Hi, my dear readers!

And once again I have to apologize for the late update, but I'm about to go on holidays and therefore I've a lot to do in my shop so that I'm dropping like a stone into bed in the evening. But now the next chapter is online, and I'm sure you're going to have a ride on an emotional rollercoaster. Beware, there comes a nasty cliffhanger at the end…

Thanks for the reviews, I love you all.

Have fun

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 28 – Nasty Traps, part 1

The dreadful noise of the stampede, the shouts from the village, the crackling of the fire were heard far and wide, even half a mile north of the Indian camp. The thunder was so loud that Dalton Ashford and Edgar Russell did not hear the approach of Alister, Jackson and Fulsom. Both men spun around, reaching for their weapons, then relaxed in relief.

"It went better than I expected," Alister reported, seeing the unconscious Indian beside the viscount and Russell, bound and gagged. They had left him his loincloth but taken his long braids, cut off directly beneath the ears. "Which one of us is going to the masque?" he asked wryly.

"You will," Russell told him. The braids had been tied off to prevent their unraveling. "Hand me your hat."

Muttering an obscenity, Oscar Alister obeyed and watched the other man cut four holes in the side of his hat. "Hey, that's my hat!" Alister protested.

"Don't be such a princess, you can get a new one," Edgar retorted and tied the two braids with leather straps onto the inside of the hat and handed it back to Alister. "Here, give it a go."

Oscar grimaced and put on the hat. The two braids really changed his appearance, yet it was clear to anyone that looked twice that he was no Indian. "Put on the lad's clothes, comb your own hair back. Muddy your face and you'll certainly fool the pirates long enough to get close to them," Russell ordered.

"Any problems with the wisents?" Dalton asked. The shouts and wails from the village still rent the air, but he ignored them.

"No. We set up two rows of torches along the way to force 'em toward the village. Me and Fulsom come up at the back of the herd with our own torches, yelling like banshees, wot started 'em running. It didn't take much, stupid animals," Reuben Jackson explained.

Kenly Fulsom had shoved his hands into his pockets again, quite impressed at how easily the two hunters had started the stampede among the peacefully grazing wild buffaloes, and also how they had steered them. Yet he felt uneasy when thinking of the Indians. Savages or not, they were human. Weren't they? The boy knew that there had to be casualties. And when he looked down at the unconscious Indian man, whose head was bleeding where he'd been struck, he felt his mouth going dry. He really thought of quitting this 'job', but he doubted that the viscount would let him go so easily. He was a part of this ridiculous endeavor. What was the old saying? In for a penny, in for a pound? Well, his pound was well and truly invested in this adventure.

Jackson nudged him and only then did he realize that Ashford had addressed him. "Sorry, Milord," he mumbled.

Dalton looked impatiently at the younger man and repeated, "Get closer to the village and wait for the boy. Only contact him an hour after the pirates' arrival. Our third task depends on your skills as an actor. Neither me or no you want to disappoint Ms. Lunette." He glanced at the others, of whom one was slipping into the stolen Indian clothes "We'll wait here. It won't be long until the sailors come ashore to help, given Miss Darling's soft heart. Shalford won't disappoint the girl he wants to win for himself."

"Why do you always call him 'Shalford'?" Alister asked, putting on the simple beaded shirt. "There's no proof he's really the last son of the marquess."

"He is the last son of a damn traitor, trust me!" Dalton growled and glanced at Fulsom again. "Go! I'm counting on you." He watched the young man shuffling away and glanced back at the beach and the pirate ship that bobbed up and down on the waves. "I'm curious if the girl will come with them. If not, then part two of our plan begins." He looked at his pocket watch and smiled, satisfied. "We're on schedule. In two or three hours we will know if the rest of the plan worked."

"And if not?" Jackson asked.

"Then we hasten abruptly to the portal before Shalford, the Indians, or the dragons can catch us – or we won't see that 'royal throne of kings,' that 'scepter'd isle' again in this lifetime," he frowned grimly.

*** PP ***

Hutchings, Wickham and Anders were on their way to Dragon Valley. Only this time they didn't go through the Ancient Forest as the day prior; instead they walked between the Black Castle and the foothill and around the latter. The way was shorter, and they had no time to lose. Ashford's plan depended on precise timing, and if one of the groups was too early or too late, failure was nearly inevitable.

A few fairies flew near, and Wickham batted them away like mosquitoes. "Miserable little beasts," he growled; the scar on his cheek twitched. "Begone or I'll say the fateful sentence!" he threatened; asking himself why the 'protective lanyards' that old witch a had made seemed to lose their potency. The tiny creatures stared at him, horrified. These mortals were so different from the red-skinned people, the boys, the Pan, or even the pirates. No, these two were malicious, so they kept their distance, watching carefully.

"Be careful with that sack you're carrying!" Anders called over his shoulder, ignoring the professor who was out of breath and sweating like a horse. "Or we're history."

