11 May 2020

Saving Neverland - Ch 9 - The Black Castle

(Josie Sayz: This is a story that I began working on several years ago. I am finally reading through it/editing it. This is a fanfiction piece of what would happen if two of my favourite characters Peter Pan (from J M Barrie’s book) and Jack Frost (from ‘Rise of the Guardians’) met, why and what adventure would they go on. I originally wrote this story as a present for a friend. I have decided to dig it out and plan to release each chapter as I edit it. This is Chapter One: ‘Just Keep Reading’.

Note: I do not own Peter Pan or any of the relating characters or places to the story; these are all owned by J M Barrie and ‘Disney’. I do not own Jack Frost or any of the relating characters or places to the story; these are all owned by William Joyce and ‘DreamWorks’.

Chapter One: ‘Just Keep Reading’ can be found here: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2019/06/saving-neverland-just-keep-reading.html
Chapter Six: ‘A smile can make a big difference’: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2020/04/saving-neverland-smile-can-make-big.html



The Black Castle
With his black, pointed shoes up on the desk and his ankles crossed, he lay back in his chair and smirked. The grey blocks of the walls surrounding him complimented his complexion. This he had realised whilst gazing at himself in a mirror that he had found in the desk drawer. The sand trickling down the hourglass, which lay beside his feet, blurred in his hazed vision. The door, ahead of him, lay shut. He gazed at it, wondering how long it would take for a certain person, or group of people, to prise it open.
Inhaling, the melting candle’s smoke wafted up his nose, as its flame burnt on his desk. Leaning forwards, he cleared his throat, the smoke from the candle choking him. However, he would not put out its light. Although its scent was distasteful, it disguised the dampened limestone and puffs of tobacco that wafted into the air. Leaning back again, his long, black robes billowed at his sides. He watched the flame flicker, dancing with fear under his stare.
Hearing a mumble from across the room, he lay back and closed his eyes. Lacing his fingers together he placed his hands across his stomach. “Oh give it a rest Jas. You’ve been glowering over that thing for hours,” he said to the man across the room.
Leaning over the table propped up on the other side of the room, the other man puffed on his custom-made cigar holder, smoking away at a two cigars at once. Their smoke circled around the room, creating a cloud of grey above him. Curling his bottom lip over his the top one, he blew the smoke up his face. Slamming his hand down on the table, he turned to his lazy companion. “No, I will not rest,” he barked. “Do you not know what finding this stone means?”
“Yes,” the other sighed. “Untold riches. Unworldly power. Fear spreading across the world… and all of it at our fingertips.” He opened an eye to spy upon his acquaintance. “Don’t worry. Things have a way of working out.” At this, he let his eyelid fall closed.
“Yes, but how can you just sit there and do nothing?” raged the one known as Jas. He swung an arm down and it clanked against a glass at his side. Turning back to his table, his eyes flicked across the map that lay before him. Pinned down by its four corners, the outline of Neverland lay engraved in black markings. A grid had been etched across it and since erased. Black crosses were covered in scribbles marked at various locations. White and black pins stabbed into the papers creases, forming a wavy line, centring upon a mounded hillside. “We could have had the Stone in our hands by now,” he groaned. Swiping a hand across the table, his marine and geometric compasses, as well as his brass spyglass, quill and inkpot clattered to the ground. He seeped a breath through gritted teeth and growled.
“But what fun would that be?” asked the other. His eyes remained closed, as he raised an eyebrow and grinned. Pressing out his chest he wriggled down in his chair. “We can have them right where we want them… all you have to do,” he told his friend. “Is give it a little time…”

*

Having prised open the castle’s wooden double doors, Peter and his two friends slipped inside. As the door creaked closed behind them, Izz pinched her eyes shut. “Someone has to have heard that,” she whispered. Squinting her eyes open, her stomach fluttered. There were no guards, no pirates, no one standing guard of the door. The walls were a bare, cold, limestone grey. No pictures or tapestries lined the walls, like she had been expecting. No carpet or rugs coated the floor. Instead rubble brushed up at their feet, caking their ankles and trousers in dirt and dust. Splashes from their dripping bodies and clothes cascaded to the ground, creating a trail behind them.
“Maybe they’re not expecting anyone,” Jack said with a shrug, as they strolled down the hallway.
“If you live in place with an entrance like that,” Izz said pointing a thumb behind them. “Then I don’t think you’d be expecting guests either.”
“Good point,” he replied, turning back to the doorway. Staring at it, he ran a hand through his hair.
As they kicked up dust wandering down the hallway, they neared the back wall. The corridor branched off in two directions: to their left and right. “So we split up?” Jack suggested with a shrug, turning from Izz to Peter. Holding up a hand Peter shook his head.
“We stick together,” he told him. “You don’t know Hook like I do… he’s dangerous.”
“Fine,” mumbled Jack, throwing a hand to his side. “So which way?” Scratching his head, Peter shook some of the water from his clothes and groaned. Turning to the corridor’s left, Peter parted his legs and bent down to look between them. Gazing upside down at the hallways other passage, he scratched his head again. Watching him, Jack pressed a thumb to his temple and his index finger across his brow and shook his head. Folding her arms, Izz smirked, as she watched Peter. This was definitely a trait of his that she had forgotten. Swinging himself back upright, Peter’s stern stare disappeared and a cocky grin replaced it.
“It’s this way,” he said pointing to the route behind him.
“How d’you know?” Jack asked.
“I don’t,” Peter replied with a smile. “I just like the way it looks upside down.” Izz clasped her hands to her mouth to try and hide a snigger, while Jack lowered his head.
“Oh well,” Jack muttered. “It’s as gooder guess as any.”
Walking down the corridor, Izz arched her head behind them. She squinted her eyes, trying to focus far into the distance, before spinning her head back around to the view in front. “Something wrong?” Jack asked, jerking his head behind them. Peter stopped and spun back too. Izz gave a shrug.
“It’s nothing,” she told them. “But… don’t you think it’s strange that we haven’t come across anybody at all. Especially guarding the door.”
“You’re the one that said they wouldn’t be expecting anyone,” Jack told her, as he turned back around.
“I know,” she sighed as they continued walking. “But don’t you think it’s… a little strange.”
“Hmm,” Peter agreed, as he dragged his fingers along the limestone walls. Scratching at his fingertips, grainy lumps from the wall’s rock crumbled at his touch. “It’s fishy. That codfish is up to something.”
“Codfish?” frowned Jack.
“Hook,” Izz told him.
“Something’s not right,” Peter said, as he cut across them to turn left. Jack and Izz followed him. “He’s normally got pirate’s hiding everywhere.” Bored of the corridor that they turned down, Peter decided to turn at their second right.
“Are you sure you haven’t been here before?” Jack asked as Peter picked his way through the maze of corridors.
