Hi, my dear readers!

I have to apologize for the delayed update, but my dear beta-reader had to go through the chapter a few times more, and because she had to travel a longer distance to her son's family for Thanksgiving, she hadn't had time to finish the chapter sooner. But I hope that the whole chapter worths the waiting. There will be a few funny scenes but also sweet ones, I hope you're going to enjoy.

Thank you so much for the feedback; maybe you will like the next installment equally.

Have fun

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 43 – London Docklands, part 2

Archibald Hutchings had eaten his lunch and returned the tray to the kitchen, before he accompanied Lunette down to her special room to have a closer look at the dragon egg that was still kept hot. Placing a careful hand on the rough surface, he felt waves of a subtle vibration brimming through it – 'Magic, no doubt,' he thought. Dragons were magical creatures, after all, and filled with an otherworldly energy. Then he felt a shifting weight, a movement beneath his hand but said nothing.

He needed time to come up with a plan to free the young lady upstairs, to find Peter and to get the boy and the egg to the portal. Maybe the best time for smuggling the egg back to Neverland was in two or three days, when the viscount planned his 'rescue-mission.' The portal would be opened then and he could send Peter and the egg back. Would the wee creature e'en wait that long? Yet he hadn't the tiniest clue how to make this happen. He was a scholar – a teacher and book-lover at heart – and not an adventurer who plotted dangerous escapades. And dangerous it would be! For neither Ashford nor Lunette would hesitate to eliminate him, he was sure, should they decide that he was too much trouble.

Before he returned to his room, he quickly looked in on Edgar Russell. Horrified and fascinated, he saw that the fish scales had now covered most of the man's chest, spreading toward his right arm. But what was even more surprising was that the scales on his left arm were being absorbed, revealing … silver skin. And as Archibald carefully reached out he found it cool to the touch and very firm. The Welshman instinctively knew what was going on: Russell was changing into a merman. And he had no clue how to stop it, just like Brynna. Perhaps there was no way to prevent this – and then they needed to figure out what to do with the former Mr. Russell. Perhaps they should take him to the sea and set him free when he had transformed completely, but Hutchings already knew that this would cause a lot of problems –not least with Ashford and the others.

Returning to his room, lost in thought, he found a new pot with tea and a fresh cup. Lifting the lid from the tea jug he carefully sniffed – and almost let it fall when a thin rough voice told him, "No mix of sleeping drops went into it."

Quickly turning, his eyes bulged at the sight of the little creature standing beside the open fireplace. She had long pointed ears, rather wild hair and a weathered tartan dress. "W-w-what…" he stuttered bewildered, and the little female pressed a gnarled finger over her mouth, showing webs between her fingers.

"Silent you must be. No one except the young lady knows of Nissa!"

Archibald's heart pounded, but the alarm in him quickly turned into wonder and excitement as he realized that he was facing an actual member of the Little People, here – in this house – and she was talking to him! Giving the locked door a quick glance, he approached, and slowly lowered his bulk into a crouch. His gaze took in every detail. He saw the brown, wrinkled skin, the big upturned nose, the large brown eyes and realized who had paid him a visit. "You're a Brownie, right?" he asked softly, and when the bogey nodded, he had to smile. "I am very pleased to meet you, Nissa," he said and nodded his head. "Archibald Hutching's is m' name, but I think y' already know this."

Nissa nodded. "Aye! Not much escapes my attention here." She drew nearer as she sensed the pleasure and fondness in the heart of the older mortal man. Here was one whose heart beat for the Good Neighbors. 'So, there's more to him than finding dragons and gaining fame and celebrity.' Perhaps fame had been his first intention, but the visit to Neverland had changed him forever. He wasn't the first human whose attitude about the Fae had altered after being in a fairy realm. "Knowing of the dragon egg Nissa does – and that the magister wants to save the dragonling. And Peter Pan."

Magister – the old name for a highly respected scholar who taught at university. Archibald hadn't heard this word for a very long time, and then only in history lessons. He had to admit, he liked that title. "Yes, I wan' t' make reparations t' everyone who was injured during 'r stay in Neverlan' – or suffers e'en now. Jus' like Miss Darlin' down the hall, or th' boy, fer I learned tha' he was taken to an orphanage." He shook his head. "Tha' sneaky silky lied t' me – and Brynna did, too!"

Nissa snorted. "A spoiled child the dorcha bhiorach was once, now darker his heart grows – and with him the manor. But the witch is to blame, too. First a wise woman she was, then seduced by the darkness she was." She sat down on the hearth. "Help to escape the Wendy-girl needs, to find Peter before it's too late for him to return home."

Archibald nodded. "I'll do whatever I can to make amends with th' young lady. I know, I cannot bring Captain Hook back to life, but at least I can prevent Miss Darlin' becoming the next victim." He saw the Brownie bow her head when he mentioned the pirate's name, and saw the utter sadness on the little creature's wrinkled face. "You mourn th' captain, too?" he asked surprised.

"A good person my Master Jamie was – a sweet boy. Loving music and flowers he did, playing with his sisters and helping his brothers, loving jokes and laughing a lot. Then the sea called and follow his yearning he did." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "When the Ashfords came, at sea he was. The assault that took place here Nissa witnessed – how Master Lion died while protecting my mistress, Lady Marie, Master Jamie's mother. Nothing Nissa could do to save him – or others."