Morton Wickham rolled his eyes. "I'm no bloody beginner," he muttered, keeping pace with the Dane, grinning as he saw Hutching removing his safari helm and wiping his glistening head with a tartan handkerchief. "A little less food and lots more sports would be good for you, Professor," he taunted.

"I am a man of learning, not of action," Archibald lamented, sighing deeply as he replaced his hat.

"Then you might have done better if you'd stayed home," Anders commented wryly.

"And miss the chance to meet real dragons? Never!" He straightened determinedly and forced his legs to keep up with the two hunters, yet his uncertainty grew. His conscience whispered a little louder with every step that Ashford and the others had committed a serious crime by chasing the wisents into the Indian village – and that it was also criminal what he and his companion were planning to do …

*** PP *** PP ***

The Lost Boys had gotten doused with fairy dust from Tinker Bell and Aurora, and now raced behind Peter through the air. Startled birds veered off their path, screeching and clearly in panic. Beneath them they saw animals fleeing through the clearings, their instincts sending them to safer ground. The eternal boy was quicker than his friends and reached the Indian village before them; the only ones who kept pace were Slightly and John.

And John! He almost hadn't been able to fly at all. The moment he learned of what happened in the camp, an icy hand gripped his heart with only one thought: Tiger-Lily! Unhappy thoughts keep you down, but John quickly learned that concern for another one gave one wings, too – not happy thoughts but those of fiery determination to get to the Indian girl who had won his young heart. His thoughts also darted to Dark Owl, knowing that the young brave certainly had tried to help his people, risking his own safety by doing so.

Peter suffered his own gloomy thoughts. The feeling of something missing in him lingered. He had lost something important – or something had been taken away from him. This, combined with the anxiety for his Indian friends spurred him onward, apprehensive and angry.

As they neared the village, they could tell that the stampeding wisents had left a broad swath of destruction. They only had to follow the columns of smoke, and the flames were soon seen below the treetops. The air became thick and the acrid smell of living, burning wood and leaves filled their noses, making them gag. But the extent of the tragedy became only visible as Peter dropped down, landing at the edge of the camp, coughing. Knife in hand, he looked around, but all he could make out was confusion, dust, heat and smoke that burned his eyes.

A dozen structures were burning, the sparks had already ignited a few trees and some of the underbrush. The younger Indians ran from person to person, trying to help, warriors carried casualties away, others helped older women and men to get out of the clearing; hoping that the fire wouldn't take hold of the wood. Others were busy aiding those who were more seriously injured. From somewhere Chief Rain-in-the-Face's voice shouted orders, nearly lost in the moans and cries for help.

John landed beside Peter; his eyes searching the area. "TIGER-LILY! DARK OWL!" he screamed. Shouting their names again, he ignored the other boys who'd reached the camp. Then, there it was: "JOHN!" Tiger-Lily came running, Bumblyn still in her arms.

"Oh, dear Lily!" John breathed and hurried to her. Bumblyn complained loudly as the chief's daughter dropped him and ran into John's embrace, clinging to him, finally giving in to tears. The Hobgoblin rose and hobbled towards Peter and his gang, where Tootles took him up. Kailen descended to them, coughing and grey. Aurora flew to him, embracing him, relieved to find him well after she went to fetch Peter.

"Oh no!"

"What an awful mess!"

"These poor people!"

"What can we do to help them?"

They were all speaking at once.

As often as the Lost Boys teased each other, or even battled each other in a brotherly fashion, in this case they all shared the same opinion, that helping this devastated village was easier said than done. The village was a mess with people still looking for relatives, sobbing in fear and confusion. It was one particular cry from nearby that caught Peter's attention, a little girl holding her bleeding leg.

Peter Pan, usually childishly careless and mischievous, was keenly aware when he found another child in distress. Dropping beside the little girl, he knelt and took her hand. "Hey, there," he said, his sparkling blue eyes looking into the big, teary black ones. "You're Red Flower, right?" he asked, her language (which he'd learned without knowing.) As the girl nodded, he smiled. "Let me see your hurt, and then we'll find your parents, alright?"

Knowing Little White Eagle, she trustingly showed him her injured leg. The wound wasn't deep, but dirty and bleeding. And Peter was aware that his hands were almost as dirty, so no help at all. (He'd learned that wounds healed quicker when clean.) "Okay, I'll carry you," he said, lifted the girl, barely more than a toddler, into his arms. Walking through the camp together, he heard a shout and saw one of the mothers running towards him, face brightening with relief. Red Flower held out her arms to the woman, crying a happy "Mommy!".

With an odd, almost painful feeling deep in him, he watched how the woman took the little girl in her own arms and pressed her close. Red Flower buried her tiny face at the woman's neck. "Thank you, Little White Eagle," the woman said, gratitude in her large eyes as he glanced at Peter. "Thank you so much."

