Hook's Revenge Page 7

  I expect you are wondering why the pirate village was so bustling. You are likely operating under the mistaken assumption that Captain Hook and the crew of the Jolly Roger were the only pirates ever to sail the Neverland’s seas. That had been true at one time—when the captain was in a predigested state—as his fierce reputation kept other pirates from infringing upon his territory. However, after Hook’s death, scads of new pirates moved in to fill the void, creating a land rush around Hangman’s Harbor. The building boom brought all kinds of rogues and rascals to the village. In addition to an influx of sailors and shipbuilders, a whole horde of villains immigrated: saloon keepers, rumrunners, even a mortgage banker or two, all hoping to cash in.

  Jocelyn turned down a side street, passing a market stand filled with fresh fish and blasting caps. She recognized a broken rudder, now pressed into service as signage above a tailor shop. If she could find the crocodile as easily as she seemed to have found Mr. Smee, Jocelyn might have her revenge buttoned up by teatime. She entered the shop, ready to confront her destiny.

  Upon meeting Mr. Smee, many a foolish young girl has expressed the bizarre wish to keep him as a pet pirate. Even Jocelyn was not entirely inclined to disagree with that idiotic sentiment, though she felt that housebreaking might prove to be difficult.

  Picture a weathered and fierce Santa Claus in mismatched stockings, with a deadly sharp cutlass strapped to his waist. Add a sunny, yet mildly threatening, disposition that everyone seems to enjoy—even those unfortunate enough to be killed by Smee generally die thinking, What a dear little man.

  If your imagination is half as good as my storytelling (not likely), you’ll have a fairly good sense of the old pirate Jocelyn found mending a threadbare doublet inside the tailor’s shop.

  Smee kept up a conversation as he worked. “Look at these fine stitches. That’s the way, ain’t it, Johnny? We’ve seen and repaired far worse holes than this when we were sailing with the captain, rest his soul. Why, he’d have torn all his fancy clothes to shreds with that hook of his if we weren’t there to help him get dressed in the morning.”

  Jocelyn cleared her throat to get his attention. Smee peered over his spectacles with a rather pleasant scowl. “Well now, Johnny, it seems to me that we have some company. Get along now, miss; my shop is no place for children. I’ve got needles and other sharp things lying about. A little girl, such as yourself, might get hurt.”

  Little girl?

  Jocelyn pulled herself up to her full height and glared at the man. “Never you mind about needles. I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime. You are Mr. Smee, I presume? I am Jocelyn Hook, daughter of Captain Jam—”

  Smee jumped to his feet, interrupting Jocelyn and scattering several spools of thread in his excitement. “My dear Captain Hook! Yes, yes, of course. Well, Jocelyn Hook, as I live and breathe. You look just like your mother. Except for the parts that look like your father. And the parts that look like no one I’ve ever seen. Where do you think those parts come from, Johnny? Ah, never mind. We don’t want to pry now, do we?” Beaming, he grabbed her hand and forcefully shook it up and down.

  “You knew my mother?” The borders surrounding the empty place in Jocelyn’s heart gave a little twinge. She glared at the man in retaliation.

  Smee ignored her dark expression and clapped his free hand over his mouth (his other still pumping the girl’s arm as though the well had gone dry). “Whaaa nobbb apaaassed aa taaaak aaaabt eeeer.”

  Jocelyn yanked out of his grasp and rubbed her shoulder. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself. Better yet, keep them in your pockets. I can’t understand a word you are saying.”

  Smee put both hands in his pockets, looked around the shop, and whispered, “We’re not supposed to speak about your mum. And anyway,” he went on in a normal tone of voice, “we’ve got other things to talk over now, don’t we? Look at you—Jocelyn Hook! Here in our shop at last. We’re just so pleased to be making your acquaintanceship! I was a great friend of your father’s, I was. A bit of a mentor to him, really. Things haven’t been the same for us since he was, begging your pardon, eaten. Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

  Jocelyn looked around the small shop. It was cluttered with bobbins, pattern pieces, and articles of clothing in need of repair, but as far as she could tell, no one else was present. “Who is Johnny?”

