Straight On Till Morning (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,119
Hook we’re talking about here. A pirate. He is not exactly over-imbued with imagination, or unpredictable. No disrespect intended.”
Slightly, Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Thorn, and Zane looked at each other, a little chagrined.
“Skull Island,” they all said or jingled at the same time.
“We just stopped there afore coming here,” Zane added, scratching his head. “For something or other secretive.”
“Really,” Wendy said, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “The deuce you say.”
“That’s where the bomb is!” Peter Pan cried. “I’ll go at once!”
I’m going with you! Tinker Bell jingled.
“And me as well,” Wendy said. She turned to Thorn. “You should come, too, since you know about these kinds of things.”
I don’t think I’m needed right now, he said with a wise smile. Or wanted. I’ll still rally the fairies—just in case. Go save Never Land, Wendy.
“All right…” She wanted to lean over and kiss him—on the cheek, of course. She had a feeling they might not see each other after this. But however overwhelming the urge, she was afraid it would terrify him. So she kissed her hand and blew it at him gently instead.
At first he looked surprised at the gesture—and then he grinned.
I will see you again someday, Windy Wendy. If not in Never Land or London, then somewhere else heroes go.
Wendy sighed and looked away. Tinker Bell was giving her the side-eye.
“What? Mind your business.”
The little fairy grinned wickedly, and the three leapt up into the sky.
“There it is!” Peter cried.
As clear as a print in a child’s book, there was the tiny island: a gray stone skull rising out of the sea as if the rest of a giant gray skeleton lurked in the depths below it. While the formation couldn’t possibly have been natural—nothing in Never Land was strictly natural—perhaps it arose organically, having felt a need in stories for a spooky landmark. Or maybe it was built and carved by ancient peoples who never truly existed, only appearing in convenient side notes to explain how the island came about. Whatever the case, pirates needed it, and here it was.…
Although it was a bit different from when Wendy had told her own stories of Never Land to Michael and John. The eye sockets, nose, and mouth, previously open and accessible to boats, mermaids, and pirates (and seagulls and ravens picking the bones of those murdered there) were all sealed up. Quickly and sloppily, in true pirate fashion. Boards crisscrossed the sockets with no plan or finesse. Half-hammered nails stuck out. Bricks and stones were piled up in awkward slants to fill in gaps. Cement or spackle had been slapped on the edges like a poor plumber’s job.
“He’s closed off all the entryways!” Peter said in dismay, pulling up to a stop in midair.
Tinker Bell flitted back and forth worriedly.
Wendy wasn’t quite skilled enough to do either of those things, so she had to content herself with drifting to and fro over as narrow an area as she could manage.
Peter flew up to an eye socket to investigate more closely. Despite the slapdash appearance, the job was pretty solid. He couldn’t pull out any of the stones or boards, or break up the cement.
“No good.” He swore, kicking at the island. “That’s a pickle.”
I can slip in, Tinker Bell said, pointing. There.
The childish, potty-humored pirates had left a chink in the nose hole toward the bottom left. Some extra cement had been guided to pool around the base to give the appearance of snot.
“Tinker Bell, do you even know how to disarm a bomb?” Wendy asked.
Pirates are unencumbered with imagination, as a wise lady once said, Tinker Bell jingled with a wan smile. Hook tried this before.…Easy-peasy!
“Aw, Tink can do anything,” Peter said, waving his hand. “She’s a tinker. This ain’t nothing to her.”
Tinker Bell gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then snapped to attention in front of Peter, touching her hand to her brow. Then she dove into the nose hole.
“Huh, that’s funny,” Peter said. “She gave you a kiss and me a salute.”
But that was all he said, and he seemed merely to be puzzled by it, neither offended nor amused.
Wendy fretted while they waited: What if Tink couldn’t defuse the bomb? What if, failing, she brought the bomb outside so the three could figure it out together? Wendy didn’t know how to defuse a bomb—did Peter? What if they couldn’t? What would they do with it?
Meanwhile, Peter whistled, checked his nails, made little churches