PETER, WITH TINKER BELL CLOSE BEHIND, swooped low, his belly just brushing the jungle treetops as he zoomed toward the pirate camp. He cradled the mango in his left hand and changed direction quickly, in case Hook shot at him again.
At first the shooting had scared him, but he’d quickly learned that he could evade it easily enough if he changed direction when he saw Hook’s trigger finger twitch. Peter’s eyesight was very, very sharp—far sharper than that of the other boys, or for that matter, anybody else on the island. It was one of the changes—like the ability to fly—that had come over him since he’d been exposed to the mysterious material called “starstuff.” As he discovered his new abilities, he’d become increasingly convinced of his superiority to others, and his invulnerability. He no longer feared Hook’s pistol. In fact, he almost enjoyed being shot at.
With the clearing just ahead, Peter shifted the mango into his right hand, his throwing hand.
Now over the clearing, he looked down and found himself staring straight into the eyes of Captain Hook, who stood out in the open.
He was expecting me.
Peter raised the mango, anticipating Hook might flinch, or even run toward the fort. But Hook didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink. He just stood there staring right back at Peter. In place of the pirate’s usual hate-filled look, Peter saw an expression of disconcerting calm—almost amusement. Surprised by this change in the man, Peter forgot to throw the mango.
Instead, he flew across the clearing, banked into a rising turn, and settled into a high, slow-spinning hover, like a hummingbird, from which to assess the situation. He searched for signs of an ambush—pirates in the trees, perhaps, armed with pistols or spears—but saw nothing. A few pirates lounged against the wall of the fort; a few others rested by the spring at the side of the clearing, where the pirates got their drinking water. But there was no apparent threat; only Hook and his bumbling first mate, Smee, with Hook still watching Peter calmly, as though Peter were a mildly interesting bird, instead of his blood enemy.
Odd.
Peter decided to try to goad the pirate into reacting.
“Greetings, Dark Whiskers!” he shouted. “No, sorry, that’s not your name, is it? Mister Stache? No, no, my apologies. It’s Captain Hook, isn’t it?”
This outburst brought muffled giggles from some of the pirates. Peter was certain this nickname must be infuriating to Hook, but the pirate’s expression remained irritatingly calm.
“Greetings, boy,” the pirate responded. “How are you and your little…insect?’
Enraged, discordant bells arose from Tink. The pirates laughed out loud this time.
Frustrated, Peter descended toward the clearing, displaying the mango.
“I brought you some lunch, Captain Hook,” he said. “You didn’t seem to enjoy the coconut yesterday. So how about a nice juicy mango?”
He raised the mango. Smee stepped away from Hook. Hook stood statue-still.
Not like him at all.
Bells chimed in his ear.
“Trap?” said Peter. “He can’t trap us, Tink, not as long as we stay up here and he’s stuck down there.”
More bells.
“You worry too much,” said Peter. “Watch this.” He raised the mango over his head. “Enjoy!” he shouted, letting it fly.
His aim was perfect; right at Hook’s head. Smee raised his hands defensively, but Hook held motionless, watching the fruit sphere hurtling toward him until…
WHOOSH!
A lightning movement. A flash of steel. And there stood Hook, his left arm held high, the mango impaled on his hook. A bit of its juice dribbled down the blade. Hook brought it down to his mouth, licked it daintily, then looked back at Peter and smiled.
“Thank you, boy,” he said. “Delicious.”
This was not what Peter had expected. Now he was becoming quite irritated.
“Then perhaps you’d like some more, Captain Hook,” he said.
“That would be lovely, boy,” sneered Hook, peeling back the skin and nibbling at the fruit.
“All right, then,” said Peter, through gritted teeth. Ignoring Tinker Bell’s warnings, he darted toward a clump of palms beyond the clearing and picked two large coconuts.
Let’s see him catch these, he thought, swooping back.
“Ahoy, Hook!” he shouted. “Here’s your second course!”
Peter noted with satisfaction that when Hook saw the coconuts, a trace of alarm crept across his face.
That’s better, he thought. He angled his body upward, then arced into a steep dive directly at the pirate. Closer…closer…he raised his arm…
A scream from the direction of the mountain.