Peter shrugged, blushing reluctantly. "Happy to," he murmured and watched as the woman left with her daughter. Red Flower clung to her mother, but the tears were subsiding. The woman comforted her with murmurs and kisses.

Peter bit his lips. He had seen Wendy's mother holding the girl and the boys after their first return from Neverland, showing them and the whole world how much they were loved by her. Now this Indian woman did the same and the little girl calmed, feeling safe – a display of trust that was foreign to the boy. There was a brief memory of the face of another woman, auburn hair on her head, deep gentle blue eyes, a soft song on her lips, but the memory vanished as quickly as it had come. Only the echo of a natural trust remained for a moment longer.

Peter felt his eyes sting, and an old chasm in his heart began to ache. Then he chased the melancholy away. He had no time for such things – not normally, and certainly not now. His friends needed him …

*** PP ***

From behind the lush greenery, Ashford, Russell, Jackson and Alister (now dressed in the Indian's clothes) watched the pirates coming ashore, pulling the longboats in among the canoes. Dalton realized with irritation that Wendy wasn't among them. Dammit! They really had to go through with it!

With narrowed eyes, Ashford observed the tall captain who was not only a rival, but also (in his eyes) a high traitor, murderer and pillager. He would love to put a bullet between the man's cursed 'so blue' eyes, but it would be his own death sentence, seeing the number of crewmen who accompanied Shalford – Hook! They would tear him and his comrades apart, probably literally.

Listening out of sight as the captain gave orders, they waited impatiently as the pirates quickly crossed the beach and headed into the woods towards the Indian village, taking tools for rescue and aid. No doubt now that these scoundrels planned to help the villagers. And while Alister and Jackson narrowed their eyes, feeling the scratch of a bad conscience nagging at them, the viscount and Russell remained untouched by their malevolent strategy. "Three remain with the longboats," Russell whispered. "Perfect!"

Ashford looked at Alister. "Showtime!" he said. The man took a deep breath – he couldn't deny that a sliver of dread pierced him – then he moved forward …

Down on the beach, Canary Robb, Foggerty and Bollard leaned against one of the longboats, arms crossed. Yes, they didn't regret Hook leaving them to guard the boats; that was a better duty than providing medical care and putting out fires. On the other hand, they were men of action. They would rather have been doing, but this was all they had to do. Bollard sighed and looked over at the Jolly Roger, scratching his neck under the grey ponytail. So warm already …

He saw Robb tensing, eyes fixed on something up the beach. Foggerty followed his glance, so did Bollard. They saw one of the Indian warriors stumbling out of the undergrowth. To the pirates' surprise, he wore a very English hat, making the long braids beneath it look out-of-place.

"Where'd'e get a hat?" Foggerty wondered.

"Maybe stole it from th' blokes we saw yesterday," Robb mused.

"Ain't we all thieves, too?" Bollard smirked, then he frowned and straightened. "Tha' looks bad," he mumbled, seeing how the Indian seemed unable to stay on his feet, stumbling to a tree to prop himself up. "C'mon, lads, th' cap'n brot us here t' help so let's help this bloke." They quickly moved over the sand to the man in distress. Robb was the first to reach the Indian, who nearly collapsed, and the pirate caught him. "Hey, mate, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Are ya hurt?" Bollard wanted to know, placing a hand on the man's back.

The Indian mumbled something none of them understood. "Hey, mate, we dunna understand ya," Foggerty said, his voice untypically gentle. "Can ya speak English?"

"You call your gibberish English?" a voice asked in their backs, and, struck from behind, Foggerty sank to the sand.

Bollard whirled, while Robb still foolishly supported the 'Indian'. Two hands grabbed him and a third pressed something against his nose and mouth – something that smelled foul. And before he could react, blackness engulfed him. He was unconscious before his body hit the sand beneath him.

Canary Robb wasn't idle. The moment he realized the deception, he shoved the alleged 'Indian' against one of the attacking strangers, who caught the impostor, but the latter was no weakling. Flinging the hat aside, Alister threw himself at the pirate and both men went down. The next moment two others had Robb's arms and legs, while the fourth – a young man with blond hair and icy grey eyes – poured something from a small bottle onto a cloth (a handkerchief?) and pressed it on Canary's face. In seconds his struggling ceased and his eyes rolled up in his head.

"Done!" Jackson grinned, panting, and dropped the pirate's legs.

Alister retrieved his hat with the braids. "What now?"

"Strip them, bind and gag them, and put them over by the other one. Cover them with branches and palm leaves. I don't want them found," Ashford ordered, while he himself peeled his waistcoat and shirt off. "Quick, Gentlemen, there's very little time!"

