Before long, the party arrived at Tiger Lily’s village. Jocelyn recalled the time when she and Mr. Smee had come looking for the girl, only to find her camp deserted. As the group made their way into the village this time, Jocelyn was delighted to see it bustling and full of life.

An entire herd of the flaming horses grazed on blackened grass in paddocks at the edge of the village. Their manes and tails crackled, scenting the air with brimstone. Nearby, a group of boys ran alongside a rolling hoop, taking turns trying to throw a spear through it. Tiger Lily paused to call out a few words of encouragement, causing the boys to puff out their chests and double their efforts.

In the village proper, grandmothers, their long, white braids hanging down their backs, sat in front of brightly painted tipis sewing soft leather into dresses and breeches. They smiled and waved hello, eyes nearly disappearing in the cheerful wrinkles round them. Though their materials and style of clothing were different from any Jocelyn had ever worn, the sight of women sitting together to gossip and sew was quite familiar. She was not at all tempted to join them—Jocelyn had always preferred sword points to needlepoint—but there was a certain comfort in watching.

Evie seemed to feel the same. “Look at how fine their stitches are! My headmistress at school would never reprimand my needlework again if I had half their skill.”

Jocelyn felt her annoyance with the girl softening. It truly wasn’t Evie’s fault that the battle had not happened the way Jocelyn had wished. And any girl who knew the wrath of an irritable sewing mistress might be a kindred spirit, at least a little. “My headmistress liked to give me a rap on the head with her thimble for every crooked stitch. She was a monster.”

“You can’t be serious!” Evie said. “Mine has the same habit! Do you suppose they all go to some sort of How to Be Horrible to Your Students academy?”

“If they do,” Roger said, “the one from Jocelyn’s school could make extra money teaching evening classes there.”

Presently, the group reached the center of the village and Tiger Lily excused herself to change from her rumpled battle clothes. She invited Jocelyn and Evie to wash, if they liked, but Jocelyn felt quite happy the way she was. And, as Evie was a prisoner, Jocelyn declined on her behalf as well, hoping to set a good example for her.

In order to keep her crew out of trouble, Jocelyn offered to have them assist with preparations for the feast. They were set to work chopping firewood. Village boys, their hoop game now abandoned, arranged the wood in a large fire pit, and within minutes they had a bonfire blazing.

It is a universal fact that where a fire is present, so must be a boy with a stick. Even I, as a young lad, could not resist its siren call.

As if by magic, a stick materialized in each boy’s hand and studious coal prodding began. Roger, being a boy himself, was no exception. Not even Meriwether was exempt from the lure of the flames. A log popped, shooting out a small smoking cinder. The little fairy pulled a splinter from a bit of dry wood and sat himself in front of the ember, poking at his fire just as seriously as the human boys did theirs.

Not being thus occupied, the village girls and women took part in one of their favorite pastimes: directing the men in the placement of heavy furniture. First a bench was placed here—“No, that’s too close to the fire”—now there—“Oh no, that is too far back”—before they finally settled on a perfect arrangement. The benches were then piled high with layers of deerskin and buffalo robes, creating quite a cozy effect.

“Have you been to a Neverlandian feast before?” Evie asked Jocelyn.

“In a way,” the girl replied, thinking of the Karnapinae people. “Only that time I was the guest of honor.”

“That must have been such fun!”

Jocelyn remembered how the cannibals had held her captive. Only her wits had saved her from becoming the feast. “You know what?” she said. “It actually was.” The girls shared a smile.

Tiger Lily soon emerged from her tent, wearing a white deerskin dress decorated with seashells and tiny blue beads. A gleaming silver knife adorned her waist. She had loosened her hair from its braids, and it fell in dark waves, nearly to her feet.

I’m quite certain the only reason the Neverlandian mermaids kept themselves to the sea was to avoid an unfavorable comparison, for even they would have had to agree (begrudgingly, of course) that Tiger Lily was beautiful.

She joined Jocelyn and Evie, Snow silently padding along next to her. “The feast is nearly ready,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind waiting a short while longer.”

The smell of wood smoke and roasted meat wafted about, making Jocelyn’s mouth water. It seemed like ages since she’d had her midday meal. Still, something about Tiger Lily made her want to try something utterly foreign to her: politeness.

“I don’t mind at all,” Jocelyn replied. “I’m not terribly hungry just yet.”

Jocelyn’s mouth may have been attempting good manners, but her stomach had no new scruples. It let out a growl loud enough to be heard over the sound of the crackling fire.

Evie burst out laughing, and Tiger Lily joined in, her voice warm and rich. Jocelyn’s cheeks flamed, but she pretended that she had no idea what was so funny.