“I’m sure,” Peter sang back to him, as he skipped ahead.
Through numerous corridors they passed and entered several doors, but everywhere they wandered look the same. The walls: plain grey. The floor: crumbled rocks, dust and dirt. The deeper into the castle the travelled the more Izz found herself shivering. Several times they checked for an open doorway, window or a crack that led to outside, but nothing ever explained the chill that they felt. The lighting in the castle remained the same as well: dull, but lit well enough for the three of them to see where they were walking without stumbling. Windows were not present and there were no candles, torches or chandeliers. How the castle did not remain submerged in darkness was a mystery.
Leading them around another corner, Peter picked up the pace as he spotted someone up ahead. “Quick!” he hissed, pointing towards an opening in the corridor to their right. They filed into the small cubby beside an old, rusted suit of armour. This was the first thing, other than the person, that they had seen since starting their walk around the castle. Pressing back against the wall, they each held their breath. Edging towards the entrance of their hideout, Peter peered around it. His head shot back, as he stood up straight. Leaning towards his friends, Peter whispered, “It’s Morgan Skylights,” jabbing a finger to his palm and jerking his head towards the main corridor.
“Skylights?” Izz repeated with a frown. “But I thought he was dead.”
“So did I,” Peter admitted. “At first, that is. He pretended to be dead after brawling with Hook. The only way to get out of the fight was to play dead. After being thrown overboard, he lived amongst the land for some time, before sneaking his way back into Hook’s crew,” he told them. As the creases on Jack’s forehead deepened, Peter added, “Hook’s so careless that he probably never even noticed.”
“So what do we do now?” Jack asked. Pressing his back against the wall, in the direction of the pirate, Jack peeped his head around the corner. The shaggy man limped back and forth as he paced across the bottom of a stairway. Turning back to Peter, Jack hissed, “There’s no way passed him.” Humming, Peter tapped a finger to his chin. His eyes widened and he clicked his fingers.
“Watch this,” he told them, as he and Jack switched places.
Flicking his hat, Peter popped it onto his shoulder and rolled it down his arm. Catching it, he cupped it around his mouth and leaned towards the edge of their hiding place. Taking in a deep breath, Peter bellowed, “Skylights!” throwing his voice to sound like the pirate captain. Izz and Jack peered around the corner, beneath Peter, just in time to see the scrawny, bald-headed man jump.
Shaking, Skylights jerked his head around the hallway, searching for the body to the bellowing voice. “Y, y, y, yh-yesss, c, c-cap’in,” he stuttered, standing up straight, perching a shaking hand above his eyebrow.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter roared into his hat. His voice vibrated throughout the corridor. Holding their hands to their mouth, Jack and Izz scarpered from the corner to hide their sniggering.
“D, d, doing sir?” Skylights trembled.
“Speak up!” growled Peter, as his features scrunched up.
Shaking, Skylights swallowed. “I, I wasn’t doing anything, b, b, b-boss.”
“Wasn’t doing anything, aye?” Peter teased, before bellowing, “You blithering idiot! Why are you standin’ around doing nothing when we have an island to destroy?” Stuttering through terror of displeasing his beloved captain, Skylights uttered the beginnings of several words and sentences, but never got further than the first three syllables. “Now,” Peter ordered. “Go to the galley and tell Cookson to prepare the Thurs-dee special. And not that gruel that he served us last time.”
“Y, y yes sir… but cap’in-”
“What?” growled Peter throatily.
“It, it’s only wh, wh-Wednesday,” Skylights quivered, his rags wavering at his sides.
“Are you questioning me orders?” yelled Peter, his face turning red.
“No, no sir,” he replied shaking his head.
“Good,” came a satisfied reply. “Oh and Skylights…” Peter nudged Izz and jerked his head towards the pirate. With a nod, she and Jack crept near.
“Yes boss…?” called Skylights.
“You couldn’t point me in the direction of my office, could you?” he asked giving Izz a wink. “All these stairs and corridors – blast it,” he cursed. “I get lost even lookin’ fer me own ‘ook.”
“It’s th, th-that a-way cap’in, sir,” Skylights stuttered, pointing up the set of stairs to their right, looking around for the voice’s location all the while.
“Right,” he growled. “Well then, be off with you.” Skylights, turned on his heels and fled to a door at the end of the corridor, slamming it shut behind him.
Twirling his hat around his finger, Peter smirked, as he leant back against the wall. “That was amazing,” Izz squeaked, clapping her hands together in front of her nose.
“Yeah,” Jack agreed, patting Peter on the shoulder. “Very impressive.”
“I know,” Peter smirked, as he placed his hat back on his head. Turning towards the corridor, he arched his head over his shoulder, looking back at the other two. “Are you ready?”

*

Footsteps pattered up the staircase outside. Stretching his hands to the back of his head, he lay back in his chair and cackled. “Looks like they found us at last,” he spoke, exaggerating his vowel sounds.
“They took their time,” the other grumbled, curling the ends of his moustache.
“Now, now,” teased the man relaxing at his desk, closing his eyes again. “You don’t want them to see you vexed.” The other rolled his eyes at him and ruffled up his coat, neatening his sash.
As the footsteps grew louder, a murmur of voices drifted beneath the door. Opening his eyes, he returned his hands to his stomach. The footsteps and voices ceased. The door’s brass, coil knocker scraped against its rusted hinge as it was yanked. The door dragged across the floor, its joints creaking. He gave a smirk. Three figures emerged in the door way. The first to peer into view was the most familiar to his sight: tall, scrawny, ice white hair and a curved, wooden stick at his side. Beside him stood the girl, not as short as he had imagined, nor as young. With her dripping clothes clung to her frame, her deep brown eyes staring back at him and her chocolate hair curled at her shoulders, he could see why the boys had taken a liking to her. He smirked. ‘Perhaps there is more to this that we originally thought,’ he mused. Turning to his far right, beside the girl was the third: another boy. He was the shortest of the three, even with his pointed hat. The glare buried deep in his eyes, made for a pleasant change to the cocky, smirk he had been wearing on their previous encounter. As the three of them stepped inside, the door swung back, banging closed behind them.
Leaning forwards from his chair, he simpered. “Well, well, well, it was nice of you to join us,” he said with a laugh. “You kept us waiting long enough.” Lifting his feet from the desk, he dropped them underneath and gestured a hand at the sand falling hour glass. A golden, beige mound filled the lower, vertical, glass bulb. Trickling through the glass’s narrow neck, the last of the upper dome’s remaining particles gathered upon the mound in the ventricle below.
“Waiting…? Us…?” Izz breathed staring at the man before her, barely moving her lips. Having had his feet up on the desk and leaning back in his chair, it was hard for Izz to deny that he appeared to be someone who had been comfortable for some time. Yet, he appeared alone.
“So this was a trap,” Peter growled at Izz’s side, scrunching his face up at the angular-faced man ahead.