"You … ye're over two hundred years old?" Hutching asks flabbergasted. "Y' knew the captain as child and saw how th' Ashfords accused the Shalfords?"

Nissa nodded. "Aye. True to the king were the Shalfords. Nissa saw everything and could do nothing. But intercept Master Jamie I did as he returned from sea, riding homewards to demand answers as to why his father and older brother were accused of high treason. Learning of a trap that was laid out for Master Jamie Nissa did, so I left the manor and head off to warn him. Nissa ran and ran. On the road from Farnham to the manor she found him – warned him. Then riders came from behind and from the manor. Master Jamie didn't want to leave Nissa behind, but bound to the river and the manor I am. So only one solution remained to be taken. Erasing myself from his memories I did and vanished. He saw his pursuer and fled. The last Nissa heard of him as she listened to a talk between Ashford and an ally, losing track of him in Bristol."

Hutchings took a deep breath. "He certainly must've hired on a ship, headed away to th' New World, and th' rest be his history."

The Brownie sniffled, while a big tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek, before she lowered her head again. "For two hundred years, Nissa thought him dead and stayed hidden. Then the young lady came and recognized him on the painting in the library. And then talk about him you and the others did. Nissa learned that he survived in a fairy realm but had turned into a pirate. Warning him I tried, but for naught. The dorcha bhiorach killed my Master Jamie!" She looked up, her eyes – bright with tears – now showed anger. "Not getting his potion for the curse, he will! Nissa will make sure of it!" she swore; and Archie could have sworn he saw sparks dancing off her.

"Only justice, I think," the scholar sighed. "But to thwart his plans, we must act fast." He cocked his head. "I have t' speak with Miss Darlin'. After all I read in 'er books, I know she has a knack for plottin'. Maybe together we can come up with somethin' t' stop Ashford, t' free Peter and t' rescue the dragonlin'."

Nissa smiled up at him. "This we can do! But not now. Better in the late evening – when the others sleep." She hesitated. "But then the witch will have locked her in again – and Nissa cannot get the keys. Try she did to free Peter, but the witch wears the important keys around her neck."

The scholar's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Our plan shouldn't fail because of Lunette's caution. When I visited Switzerland last year, a colleague provided me with a Swiss Army Knife." He explained, "It's not a simple knife. It has blades and other tools as well, such as a can opener, a screw-driver, and – what we need now – an awl and a clip-point blade." He took the little item from the nightstand and pulled out diverse little tools from the handle, including the tiny sharp blade. Nissa's eyes began to shine. Then she giggled.

"No chance the lock to the Wendy-lady's room will have!"

*** PP *** PP ***

Stephan Davies and Jacob Brown arrived at the Jolly Roger, led by Hook and his 'cabin-boy.' Smee, who stood at the railing, saw his captain and Nibs approaching, together with a self-important looking man in his fifties, who looked very official with the clipboard beneath his arm. A younger man – tall and thin – followed him. He ordered the boys, "Below deck with ya, quick!"

As Hook, Nibs and the two strangers walked up the gangway past the crowd of curious onlookers, the rest of the boys had already vanished beneath deck, including a still overwhelmed Dark Owl. Smee greeted Hook with a "Welcome aboard, sir."

Davies and his assistant followed him, only to slow to a stop in amazement. The first surprise was seeing the beautiful old galleon up close, realizing that this was no late April fool's joke. The second one was the sight of the crew. These were … simply unbelievable. The men seemed to be of the different nationalities – European, Asian, African – and some were clean shaven, others had full beards. There were a variety of scars, an eyepatch, mismatched jackets and trousers. But no peglegs. And they all wore weathered clothes as if they'd just come from another time. They truly looked like … Pirates! And here they were, in the middle of London harbor, a stone's throws away from England's proudest bridge.

"They all are clad as pirates, too," his assistant whispered behind him, and his voice reminded Davies to pull his chin off his chest.

"Well, you've certainly spared no detail to appear … uh … authentic," the dockmaster murmured, addressing Hook. Even if this all here looked very real, he knew that there were no old pirate ships anymore – not in Europe and not in across the Atlantic. A few of these scallywags still sailed the Pacific but they were rare. No, these men looked wild and dangerous, but like their captain, he reminded himself, they were common seamen who simply were costumed. And surely that those cannons were spiked – weren't they?

"Oh yes," Hook replied, smirking. "We certainly strive for authenticity. Come with me, please," James said, climbed to the bridge and entered his quarters, the still astonished Davies and Brown at his heels. "Nibs, close the door," he ordered, glad to see that the boy remained in the cabin. Maybe he would need the lad's clever mind again for the fictional background story. Looking around, he saw the two fairies and the pixie vanishing beneath his bed. Of course, he could explain about the crew's appearance, but certainly not the existence of Little People!

Pointing at the temporary wall, he said. "The fire. My carpenter thought it best to secure the quarters as you see to keep out the smell and the chill. If you like, I can order him to remove a piece or two if you wish to confirm …?"

Davies sniffed the air. "No, Captain, no need. The smell is minimal, but identifiable. You were very fortunate that your cabin-boy discovered the fire before worse happened." He looked around, eyes large. "Great day in the morning, what grandness! The carvings on the ceiling, the leaded windows with different glass colors, the furniture and … Is that a harpsichord?" he asked, pointing at the instrument.

