For better or worse.
And she was really starting to lean toward “worse.”
* Consider for a moment, dear reader, that I do not even get to choose whether or not I am afraid of it. Even that agency has been removed from me… -V
CHAPTER NINE
All the way back to the ship, Sasha was silent and lost in thought. The sun was setting as they rowed closer to the imposing vessel.
The Jolly Roger.
It was anything but.
Painted black, it was faded and grayed by salt and sun. It had been moored for so long in its location that its anchor chain had become a reef, covered in barnacles and coral. The crew likely had to work around the clock to keep the rest of the ship afloat and in any semblance of sea-worthiness. Most boats had to be put in dry dock and fixed every few years, otherwise they’d rot out from the bottom up.
Librarian. Random facts.
The figurehead of the Jolly Roger was the skull of what must have been a bull elephant. They always looked like alien skulls to her, and this time was no different. It was made even more bizarre and grotesque by the fact that its tusks were replaced with huge iron spikes that curled up toward the bowsprit—the part of the ship that stuck out in front, over the figurehead.
Each of the spikes were adorned with skulls like beads. Skeweredon them like a grotesque shish kabob, the oldest skulls down at the bottom and the freshest at the top. A few pirates were clinging to the bowsprit, and were putting new severed heads on the tips of the metal tusks as she watched.
“Lost Boys, or any of the, shall we say ‘locals’ that give us trouble,” Hook explained with all the air of someone explaining to a house guest where the controls for their garage door opener were located.
As one of the pirates pushed a new head onto the spike, it crushed the oldest one down at the bottom, turning it to dust and shrapnel, sending it raining to the water below.
She didn’t imagine that they had all been there very long—the sun and weather, along with the ship’s rats and the seagulls would make quick work of anything left out to the elements. But…still.
With every passing second, she wished this was more like the Peter Pan she remembered. Any of them. They pulled the dinghy up to the side of the ship, and tied it off.
Hook was the first to ascend the ladder, and she followed after, feeling numb. Too much adrenaline and too much nonsense all in one day. She just realized…she hadn’t slept since all this had started. Blackouts didn’t count. Nor had she actually eaten anything, either.
“Mr. Smee.” A flick of fingers over his shoulder beckoned her to follow Hook down to his quarters. She followed, assuming she was about to get lectured for all the nonsense that happened at the mermaids' cove.
When they got inside his room, he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her. Right. She was supposed to be his manservant.God, this sucks.Trailing after him, she took his things and put them away—which took a lot of guessing, but she got there eventually.
Hook was silent as he went behind a dressing screen and came out in a more relaxed outfit—just his white flouncy shirt tucked into distractingly well-fitting black pants. He went to a table that was already set for two with a lavish feast set out upon silver platters. Potatoes and vegetables surrounded a goose, all roasted to perfection. Rolls, cheeses, cured meats, a decanter of red wine.
He sat down at the head of the table and began plating himself a meal.
She just stood there like an idiot. What was she supposed to do?
Pressing his flesh and blood fingers to his temple, he let out a beleaguered sigh. “Sit. Eat. Before youdofaint like a wallflower. You may be in my world of fiction, but you are still a human and a mortal.”
“I figured it was supposed to be for Wendy. Or you’d stab me if I assumed anything.” She picked up a plate and served herself some food. It lookedamazing.“And if the food is fake, will it actually do me any good?”
“If pain and death is real, the food can be real.” He sniffed dismissively. “The rules about what is and is not reality in worlds of make-believe are a bit blurry. Subject to your interpretation.”
“Much like Neverland.” She sat down across from him and poured herself a goblet of wine.
A thin and devious twist to his lips. “Now you’re getting it.” He picked up his own goblet and studied it thoughtfully. “Fiction has power over the real world. Otherwise, it wouldn’t upset people nearly as much as it does, would it?”
“I guess that’s true. A good story can save lives. A bad one can ruin them.” She took a sip of the wine and decided she should definitely eat food before getting hammered. She switched to the bread and the goose.
“I’d argue that a good story is one that changes lives either way—a bad story is one that disappears unnoticed.” Hook shrugged. “Hm. Also, I must compliment you on that crocodile. Quite a piece of work, he is. I think I’ll remember that horrifying World War I-era technological monstrosity for a long time to come.”
She looked up from cutting a piece of goose meat into smaller sections. “Huh?”
“I’m sorry, are you so shocked to receive a compliment from me that you would have me repeat it?” He rolled his eyes. “Really, you are impossible.”