“No,” exclaimed the man behind the desk, shaking his head. Pressing his knuckles into the desk, he lifted himself from his chair and stood. “This isn’t a trap… consider it… an introduction.”
Jack laughed, shaking his head. “We need no introduction, Pitch,” he snarled. “We already know what you’re up to.”
“Oh,” Pitch laughed with a pout. “But of course you do… Jack.” Stepping out from the desk, he neared them, taping the tips of his fingers together at his chest. Grabbing his staff with both hands Jack jabbed it in his nemesis’ direction.
“Yeah,” said Jack as he squared his shoulders, bouncing on his toes. “And what do you mean by that?”
“He means exactly what he says,” came the smug remark from a voice to their right. Izz gasped, as the three of them turned towards the speaker. Standing behind a large table, a man in a flowing, red coat and a mane of black curls stood, smug, smoking a double ended cigar holder. He gave a puff on the stick in his hand, blowing a cloud of smoke in their direction.
“Hook!” Peter exclaimed, clenching his hands to fists.
“Yes,” he replied with a grin, prodding his nose in the air. “It is I, the great, the wicked, the powerful, Captain James Hook.”
Twiddling his cigar holder between the fingers of his left hand, Captain Hook came out from around the desk and along with Pitch, walked towards them. “Stay where you are,” warned Jack, holding his staff out in front of him, pressing it towards Pitch Black, then the pirate captain. “I’m warning you.” As Captain Hook scrunched up his face at the orders, Pitch cut a hand in from of him.
“Leave it,” Pitch mumbled and lowered his arm. He laced his fingers together and turned his attention to their guests. “And who do we have here?” Pitch asked as he stepped closer towards Izz and Peter. “I know this one,” he said jerking a head at Jack. “But what about you, lovely?” He reached a hand out towards her. His grey finger traced the edge of the right side of her face. As his pointed chin neared hers, his mouth turned up at the corners and the gold within his irises gleamed. With her eyes mesmerised by his, she could not break their stare. He swallowed. As his touch tickled the surface of her skin, Jack slid his staff between them and jabbed it in Pitch’s stomach, throwing him back.
“You leave her alone,” Jack growled.
“Yeah,” shouted Peter in agreement.
“My, my,” laughed Pitch, rubbing a hand across his stomach. “Touchy, touchy.”
As Pitch stepped back, Captain Hook strode forward. Keeping a tight grip on his staff, Jack lowered it, waiting to hear what the pirate captain had to say. Flicking his head to the side, Captain Hook’s locks swept across his face as he neared Jack. Hook’s cadaverous complexion, bushy eyebrows and round, piercing green eyes daggered into those of the boy opposite. Jack felt himself swallow as he edged back. Raising his right arm, the captain brought his hook up to his face, and twirled it around the edge of his moustache. A growling emerged from his throat. His wide jaw stretched, as he rolled his tongue. Pinching his cigar holder between his fingers, he gave a hum as he eyed Jack up and down. “You’re a little scrawny to be out fightin’ the likes of us, aren’t you me boy?” he asked, removing the stem from his mouth, before returning it to take another puff.
“Scrawny?” Jack scorned, squaring his shoulders. “Well at least I’m not feared by everyone everywhere I go.” At this, Pitch gave a laugh.
“Of course you’re not,” he sneered. “‘Cause you’re invisible. Except by the sights of these two,” he added rolling his eyes in Peter and Izz’s direction. Jack tensed his arms, gritted his teeth and growled. Izz turned to his side and reach a hand out towards him. He ignored her touch, his eyes daggers in Pitch’s direction.
Sweeping his ropes across the ground, Pitch strode towards Peter. The boy’s stare fixed upon the man towering before him. Pitch stroked a hand through his brushed-back black hair and smirked. “And you must be the Peter Pan that I’ve heard so much about.”
“Aye, I am,” said Peter, arching his chin up. “But who are you?” Throwing his head back, Pitch gave a cackle.
“Who am I?” he chortled. “Who am I? Why, I’m Pitch Black, that’s who. The Sack Man. The Jersey Devil. The Boogeyman. The one who hides in dark corners, jumps out from under beds, spreads fear amongst those both young and old… all of those are me.”
“Oh yeah?” said Peter with a mocking smile. “I’m not scared of you.”
“Oh,” said Pitch raising is eyebrows. Taking a step towards Peter, he leaned forward, his back straight, his head parallel with his waist. His face a hairline from Peter’s, Pitch smiled. His breath brushing against Peter’s skin, he told him, “You will be.”
Wrinkling his nose up at Pitch’s halitosis, Peter replied, “We’ll see.”
Stepping back from Peter, Pitch gave a laugh. Pressing a thumb to his cheek and curling a finger around his chin, Pitch looked Peter up and down. “Confident for a little squirt, aren’t we?” he said with a smirk. “Not that I expected anything less.”
“Hey,” cried Peter. “Who you calling a squirt?”
“Mouthy too,” said Pitch, as he knotted his hands together behind his back. Twisting himself around on his heels to face Captain Hook, he eyed the line of intruders. “Yes, I see you three make quite a team… oh,” he said, twisting himself back round to face them. Taking a step towards them, he pointed a finger in their direction. “And you’re all wet,” he added, as if he had noticed this detail for the first time. A puddle of water had built up around their feet as the three of them stood in front of the door.
Jack cocked his head to the side, trying to catch Pitch’s attention. “Well,” he said, pressing out his chest. “That’s what happens when you row boat across half the island in the middle of a storm, get attacked by sharks, an octopus and a crocodile.” At the mentioned of the crocodile, Hook shuddered. “And have your boat crushed, have to fight against the current with the rain lashing down on your face, then swim through a crack in the cliff side and make your way to shore,” Jack raged, balling a hand into a fist. His jerked his head to the side, flapping his fringe from his eyes. He turned his glare from Pitch to Hook, hoping their adventure would spark fear in the eyes of one of their opponents. The two only smirked at Jack’s tale and continued, as though he were no more than a little inconvenience to their conversation.
Pitch’s eyes glanced to the table behind the buccaneer, as he asked, “Would you like to do the honours?”
“Why I thought you’d never ask,” came Captain Hook’s smug reply.
