Caribbean. I don't think you went by your original name, so…"

"No, I tried to cut off all connections to home to prevent my pursuers from following me. My original name is … was James Andrew Shalford. I hired aboard a trading ship in Bristol under the pseudonym James Andrews, and I kept that name during my time in the Caribbean," Hook explained rather hesitantly. He didn't like to reveal so much, even though he knew that the danger of the past was over, and that the boys wouldn't abuse their knowledge of his true identity.

"Ah, so the initials JAS," Slightly smirked.

"During your time, it was common to shorten the given first name in informal writing," John pointed out. "So Jas was a shortened form of James. But in your case, a reminder of your true name?" he addressed Hook, who sighed.

"Aye," he only nodded. These boys continually surprised him. Never had he thought that they were that clever. Well, he also had underestimated Peter Pan's intelligence, so no surprise there, right?

"Alright, then he can officially go by Captain James Andrews – just like his 'ancestor'. You might keep the name 'Hook' as a theatre name," Nibs suggested.

"'Cuz o' th' cap'n's real hook?" Smee asked, who'd awakened and was listening, fascinated.

"Yes. Accidents on ships still happen.," Nibs sighed. "And to keep up your pirate image, he wears a hook."

"And why must I keep a pirate image?" James asked, very much appreciating the personality the boys were weaving. As he saw the blooming grin on Nibs' face, he knew that the boy had even planned for this detail.

"Easy. After you discovered and restored the ship, you knew it would be a popular tourist attraction. So, to earn money, you offered the folks up and down the coast of the Carolinas the opportunity to visit the ship. Then you decided to visit the people in London and give tours of a 'real pirate-ship'. And, of course, for these events, you and the crew must wear your original pirate 'costumes'."

"An' y' t'ink th' people want t' see th' ship?" Smee asked skeptically.

The three boys looked at each other and laughed. "Didn't we tell you that the English population are hungry for foreign and exotic things? Believe me, when the Jolly Roger anchors in London and folks get the chance to visit her, they'll come running," Nibs reassured him.

"It's the epoch of the romantic, you know, and sailing ships have always had their own charm and romance. When I think of the many supposed sea chanty songs composed over the last twenty years …" Slightly chuckled.

"My sister must have gotten her love for old sailing ships and pirates and adventure stories from somewhere – and for you especially," John added wryly.

"And if you wear your pirate clothes while telling of the adventures of your ancestor, you'll be the most popular new attraction in London!" Nibs concluded.

"Yes, remembering the HMS Victory," Slightly nodded. "She's docked in Portsmouth and is still the flagship of the Commander in Chief of the Royal Navy. One can visit her during certain days. The people love it."

"Th' Victory?" Smee asked.

"The flagship of Admiral Nelson who won but also fell in the Battle of Trafalgar. We told you about it earlier," Slightly replied. "Right now, she's docked in Portsmouth and is really a sight to behold. Just like the Jolly Roger will be."

Hook closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, still wondering if rum would help. "In my day, people would have run away when a pirate ship came to harbor, not run toward it for a sightseeing tour and stories."

"Times have changed," John reminded him.

Hook opened his mouth to respond, when he was interrupted by a shout from above: "LAND HO!"

Glancing up, James saw that they could now see the dark horizon against the paler sky to the east. He walked to the starboard side, he spied the dark silhouette of shores maybe half a mile away. "I need a telescope," he said to Smee, who instantly hastened away, only to return a minute later to offer his captain the telescope. There was still some fairy dust on it, but he ignored it. Examining the shore he murmured, "If I'm not mistaken, the coast of Essex, near the River Crouch. I recognize the bays."

"Then we sail south to Southend-on-Sea, where the end of the delta is located. Then up the Thames," John sighed.

"How fast is the Jolly Roger?" Nibs asked.

"Under full sails without much cargo we reach 18 knots," Hook said proudly. Well, in his time, this was really fast.

"So, we make 20 or 21 miles per hour, but we'll have to trim sails when we reach the river to prevent collisions with other ships." Nibs calculated the distance. "Hm, I think we'll be in London sometime this afternoon."

Hook frowned. "You're right. Couldn't these blasted fairies have put us down further south?" he groused.

"They will have had their reasons," Slightly replied, wrapping his arms around himself. "And if no one has anything against it, I'll go below and help Cookson make us all some hot tea. That is if he's already up."

*** PP ***

The sun rose over England. By half past six, only the skies in the west were still grey, the rest shimmered gold and red, flecked with little clouds, indicating that the weather wouldn't remain clear. Jolly Roger ran before the south-east wind as she neared England's coast.

