Then Jack whispered, so low he could barely be heard, "My… my mother sings that song."
Instantly Hook was alert, a scowl chasing the momentary rapture from his angular features. His hook lifted and his eyes fixed on Smee. Do something! he mouthed in fury.
Smee straightened and clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder. "C'mon, me lad!" he bellowed as if calling hogs. "Let's have another go at Long Tom!"
He steered Jack to the cannon, mounted him in place, raced to the other end, climbed aboard, and began whooping and hollering as if he had never had so much fun in his entire life.
Hook walked across to the opposite railing and stared downward at the docks. In a shaft of moonlight, he could see Maggie Banning seated on the floor of his prison.
Far distant, walking alone along a limb of the Nevertree where he could watch the last of the sun's color spread away into the water and the moonglow take its place, Peter Banning came to an uncertain stop. Below, silhouetted against the dark backdrop of the island's cliffs by a shimmer of twinkling lights, sat Hook's pirate town and the Jolly Roger. The air was so clear that he could see the movement of tiny figures on the wharf and streets amid the jumbled ship hulls. It was so still that he could hear their footsteps.
But what he heard now, suddenly, improbably, was the sound of someone singing a soft, sweet lullaby.
I know that song, he thought in surprise.
He had finished his meal in something of a fog. Lost Boys crowded about, all of them talking a mile a minute, asking this, asking that, anxious to be close to him. He had smiled at them, nodded cheerfully, and given pithy answers to their questions-all the while trying to figure out what had happened with that sword and those coconuts. For a moment there, for just a moment, he had been… transformed. It was a ridiculous thing to say, but it was the only description that fit. He shouldn't have been able to do that-to split those coconuts-not even if they had been lying on the table, let alone flying through the air. It was such an incredible piece of luck, such a fluke.
And yet, for just a moment…
He had watched Tink's flash of light as she darted down in front of a glum Rufio. "Did you see?" he had heard her ask. "He's in there, Rufio. Help me get him out. Teach him to fight so he can stand up to Hook. Look in his eyes-he's there!" And she had yanked on his gold earring for emphasis.
But Rufio had simply swatted at her in response and growled, "Tink, you Neverbug! Let go!" so that she had flown indignantly away.
Iknow that song.
He stared transfixed at the lights of the pirate town, straining to hear the words. As he did so Thud Butt appeared beside him. For a moment neither spoke, listening together to the sound of the music.
"I was thinking, Peter," said Thud Butt when a little time had passed. His round face lifted and his dark eyes gleamed. "When you were like us, there was a Lost Boy named Tootles. Do you remember Tootles?"
Peter nodded wordlessly.
Thud Butt reached up and removed a bag from around his neck. "Hold out your hands, Peter."
Peter did, and Thud Butt emptied the contents of the bag into his cupped palms. Peter stared down. He was holding a handful of marbles.
"These are his happy thoughts," said Thud Butt solemnly. "He lost them a long time ago. I kept them, but they don't work for me." He smiled. "Maybe they'll work for you."
The smile was sad and hopeful all at once. He handed Peter the bag. Peter dumped the marbles back into it, tucked it inside his shirt, and reached over to give Thud Butt a hug.
Thud Butt hugged him back, saying, "My happy thought is my mum, Peter. I can't remember her, though. Do you remember your mum?"
Peter broke away gently and shook his head no.
Thud Butt started to speak, but Peter silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Wait. Listen."
Maggie's lullaby wafted on the night air, rising up like the scent of flowers carried on the wind.
Thud Butt's chubby face beamed in the moonlight. "It sounds like Wendy, Peter," he said softly. "She was our mother once." He paused and glanced over hesitantly. "Do you think she's ever coming back?"
In the pirate prison of the Lost Boys, everyone was drifting off to sleep. Maggie sang more softly now, lower, watching eyes close and heads nod and breathing slow to a whisper. She finished the lullaby but continued to hum the tune, staring off into the darkened corners, thinking of home.
A slight rustle at the barred window caused her to shift her gaze. There sat Captain Hook, cross-legged before the sill, eyes glittering in the moonlight, angular face lowered into shadow, the silhouette of his wig and tricorne unmistakable against the brightened sky.
Maggie quit humming, hesitated a second, then gently moved the heads nestled in her lap. She rose and crossed to stand before him. Hook's eyes had a distant, dreamy look, and his hands were clasped childlike before him.
"Who puts you to sleep, Captain Hook?" Maggie asked quietly.
Hook's smile curled like the ends of his mustaches. "Child, I alone hold the pirates of Neverland together. No one puts Captain James Hook to sleep. I put myself to sleep."
Maggie's clear blue eyes fixed him. "Well, then, that's why you're so sad. You have no mother."
Hook seemed taken aback. For a moment it appeared he was about to protest, that he was about to deny the fact, that somewhere in the dim recesses of his memory lay the fragments of a time when Maggie's assertion had not been true.
But then he just shrugged. "No. I'm sad because I have no war."
Maggie shook her head slowly. "All day long, giving orders, being in charge, making people do things. No one takes care of you. A mother would take care of you. You need a mother very badly. Very, very badly."
Hook stared at her, his face thoughtful. His eyes wandered to the children she had sung to sleep, and for just an instant his face softened.
Then the iron crept back and the softness disappeared. He rose wordlessly and stalked away.
The Tick Tock Museum
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound was pervasive, insistent, and terrifying. Even in his sleep, Hook could not escape it. It followed after him relentlessly. It invaded his dreams, a ghost out of his past wearing a face that was all too familiar.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The crocodile slithered from the depths of Davy Jones's locker, crawling from the netherworld to which Hook had dispatched it, seeking its revenge in the form of a further taste, of a bigger bite. His hand had not been enough to satisfy it. His hand had only given it a craving for more of him. Up the side of the Jolly Roger the crocodile crawled, jaws opening and closing eagerly, eyes bright. Hook tried to run from it, of course. He tried to flee. But he found that he couldn't move. His boots were nailed to the deck. When he tried to escape them, he found that his socks were glued inside. Wrenching and groaning in terror, he fought to break free, prepared to rip the skin from the soles of his feet if need be.
Laughter assailed him in his misery. Nearby stood Peter Pan, head thrown back in merriment, a hammer and nails in one hand, a pot of glue in the other.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Hook lay curled in a ball in his bed, his blankets hauled up about his chin, the side of his face twitching in time to the ticking sound so that his mustaches and eyebrows jumped like the inner workings of the clock that pursued him.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Finally he awoke, and a bloodshot eye flicked open abruptly, one brow still twitching above, one mustache below. The eye stared wildly at nothing, mirroring both terror and rage. Hook flung off his covers and leaped from his bed, nightshirt billowing about him like sailcloth. His claw gleamed wickedly in the early-morning light as he glanced about frantically, trying to locate the hideous sound. He looked right and left. He looked high and low. He rose on tiptoes to scan the top of the bureau. He dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. He rushed to the latticed windows aft and peered down to the waterline and up to the railing.