He stepped away from the bamboo fence cautiously. ' 'Look, I got off on the wrong foot with you. I admit that.'' He took a deep breath. "Things are turned a little upside down here, but I'm getting used to it now. And I can tell you this-I'll do whatever it takes to save my kids. If I have to eat crow, I'll eat crow."
Thud Butt tugged at his sleeve. "You don't have to eat crow, Peter," he said. "You just have to crow crow."
"Okay, fine. I'll crow crow. I'll do anything I have to do. If I have to fight, I'll fight. If I have to fly, I'll fly…" He trailed off, reconsidering. "Or I could run real fast," he muttered. "I could at least do that."
Pockets grinned up at him. "Yup! Peder would say that! Yes, he would! Yes, he would!"
Peter grinned back.
Rufio sneered, threw up his hands, and walked away.
The rest of the Lost Boys shuffled after him, muttering uncertainly among themselves. Finally only Pockets remained.
"C'mon, Peder," he said quietly, and beckoned.
Chastened and bone weary, Peter followed. It was clear he had convinced nobody.
The Ultimate Revenge
The sun disappeared finally, dropping beneath the horizon, sinking into the ocean's vast waters, and the dusk faded to a summer night's darkness-warm, soft, and filled with pungent smells and intriguing sounds. The darkness was a blanket of hidden life that buzzed and flitted and crept about, a world of mystery and adventure that small boys searched for eagerly in their dreams.
Aboard the Jolly Roger, Captain Hook was thinking about one small boy in particular-or, rather, one small boy who had grown up.
"How could he do this to me?" he muttered to himself disconsolately.
He was seated in his cabin at the dinner table. All about him lay the ill-gotten gains of his many conquests-gold, silver, and jewels in all shapes and sizes; furniture stolen from kings and queens of first-rate nations; tapestries and paintings from the private collections of greedy men from six (or was it seven?) continents; hand-crafted weapons used by gentlemen to murder one another; bolts of silks and English wool from garment districts and boutiques; brass instruments of navigation, some of them rumored to have belonged to Columbus; and leather-bound books by the world's foremost authors-Sir James Barrie was one of his favorites.
At the back of the room sat a three-dimensional map of Neverland, complete down to the last detail, including replicas of his ship and the pirate town, of the Indian village, of the Mermaid lagoon, and even of the Nevertree, the whole of it floating in a pool of real water.
But Hook had no eye this night for any of it. He sat staring blankly at the lavish, steaming dinner Smee had just set before him. Roast warthog, Indian-skin corn, tender new potatoes, pirate jelly sprinkled with fish eggs, and good-form crumb cake-all of them his favorites. Smee stood close at hand, awaiting approval, the hopeful smile pasted across his chubby face threatening to falter with the passing of each second.
Finally Hook bent to sniff at the food, took fork in hand, prepared to take a bite, and then stopped. He placed the fork back on the plate.
"How can I eat!" he lamented. "Smee, do you know what it's like to look forward to something so badly that you can taste it? Do you have any idea what it's like to anticipate an event with all your heart and soul?"
Smee thought he might, but he wasn't sure what sort of answer the captain was looking for. Experience had taught him that with Hook if you didn't know the correct answer, it was best not to speak.
Hook was still staring at the table. "The day before yesterday I couldn't sleep, so great was my anticipation. I wished to sleep, of course-that would have made the next day come quicker. Yesterday, I could only think of how long it would be until today. And today? Today I was knotted into knots, all jumbled up inside. The sheer, unbearable anticipation, Smee! Pan's arrival and the commencement of my glorious war!"
A smile crossed his features and his brown eyes lit up with delight. For an instant the wrinkles of despair departed and he was the old Hook, cunning and ruthless.
Then the brightness departed, and the frustration returned. Gloom built upon his brow until it was a thunder-head. Up he rose with a roar, and his claw raked the wooden surface of the table before him in fury.
"I'm so disappointed! I hate being disappointed! I hate Neverland! I hate everything!" His voice rose to a scream. "But most of all I hate Peter Pan!"
He wheeled from the table and yanked a gold-inlaid, diamond-studded dueling pistol from his sash.
"Not again," groaned Smee.
"My life is over!" Hook declaimed dramatically. "I'm not going to have my war! Pan stole it! My lovely, glorious war! I could smell the cannons and taste the steel! Now it's gone! My war is gone!"
He put the barrel of the pistol to his heart and cocked the hammer.
"Cap'n, stop that," scolded Smee, hands waving.
Hook straightened, rising to his full height. "There will be no stopping me this time, Smee. Farewell!"
His jaw jutted forth and his finger tightened about the trigger. His eyes squinched shut, but he managed to peek surreptitiously out of the corners. Seeing Smee hesitate, he screamed, "Smeeee!"
Smee lunged, jammed his finger between the cap and hammer as the trigger released, and yelled in pain. Hook hissed in response, pried the offending finger loose, and jammed the barrel of the pistol into Smee's nose. Smee grabbed the gun with both hands, trying to turn the barrel away. Around and around they danced, grappling with the pistol and each other.
"I want to die!" howled Hook. "There's no more adventure in Neverland! I've been cursed with a fat Pan! Death is all that remains for me!"
"Cap'n, that's not the answer, Cap'n," Smee huffed into the pistol barrel.
They careened into the dinner table and toppled onto it. The table held them for only an instant, then collapsed, wood splinters flying everywhere. Hook's pistol discharged with a deafening roar. Smee, fortunately, had moved the barrel off his nose. The pistol ball whistled past his ear, struck the replica of the Jolly Roger at anchor, and sank her on the spot. Hook and Smee stared in shock as the tiny ship disappeared in a cloud of bubbles. They faced each other, still locked together in a tangle of arms and legs, panting from their struggle.
"Even this," whispered Hook, "isn't as much fun as it used to be."
He disengaged himself, rose, brushed away the crumbs and smoothed the wrinkles from his coat, straightened his mustaches, righted his chair, seated himself, and began the painstaking process of reloading the pistol.
Smee rolled back his eyes, exhaled wearily, and followed his captain up from the floor. There was crumb cake in his beard and jam on the end of his nose. When the reloading process was complete, Smee reached over quickly-trying not to appear too anxious-and extracted the weapon from the captain's hand. Patting the other solicitously, he placed the pistol in the drawer of the Queen Anne bureau and locked it safely away.
"There now, Cap'n," he said soothingly. "Things will look better in the mawnin'. Let's get you off to sleep. Smee will tuck you in. That's a good cap'n. You know you look a Marley poop without your proper rest."
Hook looked up gratefully, the weariness apparent in his eyes. Smee moved to a large wooden crank set in the wall and began to turn. Slowly Hook's bed lowered out of the ceiling, settling in place finally over the map of Neverland.
Smee crossed back again. "Now, I ask you," he posited. "What kind of world would it be without Captain Hook? Aye?"
He led Hook across the room like a small child and sat him down on the edge of the bed.
"Good form, Smee," Hook announced softly, something vaguely akin to gratitude in his eyes. "What would the world be like without Captain Hook?"
And overcome by a sudden rush of emotions, he clasped Smee to him, hugging him as he would a long-lost friend- had he any.