Wendy Darling: Volume 2: Seas Page 2

  “Please don’t hurt him.”

  Smith looked down at her, his thick forearms covered with coarse black hair. Tattoos of angels and demons loped up and down his hulking arms, so taut they reminded Wendy of rocks. Upon them, demons leered out from behind trees, their forked tails waving their way down his veins as angels watched from above. Two large tattooed wings sprouted from either side of his neck, curling up to either side of his cheeks. Wendy swallowed, and felt a cold stab of fear as his dark eyes looked down at her. She had seen this man slit the throat of a child. Kitoko. His blood had splattered her face.

  “Recognize me, you little brat?”

  Wendy stared up at him, her hazel eyes wide in the dark. “You killed Kitoko. I saw you.”

  “Oh, was that his name? I didn’t even know.” Smith pulled out a long, thin knife and ran it underneath his chin. “I remember. I could feel his jugular give. Best feeling on earth, any pirate’ll tell ya.”

  Wendy turned away, sickened, casting her eyes to the lengthening shadows on the walls. “That’s what I thought. Now, you’re coming with me, since we’ve got business upstairs. The boy stays.”

  “NO! NO!” Wendy struggled against him. “Michael has to come with me! Please. We stay together!”

  Smith squeezed her arm. “Not today you don’t. Captain wants to see you only. The kid stays here.”

  “No! No! Don’t take my Wendy!” Michael was screaming now, holding desperately to Wendy’s leg, crying hysterically, fear spilling fat tears from his cheeks. “Wendy! Stop him!”

  “Michael!” Her face crumpled.

  Smith was reaching over her now, unlocking the chains around her wrists and freeing her from the wall. Wendy struggled against him.

  “Please don’t do this! Whatever you are doing, please! He’s just a child! He won’t be trouble, I promise. You can’t leave him down here alone!”

  Smith grinned.

  “He ain’t alone. He’s got Paulo to keep him company.”

  He shrugged towards the skeleton.

  “He’s shy—only wakes up when there’s one person down here, according to pirate lore.” He looked down at Michael. “But don’t worry, he’ll only eat your fingers. One by delicious one.” He snapped his teeth together. Michael let out a bloodcurdling scream as Wendy was ripped out of his grasp.

  She flailed against Smith’s arms, trying to twist her way out of his iron grip. He let out a sigh. “Now you’re getting hysterical, just like a woman. Calm down or I’ll have to take your ear.”

  She felt his cold blade on her jawbone. He spun Wendy to face him, her body pressed hard against his chest. She squirmed uncomfortably.

  “Where are you taking me? Please don’t separate us. Please, he’ll die alone! Please …” Michael was sobbing now, pulling hard against his chains, struggling to pull his wrists out of their grasp. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with him. He’s too little to put up much of a fight. Kind of like you.” She felt his hand creeping up the side of her dress. Feeling cornered, Wendy sank her teeth hard into his wrist.

  “OW! You little bitch! You bit me!”

  Smith looked down at her with disbelief before roaring with laughter.

  “You bit me! I haven’t been bit by a woman like that since the last time I was in Port Duette! And she was naked, so it hurt a bit less.”

  Then he slapped her hard. Her face snapped to the side so fast she worried her neck would break. Wendy felt her ears ringing as she hit the ground, the side of her face completely numb. She took a breath and shut her eyes to quell the tears that blurred her vision. Then she pushed herself up from the wet floorboards and turned back to Smith, her head swimming. Silently, she moved in front of Michael, her hands outstretched, her hands shaking before dropping her voice.

  “Please sir, don’t hurt him. I’m asking politely.”

  Smith sneered before twisting his voice into the British tones of a seasoned aristocrat. “Dearest Miss Darling, please accept my regards when informing you that you’re on a pirate’s ship.” He dropped back into his normal speech. “Your etiquette don’t mean nothing here.”

  Then, moving with terrifying speed, he picked Wendy up and threw her towards the stairs. “Now get up there. The captain wants to see you. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting—trust me.” He walked up the stairs behind her, ignoring Michael’s hysterical cries as he pulled desperately on his chains.

