Now, where did I put my Sunday cutlass? It wants polishing.

What, are you still here? Very well. I suppose you still have a few questions. Perhaps you want to know why the crocodile was empty?

That should be easy for any thinking person to guess—but I’ll spell it out for you.

After the crocodile swallowed the hand of Captain James Hook, the vile toxins in the pirate’s blood—as Mr. Smee had correctly surmised—went to work on the poor, dumb beast. That bit of Hook digesting in its belly burned like an acid, eating away the crocodile’s soft insides and creating a dark hole. From what I understand, the creature mistook that hole inside itself for hunger—a hunger that could only be satisfied by devouring the rest of the pirate. Once it had achieved this end, the poison in Hook’s blood ate away at the rest of the beast, leaving only an iron hook, an empty shell, and a malicious will.

Oh yes, and the clock, of course.

That clock was made of metal and was therefore impervious to the effects of the acidic toxin. In fact, if you’ll remember correctly, the clock had not been ticking when the crocodile finally caught Hook. Its silence had allowed the beast to sneak up on the doomed man and take him to his final resting place within its guts. Some say the clock had wound down, but I believe it had rusted from sitting so long in the damp belly of the crocodile. The amount of acid the creature ingested when it made a meal of Captain Hook was certainly enough to clean and polish the clock, starting it ticking once again.

There you have it.

The Story Is Now Over
I mean it this time. Go away.

Can’t you see we are finished here? Why have you not left?

What do you mean, “What happened to Jocelyn?” She killed the crocodile; weren’t you listening?

Oh, after, you mean.

Jocelyn commanded Roger and her crew to return to the Hook’s Revenge for an impromptu victory party. There they celebrated, stories were exchanged, songs were sung, and more than a few tears were shed. Then Smee wiped his eyes and got to work making each man a pair of crocodile boots (except for Nubbins, who requested a new chef’s apron).

The young captain found a quiet corner away from her celebration to talk with Roger. “I could hardly believe it when I saw you, well and whole, in the swamp. I had been so worried that the crocodile had—” She swallowed, the words stuck in her throat. “How is your leg?”

“A little bruised, but otherwise fine. Never underestimate the power of bearskin pants.” His eyes twinkled. “Bearskin pants—with pockets. Thank you for returning this.” He held up his compass. “Though I’m afraid it may not work all that well. Even with this most excellent tool, I was still lost for too long. I am sorry about that.”

Jocelyn shrugged. “You’re not lost now. That’s the important thing.”

“When the crocodile came up out of the water—when it tried to attack you…” He shook his head. “I only knew that I couldn’t let it hurt you. Then it grabbed me and the last thing I recall thinking was, ‘Better me than her.’ I woke on your ship and the first thing I thought of was you. I had this feeling…I don’t know, somehow I knew you were important to me—but I couldn’t remember why. Then, later, when I had to choose between you and Peter…You had been so brave and true and really, just magnificent, how could I deny that?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I couldn’t. I chose you. And I suddenly remembered the day we first met, you were soaking wet and covered in mud. You looked awful.” He grinned. “No offense.”

She smiled back at him. “None taken.”

“On that day, I said I would be on your crew. We spit on our hands and made a deal, remember?”

Jocelyn nudged him with her shoulder. “Of course I do, you foolish boy.”

Roger grinned at her. “After I remembered that, I remembered, well, everything—Miss Eliza’s, the carriage house…Magellan.” He gave a gentle tug to one of her curls, but then his face grew grave. “And something else, too. I remembered that you mean more to me than anyone.”

Jocelyn looked straight into Roger’s deep brown eyes, her heart pounding nearly as hard as when she’d faced the crocodile. She leaned toward him. “I feel the same—”

“I beg your pardon, miss,” Smee interrupted, “but I wanted to give you these. It looked like you might be needing something, since you don’t seem to have any shoes.” He held out a pair of crocodile slippers.

Roger stood and addressed the night air. “Cats of the Neverland, beware! Captain Jocelyn Hook is armed once more.”

Jocelyn began to giggle. Roger joined in, egging her on. She grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back down to sit beside her. The two collapsed into fits of laughter while Mr. Smee looked on bemusedly.

Jocelyn couldn’t remember a time when she felt such happiness. It was good to have her friend back.

Late in the night, Jocelyn tore herself away from her friends and crept off to her cabin. Meriwether rested on a shelf in the corner, giving a soft glow to the room. She riffled through her things until she found what she was looking for: a book of fairy tales. She tore a page from her least favorite story, Cinderella, and penned a note.

Dear Mother,

Whatever happens, I will be fine.

Love from your daughter, Jocelyn

She folded it, placing it in her pocket. Tomorrow she would have Edgar deliver it to Evelina—sometime in the English When before she died.

The girl sat at the edge of her berth and picked up the last memento of her father—his iron hook. She thought of Hook’s image in the clearing and the way it had mocked her. Jocelyn knew it had not really been her father, only a picture conjured by her own insecurities. Still, she did wonder how he might have felt about her, and how he would feel now.

Jocelyn turned her father’s hook over in her hands, lost in thought. A tiny clinking sound interrupted her reverie. She held the hook to her ear and shook it. Something rattled inside. Running her fingers all over its cold surface revealed a small series of cracks, forming a rough square right on the part that would have pressed against her father’s wrist.

Jocelyn used the hilt of her sword to give it a sharp tap. A thin piece of metal fell away, exposing a compartment hollowed into the hook’s base. She turned it over, and a small but heavy object dropped into her open palm.

It was a key.

Jocelyn knew immediately the lock it would fit.

She knelt on the floor, pulling the chest of items her father had left her from under her bunk. She sifted through its contents until she found what she was looking for: the iron box engraved with a hook—though when she held it from a different angle, that hook looked like nothing more than a plain letter J.

Jocelyn fit the key in the lock and turned. The lid popped open, revealing the box’s contents. On the top lay a tarnished silver rattle, engraved with the same J, and a plain gold band, large enough for a man’s finger. Beneath them was a pile of papers, which Jocelyn removed and glanced over. There were several invoices from Edgar Allan’s Mainland Courier Service, both for letters and a package: Delivered—One Jeweled Locket.

Jocelyn reached up and touched her necklace. “Thank you,” she whispered.

One more paper, old and yellowing about the edges, lay at the bottom of the pile. Jocelyn gingerly unfolded it. It was a map. Across the top, in her father’s bold hand, was scrawled Captain Hook’s Treasure.

She ran her fingers across its surface. Her father’s treasure.

“Weigh anchor, boys!” Jocelyn called out to her crew. “We’re off on another adventure.”

But that, you beetle-headed boob, is a story for another day.

This Is Really, Truly
The End