Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland by Jeremiah Kleckner, Jeremy Marshall Page A

down?” I asked pointedly.  
    “Better,” the knight sneered.   He dug through one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a small clay ball.   He then unraveled a damp rag and wrapped it around the ball. The rag began to smoke and the smell hit me with instant recognition.   Sulfur and oil.  
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “Have you ever heard of Greek Fire, Captain?”
    Bertilak pitched the cloth-wrapped clay ball.  
    In the moment I lunged for Bertilak’s throwing arm, I remembered reading about the fire that burns on water.   A passage in one of my father’s old books on warfare told of its use in the Crusades, spilled from copper cannons to burn down ships, castles, and men.   Perhaps my thoughts made me hesitate.   Perhaps I was simply slower than Bertilak.   Either way, I was too late.  
    The clay grenade crashed and liquid fire spat all over the tree and the grass around it.   Black smoke climbed high up the twisted trunk.   Flames chased after it, encircling the tree in a wreath of fire and ash.  
    Fear gripped my chest.   Thick blood pounded in my ears so loud that I heard nothing except the beating of my heart and the crackling of dry bark.   Fire crept up the tree until smoke blocked out the knotted holes above the first branches.   In seconds, the branches were alight as well.  
    The dark boy at Bertilak’s feet cried in horror.   He darted first at the tree then away from the flames, tugging at his chain both times.  
    “Indeed, I had nearly forgotten about you,” Bertilak said.   “You spoke the truth after all.”   The knight wrapped the chain around his forearm, drawing the boy closer.   He then hoisted him to eye level and leaned in until his beard scraped against the boy’s face.   “Where is Peter Pan?”
    The boy shook in Bertilak’s grip.  
    “He’s not here,” I said.   There was a relief in my voice that I didn’t quite understand.  
    Wood splintered high above my head.   I looked up in time to see three Lost Boys perch at the end of a limb and beat back the flames with rags that were once their shirts.   Their excited movement shook the branch, forcing the first loud snap.   The limb dropped ten degrees and the boys bellied down to hold on.   One lost his balance and he dangled before the leaves ripped out in his grip.  
    The boy crashed onto the grass.   He was plump like a sausage and flames scorched his clothes and skin.   The boy’s hair was burnt and he patted himself with panicked hands as he screamed.   I tried to make out who the boy was or if I remembered him from all those years ago.  
    Bertilak dropped the chained boy, turned, and swung his axe high.   He brought it down on the boy who fell from the tree, cleaving his chest.   The weapon crunched through bone and dug into the dirt underneath him.   The boy yelped, then made no further sound.  
    “I cannot stand their mewling,” Bertilak said.   He put a foot on the boy’s body and two hands on his axe.   He pulled hard and it came out of the ground, crackling more bones as it worked free.   He looked at me and smiled.   “The next one is yours, promise.”
    “I don’t want the next one,” I said.   My every muscle tensed.   Above us, a half dozen boys ran out onto different branches.   “And you said you would let them go.”
    “That oath was for this one only,” Bertilak said as he yanked on the chained boy’s collar.   “And only if he led us to Peter Pan.   Do you see Peter Pan, Captain?”
    One by one, Lost Boys fell from the tree like overripe fruit.  
    Heat rose from within me, starting at my heart.   It pulsed outward from my chest to my legs and arms.   It flushed my face with its warmth.   “We are here for Peter Pan, not these boys.”
    “Killing them will get his attention.”
    “Peter Pan doesn’t care about them,” I said.   “He will just get more.”
    “Let him, then.”   Bertilak turned and kicked the chained boy to the