Sky Lights (3 page)

‘Up here,’ shouted the captain, as Harry appeared with the rifle. From his new vantage point on the roof of the cabin, the captain surveyed the scene on deck. Joe was curled up at the bow in a state of panic. Big Eddie was at the stern trying to clear his head. Charlie was lunging at the animal’s head with a boat hook. With a final shudder the terrified creature broke out of the net and smashed head first into the crate. As its huge body and tail crashed down, the wooden container splintered into a thousand bits. For a moment, all was quiet except for the ticking sound. Then the creature let out a roar. Feet scrabbling to get a grip on the shiny surface, it began to back out of the crushed crate.

‘Give me that gun,’ said the captain. ‘I’ll have to use it.’ The crocodile was stalking Charlie round the deck. Big Eddie, still dazed, was looking for something to defend himself.

‘I need a good view of it,’ muttered the captain, grabbing the gun from Harry. He lined up the sights on the crocodile and fired off two shots. ‘It’s no use,’ he said. ‘Its skin is like armour, too thick. I’ll have to hit its underbelly.’

He shouted, ‘Go up higher Charlie, and see if you can get it to rear up at you. I need a clear shot at its belly.’

Charlie dodged nimbly round the outside of the cabin in his deck shoes. The crocodile followed, slithering on its reptilian feet, finding it difficult to change direction. It snapped at his heels.

Charlie jumped onto a pile of cable drums and leapt up to catch the hook that had held the bait. He swung backwards and forwards with the momentum. The huge beast spotted him. ‘Hurry up, boss,’ he yelled. ‘I’m slipping.’ The hook was slimy with wet blood. He could feel himself losing his grip. The crocodile lunged upwards. Two shots rang out. The animal sank to the deck. Charlie’s hands slipped off the hook and he landed beside it.

‘Whew. That was a close thing,’ he said.

‘What the devil?’ said the captain, putting the gun down and looking at the enormous reptile spread-eagled across the deck. ‘Those weren’t tranquilliser bullets, Harry. That crocodile is dead!’

‘Better the crocodile than us!’ said Harry.

‘I second that,’ said Charlie.

‘We were supposed to take it alive,’ said the captain, aghast.

‘Sorry boss. I wasn’t taking any chances,’ said Harry.

‘You’ll be reprimanded for this Harry. You’d no right to make that decision,’ said the captain. ‘But I guess the animal’s dead now and there’s nothing we can do about it. Let’s hand this mutant monster over to the authorities. It’ll be interesting to see what the scientists in Scotland make of this not-so-timorous beastie.’

The pirate sat in a darkened room, palms sweating, breathing short and shallow. A nervous tic in his left eye betrayed his anxiety. He put the last greasy chip in his mouth and gripped the sagging sides of the old armchair. Leaning forward, he listened intently to every word of the latest news broadcast, his brain working hard. Was this the opportunity he had been waiting for?

His fingers strayed to the livid white scar running down the side of his neck and he remembered how years before, he had been callously slashed and left for dead; kicked overboard like a rag; nothing more than food for sharks. Miraculously, he had survived. When he’d recovered his strength, all he thought about was the moment of his revenge. He longed for it. He planned it. He dreamed about it. To confront Captain Hook was his only ambition. That was until the morning he’d heard the news - Hook had been swallowed by the crocodile. An uncontrollable rage had engulfed him. Bitterness and regret consumed him from that day on. He feared his thirst for revenge would never be satisfied. But this news might change everything.

With the coming of the age of technology, TV broadcasts and internet connections from ‘the other world’ to Never Land were now possible. The man couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Yes. It must be the same creature. The noise they heard from inside the giant crocodile was a ticking, like a clock. He switched off the TV and leaned back. He might, after all, succeed in getting his revenge on the man he hated above all others.

He took the lid off an old shoe box and leafed through the newspaper cuttings he had collected over the years. In 1996 the birth of Dolly, the cloned sheep, had been headline news. Since then, researchers at the Roslin Institute near Edinburgh had made great advances in cloning. There seemed to be no limit to what they could achieve. Cells could produce new skin for victims of burns and for limb reconstruction. Proteins could be made for medical and nutritional use. He’d read of a certain Professor Dante’s accomplishments. How this professor had set up a research laboratory pioneering the latest breakthrough, Accelerated Biological Reconstruction Technique or ABRT for short. ABRT was, according to the professor, a more advanced technology than cloning had been. A cloned Hook would have been fine, but how could he kill an innocent man? For that was what a clone would be, an innocent copy. However, this professor’s latest technique could reincarnate the original Hook, complete with personality and memories.

