Hook's Revenge Read online

  The loss of their flag only angered the rival pirates. Jocelyn faintly heard their curses over the roaring storm. The Calypso’s Nightmare was now close enough that the girl could make out an eager wildness in the crew’s eyes, and the ship did not appear to be slowing.

  “Fire the cannons again! Aim to hit her this time!” Jocelyn yelled.

  Jim’s shot went wide, dropping harmlessly into the roiling sea.

  Jocelyn ran across the deck, desperate to get below and take over the cannon. Pounding waves rocked the ship from side to side; it was difficult to keep her balance. Just as she reached the hatch, Jocelyn heard the thwock-thwock of grappling hooks strike her railing. She was too late. The Hook’s Revenge was about to be boarded.

  “They’re coming, men! Ready your arms!” she shouted.

  One-Armed Jack complained, “That’s terribly insensitive, Cap’n. You can’t ready your arms if you only have one.”

  Jocelyn glared at him and shouted, “Shut up and get ready to fight, you fool!”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” he said with a left-handed salute. “A real pirate war? Hurrah!”

  The first wave of Krueger’s men landed on deck and the battle began. Jocelyn pulled her sword from its sheath and jumped into the fray. A huge man, covered in warts and tattoos, had Blind Bart in a headlock. Even in the dim light Jocelyn could see Bart’s face beginning to turn an unhealthy shade of blue. Fearful of damaging her lookout should she try to use her sword, Jocelyn ran up and kicked the warty pirate in…well, in an unfair place.

  Quit your cringing. It was the right thing to do. Pirates do not fight fair.

  The man let go of Bart and doubled over, wheezing. Bart tumbled to the deck, overcome.

  Wild with rage, Warty recovered quickly. “You’ll pay for that, little miss!” he yelled.

  The girl’s sword flashed and the big man’s speech was cut off—as were his pants. He stood there in his not-so-clean underwear, looking too astonished to move. Jocelyn backed up a few steps to get a better view of the spectacle. Her laughter pealed out, rising above the cacophony of wind and wave.

  Grabbing his pants with one hand and his cutlass with the other, the pirate moved toward her. “I’ll teach you some manners, girlie.”

  “That’s unlikely. I’ve already been to finishing school,” she replied, her blade at the ready. She took a step toward him and swung. He parried the blow. Their clashing weapons shot sparks that were immediately snuffed out in the rain.

  Though he was larger and stronger, Jocelyn was quick. While fending off the man’s cutlass with her sword arm, she used her free hand to poke him in the eye. He howled, dropping both his weapon and his pants, and grabbed Jocelyn in a wresting hold, pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Fancy a swim, missy?” he growled as he dragged her to the side of the ship.

  Jocelyn thrashed and kicked but was unable to free herself. The railing pressed into her back as her feet lifted from the deck. She would be tossed into the stormy sea and drown.

  “Stand down, Benito!” a deep voice commanded. A newcomer approached, his face cloaked in shadow.

  “But Cap’n—” Warty began, earning him a sharp slap across the face. He dropped Jocelyn to the deck in a heap.

  “Now go cut the lines to the lifeboat while I parlay with the little captain here. I wouldn’t want anyone to leave before the party is over. And pull up your breeches.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n Krueger, sir.”

  Jocelyn stood. The deck pitched and yawed under her feet. She steadied herself and brandished her sword. “What right have you to board my ship? I’ll gut you for this, Krueger.”

  Reaching out his index finger, Krueger pushed her blade down. “Put that away, child, before someone gets hurt. I’m here to parlay—to discuss the terms of your surrender.” Lightning flashed, illuminating a long white scar and rows of pointy teeth.

  “Why would I surrender to you?”

  “Your crew of imbeciles is nothing compared to my trained fighters. Acquiesce to my demands or I will kill every last one of them. Slowly.”

  Jocelyn glanced around. Blind Bart lay unconscious on the deck. Her other men were holding on, but it was plain to see they were outmatched. She sheathed her sword. “What do you want?”