*** PP ***

"Little White Eagle!" A youthful strong hand on Peter's shoulder startled him. It was Dark Owl standing beside him. The brave's face was grimy, his clothes dirty and his hair in disarray, but he was unharmed. Dark Owl took in the pale face of the youthful "prince" of the island, half a head smaller than he. "It is good that you're here. Dark Owl dreamed vision last night – and it concerned you, too. Be careful. I saw you caught and caged, bruised-"

"Later," Peter interrupted him. "We first have to care for your injured people. And then stop the fire from spreading, or Neverland will burn down!"

"PETER, look who is coming!" Runner yelled, pointing away from the village.

Following Runner's outstretched finger, Peter beamed when he saw the tall figure striding into the village. "Hook!" Peter shouted. His expression of relief was obvious to anyone who cared to look, revealing how much the boy trusted the captain by now. Hook glanced around and their eyes met; Peter saw the pirate looking him up and down, then the man exhaled as if he too was relieved. He nodded a greeting, then turned to the catastrophe. Peter didn't know why, but he felt … heartened.

Peter grinned happily for a moment, then he watched as Hook sought out Rain-in-the-Face and a few older advisors who remained. Following behind Hook seemed to be the whole crew of the Jolly Roger, carrying boxes, sacks and buckets. A few of the pirates instantly began to search through the camp, putting out fires, pulling belongings aside, while others attended the injured.

A moment later, there was a shout of warning as a tall tree, already dead, toppled only feet away from the boy, upper branches already enflamed. He leapt aside, staring at the flames, then looked toward Hook; more startled than he would ever admit. He could see the man was looking at the tree as well, thinking fast. "Maybe the Codfish has an idea how we can stop this fire," Peter said to Runner, flying to the men, in the middle of a discussion. Arriving alongside Hook, the pirate spared him a short glance, then continued, "You need to remove the undergrowth and trees around the camp in a broad swath to starve the flames. The river and the sea are too far away for a bucket brigade."

Chief Rain-in-the-Face nodded gravely. "Strong Bear, gather the other warriors. If we work together, we may save our home." The older warrior nodded and hastened away. "Let us tell our people to leave the camp for their own safety," he added towards the other leaders and they hurried to their assignments.

Hook turned to Smee. "Order a few of the men to help the women, children and old ones down to the beach. They'll be safer there. The others will help clear the trees together with the braves. We have to build a firebreak if we want to stop the flames from spreading and destroying not only this wood but also the Ancient Forest …" his gaze turned to Peter, "… or the home of our little prankster here," he added. Smee saluted and jogged towards the crew to deliver his captain's orders.

Peter, glad that Hook and his men would help, wiped the sweat from his brow. By the fairies' golden wings, the air stank; it was too hot; the dust in the air tickled his nose and his skin. "What can me and the boys do?" he asked, more-or-less accepting Hook as the man in authority for now, irksome as that was.

Hook turned fully towards the boy, who looked worried – and dirtier than usual, the smoke and flying ash causing a sudden cough that shook the boy. "Are you well?" Hook asked before he could stop himself. They had a truce, right? Sometimes the young boor amused him; he didn't want to see the child hurt – not anymore. But Peter Pan wasn't his concern. Not really. At least that's what he told himself. Yet, deep down, he cared. He had known that the boy would be here. Knowing the child's sometimes reckless fearlessness, he had worried Peter would be too careless about the fire, but this time Pan's instincts seemed to be stronger than his foolishness. James was grateful for small miracles!

"I'm okay, but the Indians are not," Peter replied, grateful for the man's concern.

"No, this is catastrophe," James snarled. For a long moment both reviewed their surroundings, then the captain straightened. "You and the boys can help clear the brush -"

Tinker Bell flew to them, chiming. Peter's eyes lit up. "Tink said she'll go to the Fairy Queen for help. When the felled trees are covered with dust, they can be moved easily."

Hook then remembered how his men came to the Mount-of-No-Return with a few of the Jolly Roger's dusted cannons, carrying them like they were sacks of straw instead of massive weapons. "Excellent idea," he nodded. Another tree caught fire, and both Hook and Peter used foul language. "You should hurry, Miss Bell," the captain said, and Tink raced away without waiting another moment, Aurora following.

Before Hook turned away, Peter asked, "Is Wendy still aboard or is she here?"

There was no jealousy in James' expression as he glanced down on the youth. The boy's affection for Wendy Darling was real, and he couldn't damn the lad for caring. "Aye, still aboard the Jolly Roger – safe and sound."

Peter smiled at him. "Thank you." Then he rose into the air to continue fighting the fire.

*** PP ***

"One of th' boats is back!" Whibbles shouted, his one eye darting to Akeele whom Hook had left in command.

The giant African with the dreadlocks raised the telescope he had gotten from Smee. "Aye, Bollard, Foggerty, Robb and one of th' Indians," he murmured.

"Maybe t' get more equipment?" Chas Turley mused. "Tha' fire didna stop yet." He smirked with the wrong side of his mouth, for he had no other one.

The guards aboard waited 'til the longboat bumped sidewards against the ship, then Akeele shouted down, "Ahoy, mates, why be y' here?"

