Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Under Cover of Night

Under Cover of Night:

(1911 A.D., the Capital City of Blackfrost Port, The People’s Republic of the Neverlands, the Neverlands, the Realm of Ishrakie)

Catherine Thorn, the mistress of Blackfrost Port, sits restlessly in her private chambers. The lamplight is low, mirroring her mood. Anxious dread scratches at her heart as she twirls a lock of her hair, lost in uneasy thoughts. It did not take long for the disturbing news permeating the chatter of the taverns to reach her while she was making her rounds. Her corset feels even tighter than usual as she struggles to maintain her composure. Her father always said that good women were like well-maintained pianos inside; not too tight but not too loose, however, she cannot shake the feelings brewing inside her. She feels as if her strings are taut and over-tuned. The tension of the moment is shattered by the sound of a knock at the door, followed by the intrusion of a young messenger boy.

“Mistress, I come bearing the worst of news,” begins the boy, his voice soaked with sorrow.

“Then the rumours are true.”

The boy steps forward slowly, coming to a stop before her. Kneeling, he hangs his head and presents Captain Hook’s good hand to her. Mistress Thorn sucks in a breath, but the corset stifles it. She gives no other sign of emotion. She cannot, she must not.

“The wreckage of the Jolly Roger was found by one of our schooners. We sent some pearl divers down to see what they could find…”

The Mistress bids the boy to stop as she softly twirls her hair for a moment lost in mournful thoughts. The messenger gives her the hook. Its curved metal drinks the lamplight, giving off a subtle unearthly gleam. For a moment she just stares at the hook, lost in memory. A tear stained black from makeup slashes down her cheek.

Powerful silence permeates the room as she spends the next few moments heaving heavy breaths. Her soul shreds and heart bleeds as more tears threaten to fall but then she does what she knows she has to… she shoves down the pain and locks her heart back into its cage… She cannot… Must not… Will not crumble. He would want her to be strong and do her duty.

“The last real man has died. It’s the end of age Sven… the end of an age.” she declares mournfully. The mistress summons up the fortress of her resolve around her crumbling hear though she can still feel the anger and grief twisting her strings until one by one they snap. Her lips turn down into the first true sob she has allowed herself in twelve years. With her last moments of forced calmness, she addresses the messenger boy. “Toll the Bells. We must summon the Brethren Council of Pirate-Lords”.

“With haste, mistress… and fear not, your tears are our secret… not that there is any shame in it.” Sven replies casting her an understanding smile.

“You are so good to me… where would I be without you?”mutters Mistress Thorn gratefully.

The pleasure is mine… as always my mistress.” bowing low once last time before clicking his heels and hurrying away out of the room.

*******

Smee directs their landing to a spot outside the light’s influence. He addresses the crew with the plan he and the Captain have worked out.

“Right, men, our mission is simple. Blood Creek cuts through the centre of Blackfrost port. There are fish stands and unloading docks all along the old girl so we can’t go paddling straight down her if we want to stay all hidden and such. The element of surprise is crucial to our success.”

Mumbles of agreement drift between the men.

“Therefore, we will ride our tootsies through the storage quarter to the outside of the Dusty Compass. From there Murphy will walk calm as can be down the main dock…” explains Smee.

Murphy tilts his head and scrunches his brow. Smee extends on tiptoes and whispers into his ear. The giant man beams and crosses his arms smugly.

“When we get to the docks proper, Cecco will check for any down anchors and any rudder locks. The rest of us will be the welcoming committee. And if anyone sees you clear enough to know your face, give them your boot knife, even if it’s old Pavy,” instructs Smee sternly.

“Aye, aye.” whispers the lot of them to Smee.

Cookson shakes his head, “Lordy, I hope it don’t come to that. Pavy never done no one no harm.”

Following that comment Hook’s men become one with the night. Clouds hang thick in the sky, allowing only dull slivers of the moon’s silver light to illuminate their path. They move low to the ground, visiting each shadow along their route. Quick and quiet, they make their way to the main docks. On the way, they arm themselves with fillet-knives and pry bars.

