Hi, my dear readers!
First I want to thank you for the feedback. I'm happy to get some reactions, thoughts and suggestions, what shows how taken you're still with the story.
Dear 'guest' who wrote one of the reviews: Like I informed the readers in the prologue, I had to change my penname and the first story, 'Battle for Neverland' was published under the old penname, 'Lywhn'. If you want to read it, please use the search function of (at the right corner above), chose not 'story' but 'author/writer', type in my old penname (Lywhn) and then press enter. Like this you come to my old profile.
But now, off to London and Surrey; I'm sure you all want to know what happens next.
Have fun
Yours Lywhn / Starflight
Chapter 41 – Defiance
Dalton Ashford, whose left cheek still stung, displaying Wendy's outraged handprint, sipped some cognac – and it was only midday. Brynna, seated across the desk from him, sniffed critically at her young charge for his early imbibing, and eyed him warily. "You're frustrated."
He snorted, scowling. "As you say! That boy had the chance to tell Wendy the truth about … about what happened in Neverland. At least she doesn't know that my men were rather … careless in their handling of the fairies and Little People, but how could she have learned that it was I who shot her accursed pirate?"
Brynna grimaced. "At least she can't press charges against you for murder. The man in question has been officially dead for two hundred years, and you killed him in a world most don't believe in. And she knows this, so you're in no danger from the law."
The grey eyes looked at her angrily. "Do you think that's the only reason why I'm so furious that her cursed little brat spit out the truth? It doesn't matter that no one can arrest me for shooting her cripple. There's no way now I'll be able to woo her!"
Lunette crossed her arms, asking him, "Why are you so determined to win this one? She is pretty – possibly even beautiful when properly dressed and styled – but there are a lot of beautiful young ladies who would leap at the chance to become the next Lady Ashford."
Dalton looked down at the desk-top, his expression momentarily contemplative. "She fascinates me – she is quite special. Not only because of her connection with Neverland. She sees the world with different eyes and thinks in ways I've never encountered. She is proud, fierce, quite intelligent and strong-willed." He absentmindedly rubbed his reddened cheek. "And she'll fight for her principles, even physically." Here his hand moved to the healing sword wound under his sleeves. "More practically, it might come handy to have a father-in-law with a higher position in the Bank of England. It's probably better than a large dowry."
Brynna eyed him. "More money problems?" she asked, and he grimaced.
"Nothing I can't handle," he replied airily, waving her off as if at a bothersome fly. "A few of my friends are still expecting some … winnings from the last games." He forced a smile. "Like I said, nothing I can't handle."
"How much?" Lunette demanded calmly.
"What?" he asked innocently.
"How. Much. Do. You. Still. Owe. Them?" his former nanny specified; eyes narrowed. She was the only one in the family who knew about his particular weakness. Dalton made a face and mumbled something. Yet Brynna would not accept this. "What?" she demanded, staring at him.
Throwing his hands up, he growled. "In total, approximately £1000." [Author's note: today this would be over £150,000.]
"Dalton!"
"I already paid £200 back, but I can't borrow any more from our company. Father will check the books and come down hard on me."
"And he would well within his rights," Brynna retorted, face firm. "I thought you'd gotten that under control?"
"I have," he defended himself. "I haven't been gaming for the last three months. Hell's bells, I even decline invitations to poker or bridge in the club. But the debts are older and a few of my friends are getting impatient – as if they actually needed the money," he added with a frown.
"This has nothing to do with them needing the money, but gaming debts are debts of honor!" Lunette said, the nanny once again. "Remember honor? By the gassy goddess, Dalton, after everything I did to find a cure for you and your father's illness! I searched for years for it until I found the answers and the recipe for the potion. You hired men to steal a dragonling. You risked your life while visiting the fairy realm, and for what? So you can lose your newfound health over a few gambling debts?"
Ashford glared at her, feeling the childish rebellion creeping up his back. "I told you the debts are older and that I quit gaming three months ago!" He leaned back and crossed his arms, looking sullen.
"Yes, and you want to get Mr. Darling involved to solve your financial problems. But you do know that even the Bank of England investigates one's financial history before loaning money?"
