When Eleanor awoke the next morning with a sunbeam shining brightly in her face, she yawned and stretched widely, then sat up. Across the bamboo floor of the tree house, she saw Peter and a number of fluttering lights circling his head. She realised, rubbing the sleep from her eyes blearily, and upon staring a moment to be sure, that it was fairies flitting around his head, speaking to him in high-pitched voices. After a moment, all the sparkling fairies flitted out of the tree house, and Peter leapt to his feet.
“Get up, everyone! Hook is sleeping in a tree, and he’s alone!” Eleanor realised that that was what the fairies had come to tell Peter. She watched, first in excitement, then in dawning shock, as the boys pulled knives and swords out, brandishing them, shouting and laughing as they bragged about what they would do.
“I shall chop off his other hand! Then a foot too!” Peter yelled.
“And I,” declared Toots, “will chop off his hair, and wear it on a headband!”
“I say we toss him to the Mermaids,” Flipper said with a cruel gleam in his eye.
Adventure was all well and good, but this sort of talk terrified Eleanor. She couldn’t imagine simply going out to search for this man, even if he was mean, to chop off a hand or a foot, or to toss him to Mermaids, who she remembered from Wendy’s stories were dark creatures, seductive but deadly, and eager to drown any who came into their reach.
“Wait!” she interrupted. “I, oh…I’ve got a better idea.” She smiled weakly as the lost boys turned to look at her.
“Well, what is that?” Peter asked.
“Well, I remember from Wendy’s stories that he is the best-dressed Pirate in all of Neverland.” They all looked at her in confusion. “And, since my arrival, I have had nothing but this simple nightdress to wear.” In fact, the nightdress was already torn and dirty. “I need new clothes, and if his clothes are the best around, we should take his wardrobe while he sleeps in the tree!” she declared.
She hoped that this would involve little bloodshed, and was glad as the boys all giggled, that this mischief seemed just as appealing to them as horribly maiming a person. Peter sprinkled her with more fairy dust before they left to give her extra help in flying, and together, the six figures flew from the tree house towards the shore.
Hook awoke about an hour after sunrise, slightly stiff from his night in the tree. He felt groggy, but quickly pulled himself together and silently snuck from the tree to the ground, his pistol at the ready, eyes scanning the treetops, the ground, and any shadows as he made his way through the forest. Surely he would catch these boys at their play. He crept silently from the tree and, keeping his pistol at the ready, went in search of the lost boys.
The sounds of tropical birds calling to each other filled the morning air, the buzz of insects punctuating the chorus of chirps and whistles occasionally as they whizzed by his head. He walked slowly, careful to make little impact that could be tracked. The morning grew warmer, and trails of sweat beaded down his back. His stump itched within the cup which held his hook; he was able, after long practice of enduring the discomfort and nagging aches, to ignore it. Though he did ignore it consciously, the discomfort did make him generally more angry; the constant reminder of what the boy had done to him spurred his bouts of cruelty to further heights.
This morning, though his intent had been to find the woman and reason with her, he found himself growing more and more agitated as he searched, finding not a trace of any lost boys. He searched the trees relentlessly too, thinking that since they could fly they might have chosen a home on higher ground, but he could see nothing but thick boughs of leaves and many branches. There could easily be a mansion built in the canopy and he would never know it was there.
Towards noon, he decided to give up his search of the forest, and began his return to the lagoon, where his boat would be waiting. He forgot his careful stride, and was soon stomping through the thick foliage, ripping vines in his path with his hook and cursing when they tangled in his long curly hair.
Just when he thought his morning was as dreadful as it could get, he arrived at the lagoon and found his boat was missing. With a growl of rage, he raised his pistol to send a signal to his crew, but then he heard gunshots and yells from the ship anchored two hundred yards from shore.
“Pan!” he whispered as he watched the very object of his morning’s search fly high into the rigging of his ship. Tiny figures of the other lost boys whipped about the ship at high speed, while his crew scrambled on deck, shooting pistols, cannons, and creating a general undirected bedlam.
Eleanor was starting to regret her decision as she clung to a bundle of rigging which hung over the side of the ship, seated in one rope which was loosely looped. Her cheek rested against the wood of the ship’s hull. Above her, feet scrambled about the deck, gunshots rang out, and the smell of rotten eggs, the sulphur from the black powder, was sickening. She nearly screamed as a pirate fell overboard just over her head, making a large splash in the ocean below. Another followed the first, this time several feet from where she clung. She was waiting for the signal from Pan to climb aboard and invade the captain’s cabin of the ship.
A cannon shot rang out, nearly causing her to lose her grip as she teetered on the rope; more gunshots rang out, pirates yelled, screamed and cursed, all the while the lost boys laughed and flew around as if they were having the greatest fun.
“Peter Pan is mad,” she muttered. “Absolutely mad!”
