Jocelyn timed her return to the Hook’s Revenge to coincide with Roger’s turn at watch. There was no one she’d rather go to when she needed perspective and advice. She filled him in on all the information she had learned from the harbormaster and waited for him to find a solution to her problem, as he had done so often before.

“I think what you have to do is pretty clear, don’t you?” he said. “What other choice do you have but to tell Evie everything and let her decide?”

Jocelyn considered how that conversation might go: Oh, hello, Evie. Remember how you said you would have liked to have a younger sister like me? Well, how about a daughter? Surprise! You’re a mother. Or at least…you will be.

Who knew how Evie might take the news—or what she might choose once she learned the truth? No, it was better that Evie not be told. There had to be another way to resolve things, and as Roger didn’t seem to have one, Jocelyn would think of it on her own. Somehow.

Jocelyn stumbled from her cabin late the next morning. What little sleep the girl had managed to catch after speaking to Roger had been troubled and filled with nightmares. It was nearly noon when at last she awoke, her mind as tangled as her ratty hair, her emotions as sour as the drool dried on her cheek, her stomach as empty as your own witless head.

Mr. Smee, once more armed with pen and paper, greeted her in the galley, where Nubbins had prepared a porridge he called “cardamom-scented mush” for Jocelyn’s breakfast.

“Are you ready for me to pen that ransom letter now, miss?” Smee asked. He held up his hands, revealing bandages on all his fingers. “I filled my ink bottle with something special, to add just the right amount of menace. Better get started before it coagulates.”

“Oh dear,” Jocelyn replied. “I can see you went to quite a lot of trouble, but I have changed my mind. I won’t be sending a ransom letter.”

Dirty Bob sat at the table, cutting slices from an apple with a small silver knife. He waved it in her direction and asked, “No ransom after all, eh? What is your plan then, Cap’n?”

Her plan was to come up with a plan, but she couldn’t very well say that.

“Well…” She took a bite of her porridge, stalling. “I still intend to get Pan to tell me what I need to know, but as for how…” She took another bite. “Um…it’s a secret.” Even to me, she thought. “After I do so, we will go after the treasure. But let’s talk about something else right now. The ship looks absolutely top-notch! Did you all do this while I slept?” Even through her bleary eyes, Jocelyn hadn’t missed the gleaming deck and untangled rigging that had greeted her when she left her cabin.

“I’m of a mind that it never hurts to be prepared,” Dirty Bob replied. “I tightened up her stays, and now the old girl’s ready to dance, should the opportunity arise.” He cleared his throat. “Indeed, she’s running so fine, I daresay she could overtake nearly any ship not traveling too light. But who would want to overtake those?” He laughed, a great booming ha-ha, then fell silent.

Jocelyn flicked a smattering of crumbs off the table. “Yes. Well, I don’t think we will be in need of that, as I have mentioned, but it is good to have everything in working order.”

Dirty Bob pounded the table, causing Jocelyn’s mush to splatter the front of her jacket. “Maybe next you’d like me to set up a tea party? Judging by the number of little girls aboard the ship, that seems fitting.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but stormed from the galley.

Smee stood, his hand on his sword hilt. “Want me to go after him, Captain? Make the dirty blighter show some respect?”

“No,” she sighed. “Give him some time to cool off first.” She dabbed at the mush on her jacket. “Later this evening you may inform him that since he seems so willing to waste food, he will be on half rations for a week.”

“Anything else? Flogging? Marooning? Keelhauling? Making him change the bandages on Jim McCraig’s infected toe?”

“I hope we won’t have to resort to those things. I’m sure he will be fine once we begin the treasure hunt.”

“Speaking of which, miss, I was meaning to ask you about that. We are running low on supplies again. We’ll all be on half rations afore long. Do you think we’ll be under way soon?”

Jocelyn worried the edge of her jacket between her fingers. “I certainly hope so.”

“What do you hope?” Roger entered, bringing Evie with him.

“I hope Nubbins doesn’t mind me asking for seconds,” Jocelyn replied. She didn’t want to confide the situation to Roger in front of the other girl. “Looks like I’ve more mush on my jacket than in my stomach.”

“Oh dear. Do you want me to get you a table linen?” Evie said. “I don’t see any.”

Dirty Bob’s comment about throwing a tea party still stung. Jocelyn responded rather sharply, “We don’t use table linens on a pirate ship!”

Nubbins called from where he stood by the stove. “Oh, Captain, I nearly forgot to tell you, I bought some in the village! Nice floweredy ones. I thought they might brighten up the place. I was saving them for a special occasion, but why wait?” He brought Jocelyn a large linen square and placed it in her lap. “There now, isn’t that something? Classy!” He beamed at her. “And if’n you were wanting seconds on the mush, feel free to take what you like.” He set the whole pot in the center of the table.

Roger burst out laughing, which only served to irritate Jocelyn further. On impulse, she scooped up a spoonful of mush from her bowl and launched it at him. The cardamom-scented blob struck him full in the face, sliding off and hitting the table with a sickening plop. Everyone froze.

Roger wiped his face with the back of his hand, then ever so slowly reached into the pot. He pulled up a sticky fistful of goo and wiped it in Jocelyn’s hair. With that, all bedlam broke loose. Jocelyn screamed with laughter and flung mush at Evie. Evie bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, giggling wildly, and poured a ladleful over Mr. Smee’s head. Mr. Smee seemed unsure what action to take, not retaliating until Jocelyn ordered him to do so, at which point he fired a glop at Roger and hit him dead center in the chest.

