If you have ever felt a bit nervous about a task before you—such as walking past a snarling dog on your way to school, confessing to your mother that you broke her favorite Royal Family commemorative plate, or needing to dig up and rebury a body on a cold, dark night—you may have an idea of how Jocelyn felt as she seated herself in the little boat.

Her hands shook as she reached for the oars, but Smee beat her to them. “We can’t let you row, miss. Can we, Johnny?” he said, jostling her out of position.

Noting that Smee spoke more often to Johnny when he was nervous or unsettled did little to restore Jocelyn’s confidence. “And why not?” she snapped. “Because I’m a girl? I am becoming very tired of people thinking I can’t do things!”

“No, miss. Not because you’re a girl. That doesn’t have a thing to do with it. Johnny Corkscrew and me are going to row because you’re the captain and rowing is work best suited for men of lesser worth. Your job is to sit back and yell at us to go faster.”

He pulled Johnny from his sheath and motioned with it to a suddenly nervous One-Armed Jack. “And this one here can’t row unless you want to go in circles. His job is to hold an umbrella over your head to keep you from getting splashed. That’s how we did it with the first Captain Hook, may the devil take his dear soul, and that’s how we’re going to do it with you, miss. Right, Johnny?” Johnny must have agreed, for Smee beamed at the blade and lovingly resheathed it, much to One-Armed Jack’s apparent relief.

Jocelyn did want to do things the way her father would have. By way of an apology to Smee, she took her seat and yelled, “Well, what are we waiting for, scum? Get rowing!”

“That’s just the way your father would have done it.” Smee pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before grabbing the oars. “If you ever want to give me a hard kick to my backside, I’d be obliged to you. It’d be just like the old days!”

By this time the sun had sunk halfway below the horizon. The sky was streaked with pink and orange clouds. The evening was warm and comfortable. A sweet scent of wild lavender wafted from the island, mixing with the briny sea air. Jocelyn might have been on a pleasure cruise, had it not been for the ominous task at hand—rather, the ominous task at hand and the two sweaty pirates in the boat with her. They were difficult to ignore.

Jack held the umbrella, but it did little to keep the spray off, for in his excitement he neglected to open it. He waved it about, yelling “Arrr!” every few minutes.

Smee was a bit more practiced at his role. His pulls on the oars were strong and smooth. And the more Jocelyn abused him, the faster he rowed.

They approached the cave. In the shadow of evening, it was as ominous as a great gaping maw, waiting to tear them into pieces and swallow the bits. However, it was not the mouth of the cave that would soon clamp over tender flesh, severing muscle and bone…but I am getting ahead of myself.

As Smee steered the dinghy into the cavern’s yawning opening, Jocelyn looked back the way they came. The Hook’s Revenge made a black silhouette against the darkening sea. Fire-breathing dragonflies darted over the gray waves, taunting foolish fish beneath. An acrid smell of burned cod hung in the air. One lonely star blinked in the sky. For the briefest of moments, the girl considered a wish, but thought better of it. Jocelyn would take her chances and defeat the crocodile on her own.

She turned to face the darkness.

“Jack, put down that umbrella and light a lantern.”

The lamp created a thin circle of light around their boat, barely holding back the gloom. Over the soft creak and splash of the oars, they heard it, faint but distinct: ticking.

One-Armed Jack held the lantern out. Near the cave opening, reflected in the lamplight, ripples formed in the sea—first small, then larger. Jocelyn leaned over the edge of the boat for a closer look. Her jacket hem trailed in the water.

The ticking grew louder.

“Steady, boys, here it comes,” the girl whispered with forced courage. She rolled up her sleeves. Grasping her sword in one hand and her locket in the other, she waited. A few boat lengths away, the crocodile surfaced.

“Captain,” Smee whispered, “it’s gotten bigger since I saw it last.”

Its head alone must have been nearly half the length of the dinghy. Fear squeezed its way into the small boat, jostling the passengers and taking up far more than its fair share of room.