A plan began to take shape. His first task was to find a way to get to the other world. Pan did it often enough so it shouldn’t be too difficult. Surely it was just a matter of getting his hands on enough fairy dust. Next he would need to figure out how to get the cooperation of Professor Dante. Somehow he must ‘persuade’ the scientist to help him. That shouldn’t prove too difficult, given his past occupation. He smiled. It was ironic. The same crocodile that had eaten Hook might now bring him back into his clutches. And that crocodile was being sent to Scotland for investigation. Finally, he couldn’t do this alone; he needed people he could trust. He needed friends on the spot when the crocodile arrived at Dundee University. He needed their help with the professor. And he needed them to witness the death of his old adversary, Hook. He rummaged in his desk drawer. Yes, here was the list of names and last known addresses of the very people who might be willing to help him. Surely at least one of them would receive his letter and agree to the meeting. Skylights picked up his pen and began to write.

A blustery wind whipped the water into a frenzy of white foam. Huge waves lashed against the seaweed covered rocks and spilled on to the sand. A sliver of moon shone eerily on the sea as clouds scudded by. Full of foreboding on such a sinister night, MacStarkey and O’Mullins met at the old cave in Dead Man’s Bay. No pirate had dared to visit the cave with its evil history since the night they had almost perished. Just as people used to believe the world was flat, everybody thought Never Land was no more than a bay with a ship, a cave with lost boys and an Indian camp. But there is much more to it than that. After ‘the final battle’ (that nobody ever talks about) they had all been forced to flee for their lives.

Before going their separate ways, the pirates had agreed to meet once every ten years at Mermaid Lagoon. All the surviving pirates now had new, respectable lives in the most unexpected places in Never Land, and their next meeting was not due for another two years. Tonight, they were not only perplexed, but anxious and afraid. The letter was a mystery. What if they had walked into a trap? Who wanted them at the cave at Deadman’s Bay?

‘Ah really canna understand this message,’ said MacStarkey, the taller of the two, holding up a scroll of writing paper. ‘Ah mean, I thought Skylights died years ago. No way could he have survived having his throat ripped oot like yon.’ His left hand disappeared under his bushy red beard and covered his own throat. He swallowed. The memory of that brutal killing was still strong.

‘You’re right, Mac. I saw it wi’ my own eyes, so I did,’ replied O’Mullins. ‘Hook slashed him up good an’ proper, the scurvy bilge rat. What can this mean? I’m not too sure about this at all, at all.’ They looked around nervously. The moon was no more than a clipped fingernail in the sky, but by its dim light they saw someone in the distance. Straining their eyes they made out a short, stout figure approaching.

‘I think it’s Smee,’ whispered O’Mullins. ‘D’ye think he sent the letter?’

‘Smee! Whit are
you
doing here?’ asked MacStarkey.

‘It’s
Fitz
smee now, remember, if you don’t mind gentlemen. I changed my name when I became respectable. You can’t be too careful.’ He winked at them with a nervous grin.

‘Ah ken whit ye mean pal. Ah did the same, but Ah still sometimes forget ma name’s
Mac
Starkey now.’

‘And I’m O’Mullins, with an apostrophe. Tell me Fitzsmee, did you send this letter?’

‘Not me,’ said Fitzsmee. ‘I got one too. It says it’s from Skylights. But I thought he was dead. It’s all a bit of a mystery. Ye don’t think it’s his ghost do ye? Come back to haunt us.’

‘For pity’s sake, don’t mention ghosts,’ said O’Mullins. ‘Shiver me timbers, if there’s one thing I’m scared of it’s ghosts.’

‘Ach, an’ Ah thought ye were feart o’ spiders and creepy crawlies an’ the like,’ said MacStarkey, poking O’Mullins in the arm.

