Hook's Revenge Read online

  Keep a Weather Eye To watch closely. Jocelyn, sensitive to Blind Bart’s lack of vision (and because she felt bad that his ear of the wind campaign was not a success), amended the phrase to weather ear.

  Marlinspike A wooden or metal tool used for rope work, and shaped like the nose of a swordfish (or marlin). Though the fish existed first, it was named after the marlinspike. I’d wager even your father doesn’t know that.

  Me Hearty “My friend.” Take note of this. It is the first and last time you will ever find me saying those words to the likes of you.

  Mutiny A conspiracy to overthrow the captain and take charge of the ship. Sometimes mutinous sailors kill the captain outright. Other times they show mercy, setting him adrift in a small boat with a supply of water and hardtack. At least he has the weevils to keep him company.

  Offer No Quarter This means that no mercy will be given and no surrender will be accepted. The parties have to fight—to the death! Or, as it was in the Pirate and Lost Boy Wars, until they got tired and went home.

  Poop Deck It may surprise you to learn that this term does not refer to a ship’s bathroom. A ship’s bathroom is called the head. Ships are interesting places.

  The poop deck serves as the roof of the back, or aft, cabin. It is also from here that the ship is steered. On the Hook’s Revenge, this was the highest decking area, which made it a good place for Captain Jocelyn to stand and address and/or berate her crew, as they needed and/or desired.

  Powder Monkeys Pirates often use the term monkey-sized for any small thing. A powder monkey is a boy, just about your age, who carries gunpowder from the powder magazine, or room where it is stored, to the cannons. The only requirements of the job are being a small size (less easy for the enemy to target) and possessing enough wits to keep from blowing oneself up.

  I’d recommend you for a position, but, though you are the right size, you are still underqualified.

  “To have faith is to have wings.” J. M. Barrie, The Little White Bird

  I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the many people who put their faith in this story and offered of themselves to lend it wings. There isn’t space to list everyone who encouraged, lifted, taught, and inspired me, though gratitude to each is written in my heart.

  Particular thanks to the following individuals:

  Each person who read my manuscript and gave both astute advice and typo correction, including: Becky Clawson, Eve Nicholson, Laura and Senica Greaves, Michelle and McKenna Wonderling, and my dear SWs, thank you.

  Additional thanks to Michelle and to Deon Sellers for being excellent understudies in the role of Mother. Thank you for the times you provided the fun so I could write without guilt.

  Annie Cechini: inspirer, encourager, cheerleader, and the best paper-bag puppet maker I know. Thank you for loving this book so much I couldn’t help but finish it.

  Tyler Nevins for his book jacket design and John Hendrix for his amazingly detailed, wonderful, and beautiful illustrations for both the jacket and interior art. I am proud and thrilled that Hook’s Revenge is dressed so finely.

  My amazing editor, Rotem Moscovich. Jocelyn and Roger are ever so much happier now thanks to you, and to Julie Moody, Karen Sherman, and the rest of your team. It has been a true pleasure spending time on the Neverland with you all. I can’t wait to return.

  Brooks Sherman, how can I thank you enough? I joke that I let you be my agent but forced you to be my friend. I am so glad you are both. I will forever be grateful to you for saying yes to this story, for seeing what it could be, and for helping it become such. Here it is, Brooks, our first book! I look forward to many more together.

  Hannah, my everything, who shows me every day what amazing looks like, who inspires me with her courage, creativity, and passion, and who never stopped asking when I was going to finish my/our book. It’s done now, sweetheart. I hope you like it.

  Walt, for all the dinners that I didn’t make, all the laundry that I didn’t fold, and the many, many ways every day that you encourage me to fly. On the day we married, I told you, “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine.” Here is where I officially confess that I lied. I’m grateful to share it all with you. I love you forever. You will always be my one true home.

  J. M. Barrie himself, creator of the boy who never grew up and the story that never grew old. I’m honored that my words have a tiny place in your Neverland.

