The Grown Ups' Crusade Page 6

  Starkey didn't look at her as he spoke, so Gwen followed his eyes to the lush and velvety bed built into the wall of the cabin. Not even stirring under the heavy covers, Twill looked like a tiny rag doll tucked into the bed. He slept, peaceful and oblivious to the waking world. He stayed in the sound hold of sleep, despite the light, music, and conversation of the cabin. If not for Piper's song, he might never have woken up in the middle of the night and chanced to meet with Peter Pan. Gwen wondered if that was somehow another intentional precaution of his father's.

  “What does his mother think of all this?” she asked.

  Starkey gave a sad smile. “She died two years back now. Cancer.”

  “Oh. But she must have been young…?”

  “Lymphomas often develops in the twenties.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  He nodded, acknowledging her sympathy. “Of course, in time, I shall tell Twill that Peter Pan killed his mother. If he's not a full-blooded pirate by then, that should seal the deal.”

  That, Gwen thought, is manipulative. But what right did she have to contest the parenting choices of a pirate? She imagined if the end goal for a child was a fearless, sea-faring, life of crime, different parental strategies were required than in the simple suburbs.

  Gwen flicked her finger against the bowl of her wine glass and listened to the crystal's tiny, melodic ring. “Mr. Starkey,” she asked, “how are you… how… how old are you?”

  “Oh no,” he replied factiously, turning to see his reflection in the window behind him. “Don't tell me I'm finally starting to look thirty.” He turned back around and winked at Gwen.

  “If the story is to be believed,” Gwen began, feeling uncomfortable as she acknowledged her teacher was a figure from Edwardian literature, “you sailed with Captain Hook more than a hundred years ago.”

  “Well, I certainly hope the story is believed, for all the work it took to put it in Barrie's head,” Starkey responded. “That wasn't easy you know. It took me long enough just to find someone who could do it justice, let alone convince him it was his idea… but the story needed to be told, and I knew Smee would never peep a word about it to anyone.”

  “Smee?”

  “He and I were the only ones who made it off the Jolly Rodger alive—I lost track of him sometime after he lost his fortune. He took his plunders and got into banking. He had almost everything invested by the end of the twenties.”

  Gwen combed her memory of sophomore history and realized, “Right at the start of the Great Depression.”

  “I don't know what happened to him. He was getting on in years. He might have given up the ghost. Banking is a stressful business. No fresh air. No exercise.”

  “And teaching is better?” Gwen asked.

  “Oh, not really,” Starkey sighed, “but if you live long enough, life starts to take on a cyclical nature. You can't help but return to things out of boredom and nostalgia. I was a teacher long before I ever turned pirate.”

  Swirling his wine, Starkey dove into a story. “I started off as an honest sailor when I was your age. I worked on merchant ships, mostly along the Cape Town route, but I'd always had a bookish bent. When my contract came up, I looked for work on land and fell into teaching. After a few years, I got it into my head that it would be exciting to adventure to America and teach there.

  “I don't know how far that ship even made it across the Atlantic, or how far off course we must have blown in the horrible storm that found us. It seemed a miracle we survived the squall, but the first thing we saw once the rain cleared was a ship sailing toward us and flying the Jolly Rodger.”

  Twill rolled over and gave a slight snore, as if reacting to his father's tale. Starkey lowered his voice before continuing, “And that was how I met James Hook. He started firing at us with cannons that were anachronistic even for the time. Our captain didn't know what to make of that. We weren't equip for naval warfare, so Hook and his crew boarded us in short order. They slaughtered everyone aboard, so by the time they found me hiding among the cargo, their bloodlust was fairly sated.

  “Not that Hook would have let me live, but for two things: I knew how to sail, and I had worked as a schoolmaster. Hook had a strange… obsession, I suppose, with good form. He seemed to think if he kept a gentleman like me around, some good form might rub off on him. Surrounded by base pirates and unsophisticated scoundrels, he worried his peer group would demean him. So he put me to work on his crew, and my life took on a great deal of color. The rest, as they say, is literature.”