"Yes, I enjoy playing," Hook admitted casually. As he caught Brown's confused gaze directed at his metal claw, he added, "It's only a question of practice to play with this as well," he said, lifting his right arm. Then he gestured to the table. "Please, gentlemen, have a seat. I regret that I can only offer you some rum or fruit wine. The barrels with the better wine were flooded during the storm at sea." He nodded at Nibs, who quickly took three glasses and filled them with the red fluid from the carafe. Short Tom croaked quietly and turned his back to the visitors, clearly unhappy about the disturbance.

"So, this ship once belonged to your ancestor," Davies began after he sipped the fruit wine. It tasted sweet and heavy, but pleasant. "And you rebuilt it in Carolina."

"I found it there, the rebuilding happened in different locations," Hook improvised. He went to his desk and took the logbook Nibs had read the night prior. Opening the last entries, he offered it to the dockmaster. "Here, this gave me hints of where to search. This, and the location of an old house I inherited. It was my ancestor's home after he retired. I found his logbooks on the attic."

Carefully, respectfully, Davies skimmed the pages. "Incredible," he whispered. Closing the logbook, the dockmaster gave it back. "What a luck that it didn't fall prey to the flames, too."

"Aye," Hook nodded. "My desk was – fortunately – untouched by the fire."

Davies took another swallow of wine and clasped his hands on the table. "Yes, well, I see no reason why your ship shouldn't get a berth in our dock. Your men may look like they just came out of 'Treasure Island', but we all know that there are no old pirate vessels anymore. Yet, I ask you to make them understand that I don't want any trouble in the docks and in the inns and pubs around here. I don't know how the harbors and docks are handled in the United States or the Caribbean, but here in London we don't like problems. Yes, of course, here and there bar fights do happen, but I hope that none of your men will take part in them. I allow you and them entry to our town and country without any papers, and therefore you are all my responsibility."

Hook gave him a profound grin. "Of course not, Mr. Davies. You have my full understanding for your position and my gratitude for your generosity. I'll seek out the American embassy tomorrow to request copies of the ship's and my men's papers. And my own as well, of course." He had no clue how he would do it, but at least he sounded reassuring and trustworthy.

Stephan smiled at him. "Very good. So let us begin to do the paperwork. I'll need to fill out a form for each of your crew. Maybe it would be best to start with you and your cabin boy and then you call one by one of your crew to your quarters so that I can take their personal dates. And then comes the matter of harbor fees." He cocked his head. "Uh, how long do you expect to stay in London?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Mr. Davies. Like I said earlier, I hope to open a business of sightseeing here first, maybe later in other regions of good old England. And I also want to find out more about my ancestor."

Davies nodded; researching one's roots seemed to be a new hobby this century. He took a short tube from his jacket pocket, unscrewed its cap and placed the pointed top on the first form. "So, your full name is James Andrews," he said and began to write without dipping the quill into an inkwell first. Fascinating! Yet there was something that had priority over new 'quills'.

"Mr. Davies, don't get me wrong. Or course the paperwork must be done, but first we should move the Jolly Roger to your dock, or we will be caught here as soon as the tide goes out," Hook said firmly.

Davies' eyes widened for a moment. "Oh, of course! First things first." He rose together with Brown. "I'll send the dock pilot to your ship and I think three tugs will be enough. Would it be acceptable, Captain, if I return after your ship is in the dock? Then we can complete all forms when your ship is safe."

"I look forward to it," James lied through his teeth. At least he now had the chance to prepare the crew for their interviews and the creation of their answers.

Accompanying the dockmaster and his assistant out of his quarters and down to the main deck, Hook was confronted with the next surprise. Two strange men stood at the railing opening, clad in these absurd plain coats and short round hats – the current fashion style was almost an offence compared to the generous clothing of his own time. But times had indeed changed, and he had to swallow his surprise yet again. Observing the two strangers, he saw that one of them had a notebook and one of these new kind of pens in his hands, the other placed a wooden box with three long legs, an odd funnel on the front, a short blanket over the box's top onto the deck. Frowning, Hook approached them, Davies and Brown following.

"Is this your captain?" the man with the notebook asked a scowling Cookson and a confused Smee, who both nodded. With a bright smile and proffered right hand, the man headed to Hook. "Good afternoon, Captain. I'm Albert Campell, from The Times." He looked down at the commander's hand, saw the metal claw, realized his mistake, laughed sheepishly and, taking the notebook into his right hand, he offered his left. "I apologize, sir, I didn't know about the handicap."

Warily Hook accepted the offered hand. Remembering common polite phrases, he said, "What can I do you for you, Mr. Campell?" – 'Except for sending you over the side,' he thought wryly.

"Like I said, Captain, I'm from The Times. I was informed by a friend working here at the docks about the arrival of a four-masted Spanish galleon with a crew dressed as pirates. Of course I got curious and came as quickly as I could. We don't see something like this every day in the port, you know." He glanced around. "My, my, this is fan-tas-tic! I'm sure half of the London population will want to know more about your ship and you, sir. And I don't want to disappoint our readers."

Readers? Before Hook could say it, Nibs arrived at his side, and seeing the notebook and camera, immediately surmised reason for the men's presence. "The press?" he asked.

The man with the notebook smiled indulgently at the boy. "Yes, The Times," he repeated.

"Aw, great," the boy drawled with a faked American accent and turned his attention to a still confused Hook. "If they write an article about you and our ship, it'll be the best advertisement you can get. And free!" he added; sticking true to the made-up story.

"An article?" James blinked.

