Since she couldn’t ask her questions, Wendy returned to studying the potentially tainted food. Poison was a common plot device in storybooks, but Wendy had no way of determining whether or not she was about to become a victim of such. Holding up the plate to the light of the porthole, she examined the offering. The fish wasn’t really a surprise. A bountiful ocean of food swirled beneath their feet, after all. The veggies looked seasonally appropriate and probably boiled. But the bread was the real conundrum. Wendy had seen the metal boxes filled with sand in which a sailor could start a small fire to heat food. They were rudimentary at best and not suited for breadmaking by any stretch.
Letting her hunger convince her that poisoning didn’t seem to be Captain Hook’s style, she continued to ponder the complexities of the cooking as she inhaled the possibly hazardous grub. Most likely, theJolly Roger—which this ship must be if Hook was piloting it—made port on a regular basis. If she could escape the brig, this was good news for her.
Wendy wasn’t sure if poison or hunger made the best seasoning in this case, but she enjoyed every bite of what might be her last meal. While she ate, she mulled over the mystery of aliving Tam. With the monolid eyes and ink-black hair common to so many from Fanostrin, Tam had stood out from the other Lost Boys in more ways than one. He was the oldest until John arrived, and quieter than the rest. The eleven-year-old had helped their transition by teaching them the ways of Neverland and setting up beds for them in the underground hideout that could be accessed from a number of hollow trees.
About a week and a half after the Darlings arrived in Neverland, Peter came to dinner looking sad and angry. He told them that “thanks to Hook,” Tam was no longer with them. Then he led the Lost Boys and Wendy through the goodbye ritual. Tam’s things were divvied up amongst the others according to usefulness, then the last few items nobody wanted were set on a tiny raft constructed of sticks, lit on fire, and pushed out to sea.
It had been a somber moment. Even remembering it brought a tightness to her chest. But with the warm food in her belly and a comfy bench beneath her, her thoughts soon turned toward a nap. Running for one’s life really took it out of a girl.
The quality of sunlight spilling into her guest quarters confirmed that it was still early afternoon. Deciding to take the risk of sleeping in the presence of her enemies, Wendy finished prying several loosened lengths of ribbon from her tattered nightgown. It wasn’t like she could make it uglier. The bedraggled strips allowed her to tie the metal plate and fork to the bars of her cell door as a rudimentary alarm. The simple loop wouldn’tstop anyone truly motivated, but it should hinder them long enough to wake her.
Returning to the padded bench, Wendy positioned her head in the darkest corner with her face toward the bars. She wanted to give herself every opportunity to observe an approaching foe before they realized she was awake. Dreamland abducted her before her planning moved past “be alert.”
*****
Wendy woke to the orange light of sunset pouring through the porthole. Peering beyond her cell, she noticed that her quarters made up a single part of the brig. Through the bars opposite her cot, she could make out two more cells. Both looked smaller and less comfortable than hers.
“Maybe he does dabble in ransom,” she muttered to herself.
A door in front of the farthest cell opened to reveal Tam and Smee.
She sat up slowly, watching the pair as they stomped toward her. When Tam set two buckets down, she realized he meant to unlock her cell. She quickly undid the plate-and-fork arrangement. Tam didn’t say anything about it, but he nodded as he put the key in the lock.
Wendy briefly considered making a break for it when Tam held the door to let Smee in. She might be able to slip past this pair, but the rest of the crew would be a problem and she didn’t have a good hiding place to run to, anyway.
Smee deposited a bundle of purple fabric that clunked when he set it on the table, then left. Tam lingered long enough to say, “These things are for you. No one will come in here without knocking and asking.”
Wendy gave him a look.
“After this!” he amended. “Come up when you’re ready.”
“Wait,” Wendy began, “what are you talking about? And how are you—”
Tam walked with greater speed than he had arrived, making his escape while leaving the cell door open but shutting the wooden door behind him.
“—alive?” she finished to the emptiness.
Rolling her eyes, Wendy moved to investigate the gifts on the table. The purple material turned out to be a dress. The bundle also contained a couple small, rough towels, a bar of spicy-smelling soap, and a sturdy wooden comb.
“Should I be insulted or grateful that Hook thought I requiredtwofull buckets to bathe?”
Not looking forward to washing with liquid salt but desperate to feel cleaner, she was thrilled to discover that both buckets contained fresh water instead.
“Which means either they wasted a lot of their drinking supply,” Wendy continued muttering as she began soaping up her arms, “or we’re in port!” She jumped to her feet and scurried for the porthole, heedless of the suds dripping to the floor.
Her angle limited what she saw, but the number of masts visible and the presence of birds more colorful than seagulls assured her that they were no longer at sea. If she had been paying better attention, she might have noticed the difference in the ship’s movement. Maybe that’s what woke her.
The now-waning light and her eagerness to get off the ship had her rushing through her ablutions. Only the reminder that looking presentable would help her with any stuffy officials kept her from shortcutting the process. The fact that an incredibly handsome man was going to see her again had nothing to do with her thoroughness. Finally, after much contorting and straining to wash from a bucket, Wendy stood and stretched her back, then began the laborious process of combing through the tangled net masquerading as hair.
Once her waves had been somewhat subdued, she changed into the provided dress. Tam had said no one would bother her, but she still spent as little time as possible outside of her nightgown before tugging on the new attire. A little tight in the shoulders and shorter than fashionable for her height, but overall, the purple dress fit well. Wendy wondered how suspicious she should be that the captain of what she assumed to be an all-male crew had women’s clothing onboard. Had he robbed a merchant’s vessel filled with readymade textiles and guessed her size? Had he recently made some poor gal walk the plank, but not before stealing her attire? Did he design and sew women’s fashion in his spare time?
Wendy snorted. “Scuzzbags don’t have normal hobbies.”
Taking one last moment to feel her hair and scan what she could see of her person, she filled her lungs with determination and strode for the door. No specific words came to mind for pleading her case, but Wendy hoped they would come to her when she needed them.
The hall beyond the brig was just as dark as her first trip through it. She set her hand against the wall and lifted one foot, only to be stopped by a low mew at her ankles. Crouching brought her face-to-face with The Cat.
“I don’t suppose you’re here to guide me, are you?”
