Chapter 12 - Red Sky at Morning
Early morning sunshine lit The Jolly Roger with a fuzzy rainbow of colors filtered through light fog rising from the water. The frost had melted, creating more work for sleepy deckhands whose morning was at least improved by the renewed warmth of the island after weeks of progressively colder days. Their captain was not as easily cheered. He knew what it meant for the sun to beam at them from above, and though they had been prepared since Pan's departure the night before, Hook was only cautiously optimistic in his expectations.
He'd awakened pleasantly enough, if a little too warm from the temperature increase coupled with several very heavy blankets and a second body in his bed. At first, he had worried that Wendy would also stir if he got out of bed, but she slept so soundly that her breathing didn't change even when he untangled one of her hands from his hair. Smee's morning visits to help the captain dress never seemed to wake her, either, but both men were extra quiet. Smee thought, and rightly so, that the silence had a lot more to do with Pan than with worrying about Wendy.
For what seemed like a very long time, the only sound within the cabin was Wendy's slow, steady breathing and the occasional rustling of a garment or tinkle of teacups on saucers. It was only when the hook locked into place on his right arm that the captain spoke, brushing imaginary dust from his teal jacket. "Pan will come for her today," he said. Both men looked at Wendy, but for Hook it lasted longer than a glance. "Tell Starkey to see that the men are prepared."
"Always are, Cap'n, but I'll help get 'em ready."
"She said she wants to stay on the ship, Smee."
"I reckoned so, Cap'n," Smee nodded, pouring more tea into both cups before adding, "Bit of a wonder what Pan'll do 'bout that." Hook made a face that meant "indeed" and followed it with a sigh. As much as he looked forward to fighting Pan, he knew that while Wendy stayed on the ship as his guest it would never be allowed to end how Hook wanted it to. She would never let him kill the boy unless it was an irreproachable claim of self defense, and still it would be a grey area. He never said as much to Smee, but even his more simple-minded companion could guess it. Smee rejoined his captain looking at the girl curled into sleep, a hand across the pillow next to hers. "Ought I to wake 'er, Cap'n?"
"No, Smee," Hook said, pity twisting his voice for the first time in decades; it both delighted and disgusted him. "Let it wait for now." He led the way out of the cabin. They both made for the poop deck where Gentleman Starkey informed the captain of their preparations. Hook made a cursory inspection of the ship and skies before satisfying himself that no ruse was already in place. After giving orders to the men and completing a few more checks of the sky, he settled into a good place for observation and began thinking about the coming day.
There were some events about which he could be sure: Pan would attack; Wendy would protest any fighting on her behalf; there would be fighting regardless of Wendy's complaints, and so on along those lines, but it was what might happen that bothered him. What would Wendy say? Would she offer to go back to Pan despite her stated interest in staying aboard The Jolly Roger? What loyalty did she really feel toward Hook, and why did she feel it? It was true that he had taken good care of her when she needed it, and he had been a good host, but their past was a not unforgotten rift between them. Hook traced the silver filigree on his baldric and stared past the sea to the pale outline of the island. The sun rose steadily in the sky, its rays piercing the small wisps of remaining clouds and twinkling on the surface of the water. "Come now, Pan," Hook whispered, "it's bad form to keep people waiting."
The earliest hours of morning passed slowly for everyone except Wendy, who slept through most of them. Through all the noise of deck swabbing, order shouting, and artillery preparation, she slept as soundly as if she was back in her nursery. It was only when the constant, tedious sounds finally ceased that the dullness of quiet stirred her out of her dreams. Her eyes snapped open as quickly as if she had been awake all along and she sat up to find herself in the captain's bed. She blushed only a very little when she recalled her boldness the previous night, but it was quickly dispelled by a paleness when she also recalled what most likely waited for The Jolly Roger that day.
Without even thinking to check for company in the room, Wendy rushed out of bed and tossed her night clothes into a basket so she could wash. She threw on a shirt and leggings from her small stash of clothing and tied a blue and gold striped sash around her waist. She caught her reflection in the large mirror as she passed it and stopped, losing her breath for a moment. As pleased as she was in the fine raiments she'd been given, something about this day called out for more, and without thinking very hard about it, Wendy helped herself to a small rapier sword from the cabinet where she knew Hook kept them. She fastened it with a thin leather belt over the sash and, taking inspiration from the Captain himself, collected the black silk ribbon she had relieved him of the night before and tied back her hair. She made the final effort of pulling on her shoes and in fewer than ten minutes after hopping out of bed, she pulled the cabin door open and jumped to skip stairs on her way above.
"Any news of Peter, Captain?" she asked, a little breathless.