With a swift turn, Captain Hook strode to the table with the map sprawled out on its surface. He lowered his cigar holder to the table, tapping the ashes at his feet. He inhaled a deep breath through his nose and stretched his arms out across the table, leaning on his palm and the stump of his hook. “Gather round children, gather round,” Hook told them. Peter and Izz looked towards each other, before turning to Jack. Izz gulped, before giving Jack a shrug. Looking over Izz’s shoulder at Peter, Jack searched his face for another answer. When all he received was another shrug, Jack turned to the pirate and led his two friends towards the table. As Jack passed the captain’s hooked hand, he could not help to stare. Lifting a hand to his neck, Jack ran his fingers along his neckline and tugged at his hoodie. He felt his stomach spiral, knotting away at his intestines. All the while that he had heard Peter and Izz talk about a man named Hook never did it cross his mind why the man was named such, until now. “Yes, me boy,” said the pirate, noticing Jack staring at his hook. “‘Twas a gift from Pan,” he said with scorn. “Cut off me own ‘and, he did and fed it to that blasted crocodile… and he’s been licking ‘is chops for the rest o’ me ever since.” Looking up at the captain, Jack shuddered. As he neared the edge of the table, he turned to Izz, a crease on his brow. Pinching in her lips, her eyebrows narrowed as she gave a nod, before turning her attention back to Captain Hook.
With the three of them gathered on the opposite side of the table, Hook’s scowl faded, as he drew his attention to the markings etched on the paper below. “This here,” he said jabbing his hook into the centre of the paper. “Is a map of Neverland.”
Izz leaned over the table and stared at the island’s drawing, distorted beneath the crosses, scribblings and pins stabbed into it. Upside down, the northern point of Hangman’s Trees faced them, with several crossed placed around it with squiggles scratched through them. Izz noticed the words, ‘Too obvious,’ marked beside the hideout’s location and underlined twice in a thick dollop of ink. A trail of crosses led from Hangman’s Trees, down towards the mountains, before curving back around to the natives’ encampment. The markings continued along the shore, skimming the outskirts of Pixie Hollow, passing through Pegleg Point, the caves at Cannibal Cove and the rocks surrounding Crocodile Creek. On the other side of the map Skull Island was almost unrecognisable through the crosses, scribbles and ink splats that covered it. More markings covered Mermaid Lagoon and Marooner’s Rock, before trailing into the Neverwood. Even the brink of the Never Peak had been bespattered with ink. Each of these locations, Izz noticed, had been marked with a black pin.
Brushing his clutter of compasses, ink pots and pins to the side, Hook raised his eyes to those opposite him, keeping his head low. “For years,” he told them. “I have searched this place… wondering how an’ why it was me an’ me crew came to be on this island.” Ignoring Peter, Hook stared at Jack and Izz, as he revealed his story. “It gave us no answers, only more questions… Many, many moons passed and still, here we were.” He looked down at the map, gazing into the sea. “There came to a time when I realised somethin’, somethin’ strange was occurring…” Looking up from the map, he leant forwards towards them and raised his hook to his face. He swallowed; his Adam’s apple shaking. “We never aged…” His eyes widened, as he watched Jack twitch his head in Izz’s direction, but as Izz stared ahead at Hook, Jack glanced in the pirate’s direction, before lowering his eyes to the map. “You see, Neverland lives upon an essence… sum’ink far greater, more powerful than you could ever imagine…”
“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Izz whispered. Hook gave a large grin. He heard Pitch exhale, smirking behind him, as he observed them from a distance.
“Aye,” said Hook looking up at Izz. “How’d you know ‘bout the Stone?” Izz felt her heart crash against her chest. Her arms stiffened at her sides. She sniffed.
“It’s in the stories,” she muttered, staring at the ruff of Hook’s sleeve, her bottom lip trembling.
“Stories?” Hook raged. “What stories?” Izz gasped as she flinched. Her chest jittered, as she took small sharp breaths. Her fingers shook at her sides. Captain Hook swung his hook from the table and raised it towards her face. “Well?” Pinching her eyes tight, she sniffed again, forcing herself to swallow the lump inside her throat.
“Mr. Smee,” she murmured squinting her eyes to slits. “He writes stories… about your adventures.”
“Smee you say,” he mumbled, lowering his hook.
As Captain Hook gazed at the wall behind them, Izz opened her eyes and stared at the unfocused glaze in the captain’s eyes. He hummed to himself. “I see… well who else would one want to read about, aye?” asked Hook as he returned his attention Izz. “You’re right my pretty… such a stone exists and it lives in the heart of Neverland… the island’s core. It keeps all who live here from ever growing old… including our friend Pan, ‘ere.” After giving a jab at Peter, he lowered his gaze back to the map. Dragging a hand across his chart he told them, “These markings indicate every area me an’ me crew have raided over the last fifty years…”
Looking down at the map, Izz noticed a small collection of white pins amongst the mass of black. Tilting her head to the left, she squinted her eyes, focusing on their positions. They appeared to outline the areas between the Never Peak, the Neverwood and the stream that passed between them. Her lips parted as she stared, remembering being stood at this location not too long ago.
“However,” Hook continued, as he stared at Izz’s expression. “I ‘ave a feeling the search is almost over.” Izz lowered her eyelids as she felt her stomach drop. Turning to Peter she watched his mouth part and his eyes stare, frozen at the position in the centre of the white pins. Hook squeaked an inhale, while Pitch gave a laugh in the distance.
Jack jerked his head over his left shoulder, as a clatter sounded behind them. The floor vibrated, as the doors dragged open. Two men strode inside. The first was tall with long, black hair combed back in a ponytail. His teal shirt hung over his tanned trousers, as it tucked in at the waist. Matching the colour of his trousers, his waist jacket sat upon his shoulders. As his arms swung at his sides, the fingers of his right hand cupped the trigger of his pistol. The man at his side was of a stumpier build. His calico shirt draped loose around his large frame. As he shuffled his feet forwards, his gnarled toenails hooked over the edges of his sandal. Stumbling, he grabbed a hand to his scarlet cap that hung from his head.
“Starkey, Smee,” cheered Captain Hook. “Nice o’ ya to join us… I was just telling our guests ‘ere ‘bout our troublesome journey searchin’ for the ‘art of Neverland.” Holding out his hand, Hook gestured at Peter, Izz and Jack at the opposite side of the table. Taking a step towards them, Starkey gave a nod and swung his pistol up, resting it over his shoulder.
“And a bleeding tough mission at that,” Starkey added, scratching at the stubble of his squared jaw.
“Not ‘arf,” said the shorter of the men, as he waddled behind Peter, Izz and Jack and around the edge of the table to the captain’s side. “We heard s, s, some c, ck-commotion c-cap’in,” Smee stuttered. “An’ wan’ed to ck-ck, come check up on yuh, we did.”
“Aye,” Starkey nodded. “We heard Cookson blabbering on about receiving your orders for the Thursday special too, when it’s only Wednesday.” As Starkey commented upon the weekday, he watched the bushes of the captain’s eyebrows narrow and his face darken.
“My orders?” raged the captain. Izz flinched. Both she and Jack turned to Peter, amazed at the accuracy of Peter’s mick take of the angered captain, when he growled at Skylights moments earlier. “I did nothing of the sort!” he bellowed, shaking his mane of hair, the feather on his hat flapping against his head.
“I shall see to the matter at once, Captain,” said Starkey with a bow, lowering his weapon to his side.
