Hi, my dear readers!
Thank you for the reviews. I know, the current chapters are a little bit dark and sad, but – hey – to be forced away from home and / or from your beloved (you even think to be dead) leaves you depressed. But that Wendy and James aren't really separated will be seen in this chapter. There is still this link between them, even stronger now than before. And because strong feelings are reason enough for Neverland's magic to do some tricks, even a link is forming between Hook and Peter. You'll see, despite Ashford gets nastier and nastier (Brynna Lunette, too), there are some twinkles of light for our two poor 'kids'.
Have fun
Yours Lywhn / Starflight
Chapter 35 – Links Between the Realms
The three men and the old woman stared dismayed at the silver-colored scales on the left hand and arm. "I never saw anything like that," Lunette said, shaking her head. She had been busy with the potion that would open the portal again, and drugging Wendy Darling to steal more of her blood. The potion needed a few days before it could be used. So she was understandably short-tempered with the man on the bed.
"A curse?" Ashford suggested. "Maybe from the mermaid herself or from the one I injured?"
"A curse or poison – there's no way to be sure," the woman grumbled. "I know that mermaids feed on humans if they can trap them." She blew out her impatience, remembering. "There are legends in Cornwall where a man followed a mermaid into the sea after he fell in love with her. The story said he was able to breathe under water and even returned ashore from time to time – if you can believe it."
Dalton looked thoughtful. "Huh, this could be why: the poor sucker turned into a fish." He glanced back at Edgar. "Maybe Mr. Russell will be Mr. Mussel soon?" he jibed.
"It's nothing to joke about," Wickham snapped, glaring at Dalton. Edgar was in this condition because of that ridiculous cursed island the viscount had dragged them to. And for what? A handful of jewels, an egg they couldn't use and a boy whose blood was supposed to help the old hag to get young again. And, of course, to bring back the "noble" youngster's (un)intended! (It seemed he had forgotten the generous paycheck Dalton promised them.) "Something's gone wrong! Edgar might be dying! So what do you two plan to do about it?"
Ashford knew his joking was misplaced. "I apologize," he mumbled to no one particular. "But this … unsettles me."
"You too?" Morton grumbled sarcastically.
Russell whimpered. He was afraid, especially after he heard their musings. "What's gonna happen to me?" he asked hoarsely; staring wide-eyed at the scales spreading to his wrist.
"Maybe the boy can give us an answer," Ashford sighed and strode to the door. "The two of you, stay with him. Brynna, come with me. It's like talking to a hostile stone wall with that churl. Maybe he'll talk to you."
*** PP ***
Bumblyn and Nissa had remained with Peter for quite some time, unaware of the other events in the house. They told Peter what the dragon egg was for, and he also learned that 'the witch' – nanny Brynna Lunette – used blood from Wendy to brew a potion to open the portal. Peter could hardly believe his ears. Blood to open a portal? By the tails of the mermaids, the Elves had needed nothing like that, only their own gentle kind of magic. So, this Lunette-woman was less powerful than the Elves, some kind of sorceress. But Nissa had not learned why she needed the 'little favor' from Dalton.
Both bogeys promised to try and steal the keys to Peter's prison. It was then they all heard the door opening at the top of the stairs. Quickly the two little people slipped into the passage in the wall from which they had emerged. Leaving a gap between the loose stones, both were able to listen to what transpired in Peter's cell. To their surprise, they heard the voice of one of the strangers. Peter had told them about 'the big old man's' regrets and promise to help, but, like Peter, Nissa and Bumblyn were skeptical; perhaps it was a trick to gain Peter's trust for a later betrayal, just like the red-haired lad had done. (Of course, Nissa knew Kenly Fulsom from the moment he stepped into the manor as the viscount's new driver, sensing his uncouth character, much as the rest of the 'hunters'. Yet, as she heard the 'big old man' talking to the Prince of Neverland, she sensed nothing more than sincere remorse and compassion. Maybe not so bad after all this mortal was.)
"I brought you a pair of me stockin's – unused since th' last wash," Archibald said with a sigh and tossed them through the bars to Peter, who snatched them from the air with ease. Unrolling them, the boy saw that they were blue and green checked, quite long and far too big for him, but he didn't mind. He happily put the ugly warm woolen things on his icy feet and up his legs, then buried them again in the straw. "Thank you," he said. "I'm turning into an icicle down here."
