“Well, I’ve decided that we need more than wine. We need more than treasure. We need provisions.”
Confusion broke out among the boys. “What does that word mean?” asked one of the boys.
Peter smiled with a glint of malice in his eyes. “It means . . .” He gestured behind him. “Bring ’em up, boys!” Four larger boys were struggling to carry a large linen sack, the length and size of a body. Wendy’s breath caught in her throat, fearing the worst, but when the boys dropped the bag down, there was a distinctly metallic sound. The Lost Boys were climbing over each other to get a look at the package.
With a dramatic flourish, Peter knelt down and flung back the linen corners of the bag and reached inside. He held the musket above his head. “Boys, we have guns!”
The thundering of the cheers shook Pan Island. “But Peter, how?” came another shout from the crowd.
Peter laughed at their excitement. “I visited Hook’s armory late last night. I took the guns and left the rest smoldering, along with a handful of deader-than-dead pirates.” He looked straight at Wendy, daring her to reveal why.
“Yeah! Guns! Guns! Guns!” The boys were chanting. Peter kept his eyes on Wendy.
“Here, John, why don’t you be the first to try one out?” John flushed happily and walked to the front, pushing his glasses up. He took the musket in his hands, turning it over, wondering at the bayonet, his fingers brushing the lock. Wendy could see his brain figuring out how the gun worked, no doubt something he had studied back in London. Wendy saw a small smile brush his face. Then, without warning, he whirled around and aimed it at one of the thick limbs that branched off Centermost. The branch exploded into a thousand pieces, showering delighted boys with splinters of wood.
“Right shot, John!” Peter yelled, looking impressed. John had never looked happier. Peter raised his eyebrows at Wendy over the crowd. She held his gaze. “Now, you may be wondering—why the guns? Sure, we will have fun with them, but are they necessary?” At this, he knelt down as if telling the boys a secret, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “Yes, they are. For you see, our days of playing games with Hook are over. There will come a time very soon when our battles will turn into all-out war. I grow weary of our small adventures. Beginning now, we will raise up our army. I’ll bring more boys and find more guns! And when Hook least expects it, we will strike. Once the pirates are defeated, we will be truly free, and all of Neverland will bow to us. Wendy and Peter, the King and Queen of Neverland.”
The surprised eyes of the Lost Boys all turned to Wendy, who stood at the back, her hands clenching with anger as she gazed at Peter. Hatred burned through her chest as he looked at her, claiming her as his own in front of all the boys. “She’ll be our mother?” one asked.
“Yes.” Peter smiled. “She knows the cost.” He looked down at Michael, who was reaching for one of the muskets. Wendy looked up and forced a smile upon her face. John was looking at her now with confusion playing across his face, his head tilted, his glasses almost sliding off his nose. He was unsure, and she was glad. Thankfully, John reached down and tugged Michael away from the guns. “Awwww!” Michael flailed in his grasp, and Peter laughed.
“Don’t stop him! We have enough for all of us! Every boy to a gun!” There was a wild clamor for the front, and Wendy watched with relief as John took a musket in one hand and Michael’s hand in the other before walking swiftly away from the crowd. John was stubborn, he was utterly unlikable and completely under Peter’s spell, but at least he was smart. At least there was that.
Wendy turned away from the boys and walked quietly into the tree. A cacophony of gunshots followed her, and she cringed at each one, waiting for a bullet to tear through her wounded heart. It didn’t come. Instead, she wove deep through the great tree until she began making her way upward, climbing through the branches, step by cautious step. Slowly, a plan was forming in her mind. There was a soft thud behind her, and she knew what it was without even turning. “Peter.”
“Wendy.” When she turned back, he stood proudly, his legs splayed wide, a gigantic musket in his arms. “Do you like my new toy? I’m thinking of calling it the Wendy-bird. John had to show me how to use it, can you believe it?”
Wendy saw herself step outside of her body and make her way over to the tree branches in the distance. Pretend he is Booth. Think of Michael. Wendy turned to Peter. “It’s lovely, Peter.”