Hook half turned from his spot against the railing to indicate that Wendy should join him. "I trust you slept well," he said.
"Oh, well, yes. Yes, sir, thank you," Wendy said, this time with a true blush creeping across her cheeks. "Thank you."
"Not at all, my dear, not at all." Hook smiled, but his eyes stayed on the water below, his face partially obscured by his hair whipping and settling with the curiously erratic winds.
"Captain," Wendy said, leaning over the railing a little to see his face, "what news of Peter?"
Hook finally twisted enough to look at Wendy, and he was surprised at the happiness it brought him. She looked like part of his crew, though much nicer than the others. She looked like she belonged aboard The Jolly Roger. He did not doubt that she would look beautiful in any frock he could find, but he knew he would always prefer the casual, unexpected loveliness of a fine gossamer shirt and silk scarf at her waist. He noticed she had helped herself to a light rapier that hung delicately from a thin belt buckled over the scarf and he allowed himself a smile. "Pan has yet to arrive," Hook said, "but I expect him soon."
"Why?" Wendy asked, scanning the sky curiously.
"Not up there, my dear," Hook said, indicating the water. Wendy eyed the ocean carefully but did not understand his meaning until Hook pointed out gentle ripples here or there and the careful, measured splashes that only came from mermaid tails.
"Mermaids?" she said, still not sure of his meaning.
"They have heard, most likely from Pan himself, of his imminent attack. They will circle the ship day and night waiting for a battle."
"To help him?" Wendy asked.
"Not exactly," Hook said, a wicked smile playing across his face as he looked into the cold eyes of a passing mermaid. She twisted lazily with the waves, never taking her eyes from the ship. Her pale skin shimmered like a moving rainbow with her hair twisted over her arms and shoulders as her breasts swayed with the current. Her long tail flitted back and forth at an achingly slow pace, just breaking the surface of the water. "They are strange creatures," he continued, breaking his stare to look at Wendy. "As much as they enjoy Pan's company on occasion, they will not hesitate to steal any of his mob who should fall overboard this day, and certainly more than one pirate has fallen victim to such a fate."
"Oh," Wendy said, and she gripped the railing tighter.
"They only began arriving in the last quarter hour, first two and now more than a dozen," Hook said. "Pan will likely have just been to the lagoon only right before they arrived, so I look for him to mount an offense sometime in the next half hour."
Hook was almost right about Peter's timing. Not three quarters of an hour from his guess, the first Lost Boy climbed over the railing on the starboard side. More followed shortly after, and the sound of yelling and swords clashing rang all along the deck. The mermaids began to sing a dangerous song that sounded haunting but somehow very enticing. Hook and Wendy stood above the stairs leading to the poop watching the mayhem, and she voiced something strange that Hook's expression seemed to also say: "Where is he?"
"If I know Pan—" Hook began, but he stopped mid sentence and twirled around as fast as a cat. "Pan!" he said, and a positively terrifying expression came over his face.
"Boo!" was Peter's reply, and before Wendy could react to either of them, they fell into a deadly rhythm of swordplay, Hook dancing across the deck and Peter flying and bouncing all around him. If she hadn't been so frightened, she might have taken a moment to appreciate the grace of the captain and the undeniable fun of Peter.
A few minutes passed before Wendy gathered her wits and began shouting at Peter as he fought the captain only feet away. "Peter, really," she yelled, trying to be heard above the constant clang of steel on steel and the eerie song of the mermaids below, "Peter, stop this at once!"
"Don't worry, Wendy," the boy grinned, ducking the captain's hook and dodging his sword, "I've come to rescue you!"
"I'm quite alright, Peter," Wendy yelled. She had just missed the tip of someone's blade, but when she had ducked to avoid it, someone else's elbow thrust painfully into her ribs. "Oof!" she shouted, instinctively lashing out with her own sword and just missing the side of a Lost Boy. She gasped, righted herself, and found her voice again. "I don't want to be rescued!"
Peter laughed a hearty laugh and circled Hook three times before coming back to fight. "Of course you want to be rescued," he said. "Why else would you have pretended to get kidnapped?"
Wendy's face twisted with fury. She could scream; she could throw something—anything—at him, but she was mostly angry with herself. How could she ever have found this fun or him loveable? It was impossible to reason with a child, especially one for whom being a child was a full time existence. He would never grow up or change, so why should she expect him to listen to reason?