Rolling his eyes, Dalton grumbled, "I will tell him that the loan is for a new investment in the ship's company to purchase equipment for the wharf and to improve two of our new ships. The company always has plans for expansion and something always has to be purchased. Father wouldn't become suspicious once I've paid my debts and with Miss Darling's dowry I can pay back a part of the credit. I've also bought a few promising shares so that I will have more money at the end of this year and next year when the dividends are paid." His fist landed on the desk. "But, as it seems, my intention are destroyed because of that miserable boy's big mouth and Shalford's ability to turn the girl's head completely."
"Rather, because you pulled the trigger too early," Brynna replied drily. "By killing Shalford you also killed your chance of winning the girl's heart. But at least you brought her back from the island -" She frowned, then sighed. "Now I understand why you want to go back to Neverland for the boys. If you not only rescue his daughter, but also his sons, Mr. Darling is in your debt of honor and will surely assist you in getting your loan, no matter if this marriage takes place or not."
"It's the very last device," Ashford grumbled. "I would much rather take Wendy as my bride, but at the moment I see a few … complications."
Lunette snorted. "Face it, Dalton, you cut off the branch you were sitting on. And, recall, there are other pretty and rich young ladies who would be happy to win your interest and intentions."
"They're of our class and associations … A few of my, um friends are of this group as well. That I, er, enjoy gaming is no secret."
Grimacing, Brynna only shook her head. If Miss Darling ever learned of this, she would have the perfect weapon for her sworn revenge! Then she took a deep breath. "You must immediately restore your family's reputation by paying your debts. But I'm quite unsettled by the girl's vow to ruin you to avenge this captain and the boy."
A snort escaped Ashford. "As if she has the power to do that."
"She has the power – and the ammunition, if she ever gets wind of your gambling debts. And never underestimate the strength and influence of a woman who writes," Lunette said firmly. "So, let's get this problem solved as quickly as possible!"
Dalton knew that his former nanny was right. Gambling debts were an indelicate subject, one his father must never learn of. Nor Wendy. He pursed his lips, remembering what Wendy had screamed at him in the yard. "What do you think? Will the boy die if he doesn't return to Neverland in a few days?"
Brynna shrugged. "How should I know? It depends."
"It depends on what?" Dalton demanded.
"It depends on the questions, who is he really – a changeling or a human child? A changeling would have difficulty living in the real world for very long. A human child will eventually adjust to our world. But whatever is he is, he will remain, and he won't be the 'eternal boy' anymore – especially not when living in that orphanage. If Miss Darling came up with this story to force you to let him go, then -"
"WHERE IS 'E?"
The office door flew open and banged against the wall, admitting a flushed and furious Professor Hutchings. He wore nightgown, red tartan woolen housecoat, and slippers, his hair sticking out in every direction. His face looked as if he were recovering from the flu, pale, dark circles under his eyes. "Where's th' boy?" he demanded. "Wha' 'ave y' done wiv 'im!?"
The other two had leapt to their feet, startled as the scholar barged into the room. "Professor!" Dalton gasped.
"Archibald, really, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Brynna snapped, glaring at him.
"Fer gettin' a 'eart attack ye first need a 'eart, ye bloody 'arridan!" Hutchings scoffed, turning his gaze to the viscount. "I was down in yer dungeons. Th' cell's empty and open, there's no trace of th' boy. Where's 'e? What 'ave ye -"
Ashford lifted both hands. "Professor, please calm down. Fulsom took him back to the portal this morning and sent him home."
"'Ome?" Archibald asked dubiously.
"Yes, we sent him back to Neverland. It's the best for all of us – and for him. I surmise Fulsom is already on this way back to the manor with your clothes. The boy won't need them on the island." He was surprised how easily the same lie poured over his lips that he had already told Wendy.
Hutchings looked from one to the other, wondering if he could believe either. Brynna nodded, confirming the story. Yet he didn't believe them. Not. One. Bit. "An' your driver is suddenly able t' open th' portal?" he asked Ashford. "Th' firs' time, Brynna was needed, usin' 'er otherworldly skills to open th' portal, but now ye say yer driver can perform that kind o' magic?"
"Professor, please remember that we didn't need Brynna's help when we returned home. We just used the potion on our own, and it opened the portal," Dalton explained, as if it were self-evident.
"The same this time," Lunette added. "The realms remain close, the link still exists. The potion is enough to open a passage again – just as you did while in Neverland." Which was actually the truth.
"Ye gave th' viscount th' last bit of th' potion and told him to be careful with it, and now ye found more of th' fluid?" His suspicion was clear on his face and in his voice.
