Dear readers,

Thank you for the first reviews and I'm happy that obviously many interested people have already viewed the story. Now comes the second chapter and I hope you're going to like it.

Have fun

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 2 – Riddles and Secrets

2nd April 1909, Northwest-Surrey

The train jerked noisily, which passengers ignored. These bumps and jolts were normal for most Britons, for the railways had been running nearly 70 years, linking most areas in Great Britain together. Since tracks had been expanded, more and more people used train travel – upper and lower class, because tickets were inexpensive, and the engines, which could travel nearly 65 miles per hour, seemed to shrink distances to nothing.

Two girls sat in a first-class car – both nearly young ladies. One of them had dozed off, the other was wide awake.

Wendy Moira Angela Darling drank in the snow-covered rolling landscape with her eyes. Surrey was beautiful with its gentle hills, deep woods, and wide fields under the dark clouds, inciting her imagination. (She could easily picture dwarfs and naiads frolicking in the snow, playing snowball games.) The white snow made everything appear friendlier. Sighing, Wendy propped her head against the window, the wide-brimmed hat in her lap.

Another Easter holiday, another trip home to Bloomsbury, another social event to attend with a young man she didn't know, a party or two, some homework, a few walks through the snowbound Kensington Gardens, then return to school – a school she had never wanted to attend.

For the past four and a half years she'd only been home during holidays or summer breaks, and even then she was often away. Three years ago, she travelled to Paris with Aunt Millicent, before and after that, she accompanied her family to the country homes her father had rented in Cornwall or Devonshire during August. The rest of her time had been spent in the Roedean School.

She knew all the travel was for one reason: keep her away from Neverland.

After Wendy's and her brothers' last adventure there, her father had put his foot down, 'to protect life and limb,' as he put it. Despite her aunt's promise that her parents would spare her this, nothing persuaded George Darling to permit her to remain in London. His official story was that he wanted her to become a 'proper lady,' and this was only possible with a finishing school education for girls of the upper merchant class. She knew that the simple truth was that he was preventing another visit to that magical island with its dangers. He shuddered when he remembered her eyes shining after her first visit, glowing as she told them of what happened there: "Oh, mother, father, I almost became a pirate!"

Wendy had begged, cried, had threatened to run away, but nothing worked. She knew that Peter would never find her if she left London, but all her tantrums, her objections and occasional tirades had been for naught. After the summer holidays in 1904, she travelled with her parents to Brighton to the Roedean School, while her all her adopted and natural brothers and her adopted cousin Slightly would attend boys' schools in London. They, at least could be home during the weekends. Unlike her.

The Roedean School had been founded in 1885 by three sisters. It was built for girls between age eleven and eighteen, and with courses in the 'domestic sciences' for the middle and upper classes, and academics for the new women's colleges at Cambridge, Oxford, Girton and Newham. The school was first located in the Wimbledon House but soon outgrew it. In 1898, the school moved to the newly erected estate outside of Brighton, on the cliffs, designed and built by Sir John Simpson, an up-and-coming architect who would later become the president of the Royal Institute for British Architects.

Wendy knew that paying for everyone's schooling was quite expensive. Even with Michael's wonderful bounty from Neverland – a boot full of jewels, pearls, gold and antique golden treasures confiscated from Mr. Smee – budget-minded George Darling still scrimped so that they could afford to educate their children in the finest manner. (It seemed her father was addicted to thrift!) But she'd never wanted to leave London, knew none of the girls at Roedean, and the stern and unyielding life in boarding school was hard on her. She was soon homesick, and only the sight of the sea nearby soothed her aching soul. It reminded her, of course, of the shores of Neverland, uncovering in her heart an almost unbearable longing for that wondrous place.

Then, her daily prayers were answered, albeit in a different way than hoped for. It wasn't Peter Pan who arrived two weeks after school begin at Roedean, but a new girl who quickly became her friend – Victoria Anne Ashford. She had lost her parents only a few weeks before. The two girls quickly bonded over shared losses.

The Ashford family owned a shipyard in Dartmouth, Devonshire, originally managed by Victoria's father, and a shipping company in London. Her parents, Maxwell and Margrethe Ashford, had boarded a ship to Genoa for business, but it collided with the high cliffs around Cape St. Vincente in Portugal. Rescuers saved a third of the passengers and a few of the crew, the others were never found in that roiling, violent surf.

It was August 1904. Her mother's sister took her in at first, in London, then she lived with her uncle and his wife at the Ashford Manor. But as the only girl, and still very much a child, it was decided to send her to boarding school. It was four weeks after her parents' memorial service that Victoria arrived at Roedean. Not only was she still mourning their loss, but she was then torn from familiar surroundings. She and Wendy shared the same soul ache: Homesickness. Both missed their parents and the freedom they'd had at home.

Wendy's talent for storytelling was a frequent comfort for Victoria – especially when she first arrived. Even if Vicky – as she was called by her friends and her cousin Dalton – didn't believe in Neverland and thought her stories of the flying boy and the rest were just a lovely fantasy, she enjoyed the stories. She couldn't know that the adventures Wendy described in such marvelous detail were quite…

… real.