"What can you tell us about your business here?" the reporter wanted to know.

"A historical ship rebuilt for sightseeing. It's an original ship of a real pirate captain from two hundred years ago. And our captain is his descendant. He found the ship and refurbished it," Nibs told him with as much excitement and pride as possible.

Campell's eyes widened. "Really? This is a real scoop!" he exclaimed and began to take notes.

Hook threw Nibs a raised eyebrow and mouthed 'Article?' and 'Readers?' The boy gestured palm down, and whispered into the captain's ear, "I explain later, just play along."

"Albert, I'm ready," the man at the odd box on three long legs said; holding something in his hand while he slipped beneath the small blanket he had spread over the top of the box.

"Thank you, Henry!" Campell glanced at the dockmaster he knew from other occasions. "Mr. Davies, Easter greetings to you. Maybe it would the best if you shake the captain's hand and you both smile."

Davies nodded, offered Hook his left hand again, who, playing along, took it. The reporter said, "Look at the camera, Captain. Say at best a long 'cheeeeeese', this makes a nice smile."

Baffled and somewhat blindsided, Hook looked at the box, while Campell waved Nibs aside, and the man with the name 'Henry' said, "So, gentlemen, hold very still. One, two, three…"

They heard the low thunder as the shutter opened and closed; a small stream of smoke came from the box's side. Reappearing from under the blanket, Henry smiled, "This will be a good photo." Then he turned into a pillar of stone as he found himself surrounded by the pirate crew, with a dozen flintlock pistols aimed at him, while the captain had drawn his long, gleaming, keen-edged sword…

*** PP *** PP ***

In another part of London, Mr. Darling was picked up by Sir Edward. The director of the Bank of England even left his car to greet Mary and brought her a pretty ribboned box with pralines his cook had made for the family on Saturday. "As an apology for kidnapping your husband on Easter Monday," he said, which made the gentle woman curtsey and bestow on him one of her special smiles with her thanks. Like always, Sir Edward Quiller Couch was enchanted by Mary's loveliness and kissed her hand.

George stood there in his coat, scarf, gloves and bowler. Nana stood guard beside her mistress and cautiously watched the visitor, making him smile. "Such a nice dog. I'll never forget the chaos she made along with your daughter at the bank." He glanced around as his driver transferred George's small trunk to the motorcar. "Where is Wendy, by the way? I hoped to wish her Happy Easter. She has grown into such a pretty young lady."

Mary and George exchanged a quick glance, before Mr. Darling said, "Wendy is at her friend's family manor in Surrey. As I told you, she has taken ill and is recovering there."

Sir Edward nodded. "Right, you said she caught a nasty head cold. Poor girl. Here we are in our Easter holidays and she's to stay in bed. Her friend is the young Ashford niece, is she not?" And before one of the Darlings could answer him, he asked, "And the boys? I thought I might greet John. He's such a promising young man. I'm sure he'll be a fine addition at our bank, just like his father." He smiled at George, who cleared his throat.

"The boys are with my sister-in-law at the seaside, Sir Edward," Mary said, surprising herself at how easily the story flowed. "The weather is warmer there, and the boys will get fresh air and exercise before the new school term."

"How lovely!" the bank director announced, then he sighed, "But leaving you alone on this holiday gives me a bad conscience."

She waved it off with a soft laugh. "Don't feel badly, Sir Edward. I still have our maid Liza to talk with, and now I will also have some time to start reading the new book I got." She offered the older man her hand. "Have a good trip, Sir Edward, and I hope you both can convince the earl to make the contract with your bank. He couldn't ask for a better business partner."

Lifting his hat again, Sir Edward kissed her hand again, then he turned away and returned to his motorcar.

George kissed Mary good-bye. "I will call this evening," he promised again. "And tomorrow. If you hear something …" He didn't need to finish the sentence.

"If I hear something from Viscount Ashford concerning Wendy or I get a message from the boys, I will call the hotel where you're staying." Both had said this quietly, to keep it private, yet they were cautious for the case that Sir Edward caught a few words. Giving Nana's head one last pat, George left.

*** PP *** PP ***

Wendy was grateful for the lunch Nissa had 'organized' for her around midday. The cold tea on the nightstand was 'clean', as the Brownie had put it, so the girl had enough to eat and drink. Now she had used the afternoon for plotting.

Aghast, she heard what Bumblyn and Nissa had eavesdropped in Dalton's study just before lunchtime. That skunk wanted her as his wife so her father would feel obliged to give him credit at the bank – credit to pay his gambling debts after he already embezzled from his own father's company? Well, now she had the optimal argument to give to her father for taking her home. Perhaps this was the place to start her avowed vengeance. Dalton would pay for killing James!

Next Wendy learned of Nissa's conversation with the professor. She was relieved as the Brownie told her that the man could be trusted. So, there was another ally in the manor. Not only the two little bogeys and the maid, but also the scholar. This was good news. She would need allies if she wanted to leave.

But first she had to find out where Peter had been taken exactly, and then she had to get away – easier said than done. She was in 'the middle of nowhere,' the next station was miles away, she had no money for a ticket, and between her and the next town were only woods and fields. So a solution might be to steal one of the motorcars and to drive to the next station where she – alas! – would fare-dodge to London on a rail. But there was a snag: The gates in the surrounding wall at the end of the drive were always closed except for the few moments someone came or left. And, as Nissa told her, Lunette kept the keys. So, someone had to come to get Wendy out. Wendy quickly put aside the thought of Victoria. She didn't want to put her friend into the middle of this mess – after all, Dalton was family.