"Cap'n needs more stuff!" Bollard yelled back, but instead of looking up, coughed violently and held his hat over his eyes. The other two in the boat bent forwards to help him, while the Indian sat motionless, obviously in shock.

"Man th' ropes, get 'em up here!" Akeele ordered. "Find ou' wha' th' cap'n needs now!"

In the boat Ashford (in the clothes of Robb) dared to send a triumphant glance at his companions, looking tattered in the pirates' clothing. Alister, still masquerading as an Indian, grinned. The plan was in motion. Moments later the longboat was heaved aboard. While Scourie and Turley secured the vessel, Akeele approached his supposed comrades. "Wha' do y' need?" he asked. "Wha's goin' on over t'ere?"

"Something totally unexpected," came the answer in cultivated English, then the barrel of a small pistol was pressed at the African's temple, while 'Robb' raised his head. Grey eyes met the black ones. "Don't move, pirate, or it is the last thing you'll ever do!"

*** PP ***

To distract herself from what was going on in the village, Wendy decided to try and alter her dress. But, after she jabbed her trembling fingers on three separate occasions, she threw the dress aside, knowing her friends and those she loved were fighting battles on two fronts on the island: Dalton AND the fire. So she redressed, tidied the cabin, then sat down at James' desk. Her gaze fell on the large thin books he had taken out of the bookshelf last night. Opening one of the books, she was greeted with a bold, clear script that filled the page, line by line: James' logbooks, dated 1718 – surely before he came to Neverland. Reluctantly, she closed the book. Logbooks recorded the daily routine of a ship and any events for the day, as well as the thoughts of the captain, much like a journal. She wouldn't violate James' privacy by reading his logbooks without his permission.

Laying them aside, she saw a few notes which were obviously written by him, too. The way the letters were formed were the same, yet the handwriting had changed, and Wendy assumed that the logbooks had been written when he still had had his right hand. Biting her lips, she sighed. She could only imagine the work he had to do to learn everything with his left hand.

Going to the shelves, she chose a book from the Shakespeare collection, sat down on the settee and tried to read, but couldn't concentrate. The smell of smoke even reached here, so she closed the windows to keep it outside. Then she heard it: loud voices on deck. Were the men arguing? It was a pirate ship after all, and pirates were not known for their genteel natures. She had developed a kind of comradeship with a couple, yet she wasn't the naïve little girl anymore. She was very aware that these sailors were scoundrels, even if she liked most of them and knew they generally respected each other.

Deciding to stay out of it (she really was not in the mood for a confrontation) she continued to read. At least, she tried, just like she tried to ignore the voices on deck. She suddenly had a bad feeling. A very bad intuition that seemed to increase from minute to minute. Something was very wrong. Laying down the book, she rose – and yelped as behind her a familiar 'plop' sounded and the Klabautermann appeared.

"Rápida, chica, you must hide," he urged, jumping from Hook's desk where he had materialized.

Wendy's eyes widened. "What? Why? What happened?"

Esteban already raced towards the hidden door that led to the secret chamber. "Hombres came masked as our men and subdued the four amigos outside. Hide!" He stopped, secret door unopened, as suddenly the door to the cabin was pushed open and one of the strangers stepped in. The nyxx immediately disappeared, knowing he could help if the stranger didn't see him.

Wendy stared at the man who just had entered the captain's quarters, then her eyes narrowed and she flushed in anger. "Dalton!" she hissed. "Why are you here!?"

Ashford looked around. It looked exactly how he imagined – gold and red, dark wood, pompous and decorative. It fitted the arrogant way Shalford dressed, and typical for an old Spanish galleon like the Jolly Roger. His eyes found Wendy standing by an old fashioned settee, wearing a yellow dress, hair loose, fire in her eyes, hands on her hips. Despite the fussy old fashioned dress, she looked as wild and untamed as she did yesterday in the other dress. "I came to take you home," he replied. From outside she heard the angry voices of Akeele, Mason and the others.

"What are you doing to the men outside?" she hissed, knowing that the six pirates wouldn't simply surrender.

"Let me put it this way: they're a little more amenable at gunpoint. And because they didn't want that the big black nigger in command to get a bullet through his eye, they decided to obey my wishes. My men are taking them below," he explained calmly. He saw her anger rising and added, "Wendy, be reasonable. These men – this crew – they're bloodthirsty felons, quite dangerous. You don't know the risk you are taking by being here. Come, before this gets really out of hand and you are injured or, worse, murdered." He was moving toward her.

Backing away, she snapped, "One more time, Dalton Ashford: I know James' crew very well and we've been through a lot together. The only thing 'out of hand' here is you refusing to take 'no' for an answer." She pointed towards the island, furious. "Or do you deny that you and your gang of trigger-happy idiots are responsible for the horror you obviously sent among the Indians?" Her eyes blazed in a way that made Ashford pause. The girl was seething with anger, that much he could see.

