Wendy and no Peter Pan

The cabin boy's threat settled around Wendy's neck like an ice-cold noose. Her days were now marked by a double fear. By day, she endured the cold, possessive presence of Captain Hook, whose moods remained unpredictable. At night, as she lay in her small chamber, she would listen for footsteps in the hallway, fearing the soft scratch at her door.

The boy, whose name she didn't know, used his power. A fleeting, knowing glance when they passed in the corridor. A casual touch on her arm that lasted too long. Small gestures that reminded her her secret was not safe. Wendy reacted with a stoic expression and an empty gaze, giving him what he wanted—a smile, a kind word—while disgust and panic raged inside her. She worked harder than ever, throwing herself into the most strenuous tasks to keep from thinking. She scrubbed the decks until her knees were raw and polished the silver in the lieutenants' mess until she could see her own gaunt face in it.

Her quiet, tireless work did not go unnoticed by Hook. One evening, as she was about to clear his dinner, he stopped her with a gesture. "Your work in recent weeks has been... satisfactory," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. It was the highest praise she had ever heard from him. "You don't complain. You don't cry. You fulfill your duties. That deserves a reward."

Wendy's heart skipped a beat. She expected a new humiliation.

"You will dine with me tonight," he announced. "Not as my maid, but as my guest." He gestured to a bundle of cloth lying on his bed. "Wear this. I expect you in an hour."

Warily, she approached the bed. It was a dress. As she unfolded it, she gasped. It was made of deep red velvet, heavy and luxurious, with fine gold embroidery at the neckline and on the sleeves. A dress that must have belonged to a Spanish noblewoman, plundered from a captured galleon. It was beautiful, but as she held it against her body, she felt its cut. It was tight, form-fitting, designed to accentuate a woman's curves. It was the dress of a seductress.

An hour later, she stood before him like a doll. The dress was taut across her chest and hips. The neckline was lower than she would have ever dared to wear. She felt more naked than in her simple maid's uniform.

Hook stood up as she entered. He was wearing his best frock coat, the lace jabot at his throat impeccably white. For a moment, he didn't look like a bloodthirsty pirate, but like a nobleman at a European court.

"Excellent," he said, looking her up and down. His gaze was appreciative, like that of a collector viewing a rare work of art.

The dinner was a surreal ordeal. Hook was the epitome of a gentleman. He pulled out her chair, poured the wine for her himself—a sweeter, lighter one than his own—and spoke of the stars, the tides, and the legends of distant lands. He avoided any topic that might have upset her. Not a word about Peter, not a word about the children, not a word about her captivity. He treated her as if they were a respectable couple at their first formal dinner.

Wendy remained silent and aloof. She barely ate, answered only with a curt "yes" or "no," and stared at her plate. To her, each of his attentive gestures was just another twist in the web he was spinning around her. How could he sit here and discourse on poetry while innocent children cowered in the darkness beneath their feet?

After dinner, he led her to a small settee near the large stern window, through which the moon shone on the restless sea. He motioned for her to sit, then took a seat so close beside her that their knees almost touched. The mask of the gentleman began to crumble.

He leaned toward her, his breath brushing her cheek. His voice was now just a low, intense whisper. "You are beautiful, Wendy. More beautiful than I ever imagined." His hand came to rest on hers, which lay on the velvet fabric of her dress. "I have waited a long time for a woman like you. A woman with fire and spirit. A queen for my Jolly Roger."

He moved even closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. "Forget the boy. Forget the stories. This is reality. I can give you more than a flying fool in tights. I can give you the world."

Wendy froze, trapped between the man beside her and the infinite, dark sea behind her. She felt his grip on her hand tighten, possessive and final.

Her mind raced. Panic, cold and sharp, shot through her veins. Direct resistance would be her end. The end of the children. She had to find another way. Slowly, almost reverently, she pulled her hand out from under his. She kept her gaze lowered.

"Captain," she began, her voice trembling almost inaudibly. "Those are... big words. Words that can turn a girl's head. You honour me. But I..." She dared to look up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. "I am a decent girl, Captain. I was raised to be. I am still... untouched." The word hung like a fragile shard of glass in the silent cabin. "What you imply... I cannot give. Not like this." She wrung her hands in her lap. "I cannot... before marriage. It would not be honourable."