  And to you, dear reader. Thank you for spending this time with me. Let’s do it again soon, shall we?

  Yo ho!

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at The Pirate Code!

  Secrets are tricky things. For many years, I was one of the few who knew about Captain Hook’s daughter, Jocelyn, and the way she succeeded in avenging him upon the Neverland’s monstrous crocodile. I held that knowledge close to my chest, gripping it tight as a new puppy, though at times the story wriggled and nipped, desperate to be put down.

  There came a point where the burden grew too heavy. I thought that telling the world about the girl and her heroic victory would allow me some measure of relief, but it would not do. I have merely exchanged one affliction for another. Since I last had the misfortune of speaking to you, I am followed by throngs of children wherever I go. They reach for me with sticky hands, plead with lips stained by sweets, and constantly fill my ears with their unceasing, high-pitched refrain: “What happened next? Did Jocelyn find Hook’s treasure?”

  Even now, here you sit with your scabbed-over knees and insipid smile, waiting for me to tell you the tale. Without any effort, I can think of a dozen more pleasant ways to rid myself of your presence—ways that reduce you to nothing more than a stain and a memory—but still the remaining secrets I carry would demand to be released. And so, for my own sake, I must continue down this path and see it through to the bitter end.

  It is true that Jocelyn’s adventures did not end with the killing of the crocodile, nor with the return of her lost boy. There is more to be told. Much more.

  Let’s get this over with.

  There are many wonderful things about gold. The way it shines, the cool feel of it in one’s hands, the sweet cries of those from whom you have stolen it…As far as I am concerned, there is only one undesirable thing about gold: not having enough of it.

  Jocelyn was sorely feeling that one bad thing as she counted the remaining pieces of eight her father had left her. There were pitifully few, especially compared to the long list of needed supplies Mr. Smee had given her that morning.

  She brushed the coins back into their bag with an irritated swipe of her hand. If only she could go after her father’s treasure! It had been weeks since she killed the Neverland’s crocodile and found her father’s iron hook in its remains. A hollow section of the hook had held a key to a locked box Captain Hook left in her possession—and within that box had lain a map to his vast treasure hoard.

  It was rumored to be the greatest cache of treasure known to man, and Jocelyn felt anxious to find it. With even a portion of that gold, the girl would be captain of her own destiny. She wished that Mr. Smee, loyal bo’sun to both herself and her father before her, knew more about it, but Hook had never shown him the site of the treasure. Indeed, he had rarely even spoken of it to Smee—other than to tell the man that it was none of his business.

  Jocelyn set aside the bag of coins and turned her attention to the map spread out before her on the writing desk. She brought her nose close to the paper and squinted but it did no good. The map would share none of its secrets.

  A knock at her cabin door startled her. “Who is it?” the girl called, rather more gruffly than she intended.

  “Roger Redbeard! Terror of the seven seas!”

  Jocelyn flung open her door. Standing on the deck outside was a brown-skinned, curly-haired boy, who in just the last few weeks seemed to have passed her in height—though certainly not by much.

&n
bsp; “Roger Redbeard, indeed? You look more like Roger One-Whisker to me!” Her face broke into a grin, and she admitted the boy into her cabin.

  “Really? I have a whisker?” Roger exclaimed, crossing to examine his face in the mirror.

  “No. Not really.” She giggled, feeling much happier than she had a few moments before. Roger always seemed to have that effect on her. She peeked over his shoulder, looking at his reflection. “I think that may be a bit of breakfast on your chin.”

  “No matter. One day it will be a full beard. You can’t very well stop time.” He turned to face her, pretending to stroke an impressively long beard. “I’ll have more whiskers than Gerta!”

  Jocelyn pictured the ruddy, stubbled face of the maidservant she had been inflicted with at finishing school, before they came to the Neverland. “It is good to have ambitions,” she said with a wink.

  Roger gave a gentle tug to one of her curls. “Speaking of which”—he motioned to the map, unfolded on her desk—“still trying to make it spill its secrets?”