“Wait!” ordered Hook, holding out a halting hand. “First…” he spoke slowly, delving a hand into his pocket. “You must see that our search has finally come to an end.” Fishing his hand around in pocket of his red justacorps, Hook pulled out a pin bearing a small flag that resembled his own Jolly Roger emblem and jabbed it into the centre of the white pins, upon the waterfall at the Babbling Brook. “At last…” he simpered. Peter clenched his teeth. His nose snarled, as he stared at Captain Hook’s newest placed pin. His hands crunched into fists, yet his breathing remained calm.
Pitch strode over beside him and gave the pirate a thump on the back. “What did I tell you about perseverance?” said Pitch with a grin. “It always pays off.”
Jack shook his head and gave a laugh. “You’re wrong,” he told him. “Just like always.”
“Oh, I think not,” said Pitch with a pout, pointing at Peter.
Snarling his face up at Pitch, Peter shouted, “Jack’s right, you’re wrong.” He shot his face in Captain Hook’s direction. A grin spiked up at his cheeks. “You’ll never find it there.”
“Oh,” said the captain with a deep laugh. “We’ll just ‘ave to see about that.” He shifted his glance, from Peter to his first mate. “Starkey, throw the brats in the dungeon and gather up me best men,” he barked. “We’re moving out.” Jack and Izz turned to each other.
“W, w, what about me boss?” stuttered Smee at the captain’s side.
“You?” said Hook with a chuckle. “You can watch over the scurvy brats.” As Captain Hook voiced his orders, the doors flung back. Two bulky men barged in. The first threw his arms around Peter’s chest, trapping Peter’s arms under his bulging weight. The second threw and arm around Jack’s neck from behind, jabbing his elbow under the boy’s chin. He kicked Jack’s staff from his hand, before squeezing his skeleton between his other bicep. Holding his pistol to Izz’s right temple, Starkey gripped his left arm under her neck and pulled her weight back against him.
“Let go,” Peter wailed, trying to wriggle free. As he stomped his foot against the shin of his captor, the man jerked Peter in the air with his right hand (which still held tight grip over Peter’s upper body). The abductor clenched his left arm around Peter’s legs, preventing him from doing any more than squirm in his kidnapper’s hands.
Jack gagged for air, jabbing a leg back at the man at his throat. As with Peter, the pirate hauled Jack’s legs in the air, grinding his bones together.
Stretching her head back, Izz squirmed to her left, desperate to distance her head from the barrel of the gun. She whimpered, as Starkey jerked his grip, forcing her to lean further back. Her chest pounded. Her bottom lip trembled. Pinching her eyes shut, she felt the pressure of the barrel dig into her skull.
“Take ‘em away men,” Captain Hook growled, pointing to the double, wooden doors. Ramming his shoulder into the left door, the first man, carrying Peter, forced their entrance open. Starkey and the second man followed after him, their prisoners writhing and twisting all the while. Swiping Jack’s staff from the ground, Mr. Smee tottered along behind them.
“Tar, tar,” Pitch called after them, as he gave a laugh, waving a hand, as Hook’s men dragged them away.

*

Yanking on the cell door, with a jerk, he hauled it open. She stumbled, falling to her knees, as he shoved her to the ground. Her shoulders flew forwards. Lying on the ground, she remained motionless, her face in the dirt. As two pairs of boots thudded behind him, he grabbed the boy from the other man’s arms by the scruff of the collar at the top of his trousers and chucked him inside. He hit the ground and skidded until his head crashed against the back wall. His hat rolled in the dirt at his side. Stepping aside, the lean, built man allowed the second of the bulging men to into the prison doorway, and throw the third beside them. Brushing his hands together, the first mate cackled. Shutting the cell door, he looked down at the brown lump, as it cradled its head, crawling to its feet. “I’ve waited years to do that,” he said with a smirk. His face illuminated as a short scarlet capped man approached with a chubby finger curled through the brass loop of the candle tray, its flame flickering in his walk. In the chubbier man’s other hand he held a large stick, decorated with ice blue swirls and curved at the top. He propped it up against the wall at the side of the barred prison.
Throwing his fists to his sides and leaping off the ground, Jack shouted, “You can’t keep us locked up forever.” Ignoring his cry, Starkey’s ocean-coloured sleeve reached up, snatching the keys from their peg on the wall. Locking the door, he flung the large loop of keys into Mr. Smee’s chest. With a smirk, the slender man shouldered past his podgy associate, his two guards fumbling after him. “Oh and Smee,” he called from down the corridor. “Try not to screw this up.” A scowl imbedded upon the old man’s face, although he refused to turn around and face his tormenter.
Once the door to the dungeon had slammed to, Mr. Smee turned away from the three captives and shoved the keys under the flap of material at his waist. Waddling over to another cell, he picked up a bucket, before returning to his prisoners. Turning the bucket upside down, he slumped himself down on it facing the captives. His hand shaking, he placed the candle at his feet, before leaning his left shoulder to the wall. Jack stood staring out of the metal bars at the emptied cell ahead. Sensing Peter shuffling beside her, Izz pressed her hands into the ground and heaved herself up to sit. She gazed around her new surroundings. The walls were much darker and jagged than the stones that built the rest of the castle. Moss-green slime dripped down the walls cracks and ridges. In the glow of the light the brick work glimmered, wet with damp. Izz sniffed. Must and damp filtered into her lungs. Sliding her knees up to her chest, she hugged them and rested her chin on top. Ahead the barred panel reminded her of the dungeon jails that she had seen in dozens of films. Its rusted metal beams, no wider than her wrist, stretched from floor to ceiling. The door’s hinges sat inside of the striped frame, to her right, while the box containing the cell’s lock floated in the centre of three bars to her left. As her arms and legs pimpled, a tingle raced up her spine. She shuddered and gave another sniff, hugging herself tighter.
Peter leapt to his feet. “Smee,” he cried. The man turned his head towards him. “You can’t leave us in here; Hook and Pitch are going to steal the heart of Neverland,” he said as he neared the bars.
“Then they’re planning to blow up the entire island,” Jack added.
“Now, now,” replied Mr. Smee with a grin. “Don’t you worry.” He gave a shudder and arched his head around the room. Bending down he retrieved the candleholder, rose from his stool and held the flame to his face. Sliding his spectacles up his nose, Smee gave an, “Arrh,” and wandered down the corridor out of sight. Jack leapt to the metal gate, gripping his hands at the bars as he pressed his face against them. Looking to the right, he could see nothing, but the faint glow of the candle. Peter joined Jack at the doorway, looping his arms through the bars, resting his elbows on the single horizontal bar that spanned across the cell. Squishing his cheeks into the bars icy surface, he scrunched up his nose as his eyes searched the darkness for Smee.