Wendy never tried to convince her friend that her stories were anything but products of her own formidable imagination. It was better that way. Yet, Victoria encouraged her to write her stories down – perhaps as a prelude to the book Wendy wanted to write. Victoria supported and defended Wendy's hobby against the other girls, who thought Wendy interesting and quite nice, but odd.

Both girls were strong-willed, both should have been ready to leave childhood behind, both were proud in their own way. The two girls had quickly discovered the spiritual kinship between them and within days they had become close friends. By now they were 'thick as thieves.'

This friendship lessened Wendy's homesickness to a bearable level, yet her yearning for Neverland remained. She missed Peter and his boyish charms, and she often remembered Bumblyn – the tiny Hobgoblin she had befriended first at the Black Castle and who had accompanied her afterward until her return to London. She missed Tiger-Lily, who had given her the short leather dress for swimming, and she even missed that noisy sparkling pest Tinker Bell.

And, sometimes, in the minutes before sleep claimed her, she missed a certain villain with eyes blue as forget-me-nots and a dark purring voice, who had stirred something in her she still couldn't name, quickening her heart. Just like now. At the thought of the callous, dangerous yet charming pirate, she felt an odd shiver running down her back and there was an unfamiliar twist in her belly.

And there, on the train, Wendy's fingers found the bracelet beneath her blouse and jacket; its sleek design providing a sense of warmth. It always did. Yet she had begun to doubt that she would ever be able to return it to its owner as promised. In four months, she would turn 18 and then be surely too old to cross the barrier to Neverland. Her parents were ever on the hunt for a suitable husband for her, making her attend ball after party after social event whenever she wasn't at Roedean. And tomorrow would be no different. It frightened her – the prospect of never seeing Neverland again, or Peter … or Hook.

The engine whistled and its speed slowed; the jerking increasing. It woke Victoria and she sat up, drowsy. "Are we already in Godalming?" she asked.

"Almost. I can see the first houses," Wendy replied, smiling at her sleepy friend.

Victoria Anne Ashford was two months older than Wendy – slightly taller, a slender beauty with curly red-gold hair, green-grey eyes, only a few freckles (which she hated and Wendy loved) and a heart-shaped mouth. Fashion declared they wear travelling dresses made of thick tweed down to their ankles, fitted tapered jackets and high-collared blouses decorated with lace. At present, the style-makers decided that, after turning 16, girls would wind their hair into a topknot that fitted into the curve of the wide-brimmed hat. A few strands of hair curled around their faces and the two friends wore ankle-high boots because of the weather. Woolen scarfs and gloves completed the outfit.

"Time to get ready," Victoria said, stood and reached for her coat, only to be hurled back on the seat as the train's brakes suddenly caught. Her cry was drowned out by the deafening squeal of the wheels. "Curse them!" Vicky cried, not noticing she was being very improper. "Is that engine driver crazy?"

Wendy, who had caught her out of reflex, giggled. "When will you ever learn that that they always do that at the last moment?" she teased.

"Hmpf," Vicky grumbled.

They waited until the train had well and truly stopped, only then they rose, slipped into their coats, hats, and scarfs, and picked up luggage and umbrellas. They left the first-class compartment and, at the door, the porter tossed their baggage to the platform. The steam and smoke of the engine engulfed the station in heavy fog, but the roof protected the platform from the weather.

"Victoria!"

A young man pushed through the crowd of travelers ascending and descending the train. That Friday, one week before Good Friday, was when the Easter holidays started. The train platform was always full of children who wanted to go home, running back and forth in search of their parents. Waving at the two girls, the young man closed the distance to them.

"Dalton!" Vicky hurried toward her cousin. They weren't as close as they'd been as children, but they each still enjoyed the other's company, and they embraced warmly. Exchanging a few words of welcome, Dalton turned towards the other girl waiting by his cousin.

"Miss Darling, how nice to meet you finally," he said, bowing over her right hand.

Wendy curtseyed. "Earl Ashford, thank you very much for your invitation and allowing me to stay with Victoria at Ashford Manor."

Dalton looked up and smiled. "It's a pleasure," he replied, meaning it. His cousin's young friend was … beautiful, with large dove-blue eyes and long lashes, full red lips, a little snub nose and heart-shaped features. Her hair was a thick golden brown. She was an inch shorter than Victoria, slender, with a natural grace many girls worked hard to learn but few achieved. He saw her gaze moving down towards their still-joined hands and he released her fingers. "Um … sorry," he said, and she chuckled.

"Forgiven," she answered casually.

Tearing his eyes from the girl, Dalton waved at the porter. "Please bring their luggage to my motor car. Follow me!"

Ten minutes later they were on the road, driving first to Milford, then north for half a mile to the street that finally led to Elstead toward the west. The unpaved roads gave the Austin Landaulette a merry tossing, enough to make the passengers cling to every hold they could find.

"Sorry, ladies, but the snow makes the roads worse than usual," Dalton shouted over the noise of the motor-car; mentally agreeing with his old nurse that these back roads should indeed be paved. This was unacceptable, he thought.

Wendy looked out at the landscape. She really was taken by it, especially after it stopped snowing and sunshine broke through the clouds. The meadows. The fields. The River Wey that peeked at them here and there on the right. The soft hills of England's idyllic countryside.

They passed through Elstead with its cottages, homes, shops and the Church of St. James, and then on up to Charles Hill. Ten minutes later they stopped in front of Ashford Manor. Stepping from the car, Wendy felt a foreboding she couldn't deny, "As if someone walked over my grave," her aunt would say. Something awaited her here; she was certain of it. Perhaps it had to do with handsome Dalton Ashford who helped her disembark. Curious, and now a bit on edge, Wendy followed Vicky and her cousin up the wide stairs and into the manse.

The foyer was tiled with black and white stone, part of it carpeted. The walls were white between wooden panels, and hung with large oil paintings of ancestors long gone. A dark richly carved wooden staircase led to the upper level, and the many-crystalled chandelier lit all the corners. To the left and the right, long corridors led to the wings, walls and floor matching the entrance hall. Everywhere, the new electric lights were switched on, and in the large open fireplace, framed by a carved stone mantle, burned a well-fed fire. This large home offered warmth and coziness, yet the dark wood paneling reflected its dark and bloody history.

Wendy was momentarily reminded of the Black Castle – the ruin in Neverland above Marooner's Rock. The castle was a ruin, split in two by a spell at a time when light and dark fought against each other – long before Peter had set foot on the island. But within the ruin were habitable rooms, and Hook used them himself. Private chambers there, the main room, the corridors – they were quite similar to this, yet no one of the captain's description would walk out of one of the many doors, she told herself firmly with a little sigh.

No, rather an old woman, hair in a tight grey bun and wearing a black dress with a white collar approached. Her hawk-like face was covered with wrinkles, and when the pale eyes found Wendy, the girl felt something cold prickling the back of her neck. Her instincts had been sharpened by her Neverland visits, and in that moment, she sensed something … uncanny. Then it vanished.

"Brynna!" Victoria called, running to the old woman and embracing her. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you, child," the older lady replied, her Welsh accent subdued, returning Vicky's hug before she turned her attention to the other girl.

At the first she saw nothing extraordinary in Wendy Darling, aside from being a pretty girl. And then Lunette looked into the girl's eyes. They twinkled with the knowledge someone only gained after meeting the Little People.

Lunette closed her eyes and listened to her instincts, attention focused on the girl. There was light – light that shone through green branches and danced on the waves of the sea. There were the screams of sea gulls and then… the sounds of fairies, the shrill voices of pixies, the grumbling of gnomes. And there was MORE, so much more! The whisper of leaves, the rush of surge at cliffs and the creaking of … planks?

"Brynna, are you not well?" Victoria's voice brought her back to the guests.

Opening her eyes, she glanced toward Dalton and a worried Victoria. "My apology," she said; her Welsh accent for once clear and bright. "I think, I mayhap to come down with a cold. I'm … a bit wobbly."

"The trip yesterday was hard on you," the young Viscount said fussily. "This weather…"

"… is what it is, and spring will come after, to be sure," Brynna interrupted, and offered her thin hand to Wendy. "Please excuse my lack of manners, Miss Darling. I'm Brynna Lunette, Dalton's old nanny and 'house-spirit' for all. Welcome to the manor and I hope you enjoy your stay here." She watched the girl closely when referring to herself as a 'house-spirit' and she saw a flicker in those dove-blue eyes, followed by a fleeting moment of tension. 'Aye, girl, I'm sure you're one of the few people who has crossed the borders between our world and that island you're so fond of,' she thought, while keeping a warm smile in place.

"Thank you, Miss Lunette – and you, too, Milord. I'm honoured to be here and grateful to be able to spend more time with Vicky. We-" she glanced at her friend "- are happy to have this time free of noisy classmates and fussy teachers."

Dalton chuckled. "I know what you mean. I felt the same. But you both have one holiday and only one half-term left and then you are finished with school." He put his arms around both their shoulders. "And before you are released as proper young ladies, ready to face your future, you should enjoy any spare time you have here. Go, change your clothes and join us for tea. The calendar says April, but it's still winter in these climes, even though it has stopped snowing." They both smiled at him and each other. Dalton lifted his voice. "Jonathan!" An older man in servant's attire and neatly neat grey hair entered from a side door.

"Milord?" he responded with a bow, then addressed the two girls. "Miss Victoria, Miss Darling, I'm pleased to the see the young ladies in the safety of our walls."

Vicky groaned inwardly. Jonathan Price was certainly the most formal of butlers in whole England. "Jonathan," she greeted, while Wendy smiled at him, "Very pleased to meet you, Sir!"

Brynna almost choked at her own shock. 'Sir'?

Dalton smiled. This girl was too polite for her own good. Wendy paid them no mind. It was just that she simply respected every living man, woman or child enough to ignore their class. "Please arrange for the luggage of the young ladies to be brought to their rooms." Then he glanced at his guests. "Miss Darling, Jonathan will show you your room and-"

Brynna moved quickly to Wendy's side and slipped her hand around the girl's arm. "Let Jonathan take care of the luggage, I'll show Miss Darling her room." It sounded more than an order than an offer. And when she gave Dalton a firm nod, he understood.

"Very well, Brynna. Then I will accompany Vicky to her room. Tea in half an hour?" he suggested, what was met with agreement.

The room that was placed at Wendy's disposal could have come straight from a fairytale book. A large four-poster bed with a red canopy, a large wardrobe in Renaissance-style, a dressing-table from the same era, and comfy chairs grouped by a well-tended fireplace greeted her. Near the wardrobe stood a large free-standing oval mirror. The beige walls contrasted with the floor and the ceiling in dark wood paneling – those at the ceiling were carved in an intricate coffer-form. Thick carpets were inviting to cold feet, and a large oriel window – mullioned – allowed a lot of light into the room.

Even as Wendy protested, Brynna helped her unpack part of her bag; talking with her considerately about school, her classmates and if she looked forward to the upcoming social event they would attend the next day. When one of the maids, Olivia, knocked and offered her service, Lunette simply sat down on the sofa near the open fireplace and continued her chat with Wendy.

When Olivia was finished, Wendy politely declined further help, and she left. And after a few more words Brynna left, too.

No, Wendy didn't need any help changing because this corset was laced in the front. Moaning with relief, she slipped out of the hated undergarment that every proper woman was supposed to wear except for afternoon tea. The Darling daughter glared at the abhorred corset that had been redesigned over the last years. Indeed, it now forced a woman's chest forwards and her bottom back so that the body formed an 's' shape. Why it was called 'the healthy' corset was beyond her. Granted, it didn't constrain the waist and belly anymore as it had in earlier times, when the result was that even the strongest female fainted at a shock due to lack of oxygen. She remembered watching her mother struggling into that ridiculous garment. But this one still hurt after a day in such an unnatural posture.

Choosing a creamy dress with a high closed collar and loose in the waist (accented with a belt), she redid her hair and glanced in the long full-length mirror, first from the front, then from the side. A young lady was looking back at her, someone whose face she knew by now but who was still a stranger to her. She looked too… un-childlike, too grown-up, too… serious. Her profile revealed only a couple of the changes she was feeling in her body. This simply wasn't her. If Peter could see her now, he wouldn't recognize her. She was certain of that.

Sighing, she turned away from the reflected image, and sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the open fireplace. The silence of the house was relaxing after the noise of train and motor-car. Wendy was glad to have a few minutes to enjoy her surroundings.

In the peace, she gradually became aware of an odd feeling. And then it dawned on her what it was. This house was quiet. Too quiet. Her own home was rife with the activities, shouts, arguments, and projects of so many outgoing and imaginative boys. This mansion was big enough to house a large family with children, aunts and uncles, grannies and grandfathers. Yes, she knew that in the upper classes, almost every family branch had his own estate, but usually there were more people around. Even if servants remained in the background maintaining silence, they still scuttled in the hallways and chatted as they passed each other. But there were no voices, no footsteps, no slamming doors. This felt odd. Odd like the old woman. She had examined Wendy below half-closed eyes the whole time in a manner that made her wary, and something stirred deep inside her.

Something alarming.

If she only knew why. She sat quietly and just listened.

When Victoria knocked ten minutes later, the feeling in Wendy had not gone, but grown. She was almost glad to follow her friend to one of the salons for tea with her and Dalton Ashford…

*** PP *** PP ***

Hook was bending over the inventory of all supplies aboard ship. Sighing, he straightened, deciding that they soon would have to go hunting again, as well as deal with the Indians because the natives had corn and potatoes. Since their conflict with the warlock, there was a real truce between natives and the pirates, and both groups benefitted from it.

Short Tom – the ugliest parrot in existence – was perched in his cage on a natural and a wooden leg and slept. Suddenly he lifted his bald head and squawked nervously. The next moment there was a high-pitched scream, full of terror. It made both captain and parrot flinch. Hook gritted his teeth. He knew that voice: 'Mullins! You superstitious idiot! What NOW?'

With a curse he strode to the heavy door, pulled it open and stepped out onto the bridge of the galleon. "Mullins, you ridiculous excuse of a pirate! What are you afraid of this time-" he barked, but stopped mid-sentence, as he the frantic crewmember darted up the staircase towards him, then threw himself into a crouch behind Hook.

For a second the pirate-captain was too shocked by the man's actions to act. Was it true – the ship's carpenter, trembling like a leaf in the wind, was hiding behind him? "Something you'd like to tell me, Mr. Mullins," he asked sarcastically, itching to use his hook on this craven, gutless display.

The excessively superstitious carpenter crept even closer to his commander, pointing a trembling finger up to the skies. "Th- there, Cap'n… a… a… d -d -d DRAGON!" The words were forced out between pale lips as Robert Mullins' eyes swept between his captain and the skies.

Hook didn't know if he should laugh or explode in anger. He really didn't want to kill the man, after all, he was a damned good carpenter, the last one aboard (you might guess why.) So, clenching his teeth, he took a deep breath (alas, when had the man bathed last?) and sneered, "A dragon? Really, Mullins? Where? In the rum-barrel?"

The pirate shook his head quickly and answered in a small voice, "I've seen it, Sir! It… it's over t'ere and…" He stopped, unable to speak further.

Smee had reached Hook's side by now, shoved his spectacles higher on his nose, and grimaced, tapping his forehead and shrugging, silently confirming the captain's first suspicions.

Hook's gaze swept the main deck, where most of the crew watched the spectacle of their shipmate, wondering if he'd survive. Hook was certain some of them were already making bets. "Mr. Mullins," he said loudly, "while I do appreciate your trust in my person to protect you," (the sniggers were generally heard on the deck) "I am also very satisfied with your handywork as carpenter," he continued mockingly, "but I-"

He was interrupted not by one, but many shouts, while inside his quarters he heard Short Tom begin to screech frantically. Eyes went to the sky – were those ridiculous children attacking again? The crew pointed upwards and aft, and then, like one man, suddenly panicked. Most of them ran for the companionway, others tried to hide under the cannons, shoving each other out of the way or stumbled over fallen comrades.

And one word came from every throat: Dragon!

The frown on the captain's forehead deepened, peering into the clear blue above him. The sails were furled, so they did not obstruct his view, but the only thing he could see were the cottony clouds, sea-gulls and the endless blue sky above him.

"More at starboard, amigo!"

The gruff voice almost made Hook jump again. With a snarl he turned around and his glance found the nyxx.

Let us pause a moment to remember the Klabautermann that haunted the Jolly Roger. No taller than two feet, olive-brown skin, face full of wrinkles, sea-blue eyes and a full grey beard. A bandana tamed the reddish-grey bristle beneath a small tricorn-hat, clothed in shirt, waist-coat, a worn frock-coat, breeches and boots. The creature looked like a Spanish pirate in miniature, except that his legs were a bit too short for his body. And one thing that distinguished him from the other "bogeys" was the peculiar wooden hammer at his belt – the same hammer seamen hear shortly before a storm, when he uses it to check the hull or give warning.

He was the only one who was feared and welcomed simultaneously on any sea-vessel; the only one who could serve himself at the captain's table without fear of reprisal; the only magical being that Hook accepted on the Jolly Roger without a question: the Klabautermann.

Every ship has its own nyxx. He had only one job in life: to accompany and protect said ship. Yes, he played pranks – harmless ones – and his hammer-work could be heard deep in the night when he checked the ship's hull for leaks. He only showed himself when danger was close or the captain needed urgent advice, so every commander should know enough to listen to the Klabautermann's warnings.

These special beings love the ship they're serving on, and keeping their captain in a good mood was one of the ways to keep the ship safe. Only when the ship was in great danger and threatening to sink would he show himself to the entire crew. He is born the moment a ship's hull touches the salty water of the sea for the first time and becomes its spirit. Therefore, if the ship sinks or is destroyed, the Klabautermann will die with it.

Hook had accepted its presence since he saw the nyxx for the first time with his own eyes and realized what he was dealing with. But that didn't mean that he liked it. He glared down at Esteban, who was leaning against the door frame smoking his pipe, as if relaxing in the pub after a day's work.

"Damn!" the buccaneer hissed and winced as Mullins screamed again when he saw the Klabautermann. "SHUT YOUR TRAP!" Hook roared at the carpenter and then to the sprite, "The same goes for you, you-"

"As you wish!" the nyxx shrugged and vanished with a 'pop' just as a giant shadow crossed the galleon. Hook looked up – and went white as a sheet. There, only twice as high as the mast above him, a large red scaley body soared through the air and two broad leathery wings turned the soft breeze into blast of wind.

Hook swallowed hard and kept his face stern while cold fear crept up his spine. Of course, there were very few who did not fear a real dragon, but he had a history with another scaley beast. Even though he had managed in the end to kill the crocodile that had devoured his right hand and had hunted him for so long, the memory haunted him. The croc had grown to the size of six-horse-hitch in the time he'd been there, and seeing the version four or five times the size of that reptile that could fly AND spit fire made his stomach do a flip.

"W-w-w-what now, sir?" Mullins stuttered, almost beside himself with fear.

"Let's shoot it!" Billy Jukes croaked, frightened, clinging to the handrail of the staircase, hiding in its shadows.

James' thoughts were in turmoil, but he maintained enough control to push down the panic threatening him. "No!" he called harshly. "No one will attack this … this creature! We wouldn't stand a chance with our cannons if we didn't hit its heart with the very first shot. In exchange it could burn down our ship with one pass." He bit his lips and took a shuddering breath, while he watched the dragon fly an elegant circle and headed toward the centre of Neverland. "As long as we don't provoke it, it has no reason to attack us!" he declared, hoping that he was correct. Isn't that how one dealt with wild animals? One lesson he'd learned in his travels and infrequent confrontations with them: don't be aggressive, and don't act like prey!

It was true, he had no experience with dragons, but over the years he'd learned that most legendary creatures really existed. This island of eternal youth was full of storybook creatures. And, thinking back on the stories he'd heard about dragons, there were two types: either savage, killing monsters, or intelligent creatures with a black sense of humour, lust for riddles and wicked desire for treasures. Either could be true, perhaps both. And Hook was sure that he didn't want to discover out the truth by personal experience!

He watched the receding form of the dragon soaring toward the mountains. Even as the voice of reason shouted at him to go the other way, he felt a shiver of fascination. Dragons were majestic, yes, and meeting such a legend that was the central to so many stories worldwide awoke in him something like awe. There was no child anywhere who didn't long to see a real dragon. There were even honest and knowledgeable scientists who maintained their previous existence. Having sailed this world and his the seas of the Mainland, he knew there were mysteries in the seas that fit none of the naturalists' drawings in the libraries. And now one of those mysteries had just flown over his ship!

"C-C-Cap'n!" Smee's quavering voice made him turn around. The Irishman pointed upwards and he saw them: more dragons, smaller ones, larger ones, in red-gold, brown-gold and green-gold. With majestic gliding wings and steering tails they flew over the sea, following the direction the first dragon had vanished. If they even noticed the ship beneath them, they made no indication. None approached nor acted aggressively. They paid no more attention to the ship than to the agitated mermaids just outside the lagoon, but vanished between the high peaks of the mountains.

Hook straightened his tall frame and gave Mullins a glance. "You were right – there are dragons in the air," he nodded. "But I don't think we're in danger. They're here for their own purposes, and whatever that might be, it doesn't concern us. Please return to your duties."

Robert Mullins was still cowering, but he saluted. "Aye, Sir," he whispered. "An'… an' sorry, Sir, but when I saw that … monster…"

"Seeing a real dragon is indeed something to make a brave man tremble. I understand your … misgivings," Hook interrupted him. His own quavering nerve made him sympathetic to the other man's fear. "Distract yourself by repairing the door to the galley. I think Cookson would be most grateful." With those words he returned to his quarters, more shaken than he wanted to admit.

*** PP ***

The dragons neared the snow-covered mountains. Immense leathery wings cut through the warm air, sharp golden eyes warily watched the ground beneath, scales shimmered softly in the late afternoon sunset. Then the first of the creatures, seen in so many different symbols on earth, opened its long snout and exposing dagger-like teeth, and growled.

This was the expected signal and gradually the animals left the heights. With the precision of a stork finding its way to its old nest year after year, they headed toward a valley that offered them shelter for the final hatching of their young ones, still secure in their eggs, carried in large but careful paws.

Claws, long as swords and sharp as razors, enveloped the eggs, as the first of the beasts landed and carefully looked around. Its long neck allowed the head to look in every direction, then the leader roared, a burst of fire escaping its gullet. Instantly all voices on the island grew silent, even the fairies became still.

The mermaids in the lagoon submerged. The fairies, gnomes, tree-inhabitants and little people in the swamps, yes, even the firebolgs in the volcano, stood still and peered about in fear. The Indians left their tents and looked toward the Dragon Valley with something like alarm, while their shaman Great Big Little Panther took a deep breath – nearly losing his famous calm. Only one living soul on the island whirled about with an excited grin on his features.

Peter Pan rose into the air in a celebratory spin and looked joyfully at his companion Tinker Bell. "The dragons are back!"

*** PP *** PP ***

Afternoon tea was very normal, very quiet. Wendy could have predicted almost every moment from the many she'd sat through before – even at home. Some sandwiches and biscuits had been served, as well as tea and the hot chocolate Victoria loved so much. Small talk about school, the upcoming ball and the ordinary gossip of how family members were doing. Afterward, the two girls had time for themselves until dinner. Dalton led Wendy to his study where she could call her parents on the telephone to let them know that Victoria and she had arrived and were just fine.

The Darlings had owned a telephone for four years, and Wendy was happy to hear her mother's voice and then her father's. Even though tinny, she could easily recognize the timbre and rhythms of their speech. Her brothers were at home, too, but were studying or playing as the daylight lingered later in the late afternoon. Bidding her father good-bye Wendy hung up, and was escorted to her room by Dalton himself.

He was charming, unconsciously so, he smiled a lot and even joked, yet to Wendy, it somehow felt … off. Like he was wearing a mask – something she had sensed in many young men. Again changing clothes, the two girls attended dinner around seven o'clock. Wendy wasn't hungry, after the sandwich she'd had at tea, but it would be impolite to refuse dinner, so she did what many young women did: she took tiny portions of each course.

These days, in polite society, nourishment was a courtesy, and you could probably eat around the clock, if you liked. Even at night, hosts had to have some edibles ready should a guest wake up and feel peckish. How most of the ladies kept their slender silhouette was almost a miracle, but they had their tricks, some of which had nothing to do with a corset: a) They ate only a few bites per course and skipped certain meals, or b) those who had gained too much weight visited the sanitoriums or in sea resorts in South England or on the continent during autumn.

Wendy preferred the first option, which wasn't difficult for her. She didn't eat much on principle. That evening, she sat at the dining table in her dinner dress in muted green, a lower neckline and lace. About her waist, a dark green belt, and the loose sleeves revealed her porcelain-colored arms. Her hair was up again, so that the small pearl earrings were visible. They and the bracelet from Hook were the only jewelry she wore.

Victoria was clothed similarly, only in yellow, and Dalton wore a dinner suit, Brynna had changed to a dark blue dress with high collar, but of a fashion long past. The electric light from the chandelier above made the amulet hanging from her neck shimmer, exactly like the ring with the black stone on her right hand. She seemed to fit into the manor like an ancient period piece.

Dalton was once again the charming host, discussing things he thought young women liked to converse about. But there he was mistaken. The Wendy was not the usual young lady, and he was surprised to learn that she was interested in science, and ships.

"Ships?" he asked, perplexed, and laughed softly. Hadn't Victoria told him her friend loved fairies and other mystical things? "Well, I call that an extraordinary interest for a lady. Perhaps you would like to visit our shipping company in London. We've eight ships transporting goods for us from England around the world. We will be adding another in two weeks, one of the most modern ones with a stronger engine than what we have yet."

"Really?" Wendy looked toward him. "I love the old sailing-ships. The work on them is difficult, but they have something pristine about them that you can't find on the new vessels with their black smoke and their pounding engines." She smiled, expecting his objection. "I know that you do not lose ships in the calms now, and that they also stand up to storms better, but still I prefer the older wooden vessels."

Dalton nodded. "Understandable – especially for a lady with a sense for romantic." As he saw her raised eyebrows, he pointed to the bracelet. "The dolphins give you away, Miss Darling. Everyone who lives on land but likes the sea is taken with those animals."

"Not only those who live on land, Milord, but many seamen feel the same as well."

He chuckled. "And to how many real seamen have you talked to?"

The faces of Captain Hook's crew – scoundrels through and through, but bound to the sea like any other man, who had chosen the ocean over the land – flew past her memory. "A few," she answered slowly with a quiet smile.

He glanced back at the golden bracelet, his gaze was thoughtful. "A beautiful piece of art. An heirloom?"

Wendy had followed his glance and absently shook her head, fingering the dolphins and finding a sort of reassurance in doing so. "No, rather a memorial," she murmured, feeling a sudden rush of unrest the moment her fingertips touched the gold.

"A memorial?" Dalton asked.

"It's a personal memorial of my godmother, who died over five years ago. She maintained a small orphanage in America, and after her death we – as her only family – came into her inheritance," Wendy explained calmly, referring to the story she and her parents had concocted as to why the Darling family suddenly possessed their fortune and a good many new brothers. "Of course, we took the children in – six boys of different ages – and I love them like my own brothers."

The Viscount nodded slowly. This was exactly what his financial consultant had found out after he asked him about the Darlings last year. He couldn't know that the 'inheritance' was made-up, and he had been satisfied with the story and not followed up with the authorities in the United States.

"The lady must have been very taken with you, Miss Darling. And I can see why," he said eyes on her face. But unlike the other young women he had tried to woo, this one didn't blush or became shy. She rather looked him straight in the eye. Unusual – and fascinating. Once again he glanced down at the bracelet. "It is very detailed. You can even see the mouth and the eyes of the fish," he mused; assuming that the trinket originally came from the Orient.

"Dolphins are not fish, Milord, but mammals," Wendy contradicted politely. "They need air to breathe, bear living young and feed them milk – exactly like cats, dogs, horses … and humans." For a moment she imagined Dalton's reaction if she told him that she even swam with dolphins. And not only that, no, that she'd literally flown on the wind's back, had a real Hobgoblin as friend, talked to a Klabautermann, was maid of honour at the marriage between a rose-fairy and a pixie, fought against vicious harpies, shot a troll with an arrow to save a real pirate captain's life, met and allied with Elves, even lived for days on a pirate ship—

Well, she couldn't tell him those things in polite company, as it would destroy her reputation for all time. So she told him none of them, but if you had paid attention to her eyes, you would have seen those extraordinary memories of those wondrous times mirrored in those dove-blue depths.

It was Brynna, who sat opposite her, who saw most of them. Once again she thought she saw tropical forests, the sea, members of the Little People and a ship – a large, old sailing ship. Then the images in her mind vanished.

Dalton blinked perplexedly at Wendy's knowledge about dolphins. "My dear, you surprise me again. I have never met a woman before who showed an interest in things normally studied by men. Ships, dolphins and all in reference to science. Where do you spend your free time at school? Storming the library?"

Victoria giggled, and Wendy sipped her wine, ignoring the aspic on her plate, and answered calmly, "If there is any time left between lessons and sports, I pursue knowledge about foreign countries, including their legends and mystical imaginations."

Brynna lifted both brows. 'That fits.'

Dalton's nanny had told him before the girls arrived for dinner that she was convinced of Miss Darling's connection to a Faery realm. She needed more details. So Dalton tried to quiz the young guest. "Why do you want to learn so much about other countries?"

"Because I'm a st-" Wendy caught the word behind her teeth; knowing such a topic was a taboo for her as long as she wasn't old enough to live her own life. "I like to tell my younger brothers stories, and they must be as true to life as possible – at least concerning historical backgrounds. I don't want to be at fault if they mistake a story for truth at school."

"Like I told you during Christmas, Wendy not only tells stories, she also writes them down to read them to her younger brothers," Victoria piped up; smiling at her friend. "She has a whole diary full of them, even illustrates them, and everything I saw is historical, even concerning pirates and Indians."