The docks are quiet. Hook cannot help but be amused at the sombre faces of the drunkards inside the taverns they pass. They are no doubt mourning the very man who is here to rob them, or at least one of them: Captain Fritz. Hook knows where that man is now; he is no doubt in the Mistress’s parlour with the other captains kissing her lotioned feet. Somehow the thought of Mistress Thorn still plucks a tune on his blackened heartstrings. Hook pauses beside a stack of crates and peers up toward her window. Through the curtains glows steady firelight. He waits for her curved silhouette to grace him. It doesn’t come. Smee stops beside him.

“Sir? Is something amiss?” asks Smee as Hook snickers.

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“A Miss. Heh heh heh. Smee even when you are ignorant you are still wise,” chuckles Hook.

“Sir?” responds Smee, confused.

“Nevermind. Get moving, Mr. Smee,” Smee nods and proceeds.

The crew skulks single file down the dock and scatters to cover when someone approaches. As Murphy snags the neck of the latest interruption, Hook feels the emotion again. It buzzes in his mind like a fly, and he snatches it from the air. Hook’s psyche holds the nuisance by its wings and turns it over, examining it. Guilt. A small insect of guilt. The little creature has the Mistress’s face, and it is weeping. He crushes it.

Best not to think of such things. All will be remedied upon my return, he tells himself.

After about thirty minutes of crouching in the shadows, they make it to the farthest arm of the main docks. Hook assumes that Captain Fritz, being closest in intelligence to himself, would arrive early and choose the closest spot to the open sea. Since Blackfrost Port is protected by the bay, he would want to safely put his vessel on the outskirts and be the first ship out on the waves after the council is adjourned. Just as Hook suspects the Stille Jäger; Fritz’s ship is indeed right where he expected.

Though the Stille Jäger is smaller than the Jolly Roger, it packs a heavy punch in battle and can be operated with a skeleton crew, making it the ideal ship for him and his men to commandeer. Hook figures there is most likely only a token guard left aboard, but Smee insists on planning for ten men. Tiptoeing into position, Hook’s trust in Smee is reinforced. Although most of her crew has already found a seat in one of the various taverns; they can clearly hear the voices of six different men. Hook nods to his men as Smee signals the men into action.

Cecco thumbs up, signalling that the rudder is free as he cuts the main anchor rope. Murphy takes the stern mooring line and heaves. He heaves again. Veins bulge in his neck and biceps. His back becomes iron and sweat seeps out. Slowly, the ship floats out to sea. Because of the darkness of the night and bottles of rum gifted by the Captain for having guard duty on such an important night, none of the sailor sentries notice the gradual distance growing between them and the lights of the port.

Noodler peeks on deck first. The men are sitting on small barrels around a crate. They are passing a half-empty bottle and slapping cards down. The crew, except for Murphy who doesn’t even try to pull his immense body up the mooring rope, amass at the lip of the deck. Hook is shrouded beside them. At the same moment they all vault over the railing, Hook leaping clean over it. For a moment, the surprised pirates just stare at Hook before glancing over their shoulders, noting the significant distance that has currently formed between them and the port. When Captain Hook unsheathes his sword, their trance breaks as Hook and his men rush the unprepared pirates.

Their bodies are warm butter to Hook’s sword as it passes through breastbone and elbow. Blood splatters over the deck. One man grabs a nearby sword and flails out. Noodler jumps back, and the man comes to face Hook. The Captain stands just out of reach with his sword in front of him. The man’s eyes jump. His grip tightens.

“By god, Captain Hook? Is that you?” asks the man, shuddering for a moment before regaining his composure.

“Very good, sailor. What might your name be?” asks Hook with a mix of pleasantry and menace.

The man’s quiet voice is gruff yet tinted with reserved confidence. His comrades’ blood drips into his eyelashes from the tip of Hook’s blade, but he doesn’t blink.