Roger looked up at the sound of their laughter. Seeing the three girls together, he abandoned the fire, though not his stick, and came to stand nearby. The boy didn’t say anything, but stood staring at Tiger Lily, his mouth slightly open.

“What are you doing?” Jocelyn asked him.

“What? Who, me? Nothing.” He glanced again at Tiger Lily, then quickly turned his gaze upon his feet. “I just thought I’d come join you in…ah…” He motioned to Evie. “Guarding our prisoner.”

Evie giggled. “Indeed. I am a fierce one.”

If anything, Roger looked even more uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should all just…er…sit down and wait for dinner.”

Jocelyn gritted her teeth. “Yes. Perhaps we should.”

Tiger Lily laughed again, though Jocelyn couldn’t see what was so funny. She was glad when the girl excused herself to see to final feast preparations.

Jocelyn, Evie, and Roger found a bench near the fire. The fur robes were even more comfortable than Jocelyn had expected. She sat between the other two, though Roger kept leaning around her to peer at their captive.

“Why are you staring at her?” Jocelyn hissed.

“What, don’t you see it?”

“See what? That she’s pretty?” She balled a wad of buffalo fur in her fist.

“She is, isn’t she?” Roger said.

Jocelyn merely said, “Humph,” and turned her back on the boy.

“No, I mean, she’s pretty because she…well, she looks a bit like…”

“Never mind. I don’t care.”

Roger laid a hand on her arm. “It’s just that she looks something like you.”

Jocelyn’s insides warmed. Was Roger saying she was pretty?

She turned back to face him, wearing a hint of a smile. “I suppose that’s why you are staring at Tiger Lily, too? Because she looks like me?” She raised an eyebrow.

Roger ducked his head and mumbled, “I don’t know what you mean. Anyway,” he said, straightening up, “about Evie,” he went on, “you two could be sisters. You both have freckles and that nose that turns up at the end. Only she’s a bit taller, a bit older, and more, you know…girlish.”

Jocelyn’s smile hardened on her lips. “I’ll show you girlish.” She grabbed his stick, threw it into the fire, and moved to a new bench. Tiger Lily looked up from a conversation she was having with one of the women preparing the feast. Her face wore an expression of mirth. Jocelyn’s cheeks flamed.

There was something about Tiger Lily that Jocelyn admired and disliked all at once. It wasn’t only that she was pretty in a way Jocelyn felt she would never be. Tiger Lily also seemed so sure of herself, and her people obviously loved her. She didn’t look as if she worried about how to lead them; she simply led. It was irritating. Even so, or perhaps because of this, Jocelyn felt the need to impress her.

Jocelyn shifted in her seat and felt the crinkle of the map in her pocket. Perhaps Tiger Lily did have qualities that Jocelyn did not, indeed perhaps never would. But Jocelyn had something of her own. She had a map to Captain Hook’s greatest treasure.

She imagined the look of admiration Tiger Lily would give her if Jocelyn were to show her the map. Maybe she could risk showing it to Tiger Lily, only to ask if she knew where it led. Granted, Jocelyn didn’t really need to ask for help. Once she cracked the code, she’d know everything about the treasure’s location. Then again, asking might save her some time. Surely, that was a good enough reason to show it to her.

She struggled for a few moments, stuck between discretion and winning the other girl’s respect. After carefully weighing the consequences of each action, she chose what she felt was best. She stood and pulled the map from her pocket.

“Excuse me, Tiger Lily, do you know where this is?” Jocelyn shoved the paper in the older girl’s face. “It’s a map to Hook’s treasure. He left it for me, in a way. It’s my legacy, you know.”

Tiger Lily took it from her, but before looking she stopped to scold a group of children for playing too close to the fire. “Go find your nursemaid and tell him to pay closer attention.” The children ran off, giggling. They caught up to a man who was already burdened with a small child attached, starfishlike, to each leg, a baby strapped to his back, and two toddlers in his arms. The newcomers tackled the man, nearly making him fall. Tiger Lily smiled and shook her head at their antics, then turned her attention back to the map.

She stepped closer to the fire to get a better look and frowned, concentrating. “I’m afraid I do not. The memory of my people is long, and we are closely tied to the land here. I am surprised to say it, but I do not know this place.”

Jocelyn took the map back and returned it to her pocket, disappointed in both Tiger Lily’s lack of jealousy and her lack of knowledge. Having to wait to break the code was so frustrating.

“I’m sorry I could not be of any help to you.” Tiger Lily continued, “No one knows this island better than I, though Peter Pan would like to think he does. You could ask him, but I doubt he will tell you anything useful.” Her face darkened. “Besides, he’s likely off looking for a new mother to steal for.” Her hand gripped the knife at her waist for the briefest of instants. She relaxed her hand and straightened her back. “Shall we feast?”