She paced around the lovely room, quietly thinking out loud, as Bumblyn and Nissa sat on the bed, watching her pace and listening to her thoughts.

So, who else had the right to demand entrance to the manor? Who had the right to take her away? Her father! If she could reach him, let him know what was going on here – what really happened to her and Peter – George Darling would come. She had no doubt about it. As stern as her father could be, she knew that he loved her dearly. He would never permit her to be kept against her will here, especially not after she had been sedated – drugged!

But to make a call she had to wait for the night. Only then, when all were asleep, could she creep into Dalton's study and use the telephone. But then the next problem. Since she had been brought to the manor, her door was locked during the night. She knew it would happen again. So, how prevent Lunette from locking the door?

"An answer I might have," Nissa said quietly. "An odd knife the scholar has – one he can open doors with."

"He has a lock pick?" Wendy asked, surprised. A serious professor carried a lock pick with him? She shook her head with the hint of a smile. It was always the quiet ones ...

"When all sleep, he will come and let you out. And Nissa watches that he won't drink sleeping draught hidden in his tea." The Brownie smiled encouragingly at the girl, who nodded.

"You two are the very best," Wendy said quietly, bending to press a kiss on Nissa's and Bumblyn's cheeks. The two Good Neighbors giggled and beamed up at her. If they stuck together, they would outwit the nobleman and his witch!

*** PP *** PP ***

Aboard the Jolly Roger, the misunderstanding about the supposed 'shot' from the strange box was quickly resolved, and the reporter and his photographer nervously applauded the 'pirates' for playing their roles so well. "Your men are really into their parts, Captain," he had said somewhat uneasily to Hook, who still held his sword in the left hand, ready to defend himself. Yet James covered his ignorance regarding the 'taking of photos' (whatever a photo was, he knew he had none in the hold) by laughing broadly. He sashed his sword before answering the other man's question as best he could, sometimes grandly allowing the cabin boy to give details.

The 'interview' (as Nibs called it) proceeded while Davies and Brown left the ship to prepare everything for the Jolly Roger's arrival in the docks, and afterwards Nibs and the other boys had a lot of explaining to do. Yes, of course Hook knew about newspapers, after all the first had been published at irregular intervals since 1620, but learning that every day an edition was published – sometimes even extras in the evening or morning – took him by surprise. Yet, everything he had faced today seemed to happen at a pace much quicker than in his time, so why not a newspaper every day? And not one or two, but a dozen or more. At least 'The Times' seemed to be a famous and a serious newspaper, for so the boys assured him, and he was curious what he would read the next day.

Soon another stranger required access to the ship. While the boys disappeared quickly beneath deck again (except for Dark Owl who stood near the bow, attempting to absorb this new world), the man came aboard and introduced himself as the dock-pilot, sent by Mr. Davies. To Hook's shock the man declared that he would be in command while he was aboard, until the ship was safely moored, and only Nibs' urgent nodding behind the pilot's back made Hook reluctantly agree.

The visitor gave orders which sails should remained trimmed, which ones should be hoisted, and gave orders to Herbs how to move the ship in the middle of the river. Then he gave a shrill tune with the small whistle he carried on a strap around his neck – a signal for the tugboats, which drew nearer. Dark Owl remained at the railing, where the dock-master became aware of him.

"Is this … an Indian?" he asked Hook, surprised.

"Aye," the captain nodded. "His father is the shaman of the tribe and he … requested that his son learn more of the world before he takes over leadership of his people." The last was an excuse to explain Dark Owl's presence, but the visitor bought it instantly.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "I've heard of Indians and saw pictures in the newspaper, even saw Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show when they travelled around Europe with a few true Indians at his side eighteen years ago or so. But I never met the likes of one of them before."

Hook's mouth curled on one side. "They're people like you and I, sir, only they understand the nature of nature and things between heaven and earth that you and I will never grasp." Looking up into the riggings, he memorized the position of the sails. Hopefully sooner rather than later he would need this knowledge again when they departed.

The Jolly Roger had been moved by the tugboats and was pushed away from the quay into the middle of the Thames after the river had been cleared of any crossing traffic. Then she was turned so that her bow pointed towards the docks. What power this new steam drive had! And not only in the tugboats. Steam was also used to move the floodgates of the lock, as Hook learned from the dock-pilot.

"Steam engines hold the water level four feet above that of the Thames even during high tide. During low tide the basins remain untouched," the man explained. "And they've been working flawlessly for decades," he added proudly.

The last tugboat pulled the Jolly Roger into the lock. In the lock, the water level was raised to that within the docks, as the tide of the Thames was already retreating. As the locking was done and the second floodgate opened, she was pushed into the middle basin. To the right was the engineering house with the tall chimney – the power of steam had to be produced somewhere. The tugboat moved the galleon towards the west basin to the right that was separated by another wall and a further floodgate. Around them, Hook, his crew and the Indian brave observed the large warehouses made of sandy brick and five or six levels high with a lot of windows. There were also lower but longer buildings with arched windows, cranes and a few of those horseless carriages which were larger than that one the pirates had already seen and were obviously used to load cargo. Even a church was at the end of the area between the west- and east-basin – an attribute for the hospital and the old chapel which had been torn down together with the slums to make room for the new docks eighty years ago.