Wendy used his hesitation to quickly look around, finding the training sword hanging on the wall – the same weapon she had used to fight against the attacking harpies five years ago. Darting to the wall, she took the sword. The grip felt familiar in her hand as she whirled around, weapon raised, the blade challenging the surprised viscount who lifted his hands.

"Wendy, for God's sake, come to your senses. This is no adventure book nor game. You are incredibly lucky to have survived your last visit here-"

"I don't know what part of the sentences 'I'm fine' and 'I don't need your help' you don't understand," the young woman interrupted him fiercely. "I was perfectly safe here – at least until you and your gang showed up, attempting to destroy Neverland!"

"Wendy…"

"You shot at James," she spat, "you injured Mason and Lally, and then, worst of all, innocent people were injured, probably killed, because you wanted to lure James away from the ship to sneak aboard. Leave – or, God help me, I'll force you to!" She assumed the stance and lifted the sword higher, now at his throat, and Ashford pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Lower that weapon, Wendy, you could hurt someone with it. Swords are not toys-"

"You don't say!" she sneered. "Well, I'm shocked! If you read my books, you know I'm well trained in using a sword. I'm the best in the fencing classes in school and I knew a trick or two to redeem the disadvantage of being smaller than a man. James and Peter taught me well. And I don't think you want to challenge me!"

Ashford ventured a step nearer, hands raised. "You won't attack me. I'm not one of these harpies you fought last time and-"

"No, you're no harpy. You're a miserable crow!" she snapped back; the sword in her hand didn't waver.

Again Dalton shook his head. "Wendy, I'm not your enemy. I-"

"You became my enemy the moment you and your companions shot at James, trying to kill him!" she stated hotly.

Dalton ground his teeth. James. Shalford. Hook. No matter what name was used, the girl was far too protective and smitten with that scoundrel. "Wendy, your so-called 'friendship' with this man is in no doubt, but obviously you've forgotten who, and above all, what he is. Pirates are no rough sailors with bad manners, they are murderers, thieves, and worse. They raid towns and kill people without mercy-"

"Just like you've done!" she reminded him, astonished at his obtuse boneheaded-ness. "Had you even given one thought about the possibility that in the camp people would be killed by the stampeding wisents you sent there? And the fire! It could burn down half of Neverland! Because of your bullheaded inability to accept a 'no' for a 'no' you endangered a whole world! A world I deeply love and people who are most dear to me!"

"A world full of Fae who love to manipulate mortals to keep them captive, letting them think they are in their realm by the own free will – just like you!" Dalton shot back. Great Scott, how brainwashed was this girl?

Wendy gaped at him. "You are crazy!" she whispered. "You're absolutely insane! Who told you that imaginary nonsense? Lunette? Was she the one who opened the portal between the Mainland and Neverland?"

Another entered the cabin, and a man with short dark hair, a trimmed beard and piercing dark eyes came into view. He wore the clothes of Foggerty, and Wendy realized how Ashford and the others had been able to sneak aboard. "We put them in the brig," he said to Dalton. "Two of them are injured from yesterday, one got a nasty bruise at his temple and the others-"

"Bastard!" Wendy hissed, feeling like she had to stand up for the crew. "Unconscionable villains! You call yourself gentlemen, but you're not above stealing aboard and attacking our guards. And your clothes … What became of Foggerty and the others? Did you kill them?" The mere thought sent cold fire through her veins.

Russell eyed her warily. "Is she troublesome, Milord?" he drawled, his accent gave him away as someone coming from Liverpool.

"'She' will give you a hell of a lot of trouble if you don't take your leave now!" Wendy hissed, eyeing them both.

"She's a feisty one, I'll give her that," Edgar stated casually. "And maybe she's so angry because our little stunt on the island interrupted a sweet tête-a-tête with the capt'n. See her neck?" Nonchalantly, he indicated the girl's throat.

Wendy felt her face heating with pure anger, while Ashford's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me that you allowed that wretch to kiss you," he snarled and closed the distance to her; jealousy plainly written all over his face. "What more has transpired between you and that scumbag?"

She was about to tell him exactly 'what more had transpired' between her and James, but seeing Dalton approaching her, she had to react. Leaping aside she swung the sword and the blade left a cut in Ashford's right sleeve and a deep scratch on his arm. He yelped more in surprise than in pain, lifted his left fist and slapped the blade away. His grey eyes flashed while he stepped back. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Seems I was just asking you the same," she growled.

Russell moved toward them, but Wendy's free hand grabbed the lantern that stood on the escritoire beside her and hurled it in his direction; her gaze was still fixed on Dalton. She knew she'd missed when she heard the lantern hit the floor, and the strange man cursed. Ashford tried to get around her, but she was quicker and evaded him, which exposed her back to Russell, who shot forward and wrapped his arms around her; squeezing the wrist of her weapon hand but she wouldn't let go of the sword.

