Smee eyed himself in the mirror, then picked up the cigar holder with its twin stems and placed it in his mouth, puffing contentedly. " 'Tis the wickedest, prettiest plan I've ever 'eard," he declared with a smile.
The object of all this villainy was miles away, curled in a ball in the crook of a limb not too high up in the branches of the Nevertree, cold and hungry and discouraged. All around him the Lost Boys were sleeping, each of them sheltered in the tree house that had been built for him when he had come to Neverland. There was no house for Peter, of course; he had arrived too late to have one built, and besides he wasn't a Lost Boy. He wasn't anything much at all, he thought dismally. He was odd man out in this ridiculous world.
Overhead, Neverland's moons hung like giant Japanese lanterns against the night sky, crowding so close that they seemed in danger of falling into the ocean, their brilliant light hiding the stars beyond. Peter stared at the moons and wondered what had become of Moira and home. He wondered if he would ever see either again.
A light flashed out of the darkness and Tink settled beside him. He looked up at her, lost and lonely and frightened. In a bizarre and unsettling world, she had become the most familiar thing. She saw what was mirrored in his eyes and gave him an encouraging smile.
"Believe your eyes, Peter," she whispered. "Believe in faeries and Lost Boys and three suns and six moons. It will be all right, if you do." She bent close. "Search inside yourself for one, pure, innocent thought and hold on to it. Because what used to make you happy will make you fly. Will you try, Peter?"
Peter stared at her, trying to comprehend. Finally, he said, "If all this is real, was the rest of my life a dream?"
She shrugged. Faeries do not engage in philosophical discussions, it's said. "What used to make you happy will make you fly," she repeated, preferring practical advice.
Peter nodded wearily and closed his eyes. "Okay, Tink. I'll try."
Tinkerbell waited as his breathing slowed. When sleep claimed him, she came forward cautiously, leaned upward from where she stood on his chest, and stole a kiss from his lips. Then she turned about and crawled inside his shirt, a tiny glow working its way about. Finally she found a comfortable spot close to the collar and settled in. Peter had begun to snore. She joined him, her own snores little more than tiny breaths. Her light pulsed with each one, fading gradually as she, too, fell asleep.
Nearby, sitting cross-legged at the entrance to his own house, Rufio watched the tiny light wink out. A scowl lined his smooth features. He didn't like this imitation Pan, this fat, old grown-up trying to steal what was his. Jealousy wormed its way through him. He intended to be rid of this intruder as quickly as possible.
He pulled the Pan sword close against him, and his eyes were as bright as fire in the dark.
One by one the lights of the Nevertree went out, extinguished by the faeries who kept night watch as they flitted down through the branches in search of dewdrops to drink and ladybugs to ride and tiny rainbow crystals to treasure. The lights disappeared in their wake, leaving only the moons of white and peach and pale rose to color the dark. Neverland drifted away into children's dreams-to the belief that kept it timeless, to the promise that kept it young.
Why Parents
Hate Their Children
It was a rejuvenated Captain Hook who had Jack and Maggie brought to his cabin the following morning. Gone was the gloom that had beset him the evening prior, gone the despair and disconsolation. A smile wreathed his angular face, as broad and inviting as a crocodile's (though neither Hook nor any self-respecting crocodile would have appreciated the comparison, I am sure). He was dressed in full regalia-boots shined, coat brushed, wig curled, tricorne set carefully in place. He wore new lace at his throat and sleeves, and his hook gleamed wickedly. The room was restored to its former elegance as well, the furniture righted, the remnants of dinner cleared away, the shattered dining table and the blasted replica of the Jolly Roger replaced, and the few pictures knocked askew straightened or rehung.
Hook was pleased. It had taken Smee hours to accomplish all this, but it had been worth it.
The captain was at his craftiest this day. There was an inevitability about his plan that gave him an unshakable confidence as he stood waiting at the door, hands clasped behind his back, a benevolent look fixed upon his countenance. Pan's children turned against him-it was delicious. Pan's children made to love Captain Hook-it was charming. Best of all, it was devious.
Hook's smile broadened even further as Smee ushered the children in. A flush of expectation colored his bony cheeks.
"Good morning, children!" he greeted effusively, and tried not to brandish the hook. "Sit down, right over there."
Smee propelled the little dears across the room-Hook could not help noticing their undisguised interest in the map of Neverland-to the chairs and desks that had been set up for them facing Hook's own gilt-edged walnut desk. Maggie's chin was barely above her desktop. Jack was already squirming. Neither looked the least bit comfortable with the situation.
Hook moved over to stand in front of a chalkboard that had been unearthed from one of his warehouses. It was two-sided and revolved on pins. The side facing the children was blank.
"Do you know why you're here, children?" he asked solicitously.
They shook their heads.
"You are here to attend school," he announced.
"What sort of school?" Maggie asked suspiciously.
Hook drew himself up. "The school of life, my dear," he replied grandly. Then he cocked his hook admonishingly. "Henceforth, if you wish to speak, you will raise your hand."
"You're not a teacher!" Maggie declared defiantly.
Smee struck the edge of the desk with the flat of a ruler and Maggie jumped a foot. Hook smiled benignly. "Order, now. You don't want me to have to put you on detention, do you? Detention can be most unpleasant."
He reached back to the chalkboard, gave it a sharp spin, and then caught it with the reverse side facing forward.
Jack and Maggie stared. The chalkboard read:
WHY PARENTS HATE THEIR CHILDREN
Hook turned back again. "Now pay attention, class. We have a lot to cover in today's lesson. Which is: Why Parents Hate Their Children."
As he turned back to the board Maggie leaned over to Jack and whispered, "Parents don't hate their children!"
Out of the corner of his eye Hook watched the boy. Jack seemed less certain of this than his sister. He whispered something back. Hook couldn't hear what it was, but he didn't need to, judging by Maggie's reaction.
"They don't!" she insisted angrily. She seemed to search her memory for proof, then exclaimed hurriedly, "Doesn't Mommy read us a story every night?"
Hook turned slowly, still smiling, and pointed to Maggie.
"You, the cute little urchin in the front row. Won't you share your thoughts with the whole class?"
He waved his hand expansively as if there were others besides the two, all waiting to hear what Maggie had to say. The little girl was white-faced, but her jaw stuck out determinedly.
"I said Mommy reads to us every night because she loves us very much!" she declared loudly.
Hook feigned astonishment. "Loves you?" He repeated the words as if they lacked validity. He glanced knowingly at his bosun. "That's the 1-word, isn't it, Smee?"
Smee shook his head reprovingly. Hook came forward to stand before the children, then scraped his hook slowly, deliberately down the middle of the desktop.
"Love? No, I think not. She reads to you to stupefy you, to lull you to sleep so that she can sit down for three measly minutes-alone-without you and your mindless, inexhaustible, unstoppable, repetitive, nagging demands!" Hook cocked his head and began to mimic, " 'He took my toy! She hid my bear! Give me my cookie! I want to potty! I want to stay up!' I want, I want, I want-me, me, me, mine, mine, mine! Now, now, now!" His voice lowered. "Mommy and Daddy have to listen to it all day long and they hate it! They tell you stories to SHUT YOU UP!"