As the floodgate began to close behind them, Hook felt a prickling in his neck. They were caught within this dock, no doubt. On the other hand, the ship was safe from the effects of the tide. And Ashford couldn't try one of his dirty tricks on the Jolly Roger again, because here she was guarded by the authorities. And if Hook or the others truly had to flee, there seemed to be plenty of other routes, given the new traffic. He would hate to leave the Jolly Roger behind, but he would do it if there was no other way.

Seeing that the tugboat headed straight ahead, James addressed the dock-pilot. "We need a berth where the ship can anchor with the starboard by the quay." Seeing the half amused, half disbelieving gaze of the man, he added with the sigh of a longsuffering burden, "My carpenter is the best who has ever travelled the Seven Seas, but he is superstitious as hell. I'll never hear the end of his complaining and won't get a quiet minute if the ship his moored to port!"

Knowing about the old belief that it was bad luck to moor a ship with portside landwards, the dock-pilot only nodded, chuckled and gave Hook a glance full of sympathy. Many things had changed but seamen were still the most superstitious folk around. Even now, at the beginning of the twentieth century.

A quarter hour later, the Jolly Roger was finally moored in the west basin. The pirates still looked around in amazement. Even after the ship was secured, the pilot lingered aboard for a few minutes longer than necessary before he left, obviously fascinated by the ship. As were the rest of the dock workers still busy unloading two other cargo ships on the other side of the basin. They glanced over at the galleon at every opportunity and even waved at the crew, raising thumbs and smiling.

'If Teach or Vane were alive, they'd never believe any of this!' Hook thought wryly.

The chattering of the boys who had returned to the main deck distracted him. And their approach added another problem to Hook's list. Davies would be back soon to fill out those damned statements, or whatever they were called, and if the boys were still aboard, they would be seen eventually. How could he explain why there were seven boys on the ship, most of them too young to be hired? He watched them, and then noticed the sun lowering. It would soon be dark.

Pondering his options, he came to a decision and walked over to Pan's former gang and the two brothers. Addressing them all, he said, "I know that there new and faster ways to travel. Could you make it back home before dark?"

Curley and the Twins looked at each other, Michael nodded and Slightly answered, "Well, we wouldn't need more than an hour – depending on the schedule of the Tube or the rail."

"You want to send us home?" John asked.

Hook nodded slowly. "Aye. Your parents and Ashford think you all are still in Neverland – and I know Ashford is going to use that. If you're home, you can tell your parents what really happened, which could help us. As far as I know, your father allowed Ashford to court Wendy. But, if your father learns what that man did – not only to the peoples of Neverland but also to Wendy – he may realize the sort of man Ashford truly is, and then he and I can work together to get Wendy away from him."

"Logical," Slightly nodded.

"And…" James took a deep breath. "I'm sure Wendy thinks me dead. I saw her in further … dreams. I want to spare her as much grief as possible. If she is already home, you can tell her I'm well. If she is still with Ashford, we'll learn exactly where she is and get her out – her and Pan."

"A good idea," Nibs said slowly. "But one of us should stay aboard. You're still too new to all of this."

"If you want to stay, Master Nibs, I've nothing against it. You did excellent work today and …" James hesitated, "I must admit, without your assistance we all would probably be dead or in jail. All of this," he flung his arm in an all-inclusive circle, "is completely new for me. I'm sure that I'm going to need some more … uh … help when Mr. Davies returns. And you make a decent cabin boy." It was clear that it was difficult for him to admit that he – the Scourge of the Seven Seas – needed the help of a mere boy, but he wouldn't deny the truth. He did need some help, especially now at the beginning, and Nibs was a rather pleasant lad.

"All right, then I stay," Nibs answered, pushing his hands casually into his trouser pockets, then hesitated. "Hey, I still have a few shillings!" he grinned and pulled the coins out. "Right, lads. You'll need money to buy the tickets."

Hook frowned. "You don't have to scrape money together. I've enough for-"

Slightly smiled and interrupted, "Most generous, Captain, but … uh … well … Spanish doubloons are no longer acceptable payment." He let out the cat of the bag; it was a topic that he and the others had avoided so far, but now it was time to tell Hook that his treasures couldn't be used as he'd probably imagined.

James cocked his head. "And what is an acceptable payment method, Master Slightly? I do understand that Spanish money isn't exactly welcome in Britain, but I also have … let us say, a fair amount of the Golden Guinea. They were minted at the beginning of 1718 – after Isaac Newton introduced the gold-standard to the financial world. I'm sure that they're still acceptable."

The boys looked at each other, but it was John who answered, "I'm sure you'll get the double or thrice the value of them if you exchange them at any bank into today's coins. And the Spanish doubloons – they're more valuable than they once were to any collector. If you declare them as waif, I'm sure even the customs can't demand any tax for them. But maybe you should be … uh … very careful about throwing your treasures around."

"I don't fear a few thieves," Hook sneered.

"I'm not talking thieves, Captain. A thief who steals from another thief is really crazy. But besides, people like Ashford could abuse the knowledge about your wealth to accuse you of robbery – or smuggling. So, if you have a few coins you found in the 'wreck' no-one will say anything. But the rest – the jewels, the doubloons, Guineas, shillings and so on, you should keep hidden. Or sell them piece by piece. It won't arouse attention."

"Right, we have 18 Shillings," Curley called. "That's enough for the Tube for us all."