"Stop it, girl, or-" He gasped as she threw her head back and hit the bridge of his nose. For a moment he saw stars. Dammit, that hurt! Yet he didn't let go of her – at least not before he felt a sharp pain in his left calf. Gasping, he looked down only to see … a miniature pirate swinging a small knife at him? What the hell…

"Let the senorita go, you malandrin (scoundrel), or you learn what it means to irritate a Klabautermann!" Esteban shouted and attacked again. Yet he hadn't imagined that the mortal was so quick. Russell simply kicked him. The nyxx flew upward, landing on the table, across it and, with a cry, fell off the other side. He tumbled to the floor, groaning. Behind them, Short Tom flapped his balding wings. "Brimstone and gall," he screeched (one of Hook's favorite curses), but no one paid attention.

"Esteban!" Wendy screamed, as she saw the bogey sprawled on the floor, barely moving. She wanted to run to him but was grabbed by Dalton. "Leave him alone, you disgusting butt sniffer!" she yelled at Russell, again trying to break free.

"Mr. Russell, the chloroform, quick!" Ashford shouted, trying to restrain the furiously struggling girl.

Giving the moaning nyxx a heated glare, Edgar first strode to the struggling young woman, and yanked the sword out of her hand; throwing it aside. If fell with a clang against the reading table, sending the carafe with the fresh water to the floor. Then he pulled out a bottle and a cloth. "I run you through, insolent churl!" Short Tom croaked, flying to the desk. His one eyes glared at the strange men.

As the stranger lifted his hand with the cloth, Wendy knew what was coming. She kicked upwards where it hurt the most, but he turned aside, hissing a curse. Kicking backwards at Ashford's shin and his instep, Wendy hoped to make him loosen his grip, but he held her in as in iron. Struggling more fiercely, she knew she had to break free at all costs, or all would be lost. As the other man lifted the moistened cloth again and a certain stinging smell came of it, the girl felt the first rise of panic, and took a deep breath of fresh air. If they sedated her, then maybe they would be successful in taking her from the ship. And God Himself alone knew if James – or Peter – would come in time to prevent Dalton from transporting her back to England. She would never see James again…

It would mean a life of misery and unrequited yearning – and it would break James' heart. No, she couldn't allow it! "Short Tom, get James!" she screamed towards the parrot, who flapped his wings, not understanding what the girl meant. Turning her head away, she struggled even more desperately, but for naught. Then rough, strong fingers pressed the cloth against her face. Kicking and stamping, she tried with all her might not to breathe, to gain a few seconds more.

"Wendy, please, breathe – it's for your own good," she heard Dalton's voice at her ear; his gentle tone contrasting sharply to his violent behavior.

Her own good? To be taken away from the man she loved – from Neverland, from Peter, from her other friends here? The viscount was insane if he really believed that! Fighting against her impulse to breathe – against nature itself – she still held her breath. From somewhere she heard a Spanish curse, followed by the words, "Let her go or el Capitano will gut you from throat to crotch!" Then her need for air became too strong. Still kicking and wriggling, Wendy saw blackness creeping from the sides of her field of view. Frantically she looked around, saw the leaded windows with the sunlight pouring through them, the large desk, the harpsichord, the bulkheads – all so familiar to her. Then her eyes dropped to the exquisite carpet beneath her that seemed to come nearer and nearer – then the world around her fell away.

Ashford caught the young woman and lifted her on his arms. "Gadzooks, her parents should have warned me what kind of hellcat she is," he said, breathlessly, now favoring the injured shin and foot. And his arm that bled not much but enough to soak the old shirt. It hurt his pride, but he really had to give it his best to hold her, and it had been even more of an effort not to harm her in the process.

Laying her on the settee, he asked himself how a girl with such angelic features and such a sweet pouting mouth could be so ferocious. He straightened and glanced around. His gaze found the mumbling parrot, and he was certain that he had never seen an uglier bird. Then his glance wandered to Esteban, who now rose, a large bleeding bump on his forehead.

"Damn landlubbers!" the nyxx spat and reached for his hammer. "I'll show you to kick a Klabautermann!" He threw the solid little hammer with all his might towards Russell. Despite his injured calf, Edgar leaped aside. The carpet beneath him slid as he landed on his feet near the library and his injured leg collapsed. Losing his balance, he tumbled to the floor. He gasped as the small but unpleasant weight of the nyxx landed on his back; shouting in English and Spanish while hitting and kicking him.

Ashford didn't hesitate, grabbed the clamoring Klabautermann by the back of his shirt and plucked him from his companion's back. Keeping him at arm's length and ignoring the fact that the strange little being was thrashing and kicking, he went to a window and opened it. The smell of burning wood blew in. "Don't you dare!" Esteban raged.