  Jocelyn became very interested in a loose thread on her sleeve. “No,” she mumbled. “Maybe.”

  The boy stepped toward the map, bending over to take a closer look. Jocelyn followed the movement of his eyes, knowing exactly what they would see. One large corner contained the edge of a landmass bordered by ocean. The rest was a mess of squiggles and symbols, presumably coordinates and instructions, written in some kind of code. A code without a key. Roger, Jocelyn, and all the crew—with the obvious exception of Blind Bart—had each tried to crack it, to no avail.

  Even though she knew it was of no use, the girl couldn’t help but continue to stare at the map, hoping to find a clue she might have missed. There was something familiar about the bit of ragged coastline and the small river—or was it a creek?—penned on the page, but she couldn’t place it. The Neverland changed so much and so often that even if she were to recognize the place, it certainly wouldn’t look the same now. Without instructions, the adventure was over before it could properly begin.

  “Any word from Smee’s mapmaker acquaintance?” Roger asked.

  “Not yet. I sent Meriwether again this morning to see if he has come back.”

  The pirate village boasted a single mapmaker. Mr. Smee had suggested that the former Captain Hook might have employed him in the creation of the treasure map. If that was the case, the mapmaker was almost certain to know how to break the code. Jocelyn and Roger, with the help of a generous sprinkling of fairy dust, had flown into the pirate village under cover of darkness. Unfortunately, the pair had found his shop dark and shuttered, a sign on the door stating that the man was off on his annual kraken hunt and pillaging trip. There was no indication as to when he might return. Every few days Jocelyn sent Meriwether off to see if the mapmaker had come back, but as of yet, luck was against them.

  Without any hope of breaking the code, Jocelyn’s dreams of hunting for her father’s treasure were becalmed as surely as a ship without wind. She had tried to take her mind off her frustrations by practicing her flying and exploring the island with Roger. They spent days in daring Neverland pursuits: hunting for bluecaps in an abandoned diamond mine, saying increasingly bad words in an attempt to summon Bloody Bones, and forcing an eyeless ghost to tell their futures. (Which was less exciting than it might sound. Their futures, as told, were rather mundane. To Roger: “Tomorrow you will spill juice in your lap.” To Jocelyn: “You will fall asleep reading two nights this week.”) Amusing as they were, those diversions were no longer helping. She wanted—no, needed—to go after the treasure.

  A ringing bell interrupted her thoughts. Meriwether was back!

  Jocelyn and Roger dashed out to the deck to greet the little blue fairy. He stuck out his tongue and gave Roger a pinch on the ear before settling onto Jocelyn’s shoulder.

  “Meri,” she scolded, “leave Roger alone.”

  The fairy prince gnashed his teeth at the boy.

  Knowing from experience that it would be unlikely to do much good, Jocelyn didn’t waste time on further reprimands. “What did you learn?” she asked. “Is the mapmaker in?”

  Fairy language is very different from that of humans. To the untrained ear, it sounds like nothing more than the tinkling of bells. However, the more time Jocelyn spent with the little creature, the more easily she understood him. She thought it might have been because she had nearly been a fairy herself, if only for one night.

  Meriwether nodded and jingled affirmatively, indicating that he had seen the mapmaker.

  “Really? Are you sure?” Roger asked.

  The fairy ignored the boy’s questions and began polishing the buttons on his autumn-leaf jacket.

  Jocelyn shrugged, making the tiny man bob on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Roger. It is really quite silly of him to be jealous. Meriwether”—she turned her head to face him—“are you quite certain?”

  Again his bells rang in the affirmative.

  “Mr. Smee!” Jocelyn called out. “Tell the crew to prepare the ship! We enter the pirate village tonight!”

  There are times when the wisest course of action is to throw caution to the wind and follow your own counsel. Those were the only times Jocelyn cared about. She sat in the galley polishing her sword in preparation for the night’s adventure.