Hutchings nodded. "I've a knitted jumper in m' room – a warm, thick 'n' I bought durin' my last stay in Dublin. It's 'eavenly warm. 'I'll speak with th' viscount and ask 'im to unshackle y' so y' can put it on. It'll keep ye warmer."
Watching the odd grownup closely, Peter finally nodded. "Thanks," he repeated. "And something to eat?"
"Y'ad nothin' t' eat?" he asked, scandalized. When the boy shook his head, he propped his fists on his large hips and frowned deeply. "That's… outrageous! I'll be takin' care of it, Peter." He hesitated before he asked tentatively, "May I call you Peter?"
Surprised, the Prince of Neverland cocked his head. "That's my name," he said slowly. "But you're the first one to ask what to call me." The right corner of his mouth curled for a moment. "Yes, you can call me Peter. And what shall I call you?"
Hutchings shrugged. "I'm a professor." As he saw the confused expression on the youth's face, he explained, "I teach young grownups thin's in detail they're goin' to need for their jobs. They mos'ly call me 'Professor' an' you can as well."
"Professor it is then," Peter announced, and both looked at each other. It was a kind of truce, then the boy blurted out the question that had bothered him since his talk with Nissa and Bumblyn. "Do you know why they brought me here?"
'The professor' sighed heavily. "I learned this afternoon," he began carefully, "and y' need to know I don't agree with the plan. Far from it, But I don' know how t' prevent it. It's-"
"Prevent what?" the boy demanded. "Just tell me, I need to know."
Hutchings frowned, wondering how to share the news, then finally blurted, "Tha' Lunette woman wants some o' y'r blood to brew a potion for 'erself that … that'll make 'er young again."
Peter stared at him a moment, then began to laugh. "She thinks she can brew a young-making potion from my blood?" As Hutchings nodded, he teased, "Whoever gave her that crazy idea? One of those stupid books you grownups love to read or was it one of the other broomstick riders that told her such nonsense?"
At that description the professor had to smile, then shrugged, "There be old legends of a fountain o' youth, or different fountains. It seems she imagines tha' ye're one o' those 'fountains'."
"Why? Because I never grow up?" Again the eternal boy sniggered, then shrugged. "I didn't want to grow up and in Neverland I don't have to! If I stay here on the Mainland for longer than a few days, I would start to grow. It's Neverland's magic that keeps me this way."
"So, th' real reason ye stay young lies with th' island, not in you," Hutchings mused. "I thought as much. Brynna is convinced that ye be a changeling or a Fae child, so -"
"The fairies took me there when I was abandoned, and they are my friends. Especially Tinker Bell. She found me in Kensington Gardens and brought me to Neverland so that she and the other fairies could care for me. But I'm a boy like all the others out there." He tilted his head "out" of the chamber.
Hutchings the researcher asked, "The Indians – they grow older, but you and your friends do not. How is this? Does Neverland not stop all creatures from growing old?"
Peter shook his head. "No, otherwise the island soon would be overrun with fairies, pixies, bogeys, Indians, mermaids, all of 'em" He snorted. "No, everyone who comes from the Mainland won't age in Neverland. But all the others … they live out their lives like the people here do. The fairies and the other Little People just live longer than we do."
Archibald listened, fascinated, having so many more questions, but they both heard the door upstairs open, and someone descending. Instantly, the boy wrapped his arms around his knees in a defensive gesture and the professor straightened. Ashford and Lunette appeared and hesitated when they saw Hutchings standing by the cell. "What are you doing here?" Dalton demanded.
The professor glanced calmly at him. "I brought the boy a pair of my stockin's t' warm 'is feet. And I urgently advise y' to unchain 'im so that 'e can put on one of me warm jumpers I want t' bring 'im. Y'll be makin' 'im sick down 'ere in th' cold!" The accusation was thick in his voice as he added, "And none of y' thought to give 'im any food!"
Dalton and Brynna looked into the cell where they saw the blue and green woolen socks, almost reaching the edge of his 'trousers'. Peter gave the two newcomers a fierce look, then ignored them. Grimacing, Dalton got down to business. "What do you know about injuries from mermaids, boy?"