The candle light bobbed as the man fumbled back towards them. With the candle tray in his right hand, he pinched a bundle of papers between his right elbow and his side. A metal-grey, tin bucket, identical to the one that he had been sitting upon hung in his left arm. Reaching the prisoners cell, he placed the candle and bucket down, allowing the papers to fall, as he sat himself back down. Peter and Jack took a step back as they watched Mr. Smee fill the bucket with paper, before rummaging his hands around his person. Delving a hand into a pocket, Mr. Smee pulled out a palm-sized brown box. He pushed out the middle section of the box and fumbled with a thumb and finger for a small splint inside. Striking the flint on the edge of the box, it sparked. As a flame shot up, he dropped it into the bucket. As the flame hit the paper it growled. “There,” said Smee grinning at the fire as he returned the box to a pocket. “That oughta warm you up.” While Mr. Smee rubbed his hands together, Jack turned to Peter, his brow lined with surprise. “It mightn’t dry you out complete like, but it ought ta take the damp outta ya clothes.”
Scratching a hand to the back of his neck, Jack muttered, “Thanks,” as he neared the fire, keeping a watchful eye on the generous pirate.
Peter stepped to Jack’s side, shaking the droplets that still continued to drip from his arms. “This is nice and all,” Jack said, “but it still doesn’t get us out of here. We need to stop Pitch and Hook.”
“Now, now,” said Mr. Smee shaking a finger at Jack. “I have me orders an’ I’m not to let you free.”
“There’ll be no island to keep us trapped in if you don’t let us stop them,” Peter exclaimed, throwing his arms at his sides as he swung around to face Captain Hook’s right-hand man.
“I w-wouldn’t worry if I were you,” Smee told them. “Captain Hook’s a br-brilliant man, but his plans always fail.” Shuffling his hands around in his pockets, Smee brought a book, a short, narrow wooden stick and mini knife out in front of him.
“That’s because I always stop him,” Peter announced, as Mr. Smee scraped the edges of his wooden twig with the knife’s blade. Loosening his grip around the blade, the old man stopped carving. His eyes widened and he forced a swallow as he stared ahead at the flames bursting out of the bin.
Having listened to the conversation that had passed between the three, Izz pushed herself up from the ground and neared the fire. With her left arm gripped at her right elbow, she tilted her head towards the man, whose face was full of beard. ‘Poor man…’ she thought, as she stared at him. Her lips parted. She watched him blink, then shudder.
“Well,” he said with a forceful grin, placing his knife at the base of the bucket, beside his feet. “We’ll just ‘ave to wait and see.” Izz took a step closer to the man, watching him all the while.
‘It’s strange,’ she mused. ‘He barely stutters at all around us; yet… when he’s with Captain Hook, the poor guy can barely get a word out.’ She swallowed and brought her hands to her upper arms, rubbing the circulation back into them.
Jack gave an over exaggerated exhale, vibrating his lips, as he turned from the fire, throwing a hand to the old man. Slumping down onto a wooden stump in the far corner of the dungeon quarters, Jack shoved his hands inside the pouch of his hoodie. His eyes widened and he lifted his head towards the others. They all had their backs to him. Gripping his fingers around an object, he looked down to his pocket as he removed his hand. “Hey,” Jack said, a smile poking up the side of his mouth. His grin grew as he looked down at a wooden handle with a pointed blade that the Lost Boys had given him and a coil of stiff, yet pliable, vine, which had been a gift from Tinker Bell. “I’d forgotten about these…” He gave a deep inhale and brushed a hand through his hair. The memories surrounding these objects felt like a life time ago. ‘Boy have things changed,’ he grumbled, circling his shoulders. Scraping a hand across the ground, a cluster of small blocks of wood, the size of a large stone, brushed against his fingers. He scooped three up in his hands and ran his thumb across them. Flicking two into his other hand, he set them and the vine coil from Tinker Bell onto the ground at his feet. Tossing the wooden block into his left hand, he grabbed his knife with his right and began to whittle away at the wood.
Flicking through the pages of his book, Mr. Smee laid it against his knee. With his wooden pencil in his hand, he began scribbling down on one of the pages. “What cha doin’?” asked Peter with a frown, as he settled down on the ground, cross legged, beside him.
“Just writin’,” Smee replied.
“About what?” Peter asked, stretching his head up, trying to see.
Watching from the fire side, Izz smirked. ‘He can’t read,’ she smiled, ‘So what difference would it make.’ As Mr. Smee’s smile grew, Izz assumed that he too knew of Peter’s illiteracy.
“Why I’m writing adventures,” Smee told him, as he leant forwards.
“Adventures,” Peter repeated, as his eyes widened with interest. “What kinds of adventures.”
“Adventures about you,” Smee told him, as he continued to write. “An’ the Lost Boys, an ‘ook and the ‘ole crew…” A huge smile grew on Peter’s face.
“You write stories… about me?”
“Yeah,” Smee said with a nod. “Neverland’s just full o’ interestin’ stuff. Stuff’s ‘appening all the time.”
Izz stepped away from the fire and neared the old pirate. As her arms twisted across her front and hands cupped together, Izz told him, “I’m a big fan of your work, Mr. Smee.” He pressed down hard and stopped writing. His lips parted. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as he raised his head to see her. “I am,” she added nodding. The graphite point of his pencil snapped. He jumped. “I’m sorry,” Izz gasped. “I never meant to-”
“‘Tis alright,” he told her with a shrug. Bending down, he picked up his knife and sliced away at the wooden shell of his pencil. “So,” he said looking above his spectacles at her. “You’ve read some o’ me work?”
“Yes,” said Izz, nodding with a smile. “Almost all of it, I believe… you’re a great writer sir.”
“Oowh,” he said brushing his cheek against his shoulder to hide a blush. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Oh,” gasped Izz. “But you are. I grew up reading all of your stories about Peter Pan. Just yesterday, even, I was reading about how he fought Captain Hook on the Jolly Roger out in the middle of Cannibal Cove,” she explained throwing a hand in the air, mimicking jabbing a sword in a fight. “That was the day of the big storm that sent the ship crashing into the rock,” she scrunched up her fingers then flung them out in front of her. “You and the whole crew were tossed out of the ship and had to swim for your lives… that’s when you came across the opening in the cliff face and discovered the Black Castle.” All the while she recounted the story, her pace fastened, her eyes gleamed, her pulse raced.
Impressed with Izz’s narration, Smee grabbed his hat and scrubbed it across his brow, grinning at her all the while. “Why, I ain’t never met a soul that’s read me stories a’for,” he told her, as he rose from his seat. Hat scrunched in his left hand’s grip, he held his right out towards her, pressing it through the bars of the cell gate. “It’s an ‘onour to meet you, miss.” Pinching in her lips, Izz felt her cheeks blushing as she shook hands with the pirate.
