Early the next morning, when Jocelyn caught her first glimpse of the Neverland’s shores, I am ashamed to report that she…well, she squealed. Just a little, mind you, but it was there. Thankfully, Jocelyn was not a girl prone to such banality. And in her defense, the sight below was nothing short of astonishing. I think we can forgive her this once.

The girl sat suspended in a woven hammocklike sling, useful for passengers or packages, that Edgar carried in his powerful claws. This perch gave her a panoramic view of the entire Neverland. For such a small landmass, it presented an incredible amount of variety: beaches and mountains, jungles and deserts, fields of bloodthirsty wildflowers, half-hidden coves, and several villages. An enormous volcano grew from the center of the island, sending up the most intricate series of smoke signals. If Jocelyn could have read them, she’d have seen that the Neverland was welcoming her; indeed, it was even showing off a bit.

On the south side of the island that day (I say that day, for the Neverland changes itself around as often as a vain woman changes her apparel) there resided a ruined ivory castle, nearly grown over with nettles, next to a great rushing river that appeared to flow backward—going up waterfalls instead of down. Sprawled beside the island’s main harbor was a ramshackle pirate village, easily identified, even from Jocelyn’s lofty height, by the smell of blood and rum. And in the distance she spied a graceful flight of dragons performing an aerial ballet, their scales shimmering in the morning sun. Though she couldn’t tell for certain from her vantage point, Jocelyn did not expect to find a single corset on the entire island. She was utterly charmed.

Even so, the girl knew that somewhere down there, amidst all the wonder, a terrible beast was waiting.

Reminds me a bit of my first wedding day.

Edgar deposited Jocelyn on the harbor dock at the edge of the pirate village. Before he flew away, she handed him the apology letter she had written. “Could you please find a way to deliver this to my friend, Roger? He used to live at the school, though I’m not sure where he is now.”

The courier agreed to try to find the boy—free of charge, in honor of Jocelyn’s late father. He did not display even the slightest hint of annoyance at having to fly all the way back to the mainland to find someone with no address and deliver a letter that might have easily been dropped off the night before.

That Edgar, he was a professional.

With a little hop and a flap of his wings, the great bird took flight. Jocelyn watched as he soared high into the sky, a tiny sting of jealousy pricking at her heart. If only she could break the bonds holding her to the earth. If only she could be that free.

Long before Edgar disappeared in the distance, she brought her eyes back to the horizon and surveyed her surroundings. Rough wooden planks, barnacled and weathered gray from spray and salt, formed a tangled web of docking that stretched as far down the beach as Jocelyn could see. A miasma of overripe fish, gun smoke, and unwashed bodies hung in the briny air. Schooners, sloops, frigates, cutters, and many other varieties of ships in various conditions were moored offshore. Sailors swarmed over their surfaces like roaches on leftovers, inspecting rigging and performing repairs. Before her eyes, a brawl broke out on the deck of a twenty-gunner. The air was filled with sounds of the roaring sea, screaming gulls, shouted curses, breaking glass, and breaking bones.

A wide smile grew on the girl’s face. For the first time in her life, Jocelyn felt truly at home.

Now to find this Mr. Smee.

As she looked about for someone to ask for directions, a man approached her. In manner and appearance he presented himself a bit more finely than the men Jocelyn had observed on the ships. She took an instant dislike to him.

“You there, girl, have you only just arrived from the mainland?”

A hint of culture and education rounded the corners of the man’s voice. Jocelyn made her own voice extra pointy to compensate. “And what business is that of yours?”

“Why, the business of harbormaster, of course. It is my duty to monitor all comings and goings. Keep out the riffraff, the bankers, the missionaries, and other such unsavories. So I ask again: have you just arrived?”

Jocelyn would have preferred to ignore the man, but she did need directions. “Yes, I flew in with a courier crow. Can you tell me—”

“I’ll do the inquiring around here, thank you. Once I am finished, you may ask a question of me.” He pulled a ledger from his satchel. Then he licked the end of a lead pencil, cleared his throat, and said, “Must keep the paperwork in order. Now then: When, pray tell, are you from?”

“When? Don’t you mean where?”