  Mr. Smee joined her. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, but if you’d like to steer us into port yourself, you may want to take the wheel. Blind Bart says he can hear cussing and spitting about three miles off. We’re nearly there.”

  Blind Bart was Jocelyn’s lookout, but since he chose to cover both eyes with patches (as a way to avoid seeing the ocean he so greatly feared), he relied on his unusually honed sense of hearing.

  “Thank you, Smee,” Jocelyn replied. She stood.

  “Miss?” he said, before she left. “I know we’ve been over this a time or two, but I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t say it once more.”

  Jocelyn sighed. She knew what was coming.

  From the moment she’d found the map, Mr. Smee had been as nervous as a lobster in a pot, waiting for Captain Krueger to attack.

  In case your memory is as short as your stubby, child-size legs, I’ll remind you about Krueger: The man was a dark and ruthless pirate, cursed with an insatiable desire for gold. He would do anything and harm anyone to collect it. He had even gone so far as to pull his own teeth for their gold fillings, replacing them with razor-sharp points plucked from the mouths of baby sharks.

  “I don’t think the men should be set loose on the village on their own.” Smee said. “They aren’t ready. And with that black-hearted rogue Krueger thirsting for blood and treasure, and seeing that you have an abundance of one and a map to the other, I…that is, Johnny Corkscrew and me”—he gave a loving pat to the sword strapped to his side—“we think it wise for you to keep your distance as well. I could nip down to the mapmaker’s real quick-like and even have time to pick up some supplies. You an’ the crew could wait here for me to return.”

  If Jocelyn were being honest, she would admit she wasn’t quite eager to meet Krueger again. She had already had one run-in with him, and it had been more than enough. The man had viciously attacked her ship under the mere suspicion the girl might have information about Hook’s gold. Jocelyn had only escaped his sword when she fell overboard.

  However, abject honesty aboard a pirate ship—particularly about one’s feelings—is about as useful as woolen socks for a wooden leg. Jocelyn gave Mr. Smee’s suggestion the tiniest bit of consideration before tossing it over the railing.

  “Thank you for your concern…” she began. Mr. Smee gave her a hurt look. How it pained him when she was polite. She softened her speech with a “You filthy dog!” and continued: “…but the crew will be fine. I will be fine. We’ll be careful. What could go wrong?”

  What indeed?

  The girl stood proud at the wheel of the Hook’s Revenge, executing an almost-perfect docking just outside the pirate village. (She was certain no
one would miss the last six feet or so of dock, as it had been, in her opinion, far too long to begin with.) Before disembarking, she took a moment to survey the village spread out before her in the early evening light.

  Little had changed since she first set eyes on it. The beach was still crowded with row upon row of weathered docking. The gulls still screamed their shrill screams. The air was still ripe with the scents of brine, unwashed men, blood, and rotgut grog. The pirate village was still a veritable bouillabaisse of piratical atmosphere, full to the brim and running over. The only difference, really, was Jocelyn herself.

  The last time she had visited, she had been a child on the brink of her first adventure and, like most children, so frightfully ignorant that she hadn’t even known what to be afraid of. Since that time she had plunged into the depths of terror, been tested over and over, and in the end emerged victorious. I hardly blame her for squaring her shoulders and standing tall. I suppose she had earned a bit of posturing.

  Get ready, pirate village, she thought. Captain Jocelyn Hook has returned.

  Jocelyn strolled down the gangplank, her fairy on her shoulder, Roger at her side, and her crew close behind, looking every inch the captain she was. Even clad in the same ragged, threadbare dress she had been wearing so many weeks before on the night she came to the Neverland, she exuded an air of authority and confidence. The island itself seemed to notice the young captain, hailing her triumphant return and framing her face with a sunset painted in pink and orange and blue.

  Jocelyn stuck her tongue out at the pink.

  The harbormaster waited at the bottom of the gangplank, ready to interrogate all new visitors to the pirate village. He held his lead pencil and ledger book at the ready, but the girl merely scowled at him. “I’ve no time for your questions just now; I’ve important business this evening.”