“Shiver me timbers,” shouted Hook as, once again, Peter Pan eluded his grasp.
“Shiver me what?” teased Pan. “What timbers? Where?”
“You know,” said Hook. “Timbers. Like … I don’t know … the timbers on a roof. What do I know about wood? I’m a pirate, not a contractor!”
For a brief, confusing moment, Hook saw a mental image of himself. Contractor in a lovely, rather rural village. Overcharging customers. Taking his own, sweet time getting the job finished. A couple of assistants he could treat as slaves. Children and a wife to bully. Maybe piracy could be a land-based industry …
Nah. Too complicated. Besides, he already had a ship …
“Well,” teased Pan, “If you’re going to talk about timbers, you should at least know what you’re talking about.” Pan darted away and perched high in the rigging. Hook could hear the boy’s laughter and the soft bell-like sound of Tinkerbell’s merriment.
“Damned that fairy,” he muttered. “Someday I’ll get her. And that annoying lad. Just you wait … ”
But Pan and Tinkerbell were already gone. All that remained of them was a some sparkling pixie-dust falling slowly through the salty sea air.
