The sky above the jungle grew darker and lighter at the same time, shades exchanging depth and brightness. It took Wendy a moment of watching through the hole in the tree to realize what was happening: the storm was clearing up, the clouds were dissipating and leaving a streaky just-washed sky. A night sky, bright with stars and a moon that hadn’t risen yet. Or moons. Still inky; the world lay in shadow.

“Well, this is rather beautiful,” Wendy said, pushing her way up and out of their den. The forest looked like it was covered in pixie dust—and transformed in other indescribably mysterious ways as well. A very un-tropical and refreshing breeze blew. The air smelled delightful and fresh; there was no heavy undercurrent of the rot or foul sweetness that usually permeated the forest floor.

Winged things began to come out of their hiding places. Giant birds flapped heavily overhead like geese (if geese had four wings). Night singers, invisible in their slick black feathers, called out to each other tentatively. Insects began to chirp and scrtch.

One particularly wondrous Never Land creature hummed up right in front of Wendy. It looked like a very, very, very large carpenter bee…if that bee had a thorax the size and shape of a wine glass. Its wings, strangely geometric and crystalline, looked too small to be able to lift such a load. A pair of long legs hung out in front mirrored by a pair of tiny feelers above. Large faceted eyes stared dumbly ahead.

As Wendy watched, its bulb-thorax flickered and slowly lit up.

Not like a fire or an electric light, but more dimly, and sort of black-and-white, like a photograph.

Deep within this glow images began to appear.

A hazy blur resolved itself into a mermaid—perhaps even one of those Wendy had encountered—brushing her hair in the lagoon. Again and again and again. The little play looped around to the beginning again like a circle of yarn in cat’s cradle. Sometimes it went in reverse and the mermaid’s hair fell up in strokes.

Tinker Bell was rising in the night air along with the other creatures, stretching and looking a little grumpy. She was not, by any account, a nocturnal fairy.

“Tinker Bell! What is this creature?”

The insect flew very slowly and Wendy was able to move around it, regarding the thing from every angle. Also like a carpenter bee it seemed more interested in hovering than actually going anywhere with purpose or direction.

Tinker Bell made a bored, disgusted face.

It’s a thysolit. They’re stupid. Barely alive. Dangerous.

“Oh! Dangerous!” Wendy backed away from it immediately. The amount of poison in a stinger from a thorax that size would be enough to kill an army.

No, not like that, Tinker Bell said, yawning. They…suck you in. Not you. Not everyone. Those who pay too much attention. Poison the mind, not the body. If you’re that kind of person. And if you rouse a whole colony they get you.

“But I won’t get stung?”

No.

As if to illustrate, Tinker Bell approached another one of them that was just taking off from the ground and threw herself against it, hard. The insect fell to the side, confused, then shook itself and continued on its original path.

“Oh…” Wendy approached closely to see if it was all right—then peered at its images. These were of the same lagoon, but a different part of it. No mermaids, just lapping water and what might have been the fin of a fish about to surface, again and again and again.

More thysolits rose, buzzing drowsily and drifting into the sky like silky seedpods. Wendy walked among them, enchanted.

“But what is going on with their—derrieres? What are they showing?”

Anything. A moment of time from somewhere in Never Land. They collect them. Usually they’re only a few hours old.

The next one Wendy saw had a monkey swinging from vine to vine across a high stream that fell down into the lagoon. The one after that showed Hangman’s Tree.

“Oh, look, Tinker Bell! It’s the hideout!”

And in fact, another one had a loop of the Lost Boys themselves (and Luna), sitting around the table and eating a plum pudding they had gotten from who knows where.

The next thysolit showed a placid beach, a scurrying crab. The next one showed an empty sea.…

“And the pirates!” Wendy cried as the Jolly Roger came riding quickly through the waves.

Tinker Bell jingled impatiently. So? We should go! They are probably looking for Peter!!

“No, wait,” Wendy said, twirling around and searching all the other bees. “It seems like these creatures fly in clusters. Like they gather their moments together. There’s always a number of the scenes that take place at the same spot. If we can find all the ones related to this moment, maybe we can see where the pirates are, or what they are up to!”

Tinker Bell thought about that for only a second before nodding. She began to zoom around the creatures, checking their sides with as much grace and care as an American cowboy searching the flanks of his herd for the right brand.

That is, not very delicately.

Wendy was still a little hesitant about just grabbing and handling the insects. She resorted to glimpsing and ducking and weaving and saying excuse me when the situation warranted a gentle pushing-out-of-the-way. Dozens of them were now aloft. Their lights blinked on slowly, one by one, like stars coming out in a hazy summer night.