Hook had returned to the bridge, sipped the cup of tea Cookson had brought him, and watched the activity on deck. He had given order to polish the ship thoroughly. If they were pretending to come to London as a show vessel (among other things), the Jolly Roger had to look her best. Half of the crew was busy with swabbing the decks and dusting all surfaces free of fairy dust, while the other half polished the cannons, the gilded carvings and decorations at the cannon hatches and the railings. The boys were preparing breakfast in the galley or helping Cookson to peel potatoes for lunch later. Herbs had manned the helm again, because now it was necessary to guide the Jolly Roger.

Hook looked into the riggings. The sparkling dust was nearly gone, for more than ten pair of hands had whipped away most of it. Tink flew to him, looking weary. "Yes, Miss Bell?" he asked politely. He listened carefully and understood at least half of what she said. "The others want to leave?" He turned around and saw, to his shock, many, many fairies coming through the door of his quarters. What …?

A Fae in one of the uniforms of Niam's guards approached him, bowed and spoke. Expectantly, he and Tink watched the captain, who only stuttered, "Well … yes … then good-bye and thank you and your queen for your help."

The fairy bowed again, grinned, turned and, with a shrill whistle, summoned the fairies into the air – a golden glistening shimmer in the early morning light like sunlight through a cloud. For a long moment they seemed to become one with the rising sun as they flew directly towards its blinding rays, then they shot up and vanished into fleecy clouds which dotted the sky. There were at least a dozen questions Hook had wanted to ask them, but too late. The large swarm vanished into the skies as the fairies began their voyage back to Neverland …

James sighed. The little buggers had annoyed him often enough, but just now, he felt the pang of loss. Fairies were magical beings, after all; creatures most people didn't believe in and therefore would never see. He had lived in their realm for many decades and was used to them. Knowing that he would never meet one of them again … it was an odd feeling. Then he remembered two other fairies were still aboard: Tinker Bell and Aurora, the latter was certainly still in his cabin together with Kailen and-

One moment! His quarters! What had those little beasts done in his cabin? Striding to the door of his quarters, he flung the door open and paused, shocked. He stared open-mouthed at the sight before him: The fairies had been over every inch of his furniture, and it was covered with fairy dust. His bed, the chairs and tables, his desk, the harpsichord, even the cabinet and the globe. And thanks to its magical properties, everything was nearly weightless, skimming the floor in every direction with the movement of the ship as if on casters.

Hook inhaled deeply when he finally could. "SMEEEEEEE!"

He didn't have long to wait, for the bosun came running. "Aye, Sir?" he asked, but stopped as he saw the slippery furniture. The spectacles slipped down his round, red nose. "Oh!"

Hook pointed his metal claw accusingly at the migrating chairs, table, desk, bed, settee … "Can you tell me why you allowed those blasted fairies to turn my quarters into a three-ring circus?"

Smee blinked. "Well, sir, ye said yerself tha' they could rest wherever they wanted, so they chose yer cabin t' be th' warmest room on th' ship."

Remembering his annoyed outburst about their request, he closed his mouth with a click and narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I said they can sleep wherever they bloody well wanted. But how could I know that they would choose my quarters?"

Smee only shrugged his shoulders innocently. After a few moments, James turned with a groan, leaning hand and hook on the doorframe, and stared at the merry sight of dancing pieces of furniture, all shimmering with golden powder. Shaking his head, he murmured, "I think a thorough dusting is in order!"

*** PP *** PP ***

It was almost eight o'clock in the morning as Kenly Fulsom returned from London to the manor. He entered the estate after he rang the doorbell, and walked to the viscount's private rooms. Knocking, he stepped into the large bedroom where the current master of the house was choosing his clothes for the morning.

"Fulsom! You're early," he said, knotting the belt of his morning coat.

The young man's head bobbed, cap in hand. "Milord, the director of the orphanage, a Mr. Primely, will be at the asylum around eleven o'clock to 'greet' the new occupant." He gave Ashford a pointed look. "So I arrived early to give us plenty of time."

"Fine, fine. The sooner I get rid of the brat the better!" He clapped Kenly on the shoulder. "Fulsom, you show potential. Well done!" He left the room. "Come with me. I'll give you the letter for Mr. Primely and the money, and five pounds for your efforts."

Five pounds – a week's wage! "Thank you, Milord," he said and bowed lower. He had already revised his intentions of quitting the job after returning to England.

"Good, call the men to help us get the boy. I'll be happy to get this little pest out of my hair!"

*** PP ***

In the other wing of the manor, Wendy had fallen asleep again after Bumblyn told her about the stolen dragon egg; fearing for the dragonling's life as soon as Lunette got what she wanted. Wendy was shocked as she heard about another foul deed 'dear Dalton' did – and that here was a curse the witch wanted to break. She didn't care that there was a curse that only hit the Ashford men. In her eyes their ancestors stole the manor from Hook's family and it was simple justice that they suffered now, too. Worst of all, Dalton had killed James, so the prospect that he might not live long enough to grow old was only right. Yet she was relieved that the said 'illness' spared the females of the family. So Victoria was safe. Determined not only to save Peter, but also the dragonling, Wendy finally lay back and drifted off to sleep again. The drugs in her system were still affecting her.