  Once he finished, Gwen became aware of the missing music. In the corner of the room. the old grammaphone continued to spin, but it had reached the end of the record. The charming string quartet had stepped off stage, leaving Gwen and Starkey alone in their dialogue.

  “That's an impressive story,” Gwen remarked, uncertain how to react.

  “I should hope so,” Starkey replied, picking up his sourdough loaf and tearing into it again. “It's the only one I have.”

  Still, it had not answered her question. “Mr. Starkey,” she pressed, “if you've really been alive so long… how?” Neverland stopped children from growing up—maybe it even stopped pirates from aging, too. Still, she didn't understand how someone could retain that magical property away from the island.

  “Ah, now that's a secret,” Starkey told her. “But, supposing you flatter me with an impressive story, I suspect I would be liable to answer that question… and whatever other questions you must have rattling in your head.”

  “A story?” Gwen asked.

  “Certainly,” he replied. “You don't expect me to believe that the student who wrote speeches about stories and debates defending children's literature arrived in Neverland by pure chance. You were brought here as a storyteller, weren't you?”

  He had figured her out, and Gwen saw no way to shirk away from his prying curiosity.

  “Come now,” he beckoned. “Surely you can spin one of your stories for me. I'd feel cheated if I let a visit with a storyteller slip away without so much as a tiny tale.”

  She searched her mind for stories, and of course the story of Margaret May stood out clearest in her memory. She could tell a story to Starkey. “And if I do, you'll teach me what you can about Neverland?”

  “It would be my pleasure—I like to think teaching becomes me.”

  “Alright then,” Gwen answered, before beginning the tale of Margaret May.

  Chapter 11

  “Once upon a time, in a time of many kingdoms, there lived an innkeeper who ran an inn between the capitals of two great countries. Far from any city, town, or village, the little inn was one of the few places that travelers could stay in the countryside between the kingdoms of Westera and Eastan. On the edge of a beautiful and uncharted forest, the inn was a tidy and splendid place. The innkeeper had a wife, who could cook and brew beer better than anyone, so their guests always enjoyed good food and good drink. One day, the innkeeper and his wife found out that she would soon have a baby.

  “This was very exciting, and the merchants who frequented the inn brought them little wooden toys and fine, soft fabrics for baby clothes from both kingdoms. The innkeeper and his wife planned to travel to the nearest village in Westera—which of course was still very distant—so they could have a midwife's help delivering their little baby. But the night the baby came did not go as planned.

  “A terrfiying storm had come through and washed out the bridge to the nearest village two days day before. The storm still raged, and many travelers who had intended to spend but one night at the cozy inn found themselves trapped by the inopportune weather. The little inn was almost full to capacity when an old woman in a hooded, black cloak wandered to the door. She came with no horse or carriage, and would not say how long she had walked on the long road between kingdoms. She had no money, but offered a shining black, silken feather as a token of her appreciation, and promised that if the innkeeper and his wife showed her kindness, the feather would bring them great luck.


  “Unwilling to turn the poor old woman away, the kind innkeeper gave her the last room in the inn. The old woman said little, and none of the travelers from Westera or Eastan recognized her. The innkeeper's wife, who was also kind, gave the old woman some bread for supper that evening, which the woman ate crumb by crumb, her fingers pecking at the hearty loaf. Soon after, the innkeeper's wife went into labor. Fortunately, one of the many travelers stranded between the kingdoms knew the art of midwifery and knew how to assist.

  “As fate would have it, that very night the king and queen of Westera were returning from a diplomatic visit to Eastan… and the queen was also on the cusp of giving birth. The royal carriage thundered to a stop in front of the inn. While their coachman boarded the horses in the barn, the king burst into the inn and demanded a room and the assistance of any midwife, doctor, or child-bearing woman who could help his laboring wife. The innkeeper, flustered by the king's sudden arrival, explained that the midwife was already busy delivering a baby and that they had no rooms left in the inn.