Hook had crossed the arms in front of his chest and listened attentively to what Wendy's brother had told him. It sounded reasonable, he had to give the boy that. Yet… "Mr. Davies is going to demand payment for the berth here. How shall I pay it, if-"

"I have a suggestion," John spoke up. "Once we're home I'll speak with father. I'm sure he'll be grateful that you brought us back. And after he learns what Ashford did and what role you played in everything – that you were even almost killed when you tried to protect Wendy – I'm sure father will help you to exchange a few of your coins against today's banknotes. If the coins are that old, they're very valuable to collectors. Maybe father can advise you how to invest them so that the money works for you."

"And that would explain, as time passes, why you have more money put aside than you originally invested," Nibs grinned. "And, by the way, with a few old Guineas you certainly can get the papers and documents … uh … unofficially. The American embassy will never be able to require your papers in the United States, after all, you, your men and this ship don't exist … officially."

"Nibs!" John groaned. "Your way is … unsettling."

"Why?" the boy smirked. "He and the crew need papers, the ship needs papers, they all need money and we're here in the middle of London port – near Eastside, where lots of people earn their money in a … an irregular way. I'm certain with a few good connections our Captain Andrews here will be an official visitor with a lot of money in his pocket in no time."

Hook chuckled seeing the amused faces of the other boys, while John looked horrified. Those rascals! Since he'd been forced to work with them, they'd never ceased to surprise him. They had allied during the battle with S'Hadh, but he had spent more time with Peter – and the sweet crabby storyteller. Now, with Peter and Wendy not present, he was getting to know the boys better, and they impressed him. Yes, the younger ones were still pranksters, just like the older ones had been, but every one of them was intelligent and refreshing. And the diminishing pirate in him warned him that he was about to get attached to the gang of little hoodlums.

"So, you can get home?" he asked, and when the gang of half-grown scamps grinned and said "Yes!" he nodded slowly. "Very well, then you should gather your belongings and return home." He looked westward; the sun was lowering. He made another decision. One he wouldn't have dreamed of before, not before S'Hadh, But now it seemed the right thing to do. "MR. SMEE!" he thundered over the deck, and the bosun came quickly.

"Aye, Capt'n?" he asked.

"Accompany these young people home," James ordered. He saw the amazed expressions he was expecting. Lifting both brows, he said, "What? Your safety is my responsibility just now, and James Hook does know how to take responsibility seriously."

"From 'you will walk the plank' to 'your safety is my responsibility' – what a difference," Michael muttered, shaking his head and making the others laugh. Smee grinned and Hook rolled his eyes.

"They'll never get past that damn plank," he grumbled, but felt (to his horror!) a smile tugging at his mouth. Forcing a grim expression on his face (which none of the others bought at all) he gestured towards the companionway. "So, collect your belongings and get your carcasses off my ship, you scallywags!"

*** PP *** PP ***

Peter had the most boring afternoon of his life – at least, it felt like that. Fat Elmer had read the rules of the orphanage to him, over and over again, demanding that he repeat them. Like everybody knows, Peter Pan had a lot going for him – bravery, courage, humor, loyalty – but one thing he did not have: A good memory. And confronted with something he loathed, his memory got even worse.

After two hours it was more a struggle with words – Elmer demanding him to recite everything and Peter twisting everything around until it was more to his liking, driving the other half mad. It was a battle of wills, and if Peter Pan was anything at all, then it was willful.

He won – Elmer gave up in the late afternoon. Thin Joe fetched him from the small office and went with him to the staircase that led to the dorms for boys in the anterior area of the building. "No dinner for you," Joe said harshly, while he held Peter's left upper arm. Elmer's complaining about the 'impossible, petulant, contrary and impertinent churl' was still ringing in his ear.

"No problem. Anyway, I'll pass if it is the same bilge as this midday," Peter growled, yet it was difficult to say which growl was louder: His voice or his stomach.

"We'll see how long you keep this rubbish up," Joe answered cynically. "We've brought everyone into line so far!"

They passed the hallway that led to the backdoor, and he heard children's voices coming from there. So, the door was unlocked! He acted on pure instinct. "Then good luck with that," he called, broke free from Joe's grip and darted off. Even weakened as he was, he put on a lot of speed – the prospect of freedom made him quicker than Joe. He passed through the other children, too surprised to act. Peter pushed past the rest, his gaze fixed on the open back door.

"Hey, what're you up to?" Malcolm asked, the boy who had taunted him during lunch, who now reached for him. Peter ducked under his hands and shoved the taller boy into the next wall. Reaching the door, he slipped outside where he saw more children lining up to return to the building. Elbowing his way through them, he reached the middle of the grim yard, collected himself and pushed himself from the ground – up into the skies.

He flew! Finally, he was free again! His hands reached for the skies above him – only to watch the whole world skip. Suddenly he looked down on the floor where he crashed a moment later. Hard. He bruised his elbows, his knees and the side of his face, while the impact forced the air out of his lungs.

What had just happened?

Surprised cries, laughter and mockery mixed around him, and Peter realized what happened: He had fallen down. He couldn't fly. But why? There was no dark warlock blocking his strength, there were no unhappy thoughts which weighed him down, so why-

He was gripped by the neck and lifted up like a puppy. "Have you completely lost your mind, you stupid lout?" Thin Joe was furious. "Whad'y'think you were trying to do? Fly?"