She had appealed to the gentleman, to the king he wanted to be in his fantasies. It was her only weapon.

An icy silence fell over the room. Hook slowly drew back. A flicker of pure disappointment crossed his face before he concealed it behind an impenetrable mask. He stood up and walked to the window, his back to her. "Marriage," he repeated quietly, as if weighing the word on his tongue.

He turned to her, and a strange, almost thoughtful smile played on his lips. "You're playing a high-stakes game, Wendy-girl. But I like it." He walked toward her again but remained at a respectful distance. "So be it. A marriage. The captain of the Jolly Roger and his queen. It has a certain ring to it, don't you think?"

He didn't wait for her answer. "I will marry you." He looked at her intently, his dark eyes seeming to peer directly into her soul. "I will give you two weeks. Two weeks to get used to the idea and give me your answer. I hope... fervently, that with time you can learn to love me. Or at least, to endure my company." His voice became serious again, but it lost its steely edge. "Understand me, Wendy. Your answer will decide your fate, not theirs. Whether you say 'yes' or 'no'—I will set the children ashore at the next civilized coast. I am not a monster who keeps children captive forever. But your future... that is in your hands. If you say 'no,' everything stays as it is. You remain my maid, a prisoner. If you say 'yes,' you will become my wife, a queen, and the children will be released in a safe place as a gesture of my goodwill. So you have a choice. Between this life... and one at my side."

He gestured curtly to the door. "Go now. Keep the dress. It suits you."

The dismissal was final. Trembling, Wendy stood up, curtsied, and fled the cabin. She had bought time. But the price had just skyrocketed.

The night after Hook's "proposal" was sleepless. Wendy tossed and turned on her hard bunk, the red velvet dress lying like a bloody omen on the chair in the corner. A queen or a maid. A marriage that would cost her soul, or continued servitude. Both seemed like a slow death. But as the grey morning light seeped through the porthole, she realized she couldn't afford the luxury of pondering the distant future. There was a much more immediate threat.

With leaden limbs, she put on her maid's uniform and made her way to the galley to fetch the captain's breakfast. The galley was a hot, noisy place, filled with the smell of fried bacon and the surly grumbling of the ship's cook. While waiting for the tea, which trickled slowly through the strainer, she leaned for a moment against the wooden wall.

Suddenly, a low, hissing whisper reached her ear. It came from below, from one of the narrow ventilation slits in the floor that led to the lower decks. "Psst. Girl."

Wendy froze. She knew the voice. It was the cabin boy. She didn't dare bend down to him, just stared at the dark slits with wide, panicked eyes.

"I saw you last night," the voice hissed on, spiteful and full of triumphant malice. "In that fine dress. You think you're something better now, huh? The captain's queen?" Wendy closed her eyes and prayed for the cook to turn around, but he was busy with his bacon.

"Two bells," the boy whispered. "In the afternoon watch. In the cable-tier. I'll be waiting. And there... you'll be nice to me. Real nice. Or I'll tell the captain about your little trip to the other brats. Understand?"

The clink of the cook placing the finished tea service on the counter made her jump. With trembling hands, she took the tray. Her thoughts were racing. Two bells in the afternoon watch. One o'clock. That gave her a few hours. The cable-tier was one of the darkest, most deserted places on the entire ship, a labyrinth of ropes and anchor chains. A place where no one would hear her scream.

As she balanced the tray through the passageways, the choice Hook had given her felt like a cruel joke. What good was the decision between queen and maid in two weeks if she wouldn't survive the next few hours as herself? The cabin boy's noose had tightened. And time was running out.

After serving Hook his breakfast with steady hands that she struggled to control, she retreated into the shadow of a corridor. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She had to think, clearly and coldly. She had three options, and each was a path to hell.

First: She could go to the captain and confess everything. The visit to the children, the blackmail by the cabin boy. But Hook was unpredictable. He would see her visit as a betrayal, as disobedience. His anger might be unleashed on her, and worse, on the children, just to teach her a lesson. That risk was too great.