"I brewed a new one from Miss Darling's blood," Lunette answered with rising impatience. "Dalton asked me to do that because he wanted to send the boy home from the beginning -"
"An' Saturday, ye told a completely diff'rent story," Archibald pointed out. "You threatened Peter-"
"Heavens, Professor, of course I threatened him with being forced to stay here. I had to bring him down a peg or two, that's all," Ashford shouted, then he sighed. "I know that you worry for the boy, and you're right. He is a child removed from a place he regards as home. And now he's surely back in Neverland being comforted by his little sparkling friends."
Hutchings watched them both closely. He had long been able to decipher truth from the faces of his students when excuses were given for poor or missing work. Both of these adults had firm faces and their eyes never wavered. It seemed to him those two were so detached from integrity that there was no such thing in them as a bad conscience, and therefore they could even hold someone's eyes without a twitch.
Realizing there would be no further truth from the pair, he determined to find it elsewhere. So he changed the topic, "Then tell me why ye knocked me oot with sleepin' drops – again?" he asked Brynna sharply.
"Archie, I told you yesterday, I didn't give you sleeping drops," Lunette said indignantly. "Why should I? You already sleep like a hibernating bear." She approached him, taking his arm. "But you look horrible. I'm sure you caught something on the island – at least you're not growing fish scales."
'Caught something in Neverland, spot on, witch. No sickness, but I was exposed to the lousy character of the viscount and your rotten way of using your gift of magic!' Aloud, he said, "And 'ow be Mr. Russell doin'?"
The Welshwoman sighed. "Well, what can I say? Scales covering his whole left arm now."
Hutchings nodded slowly. "Shouldn't ye be searchin' for a way to 'elp the man instead o' brewin' potions to get a pretty face again? Wise women don't think of t'emselves, but of others, and ye assured me two days ago tha' yer still a wise woman and no' a witch. But could it be tha' this statement was as true as is th' assertion tha' Peter's back 'ome?" With those words he turned to leave.
"Professor, lunch will be ready soon. Will you join us?" Ashford called after him.
"I don't know if it'd be smart to eat or drink anythin' in this house atall," Archie replied over his shoulder, then his steps vanished down the hall.
Dalton and Brynna looked at each other. "Well?" Ashford murmured.
"I'll need him when the dragonling is hatched," Lunette answered quietly. "When I've finished the potion for you and your father, and I don't need the little beast anymore, you can get rid of them both – it and Hutchings!"
They couldn't know that they weren't alone. In the hallway, hidden behind one of the window draperies, Olivia Simpson stood frozen to the spot. She had wanted to inform the viscount that lunch would be ready in a quarter hour, but she'd heard the voices and felt it best to wait until there was a break in the conversation. What she heard made her pale. Eavesdropping was forbidden for a servant, but she had broken this unwritten rule, knowing that danger was approaching from all sides – not only for Miss Darling, but obviously also for the strange boy and the professor.
And she wasn't the only one with 'big ears'. Bumblyn and Nissa crouched behind a cabinet in the viscount's study, its back against a loose stone in the wall – one of the many invisible entrances to Nissa's labyrinth. And what they had heard made them angry. This would be a very interesting story for the Wendy-lady …
*** PP *** PP ***
'I heard people talking about madhouses … surely this must be one' Peter thought as the two warders forced him down one hallway and then another.
They passed another door that led to the street. The door opened and a small boy of maybe eight years appeared. He was clad in short trousers, a shirt and a waistcoat, everything in grey or faded blue except for the shirt that certainly had once been white. Large brown eyes looked with surprise at Peter from a small pale face, then pushed his long unkempt hair from his eyes. The boy didn't say a word, only glanced at Peter's trousers made of leaves, then to his eyes again and dared a very little smile.
"Frank, curious as always," Joe sneered. "But since you're here, come with us. I've got a job for you," he barked, and the child flinched as if he'd been slapped, then trotted behind them.
Peter frowned. This Joe wasn't scary. Criminy, even Billy Jukes was scarier than this bloke, and he was the youngest of the pirates. So why was the boy so fearful? Peter took a deep breath, and the eternal boy in him, the Pan, smelled more than the poor food, ground-in dirt and cheap soap. He also smelled fear, futility and sadness, and it all came from the small boy. He decided on the spot: When he left this place – soon! – he would take this boy with him. This was no place for a child!