" 'The Klabautermann leaves a doomed ship,' so the legend says. Well, this damned ship is doomed to go down, so you can go first," Dalton replied angrily, but before he could drop the nyxx out of the window, the magical being simply vanished with a 'plop'. Shocked, Ashford stared at his empty hand. "Dammit, Bryanna should have told me more about these bogeys," he murmured and returned to Russell, who had regained feet.

"Hell's bells, your girl and that dwarf gave us more trouble than all those scallywags we had to deal with this morning!" He twisted to examine the cut; it was bleeding, and removing the kerchief from his neck, he wrapped it around his leg. He grimaced at the primitive first aid.

"Will you make it back?" Dalton asked skeptically and Russell shrugged.

"Somehow have to." He straightened and went to Hook's desk and then the bookshelf, rummaging through them.

"What are you looking for?" Dalton asked, while bending over Wendy. The 'love bite' on her throat seemed to mock him: 'I was given to her by him, not you!' Furious Dalton pressed his lips together. How dare that cursed traitor and pirate come near his girl! There was no doubt that Shalford had done more than flirt with her - and she allowed it. Of course she did, she was to him as a moth to the flame. The question was, what had happened last night? Wendy Darling was raised well, schooled in courtesy and polite behavior, educated in one of the best girls' lycées in England. Dalton was certain she hadn't permitted the bastard to do any more than kiss her, yet the mere thought raised his bile.

"Ha, I knew it!" Russell crowed, holding a small heavy lockbox in his hands. "I knew that the bastard had more than those rings he wore." He opened the cover and showed it to Dalton. And there they lay – rings, golden chains, gold and silver coins, a variety of huge cut stones. Ashford was no expert, but he guessed that the jewels had a value of several thousand English pounds or more. Edgar closed the cover again. "In case Einar and Morton don't find the treasure they expect in the dragons' lairs, I'll take this with me." He grinned as he saw the viscount lift the girl in his arms. "You've a different kind of treasure."

"That remains to be seen," Dalton told him, mouth twisting down. "We have to leave." He went to the door; the unconscious Wendy in his arms. She seemed to weigh nothing. "Take care that our tracks are completely erased," he said to Russel, who nodded.

Edgar knew to what the viscount referred. He picked up the fallen lantern, took one of the candles, lit it with his new modern lighter and threw the candle on the floor near the escritoire on one of the carpets. He waited a moment while Ashford carried the young woman out of the cabin, and watched how the tiny flame soon spread along the carpet, heading to the writing desk. Satisfied Russell left with the lockbox under his arm, and let the door open to feed the fire.

Outside Alister and Jackson were busy launching the longboat, already above the main deck. Ashford pointed Russell to the boat. "Get in. You can't climb the Jacobs ladder with your injured leg," he ordered. Russell gratefully limped forward. From the open companionway that led under deck it smoke began to emerge, and Edgar glanced at Alister, still in his Indian clothes. "Playin' with fire?" he drawled.

"Indeed," the other man replied with a nasty smirk. "I think it soon will be rather warm for these scoundrels below."

Ashford hesitated. "They're still alive?" he asked, feeling squeamish. As Oscar and Reuben only shrugged, he added, "They will burn alive!"

"Or die from smoke," Jackson answered, two of them heaving the longboat with the unconscious Wendy, a wounded Russell and the packs which held their own clothes over the rail. "Best let it be, Milord, this ship will share the same fate as the woods on the island." He nodded towards the shore, where the smoke had grown thicker, and they saw more people gathering there.

Lowering the longboat onto the waves, the three men quickly descended the Jacob-ladder. They heard shouts from inside of the ship, but ignored them. In their eyes they only did the hangman's job for him. Climbing into the boat they took the oars.

Suddenly a tremendous explosion thundered about them, coming from the mountains and echoing. Looking north, they saw a cloud of dust rising and grinned. Ashford opened the bundle of his own clothes and checked his pocket watch. "Impressive. Exactly in time," he commented.

Then they began to row north, leaving the six pirates and the ship to die in fire and smoke …

TBC…

Aaaaall right, please put all cutlasses, swords, knives, bows and arrows, and slingshots away. I know, that was more than mean from me – leaving you with such a cliffhanger and going on holidays (*snicker*). Almost as mean as Ashford and his three goonies are, setting fire on the Jolly Roger and leaving a few pirates there to die. Wendy is kidnapped (and sedated), Hook fights the fire ashore and the whole situation seems to be rather hopeless for our heroine, the boys and James. Yet I hope you liked the chapter, dark and harsh as it was…

And to top everything I won't reveal much what you've to expect in the next chapter. I didn't add a 'part 1' to the title of this chapter for naught (*evil grin*). Ashford's whole plan isn't completed by now and he thought everything very well through…

Dear readers, like I mentioned I'm off to holidays now and the next chapter comes in two weeks. And I really hope to have some reviews / comments to read when I'm back (*fluttering my eyelashes*).

Have a nice summer time 'til then,

Love you all

Yours Lywhn / Starflight