Peter simply shrugged. "How should I know? They never hurt me."
"But other people?" Ashford replied, probing.
When he only got another shrug, the old woman spoke up. "Did you ever hear that someone grew scales from the wounds of mermaids?"
That caught Peter's attention. Glancing up, he asked. "Why? Is one of your fairy-killers turning into a fish?" His voice was flat. The eyes that had been bright with curiosity while talking to the professor only glared with animosity now.
Hutchings' interest was also piqued. "Why?" he asked the viscount.
"As you are well aware, Archibald, Russell received deep scratches from a mermaid, and now scales are growing around the wounds," Brynna explained calmly, watching the boy. The youth seemed to overflow with an inner energy; she had never seen the like before in any other human being. His eyes – a bright crystal blue – seemed to peer straight into one's soul. Around him hung an aura she couldn't place. He appeared so vibrant, yet so vulnerable.
"Good," Peter stated flatly. "He certainly deserves it."
"What does he deserve?" Dalton pressed. "What is happening to him?"
"I don't know," the boy repeated with narrowed eyes, a triumphant smile forming around his mouth. "But whatever it is, I hope he suffers like my friends are suffering now back home, treating wounds, burying and mourning their families."
"To wish someone ill is bad form," Ashford stated bluntly.
The next moment Peter was in the air. If the chains had not held him back, he would have thrown himself against the iron bars and taken hold of the viscount's throat, who unintentionally stepped backward. "Don't you dare to speak of 'bad form', you coward!" he snarled. "You hurt and killed my friends who had never done anything to you! You kidnapped Wendy and me, AND you killed the one man who truly knew the meaning of good and bad form!" He tore at the chains while hanging in the air, but for naught. "And whatever is happening to the wanker who was stupid enough to challenge a mermaid is certainly fair payback for all he did." He lowered his voice to a threatening tone. "But let me know if he really turns into a fish. I'll take him with me when I get out of here. I'm sure a few cats in the streets would be happy for a nice fish dinner for once!"
Dalton again closed the distance to the bars. "Just wait, you little devil! I'll cut you down so small that even your 'fairy-friends' will be huge compared to you! Tell me what happens to Russell next or I swear -!"
"Milord, I already asked you to 'ave more patience with th' boy. 'E's 'ad a great loss, y' know," Hutchings interjected.
Brynna laid a hand against Dalton's chest. "Don't, Dalton. You rile yourself up for nothing. The boy will not speak. Not after what happened. Maybe there is another way." She turned to Peter. "And you, child, should think twice before you open your braggart mouth. I know that you grew up in the wilderness among the Fae and have no manners, but the time of living in your playground is over."
Peter glared daggers at her. "You wish, witch!" he hissed.
Brynna continued as if not hearing him. "You need to know that you will never return to the island of eternal childhood but will walk the way of all children: you will grow up. But it's up to you to choose the hard way or the easy way, after I get from you what I want."
Peter knew that he couldn't tell her that he already knew what she wanted from him and the dragonling, or he would reveal his little allies. He only said, "You think you can keep me here, witch? You're wrong." The Prince of Neverland spoke proudly, now standing before her, fists on his hips. "No one will ever hold Peter Pan. Just wait and see!"
Lunette assessed the lad, head to toe. There he stood, a boy not even to puberty, wearing trousers made of leaves, oversized stockings and jacket, and chains, but he spoke with the dignity and the confidence of a king. She snorted contemptuously, leaving with the words, "Dalton, come on. We're wasting our time. Archibald, please come with us. I want to show you Mr. Russell's hand. Perhaps you will have an insight." The three grownups left Peter, but not without Hutchings giving him a look full of useless sympathy.
*** PP *** PP ***
During the night the Never Sea had nearly frozen over, but the pirates had managed to get three boat loads of furniture, carpets, oil paintings and food from the castle to the ship. Then the slush became too thick to row through it anymore. They stowed everything they wanted to keep in the ship's hold. They hadn't brought all the furniture and equipment from the castle. Even though they had most of what they needed aboard anyway, Hook didn't want to strip the castle, because the Indians would need it now. James grimaced and shook his head when he realized why he didn't empty the castle of everything comfortable. From a fierce and dreaded pirate captain to a generous Samaritan in only a few days – err, weeks, months, years, centuries! That was an historic career! (He quickly decided that the real reason was that the ship was easier to navigate when its holds weren't full.)
