“Quiet, man,” the first man admonished.
“Sorry,” a new voice apologized with a squeak.
The sounds from the gangplank shifted to another part of the ship, presumably toward the cargo area. Wendy held her breath for a count of ten, then slowly pulled back the tarp to peer out. The air left her in a jolting gasp as she came face-to-face with a cat. The feline’s coloring was hard to make out in the dim light, but the eyes glowed a yellowy-orange. Wendy quelled her instinct to scold and met the creature’s impassive stare with a warning look of her own.
When the cat did nothing more than twitch the very tip of its tail against the wooden deck, she poked her head farther out to check her surroundings. Nobody else was visible from herangle, so she crawled forward to scan the whole deck. A door stood ajar under the quarterdeck at the back of the ship, and a flash of someone’s white shirt moved past it.
Grabbing her courage with both hands, she scooted past the cat and took the opportunity the empty deck provided to sprint forward on silent feet toward the rigging. Her ascent toward the crow’s nest was awkward even with her skirt pulled up to her knees. She lacked experience climbing ropes, no matter how ladder-like the arrangement, and her bare feet objected to more abuse. After an excruciatingly long climb where every fumbling lurch upwards reminded her that there were men who could reappear at any second, she made it to the top and tumbled over the wall onto the round platform.
Not a moment too soon, either. As Wendy lay flat against the cool wood, trying to catch her breath, the sound of footsteps assaulted her ears. Soon, the noises of shifting crates and the occasional low voice filled the cavern. Knowing it would be foolhardy to peek over the edge, Wendy blew on her rope-irritated hands and resigned herself to listening with ever-growing dread. Before she knew it, the subtle rocking of the ship turned to more purposeful movements, and the rock ceiling of the cave started sliding past. Wendy squinted against the harsh light of the sun as the vessel exited its hidden harbor. The morning had slipped into midday during her journey through the tunnels and fraught game of hide-and-seek to get aboard. With the addition of the wind and the filling sails, the subdued voices ofthe crew became indistinguishable, and she turned her thoughts to wondering how the ship had come to be here. In her two months on the island, she had never seen a single ship anchored this close. At one point, she had joked to her brother John that it must be called Neverland because ships never land here.
Her breath hitched. “John!” Then she gasped. “Shut up, Wendy,” she muttered. Her habit of talking to herself would only serve to harm her now.
She pushed her weary self into a seated position leaning against the crow’s–nest wall, careful to avoid using her scuffed palms. Her thoughts circled back to her brothers as she absently scratched at a drying patch of mud near her knee. John and Micheal were still in the clutches of an unfeeling murderer.
“How did we get into this mess?” she whispered a moment later. Old habits die hard. But since she could barely hear her own words over the wind and the sails, it was probably fine. Her position would be in greater danger when the next lookout reported to duty.
“And why did I choose the crow’s nest? Someone is bound to find me sooner or later.”
Wendy made a fist and bonked it against her thigh, wincing when a ripped and jagged fingernail pressed against her still-raw palm. Moving had been necessary, but her panic hadn’t allowed for much strategy. Maybe she wouldn’t be discovered until they were close to another island and she could plead to be let offthere. Depending on where that was, she might find help to save her brothers.
A light tug on the scraggly remains of this morning’s braid brought Disa to her attention. The sheerie blinked into view.
“Where have you been?”
“Played with the lookout,” he boasted.
“Ah.” Wendy realized that must have been how she got onboard safely. “Thank you.”
Disa beamed, then patted his head before settling on her lap.
The motion reminded Wendy that her own hair had been subjected to all manner of dirt and a headlong flight. She reluctantly reached up to feel the honey-colored waves. Her pale fingers had taken on a distinctly grubby hue, but she plunged them into her locks anyway. As she tentatively finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order, she let herself think aloud.
“Micheal worships Peter Pan, and John is canny enough not to reveal what I told him,” she mused. “I think they’ll be safe for a while.” The knot that had been forming in her gut for the last day twisted tighter. “I hope.”
Disa nodded dutifully from his position on her lap.
“Micheal is only ten. Plus he acts younger, so that should help, right?”
Again, Disa nodded his support, followed by an enormous yawn.
“But John is twelve, and his acting may not be enough,” she fretted. Her fingers caught on a snarl and yanked her head to the side.
The sheerie in her lap stopped nodding as he fell back with his arms stretched above his head. Wendy didn’t waste any concern on the mini faery, as she had observed on many occasions the way they often fell asleep mid-thought.
Using a ribbon she ruthlessly ripped off her sleeve, she tied back her partially tamed coiffure and continued to speak aloud in a quiet voice. “I have to find help. The naval police would have jurisdiction, I think. Pretty sure they patrol all the islands in the bay and beyond.”
Apart from running away to Neverland, Wendy had little experience with travel, even in her home country of Jocestria. Her father and mother kept a happy home, but their funds hadn’t stretched to trips. And when her mother married George Darling after her first husband’s death, she and Wendy moved to the Darling estate and stayed there.
Another sigh gusted over Wendy’s lips. She couldn’treallyblame her father for passing away, but a great many things in her life would have been different if he’d stuck around.
Padrig Maddox had been a good man. Her golden-brown hair had come from him. He moved to Jocestria from Brulark and immediately charmed Wendy’s mother, the alluring Arina. After marrying his gentle bride and adding Wendy to the family within a year, the happy trio spent their days in idyllic comfort.
“Fine,” Wendy blew a raspberry. “That is an overly nostalgic view of my childhood,” she confessed to the sleeping sheerie.
She frowned and scratched at a bug bite near her elbow. No doubt her memories were colored by the sharp differences that came with the second decade of her life. She tugged at the sleeve of her nightgown in a futile attempt to protect the bite from her absentminded, and filthy, fingernails.
A furry head appeared over the wall, causing her to jump. Disa bounced a little on her skirt but slept on. The same cat that had terrified Wendy earlier pulled itself to the top of the crow’s nest railing. As it arranged itself in a loaf shape, she examined the unusual gray-and-orange coloring. Darker- and lighter-gray stripes made a pleasing contrast amidst the pale orange, and Wendy found herself wanting to pet the soft-looking fur.
