Wendy Darling: Volume 2: Seas Page 11

  Wendy felt the cold rush of panic twist in her stomach. Peter. How was it, that when she hated him, when it was he that she feared the most, that there was still some tiny infuriating part of her that would feel relief to see his lovely face? She hated herself for it, hated how Peter’s animalistic charm could manipulate even her powerful reason. It disgusted her, made her want to scrub her body raw at the thought of him, just to rid herself of the hold he had on her. Her body betrayed her at the thought of his smile, and then counterbalanced, staying flush with the hatred of him. She took a step closer to Hook.

  He lowered his tone, “That a girl. Let’s see to it that you don’t die.”

  Without another word, he began making his way across the deck and off the ship, walking in between the lines of men that waited on the wooden dock for their captain to touch dry land, their heads bowed in obedience. Smith followed behind him, followed by Wendy, who was trying to walk with as manly a gait as possible with hard, long steps and wildly swinging arms.

  “Will you stop?” hissed Smith. “You look like a bloody monkey.”

  “Shut up,” Wendy snapped back, surprised at her own impoliteness. She immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “That was the first piratelike thing you’ve said since you’ve been here—that is ’til you apologized,” snapped Smith, with something that vaguely resembled pride.

  Wendy smiled underneath her wide hat.

  The zig-zagging dark wooden dock led across the sand, which up close took on a rainbow sheen, the pearl grains reflecting particles of light. They stepped off the dock and made their way up the shore (which made a delightful crunching noise underfoot, like cracking nuts between her teeth) up the beach, towards a wide arch made of haphazardly piled beach wood that welcomed them into a thick canopy of emerald trees. Hanging sideward off the arch, a messily scrawled sign creaked out its lone warning in the breeze:

  Welcome to Port Duette.

  You’ve been warned.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Underneath the archway and its creaking sign was a narrow path into the wood; a dark oak barrel, roughly the size of two short men, sat squarely in their path. The pirates circled around the barrel, most making sure to leave plenty of space between them and its grimy surface. A rancid smell hit her full on in the face, and she gagged involuntarily. Smith grinned nastily before taking pity on her and handing her a handkerchief, which reeked of sweat, but it was still better than the sweet, putrid smell that rose up from the barrel.

  Black Caesar leaned towards her. “Don’t be embarrassed, lass. We’re all used to it by now, but the first few times, these pirates were heave-hoing all over the place.”

  Wendy smiled behind the handkerchief.

  Hook dangled a key out in front of him. “Black Caesar, please take our taxes, and let’s be on our way.”

  The pirate grinned, showing his yellowish teeth and rotted gums.

  “Happy to, Captain.”

  With the help of two other men, they turned the barrel over with a hard thud, revealing a gold padlock on the bottom that was attached to a circular slat in darker wood. Black Caesar took the key from Hook before unlocking the padlock and setting it quietly in the sand. Then, moving slowly and cautiously, his hands found a small finger groove in the wood and turned it, twice clockwise and then once backwards, his fingers spinning over the wood. The small circle slid over the opening and a tiny hole appeared in the wood. Bloody Blair and Voodoo began shaking the barrel back and forth between them, and soon coins began to shake loose, hundreds piling on the ground with loud, rattling clinks. Hook leaned back, satisfied.

  “Ah, that’s the sound of it. I love the sound of empty pockets.”

  Smith leaned over towards Wendy. “If you want to visit Port Duette, ye must pay the captain.”

  “What’s to keep people from stealing it?”

  “Have a look. Well, go on.”

  Wendy took a few cautious steps towards the barrel, stopping abruptly when she heard the faintest of terrible sounds: hissing, followed by the sounds of hundreds of legless bodies sliding over each other.

  “Look inside,” whispered Voodoo, his brown eyes large with excitement. “Watch our little friends move!”

  Wendy knew that she rather wouldn’t, but she carefully raised herself up on her tip toes and peered over the top as Voodoo dropped a lit match into the darkness. In the flash of light, she saw them, hundreds of thick black snakes, writhing as one nightmarish form, heads and tails and bodies, entwined, squirming and reaching towards the light, their yellow eyes lit in the sudden flare. Wendy leapt back, her heart exploding at the horror of it, and she watched, nauseated, as Black Caesar—moving very quickly—ripped off the lid of the barrel, threw in the writhing bag that he carried on his shoulder, and shut the lid quickly behind it. The hissing grew louder, and the barrel began rocking violently back and forth as Wendy heard terrified shrieks.

  “Rats from the ship. What else we gonna do with them?” Black Caesar shrugged. “And if someone tries to steal it, or doesn’t pay the captain their taxes … then we don’t need no rats to keep them fed, do we?”

  Wendy felt her stomach churn with revulsion and turned to Hook, hoping that he would wink, or give some sign that Black Caesar was fibbing. He didn’t, and she felt a rivulet of sweat trickle down her forehead as they shuffled forward in the sand, making their way around the barrel. From there, the pearls underfoot turned into coarse brown sand that twisted into an emerald maze of low-lying trees, their branches heavy with moisture, and their leafy arms reaching for the crew. They walked for a few minutes, weaving their way silently through the trees, and Wendy began to sense a change in the air. The humid wetness of the island was sloping off her skin as they neared an opening in the trees and her nostrils were filled less with the smell of the sugar-scented beach and more with the odors of life—steaming fish and onions, burning wood, dust underfoot. Humans.

  The path wove west, and the trees parted to reveal a tapered road made of the same pearls that littered the Bay of Treasures, only these were black, gleaming like ink in the unforgiving sun. Just as she was beginning to feel out of breath, the road branched out into the streets of Port Duette, mere feet separating town from jungle.

  Wendy looked above her, at the buildings that loomed overhead, all of them leaning forward just a pitch, so unlike the sturdy square buildings that made up London. In that city, there had been an order to things, one building usually like another. Here, it looked as though a child had stacked the buildings together, shoving them into one another until they stayed, buoyed by the pressure between them. They leaned against each other, like weary travelers, holding each other up with the weight of their collective exhaustion. The body of one building leapt into another, windows split between them with rickety pieces of iron ore, wood planks nailed over doorways to make walkways to second-level entrances. Parts of marooned ships had been used in most of the buildings. The carcasses of the ships lost to the bay were now bedrooms that hung perilously over the street or curved roofs that once bore the weight of a keel. Masts—now wooden awnings—draped with mouse-eaten drop cloths blew in the wind, and somewhere in the town, a wind chime clinked several dull notes.

  This surely was a town built for pirates, Wendy thought.

  People of all colors were milling about in the road, selling trinkets or tree nuts, but when they saw Hook and his crew, they scattered, pushing to the sides of the street or scurrying up into buildings, tucking tail as they ran, like cockroaches in the light. Hook marched out front, the plume of his hat bouncing as he walked, Smith behind him, and Wendy behind them both, her head tucked down, the hat protecting her face from the curious eyes that peered from behind every broken window and battered awning.

  Hook stopped, looked around, cleared his throat, and shouted “As you were!” and the street sputtered to life again, merchants creeping back out cautiously, their wagons waving with jeweled bangles, dripping honey candles and gleamin
g weapons. Crowds thronged around them now, everyone vying for the captain’s purse. Wendy watched the vendors with fascination. Some carts held treasure: gold boullion, ruby goblets, and heavy gold rings carved with the heads of dragons, while still others steamed with food: seared fish wrapped in leaves with pieces of fruit, ripe melons topped with white cream, hard flakes of maize dipped in pepper sauce. The sight of each one made Wendy’s mouth water terribly, but she forced herself to keep her eyes straight ahead and off the winding alleyways that stretched off of the main road like curling fingers, their dark corners leering at her with the horrible prospect of Peter. A cart rumbled past her, the skins of a dozen sea snakes dangling from iron hooks, red with black markings, golden rings on black, subtle green with brown peppered dots. Wendy thought she was going to be sick. She stumbled, but Smith caught her arm.

  “Don’t throw up on us, girl, we need you to walk straight.”

  “I’m sorry” Wendy whispered.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Smith grinned and yanked her upwards, and they continued walking at a brisk pace. “I do, it’s that you ain’t got your sea legs yet and you’re on land again. Feels strange at first—too steady. Now you’re spinning.”

  Now that he mentioned it, Wendy did feel the solid ground under her feet, unshifting, unyielding, and she wished it would rock, or sway, just ever so slightly. She had gone from a giant tree that creaked ever so slightly in the wind to a boat that bent the sea to its will, and now, for the first time in a long time, she was standing on ground that didn’t shift in some indiscernible way. Bile rose in her throat.

  “Choke it down!” ordered Smith, and so she did, appalled and disgusted, but thankful to continue on without causing a scene. He passed her a canteen, and with a long sip of cold water, she began to feel better, ordering herself not to think about the ground beneath her feet or the strange, disorienting buildings above her.

  With Hook leading the company up the street, Wendy focused on the sudden steep slope of the road, forming a narrow path that fit one person at a time. As she climbed, Wendy took in the view of Port Duette from the opposite end of the shore—from here she could see that the buildings were not only leaning against one another, but that they were stacked upwards in levels, moving back from the shore, each level less wealthy than the one before it, the buildings less stable, the space between them darker and more ominous, like a yawning sigh. The thick canopy of trees pushed between the buildings in what she guessed was a constant struggle of man and nature, with nature pushing the poor back further and further into its swallowing depths, back further into the shadow of the mountain until it swallowed them completely.

  Wendy’s calves felt a twinge of pain as the climb increased between the narrowing buildings. When she looked backwards, she was now able to see the huge body of the Sudden Night looming over the town like an angry god. It rocked gently on the waves, the mast creaking so loud that she could even hear it here, a half mile from the ship. At the top of the road, the buildings on the left gave way to a low-lying stone boundary that let passersby view the sea with ease, and Wendy found great comfort that she could see the cresting waves lapping at the horizon. Edging away from the shores, the road continued to narrow and climb, the inhabitants of Port Duette gradually falling away from the company. Their group rounded a bend, and from there Wendy could see that the road ended at an elegant stone portico. Past the low-lying buildings was an open abyss—a steep drop-off that cascaded down into a dense cluster of palm trees far below. Above the building, a thin waterfall cascaded down from the mountain, its spray of water passing directly behind the stone home. Open archways surrounded the length of the building, and lush clumps of bright pink and orange flowers climbed the widely spaced pillars. Churning swirls of hunter-green ivy danced underneath the arching stone, and clumps of lemon trees surrounded the portico, their swollen yellow fruit ripe in the wet air. Seated underneath the archways, some in chairs, some on the ground, and some standing with folded arms, eyeing the men with barely contained amusement, were women. Dozens of them were waiting, their fingers curling to the men, who were dropping their bags and rushing towards the women, gold glinting in their palms. Wendy’s mouth dropped open as they drew closer, and Smith sniggered at her shock.

  “Harlot’s Grove. Possibly my favorite place in Neverland, aside from the Night.”

  As they drew closer, Wendy could see that some of the women were barely clothed—the one closest to Wendy was wearing tiny triangles of red scales that barely covered her breasts, strewn together with a string of red and pearl beading, a sheer gold scarf wrapped around her waist, covering nothing. Another leered out of a window at Hook as he walked past, her bosom bursting out of a white laced corset, her tiny waist bare atop a low-slung blue skirt. She reached out for Hook as he passed, her fingers gracing his collar.

  “How about today, my love? I’ll show you something you’ve never seen before.”

  Hook brushed her hand aside without looking at her. “Not today, Caprice. Today I’m in the mood for something …” His eyes traveled over the group, coming to rest on a copper-headed beauty with dark skin, who was draped across one of the open porticos like a Siamese cat, her taut belly resting on the cool stone. Wendy felt a blush rise up her face at the indecency of these women, their wanton sexuality projected to the pirates like rays of naughty sunshine. The crew swarmed towards the women like bees to honey, their beating hearts like furious wings, hungry and lustful. Hook took his dark beauty with one hand and beckoned to another with his hook, this one a busty blond with a pink mouth. He winked at Smith, who rolled his eyes at the captain, a green-eyed girl with short black hair already hanging off his massive shoulders, her tight lavender dress bursting at the seams. Smith cleared his throat.

  “Aye men, you have an hour, and we will meet back here for the quorum of the Scorned. Do not be late or you will be left behind, permanently.” He looked around. “Though truthfully, there are worse places to be marooned.”

  Voodoo was already fiddling with the corset of a women who had draped herself over his shoulders, a happy grin on her face, but her eyes emotionless. A shadow passed over Wendy. Hook was standing over her, the two women flanking either side of him.

  “I’ve gone ahead and gotten one for you, my dear.”

  He beckoned to an elegant older woman who was watching over the grove from a raised stone platform above.

  “Fermina, this is your charge.”

  The men hooted with laughter as Wendy curdled inside, embarrassed. She turned back to Hook furious, angry at him for his cryptic tales, angry that he would think that she would do this.

  “I have no interest in this. No. Absolutely not.”

  Hook leaned forward, the plume of his ridiculous hat brushing across her cheek.

  “Fermina has been in Neverland for a long time. A very long time. She may have some interesting things to share with you.”

  He raised his eyebrows and stared down at her, the implication written across his face. You need to talk to this woman.

  “Oh.”

  Wendy took a step back from him, out of the cloud of rose-drenched perfume that was oozing from Hook’s whores. The older woman made her way down the staircase towards Wendy.

  “Fermina, this is …,” he paused for far too long, “Bluebell.”

  “Bluebell, huh?”

  Fermina bent over Wendy with a crooked smile and inspected her face, Wendy studying her in return. Fermina was a handsome woman, curvy and broad shouldered, with black curls that cascaded down to her waist. Her face was lined and weathered with several noticeable scars, her skin brown and taut from the Neverland sun. She was wearing a lacy cream dress with a plunging neckline and a red shawl, her dress downright modest compared to the other women who were happily disappearing into the folds of the grove.

  “Fermina runs Harlot’s Grove, so show her proper respect.”

  Wendy heard a shriek and turned around to see Black Caesar marching of
f with a tiny slip of a woman laughing over his shoulder, passing into the dark shadows of the portico.

  Fermina frowned.

  “She’s an idiot, that one. Sticky fingers. Tell your men to count their gold.”

  Hook raised his eyebrows before passing Fermina something inside a black velvet bag. “Speaking of … this is for your discretion.”

  Fermina nodded. “Always, Captain.”

  Hook strolled into a set of wooden double doors flanked by towering flowers, one woman on each arm and now, incredibly, one trailing behind him. Wendy, who had seen more blatant licentiousness in the last ten minutes than she had in her entire life, burst out laughing at the thought of it, her hysterical giggles rising up and out of her chest, which immediately felt lighter and less burdened. Fermina turned to her, a bemused smile on her face.

  “What’re you laughing at, lass? You laughing at us?”

  Wendy wiped a tear from her eye.

  “No, no. I’m sorry, I’m not meaning to be rude. I must look quite insane. It’s just … what is Hook going to do with those women? Three women? He must be a man of some talent.”

  Fermina smiled kindly at her, and Wendy felt a sudden rush of want for her own mother, for her soft hands, warm tea, and comforting clucking about her children that Wendy had always taken for granted.

  “Don’t you worry about Hook, lass. He’ll do just fine.”

  Wendy realized that Fermina probably knew this for a fact.

  “Oh, well …” She was stammering, flushed and embarrassed. “I suppose.”

  She was taken with another short laugh, and this time Fermina joined in, her weathered face turned up in joy.

  “Come with me, dear—we’ll have a drink, and nothing more. I’m sure you could use it after being on that bloody black ship.”

  She wasn’t wrong, and Wendy had desperately missed being around other women, something she hadn’t realized until this moment. Talking with another female sounded absolutely divine.