A boy’s scream.
Peter whirled and swooped upward, listening, looking.
Another scream, then: “PETER! HELP!”
Peter looked at Tinker Bell’s horrified face, saw that she, too, recognized the voice.
James.
Dropping the coconuts, Peter, with Tink at his side, shot toward the mountain, his eyes frantically scanning the jungle growth below him, his ears straining to hear. But the dense vegetation prevented him from seeing beneath the tree canopy, and he heard no more shouts or screams.
Time slowed to a crawl as Peter and Tink zigzagged frantically back and forth across the mountainside, calling for James, getting no response. Finally one of his passes took him near the pirate clearing. Hook stood exactly where he had been. He was smiling and still eating. Mango juice dribbled from his moustache.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Hook called. “Missing something? Or should I say, some body?”
Hook laughed a very unpleasant laugh, a laugh that told Peter exactly why Hook had stood in the clearing, taunting him, daring him to attack.
He was distracting me.
Peter’s stomach felt hollow.
“Where is he?” he shouted, flying closer.
“Your little friend?” asked Hook. “The one who can’t fly? Oh, don’t worry. We’ll take care of him.” The pirate raised the mango—still impaled on his hook—and took another delicate bite.
“Let him go!” said Peter. “He’s done nothing to you!”
“That’s true,” said Hook. “He has done nothing. It’s a shame that he should be the one to suffer.” Another bite.
Peter, hovering almost directly over Hook now, stared down at the pirate.
“What do you want?” the boy asked softly.
Hook glanced up at him, and Peter saw it now, the hatred the pirate had been holding inside.
“Why,” said Hook, “I want you, of course.”
“Me for James,” said Peter, very softly.
“That’s right, boy,” said Hook. “A trade: you for James.”
A minute passed, Peter hovering, Hook watching. Peter finally broke the silence.
“Where is he?” said Peter.
“Your little friend?” said Hook. “He’s unharmed, I assure you. For now.”
Peter thought some more.
“You can’t have me until I see you let him go, see that he’s safe,” he said. “I need to see him in the hands of Mollusks. Then you get me.”
Now it was Hook’s turn to ponder.
“Very well,” he said. “Come back to the clearing tonight, one hour past moonrise. You may bring two savages.”
“Ten,” said Peter. “Otherwise your men can—”
“SILENCE, BOY,” thundered Hook. “If you want your young friend to live, you will bring no more than two savages with you. My men will be inside the fort, watching. I shall meet you there”—he pointed—“by the spring. I will be holding your friend. You will place yourself within my reach. I will grab you, and at the same time release your friend.”
In response to Peter’s doubting look, Hook said: “Think about it, boy! I’ll have to let go of him, won’t I? I have just the one hand, thanks to you.”
Peter nodded. Hook went on: “Once your friend is free, the savages can take him and melt into the jungle, as they do so well. If I fail to release your friend, your savages can spear me, yes? And if you fail to return here at the proper time, or you arrive with more than two savages, or you try any other tricks, then your friend…”
Hook quickly raised his hook, flipping the half-eaten mango into the air. As it came down…WHOOSH…the hook flashed and the mango fell to the ground, sliced cleanly through the middle into two equal-sized pieces. Even the big seed in the middle was perfectly halved.
Hook tilted his head and addressed Peter. “Understand, boy?” he said. “This is no game.”
Peter nodded.
“Good,” said Hook. “Be back here an hour past moonrise. Don’t forget, boy.”
“I won’t forget,” said Peter.
“Good boy,” said the captain. He held up his hook, turning it so that it flashed sunlight into Peter’s eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”
Peter shielded his eyes, turned in midair, and was gone, swooping straight up the curve of the mountain, all the while getting a nonstop I-told-you-so earful from Tinker Bell.
In the clearing there was silence, finally broken by Smee.
“Cap’n, d’you think he’ll come back?”
“Of course he’ll come back,” said Hook. “The fool boy thinks he’s a hero. He’ll do what he must to save his little friend.”
“Ah, so you’ll let the other one go?” said Smee, relieved.
Hook barked out an ugly laugh.
“Smee,” he said, “you are a supreme idjit.”