The repairs to the ship were already in full swing. Neverland's magic could not compare with the skilled "magic" of a good ship's carpenter. Wood had been harvested from the untouched area of the forest, saved from the fire. Saws and hammers were heard from many places on the ship as it came back together after the invaders' damages. Mullins supervised, shaped, sawed, carved, removed and replaced throughout the vessel, delighted with the job of putting their home, their beautiful ship, back together.
Furthermore, Mullins was able to find enough table tops to erect a temporary wall in the captain's quarters and to replace the companionway. Yes, it was true: the carpenter was happy. The multiple projects he was supervising allowed him to instruct many of the other sailors in his extensive skills of woodworking.
Hook was not happy. The fire had damaged the second cannon deck which had to be repaired before they could return to the Mainland. The center of the companionway was completely destroyed, the portside wale was damaged and a few deck planks on the second cannon deck looked like they would collapse at the tiniest burden. He was no carpenter, but he knew that Mullins – gifted as he was – would need a day, maybe two, before the damage was fixed.
In Surrey, as the professor insisted that Olivia warm up some of the dinner for Peter, Hook packed a few things. The deck was covered in inches of snow and he moved carefully from the bridge to the main deck. He heard voices below – those of his men and boyish ones. A few of Peter's old gang were already aboard, having offered to take over kitchen duty because Cookson was still at the castle, packing what he wanted to take with him. Hook gave his head a shake, wondering at how the boys and pirates could work together - not just aboard the ship but also the Black Castle. Yes, they had a truce and Peter's new Lost Boys didn't even know how it had been before 'the Battle', yet it surprised the captain how easily men and boys got along; he even heard them laughing together. Not for the first time he thought that the brats and his men weren't so different from each other.
Together with two of his men he returned to the castle. In the living area and down in the kitchen, pirates and boys led by Smee and John Darling were busy. Hook went to his private room to stay out of the way, and to sort through his racing thoughts. But minutes later, Alan Herbs shouted: "They're comin'!"
Who "was coming" needed no explanation. James left his room to peer out the tall ancient windows. Yes, there they were coming – many people with torches, illuminating the figures clad in blankets with the makeshift litters, transporting the casualties to the castle. A few dogs ran between them.
The effect of the harsh weather became clear as the troop arrived at the habitable part of the castle, one level below Hook's private room. The supplies they were able to save were meager. The older and young ones were wrapped in blankets, the others staunchly bearing the cold. The twenty pirates who had remained to fight the fire were with them, including the three unlucky fellows tricked by Ashford's group. The Indian warrior, the first victim of the viscount's malignant plan to board the Jolly Roger, was on a litter, wrapped in blankets.
Tiger-Lily walked tall beside her mother. John hastened toward them as they reached the stairs. She smiled grimly, embracing him. "John is safe," she said, shivering.
"Yes, I'm fine," he mumbled, blushing yet again, cheeks warm in the cold air as he held her close, attempting to warm her.
Hook rolled his eyes. "How sweet," he murmured, unconsciously using Wendy's words. Smee and Herbs beside him smiled covertly. Then he descended to the chief and the shaman, each respectfully greeting the other in the long wide entranceway. Smee guided them to the protected living quarters.
The old Irishman felt pity for the newcomers, seeing their pathetic conditions: pale from the cold, the ash and grime in their hair and clothes, and the empty eyes. Many seemed to be in shock. Others were injured, supported by family or friends. He led them all to a few large rooms beneath the living area which Hook had made comfortable for himself after he first had set foot into the castle. The Hobgoblins had proved once again why their kind was called 'Good Neighbors'. They had cleaned the rooms as best they could, providing firewood, blankets, some clothing. The kitchen nearby was producing smells that Panther pronounced "formidable." Yet you could hear Cookson lamenting the Hobgoblins' interference with his packing up, while the bogeys complained about the 'inhospitality of that big, ugly mortal'.
John helped Tiger-Lily and Gentle Deer to a corner, to get comfortable, while the other Lost Boys helped the rest of the tribe. Not much was said. Most of the Indians were still mourning or nursing wounds, and the boys were subdued because of Peter's and Wendy's abduction.