“Did you see that, miss? ’Twas a direct hit!” he crowed, and was rewarded with return fire striking him in the open mouth.

Nubbins, scandalized at the improper use of his cooking, tried to put a stop to things, but he slipped in a puddle of mush and fell flat on his back.

“Man overboard!” Roger yelled, causing Jocelyn and Evie to laugh until their breath came in gasps.

When the last bit of porridge had been flung, Jocelyn surveyed the damage. Nubbins cowered under the table, shaking his head and muttering about his wasted effort. Mr. Smee, goo dripping from his beard, attempted to clean his spectacles on his shirtfront, but only succeeded in smearing more mush over the glass. Every inch of Roger, Evie, and the entire galley was covered in a layer of porridge, already beginning to harden as it dried. The girl had seen some messes in her day, but nothing quite as ruinous as this. It was absolutely glorious.

There was only one thing to do. “Anyone have a table linen?” she called out. The three children burst out laughing again, Evie loudest of all, with a very unladylike snorting guffaw. No matter how much of a bind it had put Jocelyn in, for the moment, at least, she was glad Evie was there.

Jocelyn excused Mr. Smee and the poor, traumatized Nubbins while she, Roger, and Evie set to work cleaning the galley. It was not an easy task. The mush hardened into a thick, scabrous layer that covered absolutely everything. Hot water and hours of vigorous scrubbing were the only known cure. Once things had been set to rights again, the three children returned to the upper deck to rest.

Evie looked down at herself and giggled. “What would my father say if he could see me? I’m as filthy as a scullery maid!”

The labors of the afternoon had taken Jocelyn’s mind off Evie’s true identity, but mention of her father brought it all back. What would Sir Charles say? Jocelyn was used to him being disappointed in her own lack of refinement, but he had always spoken of Evelina with reverence. Would he even recognize the girl who sat on the deck next to Jocelyn, hands rubbed raw from scrubbing, and dried porridge making a baroque sculpture of her hair?

“Jocelyn,” Roger said, drawing her attention away from Evie, “I’m afraid we may need to find a new place to anchor.” He stared intently at his Neverland map. “This part of the island is changing. There won’t be a cove here much longer.”

Jocelyn peered over his shoulder and confirmed what he was seeing. The inlet would soon be more of an outlet. This was inconvenient, but at least moving the ship might give them all the illusion of progress. It was better than sitting and waiting for inspiration to strike.

“See if you can’t find us a better place to moor for the time being,” she said. “I’ll alert the crew.”

Jocelyn ordered the Hook’s Revenge out to the open sea. It was a windy day, and the waves were rough. She warned Evie that since she was still a landlubber, not having had enough time to get her sea legs under her, she might become seasick, but unfortunately, the girl seemed to have an iron stomach. It seemed nothing could dissuade her from having the time of her life.

If only Meriwether had had the same constitution. At the first sign of rough waves, the poor little fairy changed from blue to green and flung himself atop an apple barrel, moaning like a cowbell.

As soon as they’d weighed anchor, Blind Bart had perched himself in the crow’s nest, claiming it to be the safest spot on the ship—as it was farthest from the water. He now climbed down and spoke to Jocelyn. “Captain, I hear a ship out there. It sounds like it is coming directly for us at a fast clip.”

“Do you know who it belongs to?” Beads of sweat formed on her lip, the girl’s body seeming to know the answer before her brain did.

“If my ears are not mistaken, and they never are, it’s Krueger.” Bart adjusted his eye patches, ensuring they were on tight. “He appears to have found us and is not turning away.”

Jocelyn’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want to face Krueger again. That wasn’t part of her plan. Or, at least, her plan to think of a plan. Still, she knew that she couldn’t pick and choose the things that came along.

You would be well to learn that lesson yourself, and while we are talking about picking and choosing, kindly remove your finger from your nostril.

“Mr. Smee,” Jocelyn called. “Gather the men.”

“Who is Krueger?” Evie asked, but Jocelyn didn’t have time for explanations. She left the task to Roger while she climbed to the poop deck, preparing to address her crew.

“Men, steel yourselves,” she said. “Krueger has found us.”

They reacted in much the same way the girl would have liked to react herself: with abject fear bordering on blind panic. But Jocelyn pushed aside her own anxiety and reached for the words she hoped would inspire her men. “We will do what we can to outrun him, but if it comes to battle, I believe—nay, I know—we will prevail! You’ve been here before, and you were victorious.”

Roger agreed. “That’s right, fellows. Remember? You may have needed some help from the lost boys then, but things are different now. You’re ever so much more experienced.”

“Cap’n,” Dirty Bob spoke up, “I wouldn’t say the men here were top-notch—”

Jocelyn interrupted. “Right. That’s because you’re better than top-notch. You’ve new experience and you have something even more superior.”

One-Armed Jack swung his newest arm—a croquet mallet—through the air. “I have this!”

Jim McCraig with a Wooden Leg said something to his parrot. The bird repeated it, loudly, but it was Smee who translated. “He says, ‘And I have Petunia.’”

“Arrrrr! And I have perfected my recipe for key lime pie!” Nubbins called out in his fiercest voice.

“Well, yes, but I’m not talking about those things. I’m talking about heart! Sharpen your blades and polish your courage. We will not be defeated!”

While the men cheered, Smee leaned in and whispered, “That was a right rousing pep talk, miss.”

Jocelyn’s own spirits lifted a bit. She whispered back, “Do you think they could possibly do it?”

“What, defeat that black-hearted sea devil?” He nodded, an absent smile on his face. “Not even a little.”