Hook's Revenge Page 17

  There are many advantages to having your own dearly devoted fairy—not least of all a friend willing to come to your aid whenever you call. That is, if they feel like it. Sometimes they are busy doing other things, like studiously ignoring you or finding ways to make you miserable. In that way, fairy friends are not much different from human ones.

  Meriwether must have felt like heeding Jocelyn’s call. He appeared at her side even faster than the lost boys, though they too crashed out of the forest in response to her cries.

  “Was my ship in the harbor?” the girl asked her fairy. Meriwether nodded.

  “Is there any way you can help this boy get aboard?” He nodded again and pulled a tiny reed pipe from his vest. When he blew on it, Jocelyn heard only a sound like wind through trees, but it must have been a royal summons. In an instant, a small army of fairy soldiers descended from the sky and surrounded Roger’s still form. They showered him, and everything else nearby, with a cloud of glowing fairy dust. Jocelyn sneezed and rubbed it out of her eyes.

  Roger’s troubled expression smoothed into a small smile. Still sleeping, he floated off the ground. The fairies easily conducted him over the trees toward the harbor.

  “Go with them,” Jocelyn commanded the lost boys, “in case he needs something.”

  “Where are you going, girl?” Fredo asked.

  Jocelyn didn’t answer. She scanned the ground until she found what she needed. Without a word, she set off, following the monster’s track.

  For her friend, she would find a way to stop time itself.

  We are nearly there: the point where I will have finished spilling my guts and you will leave before I am tempted to spill yours.

  The Neverland may have sensed Jocelyn’s determination to confront its monster one last time, but it did not give her easy passage. Clouds of tiny flies swarmed in front of her face, making it difficult to see. The trail narrowed and trees joined dark arms above her head, hiding the sun behind a ragged curtain of moss. The ground grew damp, then marshy. Stinking black mud sucked at her bare feet. The very air tried to impede the girl’s progress, growing still and heavy with the stifling scent of rot.

  There are a few places in this world where darkness pools and fears come alive. The Neverland has such a spot: the Black Swamp. As it was a place particularly well suited to the malignant nature and appetite of the crocodile, this was where the monster chose to make its home. Jocelyn followed its trail, clear in the wet ground, leading directly to its dark den.

  After a time, the path widened, though little light shone down. The heart of the swamp was grim and dank and utterly bereft of life. Even the flies were gone. There, in the stillness, only the ticktock of a clock filled the air. As before, back in the carriage house, Jocelyn’s heart sounded in time.

  She stood at the edge of an oily black bog. Barren trees, bent and broken, struggled to rise from the fetid depths. The water, thick and dark as congealed blood, bubbled and belched noxious fumes. It brought to Jocelyn’s mind thoughts of witches bent over their terrible cauldrons. In the center of the poisonous brew, the crocodile lurked, red eyes just visible above the murk.

  The girl’s voice sounded braver than she felt. “You took my father. You took my courage. And you nearly took my friend.” She held up her sword in a shaky fist. “I will not let you have another chance. You will not steal from me again. Come out and face me.” Without any other movement, the monster turned a bloodred eye to the girl. Sheer malice radiated from its gaze, and Jocelyn staggered back.

  Wicked laughter erupted all around her, catching the girl by surprise. She kept her eyes on the beast, but her voice trembled as she called, “Who’s there?”

  Near a line of trees bordering the foul marsh, faint, misty figures took form. Jocelyn wondered if they were ghosts—perhaps the spirits of the crocodile’s victims? One spectral image drifted forward. Jocelyn could see, through its body, the dark and broken trees behind it.

  The apparition addressed the girl. “Look at the little hero, playing at bravery.” Its voice dripped sarcasm directly into her ear. Goose bumps erupted on Jocelyn’s skin.

  The others laughed and repeated: “…playing at bravery.”

  Jocelyn furrowed her brow, intent on the shape coming into focus before her. “I know you! You’re Prissy Edgeworth! Or at least you were.” Just as she always had at school, Pinch-Face appeared at Prissy’s side. “What are you two doing here? Did you die?”