‘Well, them an’ all,’ said ‘O’Mullins. ‘Ghosts
and
creepie crawlies give me the heebie jeebies.’

‘You used to tell me, when we shared a cabin
,’
said Fitzsmee, ‘that you were afraid o’ the dark, O’Mullins. You insisted we kept a lamp burning all night.’

‘Well yeah, I am a bit,’ answered O’Mullins. ‘But that’s just because ye can’t see the ghosts and the creepy crawlies in the dark.’

‘Shh now, listen, I hear voices,’ whispered Fitzsmee, a grin spreading across his face until his dark beady eyes disappeared behind his plump cheeks. ‘Maybe it’s Skylights and his band of ghosts.’

O’Mullins, quaking, immediately hid behind MacStarkey. ‘Stop that, ye mangy cockroach. Don’t say these things.’

‘In the name o’ the wee man, it’s Jukes and Noodler,’ said MacStarkey.

‘Well, good evening fellas,’ said Jukes. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. I thought I was the only one till I met Noodler, I mean Noddler here, making his way along the beach. And by the way although my new name in Never Land is Jukeson, you, me old shipmates, can all call me Jukes.’ Jukes gave each of his fellow pirates a jovial slap on the back. ‘It’s great to see
all
of you.’

‘Have you two been summoned an’ all?’ said MacStarkey.

Noddler nodded his head vigorously. ‘It’s true. It’s true. Now where’s that letter I got?’ He searched in his pockets - with great difficulty on account of his hands being on backwards.

‘Ach don’t you worry, wee Noddler. I’ve got ma letter right here,’ said MacStarkey. ‘Ah’ll read it oot loud and yous can all tell me if yours is the same.’ MacStarkey unrolled his scroll and read.

‘Dear Starkey,

He paused looking up for a moment. Whoever wrote it obviously didna’ ken Ah’d changed ma name,’ he explained, before reading the rest.

‘Meet me by the mouth of Deadman’s Cave at midnight on the first night of the new moon in December. There’s important, very important business to be done and you owe it to yourself, your fellow pirates, and me to be there. Tell no one of this meeting.

Your old crewmate

Skylights.’

‘That’s not the same as mine,’ said O’Mullins frowning.

‘Is it no’?’ asked MacStarkey in surprise. ‘How, whit does yours say?’

‘Mine starts off, Dear Mullins.’

The other pirates looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. Their shoulders shook as they stifled their laughter. Change of name or not, O’Mullins was the same naïve, gormless creature he’d always been.

‘Well, it seems to me, we must all be here for a common purpose,’ said Fitzsmee.

‘A common porpoise?’ said O’Mullins. ‘So it’s only some sort of fishing expedition. Nothing to be scared of then?’

‘Ah said purpose not porpoise,’ replied Fitzsmee.

‘Noddler and I think it’s some kind of joke. Don’t we Nodds?’ said Jukes.

Noddler nodded, ‘We do. We do.’

‘Well even if it is, there must be a purpose,’ replied Fitzsmee. ‘Who’d bring us all here? What for?’

‘Let’s look at it logically. We know it canna be Cap’n Hook wha sent fir us because he’s a long time dead. Right?’ said MacStarkey.

The pirates nodded in agreement and Fitzsmee whispered, ‘Aye that’s right.’

‘And a good thing too, a good thing too!’ added Noddler.

‘And it was signed Skylights but we know it canna really’ve been Skylights, cause he’s dead tae. Right?’ said MacStarkey.

‘Aye right, right,’ they all agreed.

‘
Wrong,
’
said a loud, gruff voice from behind them. The men sprang apart and turned to look at the mouth of the cave. A much alive Skylights swaggered out between them. He was as handsome as ever, with his swarthy complexion and his flashing black eyes.

‘Well, well, well, me old hearties, good to see you again after so long.’

‘Are ye, are ye, are ye a a a ghost, Skylights?’ stammered O’Mullins.

‘Do I look like a ghost?’ laughed Skylights, approaching O’ Mullins who was cowering behind MacStarkey. ‘Do I feel like a ghost? Ye half witted baboon, go on touch me and see.’

‘Sure enough,’ answered O’ Mullins, poking Skylights. ‘Ye feel solid to me.’