In the meantime, the two Indian leaders and Hook spoke about what had happened. With rising dread, the chief and the shaman learned about the kidnapping, the missing egg, and Hook's 'near-death experience.' They were outraged by the actions of the white man with the cold grey eyes, Panther fingering the dragon scale with the bullet in amazement. Then Hook told them about the fairy queen's advice that boys and Indians remain in the castle for now. He learned how Canary Robb, Foggarty and Bollard had been tricked by the disguise and then overpowered.
A younger, angrier Hook wouldn't have tolerated their failures. A younger Hook would have shot or gutted them. But he had changed. The sinister, bitter and unforgiving side of him was laid to rest, it seemed – soothed by a certain sweet little wildcat. The hate that had blinded him for so long was gone, allowing his original rationality and good sense to once again guide his actions.
The three men were glad that he 'only' gave them double shifts, yet they, too, were dismayed when they heard of their storyteller's abduction. They had come to respect and then to like that girl, she who had fought so bravely beside them at the battle with the wizard. And when they remembered how happy she had made their captain, they gave each other mutual looks.
Hook retreated to his own living area and had a brief dinner. Since the late afternoon, he was feeling even more unsettled than earlier; almost restless. During his inspection of his ship, he could have sworn he had heard Wendy crying his name, screaming at someone to go away. He had looked around but had, of course, seen nothing. Yet he knew he really had heard her. And now, as he stripped off his outer clothes, something nagged at him.
Because the walls of the castle were perpetually cold, Hook remained in breeches and shirt and blanket, going through the almost empty wardrobe and furniture and accoutrements. Then he went to bed – tired as a dog, but still upset. Sleep didn't find him easily…
*** PP *** PP ***
Wendy woke during the evening, and felt like she was suffering from a nasty cold, or an upset stomach: she felt awful. Pulling herself into a ball, she lay in the strange, large bed, looking from under hooded eyes at the fire in the open fireplace. It and the small lamp on the night-stand were the only light sources. An intense headache was throbbing, and moaning, she rubbed her face. She felt cold and pulled the comforter higher.
What happened? Where was she?
Something lurked at the edge of her mind – something very horrible and…
James!
James was dead. The memory returned with brutal force and new tears soon filled her eyes. This had to be a nightmare, one she would hopefully wake from soon.
Hiccoughing, she wiped her burning eyes and moistened her lips. She was thirsty, and lifting her head she saw the teapot and the cup placed on the nightstand. She remembered Ms. Lunette had brought it. Fennel-tea, she said. Wendy moved to the nightstand and filled the cup. The fennel tea tasted strange, but she didn't mind. She was so thirsty that she emptied the cup with a few large sips; not knowing that the also drank sleeping drops. Lying down again, Wendy closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep, to forget everything – especially the pain in her heart …
*** PP ***
Hutchings kept his word. Two of the hunters accompanied him when he brought the jumper and some food two hours later. One of the other men had had a jug of water. When the door was unlocked, Peter looked for a chance to flee, but for naught. As soon as one of the hunters and the professor had moved into the cell the door was locked behind them. Peter had been unshackled and allowed to relieve himself in a bucket in a corner. Then he slipped into the far too large jumper and was chained up again. At least dinner was tasty: roast beef with sauce, potatoes, and vegetables. Hutchings himself had warmed the leftovers in the kitchen, insisting that the boy get 'somethin' real between 'is teeth.'
Peter asked about the 'fish-man', but except for two evil glares, he got no answer. Now the boy lay on the straw, wrapped in the big clothes and the blanket. The torches had burned off and it was pitch dark. He hated it here. He hated it with passion, but he knew that he had to show patience until there was a chance to escape. Then he would take Wendy with him, get the dragon-egg and then 'bye-bye Mainland'.
Troubled and upset he finally fell asleep, only to be awakened in the middle of the night as the door between the dungeons and the cellars upstairs were opened. The light from another torch was descending. He heard three persons drawing nearer.
Warily he sat up, tense when he saw the witch and two men approaching the bars. One was Anders, if he remembered correctly. The other was the man who landed in the stinging nettles two days ago. The marks of the nettles were gone, but he still sported a bruise on the jaw. Coming here in the middle of the night was odd. Then he saw a small bowl in Anders' hand and that the witch held a strange, curved knife made of silver. He remembered the professor's words – those about the witch wanting some of his blood to brew a potion to grow young again. Rising to his feet, he straightened.
"You won't do it easily!" he stated, still careful not to reveal his knowledge what would have placed the professor into danger.
"I'm counting on you fighting us," Anders sneered while he gave the bowl to his companion and opened the door. "I really look forward to showing you some manners, you cocky, wretched little heathen." They entered the cell and Peter tucked into fighting stance. He knew that he didn't stand a chance against the two morons, but he would defend himself to the very last. Boy and men eyed each other, there was a moment of silence, then the second man gave the bowl to the witch and he and the other one went forward to take Peter's arms. Anders got a punch into his middle and the other man – Jackson – got a blow to the jaw. Again. For which he cursed loudly. More punches were thrown back and forth until the two men were able to grab the boy and to hold him tight. Peter spat and kicked, but he couldn't escape. Grownups were indeed stronger, despite Peter's long experience.
He snarled in rage and defiance, wriggled and struggled, but 'Nettle-Man' sat down on his legs, while Anders knelt on his right arm and held his left arm in a hard fist, lifting it up to that Lunette-witch, who moved to him. With widening eyes Peter saw the silver blade, saw signs on them, not knowing that they were ancient runes. "How late is it?" Lunette asked and Jackson opened his pocket watch.
"Midnight," he answered.
"Well and good: the night when life won over death has begun." She knelt beside the still wriggling boy and the two men. "Keep him still," came the order, then those old eyes looked at Peter. "If you stop wiggling, it will hardly hurt at all, and afterward, you'll be bandaged. I'm sure you got hurt plenty of times in your 'adventures'."
Peter knew what was coming, but he refused to feel afraid. Yet his eyes were almost black, as he hissed proudly, "I don't fear you, witch! Hook in a good mood was scarier than you. Do what you will – I'll pay you back just like I will Ashford!"
Brynna shook her head. So much bravado, she almost felt respect for the youth. Then she handed the bowl to Anders, who continued to hold Peter's arm with one hand. "Hold it beneath his arm, I tell you when I have enough."
The Dane only nodded, before he glanced down on the boy. "It soon will be over," he sneered with mocked pity, hoping for a sign of dread, but there was none. "If it was me, I'd use it on your throat." The youth only glared with narrowed eyes at him, then he watched how the blade touched the boy's skin on the underside of the wrist.
Peter kept a scream of rage firmly behind his closed lips, as the blade cut him.
*** PP *** PP ***
No one could know that the time in Neverland and on the Mainland still ticked in unison. The portal was closed, but the two worlds were now very close, and with Peter being forced to the 'Outer World', a firm link between the fairy realm and the 'real' world remained. The only one who (unwillingly) got a taste of the proximity between the two realms was Hook. After he finally fell asleep, images assaulted him.
He watched Wendy lying in a large four-posted bed – the same bed he had already seen where Ashford bent over her. Now she was in the same bed, wearing that yellow dress he had given her, rolled up like the kitten he loved comparing her to, sound asleep. Even in the dark, he could see she'd been crying. He could even believe she was calling his name in her sleep.
'I'm coming, beauty,' he tried to reassure her. 'Don't fret, kitten, I'll come and get you.' He heard her whimpering, then his name slipped from full lips, while a tear escaped her eye. Then she began to thrash about, as if fighting against someone. It pained James to see her like this. It was like a sword in his chest – there, where the bullet should have killed him.
'Hush, my love, I'm alive. Don't mourn, I'm well!' he tried to sooth her, but his words didn't reach her…
Hook woke up and felt the bit of warmth on his chest. Sitting up, he pushed the collar of his shirt aside and frowned when he saw the dragon scale shimmering. Carefully he touched it. It was warm but not hot, the flattened bullet was even cool. What had the dragoness and the fairy queen said? That a link had been formed between him and Wendy? Well, they hadn't exaggerated. He was sure that he had seen Wendy as she was in his dream – just like the other times. And he also knew the reason for her distress. She had learned of his false fate – Ashford had to think him dead – and she was grieving for him. NO, he never wanted his sweet madcap to suffer! Yes, there had been times where he wanted to squeeze her tender neck or to lay her over his knee, but whenever irritated by her smaller and greater deeds, she had looked at him with those shining eyes and a piquant smile – and his anger had vanished like morning fog in the rising sun.