Bumblyn was already wide awake and hopped off the bed when he heard a soft scratching at the door. Dashing over, he heard Nissa's hushed voice from the other side, "Taking away the boy they are!"

Alarmed, Bumblyn's ears straightened and eyes widened. "Stop them we must!" he squeaked and ran back to the bed, shaking Wendy vigorously. "Wake up, Wendy-lady! They taking Peter away!" He needed to repeat everything twice before she looked conscious.

"Wh…What?" Wendy raised her head, still drowsy. Seeing the worried face of her little friend, she sat up. He told her again what was about to happen, and she shook her head to clear it, slapping her cheeks.

Peter! She had to help him!

Sliding off the bed, she stumbled to the wardrobe, her mind clearing as she considered the dangers to her friend – her childhood sweetheart! She had devised a plan while staring at the door and was now determined to go through with it. "Bumblyn, I need your help," she said, pulling out a pair of her ankle boots and her coat, noticing the clothes mother had packed for her.

The Hobgoblin nodded, frowning. "Give order, Wendy-lady, Bumblyn is ready!"

*** PP ***

The arrival of Kenly Fulsom had brought increased activity to the manor. So it was no wonder that Brynna Lunette left her bedroom clad only in a morning robe, grey hair loosely braided for sleep. She had been up late to finish the youth potion and feed the fire around the dragon nest. Having been awakened by the morning racket, she walked down the hallway toward the entrance, hearing Dalton, Fulsom, Wickham and Jackson. And Peter Pan, who was not going quietly.

"Take your hands off me, stupid grownups!"

Leaning over the banister, she saw the youth forced through the hall; still wearing the stockings and jumper Hutchings gave him, his hands chained behind his back. Then she saw Dalton give the keys to Fulsom, following the two hunters and the boy, carrying a woolen blanket.

"Garn, ya stupid churl! You won't escape!" Wickham answered, pulling the boy roughly towards him. Peter winced as his wounded arm was squeezed between him and Morton.

"Yah, you'll be headin' to a nice new home!" Jackson sneered.

"Time to go?" Anders had stopped beside Lunette, looking down, also wearing a morning gown and slippers. She nodded. "Splendorous! I only want to give him a little farewell," the Dane smirked and descended the stairs.

Brynna frowned, knowing what the man was going to do. She was about to follow him when she heard the girl pounding on the door and calling from the guest wing. No! That girl can't be up just now!

Downstairs, Peter heard Wendy's voice. He took a deep breath to shout back, but a hand was clapped over his mouth and nose. Writhing and squirming, his captors were hard put to control the wriggling eel, much stronger than they expected. The hands around his arms squeezed until it really hurt, and he was dragged towards the entrance door. Peter knew that he would be really on his own if the men could get him out of the house.

Biting the hand over his mouth, he heard Wickham cursing, then Anders was in front of him and gave him a slap that made his ears ring.

"That's for all the trouble you caused!" the Dane sneered and slapped the boy again. "And that's for biting Morton!"

"Mr. Anders, stop!" Ashford said loudly. He looked at the youth whose nose was now bleeding. "Fulsom will have a hard enough time explaining why the boy is not only clad in leaves, but also shows marks of abuse. Even a man like Primely will ask questions!" Then he looked Peter in the eyes. "You're being taken to an orphanage where you can learn a useful trade. Think of it as a chance to live a normal life someday."

Peter's crystal blue eyes shot daggers at the viscount, and he fought against the hand over his mouth, but again without success. Kicking out, his quick feet caught the viscount in the gut, doubling him over and driving out his breath; he quickly lost his condescending grin. Wordlessly, the man waved the others out the door as he fought to regain his equilibrium. Peter was lifted up, thrown over a shoulder and carried out of the manor into the cold, damp morning…

TBC…

Oh dear, this doesn't look good for Peter, even with Wendy hot on his opponents' heels. And rescue in the form of a certain pirate-captain is still down the Thames…

In the next chapter you'll read what becomes of Wendy's rescue attempt and the implications for everyone. Furthermore, the crew of the Jolly Roger gets her first contact with another ship (and modern people), and there will be lot of more I don't can tell you about just right now, because it would give away if Wendy will be successful or not.

I really hope, you liked the idea I came up with for Hook's background-story. I think, it explains a lot about the ship, his and the crew's appearance and his 'reasons' he comes to London – at least it is something the authorities may will believe.

And you would make me very happy, if you press the 'review-button' and leave some feedback (smile).

For all of you, who love the spooky night in four days: Happy Halloween!

Love you all

Yours Lywhn / Starflight