“Name’s Blickstein,” answers the man, straightening his back, his eyes unwavering.

“Well, Mr. Blickstein, as fate would have it, I have lost a fair amount of my crew recently. I had planned to slay anyone I found aboard this vessel and make do with these fine gentlemen you see around you.”

Blickstein’s eyes flick to the Hook’s crew members gathered before him.

“But since you seem to have some fight in you and enough wits not to be taken completely off guard, I’m extending an exclusive offer to you. Join my crew and help ease our transition to this new vessel, or join your friends here,” explains Hook gesturing to Blickstein’s fallen comrades littering the deck.

“I’m your man,” answers Blickstein without a second thought.

“Good form. Be a swell chap and lower a ladder for our last man dangling off the port side,” instructs Hook, causing Blickstein to stride off still holding his sword.

Hook nods to Smee who gestures for his men to commandeer the vessel. After a flurry of ropes and unfurling sail, the new ship and its crew cast off for the Pale Waters.

Infused by sudden elation, Hook rushes to the Captain’s Quarters. He returns to the main deck smiling at his men with a large, dusty bottle of Neverlandian Spiced Rum in his hand. He breaks the wax seal. Then with a manner of jubilant mock ceremony, Hook pops open the bottle and takes a large swig before handing it off to Smee. They pass the bottle and shout congratulations up into the sails. Soon enough they are out in the open sea and the darkness of the night erases them from view.

Hook leaves Smee with Blickstein to get the men acquainted with their new ship. His new hook is burning and itching. He shuts himself in the Captain’s Cabin and rolls up his sleeve for a better look at the situation. Hook finds that black chitin now fully caps the end of his arm with many tendrils stretching halfway back up the forearm. He grips the hook that has formed from his stump during the battle with the stag and shakes it. It’s connected to his bones. He prods the edges and tries to get a fingernail under it but it’s seamless. The chitin is a part of him.

The Captain’s Cabin is smaller than the one on Jolly Roger. One wall has a sturdy lattice for holding bottles of rum and wine. There are weathered scrolls here and there among the bottles. A bag of apples hangs from the ceiling. It sways as the ship climbs waves. A glass-fronted cabinet holds the last captain’s treasures: large sapphire pendants, a jawbone with four gold teeth in it, a dried monkey hand with only three fingers, a weathered spyglass with carved initials. As he turns away, something catches his eye. A string hangs down from the corner. He opens the cabinet and finds a small sack floating up against the cabinet’s ceiling.

“Fairy dust.“

When he plucks the bag down, its weightlessness vanishes and it plops onto his palm. Hook frowns. He never can get the stuff to do anything but make him sneeze. Popping open a bottle of wine, Hook sits at the desk, placing the Piper’s clam down on the desk before him. He runs his hook through his beard. The bag of dust slowly lifts off the desk. He slams a book down on it.

“What exactly are you leading me to, my friend?” muses Hook to himself as he continues to eye the clam.

After a few moments, Hook gets up and calls the rest of the men to his cabin.

The men gather around the captain’s table with a large map of the Neverlands laid out before them. Each of them is busy contemplating the question at hand; how to reach the Pale Waters as quickly as possible without being detected. It is obvious to all of them that the first challenge in reaching the Pale Waters will be making it out of the Fryst Sea without being detected by the sentries at Fryst Port or the sentries stationed at the Raven’s Torch Lighthouse. But then what?

After about an hour of discussion, they all agreed the best path would be to sail out of the Fryst Sea via the southwest, sticking as close as possible to the western shore of Fryst Vilde Tribal Province. This way, as long as they sailed swift and silent, they should be able to pass by the Raven’s Torch Lighthouse and out of the Fryst Sea undiscovered. The decided route works wonderfully. After just a few hours of silent sailing, they make it out of the Fryst Sea unseen and are well on their way into the vast unknown waters stretched out before them.