  “The king, long-accustomed to getting what he demanded, pounded upon a table and threatened to have the innkeeper hanged if he did not fetch the midwife for the queen. However, the innkeeper's wife was having trouble with her baby, and to pull the midwife away from her would have condemned her to die in childbirth.

  “At that moment, the old woman spoke from where she sat at the table, nibbling her bread. 'Pardon me, Your Highness and good sir. I, too, am versed in the art of midwifery and I may assist either woman. Furthermore, the king and queen are welcome to my room, so long as I might have a bit of hay and a warm blanket to bed down in the barn for the night. I have seen many years and much worse nights than I would spend in your barn.'

  “With this fantastic kindness, they transported the queen at once to the old woman's room, beside the innkeeper's own room where his wife labored. Midway through the night both women delivered babies into the world—healthy, beautiful girls.

  “But the king, so grateful to the old woman, had failed to recognize her. She had aged much; her hair had turned white, and her wrinkles had obscured her features. He could not see in her the young raven witch he had banished from his kingdom decades ago.

  “But the witch remembered him, and witches are not known for forgiving the slights they are done by men. While the exhausted new mothers rested and the proper midwife went to tell the new fathers, the raven witch swapped the babies so that the kind innkeeper might raise the princess, and the unpleasant king might raise a poor commoner—not even a citizen of Westera!—for his daughter. Both men gave her hearty thanks for her help, but she accepted no payment for the deed and left to spend her night in the barn, taking nothing with her but a blanket and a bit more bread.

  “By morning, the tempest had subsided, and the old woman had vanished without a trace. The king and queen left in their carriage, taking their presumed daughter with them to the castle in Westera.

  Gwen took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts and trying to read Mr. Starkey. He kept an even, pleasant expression: the same nebulous but encouraging look he always gave students during presentations. She couldn't help but worry about his scrutiny. She felt under pressure, as if this story would determine her final grade for speech class. She continued along, abridging the serial story into a short fairytale she could relate in a matter of minutes. She wasn't used to telling stories without getting bombarded with interruptions and questions.

  “And thus the two girls were raised—the innkeeper's daughter as the Princess Gracia and the real princess as a simple peasant named Margaret May. While Gracia's royal parents spoiled her rotten and let her cultivate an unpleasant temperament, Margaret May benefited from her kind and humble innkeeper parents.”

  “Many seasons passed and the girls grew into young ladies. One day, the old Queen of Eastan sent out an important proclamation all through the kingdom and beyond, announcing the coronation of her son. She planned a fantastic ball in celebration of the coronation ceremony, inviting every young woman of noble birth from every kingdom on the continent. The messenger carrying Princess Gracia's invitation stopped, of course, at the inn between kingdoms, and gossiped the news to the innkeeper and his family. Everyone suspected that Prince Jay—mes of Eastan would pick a bride from the attendees.”

  Gwen, humoring her own fantasies as much as Rosemary's when she first began the story, had shamelessly plugged Jay into the tale. The name meant nothing to her sister, but she didn't know if Starkey had ever taught or known Jay while at Polk High School. She didn't want to betray her crush if he did. More than embarrassing, it seemed dangerous to be emotionally candid with a pirate.

  “The messenger knew a union with the neighboring kingdom of Westera would serve Eastan's political ends, but he doubted Prince James would settle for Princess Gracia, if she was half as ill-tempered as her reputation.

  “The messenger continued on his way the next day, and the innkeeper rejoiced. 'A coronation! A ball! Why, all the traffic will go between Eastan and Westera will give us so much business!' Margaret May also grew excited for the event. She had often heard the story of how Princess Garcia was born beside her, and had always dreamed of meeting the girl. For the next few days, Margaret May worked hard to help prepare the inn, and dreamed of all the interesting dignitaries and glamorous nobles they might host. During her chores, she fantasized that the royal family would stay at their inn again on their way to the coronation.