One-Armed Jack shrank back, pulling the lantern toward him. Shadows closed in. He mumbled a prayer under his breath.

The beast approached. The now loud ticktock of the creature’s internal clock filled the cave. Jocelyn braced herself, ready to strike. She intended to shout, but her voice came out barely louder than a whisper. “In the name of my father, Captain James Hook, prepare to meet your doom.”

The crocodile whipped its head toward her. Red eyes darted to the hem of her father’s jacket, hanging over the side of the boat. It placed its enormous snout on the fabric and breathed deep. Slowly, it raised its head and locked eyes with Jocelyn, dark pupils growing wide.

Terror struck Jocelyn like a physical force. She faltered, dropping her sword to the bottom of the boat. What was she thinking? A girl, not even fully grown, against a colossal crocodile? She didn’t stand a chance.

“Captain?” Smee’s voice trembled, his eyes wide with fright. “Do you have orders for us?”

Jocelyn sat frozen with terror and doubt, dumbly watching the beast. It did not take its eyes off her.

Smee wrapped his arms about himself. He rocked back and forth. “No. Please,” he wept. “Not again! I can’t bear it.”

At the other end of the boat, Jack began to panic. “Do something!” he screamed. “We’ve got to get away!” There was nowhere to hide. He stood, flailing his arms. Lantern light bounced off the walls. The boat rocked dangerously in the water.

Jocelyn could not look away. The crocodile was going to eat her. She would die as her father had.

With a speed that seemed impossible, the beast thrust itself out of the water, its dreadful jaws gaping wide. The dinghy tilted, nearly capsizing. Jack stumbled over his seat, sprawling in front of Jocelyn, his lantern hand flung over the side. With a sickening crunch, the lamp was gone—as was most of Jack’s arm.

The gruesome scene was illuminated now only by a bit of moonlight, pale and thin as an invalid, creeping through the cave opening.

Jocelyn screamed. Smee swore. Jack let out a mighty shriek of—

You may expect that his wails would be filled with pain, horror, or despair, but as I have come to expect, you would be wrong. In my studies, I’ve learned quite a lot about the Neverland’s crocodile. It relished those sounds. The screams of its victims added layers of intense flavoring to its meals, not unlike the spices your mother uses in her cooking.

However, Jack’s screams were not the savory seasoning the beast may have expected, for Jack cried out in gratitude. No longer would the fledgling pirate have to pretend. Now, and forever after, One-Armed Jack could proudly live up to his name.

When the maimed man cried out, “Thank you! Oh, thank you, my dear creature!” the crocodile lost its appetite and spit out Jack’s arm with a grunt. The lost appendage bobbed once or twice then sank beneath the dark water.

The beast gave Jocelyn one last, chilling look before it too submerged. The ticking grew faint, then disappeared altogether.

Smee fumbled about in the dim light and pulled out his handkerchief. After blowing his nose on it one last time, he bandaged the now truly One-Armed Jack’s wound.

Jack kept repeating, “Did you see that? He bit off my arm! Wait till I tell the guys. Nubbins has nothing on me. One little thumb? Whoop-de-doo! I lost my arm, my whole arm, to the most fearsome beast the Neverland has ever seen—and I lived to tell the tale.”

When Smee informed Jack that he might yet die from infection or worse, the new amputee nearly tipped the boat again by dancing a delighted jig.

At the other end of the dinghy, Jocelyn sat in despair. She had frozen. Because of her inaction, one of her men was horribly injured. Granted, he was ecstatic about his wound, but nonetheless, he could have been killed! The realization made her sick to her stomach. What kind of a pirate captain was she? Her father would have been ashamed.

The girl refused to live with that. She must kill the crocodile, or forever carry the taint of failure. Just outside the cave opening, weak moonlight reflected off a series of small bubbles rising to the water’s surface. They had to be from the beast.

She reached for the oars, preparing to take command of the little boat. Without warning, there was an explosive boom. The blast knocked Jocelyn to the floor.

Everything went black.