Some of their scenes took a moment to figure out: one was the black eye of a large animal, blinking; in another, a set of children who weren’t the Lost Boys danced and cavorted on a hilltop, ribbons round their heads and streamers flowing from their hands and toes.

Tinker Bell jingled loudly and excitedly. Wendy looked up and saw that the fairy was steering a bee from behind, flying it toward her friend.

This one showed a close-up of the prow of the Jolly Roger. While the view wasn’t far enough back to give them any geographical information, what it did show was interesting—and disturbing. It looked as though the pirates had hung a sort of cage off the front of the ship. The thing was extremely nasty-looking, covered on the insides with spikes and barbs and other horrid implements.

And inside this cage was a dark, oily figure that could only have been Peter’s shadow.

Watching over it was Hook, unmistakable even at that distance in his bright red coat.

“What are they doing? It looks like they’re torturing him!” Wendy took the bee into her hands without thinking, trying to get a better look. She had to resist shaking it to see if that would help.

What is the cage for? Why are they suspending it over the water?

“I don’t know—is it to threaten the shadow with drowning, I wonder? Or are they…are they using him somehow to power the ship? Or maybe…” She spun around, letting that thysolit go and running back to where Tinker Bell had first found it. Now she batted the creatures carelessly in her zeal to find the right one. “Let’s see…water, more water, no. Oh—I know that face,” she said, seeing a surprised and angry-looking pirate in one, as if the bee had almost knocked him in the nose. “Ziggy. Interesting fellow. Sewed a patch on for him, sort of a lightning-shaped one. Look—a beach! With rocks! Tinker Bell, does this look familiar to you at all?”

Tinker Bell watched the rolling waves and strangely shaped boulders rewind and replay. She shrugged.

That could be anywhere on the eastern coast. If the thysolit is following the boat or the pirates, though, they are heading south.

Wendy frowned. “Why? Do they know where they are going? Did they somehow get the shadow to tell them where Peter is, do you think? Is that why they are torturing him?”

Tinker Bell shrugged again. But her brow was furrowed with worry. She made a little flying-off gesture with her fingers: we should go.

“Yes, of course. Peter’s shadow is in more peril than ever—and Never Land as well. Let’s be off.” And Wendy turned to launch herself into the air.

But…

A thysolit drifted by with an unusually dreary image in its thorax. Almost entirely black-and-white and grainy, the interior of a dull house. Somehow the room seemed both vacant and cramped at the same time. There was an un-set table. Two ghostly figures sat at it. One looked like he was about to say something—but didn’t.

“Michael! John!” Wendy cried.

She grabbed the next closest bee and peered desperately into its bulb. A misty view of the street the Darlings lived on, at dusk or dawn, empty of people.

“Tinker Bell! You said these thysolits only gathered moments in Never Land. How are they showing me London?”

She caught another one, her fear of the supposedly dangerous things now entirely gone as she tried to find another view of home.

Wendy…Tinker Bell jingled warningly. We have to go. Stop. This is what they do.

“But Michael and John! They looked so sad! Do you think they miss me? How much time has passed there since I left? Oh, do let me find just one more.…”

As she searched among the bees for more images of her brothers, she was vaguely aware of the insects’ growing numbers. The air was filled with the pleasant hum of their ridiculous little wings. It was hard to see anything now, much less take a close look at their behinds.

Wendy! Tinker Bell jingled. Your brothers are fine! They’re distracting you! Poisoning your mind!

“Don’t be silly. I feel fine. Oh, look, it’s the Shesbow household,” Wendy said, turning another thysolit over in her hand. “What are they up to? Piano lessons? Funny, looking in on someone’s house without them even knowing it. It’s like being a peeping tom, one second at a time. I wonder if Mr. Crenshaw’s house is here, too.…I would so love to see what he’s up to.”

Wendy!

Struggling, Tinker Bell wove her way through the tightening mass of bees. She grabbed the human girl’s arm and yanked it. This is exactly what happens. You get caught. You humans—too interested in what you can’t see for yourself. You fill your heads with too much…noise.

“Too much news, you mean,” Wendy corrected. “Look! There’s parliament. Oh my goodness, they’re all arguing! Whatever do you think it is? Taxes or something to do with Europe? Wait, is that a view of Paris? I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”

Wendy reached out for a bee with the Eiffel Tower flashing on and off in its thorax like a strange warning beacon.

It flew just out of her reach. She lunged too far—

But didn’t fall.

Instead she found herself drifting softly several feet above the ground.

It wasn’t the fairy dust; she wasn’t concentrating on floating or flying or anything else but grabbing at the bee.

