In all the time I spent imagining myself back on Neverland, I never once hoped to be back here: The dimly polished decks of the infamous Jolly Roger. And with hands bound to boot.

I've never been drawn to the swash-buckling pirates –not in the way that my brother John was. I never saw any glory in their ways –never hoped to wield a sword or search for their legendary buried treasure.

As I find myself paraded through the Nest bazaar and steered towards the ominous Jolly Roger, my spirits fall. Not only will this put a halt to my rescue plans, but I've also dragged Salt right into the jaws of angry pirates.

Salt walks beside me, his heavy boots thumping hard against the wooden dock –each step falls in unison with my heartbeats –like I can hear my racing panic aloud.

Mr Smee halts at the edge of the nearest dock and, too busy looking up, I bump right into Salt.

Sorry. I say with my eyes, before reverting them back to the harbor.

One hundred bodies are jammed onto the pier, which is lined with pirate ship after pirate ship. The Jolly Roger is easily identifiable as its both the oldest and the grandest of them all –and it's hard to miss the skull-shaped Captain's cabin.

Even among the barnacle-crusted bow, I could recognize the skeletal mermaid figurehead anywhere.

"Cap'n inbound!" Someone snarls up in the crow's nest.

I tilt my head back and follow the ships towering mast, wrapped with coiled ropes and dark against the yellowed sails.

"Lower the plank!" A second man shouts over the railing.

Two nearby pirates lower a stained plank from the main deck, extending it towards the edge of the pier where Mr Smee stands in front of us.

I climb the uneven ladder and soon find myself aboard the Jolly Roger. My feet are planted firmly on the salt-washed deck, but my eyes wander –examining everything from the surly faces of the crew to the lowered, rippling sails to the ornate railing of the quarterdeck.

"What to do with our guests," Hook says. His voice is a terrible suggestion of playing with his food before eating it.

"Might I suggest the brig, Cap'n Hook? Or perhaps the storage deck?" Mr Smee bears a near-toothless grin.

"'Ow bout the hold?" The man who lowered the plank asks.

"Now, now. They are guests, not prisoners. Yet." Hook says, cajoling. "Best let our two friends have some time alone –apart."

Salt shifts uncomfortably beside me, but I cannot steal a look.

Hook paces in circles around the center mast, his heavy black boots not unlike Salt's in the way they seem to mimic my heartbeat with every rise and fall. Hook strides across the deck and stops in front of me.

I can smell the liquor on his breath –see the tobacco stains ingrained in his teeth –and feel the cool steel of his hook on my forearm.

Hook lifts his untouched arm to my cheek and pushes my hair aside. "Mr Smee, show Wendy to my quarters."

I bite my lip to prevent myself from protesting, already sweeping the deck for points of escape. With any luck, I will have some time alone in Hook's cabin to plan my fight or flight.

"No!" Salt spits, wrangling with the pirate holding him back.

Hook's eyes shift between us –resting on Salt's fervent gaze and furrowed brows before sweeping over mine. A nasty grin spreads across his face.

"No?" Hook repeats, sinister.

He slaps his backhand across Salt's face. He's still so close I can smell the rum. I focus on the black waves of hair sticking out from under his hat.

Stay calm.

"No," Salt says again.

I tense, my every fiber and sinew on edge.

"No? I do not know 'no'. You've gotten in my way one too many times boy." Hook growls. "Mr Smee, it's the brig for this one. Get him out of my sight."

Captain Hook swivels on the spot, the tails on his coat flapping in his wake.

"Separate them, go on." Mr Smee points to us and the two men holding our ropes start to move in opposite directions.

I wait for Salt to look up –hoping to catch his eye –but he doesn't. His pensive gaze remains transfixed on the ground –on the pirate's boots and the aluminum buckets.

///

I was never in the captain's quarters before. The whole of my last visit aboard the Jolly Roger was strictly confined to the upper decks.

Mr Smee directed me to a fairly bare room with an ornate wooden table in the center. A silver chandelier hangs low above it. I suppose it's used for dining –though I prefer not to imagine Hook and the likes of who he entertains in here. The door slams shut behind me and I walk across the linoleum floors to the windows. Through the oil-stained windows I can just make out the rooftops of the Nest –mismatched and smoking –and find myself wishing I were back there.

At least we're still at port.

At least I'm still alive.

Where is Salt?

My flow of consciousness overwhelms me.

I hear a banging up on deck, the sound of a hatch closing, and muffled shouts from the bow of the ship. Canon fire.

I tense, instinctively, and search the room for a makeshift weapon –another habit I picked up on the streets. Before I make it halfway across the room I'm thrown off balance as the ship's floor moves beneath me.

I rush to the antiqued paned windows and see their contents moving like a fluid oil painting shifting inside its frame. The Nest disappears from view –the whole pirate village gone now –and the docks grow smaller and smaller.

I talk myself out of the panic. Even if we set sail, it's not like the Jolly Roger can really take me anywhere off of Neverland.

I'm distracted by the hurried footsteps of multiple people approaching the Captain's cabin. I back into the windows, positioning the dining table between the door and me. The footsteps grow louder, their proximity increasing with every stifled breath.

The entryway opens and I expect Hook to emerge from the other side.

Instead a surly looking man enters the room, hobbling around the table to the spot where I stand beside the windows.

"Cap-tin would like you to wash up 'fore dinner," he says, crotchety. No doubt he resents being sent to relay this message.

"Before dinner?" I repeat his words.

"Dinner," he says again. He motions eating food as if I'm some two year-old unable to grasp the concept of a meal.

