Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland (8 page)

Jukes shook his head and laughed, as did Cecco and Smee.
 
Noodler just smiled.
 

I turned to face Jack Elroy and saw that the navigator’s hands, shirt, and face were streaked in blood.
 

“There was trouble, Captain,” Elroy said.
 
He took a deep breath and mumbled the rest.
 
“Peter Pan attacked us.
 
He called himself ‘Captain’ and dumped most of the gunpowder overboard.
 
We fought him, but he kicked down the door to your cabin and killed Phillip Gulley.
 
Then he flew off, laughing.
 
I didn’t see where.”

The crew hushed and the gentle splash of the sea filled the moments.
 
Hundreds of questions fired across my mind, but only one was spoken.
 
“How long was he in my cabin?”

“Only for a second or two,” Elroy said.

“Which is it?” I asked.
 
“One second or two?”

“Just one,” Elroy answered.
 
“We ran in after him.
 
That was when he got Phillip in the ribs.”

“Underneath with an upwards thrust.”

“Yes,” Elroy said, a confused look on his face.
 
“How did you know?”

“It is his favorite strike,” I said.
 
“You would do well to practice against it.”

“Where is Phillip’s body now?” Jukes asked.
 
Elroy turned and climbed the short ladder to the quarter deck.
 
Jukes motioned to Smee and the Irishman barked a round of orders, scattering the men into their routines.
 

I climbed up to the quarter deck, followed by Jukes and Starkey.
 
There, beside the rudder, Collazo prayed over a pool of blood and a covered body.
 
The navigator pulled the stained sheet down off of the gaunt Virginian’s pale face and torso.
 

Starkey knelt beside the body and examined him.
 
“One in the gut.
 
Two in the back.”
 

“He must have turned after he was first struck,” Jukes said.
 

“Or Pan flew over his head,” I suggested.
 
The men fell quiet as they were again reminded that this was no ordinary assailant.
 
I stood over the body for quiet seconds, then turned to Jack Elroy.
 
“Why Phillip?
 
Why did Pan kill him?”

“When the boy showed up, he said he’d come to kill you.”
 

“By name?”
 

“No,” Elroy said.
 
“He said he was here to kill the captain.”

“And Phillip rose to the challenge,” Collazo added.

Elroy looked to the floorboards.
 
“You left me in charge, but I…”

“Don’t concern yourself with that now,” I said.
 
“There is nothing any one man can do against Peter Pan.”
 

“There’ll be more,” Starkey said.
 

“Attacks or mutinous crewmen?” Collazo asked.
 

Starkey looked at me then back at Phillip’s body.
 
“Both, probably.”
 

“
The serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field
,” said Collazo.
 

“Aye, and he’ll
eat dust for the rest of his days
,” I said, “which won’t be many.”
   

“
Bring forth fruit with patience, Captain
.”
 

“Patience works, Father,” I said.
 
“But so does an intelligent and coordinated effort.
 
Mr. Jukes, get all hands on deck.”

“Aye, Captain,” Jukes said and the order rang out over the ship.
 
In moments, the crew were elbow to elbow on the main deck.
 
I looked from Smee to Gustavo to Mason to Skylights, counting and recounting their numbers.
 

“We lost a good man today,” I said.
 
Cookson and Charles Turley glanced at each other with nervous suspicion in their eyes.
 
“Phillip Gulley was a fine sailor, a true shot, and a friend to us all.
 
His only crime was that he stepped up to take my place in my absence.
 
And for that crime, Peter Pan cut him down.”
 

“We want to be going home,” a voice said in the huddle.
 
The men parted, leaving Skylights to stand alone.
 
Billy Jukes shifted his weight low and crept to him, but I stopped him with a look.
 

“There be no fortune here, little food, and no women,” Skylights continued.
 
Several of the men grunted their agreement.
 
“I, for one, don’t want to live and die at the hands of a child.”
 
More grunts followed from the crew.
 
“This be your grudge with the boy, not ours.”

Silence overtook the ship.
 

He looked from left to right, searching for the support he had moments ago, but found none.
 
I steeled my gaze on the lone pirate.

“It’s not me he wants,” I admitted.
 
“Peter Pan wants this ship.
 
To him, it’s a toy, something to use then discard when he tires of it.”
 
I stopped for a moment to consider all of the crew’s alternatives.
 
“Where would you take the ship from here, Mr. Skylights?
 
In which direction would you sail?”
 

The pirate lowered his eyes to the deck and narrowed his shoulders into a slump.
 
He glanced quickly at Ed Teynte before looking again at me.
 
Teynte went pale.
 

“What Pan did to Phillip Gulley, he’d do to any man who captains the
Jolly Roger
,” I said.
 
“He will come for this ship again, so if there is any man who wants to shoulder the brunt of that responsibility, let him speak now.”

No man breathed.

“Fine.
 
If no one wants to be captain, how about a vote on Quarter Master?”
 
Billy Jukes straightened his stance and looked down each of the men.
 
Ed Teynte locked eyes with Turley and Cookson.
 
The three men nodded to each other and Teynte raised his hand.
 
“Fine, all in favor of replacing Billy Jukes as Quarter Master with Ed Teynte, say ‘Aye’.”

Seven men shout, “Aye.”
 

“Opposed?”
 

Over a dozen voices rang out, “Nay.”
 

“Sorry, Mr. Teynte.
 
For now you will serve as mate to Mr. Jukes.
 
With Phillip dead, we seem to have an opening.”
 
I stepped down the ladder to the main deck.
 
“We all crave for something, but food and drink will have to suffice for now.
 
Mr. Smee, open the barrels.”

“Aye, Captain,” Smee said.
 
A smile grew on his face as he ripped open one of the lids.
 
He passed a handful of dried fruit to each man, but only after a hearty, “Hail Captain Hook!”
 
When the cheers died down, he walked to the barrel of wine.
 

I gave Billy Jukes a silent order and walked into my cabin.
 
I closed the door behind me and stood for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness.
 
Books and bedding were in heaps on the floor.
 
Scrolls and maps lay crumpled at my desk, but otherwise unharmed.
 

If the boy had intent, Peter Pan could have done far worse.
 

I breathed a deep sigh and relaxed my shoulders.
 
The tenseness in my cheeks loosened and I let my eyes soften and close.
 
I sank into the silence of the room and wrapped myself up in it like a blanket.

Then something nudged in my mind.
 
I turned my ear to the far wall of the cabin.
 
I strained with effort, but heard nothing.
 
Dread filled my heart and I opened my eyes.
 

Across from me, the tall clock stood motionless.
 

I walked over to it and felt a long crack that ran down its side.
 
The face was smashed and the hands were frozen at the hour of 11:46.
 
I knelt at its base and placed the shards of glass on the shelf next to me.
 
Then I pried the clock open and worked at the gears.
 

Silence.
 

I took the machine apart on my table and reassembled it.
 

Nothing.
 

I laid the pieces on my floor by size.
 
I named them and gave them purpose, then put them back together.
 

Again nothing.
 

I let my mind race.
 
From where I sat on the floor, I traced the path Pan must have taken while in the cabin.
 
My eyes moved from the door, to the bed.
 
Pan must have gone to the desk before the clock.
 
By that time, the men must have come in and he flew out through the porthole.
 

I leaned over to walk the path when a slight glimmer caught my eye.
 
I reached for it with my hand, but it was too broad, so I pulled it back and dragged my hook across the floor.
 
My first swipe stuck into the boards.
 
I wriggled it loose and swiped again, this time snagging the glinting object.
 

I dragged my hook out and examined the wire spring that dangled from its end.
 
I took the clock apart again and found its place.
 
Something clicked and the gears began turning.
 

Gentle ticks overtook the room.
 
I watched the spokes grip and spin in perfect measured beats.
 
I sat for long minutes as each metallic pulse drained the tense weight from my neck and the sides of my head.
 
The muscles in my jaw loosened and the throbbing behind my eyes ebbed.
 

Then I heard a beat rise from behind the door of the cabin.
 
It started low, but soon grew to a repeating boom that shook the floor underneath me.
 
I listened with growing fascination as the booming outside my door synced with the rhythm of the room.
 

I rose to my feet and stepped out onto the main deck.
 

This was, after all, my Quarter Master’s signal that everything was ready.
 

Billy Jukes stood atop the forecastle deck, the back of Ed Teynte’s neck in one hand and a mug of the knight’s wine in the other.
 
He waved his mug back and forth with each beat of his verse of the Dread Song.
 
The men followed his lead, sometimes changing the words to suit their humor, but never missing the pace of the pentameter.
 
Both men appeared drunk, until Jukes saw me and sobered his expression.
 

I gave Jukes another silent order and stepped back into the cabin.
 
I looked down at the clock’s naked metal innards and listened for long minutes as the booming of the Dread Song kept in perfect time with the spinning gears.

A smile started from my heart and beat waves over my whole body as I rediscovered the joy of simple counting.
 
Each couplet at the pace Jukes set was ten seconds long.
 
Three quatrains made a minute.
 
One hundred and eighty was an hour.
 
Twenty-five thousand, two hundred would make a week.
 
I sat at my desk and worked out the possibilities of my discovery.
 
The men couldn’t sing at all times, but this would be a way to synchronize assaults or keep track of time away from the ship.
 
This was not a perfect solution, but it was better than what we had so far, which was nothing.

This was my last thought before Billy Jukes opened the cabin door and pushed a drunk Ed Teynte to the floor.
 
The dazed pirate brushed his sandy hair out of his eyes and stared around confused.
 
He made several attempts to sit in a chair before he succeeded.
 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t have Mr. Jukes strangle you,” I said.
 

“You just made me Quarter Master,” Teynte stammered.
 

“Mate,” Jukes corrected, “and you’ll be in quarter pieces if you don’t answer true.”
 

I passed a look to Jukes and the large man settled back on his heels.
 
I then turned my attention back to Teynte.
 
“What was the plan?”

“The plan?”
 

“The plan to take the ship,” I said.
 
“You were in on it.”

“Aye. I was in on the plan, but I was not her architect.”

“Who was?”
 

Ed Teynte crawled further up into his chair. “Phillip Gulley.”

“That’s convenient,” Jukes sneered.
 

“It’s the truth,” Teynte said.
 
He swallowed hard and continued.
 
“When you returned on the yawl, we were to blow you out of the water with Long Tom.
 
And with you dead, Phillip was to strike an accord with Pan to get us home.”

“You know that wouldn’t have worked,” I said.
 
“You do understand that now, right?”

Ed Teynte started to speak, but cut himself off with a sigh through his nose.
 
He met my eyes and nodded.
 

“Do the others understand as well?”