  The ghost girl smirked at her. “Death did not create us. We are the images that you keep in your head.” She giggled. “Only we got out.”

  “How?”

  “It is the power of this place. The Black Swamp is home to what you fear most. That is the reason the monster brought you here. Why, look for yourself—he’s already gorging himself on you.”

  Jocelyn reluctantly turned her gaze to the beast lurking in the dark water. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but the crocodile, at least as much of it as Jocelyn could see, seemed to grow larger before her eyes. A chill ran down her spine, but she put on a brave face.

  More specters joined those already gathered. They grew more solid, nearly as real as life. “Look at her, Nanette,” the phantom Prissy said to the figure beside her. “Jocelyn Hook, the girl hero, is going to slay this gigantic beast and carry its head triumphantly back to school. Perhaps Miss Eliza will have it mounted and hung above the mantel. That will put us in our place.”

  “…in our place,” Nanette and the others echoed back.

  “That’s right! I will. Just watch me.” Jocelyn looked at the beast again. It hadn’t moved, but she couldn’t fight it in the water. Why didn’t it come to her?

  “Now, now, girls.” A third figure floated forward. “We must remember that Miss Hook is the offspring of the infamous Captain Hook.” Jocelyn recognized the features of Miss Eliza on the specter’s face. “Though I’d be surprised if you had forgotten; she does so often remind us. Pity that she will never live up to his legacy.”

  “My father was the most feared man that ever lived. I will prove myself to him—to all of you!”

  Next it was her grandfather, Sir Charles, gliding toward her. “Young lady, this is utter foolishness! You were meant to become a fine society lady, though that is obviously a hopeless proposition. You are nothing but a disappointment.”

  “You are nothing. You are a disappointment.” The figures flew to the girl, circling her as they laughed—mocking, pulling at her hair and clothes. She flung her arms up over her face and screamed. If Jocelyn could have seen the beast at that instant, she would have noticed an evil grin upon its foul mouth. It so enjoyed playing with its food. It drifted closer to her now, as though its hunger was growing.

  The specters grew still, but they did not release the girl from where she stood, captive in their midst. Directly in front of her, at the head of the circle hedging her in, floated her grandfather and Miss Eliza. They pulled aside, creating a gap.

  Jocelyn’s knees went weak. She could not believe what she was seeing.

  Through the gap strode Captain Hook himself.

  Jocelyn took in the fine cut of her father’s impeccable clothing, the wicked gleam of his iron hook. His face was wreathed with black curls, not wild and tangled like hers, but restrained, controlled. The very swamp bent to his command. He was immune to the mud that sucked and pulled at Jocelyn’s feet. Hook strolled right over it, not even sullying his polished black boots. Jocelyn focused on their shine, reluctant to look into his eyes, afraid of what might be there—and what might be missing.

  “So you took up the challenge.” His deep, rich voice held the edge of a sneer. “I didn’t expect you would.”

  Jocelyn spoke past the lump forming in her throat. “You asked me to. Your letter said it was my inheritance.”

  “Indeed I did. You were to come and avenge me. Fine job you’ve made of it too. You are a failure.�
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  Finally, she brought her eyes to his. They were shockingly blue, deep and cold, like the open sea. “This is not over. I will kill the crocodile.”

  Hook let out a hard, bitter laugh. “I was the most feared man to ever live. Flint feared me. The Sea-Cook feared me. Blackbeard learned to fear me. I made Kidd, Morgan, and Rackham wet themselves like children. And yet, that…crocodile”—Hook spat out the word like wormy salt pork—“that creature killed me! Me! Captain James Hook, terror of the seas! How do you, a mewling infant, expect to defeat it when you are nothing but a mere girl?”

  The ring of specters looked on in silent judgment. Meanwhile, the crocodile drew closer through the inky water. It ignored Hook, its bloodred eyes focused instead on the trembling girl. If the monster fed on despair, the scent wafting off her must have been delectable. It had taken its time, seasoning its intended meal with fear like a delicate sauce. It would not wait much longer.