  “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!” he screamed.

  Wendy shouted over Smith’s shoulder. “Michael, I’ll be right back! Tell yourself the story of the magic prince and the evil witch, and count how many times you can tell it! When you get to a hundred, I’ll be back!”

  Michael’s tear-stained face looked up at her, his bright-blue eyes red rimmed with dark circles, his once-chubby cheeks sunken and hollow.

  “Promise?”

  Wendy looked up at Smith, who just shrugged.

  “I can’t promise, I can’t, but I’ll try my best! I love you Michael!” Michael collapsed into hysterical wails, burying his head in his hands. Wendy felt her heart shatter outwards like glass. Smith looked back at Michael with a nasty grin.

  “Enjoy Paulo’s company! He has a fondness for little boys!”

  He slammed the door behind him, shoving Wendy forward onto the landing of a dim hallway. Michael’s screams faded in her ears as they walked deeper into the bowels of the Sudden Night. They turned right, and then right again, making their way back to the center of the ship. Wendy was looking at her feet as she walked, and was glad for it when the floor of the ship suddenly pitched beneath her, and was able to fling herself against a black wall that left her hands full of jagged splinters. Smith didn’t even stumble.

  “Come on, girl.”

  The hallway opened itself up into a wide, circular hole before them. Wendy looked above her and gasped. Rising out of the dangerous opening at her feet was a massive spiral staircase, the stairs made of a polished wood and the railing made of … marble? Wendy reached out to touch it before letting out a shriek and leaping back. Curving away from her and up through the levels of the ship was a railing made of bones. Long femurs connected to the wooden balusters with the nubs of shorter bones, each one glistening white from the hundreds of hands that ran over them every day. Curled skeletal hands marked the end of each step, as if the hands were holding up each stair individually.

  “Move!” Smith barked, and Wendy cautiously put her foot on the impressive structure. It was surprisingly solid. She continued to climb, trying her best not to touch the banister of bones, though with each roll of the ship, she was forced to grasp onto the smooth white handholds to avoid falling into the void below.

  “You are barbarians,” she pronounced with disgust, trying to shake a strange white flake off her shoulder that drifted down from above.

  Smith chuckled. “We call it the Jolly Staircase and it sits right at midship. Why let the bodies of our crew go to waste? Once you are a part of the Sudden Night, you stay with us forever. These are the bones of my brothers.” He patted the staircase affectionately. “Someday I hope to be part of the captain’s bed frame. Most action I’m ever likely to see.” He laughed to himself.

  They moved higher. Wendy couldn’t get over how large the ship was. The height alone was staggering as she counted the levels of stairs, each marked by a full skeleton slumped at the end of the banister, their knuckled joints pointing their way upwards, the next level of the ship painted crudely on their foreheads: 3 … 4 … 5…. The only glimpse Wendy had of the Sudden Night was of its outer parts, when they had hauled her up in their massive black net. The ship was taller than any ship she had ever seen, and she had been struck by how far off the water they had climbed. Still, Michael had been blue and lifeless at the time, and all her focus had been on him, on breathing life back into his body. And now she had left him in a dungeon that felt like death.

  “Alright, deary,” crowed Smith, “this level be the captain’s deck, deck seven.”

  “How
many levels are there?” asked Wendy.

  “Decks. And there be eight decks. The brig is in the bilge, lowest part of the ship.”

  Wendy struggled to catch her breath from the steep climb. She had been too long in that damp underground hell. Her muscles were weak, her head woozy, her heart terrified at what might follow. She didn’t feel ready to meet the infamous Captain Hook, and yet, Michael’s life depended on this meeting. Just the thought of him was enough to flood her hazel eyes with tears, and she fought back the memory of his terrified face, replacing it instead with Booth’s face, and his firm and unwavering belief in her. “Be brave, Wendy,” he had said, and so she would be. For her and Michael’s sake, she would be.