  “Oh, bless my soul! Please forgive me, young Miss Hook. This here’s Johnny Corkscrew.” Smee unsheathed his sword and held it up to Jocelyn for inspection. She peered at the blade with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Next to the captain he’s the best friend and most trustworthy companion I ever had.”

  This might have been what the harbormaster had been talking about when he’d said Smee was not “quite right.” A hint of a smile formed on Jocelyn’s lips. “I see. Johnny is your sword?”

  Smee yanked his weapon back, stuffing it into its sheath. “Johnny is no mere sword. Don’t insult him.” He patted the hilt lovingly. “He’s a cutlass, made of the finest Damascus steel. He’s got a smelted copper grip and…” He trailed off and stared hard at Jocelyn. “You’re not here about mending, are you?”

  “Mending?”

  “You know…” Smee pantomimed threading a needle and sewing something.

  Jocelyn shook her head and pulled her father’s letter from her dress pocket. Smee took one look at it and burst into sloppy, wet tears.

  “The letter!” he sobbed. “We know all about that, don’t we, J-J-Johnny? The captain, he wrote it up and gave it to our keeping. He was having night visions, you know? Terrors of the beast. He seemed to know what was going to happen. ‘Smee!’ he’d say to me. ‘Smee! With Davy Jones as my witness, I will not be defeated by that insolent boy, yet I know in my bones that the ticking beast will be my doom.’ He g-g-gave us the letter and told us to get it to his little daughter on the mainland after the…” He swallowed. “After the deed was done.”

  Jocelyn awkwardly patted the man’s arm. “There, there. Don’t cry. Please. Just don’t.”

  Smee took a large handkerchief from his back pocket and began mopping up his face. “The captain, he told us to use that great black bird. So we did, and I guess the bird did, and now you did, er…done…” He took a shuddering breath. “What I mean to say is: now that you’re here and all, are you hungry?” He didn’t wait for a reply before he began clearing stacks of clothing from his worktable.

  Jocelyn’s stomach rumbled, but the man’s mood swings appeared to be as violent as his handshake. “I really don’t want to trouble you—”

  “Trouble me! Trouble me? Well now, Johnny, what do you think of that? The girl doesn’t want to trouble me!” Mr. Smee opened a cupboard and pulled out a mismatched set of dishes. “Did anyone ever wonder if it was troublesome to row a leaky dinghy fourteen furlongs in blinding rain to return to land and get the captain’s favorite smoking jacket? How about spending a hot afternoon in the galley trying to bake a light and fluffy cake filled with poison so vile it’d break my skin out in boils from only the vapors coming off it? Was that any trouble for Mr. Smee? Or having to fight off hundreds of bees as long as my little finger, and me being allergic and all, just to get honey for the captain’s afternoon tea! Was that any trouble?” Smee punctuated his speech with slams and crashes as he violently set the table, which was shoved into a corner, barely visible behind stacked bolts of cloth, piles of clothing, and the flotsam and jetsam one might expect in a tailor shop.

  “Well…” Jocelyn tried to figure out what the right answer might be. “No?”

  Smee banged down a butter dish. “Of course not! And getting you a bit of grub won’t be either. Make no mistake about that!”

  That sealed it. Jocelyn was entirely won over by the old pirate. She seated herself at the head of the table, where she enjoyed a cheery meal of tea, burned toast, and tinned sardines. Smee even offered Jocelyn a bit of stale cake, but remembering th
e aforementioned poison, she declined.

  After their meal, Mr. Smee led Jocelyn up to a dusty attic room. Tucked away in the corner lay an old wooden trunk covered in ornate carvings. From a leather string tied round his neck, he produced a weighty brass key, then bowed and left Jocelyn alone.

  The trunk’s rusty hinges complained as Jocelyn lifted its heavy lid. An elegant red jacket trimmed in gold braid lay folded neatly on the top of its contents. The girl brought it to her nose and breathed in a faint scent of cigar smoke and salty air. She stood and put it on. The jacket was far too big, nearly dragging on the floor, but it was warm and comforting. Jocelyn rolled up the sleeves and returned to the trunk’s cargo, examining each artifact before carefully laying it on the floor in front of her.