  “Because…” Jocelyn faltered. She thought on her mother’s words. “Because I believe I can.” It came out sounding like a question.

  “‘Because I believe I can,’” Hook mocked. “How like a little girl. ‘All you need do is believe in yourself, and you can do anything.’ What absolute drivel!”

  “It’s true!” Jocelyn cried. “My mother told me it was true.”

  “Mothers lie, girl! That is their principal occupation. Nothing will save you. That crocodile will bite and chew and swallow and there will be nothing left to you and no one to mourn your passing.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Who cares for you?”

  “My crew—”

  “Your crew is a pack of fools not fit to brush my jacket—and even they only follow you because of my name! You are not worthy to be called by it. No one fears or admires you. Your grandfather sent you away; your only friend forgot you. I rarely thought of you myself, and when I did, it was with disdain. And your precious mother? She did not care even the minuscule amount it would have taken for her to live. She did not have to die, you know. She left you.”

  “Stop it!” Jocelyn cried, sudden tears stinging her eyes. “My mother loved me.”

  “Ah, becoming emotional, how trite. Bad form, girl, bad form. This is why you so often fail. Because you are nothing like me.”

  Jocelyn tried to summon her bravery. “Like you? You do not exist! None of you do. You are only weak copies of the people I know.” Jocelyn said the words, and she tried to believe them. The girl looked around the circle of misty figures, concentrating on their faces. She knew each one well: household servants, girls from school; shockingly, even Smee and the rest of her pirate crew flashed spiteful grins at her. Most hurtful of all was the appearance of Roger, his easy laughter now full of mockery.

  Her father spoke, pointing at her with his fearsome hook. “No one believes in you.” It was nearly a whisper, but it pierced Jocelyn to the heart.

  The circle repeated it loudly, joyfully: “No one believes in you!”

  Jocelyn had suspected it all along, but to hear it stated so bluntly hurt more than she was willing to admit. “You lie!”

  He ignored her. “Then where are your precious friends? Where is your crew? They have abandoned you. Even your lost boy did not return to stand at your side.”

  Roger.

  “You came here to avenge my death. You came here to be a great pirate captain. But all you have done is flit about the Neverland, frolicking with mermaids…”

  The mermaids.

  “…giving lessons in manners…”

  The cannibals.

  “…and playing with your own pet fairy.” At this her father swiped at her with his hook, sending up a shower of excess fairy dust still clinging to her clothes.

  My own fairy. If Meriwether is mine, Jocelyn thought, it is only because I saved him.

  Hook’s cruel words cut Jocelyn to the core, but what they finally struck there was made of steel. She had had enough. The girl brushed aside her tears. “You are right. I am not like you.” She took a step toward the figure of her father. “I am young. I am a girl. I prefer rumpled to refined. I use poor manners, when they are called for.”

  As she spoke these words, the image of Hook grew slightly less substantial. “My compassion, of which you have none, led me to kill the snake and free Meriwether. That made him mine.”

  She stood straighter, the burden her father had placed upon her weighing less heavily now. “My song softened the cold heart of a mermaid. My wit allowed me to trick the cannibals and escape. I did all of these things on my own. You are not even real.” At these words, Hook’s figure grew quite faint; she could see the skeletal trees behind him. She looked around the circle. “None of you are real!” The other specters were no more than misty outlines now. She could see through all of them.

  “I saved Roger”—she stepped right through the insubstantial images that had held her captive and faced the crocodile, now only feet away from the edge of the shore—“from you. You will be the one to fail today.”

  Jocelyn raised herself to her full height and pointed her sword at the monster. “Dark and sinister beast, prepare to meet your doom.”

  The image of her father, and all the other specters, dissipated as the crocodile snarled with rage, its eyes locked on hers.

  From the other side of the clearing came the song of a nightingale. It was joined by a tinkling of bells, crashing of bracken, happy weeping, and shouting:

  “I hear our young captain. If my ears can be believed, and they certainly can, she is but a few footfalls away!”

  “Cap’n, we don’t care if we were banished. We’re coming!”

  “I think it’s this way! What do you think, Twin?”

