The thing about friends is, you never know when you might need them. It’s always best to keep them imprisoned nearby.

Jocelyn had foolishly let her crew govern themselves, and look how that ended up. At least Meriwether didn’t let her down. He came darting out of the night practically the instant the girl called.

“Meri,” she commanded, “fly on ahead and watch for trouble. If you see Captain Krueger, flash your light. You’ll know him by a hideous scar down the side of his face, a mouthful of pointy teeth, and a general air of spite surrounding him.”

Meriwether chimed an emphatic (and somewhat saucy) yes, dear and flew into the night.

Jocelyn’s stomach was full of knots—the really snarly kind Jim McCraig tied. If Krueger knew she had a map to her father’s treasure…She didn’t like to think of what he would do to take it from her.

Still, she was the captain. And she had defeated the Neverland’s crocodile. Even her father hadn’t been able to do that. The girl squared her shoulders, stood tall, and turned to address her crew. She caught Roger’s eye. He nodded, giving her encouragement.

The rest of the men stood in a subdued mob, nursing their wounds. She noticed that the parrot had accompanied them. It was settled on Jim McCraig’s shoulder and, at the moment, mercifully silent. “Men,” she said, “get your arms out—”

“Aye, Captain! I may only possess one good arm—and I didn’t think it respectful to take on a hook of my own for the other—but I do have this standing at the ready!” Jack waved his suction cup on a stick.

The strange appendage momentarily distracted Jocelyn from her commands. “But what is it?”

“The man at the shop called it a ‘plunger.’ Don’t they have them in your When?”

Since visitors to the Neverland came from many different times, the island was positively crowded with strange and wonderful artifacts that Jocelyn had never encountered at home. She regarded the “plunger.” “No. What’s it for?”

Jack growled and thrust it forward, as if warding off a potential threat. “I think you plunge it into your enemies.”

Mention of enemies reminded Jocelyn that she and her crew might be in danger. “All right then, Jack. Be ready with it, and everyone, be watchful.”

There wasn’t much to see. The streets, fairly bustling with activity before, were deserted; the shop windows, shuttered.

“I don’t like this, Jocelyn,” Roger said. “Where is everyone?” As he spoke, the gas lamps all blew out. The only light came from the cool, thin crescent moon, a clipped toenail in the sky. Ahead, Meriwether zigged and bobbed, too far away to offer any illumination.

Gooseflesh erupted on Jocelyn’s arms. She gripped her sword tight in her fist. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

They reached the dock at the edge of the village. Too late, Meriwether flashed his light. A man stepped from the shadows cast by the last of the village’s buildings. The knots in Jocelyn’s stomach tightened.

The man pointed a crooked finger at them and shattered the silence with his voice. “There you lot are. Johnny and me, we was beginning to wonder where you had got to.”

Jocelyn lowered her sword with relief, grateful to see Mr. Smee.

He continued speaking, oblivious to the scare he had caused. “We’ve been seeing to the loading of the goods you men had delivered. On our own, I might add.” He stepped closer, catching sight of scrapes and bloodstains that even the pale light couldn’t hide. “Dear me! What the devil kind of mischief have you stirred up?”

“Not now, Smee. We need to get back to the Hook’s Revenge. I think one of Krueger’s men has spotted us. And”—she gave Nubbins a pointed look—“he may have overheard something about the treasure.”

“That he did,” a voice called from the deep shadows, “and I thank you and your bumbling crew for it.” A shiver crawled up Jocelyn’s spine and curled around the base of her neck. She knew that voice.

Krueger.

He stepped from the darkness, though it clung to him like a dirty smell. “I’ll be taking that map from you now, girlie.” The sliver of a moon illuminated the long, white scar disfiguring his face, the razor-sharp points of his teeth, and something Jocelyn hadn’t noticed before: his eyes, two dark tar pits, so black that not even the pupil was visible. The girl got the sense that terrible things hid in their depths.

Roger stepped in front of Jocelyn. “There are eight of us, nine counting Meriwether”—the fairy clanged a series of curses—“and only one of you. We’ll fight to protect our captain.”

Jocelyn pushed him gently aside and stepped next to him. “I’ll fight to protect myself, my crew, and the treasure. I defeated the Neverland crocodile on my own. You shouldn’t be much trouble.”

Krueger whistled, and more men separated themselves from the shadows. He was now flanked by at least a dozen big pirates, Benito included. “Give me the map, child,” Krueger snarled.

Jocelyn drew her sword. “Never!” She tried to sound confident, but judging from the brawl she had just witnessed, her men were no match for his. Still, she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—simply hand over the map and go home. Her father had intended that treasure for her! Her future depended on it.

The girl rushed Krueger, the clang of her steel against his echoing through the night. She had the blind enthusiasm of youth on her side, but he was bigger, stronger, and meaner. In an instant he had disarmed her. He placed the tip of his sword on her chest. “The map.”

The sound of Meriwether’s reed pipe rang through the night, and the once-dark sky blazed with a furious swirl of lights. Fairy soldiers darted in, stinging Krueger and his men with their holly-leaf lancets. The rival pirates fell back. Jocelyn scooped up her sword and commanded her men, “Run! To the Hook’s Revenge, quickly!”

Her crew followed her, pounding down the dock and up the gangplank. Mr. Smee set everyone to work preparing to cast off. Jocelyn climbed to the poop deck to see what was happening onshore. Meriwether left his soldiers and settled into his favorite place on her shoulder.

The remaining fairies gave light to the scene. Krueger and his men were on the ground, faces and hands distorted with angry-looking boils where they had been stung.

The foul pirate turned his head and peered at her over the distance with hateful, slitted eyes. Jocelyn felt fear, cold and sharp, in her stomach. She hadn’t felt such dread since before she defeated the crocodile. The emotion’s reappearance both surprised and angered her. She stuck her tongue out at the man to make herself feel better, but, as is the way of most empty gestures, it didn’t much help.

Perhaps you have heard it said that there is more than one way to skin a cat. There are, in fact, thirty-seven and a half ways. Likewise, there is more than one way to react to the threat of a deadly pirate—one you know will not stop until he has drained you of your hopes, your future, and, more likely than not, your last drops of blood. Jocelyn, to her extreme frustration, chose the option she thought best.

“Roger,” she called to her friend, “use that map of yours and find us somewhere we can hide.”