They entered a large room that was completely lined with cinder blocks and flagstones. Sinks hung waist high along one wall; on the other wall were a few little separate rooms – Peter couldn't know that these cubicles held toilets – and another door led to an attached chamber, where he was dragged. He saw a few bars coming out of the wall, all ending in a flat round metal plate with little holes. He was stymied.
"Strip!" Joe commanded, shoving Peter into the strange room.
Like a flash, Peter whirled and rushed for the door, but Elmer and Joe knew of the tricks rebellious boys would try. They snatched him quicker than he thought possible and held him tight. "Where you off to, hm?" Joe demanded.
"Back to your land where the fairies live?" Elmer mocked.
Peter gave them a nasty grin. "Aye!" was all he said, then he flew at them. Never before had the two warders met a boy who could fight like this one, and they had fought many of the boys of the street.
Frank stood there, brown eyes large as saucers, mouth agape. There was something about the strange boy that drew him. The clothes made of leaves, the purposeful determination on his face, the will to fight, the reference (of-all-things) to fairies… Somehow, a memory began to stir. A memory of a story his gone mother once told him …
Elmer Lewis and Joe Milton had had their hands full keeping Peter under control, until Elmer had enough. Forcing both arms to the boy's back, ignoring the arm that was bleeding again, he twisted them until Peter cried out in pain. Joe made short work of the boy's unusual clothes and the Prince of Neverland stood in his birthday suit in the shower-room, face flushed, eyes flashing, a snarl on his face, while Elmer still held him.
Bending down, Joe took the vines, the sheath and the pipe and bundled them into the rest of his leafy clothes. "This all goes to the fire."
Peter blanched. "Not my pipe!" he gasped.
"The director said everything," Joe snapped.
"But my pipe…"
"Maybe then you'll learn to cooperate!" Joe hissed, and turned to leave.
"No!" Peter screeched and tried to break free. "Not my pipe! It's a gift!"
Elmer hesitated. "It's only a little thing, Joe, and if it means that much-"
"Shall I report you to Mr. Primley? He said 'everything' and he means 'everything'."
Peter renewed his efforts, which were desperate now, while he pleaded, "My pipe! Please, not the pipe! The fairies gave it to me and without it I can't -"
"Of course, the fairies!" Joe taunted, shook his head and left the washroom; trusting Elmer to handle the rebellious boy, whose frantic "No, not my pipe!" echoed down the hallway. Ignoring the pleas, Joe went to the stove in the dining hall that was still vacant, tables readied for lunch an hour later. He opened it and tossed everything he carried carelessly inside. "Gift from the fairies! My ass!" he growled and left. If he had looked toward the storage room to the right, he would have seen that the entrance was open a crack, but his mind was busy with the unruly boy they had just taken in, and so he missed this small detail.
Frank watched Thin Joe pass by, waited a moment and then slipped out of the small room and into the dining hall. He had seen what the warder had done, and hastened to the stove. The strange boy's "Please! Not my pipe! Don't burn it. Please, please…" rang in his ears as he reached the furnace, opened it and saw the flames were already reaching toward the odd treasures.
With a wildly beating heart, he took the poker and searched for something that could be the pipe. It lay beside the burning coals, along with the sheath. Glad to see that he hadn't come too late, he pulled both treasures towards him, carefully took them, for they were already hot, and pulled them out. They clattered to the floor.
Kneeling down, he eyed the two items. That the pipe was so precious to the newcomer made him curious. He 'd never seen a piece like this. It was made of little wooden tubes of different lengths, something like the pipe organ in the church. They were held together by some kind of string. He couldn't know that it was a 'pan-pipe', an instrument that was common in the Balkan among the shepherds, and would become popular in the west a few decades later.
Frank just felt that this little pipe was something very special, not only because the strange boy was so desperate to keep it. It seemed to bristle with energy and was warm to the touch. What had the boy said? That he got it from fairies? Frank recalled the newcomer's trousers made of leaves. Didn't fairies wear clothes made of leaves and flowers? Yes, he was sure they did. And this boy had been likewise clothed, had a foreign pipe he had gotten from fairies and was usually armed with a knife or dagger. And, hadn't the Fat Elmer mocked the boy that he wanted to return to the land of fairies? What if this boy was a fairy-child – or been raised by them? Frank had been taunted over his few years that dreams were naïve, childish, ridiculous – that there were no such things as fairies. But deep down in his young heart he still believed in them. And the strange boy was surely proof for him that mystical creatures did live – at least in the land he came from.