“You’re welcome,” she said brushing the hair from her face with her shoulder. “And it’s an honour to meet you too.” Taking back his hand, Mr. Smee rubbed an arm across his nose, and then shoved his hat back on his head.
“It ain’t no honour meetin’ the likes o’ me, I can assure you lass,” said Smee, as he returned to his writing. “But I’d like to thank yee all the same.” To this Izz took a step back and fiddled with her fingers, uncertain how to respond. “It ain’t very gentleman-like bein’ a pirate, you know,” he told her. “Unless you’re Starkey a-course,” he added, scrunching up the skin around his nose.
As Peter began questioning Mr. Smee about the adventures that he wrote and how it was that he came to know about them, Izz wondered over to Jack in the room’s opposite corner. They sat in silence, while Jack carved away at the wood in his hands and Izz stared ahead at the wall. Jack glanced at her and prodded the corner of his mouth up into a smile. She gave a sigh and leaned back against the wall, chilling her spine. “You know,” Jack said, staring at the knife and wooden piece in his hand. “I never thanked you for what you did back there.”
“What?” she asked, leaning forwards. Pausing from whittling, Jack turned his face towards her.
“Back at the cove,” he told her. “You swimming, finding the gap that led to the cave, leading us there…” he swallowed. “It was amazing…”
“No it wasn’t,” she said, blushing, shifting her vision to the floor.
“Yes it was,” Jack told her, his eyes wide, excitement in his voice. “If it wasn’t for you we’d have been eaten by that crocodile, or sliced to death by them sharks. How did you do it?” Izz gave a shrug, brushing her cheek against her shoulder.
“I dunno,” she muttered. “It was just instinct…” she told him as she shrugged again. “I love swimming underwater – I know I shouldn’t with my contacts in, but it really helps to clear up my vision.” She shook her head as she stared at the floor. Jack went back to his wood carving as she continued, “When the boat crashed and we ended out in the water… instinct just told me to dive to make sure that we weren’t completely surrounded by man-eating creatures… it turns out it was just the octopus, the two sharks and the crocodile…” Feeling her back stiffen, she stretched and gave a groan. “When I looked to the cliff side, I noticed that water was being drawn towards it. There had to be an opening… so I just lead us there,” she told him. She smiled, as she realised for the first time what it was she had done.
“But how’d you know it’d lead to the Black Castle?” asked Jack, as he glanced in her direction.
“I didn’t,” said Izz smirking, as she looked towards Peter and Mr. Smee. “It was just luck. I just noticed the water tunnelling through the cliff and knew that there had to be a clearing… I didn’t know what would be on the other side. I just knew we had to get away from those cannibals.” She turned to Jack. “Finding the Black Castle was just an added bonus.”
“Well I’m glad we had you with us,” Jack told her as he turned to her with a smile. Izz felt her cheeks tingle, as she shot her eyes back to the ground. Pinching in her lips, she smiled. Jack smirked at her, before going back to his carvings.
The candle had almost melted to a stub. The wax simmered in the plate that surrounded it. Mr. Smee’s murmured thought process had since turned to snores. The fire in the bucket had long fizzled out. The paper now lay in ashes. As the pad fell from the old man’s fingers, Peter leapt up and wandered over to Jack and Izz. Sitting himself down on the ground in front of them, he whispered, “We have to get out of here.”
“How?” Izz whispered back. “We can’t exactly break down the walls.”
“We could try,” Peter replied. Closing her eyes, Izz shook her head. “There has to be something…” he muttered. He laced his fingers together and rested them under his chin, staring at Jack’s fidgeting hands. “Frost,” Peter growled, as Jack bent down to pick up the vine coil that Tinker Bell had given him. “Can’t you focus? We need to get out of here.” The strain of staying in one place for so long was getting to Peter, Izz could tell. He twitched his foot and his eyes jumped around the room. Clicking his fingers, Peter’s eyes shot wide, as he looked from Jack, to the prison bars and back again. “I bet you could fit through those bars,” Peter told him.
“No chance,” Jack replied keeping his eyes focused on his work.
“What are you doing?” frowned Peter, throwing himself up from the floor to hover over Jack.
“I’ve got an idea,” Izz told them with a grin, her eyes glowing. Jack allowed himself a glance in her direction, while Peter stepped from Jack’s side to face her.
“Well… out with it girl,” said Peter, folding his arms.
“Just watch,” she whispered, beaming. Pressing her hands down at her sides, she hopped up.
“Wait,” said Jack. She stopped and turned to him. Closing his hands around one another, he brought them to his chest and stood to face her. “Close your eyes,” he told her with a smile. Her eyes shifted from him, to Peter and back to again.
“But,” she murmured.
“Just close your eyes,” he told her. She rolled her eyes at him, gave a sigh and closed them. “Now hold your hand out.” She lifted her left arm from her side, then returned it. “Come on,” she heard Jack say, sensing him finding amusement in her hesitancy. She held her arm out. Something pricked at the skin around her wrist. It tapped at her arm, as it tightened around her. “Okay,” he told her. “Open your eyes.” Bending her elbow, Izz brought her hand to her face, as she opened her eyes.
“Jack…” she whispered as she gazed at a brown, woven vine that was wrapped around her wrist.
Three, small wooden pieces danced against her skin, as she twisted her wrist. The first of the wooden pieces was carved into the shape of an acorn: round and smooth on the top half, with the bottom etched with a hatched cup. The second of the charms formed the shape of a star: its points were curved and the bottoms of its legs arched in towards each other. The last was a snowflake: intricately carved to form six stems, each with its own tiny stalks branching off, with a six-pronged star-shaped hole carved into the centre.
Her lips parted, she looked up at him. Her mind rang empty of words to say back. “I…” she murmured. She gave a nervous laugh, before trying again. “Jack…” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say… thank you so much… it’s beautiful.” Pinching his mouth inwards, Jack smirked at her compliment, shifting his gaze to the floor.
With a shrug he said, “I made it, so you wouldn’t forget… about today, or either of us.”
“I could never forget,” she breathed, feeling a touch of water in the corner of her eye.
He looked up at her and held is hand out. “Let me show you.” She placed her wrist in his hand. His cold touch tingled her skin. “I did the acorn first,” he told her. “That represents Peter.” Stepping towards them, Peter poked his nose forwards to get a look.
“Cool,” he said with admiration. “It looks so real…” he said tilting his head to the side. “If it wasn’t so small I’d think it was one.” Jack smiled, pleased to have impressed him.
“Then I made the star,” Jack told her. “It made me think of you.” He gestured at the stars on her pyjamas. “And I curved the parts at the bottom, so that they turned inwards, like the shape of the island.” Izz gasped, as she gazed at Jack’s detailing. “And the last’s just a snowflake – you can guess why,” he told her, as he let go of her wrist and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “So, do you like it?”
“Like it?” Izz repeated. “I love it. Jack… it’s amazing. I can’t believe you made this.” Letting a breath out through his nose, he clawed his hand across the back of his neck again. Staring at the floor, too embarrassed to face Izz, he rubbed one foot over his other.
Peter cleared his throat cantankerously. Jack flinched and turned towards him. Peter gave a sigh and glared at Izz. “Your plan…?” he said to her. Pointing at the remains of the candle he urged, “We haven’t got much time.”
“Right,” she told him with a nod. She faced the sleeping Mr. Smee and took a deep breath. “I don’t know whether this’ll work,” she told them. “But I’ll give it a shot.”
As she approached Mr. Smee, she crouched down beside him. Gripping a hand upon the singular horizontal bar, she kept her balance. “Smee…” she whispered at his ear, her voice no louder than a breath. “Mr. Smee…” He snorted, gave a groan and lolled his head towards her. “This is your captain…” her voice soft, her breath brushing against his ear. “Now where have you put the keys?”
“Keys…” mumbled the pirate, between snores. “Keys…”
“Yes, Mr. Smee… the keys to open the prisoners’ cell…”
“Prisoners,” growled Peter, clenching a fist. Mr. Smee gave a huge snore. Izz flinched. As their guard inhaled, Izz spun her head around towards Peter and shushed him, holding a finger to her lips. Jack pulled Peter back with a scowl.
“Prisoners…” muttered Mr. Smee. “Keys…”
“That’s right,” Izz whispered. “Prisoners… keys…”
“Pocket,” he murmured. A hand dropped from his stomach, thumping against the prison bars.
Izz held a hand to her mouth as she gasped. Turning back to Peter and Jack she pointed at the sleeping elder and hissed, “They’re in his pocket. The keys are in his pocket.”
“I’ll get ‘em,” said Peter, pushing past Jack.
“Be careful,” Izz ordered in a whisper, as he passed her. “You mustn’t wake him.”
“Don’t worry,” Peter told her.
As he got to Mr. Smee’s side, Peter crouched down. Holding his breath, he slid a hand through the bars and to the pirate’s waist. Mr. Smee gave a choke and shuffled from his left to the right. Peter snapped his hand back. “Careful!” he heard Jack hiss from behind. Taking in another breath, Peter edged his hand forward once more. Pressing his face and shoulder into the metal bars, his fingers brushed against the three-strand, twisted, decking rope that nestled under the pirate’s belly and held up his trousers.
“Almost… there…” Peter muttered, as he stretched his hand further. His nails scraped the opening of Mr. Smee’s pocket. Seeping in another breath, his voice box gave a squeak, as he forced his body further into the metal bars.
“This is ridiculous,” Jack huffed at Izz. “I’ve got longer arms, let me try.” Taking a step towards Peter, Izz pulled at Jack’s sleeve.
Sweat trickled down the side of Peter’s nose. He poked his tongue up at it in an attempt to lick it from his face. He gave another whimper as he stretched his arm out even further still. The tips of his fingers edged their way inside the fabric. His nail prodded something hard. With a straining groan, Peter scraped the object forwards with his nail. It slid forwards. Mr. Smee wafted out an arm. “Peter duck!” Izz whispered louder than she had wished. Peter flinched, ducking his head below the swinging arm. The pirate’s stomach gave a grumble. Peter recoiled his hand. Mr. Smee gave a groan and rolled over onto his side, curling an arm underneath his neck. The keys slid from his pocket and clattered to the ground. The pirate gave a sniff. His right leg flinched. Bringing a hand to his face, he scratched at his beard and gave a sigh. Shrinking, the candle’s flame flickered. With a cough, Mr. Smee’s right arm dropped to his side and he began snoring once more. The flame jolted to the left. Its glow faded. With one final flicker, it extinguished itself.
“Great,” Jack muttered dragging a hand down his face. He blinked hard and fast, forcing his eyes to adjust to the darkness surrounding him. A fleck of light stretched from the top of the corridor, at the dungeon’s entrance. Shaking his head he sighed, as he turned himself away from Peter.
“I got it!” Peter cheered, his voice breathy. He bounced up, with the keys in his hand. They jangled, as he held them out in front of him.
“Yes,” Izz hissed. “Well done Peter.”
“Toss ‘em here,” said Jack, with a nod in Peter’s direction. “I’ll try ‘n’ get us out.” Holding the top of the large ring of keys, Peter dragged his hand back and swung the ring in Jack’s direction. Hurling towards him, Jack grabbed them in his right hand.
“Watch it,” Izz whispered through greeted teeth. “The noise… you don’t want to wake him now.”
“Sorry,” the boys whispered.
Approaching the door, Jack slid through the keys on the ring. Looping his arm through the bars, he twisted it, angling a key in the lock. He gave it a jerk. It refused to budge. Pulling it out, he gave a sigh. He flicked the key along the ring and grabbed the next one. He twisted it. Again, nothing. He repeated the process three more times. Jabbing the key into the lock, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Please,” he begged, as he turned the key. The latch scraped. “Yes,” he laughed, hearing Izz gasped behind him. Twisting his arm back inside the cell, he gripped the bars and pushed himself against the door. Its hinges creaked. He jumped back and turned to the sleeping pirate. He gave a snort. With a shudder, Mr. Smee rubbed a hand to his face. As he inhaled, his hand flopped back to his side. Shaking his head, Jack whistled out a breath.
“That was close,” Izz told him. He nodded at her.
Gripping his fingers back around the bars, Jack edged the door open a little wider. “I think we can squeeze through that,” he said, twisting his head over his shoulder to Peter and Izz. “Go on,” he said gesturing a hand to Peter. “You first.” Peter gave a nod and skipped past Jack. Stopping at the gap in the doorway, Peter breathed in. After pressing his head through the gap, the rest of his body slipped through. “You next,” he said to Izz. Looking from Jack to the doorway, her forehead creased as she swallowed. Edging towards the gap she seeped in a deep breath, holding her stomach in. She pinched her eyes shut as she shimmed herself through the gap. A hand rested upon her left arm on the other side of the gate. Her eyes shot open. Peter’s face smiled back at hers.
“Relax,” he told her. “You did it.” She smiled at him. They both turned to Jack. He too held his breath as he squeezed himself through the gap.
Once on the other side, Jack pressed the door to and locked it. Holding a hand to his lips as he past Izz and Peter, Jack slipped the keys back in Mr. Smee’s pocket. The pirate snorted, shaking his head. Taking in a sharp breath through his nose, Jack flinched back. Mr. Smee took in a jittered breath, before letting out a loud, chesty snore. Peter jabbed a finger to his ear. Izz held in a snigger. Jack tiptoed around the snoring man and clasped a hand around his staff that lay propped up against the wall behind. “Are we ready?” Peter breathed, turning to his two friends. They gave a nod and his side. He took in a deep breath. “Then away we go.”

- Josie -
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