He wheeled about. "Bring up the prisoners!"

A wild cry rose from the pirates as the hatch to the main hold was thrown open with a bang, and a winch began to haul a net from out of the black below. The net twirled slowly as it came into view, and there, imprisoned within, were Jack and Maggie, still dressed in their pajamas, wide-eyed and frightened as they struggled against the ropes. Jack carried his baseball glove. Maggie still wore Tootles's paper flower in her hair. Pirates jeered and jabbed playfully at the children as the net rose to eye level before Hook and stopped.

"Hi, kids," he greeted with a smirk.

Suddenly there was a commotion from behind, shouts and growls rising up as someone pushed through the crowd. Hook turned, irritated. Then his eyes went wide. That badly dressed, overweight, one-legged pirate, his eye patch knocked so far askew that it rode halfway down his nose, had thrown down his crutch and was heading straight for him!

"Jack! Maggie! Everything's all right now!" the pirate shouted. A finger pointed threateningly at Hook. "Those are my kids! I'm their father."

Hook stared. The pirate stumbled and his wooden leg dropped off. He kicked and twisted and a good leg popped into view! The cape he was wearing was twisted about, and the way he was squinting past his eye patch from beneath the cocked tricorne made him look like a bad imitation of a vampire. Hook was astonished. What sort of pirate was this?

"You there! And you!" The fellow was gesturing at an incredulous Jukes and Noodler. "Lower my kids right now! And do it carefully." The roundish face lifted, a sappy smile puffing out the ruddy cheeks. "Daddy's here!"

Hook pushed Smee in front of him, wondering if the fellow was mad, if there was danger that he might even be rabid. Then he glanced over at the net where the kids were yelling, "Dad!" and "That's my Daddy!"

No, it couldn't be…

Pirates closed about Peter Banning, who had charged to the rescue, any measure of common sense thrown to the winds, heedless of Tink's frantic protests from within the brim of his hat. Hands fastened on him, swords were thrust into his face, and he was hauled up short. He thrashed to free himself in vain, then sagged back helplessly as the full realization of what he had done settled in.

Hook stared at Peter. The peg leg and eye patch were gone. The cape was torn and the waist sash shredded. All that remained was the tricorne. And underneath, a dress shirt, waistcoat, and fine English wool slacks. Hook's eyes lit up. Could it be? He came forward, peering at his captive, closer and closer until they were eye to eye.

Hook smiled malevolently. "You? My great and worthy opponent?"

Pirates hooted and howled about him, their laughter shrill and derisive. But Hook motioned quickly for silence.

"No, no, no, watch out! He's in disguise!" He stepped back again quickly, hook and hand out to ward off any attack. "Remember the time he stole my voice? Remember all those tricks he played? Yes, he may look like a chubby degenerate, but careful, lads! Peter Pan is there, somewhere inside, and he's gong to explode out of that fleshy canister any moment! How wonderful!"

He cleared a space for himself, engaged in a few hurried knee bends to loosen up, then drew out his cutlass and began to stab and parry.,

"Stand back, you scrugs! Watch out, he'll try to fly! Pop out, Pan! Come on, I'm waiting! Out, out! Ha! Watch him, now! Come on, come on! Prepare to die!"

He snatched a second cutlass from a pirate close at hand and flipped it blade-first at his enemy. Smee ducked away as the sword flashed by and embedded itself in the mast by Peter's head. The pirates scattered, leaving Peter momentarily alone.

Peter looked befuddled. His voice was plaintive. "I can't fight you. I don't know how. I just want my kids back."

Hook stopped his fencing and straightened deliberately. "Smee!" he howled. His bosun charged up to him and was grabbed by the shirtfront. "Who is this impostor!"

"Ah, ah, ah," Smee stuttered, and began riffling hurriedly through a leather bag slung by a strap about his shoulders. "Let me see. P-P-Pan, Cap'n. Ah, here we go-adoption papers. Medical records, sworn affidavits, dental records, birth certificate, social security, business cards, all in order, sir."

"Bah!" Hook frowned like a bulldog. "Never mind all that. Check this bloated, fleshy miscreant yourself. Look for the detail."

Smee crossed to Peter, yanked back the cape, pulled up his dress shirt, and probed. Peter fought to keep from laughing, but Smee had found his ticklish spot. He brushed Smee away and pulled his shirt back in place.

"The scar's there, Cap'n," Smee reported dutifully. "Hypertrophic. Right where you gave it to 'im during the Tiger Lily incident. He's Pan or I've got me a dead man's dinghy for a brain."

Hook seemed to consider which was the more possible for a moment. Then his face reddened. "But it can't be! Not this pitiful, spineless, pasty-skinned worm! He's not even a shadow of Peter Pan!"

Hook sheathed his cutlass dejectedly, and his gaze dropped. "Oh, what cruel hand has fate dealt me now?" he moaned.

Peter took a deep breath and stepped forward to confront him. Hook's sad eyes raised. Their gazes locked.

Peter cleared his throat. "Mr. Hook," he offered. "As gentlemen, we have an obligation to try to clarify this misunderstanding.''

"This disaster," Hook amended quickly.

Peter shrugged. "Which must be remedied nevertheless."

Hook nodded. "Expediently. I agree."

Peter drew himself up, a new confidence emboldening him. Hard-nosed bargaining-this was familiar territory. "For me the stakes can go no higher. I want my children."

Hook drew himself up as well. "And for me they can sink no lower. I want my war."

"It seems we must negotiate," said Peter.

Hook scowled. "Negotiate? Very well. 1 propose you fight me with all the cleverness and skill of the true Pan and win the brats back."

"Fight?"

"Pick your weapon, Pan. You can't have forgotten everything!"

Peter gave Hook a crafty smile. "So that's what you want, is it? All right."

Peter reached inside his waistcoat. Pirates leveled weapons at him from everywhere. Peter hesitated, then pulled out his checkbook, and flipped it open.

"How much, Mr. Hook?"

Hook stared at him in disbelief. Then he snatched a flintlock from another pirate, whirled, and fired. The bullet flicked the edge of the checkbook and continued on. Unfortunately a grease-stained pirate cook named Sid was next in line. Sid fell dead without a sound.

"Who was that, Smee?" demanded Hook, casting down his weapon irritably.

"Sid the cook, Cap'n," his bosun answered with a gulp.

A polite smattering of applause rose from the pirate ranks.

"Bad form!" Hook sneered, for if there was one thing he abhorred, having adopted as his own the affectations of the well-bred, it was another's impropriety of behavior.

Forward he strode, closing the distance between himself and a startled Peter in an instant's time, his scarlet-and-gold captain's coat billowing out behind him like a sail. Pirates leaped out of the way. Hook knocked the checkbook from Peter's hand and sent it spinning off the ship and into the water. It hit with a splash and sank.

Then he grabbed Peter and slammed him up against the mainmast, the hook coming up to his exposed throat. Peter swallowed in terror. Hook's eyes were as red as fire, his mustaches dancing, his curled black hair whipping about his lean face in a frenzy.

"I escaped death by crocodile," he raged. "I waited, in good faith, and in perpetual boredom, here in this dreadful place, surrounded by cretins! Nothing to do besides chase and kill dirty little Lost Boys! But I waited! I waited for that special moment in time when I could fulfill the destiny that was due me…"