Jack Sparrow in Neverland

Rating/Classification: R, Jack/Hook
Word Count: 13,000
Author's Note: I originally intended to write more than this, but then I ran out of inspiration, so it is incomplete.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters
Summary: The first time Jack is stranded on the island, an unusual visitor takes him to an unusual place.

One.

The beach was sandy and warm, and two days of drinking rum had numbed most of Sparrow's anger, save a small nugget that settled in the bottom of his stomach and felt like it would never dissolve. It was his first ship, and now could be his last, unless the rumrunners came back—no telling what their schedule was—and a man could die quickly with only rum to slake his thirst. Heat waves shimmered the horizon, but they were kind enough not to give him a vision of a ship, only the vision of a girl.

She was clothed in tatters, and very thin, perhaps no more than ten years old, save for her eyes, which were mismatched, one blue and one green, and were older than time.

"I've met you before, haven't I?" he said, as she came closer. She smelled like sweat and smoky taverns, and her right hand, which clasped her chin, trailed tiny fish hovering above her fingers like the flames dancing on candles.

"You have," she said. "You belong to me, Jack Sparrow."

"Captain, if you please, dearie," he said, and that brought back the ache for his ship again; no captain was he now. "Have some rum," he offered, "there's plenty to go around."

"Nooo . . . I came here for something. I lost something. I'm supposed to take something, or bring something. Oh I don't know." She sat down on the sand and dug her toes in. Ripples of color spread out through the sand and surf, and eddied away from her feet, dyeing the fish that swam in the shallows.

"Can you taste a memory, Mr. Birdie? I have one now on my tongue, or maybe it is some ice cream."

"I only taste rum right now, love." She jumped up, of a sudden, or perhaps she had been standing all along, and Jack had only imagined her sitting.

"I remember! There's an island that needs a Jack, or a pirate, or maybe both. It is one of my lands, but sometimes my brother takes care of it for me. Come with me Mr. Birdie Head." Having nothing better to do, Jack took her hand, and then they were flying, over the brilliant blue of the Caribbean, through a cloud that seemed like a field of stars, and over another island, jungle-choked and mountainous. A chain-length off the northern shore, as Jack remembered north, lay a beautiful ship. Rescue, he thought, a ship must go somewhere, and I am Captain Jack Sparrow, where can't I talk them into taking me?

Somehow, it did not surprise Jack at all to see a boy flying about the ship like a swallow, darting and swooping gracefully about, steel brighter than moonlight shining in his hand.

"If you'll just drop me at that ship, love, I'll be on my way and no more trouble to you," he said to the girl. She drew him up and they settled in together on the fluffy top of a cloud. It felt like some kind of fluffy taffy, with no stickiness, and was much easier to sit on than Jack had imagined clouds to be.

"In my land, they sit on clouds. Now you are here. I did it! I remembered!" But then she was a flock of butterflies and fish, and they darted and swooped away from Jack and into the jungle, leaving Jack perched, with his feet dangling high above the ship's mainmast. She was a beautiful ship, her forecastle as high as a tower, and sheets new and clean as a virgin's skin. Jack felt a twinge of jealousy—he deserved a ship like this, yes, indeed, he had once possessed one. He took her like a seducer, from the arms of her solid navy captain, and she never looked back. How could he have forgotten her even for an instant?

Jack stroked his face. He had been trying for years to grow a beard, but he remained smooth, save for a few embarrassing wisps near his jaw. How could a pirate, much less a pirate captain, look menacing without a beard? At least he had a good hat, a shiny new leather one, and he was already working on a good story for it, better than: I saw it at the milliner's and just had to have it. Sparkles of light danced in front of his eyes, and then a small figure came zooming through the cloud he was sitting on. Just a green blur and it zipped back down to the ship.

Jack peered over the edge of his cloud for a closer view. The figure was a small boy, wearing naught but leaves, but he fought against the ship's captain like a man, or perhaps flying gave him advantages in fencing. Jack wondered if he could still fly without his confused friend and he leaned over the edge of the cloud.

The boy flitted about the captain, worrying him like a sparrow against a hawk, and yet, again and again, the captain extended himself too far over the rail of the ship, until Jack was sure he would fall. His sympathies, he found, lay with this impertinent little boy, and if the captain were lost, the ship would be that much riper a prize to pluck.

The boy made another feint at the captain, who swung wildly out over the deep, when suddenly the boy struck down with all his might, and took off the captain's hand. Jack heard a monstrous roar that shook the ship and a crocodile, nearly the size of a jolly boat it seemed, bound up out of the water and after the boy. He looked down at his gruesome token for a moment and then flung it at the monster, who made a most prodigious leap into the air to catch it. Jack's cloud had dipped low enough by this point that he could see the contortions anger and pain made on the captain's face. Even the boy looked shocked for a moment, but it wore off quickly, and a feral grin reappeared on his face. Still, he did not press his advantage, and instead flitted off into the jungle, trailing sparkles in his wake.

Jack's cloud gave a heave and dumped him unceremoniously on the mainmast crows-nest. He fancied it gave him a wiggle as it scurried away higher into the sky to join its friends. Jack frowned, and checked himself; he still had his hat, his sword, his compass (Barbossa had not thought to deprive him of it), and most importantly, his pistol with one shot. The first thing he decided, laying on that beach, was that the one shot Barbossa had given him, would one day be returned. Jack resolved, that if, in this forgetful land, he remembered anything, it would be that.

Below him a stout sailor, bearded and be-spectacled, wrapped the captain's stump in some sailcloth, and carried him into his cabin, like a husband into a honeymoon suite. The captain's hat had come off and his long hair nearly trailed the ground. This captain, Jack saw, had a perfectly piratical beard. Maybe he'll teach me how it's done, thought Jack.

As if by invisible hands the sails unfurled around him, and he saw the death's head tattoo splashed across them. Stylish, he thought, I must give my compliments to the captain. The sails, it seemed, were not unfurled by magic and grace, but rather by these two ugly pirates who crept up on Jack from either side, slithering along the yard like snakes.

"Who're you?" said one, sticking a dirty cutlass in Jack's face.

"Yeah, who're you?" echoed the other.

"I am Captain Jack Sparrow, come to volunteer my services, lads," he said, and he swept his hat off his head and made a creditable bow, considering how little space he had to work with here in the crows nest.

"There's only one captain," said the warty-faced pirate. He was so ugly, Jack thought, he was almost out of a storybook. Sailors were not a handsome lot, but this was near parody.

"You're coming with us," said the other pirate, wart-free, at least on his face, but no lovelier for all that.

Jack slid down the rigging with practiced ease, followed by the two sailors. On deck he adjusted his hat and his sword and took a few steps—yes, this was how life was meant to be, deck beneath his feet, wind singing in the rigging above him, and sheets snapping in the breeze.

"Smee, I say, we found this boy in the rigging. You reckon he's another lost boy, we should keep him for the captain?" The bearded sailor Smee, who had just come out of the captain's cabin turned toward them and surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye.

"He might be too old for a lost boy, but he's white for an Indian, and I know he ain't no mermaid, so I guess he must be. We'll see what the captain wants to do with him." Jack found himself thrown summarily into a cell before he even had a moment to speak.

***

The man was taller than mountains and whiter than starlight, and he held and ocean cupped in his hand, blue as a robin's egg and speckled with tiny islands. As she watched, the island grew, or they shrunk, until they were riding a cloud over it.

"Why did you want me to bring him here?" asked the girl with mismatched eyes..

"He needs to find out, if he is pirate or sprite, the magician or the Jack. Every story needs one. He could go either way."

"Why can't he be both?"

"That's not how it's done. Shhhh, watch."

***

Jack woke several hours later, to the sound of a peg leg taking very short steps across the floor. He opened his eyes to the ugliest bird he'd ever seen, a piebald, orange thing, yes, missing one leg, walking across the floor. He heard a throat being cleared, looked up and saw Smee standing over him.

"Captain will see you now, sir," said Smee, with exaggerated deference as Jack pulled himself to his feet.

The captain was sitting with his back to the door and his head bowed, he coarse, dark, curly hair hiding his face. His back was strong and bare, and etched with strange tattoos, with symbols both repellent and attractive. Jack could feel an aura of menace, of malevolence, emanating from the man, suffusing the room, and darkening all the shadows. This, I need to learn, thought Jack.

Smee cleared his throat again, and said in a voice gone high with fear, "I've brought the prisoner, er, guest, er, wot's your name?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, late of the Black Pearl, at your service," said Jack, and he took off his hat and swept a lavish bow, as the menacing figure of the captain swung around to face him.

"You're no captain. There's only one captain here," the captain snarled, and seemed to swell and fill the room. "I am Captain James Hook." Jack resisted the urge to peer out the window and see if the sunny day had turned dark and stormy at those words. He shook down to his very boots, and started backing up.

"Perfect name, really, for a pirate," he said, near to babbling, "great for striking fear, and all that, and did I mention how much I like your sails? They really are menacing."

"You're a fey little thing," said Hook, as he advanced toward Jack. His bloody stump, swathed in bandages only served to make him look more threatening.

"Really, I'm not a boy, lost or otherwise, if you're curious," Jack said, backing up still further and raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm a man, really. I've had a woman, killed a few people, really, I'm all man here." Jack tried to puff up his chest, and give a manly scowl, but it was difficult to do that and look harmless at the same time.

"Are you really," said Hook, with a smirk. "I'll test your mettle, steel against steel, then." Hook went to draw his sword, but Jack saw he had a right-handed draw, and the motion would be for naught. Hook noticed this, too a split second later, and gave a terrifying sob as he held his right arm up to the sky. He hung his head and walked back over to his couch, and settled back heavily into it. Jack considered backing quietly out the door, but, he reasoned, he was god-knows-where, even if he could get off the ship without being thrown back into the brig, and he needed the ship to get back to Tortuga, or some outpost of civilization, where he could begin looking for the Pearl again.

Jack had a niggling worry burrowing in his mind, teasing him like a word at the tip of his tongue. Something wasn't quite right here—did people really travel by clouds and fly through the air? Of course they did, he answered himself. Why on earth not?

The captain's back was still turned away from Jack, and so Jack licked his hands and smoothed back his hair. He started to set his hat back on his head, but then decided not to be disrespectful. He smoothed where a mustache would be, once he managed to grow one, and curled its imaginary ends. He never did this when others were watching, but he wanted to practice the gesture, for the time when it became appropriate. He was surprised, of course, to find hair growing there. He then stroked his chin; yes there was a significant amount of new growth there as well. Interesting, he thought, most interesting.

"Sir," said Jack, flapping his arms wide, to show his lovely coat, which seemed to have gained lace and a few bits of gold, to full advantage. "Sir, I knew a great captain once, greatest to sail the seven seas, who was missing an arm." Hook turned and glowered at Jack from beneath his curtain of hair. Love that style, thought Jack, I'm going to have to learn it.

"Go on."

"Well, he attached a bloody great corkscrew to it, you see, and skewered his enemies with it in battle." Hook raised one eyebrow. "Really, very scary, very menacing." Jack found himself backing up again, under the full weight of Hook's stare. "He said he liked it better than before . . . of course what choice did he have . . . but it was a good way to make the best of a bad situation." Hook still said nothing, but looked at Jack as though waiting for more.

"You could do something like that . . . ah . . . I could help you." Jack narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin, then held out his hands to make a frame around Hook. Then he leapt over to the captain's side; a thought of purest genius had just entered his head.

"For you I think, Captain, sir, a huge steel hook, sharp as a sword would be perfect. You see, hook . . . Captain Hook, savvy?" Jack bit his lip. Perhaps he had gone too far. Then Captain Hook laughed, a deep, rich, malevolent laugh that sent shivers down Jack's spine. I need to learn to do that, too, he thought, when he recovered his composure.

Hook raised a finger and put it under Jack's chin. "You can help?" he said, his face mere inches away. Jack stood, transfixed for a moment, lost in Hook's icy blue gaze, but presently he broke away, and sketching large gestures in the air with his hands, he outlined his plan.

"You see, if you had a harness 'round your shoulder to hold on the base . . . then, see, you could attach a hook, or many hooks, or whatever attachments you wanted." Jack pantomimed attaching the harness and then swinging at his enemies, his hand hooked into a claw. After lunging at a few imaginary foes, Jack recovered himself and went back over to Hook, and showed him where, on his body the straps would have to attach.

"You're an awfully flighty little thing," said Hook, furrowing his brow. "Are you quite sure you're not one of those execrable, miserable, snot-nosed little lost boys?"

"Yes, quite sure, quite sure, see I've even got a beard," Jack said quickly.

"So you have, dear lad, so you have. Are you ready to be a pirate, then?" asked Hook.

"Well really, I already am one," said Jack, but he saw in Hook's expression that it was time to wrap things up. "Well, yes, of course," Jack continued, "just show me where to sign up." Hook bellowed for Smee, who brought a large, ornate parchment. The document was written in cursive so fancy as to be nearly illegible, and it faded to nothing near the bottom. Jack gave up trying to read it after an impatient throat clearing from Smee, and signed the articles.

Smee showed Jack where his berth would be, down with the regular crew, but Jack reckoned he could get in well enough with the captain and get better lodgings soon. He asked Smee where he might find some leather, and leather-working tools, and where there was a sword-smith to get a hook made. Smee was a little vague, but just told Jack to look around the ship, that things usually turned up.

Indeed they did. Jack took himself on a tour below decks—you never know, he thought, when intimate knowledge of a ship's geography can save your neck—and near a bilge that was bone dry, was the carpenter's shop. It was empty of a carpenter, but held several hooks of assorted sizes, straps of leather, thick waxed thread, and even an iron needle and thimble. He found a broken rapier, which he took apart to use the cup of the pommel for the cap for the stump. He wondered for a moment, if he could find some nice soft cloth to line it with, so it wouldn't chafe too much, and then when he turned over a wood plane, underneath was a square of burgundy velvet, just the right size.

Jack looked around suspiciously. Had Smee assembled everything he needed right here? And how would he know what Jack needed? That his captain would lose a hand? Maybe the ship just carried all these supplies, even several differently shaped hooks with threaded bases. Jack dismissed these thoughts as he had the flying. Of course a ship needed hooks like this.

Several hours or days later (Jack could not tell), he surveyed his labors happily. The carpenter's cabin had also yielded a whet-stone, and a velvet-lined box, so Jack sharpened all the hooks to razor keenness, and placed them lovingly in the box. The harness was a rather uglier contraption than the fine polished steel of the hooks, but Jack thought it would work well enough, and he had found buckles to make all the straps adjustable.

Carrying his contraption proudly before him, Jack went up on deck. The moon was up, and looked down, with a face stern and remote. No jolly man in the moon here, at least not a moon that looked down on a pirate ship. It hung full and huge, taking up most of the sky, like, thought Jack, a big pregnant belly. As Jack watched, the face changed a little, cracked a grin, and gave Jack a little wink. Then it seemed to catch itself, and scowled down at the pirate ship, looking away across the island.

Smee, who was also up on the deck gave Jack a questioning look at this and Jack tried to look as bland and innocent as possible. This must be odd behavior for the moon, thought Jack, if anything can be called odd for a moon with a literal face.

"Where are we going Mr. Smee?" asked Jack, for the ship seemed to be steering toward a large black mountain, and even the silver light from the moon showed no detail.

"We are going to the Black Castle," said Smee, and Jack could hear the capital letters as clear as if they were written in front of him. "There we will regroup and plan our next attack on the Lost Boys. Or perhaps we'll attack the Indians next, capture their princess."

"Princess, eh?" said Jack, perking up. "They have lots o' women, these Indians?" Smee shrugged and motioned to two of the sailors. The ship drew up in the shadow of the rock, and Jack could just make out the moonlight on a rusted iron portcullis. The two sailors put a jolly boat over the edge and rowed into the blackness. In a few minutes Jack heard the creak of the portcullis rising, and more hands made boats ready. Finally Jack saw Smee help the captain into a boat. He was resplendent in a velvet coat and allowed Smee to guide him with a regal dignity that made Smee's aid seem his due.

Once they were all inside the castle, the boats moored in the small inner harbor, and the portcullis lowered again, Smee took Jack's arm.

"The captain would like to see you in his chamber. I told him you were done with that thing-a-ma-jig, and he wanted to see it right away." Smee showed Jack to a large room set only a storey above the water, furnished with rich silks and velvets. Coffers overflowing with jewels and gold were scattered about in the corners, and a harpsichord inlaid with gold and mother of pearl, stood open and ready to play. A fire danced in the fireplace, and Captain Hook sat on a red divan, with his knee up and his arm resting on it as he looked out over the sea. A spray of lace hung from his wrist, and Jack felt he had never seen a sea captain, even a pirate captain, so dashingly attired before.

He looked up as Smee showed Jack in, and dismissed his first mate with a wave of his hand. "Now, Jack," he said in silken tones, "you've something to show me."

Jack answered that yes, he did, and he shook out the leather straps. He explained how it worked, how straps affixed the cup to the elbow piece, and then the elbow to the shoulder harness, and how it was all very adjustable, and Hook looked on, with his eyes glittering.

"Show me," Hook commanded at length. "Have you tried it on?"

"Yes," answered Jack, "well, in a manner of speaking. I'm pretty sure it works, but it really will take an assistant to get it on properly."

"Well," said Hook, "show me. Show me it works on you first, and then I will try it."

"It really should go under the clothes," explained Jack as he started to remove his jacket and then his shirt. He pulled the cup over his fist and adjusted the straps to fit on his elbow, then he hesitated a moment. "Should I perhaps fetch Smee back to help me?" he asked delicately. Hook shook his head, setting his long waves of hair swinging, and strode over to Jack.

Jack suddenly felt naked there, standing in only his britches and boots, and Hook loomed large, standing there next to him. Jack showed Hook how the straps would attach and then steeled himself for the touch of the man's hands on him, but Hook's hands were neither hot nor cold, and seemed like they could belong to anyone, not this menacing dark creature who loomed over him. When the straps were all adjusted, Hook stepped back.

"Now for the best part," said Jack, with a bravado he did not feel. With his left hand he opened the case full of hooks and gave a clumsy flourish. Then he chose the biggest and sharpest of the hooks and screwed it into the base. He worked slowly, still with his left hand, but finally he stood there before Hook, with a wicked weapon now affixed to his body. Jack stepped back a few paces so he could brandish the hook, and show it off, but the captain was already starting to disrobe.

"I want to try," he said. His voice was low and rough, and his eyes shone with reflected firelight. With his one good hand, Hook helped Jack take off the contraption, pausing for a moment to caress the sharp glittering blade of the hook. Jack lengthened all the straps quickly, for Hook's arm was a bit longer than his, even missing a hand. The stump had healed perfectly in the few hours or days Jack had been laboring in the carpenter's shop. A part of his mind registered how odd this was, how such a wound would take months to heal, not mere days, but he dismissed it.

Jack fitted the cup and the elbow pieces onto Hook, and then attached the shoulder harness. He felt clumsy and self-conscious as he brushed the captain's hair off his shoulder to fasten the last straps, and stepped back. It certainly looked menacing: Hook's tattooed torso, crossed by leather, his arm ending in that wicked weapon. Much better than a corkscrew, Jack thought privately, congratulating himself on his handiwork.

The silence in the cabin was oppressive and threatening, and Jack itched to say something, anything to break this spell of gloom, and he even opened his mouth but whatever words he had died unspoken. Hook was intent on his new toy. He flexed his arm and twisted this way and that to see if he could dislodge it. Then he whirled, quicker than thought, and caught Jack under the throat, the point of the hook penetrating a millimeter into the soft flesh. I suppose I should have seen this coming, thought Jack. Jack shivered against the cold touch of the steel and the cool air on his chest; he was cold everywhere except where the captain's arm pressed against him.

"Do you think you could put an edge on the outside as well?" Hook asked softly, now pulling the hook away from Jack's neck slightly so he could admire how the moonlight reflected off it. "I think it might do more damage that way." Jack grimaced and tried to back away slightly, but Hook had him pinned there. He smelled of sweat and leather, and the hook, so close to Jack's face smelled of new steel.

"I think," said Jack, "that you could do some damage to yourself with that as well." Hook jerked up his new weapon to examine it, and tried pushing his hair out of his face with the blunt outside edge. He growled and narrowed his eyes at Jack. Jack breathed a sigh of relief anyway, as menacing as Captain Hook's glares were, they was nothing to being cornered with that hook at his throat. Jack felt his neck to see how much damage had been done, but it was just a small trickle of blood, hardly worth noticing.

Hook turned to look at the box of other attachments Jack had brought, and as he did hair swirled behind him like a cape. Jack wasted no time getting his clothing back on and tiptoeing over to the door. As he let himself out he saw that Hook was picking up each hook in turn, holding it up to the light, testing it for sharpness with his fingers.

As soon as Jack got outside he breathed a sigh and sagged in relief against the outside wall, but as soon as he noticed Smee standing there he straightened up again.

"Does the captain like it?" Smee asked hopefully. Jack stroked his new whiskers.

"Yes, I think it will do," he answered.

"I think the captain would like it if you got special treatment, for all you've done," said Smee. "Come this way." Jack fingered his throat—special treatment indeed. Well, at least he was still alive.

Smee showed him to another room adjacent to the captain's. It was not as sumptuous, but it still had a fire, and a real bed, and a large mirror. Jack was tired, but he still had to see what changes this land had wrought in him. He definitely had a beard now, and not the haphazard scraggly growth he had experienced before. Now he had dashing, well-trimmed mustache and beard, which reminded him of, well, Captain Hook's. Interesting, he thought, I didn't have that before. He turned away from the mirror, and as he turned some trick of the light made it look as though his reflection had sharp teeth where his eyes should be. He looked back quickly to try to see the illusion again, but it could not be repeated.

Someone had brought Jack's coat and hat into the room, and he put them back on to see how they would look with the new beard. He did look quite dashing, he thought. He buckled back on his sword, also thoughtfully restored to him, and drew it at his reflection. He made glared and scowled at his reflection, but it didn't work as well on his face as it had on Hook's. He executed a quick turn and watched how his coat twirled behind him. Now that was nice, granted he didn't have three yards of velvet, but it still looked rather grand. His hair didn't complete the picture as well as it should, though, Jack thought, frowning at himself. It was rather short, stopping just below his chin, even though it had gotten acceptably messy over the past few days, and Jack decided to grow it out.

As he settled into sleep he imagined how he would retake the Pearl, striding on deck with a menacing glare, and sending his mutinous former shipmates diving overboard in fear. Clothes may not make the man, he thought, but I need something to compete with Barbossa . . . I wonder if I should get a hook . . .

***

"So pirate it is," said the Dream King. "He chooses to be the villain in his own story. You should take him back to his island."

His sister shook her head. "Not yet Mr. Dreamy. He is more mine than yours. He still has choices left to make."

***

When Jack awoke, he thought he must have slept an awfully long time. The sun streaming in the windows was golden with the first hints of sunset. He jumped back when he turned to see Smee standing over him with a bottle of rum in one hand and a case under his arm.

"Ehh, Captain wants to see you, Jack." Jack sat up, stretched and yawned. Smee had put down the case, and handed him a glass of something. Jack took a sip and nearly spat it back out; he liked rum as well as the next fellow, and perhaps better, but it was not his usual breakfast. The second sip went down better than the first, and the third still better. Smee meanwhile opened his case and took out a black cigar and lit it, before handing it to Jack. Jack waved it away, but then the sweet aromatic smoke made him change his mind, and he reached out for it again.

"You're looking more and more like a pirate every day," said Smee, beaming.

"That's convenient," answered Jack between pulls off the cigar. "I am a pirate."

"Well yes, but most of the lads, well, it takes them a lot longer. Some of them even go to Pan first, but the true pirates come to us eventually. Of course, you're older than most of them when they first get here, so maybe that's it." Jack pulled on his boots, and shrugged on his shirt and his jacket. He picked up his hat, and put it on his head, adjusting the corners to have a slight tilt.

"Of course, you look more like the captain, than the rest of us. 'Snot natural, a ship should only have one captain," Smee muttered. Jack picked up his sword and scabbard and buckled them on. Smee looked askance at that, but said nothing. Jack found that his dagger and pistol had been returned to him as well, and he tucked the dagger into his boot, and fastened the pistol at his waist, looking at Smee all the while and daring him to say something. Smee did not however, he merely extinguished Jack's cigar, and ushered him out.

They took several narrow spiral staircases lit by guttering torches down past alcoves filled with rats and moldering skeletons. Jack felt, as he always did, distinctly uncomfortable on dry land, and still more uncomfortable to be going down into the depths of the earth to where Hook awaited Jack in the castle's dungeon. He was wearing shirtsleeves and leather britches even in the damp dungeon air, and Jack felt a swell of pride to see that the hook was attached to his arm. In his other hand he held a sword, tip against the dungeon floor.

"Leave us," Hook directed Smee. Smee looked at Jack for a moment and grimaced, then made a cutting motion across his throat. Lovely, thought Jack, just perfect. Well, at least I've got my sword with me this time.

"I need your help again," Hook said gruffly. "'Twas my sword hand that whelp took. I need to be able to fight again." He looked down for a moment; bashfulness did not sit well on his features, and then looked back up at Jack, challenging him to say something disrespectful. Jack, whose glib tongue had gotten him into and out of more scrapes than he could count, found himself temporarily mute.

"Let Cap—let Jack Sparrow help," Jack said after a moment. He stepped back and took a graceful bow. Jack stripped off his jacket and hat, and then drew his sword.

Hook was clumsy that first day, but as days passed he became more accustomed to fighting in this new way, with sword and hook. Every time they fought to a standstill, the captain brought the hook up to Jack's belly and forced him to back away.

Then came the day when Hook backed Jack up against the dungeon wall as they fought, and pinned Jack's sword arm up against the wall with his good arm, while he pressed the hook against Jack's chest.

"I thought this day would never come," Hook whispered, inches away from Jack's face.

Jack grimaced and tried to pull away, but he was caught firm. "I did," he said, babbling, "I always knew you'd be able to fight again. Such a strong captain, I had no doubt."

"Hush," said Hook, snapping his teeth at Jack, "I could kill you now."

"That is certainly true . . . ah . . ." Jack trailed off.

"You're of no more use to me, if I can beat you." The captain brought the hook up, and it parted Jack's shirt as it passed.

"Good edge on that," said Jack, "glad to see you've been keeping it sharp, captain." He would not give in to fear, he told himself. His body wanted to go limp, but he hung onto his tension, and tried not to struggle.

"Drop your sword," commanded Hook, still so close to Jack's face that he could feel the other man's beard against his cheek. Jack felt the hook press harder to his ribs, and dropped the sword. It fell with a loud clatter. Hook sheathed his, and then used his hook to tear further at Jack's shirt, while holding Jack's hands up above his head. He was a little careless of Jack's skin beneath, and when the tatters of his shirt fell off, his torso was covered with little scratches.

"I could just leave you tied up here for a while," said Hook, "and then when the tide is particularly high some night, you'll be dead. Or I could let you be the first to die by this hook." Jack had been frozen in an equal mixture of terror and fascination, but Hook's words briefly broke the spell.

"None of those other sailors . . . ?" Jack asked. It was a rare day that went by without Captain Hook killing one of his own men in a fit of pique, or merely on a whim. Hook patted his pistol with his hook.

"I've been saving that honor," he said, and Jack felt himself again in thrall to the fascination of Hook's eyes. Hook drew a set of wrist irons out from somewhere. Perhaps they had been hanging from his belt, or perhaps they simply appeared because Hook needed them, like the tools in the carpenter's shop. Jack didn't think it was possible, but somehow Hook secured Jack's wrists in the irons, and the irons to a ring set in the wall, high enough that Jack had to stand on his toes. I wonder if he practiced that, Jack thought.

"I can't have two captains on this ship," said Hook, his lips brushing Jack's ear. "The men are starting to wonder which of us to follow. So I'll have to kill you."

"I'm don't want to be captain of your ship," said Jack desperately, "I've another ship I must get back to, but I don't want yours, I swear."

"You don't like the Jolly Roger? For that I shall have to kill you." Jack felt the hook start to cut into the skin under his ribs.

"No, it's a lovely ship, really, I just could never compete with you as captain, I swear." Hook turned away and walked across the room. He looked out the window, seeming lost in thought, then he came back over to Jack.

"I could use a cabin boy, I suppose. You'll have to cut off the beard of course—stupid blighters can't tell the difference between us with it. And you've got such a lovely face, like a girl's." He ran the back of the hook along Jack's cheek, and Jack tried to flinch away. "I am so dreadfully lonely here with only these sailor dogs for company. What wouldn't I give for a companion of my class." The words were sibilant in Jack's ear, and he felt as if he were under a spell.

"I will have a promise from you, though," said Jack quietly.

"What is that?"

"Let us plunder the Caribbean a bit. There's rich pickings there, and King's men for prey," Jack whispered, the same whisper he used when parting a maid from her virtue, and it seemed to have the same success, for Hook's interest was piqued by this suggestion, Jack could tell.

"We shall. First, though, I must inform you of your new duties." Hook cut Jack down from the wall, leaving his hands manacled together in front of him. He looped his claw through the chains and led Jack back to his chamber. Smee was cleaning his spectacles at the time, and he did not see.

***

"I think we should give them their privacy," said the Dream King, and he drew a curtain of night and clouds over the Black Castle and all of Neverland. "That wasn't what I had in mind when I had you bring him here. Is it possible the old stories are changing?" His sister turned from him, and pouted.

"I wanted to watch!" she said, turning away from him.

"I have other things to attend to, other duties, Delirium, and I try to give the mortals their privacy, at least in their waking hours. Remember, we serve them."

"I'm going to see what they do." She flew away on a wake of fishes and fireflies, and Dream sighed. He wondered, idly, if this was Desire's doing, and he wondered if he should get involved. Desire's machinations never worked out well for him. Let Delirium fight her own battles this time.


Two.

Delirium parted the clouds as easily as Dream had created them, for Neverland is her land as much as it is his. Her mismatched eyes had seen many secrets, and tonight she would see another.

***

Jack would have liked to find the balm of forgetfulness in Smee's morning draught of rum, but Neverland rum was poor, thin stuff; in such a forgetful land, what more can rum provide? While Jack's memory of the Pearl shimmered and wavered in his mind like mist, the last night was too near to forget. If Hook had been all brutal, that would have been better, but he was not, and Jack was beset by conflicting feeling of revulsion and tenderness, of attraction and fear.

Jack got to his feet gingerly. Perhaps he remembered less than he thought, for he did not remember when the manacles had been taken from his wrists, only now saw that his hands were free. He remembered that Hook had killed that night. A sailor came in without knocking, and when death was meted out on Hook's merest whim, this certainly merited it. The pirates eyes did not even have a chance to widen at the sight of Jack stretched out in Hook's bed before Hook tore open his stomach and chest with a single vicious slash. The man crumpled to the floor, and Smee came in to drag out the body.

"Always knock," said Hook, as he cleaned his hook with a large lacy handkerchief, before turning back to Jack.

Hook had melancholy moments too, though, and when the moonlight shone in he spoke of his days before Neverland. He told Jack he had been Blackbeard's bosun, and before that some tragedy, some fall from a noble fortune had propelled him into piracy. The stories had the taint of legend, of a tale told so often the truth behind it was forgotten. If he truly were Blackbeard's bosun he might be one hundred years old, and Jack wondered again at the nature of this Neverland. Was he already dead, and this was neither heaven nor hell, but some limbo for lost pirates?

Jack examined himself in Hook's mirror. Like the rest of Hook's room here in the Black Castle, it was ornately decorated and inlaid with gold. The Jack who looked back at him was changed yet again, for, true to his word, Hook had shaved Jack's new beard. Jack fingered his lips and tried to keep his secret smile from them. The night held secrets Jack would be happy to forget, but the mixture of pleasure and fear as the Captain shaved Jack's face with his own razor-sharp hook was a memory Jack intended to keep.

So we go a-pirating, he thought. Perhaps we can find our way back to Isla de la Muerta. That reminded him of his compass, and he rushed into his own room. How could he have forgotten? In his store of incredible tales, the finding of this compass was his favorite, not the least because it was completely true. If only he could remember how he found it. The story might be escaping him for the moment, but the compass was still there. Jack wondered what lay between Neverland and Isla de la Muerta— perhaps Atlantis or Tir Na Nog or some equally improbable land.

That day Smee organized the transfer of the captain's belongings back to the ship—and Jack, as the new cabin boy, was obliged to assist. When they had no duties, which was most of the time, the Jolly Roger's sailors kept busy dicing and drinking, and sleeping up on deck when the sun was warm—no scrubbing of decks to a snowy whiteness for pirates—her decks were a smooth soiled brown. Days passed for Jack much as they had on many of his prior ships, spent in drink and dissolution, and occasional hoisting of sails. Jack reflected that if he had been idle for so long, not that he ever would be, he would at least exercise his gun crews.

Nights, well, nights were a different matter. Jack had rarely had to content himself with a lonely bed, but perhaps this bed was a little too full. He had been skilled at managing his lovers before: Lisette, the wife of a merchant captain who under Jack's hands revealed which ships of the fleet carried gold, and which merely tin; Davenport, his first captain during Jack's brief tenure in the Royal Navy, whose dual fears of hanging for unnatural acts and losing Jack had proved most profitable; and so many others—Jack always took more than he left.

"You won't leave me," said Hook, one night, and the words were not a question or a command, but a simple statement. Jack had heard those words before, but never with the tip of an iron hook caressing his back. Jack turned over gingerly to face his captor.

"I have your promise, remember," he said slowly, tracing the rhythm of his words on Hook's chest. "The richest plunder in the world, and places to spend it. All that lays in my sea . . . the Caribbean."

"Indeed you, do," Hook agreed, and Jack would not let him forget it. If they were lucky, they would find the Pearl, and with such a ship as this at his back, she would be his again. Jack tried not to think about it, and made a sign with his fingers against misfortune.

Neverland is as far or near as needs be from the waking rational world, and Jack's words had fired Hook's imagination, which had long lain dormant sequestered here. Betimes when Hook had sailed forth from Neverland for plunder and pleasure he had found the Azores and richly laden Mediterranean vessels, or come upon the coast of Madagascar with its buccaneer brethren more fearsome even than Blackbeard, at least when taken all together. After days of trackless seas, guided by Jack's compass, the first spit of land they saw was a nameless island with a few straggly palm trees on it, but to Jack it smelled of home.

They had many adventures crossing the great nameless ocean: a sea serpent embraced the ship in her gunmetal gray coils, and would not let them pass until each passenger had told a tale and answered a riddle, and they nearly lost all the sailors on an island of shimmering fountains whose fruit brought endless sleep, but finally after months of travel they sighted this small scrap of the Caribbean, and after that saw the two great mountains of St. Lucia. Les Pitons rose each a thousand feet into the sky, and sheltered a snow-white beach.

The Jolly Roger moored in the shallows, and the sailors rowed ashore for water and food. The island's main town was on the other side, but this bay would provide a serviceable staging point for some raids on the town. Jack even had a small notion of luring the Pearl from wherever she lurked by news of their exploits. The sweetest prey, after all, is another predator. Why do all the work of capturing merchant vessels, culling the best gold and silks and selling off the rest, when the Pearl might have already done it for them.

***

"He found his way back on his own," said the Dream King, wonderingly. "But this changes nothing, he has made his choice."

"You let them leave? When I was off being fishies they went and escaped?" his sister's multi-colored hair stirred in some breeze, but it was not the one blowing across this Caribbean strand.

"Yes," mused Dream, "Hook is not supposed to leave Neverland. No matter, he will be drawn back there soon enough. These things must needs right themselves."

***

St. Lucia city could not have been designed better for plunder if a pirate had planned it himself, thought Jack. The Jolly Roger sat close to the windward shore, just beyond one of the points of land that guarded this bay. The island was a poor one, but still, the few rich citizens would bring a some ripe ships. Jack felt something stir in him akin to lust; it had been so long since he pitted his wits against a foe at sea, and he relished it.

Before night fell, Jack came out on deck where the pirates took up their dicing and dancing. Backlit by the sunset, Jack felt a speech welling up within him. The lads loved to hear his stories, and so when he started to speak, they fell silent.

"Now, you dogs," said Jack, with a bit of a grin at his own swaggering, "you mangy sea dogs. We have the chance for rich pickings here tonight. Make your cutlass is as sharp as your captain's . . ." Jack trailed off as the sound of the Hook's measured footfalls came up from behind him. He felt the familiar itch of sharpened steel at his throat, and smelled the metal tang.

"You were saying?" Hook purred. Jack felt, rather than saw, the slight sardonic smile on Hook's face. He jumped back, executing a smooth spin that took him out of range of the hook, and made a bow toward his captain.

"Your ship, your sailors, your plunder, sir," said Jack, doffing his hat.

"No, by all means, pray continue," replied Hook.

"If we can take a ship by boarding, we will—silence is golden, savvy? If not, I want the best marksmen—Smee, if your glasses are clean, and Noodler, on Long Tom, and everyone else go where you're told." Jack hesitated for a moment. "Captain, does the plan suit?"

"Oh yes."

"Now we wait . . . for the opportune moment," Jack finished. He was flushed and giddy with excitement and pre-battle nerves, and he envied Hook's tranquility.

"My ship?" Hook asked when the sailors had dispersed. Jack smiled hopefully and nodded.

"You are like Smee," said Hook after a long pause, "everyone loves you." Hook said the word "love" like it was a kind of disease. "I've read that it is better to be feared." I'm working on that, thought Jack, but he did not say the words.

"Sailors always like to get their spirits up before battle," said Jack, trying not to sound plaintive. Jack Sparrow begs for no man's approval, he told himself.

"What they like is immaterial," replied Hook. "Have you 'made your cutlass as sharp as your captain's'—I do hope you were going to say 'hook'? 'Tis worthy advice. Blades come from every direction in the thick of battle. And make sure the double hook is sharp as well." His voice was chilly and he dismissed Jack with a wave of his hand.

Jack did as he was told, grumbling a bit. As the sliver of a moon rose, Hook entered the cabin to make ready for the fight. Jack fought a losing battle against Hook's desire to wear velvet: "it's impractical" was not, it appeared, a phrase in his vocabulary. He girded three pistols onto Hook's cross-strap, and helped him place two daggers within easy reach of Hook's left hand. Jack affixed the sharpened double hook, and finally put Hook's sword belt on him. I'm more likely to use one of those pistols than he is, thought Jack sourly. Although Hook had become adept at cocking a pistol one-handed, he needed help mounting one on his claw.

As expected a merchant ship did come in that night under cover of darkness. Truth be told, she was probably a smuggling ship dodging countries and tariffs as she skipped across the Caribbean. All to the good, thought Jack, since the Royal Navy would have less of a stake in her voyage. She was a fat little ship, blunt-prowed and riding heavy, with naught but stern chasers to protect her. When she let her anchor go in the bay, Jack jerked his chin at Hook, who signaled his men. For all their tomfoolery in Neverland, they formed a sleek and deadly boarding party. The boats had been place in the water hours before. Jack took command of one and Hook the other, and they rowed quietly through the still waters of the bay.

Jack felt like a coiled spring as he sat in the stern, waiting while the muffled oars slipped in and out of the water. He instinctively checked his weapons: three pistols, already loaded, were tucked into his belt, his sword hung at his waist, and he had a cutlass at the ready, to clench in his teeth at the last moment. It had seemed a silly affectation at first, from Defoe's pirate lore, but it was the quickest and most quiet weapon to hand when boarding a ship.

The smuggler was tucked down snug for the night, and a single lantern burned on the prow. As the boats came in under her gunwales, a fortuitous breeze started up abeam, disguising any knocks they made. Jack threw his grappling hook first, and it landed softly, catching the rail on an upswing. Jack put his finger to his lips and glared at the men in his boat. He watched them all cower back from him, and felt a swell of pride. They might cower more from Hook, but then, Jack had never killed any of them.

Jack ascended the rope and knocked the watchman unconscious with the butt of his knife before any of the other sailors had even thrown their ropes. Soon after, though, Jack heard the thuds of grappling irons sinking into wood all around him, and the devil-faced pirates swarmed over the sides of the ship like rats. Jack gestured eloquently at his men, and they spread out to do their duties—looking for the treasure and silencing the passengers.

Jack tiptoed toward the captain's cabin, and opened the door. His eyes had adjusted to the night, and he saw the captain laying in his hammock, mouth open in sleep. Jack tied the man's hands with rope, then took his neckerchief and gagged the man. He woke up when Jack forced the rag into his mouth, and made a choking sound as he looked around wildly. Jack took his knife and put it under the man's chin.

"When I take this gag off, you're going to tell me where exactly on your ship the richest treasure is, and if you don't the next sound you make will be you choking on my knife," Jack said quietly, imitating Hook's sinister politeness. "Understand, mate?" The man's eyes showed white all around, and he looked like he might faint, but he nodded, and Jack loosened the gag.

"We've only a little gold, and all that's here in the cabin," he said. He listed the drawers and cabinets where it was hidden, and Jack smiled. All too easy, he thought. True, there was not much gold, but Jack felt the captain told the truth—richer smugglers would stay away from St. Lucia. "Other than that, there's only the rum and the calicos in the hold." The man glanced around quickly, and Jack knew he was hiding something. He pressed his knife into the man's neck again, this time drawing a thin bead of red from the tip.

"There's a bolt of green velvet for my wife in that cupboard," the captain admitted at last with a sigh. Jack smiled.

"What a wonderful husband you must be, sir," he said, tipping his hat, "but I know someone who will enjoy this cloth more than your wife. Jack emptied the cabin in a few minutes; the gold went into he pockets, and little enough there was, and he tucked the bolt of velvet under his arm. It looked black in the dim light of the cabin, and felt like some exotic animal fir.

Walking out on deck again, Jack saw that the pirates had gathered up the rest of the crew and bound them to the gratings. Noodler directed a crew of men loading the cloths onto the jolly boats. Smee came over to Jack and bowed his head apologetically.

"All theys had were the cloths, sir," he said.

"Buck up there Smee, it's all right. Some prizes are better than others." Jack took out one of the coins and pressed it into Smee's hand. Smee's face lit with a smile for a moment, then he squirreled the coin away somewhere in his trousers. Finally when all the goods had been removed from the little ship, Hook climbed up the ladder and over the rails. He strode around the small deck, saying nothing, and finally came around to Jack.

"This is your 'rich pickings'?" he said. Jack hastily removed the gold from his pockets. It made a pitiable double handful, but he presented it to Hook anyway. Hook sneered slightly, and waved his hand at Jack. "Keep it." Jack flushed with anger. True, the Black Castle held a thousand times more loot than this little ship, but in the real world, this was a tidy take. Jack opened his mouth to protest when he remembered the velvet.

The cloth weighed down Jack's hands as he held it out to Captain Hook, and his wrists almost faltered, as the battle-tension melted out of him. Hook smiled slightly, and caressed the cloth.

"Ah, that will do nicely," he said, after a moment. "Now back to the Jolly Roger. We shall return to Les Pitons." The Jolly Roger's crew left the smugglers tied up on their ship. They had tied the bonds loose enough that one of them would be able to escape and free the others within a few hours.

"An excellent find, Sparrow," said Hook, after they returned to his cabin. He held the cloth up to the torchlight, then held it against Jack's cheek. "Would you like it? It would look well on either one of us." It would make me look like a popinjay, thought Jack, especially beardless as I am now, but he managed to hold his tongue. Instead he said, "Velvet suits you better I think, my captain. Not all of us have the bearing for it."

"True enough, lad," agreed Hook. He wrapped some of the velvet around his shoulders, where it clashed with the red he already wore. "I'll have Smee make up a jacket and waistcoat from it."

"You've done well tonight," said Hook, as he shrugged of his coat. Jack came around behind to help him. Then Jack felt the touch of cold steel on his cheek, but this was the blunt side, and not meant as a threat. "How shall I reward you?"

***

Dawn silhouetted the mountains by the time the pirate ship tacked over to the other side of St. Lucia. Jack left Hook asleep in his cabin; he had no wish to be in the path of that the hookwhen the captain's bad dreams overtook him. Hook's mattress had to be re-sewn regularly to patch up the tears he made in it. Jack rubbed his wrists absently as he oversaw the crew. They brought the ship to rest in the bay, and looked to Jack to decide whether they would stay here a few days, or move on.

Jack reflected that St. Lucia had probably yielded up all the bounty she could, and he itched to return to Tortuga, its women and its taverns. There they could find a market for the cloth, and spend the gold. Jack had in mind to replace his sword, and even the Jolly Roger would run low of munitions eventually. It was amazing how many lost shipments of bullets and powder were found in Tortuga. This bay was sheltered, but not enough, and Jack started toward the captain's cabin to ask permission to take the ship back out into the open water. Best not to undermine his authority any further, thought Jack.

He knocked on the door, and hearing no answer he entered. Hook still lay sleeping, and his dreams had evidently been tranquil, since his sheets were un-torn. His hair was spread out on the pillow, like a spill of dark wine. He looks peaceful, for once, thought Jack. It's going to be hell to wake him. Just then Hook must have sensed something, for even in his sleep, his face grew dark and troubled, and he lashed out, burying his hook in the wood of the bed frame. Jack started to back up, belatedly remembering something his nurse had once said, that one must let sleeping giants lay, and thinking better of his plan to wake his captain.

Hook opened his eyes and regarded Jack balefully. He had seen several pirates die upon the hook after waking up their captain, but Hook's anger was banked, and he wrenched his weapon out of the bedstead. "It's gotten bent," he said. "It's my favorite one. Fix it, will you?"

"Yes, of course," said Jack. Hook shooed Jack away, but he lingered a moment by the door. "You don't mind, I hope, if we troll other waters, do you?" Hook nodded absently and waved him out the door. Good enough for me, Jack thought, as he went whistling.

The sail between Tortuga and St. Lucia would take a few weeks, and Jack had to admit, it was more than practicality that drew him there. Too long he had drifted, dreamlike with the Jolly Roger and this fantastic crew. He needed rum that would get him drunk, a willing woman in his arms, and two more waiting their turn. He needed people who remembered Captain Jack Sparrow, so he could start to remember himself. And most of all, he needed word of the Pearl.

Perhaps we should head toward Isla de la Muerta first, he thought, as he ordered the crew to make sail. The Pearl might still make berth there, on such a well-hidden island. Jack took out his compass, which now never left his side. Hook paid no attention to it when he sent it clattering across the cabin with Jack's jacket and shirt. Jack could feel the ship's proximity to the island; he felt it like cool thread through the warm wind, and indeed, the wind was favorable for a journey in that direction.

Perhaps the Jolly Roger could take the Pearl Jack dared to hope. He had an advantage: he did not care if the Jolly Roger or any of Hook's crew survived the encounter. Barbossa might expect Jack to be squeamish with the lives of his men, but Hook could order his men into certain death, as no other pirate captain could.

The ship sailed on through the day, her wind never faltering, bringing them ever closer to the dead island. Then Jack, as the last night failed, Jack saw a ship with dark sails silhouetted in the distance. She tacked in the wrong direction for this wind, as the waning moon rose, she made no change in her course. The Jolly Roger would be upon her in an hour or less. Jack directed to crew to make ready at their gun stations.

Hook finally roused himself and came out on deck. Smee had made up the green velvet in record time, thought Jack, or perhaps this was yet another coat from his voluminous wardrobe.

"Very elegant, captain," said Jack. Hook smirked and waved the compliment away, but Jack knew he was pleased. Jack handed the glass to Hook, and helped him set it to his eye. "I know that ship. She will be richly laden, and can lead us to still more wealth," said Jack in his most seductive whisper. Hook raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

"The ship, too, is a great prize, unlike that rotting scow we robbed at St. Lucia. If you commanded two pirate vessels, just think of the plunder you could take." Hook combed his beard with the tip of his hook.

"Go on," he urged. Jack looked up at the captain. He wore a predatory smile that made Jack feel a twinge of pity for Barbossa. Then Jack smiled himself; it was no more than his mutinous first mate deserved. Jack still wanted to shoot the man, for the poetic justice of it all, but if he died upon Hook's hook, he was still just as dead.

"She's a fast, stiff ship, but we'll have the weather gage of her. She must believe us a merchant vessel, otherwise she would have run by now."

"She's not a merchant vessel, then, Jack?" asked Hook. He picked up Jack's chin with the blunt outside of the Hook. "I have a feeling there's something you're not telling me."

"She's a pirate ship," said Jack, "so she's done all our collecting for us, you see."

"Is she really. This should be exciting." Jack smiled brightly, and sagged with relief as soon as Hook turned away. Over the past months he had grown accustomed to his captain's presence and the spell of fascination he wove around him, but when Hook focused all his attention on Jack, his knees still went to water.

The moon limned the crests of the waves with shimmers of silver. In this dim light Jack saw that the sails of the approaching ship were indeed as black as night. Hook stood at his side as they approached. He ordered the hands to extinguish all the lights on board the Jolly Roger, and in that monochrome night, they unfurled their pirate flag. The Jack strained his eyes against the glass, and could see barely any movement on board. The pirates went below to run out the guns. The other ship had not opened her gun ports; in fact, all on board seemed to be asleep.

They drew in closer and closer, silent—even the Jolly Roger's creaking seemed to be muted. Hook gave the signal and she fired a warning shot across the bow. It took out a darkened lamp, sending a spray of glass across the deck, but even that noise was muffled by the oppressive night. Someone must have heard, though, for a few figures started dashing about on deck. They had pulled up close enough that Jack could see she had no gun ports, this was not the Black Pearl, but some other ship with black sails. She was not even a pirate ship, Jack thought as his heart sank. He would suffer for this.

Hook did not shout instructions across the breach for them to lower their colors, and run up the white flag. He simply gave another signal to the gun crews who opened fire on the ship, ripping up railings and decks. One lucky shot took out the mizzenmast—oh yes, Noodler on Long Tom. Jack winced as the beautiful wood went up in a spray of splinters, but he shrugged philosophically; at least it wasn't his Pearl.

The Jolly Roger came in closer, and Hook shouted instructions to ready the grappling irons. The other ship's crew had, by now, run a white flag up, but Hook paid no attention to it. The men laid down planks and swung across on ropes, running all over the deck.

"Leave none alive," shouted Hook, as he ripped through the belly of one of the ship's passengers. Jack rushed across after. A boy ran up to him waving a knife, and Jack knocked the child unconscious with the butt of his pistol, but after that he stood amazed at the carnage. Hook fired his pistol with one hand, and gutted the passengers until the deck around him ran dark and slick with blood. Finally Jack recovered himself, and ran up to Hook, but stood far enough away to be out of his reach.

"Captain, you must leave some of them alive, to tell us where to loot is," he pleaded. Hook seemed not to hear him for a moment, then shook his head impatiently.

"Please," said Jack. Hook glared at him for a moment then snarled, "Very well," biting out the words as if they tasted bad.

Jack could not hide his disgust. "Bring me anyone alive," called out Hook. Two pirates quickly appeared with a woman between them, each grasping one of her arms. She wore a long white gown, and was young, much younger than Jack was himself. Hook smiled as if he were sucking on lemons.

"What do you think she can tell us?" he asked.

"Well, she may not be able to tell us anything, but I'm sure she'll be of some use." The girl shot him an imploring look. Jack came around behind her and lifted her hair up to his face.

"I thought you liked fine things, captain," he said, his eyes fixed on Hook.

"Only sometimes," said Hook, taking aim with his pistol, "I think she'll get tiresome."

"Perhaps she can entertain the sailors," said Jack, grasping at straws.

"Do you know any stories, girl?" Hook asked. Fright had rendered the girl mute, Jack saw. He jerked his chin at her desperately, urging her to answer, but her dark eyes simply welled up with tears and she said nothing.

"I see. I don't think she's very entertaining at all." He made as if to fire again and Jack leaped around to the front of the girl. All the sailors stood around staring at the confrontation. Jack stood in front of the girl, cursing himself for stupidity. He should just let her die, he should walk away, but he could not stomach any more death tonight.

Hook walked slowly toward them. He flung the pistol away. Jack's hand went for his sword, but Hook came upon him before he could draw it. He forced Jack's chin up with the point of his hook.

"I mean to kill her, and if you try to stop me, I can kill you too," he said in a conversational tone. Jack fought within himself, but finally his survival instinct won out, and he stepped aside. Hook cut her throat with one quick slash, and the pirates holding her allowed her to fall to the ground.

"Take Mr. Sparrow back to my cabin and chain him up for me," Hook instructed them. "The rest of you, empty the hold, then fire the ship."

The sailors did an excellent job securing Jack. They strung him up by iron manacles around his wrists and left him hanging there in the cabin until the work of stripping the ship was completed. The Jolly Roger's swaying in the breeze caused Jack to lose his footing every few minutes, and by the time Captain Hook returned to his cabin, Jack's shoulders and arms were in agony. He had plenty of time to regret his actions. Not stepping in to try to save the girl—he knew he would do that again if he had to, and knew he would step away again, too. No, he regretted not escaping in St. Lucia, and finding his own way back to Tortuga. He knew what Hook was capable of, knew that he abided on the thin line between bedmate and victim, and how easy that line would be to cross.

No, he had been blind, willing to use any tool to regain his Pearl, even one so likely to turn in his hand as the captain. Jack saw the door latch rising and then Captain Hook strode through the door. He flung off his hat and removed his coat, then plunged his hook into the acid bath he used to clean it. Finally he put on a long velvet robe before walking over to Jack.

"I think I'm done with this Caribbean of yours, Sparrow," he said. "The prey is as you promised, but the treasure is somewhat lacking." Hook advanced toward Jack has he spoke, and Jack's breath came shallow and fast with fear.

"There's a place I didn't tell you about," said Jack. He strained to find the flippant yet conspiratorial tone that had convinced his shipmates in Tortuga, but instead he knew he sounded panicked.

"Isla de la Muerta. Indian Treasure. Can only be found with a magic compass, which I have." Not strictly true, and Barbossa had likely cleared it out by now. Still, any way off this ship before they returned to Neverland was better than remaining to be tortured.

"Twice you've failed me. Shall I give you another chance to fail me again? I think not. We return to Neverland. I've unfinished business there, and it calls to me."

"Well, in that case, if you'll just let me off on the nearest island, I'll trouble you no further," said Jack. He knew it was a vain attempt, but had to make one last effort.

"You defied me, Jack Sparrow. I cannot allow you to live," said Hook in a pleasant voice. "Still, it is a long journey back to Neverland, and I would hate to be bored the whole time. There is sport left to be had, I think." Jack felt numb. He had no illusions about his ability to stand up to any kind of torture, especially not the kind he was sure Hook had in mind. If Hook wanted crying and pleading, no doubt he would get it.

Hook stepped in close to Jack, his face mere inches away. He reached up, and Jack thought he was going to be let down, but instead the captain sank his Hook into Jack's arm and ripped slowly through it.

"I don't like scars," he said, "but still, you must be punished." Blood flowed down Jack's arm and shoulder as he retched and choked from the pain. The blood was flowing fast now, and he felt blessedly light headed. The last thing he heard was Hook shouting for Smee.

He awoke in the brig, with his arm neatly bandaged and food and water by his side. Hook's not as good at that as I imagined, Jack thought with a sardonic twist to his mouth, but he'll no doubt learn.

***

The wind blew favorably for Neverland for a full week, and the vicissitudes of time and space around that placed allowed the Jolly Roger to reach her quickly. For Jack, even that week seemed interminable. His arm acquired several new scars, although Neverland's quick healing clung to the ship, and within a few days they became merely ugly red seams. The pain was the easy part. Still, he spent a fair amount of the week unconscious, and in one of his dreams he had a visitor.

"He won't let me interfere," said the girl. She seemed familiar, but Jack had forgotten his trip to Neverland already, and so the colorful hair and mismatched eyes only made him feel comforted. "You are in his story now. He said Neverland is a skillie . . . no, not skillie, a steerie . . . that's not right either. It's a thing, that has it's own life's unicycles, must live and die on it's own. I wanted to help you."

"What is it, love? What do you mean?" Jack asked. In this dream he was free from his bonds, but still stuck inside the cell. Then Jack heard a voice like stones falling in a starlit pool.

"My sister is right, we are not allowed to interfere. She ought not be here. The Skerries were a gift to me from fairy, and I made a promise to a lady that they would finish their own stories, and die, as they must.

"I can give you forgetfulness, if you want. But Neverland already has that in abundance. I cannot give you that which you do not already have. Know this, the power that made these lands is what can help you leave."

***

No, forgetfulness was denied him. In those dark days of pain and fear there were still moments of pleasure, but so tainted they did not deserve the name. Jack's beard grew back and his hair lengthened and coarsened as he hung in Captain Hook's bonds. He became better at hardening his spirit, retreating from the dark magic of Hook's blue gaze, until the day they let go anchor in Neverland's lagoon. Hook had Jack brought to his cabin in the evening, as was his wont.

He saw Hook swirling in velvet, cloaked in menace and felt nothing, neither fear nor attraction, neither revulsion nor envy. Hook seemed to sense this, for he did not tease Jack with the hook, or cut Jack's clothes off him, nicking Jack's skin in his haste. Instead, Hook looked uncertain for a moment, then called for Smee.

"I will take him up on deck, where he will serve as an example to the rest of the crew," he told Smee. Jack had not been outside in so long, and the feel of Neverland's cool evening air on his face was intoxicating. The moon looked down. She did not hide her face from Hook, or sneer at the pirates, but instead seemed to be beaming her calming silver light at Jack alone. Hook held Jack by the collar of his shirt and the crew assembled to see what would happen.

"This mutinous dog wanted to save a woman. A woman," said Hook, laughing slightly. The crew looked around nervously and laughed as well. "Now you shall see what happens to traitors."

"To traitors," whispered One-Eyed Joe from the crowd, "I think it happens to everyone." Hook heard this and crossed to Joe with two great strides. He did not pause a moment before opening Joe from waist to shoulder. Jack did not wait to see the pirate fall, but dove over the side of the ship, and into the black waters of the lagoon. As soon as he plunged in, the moon covered her face with clouds, and all was darkness. In the deep water, Jack saw women's shapes . . . mermaids, whose phosphorescent scales gave off a dim light.

One of them swam up to him, where Jack rested, suspended under the water. She was beautiful he thought, and her webbed fingers and gills only served to make her more so. Her eyes wove a spell, and although they were under water, Jack heard her say, "come with us, live with us under the waves." Then she gave a flip of her tail and swam further under the water. Wait for me, Jack tried to say, but water entered his lungs and he knew no more.


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