"Maybe he thinks he's a bird," Malcolm mocked from a sneering face. "Or he just wants to fly back to his pretty little island!"

"Or he's just crazy!" another boy laughed scornfully, trying to please Malcolm.

"Leave him alone! He just stumbled, that's all." Betty pushed through the crowd of children.

"Go play with the dolly you got from dear Mommy before she left you," Malcolm mocked.

Betty shot him a fierce glare. "At least I still remember my parents – unlike you," she snapped, her little hands now fists. Then she stomped to Peter and Joe, the latter holding the boy like a cat would do with her kitten.

"What was that, you dolt?" Joe snarled. "Trying to elope, or what?" He took his right arm and began to drag him towards the back door. "Tell you what, you would starve out there – or some bad guys would pick you up for your pretty face that wouldn't be so pretty after a few days!"

Peter had absolutely no idea what Thin Joe was saying. He was sure of two things: He couldn't fly and he was still here against his will. "Let me go – I'll be no more trouble for you then and I'll be free again!" he snarled.

"Y'know, I would love to do so, but ya see, our director made a deal with that nobleman, and so, sorry to say, we have to take care of you," the warden barked, dragging and pushing the boy through the other children. "Outa the way!" he shouted at Frank and some younger boys. "And you: Stop wriggling!" he hissed at Peter who was still struggling. But for naught. He was forced inside, up the stair and into a long room where a lot of beds stood side by side. All looked the same, all had the same grey sheets, a small table serving as a nightstand on the right. The lockers for the clothes were alongside the door. The window on the other side of the long room was barred, the glass dirty and almost obscured.

Joe shoved Peter to a bed in the middle on the left and pushed him on it. "This is your bed! Try to remember it. It's number five on the left side." Peter shot up again, but Joe shoved him back again. "You stay here, do you hear me? Save your energy for tomorrow – for the washhouse. When you've put in your ten hours, maybe you'll see your destiny here! And find your appetite!" He gestured to the mattress. "A nightshirt is under the blanket. Change and lie down – and don't even think of escaping again. I'll lock the door every night, too. By the way, the other boys hate it when the door is locked. So if you don't want to make them all your enemies, learn and follow the rules, or the other boys will be your teachers as well." He turned to the door. "Sweet dreams!" he mocked, and closed the door behind him, the lock snapped as the key was turned.

Peter stared after him, then he rose and rushed to the door. It really was locked. Turning around he ran to the windows, but even as he opened one, the bars on the outside made it impossible to flee. His looked toward the darkening sky and the clouds growing again. A cold wind swept around him, mixed with the stink of coal, dirt and wet soot. The clopping of hooves mingled with the clattering roar of the horseless coaches he had seen more often whenever he visited the Darlings. From somewhere a hoarse, deep shout reached him, while to his right a shrill woman voice was screaming something nasty at someone else.

He couldn't see much of the neighborhood, the dormitory faced the back yard. There were blackened walls made of bricks, a few dirty windows and roofs with dots of brown moss. There were no birds – not even the ever-present sea-gulls whose cries he thought he heard from somewhere to his left. No trees, no flowers, nothing. Only a labyrinth of walls and roofs, old, worn down, weathered and dirty with grime.

Would this be his life now? Locked up in this dreary, drab and hopeless house full of unhappy children and a few wicked grownups? Was he really to stay here, robbed of his home, his friends and the life he loved so much?

For a moment he was back at the beach near the Indian camp, talking with Hook about his deepest fear.

"My biggest fear is to be captured and forced to become a man."

A black eyebrow was lifted, blue eyes – still hard with anger from Peter's taunting half an hour earlier – were slowly softening. "Many people fear change."

"You don't understand. Every time I'm on the Mainland, I risk getting caught by grownups and being locked up – 'for my own good,' they would say. After a few days I would start to age and the way back to Neverland would be closed for me. The second star to the right would fade away for me forever. And … Neverland would sink into winter – maybe worse than the time S'Hadh was here."

The man sat down beside him, just one of Peter's friends would do. "You do know that you just shared one of your most personal secrets with me?" The rumbling voice washed soothingly over him in his memories.

"Yes," the eternal boy answered, knowing deep down that he could trust Hook…

Peter bit his lips as tears stung his eyes. He had shared this personal fear with the man who once had been his deadliest enemy – the man who was dead now from trying to protect him. And for what? He, Peter, had been abducted. He was here now, locked up in the Mainland and forced to stay day after day until it would be too late for him to return to Neverland. He was lost. He was now just what he'd called his friends – a lost boy.

A sob was torn from Peter's throat as he gripped for the bars, the rusty metal cold beneath his clammy fingers.

There was no denying it: His worst nightmare had come true.

TBC…

Poor Peter. He really faces now his worst nightmare: Being locked away with the prospect of growing up. And this all in such a bleak, dismal and unkind environment. It's harder for him than confronting S'Hadh.

In the next chapter, Smee will accompany the boys home to the Darlings – and you can imagine what lays ahead for the poor old man facing the traffic of London at 1909. Furthermore, he meets Mrs. Darling and then Mr. Darling calls from Liverpool and learns what really happened in Neverland…

I hope, you liked the new chapter, despite the dark time for Peter. Of course there had to be some misunderstandings between Hook (and his crew) and today's people, and it screamed for funny scenes.

Like always, I would be very happy to get some feedback.

For all of you a happy 1. Advent tomorrow,

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight