Hook's Revenge Read online

  “Oh, Roger, I can’t believe it!” Jocelyn said. “Today was absolutely the worst day. I felt like giving up, but then I turned around and here you are. Edgar must have brought you back with him after he delivered my letter. Isn’t the Neverland wonderful? What adventures we will have together, just like you promised!”

  Roger didn’t reply. Jocelyn felt a sinking in her stomach. Why was he just standing there staring at her? Certainly he hadn’t come all this way to tell her he was angry with her about being sent away from the school.

  “Roger?” A world of questions hung on that single word. His reply left every one of them unanswered.

  “I’m Dodge,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  Behind her, the other lost boys started giggling. “Did you hear what she called him, Ace?”

  “I heard her, what about you, Fredo?”

  Jocelyn ignored them, peering into Roger’s brown eyes. They looked different somehow—vacant, and lacking the sparkle she was used to. “Don’t you know who I am? It’s me, Jocelyn.”

  “That’s a nice name. I like it. Did Peter bring you here too?”

  Ugh, him again. “Peter? That flying boy brought you? How did—”

  Mention of Peter got the fairy’s attention. Jocelyn felt another sharp pinch, this one to her ear. The little devil rang out a series of alarm bells and wagged a tiny finger in Jocelyn’s face before flying back to her leaf.

  Jocelyn rubbed at her sore earlobe, considering her phrasing. “I would like to know how you got here.”

  “I told you: Peter brought me. I was running away from the workhouse—”

  “Workhouse? What were you doing there?”

  Workhouses are bleak establishments created to give the poor yet another reason to feel miserable. Picturing Roger in one of those awful places made Jocelyn’s heart ache. “Were those the ‘other arrangements’ Miss Eliza made for you?”

  “I don’t know. I just remember that I had been there for a short time and I was leaving. Before that, I really can’t recall. A boy, Peter Pan, landed in front of me and asked if I wanted to have adventures. Who could refuse? Did he bring you too?”

  “No, Pet—” Jocelyn noticed the fairy glaring and shaking her head. “Er, that person did not bring me here! I came on my own to hunt the Neverland crocodile. When I saw you, I thought—I hoped—you were here to help me.”

  The other lost boys’ giggles turned into full-on laughs. “That girl says she’s going to fight the crocodile, Twin,” the chubby boy said.

  Before either twin could answer, Jocelyn turned around and shoved the closest boy, the one in jackalope fur. He fell to the ground, tearing his hood on the brambles.

  “I’ve had enough out of all of you. Get out of here before I lose my temper.”

  The fairy made a laughing sort of tinkling sound and fell off her leaf. She got up with a red face and flew away, but not before she gave Jocelyn one last pinch. Jackalope Boy picked himself up and dusted his backside. “All right, all right, we’re going. You coming, Dodge?”

  Roger frowned. “In a minute. I want to talk to this girl some more.”

  The boys shook their heads at him but didn’t argue.

  “Roger,” Jocelyn said, once they were out of sight, “don’t you remember anything from before you went to the workhouse?”

  He squinted his eyes and tapped his head. “I remember…something about an explorer, with a funny name—Madge Allen, I think. He might have been a lost boy once.”

  “That’s right, Magellan. But he wasn’t a lost boy. We read about him on the day before my birthday. Remember that night? We looked at the stars and you gave me a gift—well, actually more of a loan—but I’ve kept it with me ever since. Here, I’ll give it back to you now.” She reached for her pocket.

  “Is it a kiss? Peter told us girls like to give kisses. I think I should like to have one.”

  Jocelyn’s hand froze. Her face grew hot. “You want, er, a…”

  In fairy tales, a kiss had the power to break an enchantment. Perhaps…

  She looked again into her friend’s eyes. They showed nothing but mild curiosity. He held out a hand to receive her “kiss.” Roger had no idea what he was asking for. Jocelyn was struck with a desire to either punch him or sob.

  Ignoring both impulses, she dug the little brass compass from her pocket and slapped it into his outstretched palm. “No, Roger, it was this.” Her voice softened. “Doesn’t it look familiar? It was your father’s.”