And now she was suffering because she thought him dead. He wanted to burst into that room, take her into his arms, kiss away her tears and carry her far away so that no one else could touch her ever again. But looking into the flames of the fireplace, he was aware of his location. He was still in the Black Castle and Wendy was on the Mainland. So, that act of rescue had to wait. Grinding his teeth, he lay back again, swearing that they would lift anchor tomorrow, no matter how far Mullins had gotten with his repairs.
James fell asleep slowly, and for a short time, he was blessed with peaceful slumber, only to suddenly hear Peter screaming! He was certain that it was the eternal boy, because he knew that pest's voice inside-out.
In the darkness, dancing torch lights and as he neared the end of the passage, he heard the boy shouting. First shocked, then furious he saw the Dane and another man holding Peter down on a heap of straw, an old woman kneeling beside them, a bowl filled with blood that ran from the boy's outstretched arm, firmly kept in place by the Scandinavian male.
Hook's eyes narrowed. They were taking the boy's blood! And not just a few drops, that much he could tell. Trying to reach him, he was stopped by an invisible wall. Peter was in danger. And even if the thrice-damned little brat had cost him more trials than any human being should have to endure, a new desire to see the youth safe burned like a white-hot yet cold fire in him.
'Stop it!' he snarled. 'Stop it now! You take too much, you stupid hag!'
For a moment, the old woman looked up in a crinkled, hawk-shaped face, frowned, shook her head and turned her pale eyes back to her fingers, milking blood from the boy as one would milk a cow.
'NO! Stop it! Don't you dare risk his life – I'll have your head for it!' Hook shouted and threw himself against the invisible wall that held him away from Peter. The boy turned his head and looked with wet eyes at him, eyes which held sorrow, grief and pain. 'Please stop them,' he heard the youth whispering, then the dream faded …
With a shout Hook woke the second time, bathed in cold sweat, shaken and unsettled. Just like he had been sure that his dream about Wendy was a vision, he was certain that he had seen Peter and his captors as they were. Ashford had taken the boy with him on purpose – and said purpose had been revealed in the nightmare. They wanted his blood.
Sitting once again on his bed, he stared into the darkness. The fire was now reduced to coals.
"Woe to you who have touched and hurt that boy, you accursed witch!" he growled, balling his hand into a fist. "Woe to you for risking his life for some devilish voodoo! Witch hunts might be over, but I'll make certain that you face the justice you deserve if you put him in danger!"
Unable to lie abed any longer, he rose and went to the closed curtains of the window. Opening one of them he looked out. Snow was falling. The Jolly Roger was nothing more than a shadow in the dark, showing its position by a few open fire pots on the main deck. Wrapped in winter, they would have to melt their icy cage before the fairies could take the ship to the skies.
If he only knew how to do it! Maybe that gang of half-grown boys had an idea – or Tinker Bell, or the Indians. He would accept any suggestion if only they could get away from Neverland as soon as possible to fly to the rescue – literally!
When morning finally came, the twilight outside was the only hint that the new day had begun, Hook felt completely whacked. He hadn't slept any longer after the vision concerning Peter and felt beaten now. He really would have liked to remain in bed and to banish all the troublesome thoughts which haunted him, but there was so much work to do. To be sure, he never had been one who hid from his problems. He analyzed, faced and fixed them, end of story. Climbing out of bed, he washed and readied himself for the day.
****P****P****
While at the Black Castle the remaining pirates woke one by one, most of the Indians slept the sleep of exhaustion, and on the Jolly Roger, an eager carpenter continued his work after only a few hours rest, Dalton Ashford already sat in his study and was talking to a rather ill-used Fulsom.
Kenly had helped Alister and Wickham empty a few bottles of wine in celebration the night before. It hadn't done him any good. Ashford knew of young man's background, that he had connections to the lower class, so Fulsom might be able to help him find a disreputable orphanage for their captive in the dungeons. Lunette had gotten the blood from the boy at midnight (Leave it to her to use the night of Jesus' resurrection and victory over death for something heathen!), and now Peter Pan wasn't needed anymore. Dalton didn't mind. The sooner he got rid of the little beggar, the better.
