"Oh, there you are, Peder," he announced.

Several of the Lost Boys pushed forward, peering at the rearranged features intently.

"Is it him?" they whispered to one another. "Is it the Pan? Peter, is it you?"

"Mfftt, mmrrwft," said Peter, his mouth distorted.

"But Peter, you've grown up!" complained Latchboy. "You promised never to grow old!"

"His nose got real big, didn't it?" observed Don't Ask.

"Welcome back to Neverland, Pan the Man," said Too Small.

There was hope in each face, and it spread quickly to the faces of those still standing with Rufio on the other side of the line. They began to edge forward.

Rufio alone refused to be swayed, anger flaring in his dark eyes. "Don't listen to that gnat-brained faerie and that sag-bellied grown-up. I got Pan's sword. I'm the Pan now. You think this guy's gonna take it away from me?"

Ace, No Nap, Thud Butt, and Latchboy crossed back to Rufio.

"Wait," said Pockets. "If Tink bleeves, mebbe he iz."

The four Lost Boys crossed back to Peter.

"You gonna follow this drooler against Capytan Hook?"

Everyone crossed back to Rufio this time, save for Pockets, Thud Butt, and Too Small.

"Whads he doin' here if he's nod Peder Pan, huh?" asked Pockets solemnly. "He don't look habby here. Who are dose kidz Hook's got? Gib him a chancz."

Peter straightened, alone with his three supporters. "Those are my children, and Hook is going to kill them unless I do something to stop it. Help me, please!"

Pockets stared up at him. "You said the p-word," he whispered with a frown.

Shadows were closing fast about the courtyard now, laying down their nighttime patterns through the branches of the Nevertree. The sun was almost gone, sunk so far into the ocean's waters that it was little more than a glaze of orange frosting melting rapidly away. Tink flew overhead in the silence, lighting lanterns to chase the dark. The Lost Boys and Peter watched wordlessly.

When she was finished, she settled comfortably on Peter's shoulder. "When Peter Pan's away," she said solemnly, "don't you always ask the same question: What would Peter do?"

The eyes of the Lost Boys went wide. "Yeah, what would Peter do?" they repeated the words. "Let's do what Peter would do!" Frowns and chin rubbing. "What would Peter do?"

"I know, I know!" Ace exclaimed excitedly. "He'd get the Lost Boys back!"

"But aren't you the Lost Boys?" Peter asked.

"Oh, yeah," agreed Don't Ask, frowning. Then he brightened. "But not all. Hook's got lots of us. He snags us when we're not looking. Then he shoots us out of cannons.''

"And chains us to rocks and lets the tide roll over our heads," Latchboy added.

"Or makes us walk the plank!" declared Ace.

"The little ones have to crawl!" whispered Too Small. He glanced cautiously at Rufio. "We're afraid to rescue them without the Pan." His voice got very quiet. "Even Rufio."

Rufio spat. "Survival of the fittest. Hook gets the slow ones. Slow legs, slow minds. We're better off without em.

Peter glanced around, seeing for the first time since they had begun chasing him the children hidden beneath the garish outfits and dirt, seeing the uncertainty mirrored in their eyes, doubts of who they were and of how to stay that way. Whispers passed from mouth to mouth in the darkness.

They're all I've got, he realized helplessly. Kids. But like it or not, I need them if I want to save Jack and Maggie.

He stepped away from the bamboo fence cautiously. ' 'Look, I got off on the wrong foot with you. I admit that.'' He took a deep breath. "Things are turned a little upside down here, but I'm getting used to it now. And I can tell you this-I'll do whatever it takes to save my kids. If I have to eat crow, I'll eat crow."

Thud Butt tugged at his sleeve. "You don't have to eat crow, Peter," he said. "You just have to crow crow."

"Okay, fine. I'll crow crow. I'll do anything I have to do. If I have to fight, I'll fight. If I have to fly, I'll fly…" He trailed off, reconsidering. "Or I could run real fast," he muttered. "I could at least do that."

Pockets grinned up at him. "Yup! Peder would say that! Yes, he would! Yes, he would!"

Peter grinned back.

Rufio sneered, threw up his hands, and walked away.

The rest of the Lost Boys shuffled after him, muttering uncertainly among themselves. Finally only Pockets remained.

"C'mon, Peder," he said quietly, and beckoned.

Chastened and bone weary, Peter followed. It was clear he had convinced nobody.

The Ultimate Revenge

The sun disappeared finally, dropping beneath the horizon, sinking into the ocean's vast waters, and the dusk faded to a summer night's darkness-warm, soft, and filled with pungent smells and intriguing sounds. The darkness was a blanket of hidden life that buzzed and flitted and crept about, a world of mystery and adventure that small boys searched for eagerly in their dreams.

Aboard the Jolly Roger, Captain Hook was thinking about one small boy in particular-or, rather, one small boy who had grown up.

"How could he do this to me?" he muttered to himself disconsolately.

He was seated in his cabin at the dinner table. All about him lay the ill-gotten gains of his many conquests-gold, silver, and jewels in all shapes and sizes; furniture stolen from kings and queens of first-rate nations; tapestries and paintings from the private collections of greedy men from six (or was it seven?) continents; hand-crafted weapons used by gentlemen to murder one another; bolts of silks and English wool from garment districts and boutiques; brass instruments of navigation, some of them rumored to have belonged to Columbus; and leather-bound books by the world's foremost authors-Sir James Barrie was one of his favorites.

At the back of the room sat a three-dimensional map of Neverland, complete down to the last detail, including replicas of his ship and the pirate town, of the Indian village, of the Mermaid lagoon, and even of the Nevertree, the whole of it floating in a pool of real water.

But Hook had no eye this night for any of it. He sat staring blankly at the lavish, steaming dinner Smee had just set before him. Roast warthog, Indian-skin corn, tender new potatoes, pirate jelly sprinkled with fish eggs, and good-form crumb cake-all of them his favorites. Smee stood close at hand, awaiting approval, the hopeful smile pasted across his chubby face threatening to falter with the passing of each second.

Finally Hook bent to sniff at the food, took fork in hand, prepared to take a bite, and then stopped. He placed the fork back on the plate.

"How can I eat!" he lamented. "Smee, do you know what it's like to look forward to something so badly that you can taste it? Do you have any idea what it's like to anticipate an event with all your heart and soul?"

Smee thought he might, but he wasn't sure what sort of answer the captain was looking for. Experience had taught him that with Hook if you didn't know the correct answer, it was best not to speak.

Hook was still staring at the table. "The day before yesterday I couldn't sleep, so great was my anticipation. I wished to sleep, of course-that would have made the next day come quicker. Yesterday, I could only think of how long it would be until today. And today? Today I was knotted into knots, all jumbled up inside. The sheer, unbearable anticipation, Smee! Pan's arrival and the commencement of my glorious war!"

A smile crossed his features and his brown eyes lit up with delight. For an instant the wrinkles of despair departed and he was the old Hook, cunning and ruthless.

Then the brightness departed, and the frustration returned. Gloom built upon his brow until it was a thunder-head. Up he rose with a roar, and his claw raked the wooden surface of the table before him in fury.