Dalton chuckled, feeling Brynna's stern gaze resting on him. "How extraordinary. Perhaps you should publish these stories, Miss Darling. Mystery combined with history is very popular at the moment."

The two girls exchanged a glance with each other. "Perhaps," Wendy murmured, then she was distracted as the servants brought the next course.

During the dinner, Lunette's gaze kept returning to the visitor; eager for the dinner to end to show Dalton the proof she had found.

*** PP ***

Wendy and Victoria retired early, as they had left early in the morning. At Viscount Ashford's request, the headmistress at the school had ordered one of the few taxicabs available in Brighton. It picked the two friends up from Rodean and brought them to Brighton station. There they had to wait two hours until the train came from Portsmouth and took them to Surrey. It had been a long day of travel, and they were tired.

Dalton retired after dinner to one of the salons for a whisky and maybe a book. Brynna had remained silent about their guest all evening, but suddenly she entered the salon, her expression was triumphant.

"She is exactly the one we need!" She looked down at him with piercing eyes.

"You're sure?" Dalton asked, half warily, half hopeful.

"Yes. I took some hairs from the girl's brush while helping her unpacking her luggage, and so I was able to get a look at this magical island she visited."

"You 'got a look'?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

Brynna only smiled and turned around. "Come," she said and left the salon; knowing that Dalton would follow.

From the entrance hall, they descended the stairs to the cellars. The first rooms were used for storage and then a larger one for wine, but down the corridor was another door, Brynna opened now. Removing an old pitch torch from its holder at the wall, she lit it with a snap of her fingers – Dalton gasped – and went down a stony staircase that led to a deeper level beneath the manor.

"How did you do that?" Dalton asked and gestured to the torch.

"A simple trick I learned from another wise woman in Wales," Brynna answered. She led him onward to a strong wooden door at the bottom of the staircase; the rest of the branching corridors disappeared into darkness. Taking a key from the pocket in her dress, she opened the door. Dalton followed her and warily crossed the threshold, glancing from left to right into the dark corners. He had been here before, years before quite often, but still he was uncomfortable passing the barrier into Brynna's private domain. There were magical things that made those who knew how to handle them powerful and dangerous – and would send the new modern sciences into a spiral of chaos. Brynna had found them in the dungeons of a manor in Wales when she was a small girl with her mother – one of the maids – at the mansion. She learned from the former nurse how to use them and that knowledge and the experience of a lifetime had turned her into a specialist of the 'alternate science.'

Looking around in the dim light of the torches that Brynna had lit with another gesture, Dalton saw a small basin on the broad table in the middle of the room. Moving toward it, he recognized a crystal ball in the water. For those who did not believe in magic, it seemed to be a lovely decoration, but the young Viscount had learned long ago that nothing around his nurse was ordinary. Quite the opposite. In every book of her possession, behind every 'decoration' and inside every glass ornament were things no ordinary folk should tangle with. Even with something that looked as harmless as a crystal ball in the water.

Brynna closed the door after the young man and joined him at the table. One of her thin, knobbly hands reached out and held one single long brown hair. "This is another one of her hairs I took from her brush," the old woman said and laid the hair on the surface of the crystal while she whispered unfamiliar words. A soft shimmer began to glow in the ball's depth, increasing every second. Voices soughed through the air, using an ancient language he'd never heard. No one alive in England had used it in everyday speech. And then the light increased until it hurt to look at it. Dalton first squinted, then closed his eyes.

"Look!" Lunette barked, nudging the young Viscount. "The light is bearable now", she added. Ashford opened his eyes a crack and blinked at the gleam. At first he saw nothing, then he thought he could see the shape of an island, lying in a dark blue sea. Then, a high peaked mountain, covered with snow with the crater of a volcano. Suddenly, the view grew clearer. Jungles covered most of the island, some of the shores were replaced by cliffs, others sloped gently to white, soft sand. Smoke came up from something like a little village, a dark ruin of what was certainly once a large castle was seen, and in the sea a large old sailing ship with four masts – a galleon it seemed – danced on the soft waves.

"What is that?" Dalton asked bewildered. "It looks like the island Wendy described in her stories."

Brynna laughed quietly. "This, my dear boy, is the place the girl visited – the target of your quest. And more." She looked up at him with glistening eyes. "This is the land of eternal youth. It does exist – and Wendy Darling is the key to getting there…"

TBC…

Well, that Wendy is connected to Neverland is something we all already knew, but for Dalton and Brynna it is new – and they're going to use this knowledge.

So, other characters have been introduced: the dragons. I always pictured some of them coming to Neverland and so I finally dared to bring them into a story. And within this chapter was also one of my own created characters from the first part "Battle…": the Klabautermann Esteban. I know, the readers liked him and I promise, you'll read more about him soon.

In the next chapter Dalton learns more about Neverland and the 'medicine' to cure the curse, Wendy stumbles over a secret within the manor that his connected with her favourite villain, and some questions about Hook's past are getting the first answers.

I hope, you liked the second chapter and I would be very happy to get new reviews.

I wish you all now a nice funny time at New Year's Eve,

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight