Keme welcomed her with a large, soft hug and a genuine smile, and she felt herself falling comfortably into the routine of salting, slapping and seasoning the seared fish that stared up at her with empty eyes.
Night fell heavy and dark on the ship, the azure seas turning to ink, the sea so calm that the light of the stars reflected upon the still waters like a blanket. After dinner, Wendy had been ordered by a grumpy Smith to wash down the deck as the crew member normally in charge of that had been shot in Port Duette and would not be making this—or any additional—journeys. So now she was on her knees, pushing all her strength against planks of wood with a brush that could tear skin from muscle. This is utterly disgusting, she thought, spreading the foamy soap over the glossy black planks and then mopping it up, the filth of a hundred boots rising up and over her hands in a brown sludge. Her dress was black from the knees down, a mix of water, waste, and the curdled blood of dead fish. A particularly putrid smell hit her nostrils, and she crawled on her knees to look under one of the cannons. She let out a yelp and leapt backwards at the decaying smile of a black-and-white sea snake that had greeted her there. With a grimace, Wendy pulled the body out, its grinning skeletal face staring at her, its empty eye sockets dangling with rough white scales that turned to dust when she touched them.
“Don’t touch the teeth,” Owl shouted down from above. “’Tis poisonous! But … it might also give you visions of the future, least that’s what I heard.”
Wendy bit her lip angrily. Pirates and their ridiculous superstitions: the bell held the soul of the ship. Don’t step forward with your left foot when boarding a ship. Gold coins must be kept in the keel and silver below the mast. If a wine glass made a sound of its own accord, the ship was about to sink. There were so many of them that she could barely keep track of them, let alone abide by them. Holding her breath, she fished the carcass out from under the cannon and threw it overboard with a splash, ignoring Owl’s hooting laughter that tumbled down from the crow’s nest, his body perched like a sentinel, his wispy hair blowing in the breeze. She dunked her hands into the disgusting bucket just in case he was right about the poison. Better filth than death. She brushed her hands off on her dress, leaving two black handprints at her hips before wiping her face with her forearm.
If her mother could see her now… . Wendy flinched at the thought of her mother, missing her babies. Her hands still disgusting, she clasped them together nonetheless, sending a prayer into the blazing stars above that somehow, some way, her mother would know that they were alive and well. Wendy frowned, looking down at her dress. Alive, yes. Well … Her thoughts flitted to John, so firmly in Peter’s control. What would it take to break him of it? Her mind wandered to a darker place: if Peter had not shown his true colors that night in the lantern, and later by dropping her, would she still be under his spell? A memory of his emerald-green eyes ignited in her mind, followed by his scent, like salty sea air and honey. Her skin flushed underneath her gown, and she turned away from her troubling thoughts.
“You done, girl?” Owl asked.
Wendy nodded. “For tonight.”
“Then throw that nasty crap overboard and be on your way.” He turned back to his watch.
Wendy slowly made her way below deck, her soaked rags and wooden bucket knocking against her legs as she circled down the Jolly Staircase. She opened a small trapdoor underneath the staircase beneath the bowsprit, storing the bucket and the rags for the next poor, unfortunate soul. The boat pitched starboard and caught her off-guard, slamming her hard into the wall before she tumbled to the ground, a reign of polite curses falling out of her mouth. She brushed herself off before turning the wooden latch on the small cabinet and making her way back down the dark hallway towards the staircase. The boat pitched again, but this time she was ready for it, holding onto the wall as the swell passed. There was a strange thump behind her, but when she looked, it was only a goblet, rolling loose behind her in the hallway. She frowned and made her way quickly to the staircase, her steps lightly rattling the bones, their jaws clickety-clacking as she descended down. The long hallway that led to her room was dark, and Wendy thought she heard the softest whush of air pass by her, but when she turned her head there was nothing, nobody. Her heart quickened, and she shook her head. Owl would know if Peter was here—her imagination was getting away from her.
She quickly made her way up the narrow passage, lit only by a dim, blue moonlight, to the wall that concealed the secret door. She looked around, making sure no one was nearby, her vision blurred by the pitching of the ship, which caused everything around her to stretch before rolling back again. There was a movement in the dark, but upon a second look, Wendy saw that it was nothing more than a discarded coat, dusty with age, its empty sleeves flapping with the movement on the waves. With a relieved sigh, she reached up in between the bells, gears, and wooden instruments, and her hands found the tiny iron casing. She had barely moved it upwards when she was yanked violently away from the door, a hand over her mouth, a body pressed roughly against hers.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she kicked hard off the wall, shoving the body backwards before bringing her teeth down against the hand. Instead of the yowl she expected, she heard familiar laughter as the cool blade of a knife pressed up against her neck. She felt a warm rush of blood trickling down the collar of her dress and went still.
“See, now it’s a good thing I can’t feel that bite—it’s quite uncouth for a lady, biting! The tar made sure of that. As you might imagine, it wasn’t for stealing.”
Barnaby’s quiet whisper turned her stomach.
“I promise I’ll be gentle. If you struggle, you’ll just make it worse. This is inevitable, you and me. I knew the moment you came on this ship that this would happen. We’re so alike you and I, both from noble families, both stuck here in this tropic hellhole, stuck on this ship with these … animals when we would be better off being served by these wretches!”
Wendy whimpered underneath his hand. “Barnaby, please let me go!”
He ignored her and continued. “It’s an insult, a disgrace to serve under Hook, under these men, who look at me like I’m a rat among lions. I should be captain of this ship! How dare he command me?”
Wendy’s eyes widened as she struggled to breathe, his grip like iron.
“Doesn’t he know who I am? Who I was? I am Barnaby Devonshire the Third, an heir to a railroad fortune, and who is he? The son of a dead pirate.”
He yanked Wendy’s head back roughly. “I’ve given you plenty of time to come to me, treating you like the lady I can see you are, and yet, you look at me with disgust, shrink back at the touch of my hands… .”
Wendy squirmed roughly, her body straining against his surprising strength, her limbs exhausted and weak from her hours of scrubbing.
“Don’t scream,” he whispered. “You’ll wake your brother, and we wouldn’t want that. I have no desire to hurt him.”
He began pulling her away from the wall, one tiny step at a time, dragging her feet as she used every ounce of strength to pull away from him, even as the tiny prick of his knife dug more painfully into her neck.
“Now will you stop, stop struggling? Can’t you see? We were meant to be, I knew it from the moment you stepped aboard, so pure, everything I left behind when I was taken against my will to this place. Now, I can’t change my fate here, and, truth be told, I love the Night herself, so after we are done, I may have to throw you overboard, but I’ll make sure that you won’t feel a thing—I promise! And when the captain asks what happened to you, I’ll just tell him I have no idea. One more betrayal to Hook, one in a long line of betrayals … and soon he’ll be undone. God knows his mind is unraveling already.”
Wendy squeezed her eyes shut and refused to cry out as the blade pushed farther into her neck. She took a breath and waited a moment, enough to let him think that she was surrendering.
“Good girl …,” he murmured, just as she used all her remaining strength to pus
h away from him, her hands shoving his dagger outwards, falling forward. He caught her arm roughly and yanked her back towards him, pulling downwards so she lost her footing, falling to her knees. The blade was at her neck again, this time lengthwise. She could feel it against her jugular.
“You are so feisty! It’s so disappointing. I thought perhaps you would just be a lady about this. You should be lucky to be with a man of my standing, whose wealth dates back for generations… .”
There was a quick shuffle in the darkness, a muffled thud, and Barnaby fell forward to his knees. Wendy crawled forward and spun around, a sob escaping her throat as she struggled to her feet, her hands trying to stem her bleeding neck. Barnaby lurched to his feet, one blackened hand on the back of his head, his eyes confused. He spun, grabbing Wendy’s hand, pulling her back against him. She kicked her leg out, catching the arm that held the dagger, which spun to the floor. She gritted her teeth and brought her closed fist up against Barnaby’s nose, her hand exploding with pain at the impact. He reeled backwards, holding his gushing nose.
“You low-class BITCH!”
Two faces emerged from the darkness behind him, one pale and trembling and a full head above where Barnaby stood. The other looked on with glossy eyes, his hands feeling along the wall.
“Keme! Owl!” Wendy gasped, finally finding her voice, her heart thundering so loudly that she was sure the entire ship would be alerted.
“Be careful! He’s mad!”
Keme’s face was contorted in rage as he grabbed Barnaby, and then threw him backwards, the coward crumpling against the wall like a rag doll. The gentle cook then bent over the wretched man, his large hands wrapping around his throat. A high-pitched sound escaped from Keme’s lips as he watched Barnaby contort the harder he squeezed, Barnaby’s eyes grew wider as his lips became bluer, his body wriggling as he struggled for air.
“Stop, Keme. Stop!” Wendy’s hands were shaking as she reached for Keme’s shoulder, one hand on her neck. She wanted him to keep going, and it was that realization that made her raise her voice. “Stop. He’s not worth it! Keme, stop! We’re better than he is!”
She kept frantically repeating the phrase as Keme’s expression softened, and he finally let go of Barnaby, who gasped for breath.
“You filthy monster, you almost killed me!”
In a rage, Wendy picked up the dagger and held it out towards Barnaby. Her hands had stopped shaking, and the fear she had felt had turned to a calm anger.
“Owl, go get Hook. Right now.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Owl began running down the hallway, his hands feeling his way along the wall. Keme stood beside Wendy, his fists clutching and unclenching, his breathing heavy.
“It’s alright, it’s alright now,” Wendy whispered to him. “I’m okay.”
She held the dagger steady, as Barnaby began whimpering, a sound more revolting than his hissing threats.
“Please don’t take me to Hook, please, you don’t understand, he’ll kill me… .”
“And I won’t cry a single tear,” snapped Wendy. “Not for you. We aren’t the same, you and I. And even if you had taken me like you desired, I would never be yours. I don’t belong to you, or to Peter, or anyone else.” She leaned forward.
“Even if you still had your money and your nobility, you still wouldn’t be worth one of these pirates’ spit. You are nothing, and you will fade into nothing.”
The blood pooling down the front of her dress was cooling now, wet and sticky against her skin. Keme motioned to her neck with a concerned glance as footsteps thundered down the staircase. Hook exploded into the hallway, obviously half asleep. Smith followed close behind.
“What on earth is going on here!?” Hook’s eyes leveled on Barnaby. “You.” He turned to Wendy. “Are you alright?”
Wendy nodded. “I am. But only because Keme saved me.”
“So this is it … is it?” Barnaby gave a dry laugh through his bruised throat, his eyes on Hook. “You know I betrayed you, don’t you? You were just waiting …” He coughed. “You’re ruined, you know. Everyone is aligned against you, and you can’t take your eyes off damned Peter Pan… .” Barnaby closed his eyes for a moment.
“And I’ll be damned if I won’t take something you love too.”
Then without warning, Barnaby pulled a pistol from his open shirt. There was a roar of gunfire as Wendy dove sideways, her body crumpling against the wall, her blood soaked hands covering her face. The blast of the guns echoed through the ship, bouncing off the walls and roaring down the hallway. Her ears were ringing, and she raised her head, discombobulated, unsure if she had been shot. She whirled around to see Hook standing still, holding a smoking pistol in his hand.
Half of Barnaby’s face was missing, but her horror was saved for Keme, who slumped down against the floor, one hand over his chest, where a bright red blossom was spreading. Wendy gave a cry and knelt over his body, taking one of his large hands in her own, kissing it repeatedly before resting it against her cheek. Hot tears dripped from her eyes and down his palm as she whispered, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. This is my fault!”
Keme gave her a kind smile and shook his head once before reaching out for Hook, whose face was twisted in sorrow. The captain pushed past Wendy and cradled Keme’s large head in his hands, leaning their foreheads together.
“Oh, Keme, Keme, my brother … please forgive me. You can’t leave me here. Not you.”
Keme reached up and wrapped both arms around Hook, squeezing him hard against his chest.
“I couldn’t protect you. I tried, I’m sorry, brother …”
Keme shook his head back and forth and clasped Hook’s hand in his own, laying it on chest, over the wound. Then his mouth moved, slowly, unfamiliarly, his words more breath than sound.
“Lomasi. Lomasi.”
A sob escaped Hook’s throat. “Oh, brother, yes, I’ll take you there. Of course.”
Keme gave Hook a wry smile and squeezed his hand. Hook gently crossed Keme’s hands over his chest, one hand over the other, as he began humming a strange tune, a tumble of foreign words lilting in the hallway. Keme’s face, the pale color of old putty, broke into an ecstatic smile. Hook smiled back at him, the words fading in his throat.
“Please don’t go. Please.”
There was a moment of silence, and Wendy struggled to keep her sobs quiet, the violence building in her throat. Hook’s spine straightened, and he clasped the giant’s hand as a croaking rattle escaped from Keme’s lips. He opened them once more.
“Love,” he whispered to Hook, patting his chest gently. “Love.”
Then the gentle cook took a long ragged breath before his body went still, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, his soul somewhere above the ship, floating out safely among the stars.
Wendy let out a low sob as she curled herself over his body. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault. Barnaby was waiting here in the hallway, I didn’t see him, not once… .”
Hook was still as he looked silently on the body, slowly regaining his immoveable composure, his pained face falling back into stone.
“This was not your fault, Wendy Darling. This was only the fault of two men. His … and mine.”
He nodded to Barnaby’s crumbled form, the wall and floor around him a mess of blood and brain matter. Wendy looked away, bile rising in her throat as she looked back with care upon Keme’s still form.
How could she not have known? Had she been careless? Barnaby, who at first was such a fine reminder of home, a gentleman.
She leaned her head against Keme’s chest, wishing to hear a heartbeat, wishing to feel his great breaths thunder through his lungs, but there was nothing, only stillness in the creaking hallway. It seemed as though the silence would break and stretch them, carrying them also into the great forever, when Smith spoke up.
“He died a noble death, protecting you. That’s more than most pirates can hope for.”
Owl emerged out of the darkness. “Aye, a
ye. A finer death was never seen upon the Sudden Night.”
Hook was still, his head hanging down, his eyes closed. When they opened, they met Wendy’s, and in that moment, Wendy knew him, saw him, not for the terrifying captain that he truly was, but also for the man who was tasked with caring for his crew, for this man who lay dead at his feet. Hook sniffed once and wheeled on Smith, who had reached out his hand to pat the captain’s shoulder.
“Don’t.”
Smith’s hand stopped in midair.
“Smith, go cut off Barnaby’s hands.”
“Gladly,” growled the first mate, pulling a long knife out of his boot.
“Then strip him naked and bring the body above deck. Wake the crew, and then cast his body overboard. I want every man on this crew to understand what happens to mutineers. Make no mention of the events that occurred down here with the girl.”
He rested his hand on Keme’s still chest.
“Owl, get back to your post. We don’t want to take any risks. And I trust you’ll stay quiet about this—for her honor and yours.”
Owl nodded obediently. “Aye, aye Captain, will be my pleasure.”
Hook turned back to Smith. “First, help me move Keme’s body into the hold.”
“Not overboard?”
“No. Not overboard.”
His tone implied that this was the end of this conversation.
“Yes, sir.”
Hook turned to Wendy. “Make your way back to your room. I’m sure your brother is wondering where you are.”