"Well, I'm not so familiar with orphanages," Kenly said, standing in front of the viscount's desk, clad in a clean driver's uniform, second-best cap in hand, eyes bloodshot. "But there are a few children's homes in East London that don't have the best reputation, and -" He hesitated. "A moment. Ethan Lewis, one of my school mates, got a job in an orphanage in Bethnal Green."
"Where the slums are? Next to Whitechapel?" Dalton asked, and Fulsom nodded.
"Yes – alongside the crowded houses of the working class and a few facilities for sick or homeless people."
"Like Bethnal House," Ashford nodded, remembering very well the dreadful stories of the early 19th century connected to the lunatic asylum, of the cruel and inhumane handling of those who were considered 'mad'. The asylum's history had an evil reputation.
With a shrug Kenly replied, "There hasn't much changed in Bethnal Green, e'en though it belongs now to the Metropolitan Borough. It's still mostly home to poor people. The orphanage is a private institution in one of those narrow streets where day laborers and their families live, north of Cable Street. As I remember, the orphanage is affiliated with a washhouse. Ethan once told me that he first loathed the steam of the washing troughs and the smell of the soapsuds, but got used to it while he shepherded the children who work in the washhouse."
Ashford cocked his head. "How large is this orphanage?"
"Not sure – about a hundred children or so. It's rather small, more or less forgotten. Ethan said it was an easy job together with two other men and two women, because there are boys and girls housed. They are all sent to school to twelve years, then they have to work – officially."
"Officially?" Dalton pursed his lips. He knew what Fulsom meant. Many children of the working class worked even after school in factories and workhouses, especially those who weren't lucky enough to be housed in one of the more modern asylums. The government recently tried to protect children from hard labor before they turned 14, but many facilities used the children's poverty to hire cheap laborers. This orphanage must belong to one of those 'taskmasters'.
"School lessons until twelve, you say?" As Kenly nodded, the viscount took a deep breath. "Well, then our friend downstairs doesn't need to be educated but, given his abilities, could be an excellent laborer – a circumstance the owner of the orphanage would certainly appreciate. Especially if a washhouse is attached." He leaned back on his chair. "Might you like to celebrate Easter with your family? Possibly pay the director of this orphanage a visit?"
Fulsom grinned. "Yeh, I'd like to see my family. I don't know if I could meet the orphanage's owner today, after all it is Easter, but I can try. At least I can speak with Ethan, ask him to make an appointment for me tomorrow with the director."
Dalton nodded. "Very good. I'll write a letter of introduction to the director for you. Tell him I want to speak with him of something to his financial advantage. He can phone me anytime tomorrow or this evening, should you be able to meet him earlier. The Darlings will certainly come over today when I tell them of their daughter's presence here, and should be on their way home by then."
"You want to call them?" Fulsom asked, forgetting completely that it was out of place for him to ask such questions, but for once Ashford didn't mind.
"Yes, later this morning. I'm sure they've gone to church and will be back by then. At least one of their prayers will be answered when I tell them that I got their daughter back from the island. They will probably come over as soon as possible."
Kenly grimaced. "Then tell the professor to keep still about the flying brat in the dungeons and all the activity on the island. Otherwise the good Mr. Darling won't be amused at all."
Dalton snorted. "I know."
TBC…
Yes, Dalton tries to do the 'right' thing by giving Peter to an orphanage, but because he has a foul and nasty character (and out of a little revenge) he chooses one that is more or less living hell for the children there. And poor Peter will face his limits, but won't quit easily…
In the next chapter, Dalton continues to weave his web of lies, this time the Darlings are his victims. And while the repairs on the Jolly Roger are quickly proceed and Hook will have a certain talk with John, who thinks he has to substitute his father concerning his sister's relationship with the captain…
I hope, you liked the new chapter despite the dire situation Peter went through. I thought that Hook has to have another vision of Wendy (after all they do have a link that even grew after their love night) and also of Peter, because he cares more about the boy than ever thought.
Like always, I would be very happy to get some reviews.
Have a nice weekend,
Love
Yours Starflight / Lywhn