  He held the compass close to his face and examined it. “My father’s…He was lost, wasn’t he? Was he a lost boy?”

  Jocelyn felt tears welling up behind her eyes. Why couldn’t he remember anything? “No, he wasn’t a lost boy. He was lost at sea. Can you remember him?”

  For the first time, the girl wondered what had happened to Roger’s father. With dawning dismay, she considered the possibility that pirates, perhaps even her own father, might have had something to do with his death. The weight of that realization added to the guilt Jocelyn already carried over Roger’s dismissal.

  “Lost at sea…” Roger stared out at the ocean as if he might be able to find his father there. Jocelyn’s eyes followed his gaze. Mr. Smee was returning in the spare-spare dinghy.

  “Listen, Roger,” she said, “you can come with me, back to my ship. I’ll help you remember.” He didn’t look at her, but gripped the compass hard in his fist.

  “A pirate is in the harbor!” shouted one of the boys. “Come on, Dodge, we’ve got to tell Peter!” Without a word, Roger turned away.

  “Roger!” Jocelyn called to him.

  He turned back, giving her his jolliest grin. “Good luck with the crocodile, girl,” he called, and, pocketing the compass, ran after the other boys. Jocelyn watched, brokenhearted, as her friend disappeared into the trees.

  Roger truly was a lost boy. Jocelyn had been the one to lose him.

  Losing is painful. Whether it be a friend, a gold piece, or the tip of your little finger, loss hurts in a way that most other things do not.

  Jocelyn hardly noticed Smee’s return. She sat on the ground, knees drawn up and arms around them.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Captain,” he said. “I brought back a marlinspike and a belaying pin. We’ll find those rotten children that messed up the spare and teach them a lesson or two.”

  Jocelyn shook her head and climbed into the boat.

  “But miss! We can’t just leave it be, can we? That’s not the way it’s done. They attack us and we attack back. It’s the pirate way.”

  “Sorry, Smee, I’m not in the mood. Let’s go back to the ship.”

  “And now you’ve gone and said sorry to me! Did the captain ever say he was sorry to any of his men? No! And you—”

  “Mr. Smee,” Jocelyn cried, “I am not my father and I never will be! Take me back to my ship.”

  Smee snapped his mouth closed and started rowing. After a few strokes, he recovered his wits and prattled on about getting revenge on Peter and the lost boys. Jocelyn hardly noticed. She wrapped her father’s jacket tight around her but received no warmth from it.

  Over the sound of the wind, the waves, and Smee’s muttering, Jocelyn heard ticking. A trail of bubbles followed along behind the boat. She braced herself to fight, but the crocodile never surfaced. Instead, the bubbles disappeared and the sound died. She whipped her head from side to side, searching the water, but there was nothing there.

  The beast appeared to be toying with her. Jocelyn’s nerves were stretched nearly to the breaking point—perhaps that was its intention. And her meeting with Roger certainly hadn’t helped things.

  Roger. How could he have forgotten her? Could it be that he didn’t want to remember? Certainly they had been friends at school, but it wasn’t as if he had been given other options. He’d practically said as much. His only choices had be
en her or Cook. Perhaps since Jocelyn didn’t smell like onions…

  But then she’d gotten him fired—and sent to the workhouse. The workhouse! She couldn’t imagine a more terrible place. Even worse than that, her own father might have been part of the reason Roger had become an orphan. Why on earth would he want to remember her?

  Back aboard the Hook’s Revenge, she pulled Blind Bart aside. “Did you hear the beast? Is it still nearby?”

  “I most certainly did, Captain Jocelyn, though the sound of its internal timepiece is no longer present. The crocodile must be far from us now.”

  “And before? When I was with the lost boys?” Jocelyn’s face reddened. “I assume you heard all of that as well?”

  “Why yes, I was an unfortunate party to your trouble. My hearing is so fine—”

  “Yes, I know, it’s marvelous, but we are not talking about you right now. Since you heard it all anyway, I’ll ask you: Why do lost boys forget?”

  Bart scratched his head. “Interesting question. There are multiple theories regarding the amnesia manifested in the denizens of the Neverland.”

  “Just give me the most likely. In simple terms, please.”

  Blind Bart sighed and adjusted his eye patches. “It’s part of the magic of the Neverland. Forgetting keeps you from growing up.”

  “Then why do I still remember everything?”

  “Why indeed?” Blind Bart asked, then nodded and walked away.

  Jocelyn considered the question. It would be lovely to forget all the failures and disappointments she had encountered over the past few days, but where would that get her? She’d be stuck in one place, forever. Jocelyn did not want to always remain the same. Where was the adventure in that?

  Still, it would be nice to forget Roger as cleanly and neatly as he had forgotten her. At least then it wouldn’t hurt so much.

  That night, for the second time in her life, Jocelyn dreamed of her father. On this occasion he walked along beside her in the dark. She knew that they were following the crocodile, but they were traveling in a big loop. Round and round the circle they went. It grew difficult to tell who was following whom. Were they hunting the monster, or was it hunting them?

  Jocelyn tried asking her father what he thought, but he would not reply. No matter what she did, he was unable to see her. She stopped and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to face her. “Look at me!” she cried. “Tell me what to do!”

  Captain Hook finally turned his eyes on the girl, but when he opened his mouth to speak, only ticking came out. Beneath her fingers, his arm lost shape, turning into hard reptilian armor. Bloodred eyes shone in the darkness. The sound of a clock filled her head. The beast snarled and opened wide its wicked mouth. Jocelyn could do nothing to stop it.

  It was going to eat her.

  She woke in a cold sweat, tangled in bedsheets. Her arms flailed, fumbling for her sword. The infernal tick-tock still filled the air. It was present in her head, in her cabin, aboard her ship.

  Jocelyn dazedly pulled herself from the jumble of blankets. She felt as if she were still in a dream, as if she were somehow an observer of the scene rather than a participant. In the mirror above her mantel, her unblinking eyes reflected an eerie red light. She turned away and opened her cabin door, gliding across the deck like an apparition, feet bare, tattered white nightgown flapping in the breeze.

  Dirty Bob was on duty. He stood gazing out at the darkness, fiddling with his pocket watch. Its ticking marred the stillness of the night. Like a destroying angel, Jocelyn advanced upon the man, her sword upheld.

  He turned. “Good evening, Cap’n…” Bob’s eyes met hers and his voice trailed off.

  Jocelyn lunged, slashing with her sword. She cleanly severed the chain securing his pocket watch, and it fell with a dull thud to the deck. She attacked with a fury, hacking and smashing, until the timepiece lay broken, scattered, and silent.

  Dirty Bob gathered up the bits and put them back in his pocket. He turned a sad eye on Jocelyn and said, “That watch was the first thing I ever stole.”

  The girl’s heart cried out with remorse, but the image of her father was still with her. “I’ll have no ticking aboard my ship,” she said before retreating to her cabin and slamming the door.

  If you ask me, Dirty Bob likely deserved the attack upon his property. He did not deserve an apology note accompanied by Captain Hook’s own sterling-silver double cigar holder, but apparently Jocelyn felt otherwise the next morning.

  Jocelyn spent much of the next day alone in her cabin. Smee brought her meals, but they went untouched. However, being young and not much used to the blackness of depression, she found that her stamina for self-pity petered out by dinnertime. She joined her crew in time to hear Dirty Bob, gleefully smoking dual cigars, tell a tale about the Flying Dutchman.

  Given your general lack of knowledge concerning anything of interest, I’ll assume you know nothing about the Dutchman. The short version is this: The Flying Dutchman is a ghost ship doomed to sail on forever. She is almost always accompanied by a storm that appears from nowhere. Those unlucky enough to see the cursed vessel generally meet with an early doom. They might be washed overboard, killed in drunken brawls, or struck with dysentery. One unfortunate sailor I know of fell over the railing and was eaten alive by a pod of passing dolphins.

  Dirty Bob’s story went late, well into first watch. Still feeling remorse over her behavior the night before, Jocelyn excused her men, taking the post herself. However, thanks to Bob’s storytelling, the crew members were too afraid to be alone in their bunks. They all crowded around the girl “so that she wouldn’t be lonely.”

  Jim McCraig with a Wooden Leg made his way to the young captain through the press of bodies. Smee translated: “Captain, I feel the phantom ache. Storm’s coming.”

  Nubbins broke into a panic. “A storm’s coming? It’s the Flying Dutchman. Save us!”

  His hysteria spread faster than the pox. One-Armed Jack cried out, “I want my mother!”

  The wind changed direction and began to blow with new intensity. Blind Bart made sure his eye patches were in place, invisibility affording him some protection.

  The first few drops of rain fell. Smee made a sound that was certainly not a shriek and struggled to hide in an apple barrel.

  Lightning flashed. Nubbins knelt down and loudly confessed his sins. (None were worth listening to.)

  Thunder rattled the deck. One-Armed Jack cried out, “I-I-I see it! Lord have mercy, it’s the F-F-Flying Dutchman!”

  Jocelyn climbed upon a crate and whistled for attention. “Stop this foolishness before I give you dogs something to be afraid of! What you are looking at is a thundercloud on the horizon! It is not the Flying Dutchman!”

  The crew listened, taking courage from her words. Jocelyn continued. “A storm is coming and it may be a bad one. This is no time to lose our heads—we’ve got to ready the ship. I will not have you all distracted by ghost stories, so I will only say this once: There is no such thing as the Flying Dutchman!”

  The crew scurried off to batten hatches and secure rigging.

  “Strike the sails or they will be ripped to shreds!” Jocelyn called after them. She turned into the gale and faced the gathering clouds, trying to determine the best course of action. Something on the waves caught the girl’s attention. She rubbed the lens of her spyglass and held it up for a closer look.

  A great black ship was sailing directly out of the storm. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Jocelyn would never have believed it, but there it was, clear as could be: a ghost ship heading right at them.

  A part of her wanted to react as Smee had, to run away and find someplace safe (quite sensible of him, if you ask me), but she was the captain. If anyone, living or dead, threatened her ship, she had no choice but to blast them out of the water. Even in her fright, that thought made her smile. This would be eve
r so much better than paper boats aflame.

  Quietly, so as not to attract any attention, she made her way to Dirty Bob. The rest of the men were too busy preparing for the storm to notice. “Bob, I saw the Dutchman. It’s coming for us. How can we fight it?”

  The wind howled as the storm gathered strength. Dirty Bob took Jocelyn’s spyglass and looked. “No! It couldn’t be. But the ship—it’s unmistakable.” Bob’s hand shook. He lowered the glass and handed it back to the girl. Lightning flashed again, closer this time, and its light illuminated fear on the old pirate’s face.

  “That’s not the Dutchman—would that it were! Cap’n, you’d best ready your men for a fight. That there is the Calypso’s Nightmare, sailed by a man worse’n the devil himself.

  “Prepare to meet Captain Krueger.”

  The Calypso’s Nightmare and the storm raced to see who would arrive first. In what little time she had left, Jocelyn struggled to ready her crew for their first battle.

  “Offer no quarter and take no prisoners!” the girl shouted, but the wind stole her words and flung them away. The sea rose and fell, enormous waves buffeting the ship. Rain poured in earnest now, making the deck slick and treacherous.

  Jocelyn ordered Jack to drop anchor. The Hook’s Revenge slowly turned about, getting into position for firing. Krueger’s ship was close now. Even through the deluge, Jocelyn could see his bloodthirsty crew waving pistols and cutlasses in anticipation of fighting. Her untested men didn’t stand a chance against them. She called for Jim to fire a warning shot across the bow.

  Are you surprised to learn he missed? His shot hit the tip of Kruger’s mast. Other than breaking off the flagpole, no damage was sustained.