  Once again, figures broke through the line of trees, only these had far more substance than the swamp’s ghostly apparitions. Jocelyn’s heart filled with happiness. Prince Meriwether and his regiment of fairy soldiers flew out of the mist, escorting Mr. Smee, along with the rest of the girl’s own pirate crew (with the exception of Dirty Bob, who had been left behind to guard the ship). The lost boys followed, armed with a basket full of rotten berries. Roger led the company, leaning slightly on Blind Bart. The boy was still pale, but he was on his feet, eyes shining with excitement.

  Jocelyn tingled with warmth. She had never felt lighter, never freer than this moment. The scattered fairy dust coating her skin glowed in the gloom. She shouted with joy and cast off the tethers that held her to the earth.

  Jocelyn lifted her feet and flew.

  She laughed, soaring high above the brackish swamp, up where the wind was sweet and cool. The crocodile erupted in a mass of fury. It lunged into the air, jaws snapping furiously, but Jocelyn only soared higher, calling, “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to catch me, you old codfish!”

  The monster snarled with rage, rancid spittle flying from its gaping maw. It sprang again, this time catching the hem of the girl’s dress in its jaws, its jagged teeth barely skimming her ankle. Jocelyn jerked back, tearing her dress away, and rewarded the beast by giving it a hard slap on the snout with the flat of her blade. The creature’s red eyes rolled in their sockets, wild with pain and anger. Jocelyn’s friends cheered as the crocodile landed with a splash in the black water and sank below the surface.

  She waited. One heartbeat. Two. It did not reappear. Jocelyn dipped down, skimming the swamp’s surface, searching. The ticking was still present, but faint. The entire swamp bubbled, making it difficult to pinpoint where the monster was hiding. She bent her head to investigate a series of ripples.

  From behind her, the beast’s powerful tail rose out of the water. It smashed into the girl, sending her spinning through the air. She crashed into a broken tree at the edge of the water and fell to the ground. The crocodile lurched out of the swamp after her. Jocelyn’s friends rushed forward, but she stood and waved them off.

/>   It was time to end this. And she would do it on her own.

  The monster lunged. Jocelyn twirled around and slipped under it, graceful as a dancer, with her sword upheld. The crocodile came down on her weapon, which buried itself to the hilt in the creature’s reptilian breast. Metal struck metal as Jocelyn’s blade pierced the old clock, silencing its tick forever.

  Inky blackness poured from the ragged hole in the beast’s chest, surrounding Jocelyn in a wicked cloud, blinding her to everything else, but she merely scowled at the gloom, waving it away. The darkness released her, gathering itself into the shadow of a man.

  A man with a hook instead of a right hand.

  The shadow nodded at the girl. She curtsied back.

  A soft breeze blew into the swamp, carrying with it a salty tang of sea air. The shadow lost form and scattered on the wind. At Jocelyn’s feet lay the remains of the Neverland’s fearsome crocodile. She nudged it with her foot, bewildered by what she saw. It appeared as if the crocodile had been empty all along. Now it was only a deflated pile of skins, a broken clock, and an iron hook.

  The girl turned to her cheering friends, locking eyes with Roger. He gave a little bow. “Well done—Jocelyn, is it? Even Peter Pan and we lost boys combined couldn’t have done better.” He smiled at her then, in a not-quite-the-just-for-her way, but still very nice.

  Perhaps Roger did not remember the past, but that did not mean they could have no future.

  Jocelyn dropped her sword and ran to her new, old friend, giving him an affectionate elbow to the stomach. He laughed and rubbed dirt on her face before pulling her into an awkward, but sweet, hug.

  Jocelyn basked in a warm feeling of relief. It may not have been in the way she had hoped, but it was enough. Roger had returned to her.

  Jocelyn stood over the pile of empty crocodile skins. She had done it. She had really done it. Mr. Smee placed a hand on her shoulder. “Well now, look at that. A sight that even your father might have been proud to see, miss, though not nearly as pleased as me.” His voice broke and he sniffed loudly. “Do any of you lot have a handkerchief? I have a touch of the hay fever.”