I nod back, eager for him to leave and take his stale breath with him.

He turns back to the door, when I call out. "Where's Salt?"

"You see Salt at dinner." He bares his cracked teeth.

I nod without words.

The messenger leaves the room and I hear the unmistakable click of the lock behind him. I plop against the windowsill and relax. I'll see Salt at dinner. OK. I haven't gotten him in too much trouble if he'll be at dinner.

The oil painting is new again. No trace of a coastal pirate village or bustling bazaar remains. It's the horizon I see now –a shimmering sea beneath a sprawling sky –the twilit waters mirroring the oranges and purples sinking into it.

I think about my stick, lost somewhere in Neverwood, and the seventh notch I will not make in it.

My stomach drops. One full week on Neverland.

I wonder how long it's been back home. I wonder if Rat's even noticed I haven't returned yet. I lose myself in a glorious reverie –a reunion with my brothers where they remembered me, embraced me even, with all the excitement and warmth I felt seeing them.

The sky is darker still. Dinner must be soon.

I look at the empty table in this pseudo drawing room and wonder what Hook has in store.

Why has he brought me here?

Just then the door bursts open and in walks Captain Hook tailed closely by Mr Smee. Hook wears his best crimson pleated coat tonight and the largest feather I've ever seen sticks out of his captain's hat. I narrow my eyes when he looks my way.

"Miss Darling, I've come to escort you to dinner." Hook offers his elbow.

His ostentatious display of manners is not enough to fool me into thinking he's a gentleman. I know better. I know Hook.

"Where is dinner?" I ask, looking tentatively at his arm, unwilling to take it.

"Where is dinner, Captain Hook?" Hook corrects my sentence.

I make a face, determined not to give in and play his games. Luckily, Hook answers for me.

"Supper is in the next room, of course. This is merely staging," Hook says, raising his arms to indicate this bare-threaded room.

"Come now, cap'n. Supper is being served," Mr Smee interjects, ushering us towards the door.

I have no choice but to extend me arm and take hold of Hook's elbow. His lips curve into a satisfied sneer.

We round the corner to a more spacious chamber juxtapose to my waiting room. The sweet aroma of freshly cooked, hot food wafts towards the door. I stare at the center table, laden with chopped vegetables and ripe fruits surrounding a roasted pig.

My mouth waters.

"Here, Miss Darling," Hook says, dropping his elbow.

I sit at the seat he indicated, right beside the head of the table.

"I see my son is late again. I do not know where he gets his manners," Hook tisks, superficial. "My apologies, Wendy."

I shrug, my stomach growling, focusing on nothing but the permeating scents of warm pork and potatoes.

"Mr Smee, fetch my son. Tell him it's rude to keep our guest waiting," Hook says.

"Certainly, cap'n." Mr Smee bows out of the room and the doors close again.

"Wine?" Hook looks at me.

"Where is Salt?" My throat is rusty from the salt and the disuse of it over the last few hours.

"Worry not about your deviant companion, Wendy. He'll get what's coming to him."

Hook pours deep red wine into a silver chalice and hands it to me. He pours a second glass and places it on the table in front of him. Then a third and sets it across the table from me. No doubt for his son.

I push the chalice away from me without drinking it.

"What have you done with him?" I press.

A thin line curves into a smile on his lips. "You will see in due time."

Hook is infuriating! It's never a straight answer on Neverland.

"It is a shame to let our supper turn cold. Perhaps we will start?" Hook asks, head tilted. His eyes examine mine and I wonder if he can see my hunger reflected in them.

"Yes, let's start. My son will be along shortly." Hook places his cup on the tablecloth and exchanges it for the two-pronged fork sticking in the pig.

Mr Smee reappears in the room, short of breath and wheezing. I notice he is unaccompanied.

"Well?" Hook asks without looking up from the table.

"Getting into uniform, cap'n. Longer than expected –must be confused –begs your pardon–" Mr Smee's words spill out in a single strand of nonsensical muttering.

"Naturally, the boy was born to beg pardon," Hook drones, flippant. I hear the tinge of mirth in his haughty voice.

Hook shovels mini piles of food onto my plate first.

"Eat, Wendy." Hook nudges my plate closer to me.

"Not until you tell me what you've done with Salt." I fold my arms across my chest.

"Patience, Miss Darling. Or do they no longer practice that in London?" Hook lowers his gaze to mine. "But of course, that is where you've been, is it not?"

"Yes," I answer.

"Thought as much," Hook nods. "And you're back now? Why?"

I stare down at my plate. I'm not about to share my plight with Captain Hook.

The ravenous creature inside me can barely resist, but I must. I divert my attention away from the smorgasbord –instead focusing on the tawdry trappings around the room: The velvet but moth-eaten curtains. The gold chandelier with waxy candle stubs. The richly colored rug, threadbare in spots beneath the table.

The door unlatches again and I hear it swing open. More footsteps enter the room, but I'm determined to stare at my untouched chalice.

Hook's eyes shift upward and his sneering lips are back. He stands up, as is customary when someone enters the room.

"My son," Hook says, disappearing behind me. He greets him like any proud father. I roll my eyes at his continued show of false pleasantries.

I am resolute in my attempt to ignore the new guest. My insides burn with a healthy mixture of guilt and rage.

"Father." I hear a low mumble behind me.

"Allow me to formally introduce you to our guest –Miss Darling." Hook announces.

I hear the footsteps approach. I can feel them standing right behind me.

"Wendy, please meet my son, Salthook Jones," Hook speaks, his voice utterly gleeful.

I turn in my chair with bated breath.

Salt's stormy eyes meet mine.