In some ways it was a far stranger phenomenon that held her aloft: her legs and body were now entirely supported by the soft, furry thysolits.

But she was only vaguely aware of this.

WENDY! COME! Tinker Bell jingled anxiously.

The dazed girl had finally managed to get hold of the bee she wanted. It was warm and plummy in her hands, comforting, not at all dangerous or disobedient.

(A bit like that stupid little dog her parents had given her—but quieter and far more pleasant.)

The smell of honey filled the air, sweet and soothing. The cityscape of Paris in miniature was enchanting. Everything was lovely.

Eventually done gazing at the Eiffel Tower, Wendy looked up. She was a little surprised to see that she was in a sort of nest or cocoon made out of the bodies of hundreds of thysolits. They ignored their unwary passenger as they droned and flew to whatever their eventual nighttime destination was, taking her with them.

The frustrated jingles of Tinker Bell were soft and fading as the little fairy tried to force her way in from the outside.

“Ah, excuse me?” Wendy addressed the bees, leaning forward. Those making up her “seat” underneath shifted themselves obligingly to better support her new position. “I don’t mean to be rude, but my friend would like to come, too.…”

The thysolits in front of her turned themselves slightly so she could see all of their thoraxes—all of their moments—neatly lined up. Paris…the Shesbow twins…St. Petersburg…New York City! The bookseller’s nephew…Thorn…

The smell of honey grew stronger.

“Oh, look,” Wendy said. “Look at it all! It’s like a thousand little plays…just for me.…”

Every once in a while, as if somehow sensing she had finished watching a scene, a thysolit would gracefully exit its place and another would come to fill in with a new image or scene.

“How thoughtful of them…” Wendy said dreamily. “I can just sit here and watch…don’t have to lift a finger.…

“OUCH!”

Finally, having shoved her way through the wall of bees and apparently out of options, Tinker Bell had resorted to the last trick of fairies. She sank her sharp little teeth into Wendy’s arm, forcefully enough to summon bright drops of blood.

“Tinker Bell, you… !”

But the pain cleared her head; the smell of blood was stronger than honey. Wendy took a fresh look at the scene around her through slightly more wakeful eyes.

Thysolits. Everywhere. Completely caging her.

“I’m surrounded by a bunch of bees with pictures in their bottoms. And they’ve kidnapped me,” she said slowly.

Tinker Bell decided an extra little nip would drive the point home.

Wendy didn’t even really react, thoughtlessly scratching at both wounds.

“Yes, you told me so. I really could have sat here forever, trying to satisfy my curiosity. And they would have kept finding something else to pique my interest, to make me continue.…And I would have been lost. A subtle kind of poison indeed. They promise to show you the world but just sort of hypnotize you instead while life goes on without you. What would they have done with me ultimately, do you think?”

Tinker Bell shrugged. Something not good?

“As succinct and correct as always. Shall we?”

Concentrating on flying the normal way—Ha, normal! As if flying had been a normal thing a week ago!—Wendy tried to part the bees like a curtain. Tinker Bell didn’t bother with such niceties, kicking them in their rear ends and punching them in their eyes. Which actually seemed to be a better tactic, because the thysolits resisted Wendy’s efforts utterly, pushing back with a force she didn’t believe insects should have.

“Let me out!” she cried, finally also resorting to kicks.

The wall of bees opened—and then enveloped her leg, covering it with their combined weight. This threw her awkwardly off-balance; she flailed and swayed and swung her arms, trying to regain herself.

Concentrating and tipping only a little, she managed to draw her little dagger from its necklace sheath.

“Don’t make me use this!”

No reaction. She might as well have been talking to a bunch of…well, bees.

Feeling a little guilty about the violence, Wendy swept her arm out with the knife held diagonally, her thumb on its top, like she was sawing off a strip of old cloth. The blade slipped harmlessly in between the first thysolits, who moved slowly out of its way…and then caught and sank into the bodies of those who couldn’t or wouldn’t escape.

The result was immediate: a black and amber ichor began to pour out of the torn bee bodies. The smell of honey became overwhelming. And sickening.

The humming changed; it was no longer drowsy but growling and angry.

The swarm turned and dove at her face.

Wendy screamed. She tried to knock them away, now using her dagger like a badminton racquet. But they didn’t bounce away lightly like a shuttlecock. Every time she injured one, it stuck on the dagger—like thick honey—and she had to shake it loose before defending herself from another one.

“Tinker Bell! Are you all right? How are you doing?”

The jingles that came back to her were angry and loud but otherwise unintelligible.

The things were now bludgeoning Wendy’s body hard enough to leave bruises.

