“Indeed, it is, Mr. Smeeth, and a girl,” the Captain says in a mocking tone, his dark eye narrowing on me.
“A girl?” Pete says, staring at me with a quizzical expression. “Who? Her? Or are you referring to that pathetic sidekick of yours?”
Smeeth lunges toward us but is stopped by Hook’s outstretched arm. The Captain rubs his chin. “You keep foul company for a girl.” He tilts his face toward the sky, as if sniffing the air. “I thought I smelled chicken.”
The other soldiers snicker in unison. A few howl a rooster call, mockingly.
Pete cackles, unintimidated by the Marauders. “Let me introduce you to Captain Hook himself and his little trollop. Nice to run into you again, Bartholomew.”
I try to distance myself from the soldiers, walking backward slowly, but Pete grips my elbow tightly. A tremble rips through my body as terror floods my veins. I had hoped I’d never have to meet the Captain beyond my nightmares.
Smeeth flinches. “That would be Mr. Smeeth to you,” he says, lifting his arm and aiming the menacing Gatling gun at us.
“Aww, I thought we were over the formalities and on a first-name basis,” Pete mocks.
I bite my lip, tasting the coppery hint of blood, and realize I’m being pathetic. If I’m going to be Hook’s next abduction, I’ll at least go out fighting. I grip my knives and steel myself.
“Capturing you has become much easier than I had anticipated. We’ll be back to the palace by high tea,” Smeeth says.
“Let’s not make this difficult. Why don’t you and your little girlfriend just come with us,” Hook says, taking a careful step toward us and holding up his gloved hands.
Pete elbows me in the ribs. “Girlfriend? Did you hear that? I had no idea you had feelings for me, although it is hardly surprising. I am irresistible.”
My cheeks flush, the heat spreading to my ears and neck. I blink at him, incredulous and unsure what to say. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend.
“What do you say?” Pete continues. “Hide-and-seek was not much fun. We’re much too good at hiding. Are you up for a game of follow-the-leader? Although I ought to warn you, Captain Hook and Bartholomew are lousy leaders, and I would avoid standing downwind from them. They smell like codfish.”
I shake my head more in disbelief than as an actual response.
“Yeah, me neither.” He shrugs, leans near me, and holds a hand up to his mouth. “They don’t play fair anyway,” he says in an exaggerated whisper.
Before I have a chance to respond, Pete snatches something from inside his coat and launches it toward the soldiers. A tin can bounces several times before stopping in front of Hook and exploding into a red, smoky haze. Pete clutches my hand and we are running. My feet trip as I attempt to keep up with him. Adrenaline pulses through me like fuel, pumping blood to my wobbly legs. I glance back at the bewildered soldiers as the buildings blur past.
“Get her!” Hook screams, covering his good eye from the smoke.
A hurricane of sounds bombards me: military boots running, shouting voices muffled by masks, and the panting of my own breath as we sprint around a corner.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my hand gripped so tight in his that my fingers tingle.
“Saving your hide, again,” he says through quick breaths. “The first time was free. This one will cost you. I’m sure you’ll think of some way to thank me later. Back massage, foot rub, I might even let you kiss me.”
I ignore his insinuation and pick up my pace as boots pound the street behind us. “They’ll shoot us, won’t they?” I ask, expecting hot pain to flood through my body at any moment.
“No, they won’t hurt us. They need us in decent health. We’re no good to them bleeding and at death’s door.”
Bullets ricochet off the brick storefront next to us, sending up plumes of dust and rocks. I duck and shield my face as pebbles pelt me. Pete pulls me around the corner of the building as the sound of shots follows our path.
“I thought you said they wouldn’t shoot at us,” I yell over the cacophony of gunfire.
A brick wall blocks our way. Pete scrambles up it effortlessly. “I’ve been known to be wrong before,” Pete grunts as he pulls himself to the top and reaches his hand down to help me up.
“But what about rule number two?” I say, swinging my legs over the top of the wall.
“It appears with you here, rule number two is null and void,” he says. He leaps down and helps me from the wall. “Enough with the talking and more with the running. That canister of ground chili peppers will stall them, but not for long,” he says, dragging me onto an abandoned street. Rats scatter past puddles left over from last night’s rain. The stench of death and rot rises from the manholes in the humid summer heat. Our boots tread over unidentifiable rubbish, splashing pungent brown liquid onto my trouser legs.