There’s an old saying: “Time flies when you are about to be peeled and boiled.” On second thought, perhaps it goes, “Being peeled and boiled attracts flies, in time.” Or it may be about thyme…quite a nice herb, it is. Old sayings are not really my forte.

At any rate, it would not be long until the feast. Jocelyn needed to find a way to avoid becoming the main course.

She kicked and fought, but her captor paid no attention. She frantically tried to sort out some kind of escape plan, but panic had muddled her thinking. Since Jocelyn had dropped her sword when she triggered the snare, she didn’t even have a weapon.

All too soon they arrived at the heart of the village. Clearly, the cannibals were anticipating a grand party. Bright ribbons and more feathers festooned the few trees and shrubs growing nearby. A cooking pot, big as a bathtub, bubbled merrily on the fire. It was surrounded by long tables, also brightly adorned. There was ample seating for the village’s entire adult population.

The children were not invited, having been forced into partaking of that barbaric custom known the world over as nap time. Jocelyn had been well acquainted with this practice herself through her childhood series of nurses and governesses. Adults often claim naps to be healthful, for growing children need their rest, but the fact of the matter is, grown-ups find pursuing their own interests much more enjoyable without the little dears constantly underfoot.

Groups of Karnapinae women, freed from the tyranny of their offspring, laughed and gossiped while they chopped vegetables. A sickening feeling formed in Jocelyn’s stomach as she realized they were preparing her side dishes. Again she struggled against her captor, but Yellow Feathers shoved Jocelyn to the ground, threatening her with the point of his stone sword. She stood and dusted herself off, tasting blood in her mouth. She had bitten her cheek.

At least I got the first bite.

Jocelyn felt hysterical laughter rise in her throat. With a sharp prod to her arm, the warrior cut off her giggles before they were fully born. Though the wound was little more than a scratch, it did serve to clear her head.

If the great Captain Hook were surrounded by hungry cannibals bent on having Pirate Stew for dinner, what would he do?

He’d likely stab his hook into every last one of them.

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t work for Jocelyn. She needed another plan.

Yellow Feathers called the villagers to attention. They gathered around, standing to face the girl, each anxious to learn more about the “Englee.” When she did not begin speaking right away, Jocelyn received a second prod from the warrior’s sword. A drop of blood welled up where he had poked her. Several in the audience licked their lips.

She clapped her hand over the tiny cut, hiding it from view. “Someone needs to teach you people some manners!”

Jocelyn imagined Miss Eliza here with this group of half-naked Neverlandians, forcing them to sit through one of her lectures on the proper way to hold a soupspoon. The absurd thought threatened to bring back Jocelyn’s laughter, but before it could bubble out, she had the most marvelous idea.

She choked back her nervousness and began, “Hello, barbaric cannibals. Your king has asked me to give you some instruction on English society before the feast begins. This seems a perfect time to teach you proper table manners.” Jocelyn paused, collecting her thoughts. Using her best impression of Miss Eliza’s instruction-time voice she went on. “In order to blend into high society, you must never eat without remembering, and exhibiting, all the rules of etiquette. To breach these rules is to bring shame and dishonor upon your entire family.”

As a group, the cannibals stood up straighter, eyes wide. Jocelyn continued: “Each gentleman will offer his left arm to a lady. Ladies, gently grasp his arm directly below the elbow with your right hand. Allow him to escort you to the table.”

The Karnapinaes eagerly followed her instructions and looked to her for more.

“Gentlemen, bow to the lady. Ladies, curtsy in return. Lower. Loooower.”

A few of the women curtsied so deeply they were unable to get back up without assistance. Jocelyn glared at them. “If you are quite finished making fools of yourselves, we will continue. Now, ladies, allow the gentlemen to help you with your chair. Gentlemen, remain standing until the last lady has been seated. Never place your elbows on the table. Sit up straight. Do not fidget; do not kick. Gentlemen, remove your weapons and place them under your chairs.”

They did it. Every last one of the warriors put his weapon under his chair and looked to his instructor for praise. She did not offer any.

