Jocelyn and her new friends trekked through the jungle in silence, though the men continued to grin at her and mumble about “good Englee.” Occasionally one or another reached out to pinch or poke at her. Though Jocelyn decided this must be a display of friendship, slapping their hands away was becoming wearisome.

Before long the scent of cooking fires and a small scattering of stone-and-thatch shelters signaled their arrival in the village. The Karnapinae women were absent, perhaps already preparing for the feast. A group of ragged children ran over to see the warriors’ guest. They also had feathers growing from their heads and noses, though theirs were small and downy. Jocelyn wanted to ask the children more about their village, but they hung back shyly, staring.

Instead she grinned and waved, calling, “I’ll see you at the feast!”

The children burst into wild laughter, as if she had said something particularly witty. Their easy merriment reminded Jocelyn of Roger. She wondered if he was, at that very moment, sharing a joke with the lost boys or, worse, Peter Pan. She dropped her hand and pulled her gaze away, her smile abandoning her face.

The group continued deeper into the village, finally stopping outside the largest dwelling. Odd stone pillars carved with teapots and English bulldogs flanked an open doorway. Tacked to the wall above it hung a tattered Union Jack. One of Jocelyn’s escorts rudely prodded her backside with the blunt end of his spear and pointed to the dwelling. “YOU—SEE—KING. MAKE—READY—FOR—FEAST.”

She scowled at him, rubbing at the sore spot. “There’s no need to be rude. I wanted to see your old king anyway!” She marched through the entry, the men’s laughter following her inside.

In the center of the hut sat a carved wooden throne, brightly painted and covered in precious stones. In contrast to the great chair, the wizened man upon it appeared quite frail and small.

He presented himself in dress and adornment much like those Jocelyn was already acquainted with, although there were some subtle differences. While the warriors wore nothing on their heads, a covering of plaited reeds sat upon the old king’s. It had a rounded top and a slightly turned-up brim running all the way around.

The king’s clothing, or rather, his lack of, looked no different from anyone else’s. It revealed a wrinkled body covered with distorted tattoos. Jocelyn longed for him to turn around. This would give her the opportunity to see if he sported the same design as his warriors on his upper back—and also keep her from having to look at his shriveled chest and belly.

Nasal feathers of the deepest vermilion sprouted from his nostrils. They were longer than any the girl had yet seen and quivered with every breath. While Jocelyn studied the king’s nose feathers, he took a deep breath, causing them to bob emphatically. “Are you afflicted with either hearing loss or some sort of mental incapacity?”

Jocelyn eyes widened. “You speak perfect English.”

“Of course. All Karnapinaes learn to speak English at a young age, though none command the language quite as well as I. One of my messengers, when he informed me you were coming to our village, said you had an infirmity of either the ears or the mind. It appears he was mistaken.”

Jocelyn’s cheeks flushed, but she replied, “Hmmm, did he now? I wonder what gave him that impression.” Eager to change the subject, she asked about the king’s unusual hat.

“This is modeled on a very popular English style, the bowler,” he answered proudly. “Do you not recognize it? Perhaps it is from a different When than you have come from.”

“Perhaps it is,” Jocelyn agreed. “I can’t imagine my grandfather choosing to wear that style, but somehow it suits you. You seem to be quite well versed in English language and fashions. How did that come about, here in the Neverland? Do you have many English visitors?” Jocelyn asked.

“Not nearly as many as we would like,” he replied. “I will tell you a bit of the history of the Karnapinae so that you may understand our great interest in your country.” The king straightened on his throne, obviously pleased to share his story. “We learned of your great land from my father. He was the first of our people to discover how to fly with his nose feathers.

“At the time, he was a young man, not yet ready to take on the responsibilities of leadership. His journeys took him all over this world and into the other. After many seasons, he found the land your people call England. Though my father wished never to leave that place, his duty was here. He returned home to lead our people, but he never forgot. Of all the places on earth, he found England to be the most delicious.”

That’s an odd way to describe it, Jocelyn thought.

“No one has made the long journey since. My father died while I was yet young, and I became king of the Karnapinae people. My responsibilities have kept me here. Being unable to taste such wonders myself, I jealously ordered my people not to attempt the flight. Now I am old and can no longer travel the great distances that are required. I dream of sending my sons in my place as soon as their nose feathers grow large enough to carry them.

“It is my desire that they may fit unobtrusively into society, to keep from alarming the livestock—rather, the English citizens. Thus I have educated them, and all my people, in the ways of yours. Now you are here, and you can add to their knowledge. You have little time to teach my people all you know before we have you at our afternoon feast.”

“I can do that,” Jocelyn agreed, “but with two conditions. First, please tell me, why were your men unafraid of the crocodile? Everyone else seems to be terrified in its presence.”

“That is simple. My warriors do feel dread at the sight of the beast, but they push it aside when they must. In this case they wanted you more than they feared the monster.”

Jocelyn flushed. “How kind of them. I must remember to say thank you. My second condition is this: I need to return to my ship. My crew is in trouble, and I have to help them. Could you send some of your warriors to accompany me after the feast?”

The old king frowned. “This I cannot do. Perhaps you do not understand. You will not be a guest at the feast. Instead, you will have the great honor of becoming the main dish.”

With a snap of his fingers, the king summoned Yellow Feathers into the hut. The warrior clamped the struggling girl between his strong hands, holding her still while the king gave instructions. Yellow Feathers would accompany Jocelyn to the feast preparation site, where the rest of the kingdom was assembling. There the girl would be privileged to nourish first the Karnapinaes’ minds—and then their bodies.

With a wink, the king tipped his homemade bowler hat, and Jocelyn was dragged from the hut.