Frank had learned obedience. He had to since he came here four years ago, alone, bereft of his parents who had died in a train accident, with no relatives who would take him in. He had first learned by suffering, because Thin Joe could be harsh. And the two warder-women – Agnes and Mildred – were quick with bitter words and slaps. But a touch of the rebellious stirred in his heart. He knew that he couldn't let the fairy-boy down. And one thing Frank had remembered: Never anger a fairy. In Essex, where he came from, the country people still believed in the Little People, and knew about their deeds of mischief if irritated.
Determinedly, Frank rose and pushed the pipe and the sheath into the pockets of his too-large trousers. As quickly as his short legs could go, he ran to the stairwell, climbed the stairs and vanished into the dormitory where he and half of the other boys slept. He shoved his 'treasures' beneath the thin mattress. He would wait until the turmoil the strange boy had caused had calmed, and would let him know that at least some of his belongings survived, waiting to return to their owner.
*** PP *** PP ***
By midday the sun had chased away most of the clouds, and for the first time this year the light brought warmth. Most of the people in Greater London enjoyed lunch outside, delighting in the first spring temperatures.
George and Mary Darling sat at the dining table together with Liza. Usually Millicent would have joined her brother and his family on Easter Monday, but with Robert (aka Slightly) away and not knowing how long the 'rescue mission' would last, she had accepted an invitation from two ladies from church. Her friends were widowed and they spent their day in Chelsea, a popular quarter next to Royal Kensington in West London. Ferry boats transported visitors from Greater London to Chelsea. There people could walk the flower parks, visit restaurants and cafés on Notting Hill or enjoy picnics. Given the frigid and damp weather conditions until that morning, a picnic was out of question, but the restaurants, cafés and inns were crowded since opening.
While many families appreciated the first prospect of spring, the Darlings had the meal that originally had been planned for the day prior: Leg of lamb with herb sauce, potatoes and vegetables. Liza, who had befriended a French girl a year ago, had acquired some dried herbs such as thyme, rosemary, oregano and a hint of garlic, mixing them together to spice the meat – a rather rare mixture in Britain. But the flavor was delicious. Even Mary, who hadn't eaten much since Wendy and the boys had travelled back to Neverland, had an appetite that day and enjoyed the meal.
Their quiet conversation was interrupted by the telephone, and this time it was Mary who was quicker than her husband, hoping that Wendy was awake and calling them. She dashed to the hallway where the telephone was mounted.
"Mary Darling in Bloomsbury is speaking," she told the operator. George reached her and saw her surprise. "Who?" she asked, then she nodded, "Yes, please put him through." Then she straightened. "Good day, Sir Edward. And a happy Easter to you and your lovely wife." She listened a moment, then her fingers tightened around the receiver. "I understand, sir. Of course, this will be no problem for my husband. He is certainly honored to comply. He stands beside me and I'll pass you through to him – Pardon? – Oh, no problem, Sir Edward, but thank you for your courtesy. Have a pleasant day and a good journey."
She passed the receiver to her husband, who was now curious, pushed his spectacles up his nose, cleared his throat and said, "Happy Easter, Sir Edward. How n-n-nice of you to call." Then his face changed from the smile he had put on to an expression of displeasure and finally to frustration as he listened to Sir Edward Quiller-Couch, general manager of the bank.
"I'm really sorry to ruin your Easter Monday, George, but you know, business first. Our leading financial adviser in Liverpool, Mr. Clark Havicomp, carries on negotiations with Sir Clarence Molynew, Earl of Shefton – you know, the Shefton Hall, the lovely manor and gardens of Liverpool's own country park. The earl wants to make more investments to increase his fortune and to establish trusts for his two children. The negotiations are almost completed, but unfortunately Mr. Havicomp had a motorcar accident yesterday, and is in hospital. His substitute is in Scotland during the holidays, and, as if this wasn't enough bad luck, the earl will be traveling to Brussels on Wednesday afternoon. In other words, we have to act now if we don't want to miss this opportunity with the earl." He paused briefly. "I'm telling you all of this, George, because you're my best financial planner, so you and I will make a trip to Liverpool together and snag this deal before the earl turns to another bank."
Sir Edward's request was not unusual, but the timing was unfortunate, given the fact that Viscount Ashford wanted to attempt to get the boys back from that ridiculous fairy-island!