  It felt strange to be surrounded by things her father had touched—things that he had specifically set aside for her. She imagined that some of the items would be quite useful in her upcoming adventure: a heavy brass spyglass, a gleaming silver sword, and a (rather small) bag filled with pieces of eight.

  Others were strange, or at least strange things to leave a young girl, like the half-dozen cans of Mrs. Flint’s Hook Polish and Mustache Wax or the silver cigar holder made to hold two cigars at once. There was also a small iron box, engraved on top with the image of a hook. Jocelyn tried to open it, but it was locked tight, with no key in sight. She resolved to ask Smee about it later. Perhaps he had that key as well.

  When at last the trunk was empty, Jocelyn surveyed the things around her and was struck again by how little she knew about her father. It hit her with a new clarity: The great Captain Hook was dead. They would never have the great adventure she had dreamed of. Jocelyn was on her own.

  Her fingers sought his letter, tucked away in her pocket, but she did not pull it out to read again. There was no need—she knew nearly every word by heart. Her father had called this quest her inheritance. She would spend it well.

  “Mr. Smee,” Jocelyn called down the stairs, “let the adventure begin!”

  You must forgive me at this point for skipping ahead in the narrative.

  Or don’t. I don’t care much either way.

  The next few days were busy but dull. The girl may have called for the adventure to begin, but in my opinion that was merely dramatic foolishness.

  Jocelyn spent her time in the pirate village arranging for the delivery and loading of goods while Mr. Smee used the greater part of her inherited gold in order to procure a small, single-masted sloop. He insisted on spending a bit more to have the captain’s quarters redecorated, so as to be more fitting for a young Captain Hook. Jocelyn didn’t much care, as long as her cabin wasn’t pink.

  With the ship secured and ready, Jocelyn appointed Smee bo’sun and tasked him with hiring the fiercest, bravest, and most experienced group of pirates in the village as crew.

  Hiring a pirate crew sounds exciting, doesn’t it?

  It wasn’t.

  Smee’s hours were spent asking questions such as: “Tell me—and Johnny—about your last job. What were your reasons for leaving? What is your educational background? Has a disagreement with an employer ever led to dismemberment or disemboweling?”

  See what I mean? Dull. Skipping ahead.

  Jocelyn stood proud at the bow of her very own ship, still wrapped in the too-large embrace of her father’s red jacket. There was a gentle sea breeze blowing one unruly lock of hair about her face. If she had been able to see herself, the girl would have been surprised to notice she looked very much like the portrait of her father hanging round her neck. Jocelyn had an unmistakable tang of captainship about her.

  It had only been a few days since her departure from finishing school, but she already felt as if her life there had been nothing other than a bad dream.

  Except…she did miss Roger.

  Jocelyn wondered if Edgar had been able to deliver her letter, and if so, had it been read?

  Her fingers traced the cool metal of Roger’s compass, buried deep in her pocket, and she wished, not for the first time, that he had been able to come along. They were supposed to have an adventure together. That had been Roger’s promise, but Jocelyn felt as if she had broken it.

  The girl forced her mind away from those thoughts and back toward the present. For as long as she could remember, Jocelyn had dreamed of captaining her own ship. As soon as Mr. Smee returned with the finest crew the Neverland had to offer, she would set sail, having nearly everything she ever wanted.

  As if he had been summoned by her thoughts, Mr. Smee appeared. “Begging your pardon, miss, but I’ve done it. Your men will be arriving soon.”

  Jocelyn was thrilled. “My own crew, at last! Quick, tell me, Smee, are they everything I had hoped for? Brave? Fierce as bloodthirsty dogs? Men my father would have been proud to call his own?”

  Smee gazed out to sea, as though searching for something. “Well, er, that is to say…”

  “All right, perhaps my father would not have been exactly proud; I’m sure he was a hard man to please. They are brave, though?”