  “One day her father sent her out to collect more wood, for they did not want to run out while they had guests. Margaret May had already gathered all the branches she could along the forest's edge, so she ventured deeper into the forest to look for wood. She might not have dared to set foot in the deep and uncharted forest, but she had the lucky feather her parents had given her and she did not worry.

  “However, the woods were more confounding than she ever imagined, and her lucky feather did not prevent her from getting lost. The more she tried to wander home, the deeper into the woods she wove, and nothing looked familiar in the least. Very afraid, she started to run, until a croaky voice startled her: 'Hobiddy ho! Who goes there?'

  “She turned around and saw a stout man with pointed ears in a suit of downy moss. Other men and women of his stature crept out of the brush, and Margaret May realized she'd stumbled onto the forest elves.

  This was no good fortune, for forest elves were wary of people and did not like to be disturbed. They made horrible threats and told her, 'We have a treaty with the old, old King of Westera—the only good and kind human that ever lived, rest his soul—and he promised no person would ever trudge through these woods that belong to us alone. Now tell us, where are you from? If you are from Eastan we will send you back with a message for your king, but if you are from Westera, we will turn you into a rock and put a curse on your kingdom for breaking our treaty.'

  “'I'm not from either kingdom,' Margaret May told them. 'I was born and have lived my whole life, such as it is, at a small inn between the two.'

  “This surprised the elves. 'Are you then the innkeeper's daughter?' one asked. Another exclaimed, 'Look there in her pocket!' for he noticed the feather poking out of her plaid dress. 'She has the raven witch's feather! She's the changeling princess!'

  “This made no sense to Margaret May, but the elves fast explained what had occurred the night of her birth. The old raven witch had bragged about switching the babies to all the birds in the forest, and birds never kept secrets from elves. This news startled poor Margaret May, and the elves amazed her by offering to help her regain her royal destiny.

  “'We owe a debt to you and all the royals of Westera since their treaty has treated us well all these years. We would like to help you, but we cannot leave the woods. We would die as fast as men do without air if we abandoned our forest. But we can show you a shortcut through this great wood that will take you straight to Eastan and let you attend Prince James's coronation. You may meet your blood-parents there at the ball.
'

  “'But I have no gown to go to a coronation, and no proof that I am a princess,' Margaret May objected.

  “The elves whispered amongst themselves for a minute. They decided to take Margaret May to the eldest of the elves: a short wise woman, with silvery hair almost as long as she was tall. The mysterious old wise woman knew what to do, and gave Margaret May an ancient music box. 'The old, old King of Westera gave us this music box. It will prove you are his great-grand-daughter, and that you have our elfin blessings. As for a gown, simply find the raven tree before you leave the woods, and you shall have all you need.'

  “Margaret May had many more questions, but a bird's shriek startled her. The ominous cawing continued as the elves exclaimed, 'The raven witch! Hide! Run! She hates all elves and the Westera royals! Don't let her catch you!' The elves scrambled to their secret hiding places, but Margaret May could only run. She ran far away from the witch's cawing, deeper into the forest. Away from the witch, she was safe but hopelessly lost. She gave up running and she sat down under a willow tree.

  “Out of ideas, Margaret May decided to wind the music box and listen to its song. The music box didn't make a sound, but she heard music in the distance. She stood up and followed the sound of the music until it stopped, then wound her box and heard the music start again. She followed it until she found a tree in the middle of the forest, full of sparkling black egg-fruits, brimming with feather-leafs, and covered in tiny snapping beaks. She plucked one of the glittering fruits out of the tree and cracked it open, just like an egg, to see what lay inside. From out of the tiny shell, an impossible volume of fabric streamed out and collapsed at her feet. Picking it up, Margaret May marveled at the black and shining gown.”

  Gwen paused. She had gotten no further in the story with Rosemary and the lost children. She'd been trying to think of an ending ever since she'd started telling the story again, but nothing firm had come from her distracted musings during these past few days.