Second: She could ignore the boy's threat and take her chances. But that was perhaps the most dangerous option of all. If the boy made good on his word and told Hook, the captain's reaction would be a thousand times worse. He would punish her not only for her disobedience but also for hiding it from him. His wrath would be absolute, his revenge terrible. The children would be the first to pay the price.

That left her with the third option. She could submit to the cabin boy. The thought made bile rise in her throat. It was a violation, a humiliation she might never overcome. But it was the only option that promised some measure of control. It was the only option that kept the secret of her visit to the children and protected them from Hook's wrath.

The decision was no real choice. It was a capitulation. To protect the children, she had to sacrifice a piece of her soul.

A cold resolve replaced the panic. She would go. She would do what had to be done. That was the price for her promise.

At one o'clock sharp, as the sound of two bells echoed across the deck, Wendy stole away. She deliberately took detours, creeping through shadowy corridors and empty holds, her heart a cold, hard lump in her chest. Every step down into the bowels of the ship felt like another step into her own grave.

The cable-tier was even worse than she had imagined. It was an almost lightless space that smelled of tar, mildew, and stagnant water. Massive, coiled ropes towered like sleeping sea serpents up to the ceiling. The only light came from the narrow cracks between the deck planks above.

He was already waiting for her, a shadowy figure detaching itself from one of the hawsers. It was the cabin boy. In the darkness, his eyes gleamed feverishly. "There you are," he rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of nervousness and greedy anticipation. "I knew you'd come."

Wendy stopped, her hands clenched into fists. She said nothing.

"Come here," he ordered. When she hesitated, he added softly, "Or should I go pay the captain a little visit?"

Slowly, with steps that seemed to weigh a ton, she came closer.

"Kiss me," he said. It was an order. She closed her eyes, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his. It tasted of dirt and rancid grease. It was a short, wet, disgusting moment. When she pulled back, he grinned.

"Good," he said, and his hand shot out, grabbing her breast, just as it had on deck. This time he squeezed roughly. "I like that." He ran his other hand over her hip, her stomach. "But that's not enough." His gaze hardened. "Take off your clothes."

A tear ran down Wendy's cheek, hot and full of shame. But she obeyed. Finger by finger, she undid the buttons of her simple maid's dress. It fell to the floor, a miserable heap at her feet. Then the thin chemise. Finally, she stood naked before him, trembling with cold and horror, trying to cover herself with her arms.

His breathing was heavy and ragged. His eyes devoured her. He stepped closer, unbuttoned his own trousers, and pulled out his stiff, aroused member. "You know what to do," he panted, gesturing downward with his chin. "Take it in your mouth."

In that moment, just as Wendy thought her soul would finally break, a hatch creaked above them. A wide beam of light fell into the darkness of the cable-tier, tearing them from their nightmare.

"By all the sea devils, what's going on here?" a deep voice boomed. In the light shaft stood the sailmaker, an old, bearded pirate holding a long rope. His gaze fell on the boy with his trousers open and then on the naked, trembling Wendy. His face darkened, his eyes widening with shock and disgust.

The boy cursed and spun around, hastily trying to cover himself. But it was too late. The sailmaker had seen everything. Without another word, he pulled back and slammed the hatch shut with a loud bang. The silence that followed was suffocating.

It didn't take five minutes. Footsteps thundered down the stairs. The door to the cable-tier was thrown open, and Captain Hook stood in the frame, flanked by Smee and two other armed pirates. His face was a mask of incredulous, simmering rage. His gaze traveled from Wendy, who was desperately cowering on the floor, to the boy, who was as pale as death.

Hook's voice was a low, deadly hiss. "What. Is. Happening. Here?"

No one answered. The truth hung heavy and undeniable in the air.

"Put them in irons!" Hook suddenly roared, his composure shattering into a thousand pieces. "Both of them! In irons!"

The pirates grabbed Wendy and the boy without hesitation. They threw her dress over her before clapping her wrists in cold, heavy shackles. Hook strode toward her, his face inches from hers. The hatred in his eyes was so pure and cold it stole her breath.

"You..." he forced out, unable to put his rage into words. "You have dishonored me. Me!" He turned away, his footsteps echoing on the planks. "Tomorrow morning," he called over his shoulder, "a trial will be held. On deck. Before the entire crew. And then, judgment will be passed."