“Let’s just push our way through—maybe we can outpace them!”

Wendy covered her face with her arms, and, pointing her dagger before her, flew upward into the thick of the swarm. Hopefully where they least expected her to go.

She burst into the clear night air, shedding bees like ugly raindrops.

Tinker Bell zoomed through the path she had made and appeared by her side, disheveled and a little scratched. But red with anger and ready to go.

“Come on, this way!” Wendy pointed south, because that was the way the pirate ship had been heading. At least she thought it was south—she was turned around from the bees and there were no points of reference from which to take her bearings. Ursa Major didn’t look quite right and there were no moons at all.

The two girls spread their arms and took off into the wind…and then Wendy looked behind her.

The swarm had caught on to their escape plans. Like a strange yellow-and-orange tornado, they crowded together and rushed at the two girls.

“Back this way!” Wendy cried, pointing. Tinker Bell nodded, understanding immediately.

They dove under the swarm.

Momentum—and insect stupidity—continued to carry the bees forward, now the wrong way, away from the two girls.

But it wasn’t very long before they righted themselves and were in pursuit again.

“All right. Hide in the clouds?” Wendy suggested. But there were none now. The storm had finished and it was a perfectly clear night, not a wisp in sight.

I don’t think we can outrun them, Tinker Bell jingled sadly. This is why they’re so dangerous—they’re relentless. Once the colony is on the warpath, they will never let up.

“Surely there must be some escape…” Wendy said, looking around desperately for a mountain or a cave or some other sort of answer to present itself.

This isn’t London. You can’t escape Never Land the way you could escape your life in the city.

“I feel like we should revisit this theme later, and less ironically,” Wendy muttered. “Also: Ouch. All right. I suppose it’s…fisticuffs, then?”

She tried to ready herself for the clash, putting her arms up the way she imagined a boxer might, but with her dagger out.

The bees came, their hum and bodies filling the sky to the horizon.

“They never actually sting,” Wendy reminded herself bravely. They just had numbers and mass.

That didn’t stop it from being utterly terrifying when they hit.

They slammed into her all over her body. She could barely get a breath in between their blows, which came like a massive, fuzzy hailstorm. Their droning drowned all her thoughts.

She tried her badminton strategy again, using the length of her arm and dagger together as one weapon, connecting with as many bees as she could with each blow.

This was moderately successful, at least for knocking them away—if not actually killing them.

Still they kept coming.

One clocked her in the head so badly she saw stars. She fell, spiraling to earth.

Only Tinker Bell’s quick response and tiny hands on hers guided Wendy back into remembering which way was up.

A hundred, a thousand bees were waiting for her when she returned to battle.

Her arm throbbed. Her left eye swelled almost shut. Her stomach ached from the angry purple bruises that now covered it. Without her shadow, Wendy’s reserves were depleted quickly.

And they just kept coming.

Every time she thought they had done enough, that she and Tinker Bell had killed enough of the creatures, they would try to fly away—only to be pursued twice as angrily by the remainders. They never gave up.

Hit, block, hit, drop.

Hit, block, hit, drop.

It was clear: there was no escaping, no flying away, no resting, no stopping for a breath, no doing anything else until the last bee was gone.

Wendy dispatched the thysolits one after another without thought, sending their waning lights and broken bodies down to earth. The whole thing was less like a heroic battle than scullery work: endlessly scrubbing and scrubbing a room of dirt and grime that would, given the chance, kill her.

She couldn’t turn her attention away long enough for a glance at Tinker Bell. She heard encouraging jingles now and then and knew the fairy was doing the best she could, maybe one thysolit for every dozen or two of her own. Eventually exhaustion wore even the terror whisper-thin.

She lost her fear of falling and dying.

The stars wheeled overhead in a way that made little sense. The moon (moons) never rose. Nothing Wendy had ever done in her life, not the most menial, boring household task, had ever lasted this long. Or required such continual strength: acid burned in her muscles as she lifted her arm, hit, dropped her arm, lifted, hit, and dropped.…

She barely noticed when there were only a dozen thysolits left. She had begun to sink slowly groundward, losing whatever it was that kept her afloat with the fairy dust.

“I…can’t…fly…Tinker Bell.…”

The little fairy grabbed her by the hand—while kicking a bee hard in its mandibles. Her touch helped but didn’t stop the fall. So she guided Wendy’s descent into the little boat, where the human girl crumpled into a ball. Tinker Bell defended her there, valiantly trying to drive off the last few bees.

One final thought occurred to Wendy before she passed out: They don’t talk about this in adventures.

That being a hero is just work…and boring work…endless work…nothing more…