When George didn't answer instantly, Sir Eward harrumphed, adding, "I know this is very short notice, in that we have to take the evening train to Liverpool, but you'll be back by Wednesday afternoon at the latest and it won't be to your disadvantage. Seeing that Mr. Havicomp has already done most of the work, he will get half of the commission and you the other half. That will be ten percent of the profit. And we're talking about ten thousand pounds sheer profit, whicht means five hundred pounds for you in addition to an inconvenience allowance. How does that sound?"
There was only one answer possible. "It sounds … promising, Sir Edward. Of, of course, I-I'll accompany you. Thank you for the confidence you are placing in me. It's a great honor. I won't disappoint you. When will the train depart and where?"
"I knew I could count on you, George. Eusten Railway Station, five o'clock this afternoon. To spare you and your wife further trouble, I'll pick you up an hour earlier at your home, so please be ready. Oh, and George, please give my apologies once again to your lovely wife. I'm sure she'll smile if a part of the commission is spent on her. Oh, and regards to your daughter. She really has turned into quite the beauty. See you at four, George. Good-bye."
Before Mr. Darling could stutter another word, the call was ended. As always, Sir Edward talked like a living waterfall. Sighing, George returned the receiver to the telephone box and glanced at his wife.
Mary's hand lay on her cheek, head shaking; understanding on her face. "Don't say anything, my love, I know you have to go. This is an excellent opportunity for you; for us. If you can advise the earl the best, you'll have a foot in the door for further negotiations with the nobility." She smiled encouragingly at him. "I'll pack your bag."
He took her arm as she turned; knowing exactly what was going on in her heart and mind – that he had to leave her during this stressful time. He pulled her gently towards him. "I'll call when I arrive, and I'll call tomorrow in the morning and evening. And if anything happens concerning our boys – or Wendy – I will immediately come home, no matter the consequences." He touched his forehead against hers. "Nothing is more important than the children and you."
Mary smiled. This was the man she had fallen in love with, this was the man she still loved with all her heart. "Don't worry, my dear, I'm sure everything will turn out just fine. And, to use one of Wendy's favorite phrases, I'll keep the deck clean."
George chuckled. Then he took a deep breath of Mary's delicious perfume and looked deeply into her eyes. "What did I do to deserve such an understanding and loving wife?"
She giggled like she had when eighteen. "Nothing, George. You don't deserve me." She met him halfway as he bent forwards and kissed her gently.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I know, it's not been easy with me at these days."
"Oh, just try to be less grownup – because the boys and even Wendy in a way all are still simply children."
Mr. Darling knew, what his wife meant, and nodded slowly. "I'll try," he promised, then he sighed, "But before we're going to pack a bag, we have something else to do first."
"Such as?"
The rare impish grin on his face made her fall in love with him all over again, and he smirked, "First we finish that delicious lunch Liza prepared."
*** PP *** PP ***
Peter's reddened eyes stared with dread at the long tables where other children sat – girls and boys separated. They were of different ages, some of them maybe not older than three of four, others older than he was. But they all wore the same weathered clothes which didn't fit very well, just like those he wore now. The children were all pale, and most of them had empty eyes. Their joy, the curiosity, the wonder he'd come to expect with the Lost Boys … none had them in their eyes. Strangest of all, there was almost no talking. The whole grey room was eerily quiet given the many children gathered together. That wasn't normal, was it?
The man with the name Elmer held Peter by the neck like a cat her offspring, steering him forward to an empty space in the middle of one of the tables, occupied by boys around his age and younger. They looked up and for a moment he thought he saw curiosity on their faces, but they all glanced quickly away, as Joe said, "This is our newest arrival, Peter. Anthony, Edwin, take care of him for now, and show him the ropes." He pushed Peter into the chair. "Sit and eat something; in the afternoon you learn the common rules of this house."
With those words he turned and walked away – just like that, as if he hadn't forced Peter beneath that thin rain coming from the tube, scrubbing him down and then demanding he put on those colorless, uncomfortable and scratchy … clothes. Peter's arm and his shoulders still hurt from the brutal treatment as he was held. He still felt cold from the blood loss, and he mourned his pipe. These morons had no idea what they had done by burning it!
And … 'lunch'. Peter looked down on the metal plate, then the unfamiliar cutlery (why this thing with the four spikes?) and finally at the large bowl that … well … he would rather not eat what was inside. "Here, take some," one of the boys said quietly and pushed the bowl to him. Glancing into it, he gulped. It looked like something that Cookson would have experimented with withered herbs, a lot of flour and some old flesh, mixed with potatoes. Hook would have thrown the pot after the cook.
"What is this?" he asked, horrified at the smell.
"Stew," another boy said. "And because it's Easter Monday, we all get a dessert afterwards."
Peter frowned. "And … what about berries? Fish? Vegetables? Fruits?"
The others stared at him – and some snorted in derision. "Where're you from? A palace?" A brown-haired older boy from the next table asked mockingly. Peter knew that this boy meant trouble.
"Berries and fish are our usual food," he explained. "And, by the way, I'm from –" He stopped as a large hand dropped on his shoulder.
"Don't listen to him. He's a joker, telling stories about a land that doesn't exist, and fairies," Elmer said loudly.
"What's bad about telling stories?" a girl wanted to know. She was younger than Wendy had been when she visited Neverland for the first time. The girl had her blond her plaited and big green eyes.
At the other end of the room, someone rose from a table, where the youngest ones were seated. She was a woman with a haggard face, a thin hooked nose, and the first grey in her brown hair. "No talking during meals. If you didn't think so much of stories but of schoolwork, your grades would be better, Betty!" The woman had crooked teeth and an unpleasantly high voice.
The girl – Betty – only gave her a glare, winked at Peter and continued to eat. The eternal boy couldn't help himself. He smiled. Here was someone who loved stories – someone who finally acted like a child. Startled, he turned his attention back to his plate as the boy beside him put some of the 'stew' on it. "Eat," the other child whispered. "Or you get nothing else 'til tomorrow."
The stench was now right under his nose, and Peter all but gagged as he glanced at the 'food'. He looked along the table. All the boys were eating with stoic faces. Only one looked at him: the boy – Frank – he had met earlier. Frank gave him a pointed glance and winked quickly at him before continuing to eat. Peter had no idea what the wink meant, but it didn't matter. He was determined to escape from this hellhole. Hopefully before getting poisoned first.
And poison it had to be. Peter bravely tried two spoons of the glop he was supposed to eat, then he felt sick enough to puke. Throwing the spoon on the table, he growled, "This is bilge, not food."
"You eat what you get, or nothing!" Joe called from another table to his right, where he and Elmer had gone, and Peter shot him a glare.
"If it's so good, why don't you eat it?" he asked, pointing at the plate in front of the warder holding meat, potatoes and vegetables.
Elmer, who sat beside his co-worker, snarled, "Because we need it to keep you lousy bunch of little rats under control."
Peter's face flushed. "If you would treat them better, you wouldn't need to keep them 'under control'," he answered flatly. "And the only rats I see here are you two and that hag of a woman!"
The whole room had grown silent; everyone stopped eating. Worried, almost fearful, the children looked back and forth between the two warders and the new boy. Most ducked, as Joe rose, shoving his dirty-blond mop out of his face – a typical signal that he was angry. "Time you learned what to expect here," he threatened.
"Just try it, Jo-Jo," Peter challenged; ready to rise, too.
"Are you too stupid to remember names?" Joe Milton snarled, leaving his place at the table.
"No, I think the names I come up with fit you better. I once knew a chimpanzee named Jo-Jo, you kind of look like him," the eternal boy replied, which drew a few snickers.
The warder stopped, then snorted, "The director already told you you're not funny. The only ones who laugh here are my colleagues and me."
"I agree – because you take away all reasons to laugh or to be happy," Peter shot back; rising.
Elmer had left his seat now and went to Joe. "Wait here," he murmured, walked to a cupboard, took a sheet of paper from a drawer, and walked to Peter. "Maybe this'll help you understand how things are here," he said, pressing it into the boy's hands.
Looking down, Peter only saw the squiggles. "What-" he began.
"To spare you eating the 'bilge' and to teach you the rules, I suggest you read this here loud and clear so that everyone can hear you." He rose his voice and looked around. "Just to remind them that rules have to be obeyed!"
Peter frowned. "I don't read," he stated calmly.
"What?" Both Thin Joe and Fat Elmer stared at him, disbelieving.
"You heard me, I don't read," the eternal boy repeated casually as if speaking about the weather.
The older boy, who already had mocked him, began to snigger. "He can't read – do you believe this? He really is stupid. Where did you live, pygmy, in a jungle?"