  Lightning flashed again, glinting off Krueger’s sharp smile. “Give me the map to Hook’s treasure and I will let all of you go.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  He took a step closer, bending to bring his face close to hers. Jocelyn recoiled at his terrible breath, but with her back to the railing, she had no escape.

  “Liar! You are Hook’s heir. He left his map to you. You may think the treasure is your rightful inheritance, but you will not get it. That gold belongs to me.”

  “So sorry to disappoint you,” Jocelyn replied in a tone that clearly indicated she was not a bit sorry, “but all my father left me was a nearly impossible task. My only inheritance is to avenge his death on the Neverland’s crocodile. Feel free to steal that, if you like.”

  Krueger pulled back his hand to strike and Jocelyn jerked her face away. At that instant, an enormous wave hit the ship. The deck tilted sharply and Jocelyn lost her balance. She tumbled over the railing to the boiling sea below.

  In the chaos of storm and battle, no one even heard a splash.

  Jocelyn smashed into the icy waves with a force that drove all air from her lungs and pushed her deep under the water’s surface. Stunned and disoriented, the girl wasn’t even certain which way was up. It was terrifying, so dark and horribly cold. She tried to kick, but her legs were tangled in the long tails of her father’s jacket. Jocelyn struggled to get free as though her life depended on it, because, as she full well knew, it did. With a Herculean effort she was able to wrench her arms from the sleeves. Captain Hook’s coat sank to the bottom of the sea.

  The girl flailed and kicked, fighting for the surface. Something in the water brushed against her face. She reached, barely grasping it in her frantic hands—a rope! Hand over hand, Jocelyn pulled herself along. It was hard to keep going; her chest burned with the searing, horrific pain of drowning.

  Memories darted through her mind as though being performed on her own private stage.

  It was Christmastime and Sir Charles had given a ball. How did the ladies manage not to fidget and scratch in their gowns? Her own little dress felt tight and itchy. She wondered, had her mother ever danced with her father like that?

  She was at the seashore, a bit older, missing her front teeth. She sat on the sand, trying to make a castle, but she was too close to the water. Even when the tide crept up and destroyed her work, she refused to move. Stamping a foot at the waves, she yelled, “Go away! I was here first!”

  She was in a fast carriage heading for another seashore holiday. The countryside raced away, giving the impression that the coach was standing still while the earth moved. Traveling so fast was exciting. Grandfather’s warm hand covered hers. He smiled at her.

  Jocelyn was tired. So tired. The need for air was unbearable.

  At last, quite literally at the end of her rope, Jocelyn’s reaching hand grasped solid wood. With indescribable relief, she broke through the surface of the water. She took a deep, shuddering breath, gulping air and more than a little seawater. Her throat burned and head ached, but she was grateful to be alive. She found that she was gripping the edge of her own spare-spare dinghy. Captain Krueger’s plan to keep Jocelyn and her crew from escaping the Hook’s Revenge by pushing the little boat overboard had proved to be her salvation.

  It does my heart good to know how much the villain would have hated that.

  Jocelyn managed to pull herself in before collapsing from exhaustion. It was several minutes before she regained enough sense to take stock of the situation.

  The girl was clearly stranded in the middle of the ocean. She had no food. In the botto
m of the boat there was plenty of fresh water from the storm, but if she did not start to bail soon, she would sink. Her jacket was gone; one of her shoes was missing. The storm continued to blow with horrifying force, tossing the dinghy about on immense waves. Such conditions would have made it impossible for Jocelyn to steer even if her oars had not been lost.

  On the positive side, by some miracle she had not lost her sword. She still had her wits about her. She was uninjured. And, for the time being, at least, Jocelyn was alive. She would just have to figure out how to stay that way.

  Nothing lasts forever. Just ask any of my ex-wives.

  Long before dawn, the storm discovered it was late for an appointment and abruptly left, nearly forgetting its hat in a rush to be elsewhere. Jocelyn fell into a deep slumber, though the poor girl would not be allowed to rest for long.

  Three baleful sisters circled her little boat, craning to see what it contained. They were not impressed. “Look at the horrid little thing!” Jocelyn was indeed a sight: damp, dirty, and disheveled, with her dress torn and stockings bunched at her ankles. Exhaustion had given her skin an unhealthy pallor, and her hair was tangled with seaweed.

  “It is a pity it did not drown.” Although the words themselves plumbed the depths of ugliness, the voice that spoke was like rain in the desert: sweet and cold.

  Peals of laughter rang out in reply.

  Jocelyn stirred, wondering at the beauty of the sound. It was possible she was imagining the voices, yet even if they were real, the girl was too exhausted to care. She lay on her back and looked up at the clear night sky, nearly full to bursting with stars. In vain, she tried to locate the North Star. It swam in and out of focus in front of her bleary eyes.

  The boat rose and fell gently with the rhythm of the now-calm sea. I must think of some way to get to shore, she thought. Just as soon as I’ve had a bit more rest.…Jocelyn allowed her eyes to close again.

  “What should we do with it?” This was not the same voice as before, though it was no less haunting.

  “Let us capsize its craft and be rid of the thing.”

  Jocelyn’s eyes flew open. “Touch this boat,” she said, “and you will find a bigger fight than you are bargaining for.”

  Laughter sang out again. The sisters ignored the girl, speaking only to one another.

  “It appears that the ugly little beast is awake.”

  “Yes, and not in a very good mood, either.”

  “Didn’t its mother teach it any manners?”

  Jocelyn struggled to sit up, fighting waves of dizziness. “Why is it that those who are the most concerned with manners rarely have any themselves? How dare you hide out there in the dark, unwilling to show your faces, and yet carp on about my appearance?”

  Her words had not yet stopped echoing over the waves when a long, thin creature shot out of the water. Though it was moving too fast for her to see it clearly, Jocelyn spied a flash of shiny scales and pale white skin. It arced over the boat, landing with a splash on the other side.

  The girl leaned out, peering over the edge of the spare-spare. A woman’s head and shoulders emerged from the water. Jocelyn’s jaw dropped open. She was face-to-face with an actual mermaid.

  I am not a poet (though I have been known to pen a limerick or two). As such, I have no words sufficient to describe the siren’s splendor, nor that of her two sisters, surfacing to her either side. To say they were lovely is an insult. They were so much more. They were more exquisite than…let me think.

  I’ve got it: more exquisite than a sturdy iron chest filled to the brim with gold doubloons, silver ducats, and all the crown jewels of Lithuania, and festooned with a red satin ribbon—but with a tag that says NOT FOR YOU.

  Such was the mermaids’ cruel beauty.

  Jocelyn’s fingers gripped the side of her boat as she studied the magnificent creatures. Under the light of the moon, their skin fairly glowed, flawless and dreadfully white. They reminded her of the dolls Sir Charles liked to get her from France. The girl smiled at the memory of those dolls: they were quite breakable.

  Jocelyn needed help. As there was no one else about, she would have to get it from the mermaids. Appealing to their vanity appeared to be her best chance. “Please accept my most sincere apologies,” she said. “I’m now certain that I was wrong. No one as breathtakingly beautiful as you could be considered ill-mannered.”

  Three pairs of perfect lips parted in haughty smiles.

  She tried more flattery. “In addition to your, er, flawlessness”—she paused, trying to judge how her words were being received—“it is apparent that you are superior swimmers.”

  The mermaids moved closer to the girl’s boat, some of their coldness seeming to thaw a bit under her contrite, and complimentary, attitude.

  “It is true. We are superior to humans in every way.”

  “Oh yes,” Jocelyn agreed, “utterly superior to humans, indeed. I consider myself lucky to have made your acquaintance.”

  “As you should, child. You are undeniably fortunate.”

  Jocelyn’s fingers tightened on the edge of her boat. “Mmm-hmm, I really am. So, well, I don’t quite know how to say this…”

  Mermaids love only one thing more than their own reflections: praise. They can’t get enough of it. “Go on, human. What is it you wish to say?”

  “Could you—I mean to say—would you, please, push me to shore?” Jocelyn chose her words carefully, but they were still wrong.

  Water churned around the creatures, tossing the dinghy to and fro. “How dare you?” The sisters roared like the waves. “We are not creatures to be placed in the servitude of humans! We are the superior beings; you should serve us.”

  The girl knew her situation was perilous. As such, she had nothing to lose. She pressed on. “If I don’t get to shore, I could die—or worse. Please?”

  “If you were not so hideous, we might consider doing something to help you. However, as there appears to be nothing about you worth saving, we would be completely justified in leaving you to your fate.”

  Now you have a correct idea of the nature of mermaids. They are terribly vain creatures, only concerned with beauty, chiefly their own. A particularly luscious pearl or an unusually intricate piece of coral would be given an appraising eye. A handsome sailor might attract some passing attention. But a desperate girl adrift at sea is nothing more than a pitiful curiosity. As Jocelyn seemed to be out of flattering words, the mermaids quickly lost interest.

  Jocelyn wished she had something to throw at them. “Fine, don’t help me, you slimy, smelly fish!” she shouted. “I hope you swim into a net and end up in a barrel of salted cod!”

  Though she was not really in the mood to drown for the second time that day, Jocelyn almost hoped the mermaids would try to capsize her. She pulled her sword, itching to use it.

  Mermaids never will do what you want them to. The sisters did not even dignify her outburst with a reply. In a motion so synchronized it could have been rehearsed (and most likely was), they pointed their perfect noses to the sky, turned their flawless backs, flipped their haughty tails, and dove beneath the water.

  “Stupid mermaids!” Jocelyn called after them. Having done all she could to restore her pride, she sank down in the boat, struggling to remain hopeful that some other form of help would eventually arrive. She would just have to wait. Jocelyn tried to relax, but her growling stomach kept interrupting her. How long had it been since dinner?

  “I wish I had a nice broiled fish,” she said loudly, in case the mermaids were still listening.

  The girl tried to resign herself to spending the night alone on Neverland waters in a dinghy without oars. The moon was bright enough to read by, if she had thought to bring a book along, but it hadn’t crossed her mind during the whole pirates-trying-to-steal-her-ship-and-enslave-or-possibly-murder-the-crew affair. Jocelyn hoped her men were al
l right and that they were having a better time than she was, wherever they were.

  Another few minutes passed. Jocelyn began to understand those unlucky sailors, stranded at sea without any wind to move them along, who sometimes go quite mad. Insanity would be far preferable to boredom. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to muster up some lunacy, but to no avail. Having few other options, she decided that a song might help her pass the time:

  It’s all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog,

  When I last went ashore for me furlough.

  There I spent all me dough on the lassies, don’t you know,

  So across the Western Ocean I must wander.…

  The song echoed over the water but quickly faded on Jocelyn’s lips. Boisterous songs are best suited for a crowd, preferably one made up of scandalized old ladies, but out there, on her own in the dark…it was just too lonely.

  Jocelyn wondered what Roger was doing with the lost boys, but quickly pushed that thought from her head. Instead she sighed and flipped open her locket for company, lay back in the bright moonlight, and gazed at her father’s image. Without thought, she started to hum. Nothing specific, only a series of notes that felt in tune with the forlorn night. She opened her mouth and gave voice to the melody—softly at first, then louder—allowing the sound to soar up into the starry sky. The notes came rushing out as though a dam had broken, flooding the night. Every feeling held within Jocelyn’s heart poured into the music. Heartbreak, loneliness, and sorrow paired off with resiliency, stubbornness, and wild hope. Pure emotion waltzed through her song, alive in the night.

  Strong. Untamed. Breathtaking.

  Jocelyn sang until there was nothing left, but instead of feeling empty, she felt filled. She drifted off to sleep, still tasting the song on her lips.

  In her slumber, she missed seeing one of the rarest substances on earth: the tears of a mermaid.

  Jocelyn was awakened, shortly after dawn, by a smell. In her case, it was rather pleasant, though I can attest that “pleasant” is not always a fitting label when one is woken by an odor.