  “Brave? I wouldn’t exactly—”

  Jocelyn interrupted. “Are they fierce and bloodthirsty?”

  “Thirsty? To be sure. But, fierce? Well…that’s a mite strong—”

  “I can scarcely believe it, Smee: Captain Jocelyn Hook is about to set sail with her own ferocious band of pirates. That crocodile doesn’t stand a chance. I’d wager a guess that even Blackbeard’s men at their best couldn’t hold a candle to the Neverland’s finest. Right, Smee?”

  Smee continued staring at the horizon. He looked a bit ill.

  “Smee?” Jocelyn’s triumphant smile withered. “Tell me—you have hired the best crew that could be found in the village, haven’t you?”

  He dropped his eyes to Johnny Corkscrew in an appeal for help. None came. He cleared his throat and mumbled, “No, miss.”

  “Oh. I would have liked the best, but…second best, perhaps?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Jocelyn began to worry. “Third? Fourth?”

  Mr. Smee squirmed under her questioning. “No, miss.”

  “Out with it, Smee!” she roared, sounding quite a lot like the prior Captain Hook. “What kind of crew did you hire for me?”

  “Ah, well, strictly speaking, miss, as a matter of rank, your crew comes in squarely at sixteenth best in the Neverland.”

  It was unfortunate news for Jocelyn that the Neverland hosted only sixteen available crews at the time. Every last one of them had turned up for the interview process, eager to sail under Hook’s flag and assist his heir in such an illustrious quest. However, each had promptly turned down the job upon learning that said heir was barely more than a child, and a girl to boot. Smee had only just managed to hire the last, and worst, crew that he interviewed: a motley assortment of characters desperate to make a name for themselves.

  Jocelyn stood at the top of the gangplank as her men boarded the ship. Smee was on hand to make introductions and provide commentary. The first to arrive was One-Armed Jack.

  The girl wondered at his unusual name. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, he had two good arms (though under her gaze he quickly tucked one inside his shirt), yet here he was introducing himself and saying, “Happy to meet you, Cap’n. I’d offer to shake your hand, but as I’ve only got the one, and it being full o’ me gear…”

  Jocelyn thought to question his strange behavior, but she noticed Smee shaking his head. Instead she said, “Welcome aboard, Jack. You may stow your things below deck.”

  As One-Armed Jack walked away, carrying his trunk in one hand and scratching his hindquarters with the other, Jocelyn turned to Smee and demanded, “What was that about?”

  He ducked his head and replied, “Begging your pardon, miss, but your men have some…how shall we put this, Johnny? Some unusual characteristics. You see, they’ve not had much experie
nce. Not like your regular crews. None of them have even been in a real battle, but that doesn’t stop them from wishing they had, so they, ah, pretend.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Anyone with eyes could see that that man has two arms. How can he get away with pretending he doesn’t?”

  Mr. Smee looked away, watching another pirate limp his way up the gangplank. “Ridiculous, yes, well, it might be a mite ridiculous—yet they all go along with it. You see, if, say, Jim McCraig with a Wooden Leg here,” he motioned to the man boarding the ship, “was to point out that Jack had two arms, then Jack could say that Jim doesn’t really have a wooden leg; he’s only got a corroded old sliver in his big toe. See there, that’s what causes the limp. So aye, it may be silly, but, begging your pardon, it works, see.”

  At this point Jim McCraig with a Wooden Leg reached the deck. When he addressed his new captain, though, Jocelyn was hard-pressed to decipher much of what he said. His words appeared to be a delinquent cousin of English—faintly familiar, but mostly jumble and noise. She leaned over to Smee and whispered, “Is he pretending to have something wrong with his tongue as well?”

  Smee whispered back, “No. In this case something really is wrong with his tongue: he’s Scottish. I believe he just introduced himself.”

  Jocelyn turned back to Jim, considering. “Mr. McCraig, I see that you are missing one of your limbs. I hope its absence will not cause you to be lax in your duties, for I plan to run a tight ship and have no room for those who are unable to pull their own weight. You will be required to do as much as a sailor with two good legs.”