  Smith continued, unaware that Wendy had stopped. “Turn right at the top of the stair and don’t you complain none to the captain. He didn’t have to pull you out of that sea, ‘twas fine with the rest of us if Peter choked the life out of ya.”

  Wendy ignored him as she made her way up the final level. At the landing, a full skeleton, wearing an elaborate red jacket and a bejeweled hat adorned with a white feathered plume, welcomed her. “That’s the last person that complained to the captain. I shoved a sword down his throat.” Wendy shuddered, looking at the skeleton with curiosity and dread, red sapphires staring back at her from hollowed eye sockets. Without warning, Smith shoved her roughly between her shoulder blades and she fell forward into the hallway. The Sudden Night followed that with a violent rock that sent her tumbling against the wall. Smith barely moved, his feet grounded like roots into the lush tapestry that covered the floor.

  “Welcome to the Captain’s Deck.”

  Wendy looked around, literally thrust into a completely different surrounding. There was light here! Glorious, beautiful light. She raised her fingertips to touch it, the golden rays streaming in from circular port windows lining the hallway, their brushed copper finishes newly polished. The carpet splayed out underneath her fingertips was lush, so foreign in a place like this: curling fleur-de-lis of silvery greens surrounded embroidered men atop horseback, each adorned in blues and riding fiercely into battle. Orange blossoms dotted around them, culminating in a wild swirl of flora. The carpet reminded her of home and she felt the familiar pang of grief in her heart. Wendy let her fingers brush against a lone string that had sprung lose from the pattern. She began to pull herself to her feet. The boat gave another sudden pitch, and this time Wendy managed not go hurtling about to one side, her hands quickly finding a small brass knob that lay along an otherwise flat wall. There was only a moment of relief before the door pitched open and revealed an elaborate golden privy.

  “That’s where the captain takes his shits, he does. Sea legs you don’t got, my girl.”

  Wendy narrowed her eyes as Smith gave a deep chuckle at her misfortune. She righted herself, trying to hide the humiliated blush rising up her cheeks. Her exhausted heart hammered inside of her chest as she stared at the enormous mahogany door at the end of the hallway. Smith saw her eyeing it.

  “Ah, that be one of the captain’s favorite treasures.”

  The door was a work of art, something that in London would have been worth thousands of pounds. A pair of wicked mermaids bordered the curved wood, their hands outstretched, as if beckoning Wendy closer, dangerous but alluring smiles dashed across their mouths. Their teeth were inlaid with white pearl. In the center of the door was a huge carving of a male fairy, flecks of silver falling from his hands, the metallic sheen dusting the bottom of the door, making light cascade down its curled wood. The fairy looked nothing like Tink, so weak and small. This fairy was all muscle, his body so perfect and so nude that it made Wendy blush at its indecency. There was a crown of stars around his forehead, his eyes closed, and his mouth open as if in song. The tips of his feet brushed the bottom of the door, his arms stretched wide, reminding Wendy of the crucifix that had hung above her bed in the nursery. Gigantic wings stretched behind him, texturing the wood, stretching out behind the boundaries of the door. He was glorious, and Wendy could almost feel the power radiating out from this inanimate figure, forever carved in wood. The ship creaked underneath them. Smith cleared his throat.

  “Get a move on, landlubber. Captain doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Wendy’s shoulders brushed the sides of the walls as she made her way to the door. She raised her hand to knock, but then looked back for Smith’s approval. He was gone already, the lush hallway empty behind her. She clenched her fist and closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember everything she had heard about Hook, wondering how best to save her and her brother’s lives. Michael’s desperate face leapt to her mind and she blinked back hot tears. I must not fail us. Wendy took a long breath in, the prayers of her childhood falling from her lips without her consent.

  “Our Father who art …”

  A deep voice boomed out from behind the door and into the hallway.

  “Neverland has no gods that can hear your prayers, foolish girl. Come inside.”

  Wendy swallowed her fear and pushed the massive door open, the fairy king swinging forward to welcome her into Captain Hook’s quarters.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Upon stepping into the room, Wendy was instantly aware of just how disgusting she was. A wretched smell emanated directly from her skin. The curdling stench of salt and fish, of not bathing for five days, of the stress of being held in the damp dark against her will enveloped her. Captain Hook’s room was making her feel revolting by comparison. Wendy had seen some elaborate rooms in her life in London; the wealthiest of her mother’s friends invited people over purely to marvel at their lavish dwellings, their Gillows of Lancaster desks, their Louis XVI lounging chairs. Wendy had seen those rooms, bored out of her mind, sitting pretty on a couch, lost in a book as her mother discussed the social lives of the people around them.

  Now, here on this ship in what was one of the most-lavish rooms she had ever seen, Wendy wished she could hear her mother’s voice, going on about who looked inappropriate at the ball, who had run away with her teacher, who was failing at Father’s bank. Her mother’s voice did not come, and so instead Wendy waited in the silence, taking in the elaborate decor around her. Light wood, patterned in ever-widening spirals spread out from under her bare, blackened feet. A maroon rug filled the room, the corners marked with black tassels that lay limply against the floor. The back of the oval-shaped room served mainly as a showcase for a massive black marble fireplace. Two wooden boys, their backs bent as if they couldn’t bear the weight, held up a long mantle that was covered with glass bottles of wine, each one set into an iron holder to keep them from rolling away. In the center of the mantle, an enormous stuffed crocodile held a ticking clock between its teeth, the sound bouncing off the richly wallpapered walls. Its beady eyes and peeling skin silently watched Wendy as she fidgeted nervously, waiting for the captain to speak. Rising from the top of the crocodile’s head, a sheet of onyx-black marble glistened in the candlelight, like a wall of ink. The walls were covered by wooden bookshelves, ancient books piled in some places, neatly organized in others. Wendy was seized by how much she missed books, and by extension, Booth. It was all she could do to keep from pressing her nose against the pages, breathing in the oily scent of the paper, the clean notes of page and ink. Instead she stood still, staring now at the black flag that dangled from the glittering crystal chandelier, its tattered edges framing the stark outline of a single white skull. A disembodied baritone voice echoed through the room, its tone confident.

  “That was my father’s flag. Do you like it?”

  Wendy had to cough to find her voice. There was an uncomfortable stirring in her lungs.

  “Yes sir, I mean, Captain Hook. Sir.” She winced.

  A high-backed leather chair faced away from her, black and navy leather stitched together in flawless design, the two armrests carved in the shapes of roaring lions. On one side dangled a hand holding a glass of rum, the glass swirling every few seconds so that the liquor dashed up against th
e sides of the glass, leaving a thin amber film. He took a silent sip.

  “Impressive room though, isn’t it? I commissioned the best artisans in Neverland to furnish this room, and then paid them for their wares by not killing them.” The glass disappeared and then returned, followed by a sigh. “Truthfully, it has turned out a bit garish for my taste, but it is a good room to drink in, to regret and dream, is it not?”

  Wendy opened her mouth unsure of what to say.

  “Speak, girl. And don’t mutter this time. I can’t stand children who mutter.”

  He gave a simple, short bark of a laugh, and had another drink.

  “That’s a lie. I really can’t stand children at all. Particularly naughty boys.”

  Wendy reached for her voice, clutching her hands in front of her. “Captain Hook, my name is Wendy Darling …”

  “I know you who you are,” he snapped. “Believe it or not, I know most everything that goes on in Neverland. It’s a perk that comes from owning its largest town.”

  “Yes, sir. As you know then, my brother Michael and I are being held down in the ship’s prison, the lowest room on the ship… .”

  “You aren’t in the ship’s prison, you are in the brig. And, you haven’t even seen the depths of the Sudden Night. There are worse places, believe it or not. You should see it simply as a holding room, a place where you pleasantly wait to speak with the captain.”

  “But the chains …”

  “The chains are necessary, though usually the Sudden Night doesn’t hold prisoners. You simply wait in the brig until I deign it time to speak with you. Then you either live, or you walk the plank. You’ll find justice on the Sudden Night simple and unflinching.”