Somewhere behind her, Wendy faintly heard the frightened yelp and then splash of a Lost Boy. She rushed to the port side to see one of the boys trying desperately to evade the circle of mermaids around him, but their song was beautiful and he listened to it. When the mermaids had fully surrounded him and pulled him under, he went willingly with all the desire in his heart showing through hazy eyes—at first. After a moment, his eyes rounded with fear as he realized what was really happening, and when the first gulp of water burned his lungs, bubbles broke the surface of the water, temporarily obscuring his face as he cried out. He thrashed and twisted beneath the surface, but it was too late. Wendy was nearly sick from watching, but she hardly had a chance to feel anything. Before she could turn away from the railing, two arms encircled her waist and lifted her from the ship.
"Ahh!" she screamed, wiggling and kicking as hard as she could.
"Don't worry, Wendy," Peter said, "I've got you! We can go back to the treehouse and you can be our mother again."
"No!" she shouted, kicking furiously and throwing one elbow into Peter's side as he lifted her further. "I don't want to go back, Peter! Put me down!" For all of her yelling, Peter seemed only to find happiness in flying around between the sails and pointing out fights he thought looked interesting as they hovered above chaos on the ship. His face was vacant with laughter, his eyes almost as full of nothing as had been the drowned boy's. At a loss for what to do, it surprised Wendy to see how focused Peter became when one chilled voice called to them from the deck.
"Tell me, Pan," Hook said, grinning, "is this how you stole her away from her family? Kicking and screaming?" He walked casually closer to where Peter and Wendy hovered in the air, not minding the skirmishes on either side of his path. "She came to me willingly, you know. It seems that she has not only forsaken your simple company, but also much prefers mine." The wickedness of Hook's expression bloomed to a malice so complete that Wendy had to look away, but Hook kept walking slowly toward them. "She has grown up, hasn't she? How lovely a sight she is to behold, do you not agree, Pan? Even you must have noticed how very lithe and—dare I say—enticing Wendy has grown in the years since she last abandoned you."
Peter nervously shifted his gaze from Hook to Wendy, who was almost as confused as he was, and blushing furiously. Hook's low, malevolent voice brought their attention back to him as he continued, "Witness, Pan, the flush of her long throat as she writhes to escape your grasp and return to mine. She can have conversations with me, Pan. She can be herself, explore herself or the world. What can you offer her besides yourself, and do you really think that's enough?"
"I taught her to fly!"
Hook laughed but it lacked any charm. It was an unkind laugh, a laugh that cost something of the listener to hear. He stood less than the reach of his sword away but used his voice to cut Peter deeper than any blade ever could. "Do you think, Pan," he asked, "that any lady so desirable both in grace and company would willingly spend time with you? I quite suspect that your own mother was so put off by your blandness she couldn't bring herself to love you. Is that the real story of your life, Pan? Are you so tangled up in your own foolishness that you can't—"
If Hook was going to say anything else, he didn't get the chance; there was no topic more sensitive or dangerous to Peter than his real mother. Peter dropped Wendy and flew straight for his enemy, tears streaking his cheeks, sword cutting hard into the air between them and crashing into Hook's. And they were at it again. Wendy hit the deck hard but was hurt less by the fall than what she felt inside. Part of her wanted to save Peter, and another part wanted to kill him herself, which left several parts that might have words for Captain Hook, if they could find the courage.
Sensing the loss of confidence from their leader, the Lost Boys began to fight with less enthusiasm and were easily overtaken by the pirates. They were corralled but not restrained because the violence playing out before them was entrancing enough to keep anyone from trying to run or even look away. None of them would try to save Peter, either, because there was a strict ban on making him look less valiant and also on fighting Hook. The only person still anywhere near the conflict was Wendy, and she was at a loss for what to do. Anyone could see that if it kept going the way it was, then it would end like it did years ago, and while Wendy had no desire to return to the treehouse with him, she didn't want Peter to die. He was already fighting on his feet as it was, though, and he was no match for the captain without flight. Peter was a terrific swordsman, but Hook was almost twice as tall and more than twice as armed against Peter's short sword.
It happened almost before Wendy could worry about it happening. Peter laid on the ground with blood tracks covering the tears on his left cheek where he'd taken a particularly hard slap, and Hook standing triumphant above. Few scratches marred his fierce countenance, but his hair swirled and twisted about his face in the wind and added to his menace. He stepped closer to the fallen boy, playfully swishing his rapier back and forth above his prey. Wendy rushed between them before the captain could do anything worse than laugh terribly and incite cheers from his crew. "Don't hurt him!" Wendy cried, running to Peter's side and tugging his arm to help him up. "Captain, please," she said, "just let him go."
Hook glared down at the boy, then Wendy, but his expression softened when he saw the sad curve of her lips part to whisper, "Please, sir." Something cruel deep down inside Hook told him to stab the boy outright; something more cruel told him to toss Pan to the mermaids, but he ignored his urges and only glared at Wendy.