"And what do know about jungles?" the Prince of Neverland asked sharply, standing tall now. "You're proud to read a few silly marks on a sheet of paper, but do you know the differences between a lion's and a wolf's track?" He tossed the paper on the table, and put his fists on his hips. "Do you know how the tide affects the current between cliffs, depending on the cardinal direction? Do you know how to find your way in the deep forest without a path to follow? Do you know what kind of clouds mean what the weather will be? Do you know how to catch a fish, cook it, and eat it off the same sharp stick? No, certainly not. I'm sure you rarely lift your eyes high enough to see the clouds passing. There are no forests here, not even a tree, so you couldn't have learned that they tell you the way you need to walk! And I'm sure you never put a foot into the large river that flows through this town, not to speak of swimming in the sea with the dolphins and riding the surf to your campsite on the sand. Your world consists of this prison. In my world, things are wild and free. So don't call someone stupid when you know so little about real life outside of these drab walls and away from this dirty town!" He had avoided speaking about Neverland's magical inhabitants; knowing that most of the children here wouldn't believe him. And if he wanted allies, he had to be the cleverest.
"Where you come from – are there many forests and the sea?" one boy around ten dared to ask.
"Aye! It's an island with a volcano in the middle; its top is always covered with snow. There are high cliffs with an old castle's ruin on the east coast and an Indian village nearby. The south has beaches with white sands, palms and crystal clear blue water. There are parrots, the Neverbirds and flamingos. In the jungle there are beasts you don't want to meet when they're on the hunt, and wolves, deer and rabbits wander through the forests. I lived there before that scoundrel of viscount came and stole me away from my home and my friends." He glared at the two speechless warders. "And I shall return home!" he declared sternly.
Nearly all of the children had listened with wide eyes and excitement, many eyes were shining at his descriptions. It was then Peter knew that they weren't lost – that childlike joy, hope and faith still lived in most of them. And he would do what he could to see that they got a chance to live a happy life. The Pan in him would allow nothing less! Wendy told him that there were laws now which protected children. Maybe Wendy and he could change things for the boys and girls here before he, Peter, flew home.
For a long moment there was only silence in the hall, then Joe cleared his throat. "All right, end of storytelling. You all, finish your chow, then dessert and afterwards you can go out to the yard and do what silly little children do. All but you," he said, pointing at Peter. "You get an extra lesson with me. I'll read the rules to you until you know them down pat. And then you can tell me where your ridiculous island is located."
"I already told you and Smitty, but you wouldn't be able to find the way even if you did believe me," Peter said with a shrug.
Gritting his teeth, Joe gestured to the vacant seat and the plate. "Eat your lunch!" he ordered.
The eternal boy only threw a glance over his shoulder at it and crossed his arms, legs spread. "I don't eat bilge. By the mermaids' tails, even the poorest pirate would have thrown this plate after you if you offered him this rubbish – and pirates are not known for their delicate sensibilities. Except for Captain Hook, of course, but that's another story!"
"Pirates?" another boy of maybe seven or eight asked breathlessly.
"Aye, pirates!" Peter nodded. "Wild gang of cutthroat scallywags – but not so bad once you get to know them better, as I have. A little bit rough sometimes, but their hearts are in the right place. Unlike those two over there who think they can order me around."
Again, subdued sniggering, while a few boys and girls glanced admiringly at him. Who had ever dared to challenge Thin Joe and Fat Elmer, or talk back to them?
Joe Milton ground his teeth. "Just wait, buster. I bring you into line – even if I have to knock this nonsense of an island, pirates, Indians and fairies out of you!"
Again the Prince of Neverland only smiled. "Just try it, Jo-Jo!"
TBC…
Poor Peter! Yes, of course, he rebels and is defiant – and he stands up for who and what he is, but he has no experiences with this 'world' he had been forced into. And it will bring to his limits.
And now the real reason for Dalton wanting Wendy as his wife is in the open. And that Oliva as well as the two bogeys know about it, will change a lot.
In the next chapter, the Jolly Roger arrives in London. I don't want to reveal too much, but you certainly can imagine that two worlds are clashing. It will be a rather funny chapter. I only say: Hook, in all his Baroque glory, goes to the dockmaster's office…
I hope, you liked the new chapter, even if it is still gloomy. And, like always, you would make me very happy if you leave some feedback.
Have a nice weekend and good start into the next week,
Love
Yours Lywhn / Starflight