Now that she’d met him, the boy who had seemed a wondrous adventurer in Wendy’s stories now seemed more like a boy who should be locked away for his own safety and the safety of others. She thought it ironic that in the middle of all this ‘adventure’ the thought of what she’d run from came to her mind; running a well-to-do household with many servants under her command and a husband who would have been rather accommodating didn’t seem such a bad fate after all.
She screamed and looked up as a hand suddenly grasped hers, and saw the wild face of Peter above her. She sighed, realising it had become eerily quiet on the ship.
“Pan clothiers now open for business!” he declared, grasping her other hand and pulling hard. Eleanor climbed up with his assistance, looking with wide eyes at the remaining pirates, who were all tied together around the ships’ mast. Some looked injured; one had a deep gash across his face which was bleeding steadily, while another had what looked like a gunshot wound in his leg, and yet another an open and profusely bleeding gash across his chest. Most looked generally bloodied, though she stopped short when she turned and saw one pockmarked, though rather young looking man, lying dead on the deck.
I want to go home, she thought.
Peter Pan bowed graciously, extending his hand. “Captain’s cabin this way, ma’am,” he said. Shakily, Eleanor followed him up the narrow stairs and into the captain’s well appointed cabin. She felt dizzy and faint as another boy, Toots, ran into the room and began riffling through the wardrobe while Peter threw open the large chest and began pulling out more clothes.
“I want to go home,” Eleanor whispered, but the boys didn’t hear her. They were too busy shouting playfully to one another and flinging clothing about. Eleanor looked over the assortment of fine linens and bright brocades numbly. She spotted on the far wall a harpsichord and crossed silently to it, sitting on the bench and lifting the fine cover to expose the keys. Her fingers found their place automatically, despite their shaking, and she played a tune which had always been a favourite of hers, the peaceful music in the present situation lending to a general air of surreal, dream-like shock.
Maybe she wasn’t cut out for adventure after all. She’d read many stories of adventures, and even of pirates and murder which had been invigorating, enchanting, and had inspired dreams that made her blush to think of them in the light of day, but faced with it personally, she felt weak, incapable of handling it. She hadn’t wanted anyone killed, and over what? Some silly clothes.
It took him a long time to swim to the longboat, which he had found drifting thirty yards from shore, and to climb in without upsetting the boat. As he rowed to his ship, the noise of battle abated, and it was silent. He knew that without his leadership, his crew was nearly incapable of handling the simplest of tasks, so it was no surprise that a stupid boy had managed to create so much trouble. Pan would pay, he decided. And if that girl – or woman, whichever she turned out to be – had been a part of it, then she would pay too.
A captain knows his ship better than any of the crew, and so it was that Hook decided to go to the secret entrance to his cabin which was high on the hull, accessible by way of a porthole window which led into a storage closet in his cabin. He climbed slowly, very slowly, and once inside his closet, stopped, listening to the sound of his harpsichord being played. He nearly burst into the room with the thought of shooting whoever dared to play his instrument, but instead he listened for a few moments as the music played and the sounds of the infuriating boys riffling through his things came to him.
James Hook put an eye to a small crack in the door, though he was frustrated that all he could see was the occasional article of his clothing being tossed about. What were they doing with his clothes? He stood back, raised and cocked his pistol, then kicked the door and strode into the room.
He almost wanted to laugh at the stunned faces of the three in the room, but his eyes fell on the woman, a young woman he saw now, in a torn and dirty nightdress, who had stopped playing and now sat half-turned towards him. Her eyes widened in fear and he saw her breath catch and he grinned cruelly at the reaction he produced in her; his heart pounded with the thrill of battle, of the chase, and of the pleasant change in his quarry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pan coming at him with a sword, and quickly levelled his gun and fired, hitting the boy; the force of the shot threw Peter across the room. He began re-loading leisurely, levelling his gaze at the other boy, who seemed too stunned to move; he was staring open-mouthed at his fallen leader.
Just as he levelled the pistol again to shoot the other boy, a rush of movement to his left surprised him, and the impact of the young woman against his arm caused his shot to land directly in the centre of his very large mirror. He stepped aside to catch his balance, but he was standing in a pile of his own clothing and tripped, falling and landing with a weight atop him. When he came to rest with the sounds of shattering glass raining upon the floor of his cabin, he saw the frightened, though determined, eyes of the young woman were inches from his own.
A struggle ensued, which he won quickly, pinning the girl under him and sitting astride her waist. His hook point directly pressed to her throat stilled her movements soon enough as she saw the futility of struggling.
Pan, as it turned out, was not dead; the ball had hit him above the collar bone on his right side, punching through muscle tissue; his arm hung limply, but it would heal with little long-term difficulty, unlike Hook’s own injury. Peter arose shakily with the other boy’s help, as Hook sneered at them. “It seems I’ve caught a little songbird,” he mocked.
Eleanor struggled beneath the strong thighs of the pirate captain, but he had her held firmly. He looked down at her a moment, gave her a sly wink, before he looked back to Peter Pan.
“It appears I’ve won this round, boy. Get out now, or die…”