The harbormaster snapped his book closed and fixed the girl with what he likely thought of as his most penetrating stare. “I most certainly do not mean where. I already know that you are not from one of the Neverland’s many indigenous tribes; ergo, you must be from the mainland. If you are not from here, you are from there. Any fool can deduce that.”

Jocelyn crossed her arms and scowled. “How can you possibly want to know when I came from? Isn’t it obvious? I came from today. Yesterday, if you want to be more specific.”

The harbormaster sighed loudly. “No. No. No. I’m asking, roughly, what year you are from. If you don’t know exactly, you can give me your best guess.”

Jocelyn looked up and down the dock. Surely someone else could tell her how to find Mr. Smee. Unfortunately, no one else appeared. She returned the harbormaster’s sigh and answered, “I turned thirteen yesterday.”

“I don’t care to know your age, child. Allow me to simplify matters for you. When you woke up this morning in your pretty little bed, who was king? Was it Sweyn Forkbeard? William the Conqueror? Richard the Lionheart? Henry the Eightieth?”

This was getting ridiculous. “I didn’t wake up in a bed this morning. I’ve been traveling all night, and your questions are the stupidest ones I’ve ever heard. Henry the Eightieth? There is no such person. Everyone knows that King George sits upon the throne.”

If Jocelyn, who was rather a sharp girl, was a bit flummoxed by this line of questioning, I imagine you may be even more confused. I’ll speak slowly to help you understand. Children who visit the Neverland come from as many Whens as Wheres. The Neverland is clever that way.

“King George,” he spoke aloud as he noted her reply. “Next, what is the purpose of your visit? Plunder? Murder? Revenge?”

Jocelyn glared at the man. “Principally revenge, though I am keeping my options open.”

“Have you anything to declare?”

“Yes. I declare these asinine questions to be a waste of my time.”

The harbormaster made another mark in his ledger. “Noted. One last question, though I should have started with it, I suppose. Name, please.”

“Jocelyn Hook.”

The harbormaster snapped his pencil lead on his paper, making a nasty black mark. “Hook, eh?” The smooth corners of his voice now shook around the edges. “Why didn’t you say so? Welcome to the Neverland, my dear. I suppose you’ve come to settle your father’s affairs?”

Jocelyn was finished with the man’s questions. “Where can I find a Mr. Smee?”

“Mr. Smee, of course! I’d be happy to give you directions and anything else you may require. Only…be wary. Smee has not been, shall we say, ‘quite right,’ since your father’s untimely passing.”

The harbormaster gave Jocelyn directions to a tailor shop a few blocks inland, and Jocelyn happily turned her back to him. As she strolled away, he called out, “Good luck, young miss!” The sound of fluttering ledger pages followed the girl up the dock.

The pirate village sprawled over the land. Haphazard buildings, shoddily constructed from driftwood and old ship parts, tilted drunkenly over its cobbled street. Garishly painted ladies (with, as Jocelyn had suspected, nary a corset in sight) leaned out windows, exchanging insults with passersby below. Packs of men, scoundrels and blaggards, each one of them, lazed about, swapping rum and tales on stoops and street corners. Everyone Jocelyn spied, man or woman, was armed to the teeth with cutlasses and pistols, daggers and bombs. The girl regretted her lack of a weapon. For the first time in her life, Jocelyn felt the hot shame of being underdressed for a party.

I expect you are wondering why the pirate village was so bustling. You are likely operating under the mistaken assumption that Captain Hook and the crew of the Jolly Roger were the only pirates ever to sail the Neverland’s seas. That had been true at one time—when the captain was in a predigested state—as his fierce reputation kept other pirates from infringing upon his territory. However, after Hook’s death, scads of new pirates moved in to fill the void, creating a land rush around Hangman’s Harbor. The building boom brought all kinds of rogues and rascals to the village. In addition to an influx of sailors and shipbuilders, a whole horde of villains immigrated: saloon keepers, rumrunners, even a mortgage banker or two, all hoping to cash in.

Jocelyn turned down a side street, passing a market stand filled with fresh fish and blasting caps. She recognized a broken rudder, now pressed into service as signage above a tailor shop. If she could find the crocodile as easily as she seemed to have found Mr. Smee, Jocelyn might have her revenge buttoned up by teatime. She entered the shop, ready to confront her destiny.