It was thrilling to wield the power of a manners mistress.

“Do not breathe loudly or make other bodily noises at the table. Do not pick your teeth. Ever.” She paused to think. What else did Miss Eliza say? Jocelyn wished now that she had paid more attention to her lessons, but how was she to know that a working knowledge of etiquette might one day prove useful in saving her from becoming Cannibal Cassoulet?

The Karnapinaes misinterpreted the girl’s silence as the end of their lesson and broke into applause. One cannibal, a middle-aged woman said, “Thank you for sharing Englee wisdom. We now prepare the meat!”

The meat was not at all prepared to be prepared. “Oh, no,” Jocelyn quickly went on, “we are only getting started. There are many, many more rules to remember. You must learn them if you are to fit into English society one day. If you don’t, you’ll never be granted an audience with the King of England.”

The Karnapinaes gave a collective gasp, staring at the girl in obvious horror. The woman bowed her head. “Forgive me, Englee. I very much want to eat Englee royalty.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jocelyn replied, continuing with her lesson. “Wait until your host or hostess unfolds his or her table linen before lifting yours, using your right hand only. Never use the left. That would be shameful. Unfold the napkin and gently place it in your lap.”

The cannibals were lost in bewilderment. Their king had not yet arrived. In his absence they were unsure as to who the host or hostess might be.

The girl smiled a wicked smile at their discomfort. “The first course is soup. Do not begin eating until your host or hostess has taken his or her first bite. Use your soupspoon only. Never use a salt spoon, teaspoon, compote spoon, grapefruit spoon”—Jocelyn took a deep breath and went on—“demitasse spoon, caviar spoon, egg spoon, or runcible spoon—”

Yellow Feathers boldly interrupted. “Karnapinae people have one spoon only, Englee girl.”

“Then use your imagination,” Jocelyn snapped. “Just be sure to imagine the correct utensil.” She cleared her throat. “As I was saying, a soupspoon, and only a soupspoon, is acceptable for soup. Remember this rhyme: ‘As all the ships go out to sea, I spoon my soup away from me.’ Sip your soup quietly. No matter how hot, never, ever blow on it.

“The second course is—”

She was interrupted by a weary young woman asking, “How many courses, Englee?”

Jocelyn glared until the woman looked away, ashamed. The girl was beginning to enjoy herself. “There are generally twelve courses”—the dining party groaned, but Jocelyn pretended not to notice—“though on formal occasions there may be up to twenty-nine, each with its own set of rules and cutlery. I hope you are all paying close attention so as not to embarrass yourselves tonight at the feast.”

Learning they would have to use their new knowledge that very evening alarmed the Karnapinaes. Each sat up even straighter and looked as though he or she was trying very hard to pay attention.

Jocelyn showed no mercy. “As I was saying, the second course is fish. You will use your fish fork. Not your crab fork, berry fork, pudding fork, meat fork, pickle fork…”

The cannibal king arrived in the middle of Jocelyn’s instruction on the eighth course (Roasted Rutabaga Ragout). Not wanting him to miss out, Jocelyn began again, from the start. By the time she finished with the rules for course twelve (Jellied Egg Custard), everyone was too terrified to eat.

At that point escape was easy. Jocelyn told her audience to practice a bit while she observed. No one even noticed her slip away. All eyes were glued to the table, surely imagining the horror of using the wrong piece of cutlery. Jocelyn crept off, leaving the people to their sad fate.

I am told the entire party stared at their plates, unmoving, until they starved to death. No one wanted to commit the terrible faux pas of using an asparagus fork when an ice cream fork was called for.

The Karnapinae children grew up wild, utterly rebelling against the customs of their parents. They left the village and became vegetarians, subsisting entirely on a diet of greens and coffee, which they would consume while stroking their feathery mustaches and discussing philosophy.

From what I understand, even now, if you happen to stumble upon the ruined remains of their old village, you can still see the elder cannibals’ skeletons gathered round the table, resplendent nose feathers rippling in the breeze.

It’s a pity that they are gone. I would have loved to have had the original Karnapinae people round for dinner with my lawyer.