"Let him go?" he whispered, gripping the hilt of his sword harder. "Let him go? By what manner of ill conceived faith in my disposition have you come to the conclusion that I would do any such thing?"
"I-I don't know, sir," Wendy whispered, shrugging rather sheepishly. "I only thought you wouldn't kill him now… I thought you mightn't need to anymore." She looked into the startling blue eyes of the man for whom she had begun to care more than she dreamed possible even in her most wild imagination. His stare was feral and without mercy; it lacked the profound melancholy for which he was so known and in its place were the blood red dots where reflected light should be.
She tore her eyes from his face to look at Peter, who only stared blankly at her. "He's only a little boy," Wendy said hoarsely. "He is a nuisance, to be sure, and he will always be such, but, Captain," she said, allowing a single tear to slip down her cheek, "he is only a little boy."
His eyes still flared dangerously, but he sheathed his sword and waved a hand. "Take them away," he said, "this time." Hook savagely shoved Pan's prone form from Wendy's side and bent to put his face almost nose to nose with hers. The red in his eyes had begun to fade, but it flickered one last time as he looked sharply into her eyes and whispered, "He is not only a little boy, and you will not move me to pity again."
In an instant, Peter had jumped up and swirled into the air, then back down to Wendy, but before he could grab her, she was ready with her sword pointed at his throat. "Leave, Peter," she said.
"We will, Wendy, but first we have to—"
"Dammit, Peter," Wendy yelled, "I don't want to go with you! I'm staying on the ship. This is where I belong now." She looked away from the expression on Peter's face as the truth finally dawned in his eyes. He looked from Wendy to Hook, whose blue eyes twinkled merrily as he watched the boy's heart break.
"You're a real grown up, Wendy." Peter looked like he might vomit.
"Yes, Peter," she sighed, lowering the sword.
"You shouldn't have done that," Peter said, scowling. He lunged forward to take his sword and thrust it into his belt as he jumped into the air. "I don't need a mother anyway. I never have!"
"Peter, this doesn't mean we have to be enemies," Wendy tried to soothe, but the change in Peter's expression was enough to stop her words. He looked at her like he looked at any grownup but with the extra contempt he only had for pirates. The oblivious glee had mostly returned to his face, bringing back the rosy hue so familiar to his freckled cheeks. His pearly teeth flashed brilliant white in the sun as he soared into the sky, singing all the way.
Wendy stood still as pirates moved about her picking up fragments of the ship and mopping up blood. Hook ordered a boat to take the remaining Lost Boys back to the island, not wanting to deal with them. The mermaids eventually left, and it seemed as though life would return to normal aboard the ship, as normal as it ever was, anyway.
Hours passed, and Wendy stood alone watching the island. It looked as glorious as ever, shining mercilessly in the sun. She didn't know what she had expected, but she had at least hoped for a cloud or some kind of midday storm; it would have meant that Peter was at least somewhat saddened by the way events had played out, but from the shameless display of celebratory smoke signals over the Indian camp and the glittering wisps of light darting in and out of the canopy as fairies danced against the gentle purple of the early evening sky, she could see that Peter felt quite well. Hook, at one point during her voyeurism, had made an attempt to speak with her, but she made her disinterest in his company very plain and he only bowed and left without another word. He was displeased, but had other matters that required his attention and did not push her will.
For her part, Wendy felt a mixture of relief and fury. It was true that she no longer desired to be with Peter, but she was seething with anger at Hook for the way he had used her during the battle. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and rage as she recalled the crude manner in which the captain had spoken of her. Despite her protestations of belonging on The Jolly Roger, she was almost willing to jump overboard and take her chances with the mermaids, though she knew her next battle lay with Hook, and of that she was justifiably terrified. Her face twisted into a grimace somewhere between the likes of Peter or Hook, and she pounded a fist on the railing. "They're bloody tyrants," she whispered, "both of them." She pounded the railing several more times before finally straightening up like a proper English Lady and flipping her hair away from her face. Her scowl melted into a serene glower that was much more Hook than Peter, but grew more and more independently Wendy Darling as she made her way to the captain's cabin.
She stood in silence outside the door for a moment, and in that instant she was like the Lost Boy who fell to the mermaids: tranquil for a half second as she pushed the gilded door handle down, without fear during the breath she inhaled as she stepped into the room, and, finally, filled with dread as she met the forget-me-not eyes of James Hook and realized she was already beneath the surface with water in her lungs. The difference was that she didn't struggle, rather, she took another deep breath and plunged in further.
A smile tugged the clever lips of the captain. "Wendy," he purred, "darling."