They were passing a blacksmith standing over an anvil at his forge when Tink said, "Hsssstt! Look, Peter."

Peter stopped.

The blacksmith was holding up a metal hook, the end still glowing redly from where it had been resting in the forge's fire. Sunlight glinted off its point as it was turned this way and that for inspection.

Next to the blacksmith stood a stubby, bespectacled pirate in baggy sailor pants, soiled tunic, and a striped vest that looked like it had found its way onto its wearer's back off the streets of Tijuana. His nose was as blunt as a marlinspike's tip, and his eyebrows were as bushy as caterpillars. A broad, cheerful smile wreathed his weathered face, and a brimmed, feathered bosun's hat was perched rakishly atop his head.

Cautiously he reached up to touch the hook's point, then flinched away.

"Ohhh, sharp as a shark's front tooth!" he declared, sucking on his finger. "I think the captain will be pleased indeed."

"That's Smee!" whispered Tink in Peter's ear.

The blacksmith dunked the glowing hook in a pail of water, held it under while it steamed, and then brought it out again. He wiped it off carefully and handed it to Smee, who laid it carefully on a satin pillow.

"Good work, Blackie!" said Smee, tipped a hand to his cap, and was off.

"After him, Peter!" hissed Tink.

Down the wharf Peter limped, peg leg stubbing and dragging and chaffing mercilessly as he followed the bobbing feathers of Smee's cap through the crowds. From time to time they could see Smee loft the hook overhead, balancing it precariously on the satin pillow. He hummed and he whistled as he went, and pirates all around him called out.

"A floggin' good morning to ya, Captain Smee!" cried a carpenter engaged in building what appeared to Peter to be a gallows.

"Any news of war, Captain?"asked another.

Smee smiled broadly, apparently missing the sarcasm in their voices, pushing on as if the greetings were not only sincere but his due. All the while the hook glinted and shone in the sun.

A group of women whose profession was unmistakable whistled as Smee went past.

"Put on your faces, girls," cried one. "Here comes Captain Smee!"

They darted out to greet him, dancing about, their skirts lifting rakishly.

"Look, look!" they chimed. "It's got to be the Captain's hook!"

"Hook's hook, right enough!"

"Well, girlie, you should know, shouldn't you, now?"

"It's 'is symbol of fortune and fame, yoho!"

"Keep the fame, it's the fortune for me!"

They spun and danced about Smee and back through the crowd, a dozen more appearing from nearby doorways to join in. Peter, anxious to keep Smee in view, had gotten too close and was suddenly swept up in the whirl of skirts and cheap perfume.

"James Hook, son of a sea cook!"

"Hey, that's not all, he's a son of a…"

"Jimmy Hook, our claim to fame."

"Him and few hundred more I could name!"

"Swordsman, poet, and debauched Sailing to plunder and torture!"

"James Hook, Captain Hook, the sharpest blade on the seven seas! Our Hook!"

They sang and danced away, leaving Smee flustered and smiling and Peter trying desperately to avoid being seen, even though he had ended up almost nose to nose with the pirate. But Smee seemed not to notice, turning away with a blissful sigh and continuing down the walk.

A moment later he veered into the door of a barber shop. "A bad-boy chop," he ordered of the barber, who swung him into a chair, hacked a bit with a razor and knife, and stepped away. Smee rose and tossed the barber a gold coin. As the barber reached eagerly for it Smee jerked it away again-a string bound it to his finger. "Have to be quicker than that, mate." Smee grinned and tossed him a copper coin instead.

Back down the walkway he went, Peter and Tink in pursuit once more. Pirates shoved and jostled Peter as they passed, a few offering curses and promises of dreadful things to come. Peter tried to ignore them, his eyes on Smee. His peg leg was killing him by now, enough so that he really did feel like growling. He was beginning to wonder if he had any idea at all what he was doing.

Smee slowed and turned in to a tavern where a player piano was hard at work and a collection of rummies sang lustily before a sagging wooden bar. The rummies were an aged and worn lot, pirates possessed of an entire inventory of glass eyes, peg legs, false teeth, wooden hands, and other replacement parts.

Their voices rose raggedly in song.

Smee sauntered up to the crowd, displayed the hook imperiously, and announced, "Drinks are on Smee, for all those who've got a knee that was once a tree!"

He tossed down some coins amid shouts of acclaim and bounced out the door again, nearly running over a harried Peter, who was hanging on the frame, exhausted from trying to keep up.

Ahead, the pier tunneled into a cluster of old ships, a hazy corridor of torchlight and smoke. Smee skipped along, the hook balanced on the pillow, and disappeared into the gloom. Peter hurried after, growling now and again when other pirates approached, losing enthusiasm for the whole business. But Jack and Maggie depended on him, so he could not turn back. He groped his way along the tunnel, his eyes watering. Ahead, he could hear pirates singing and shouting, "Hook! Hook! Hook!"

Peter pushed clear of the tunnel, free of the haze of stinging smoke, and blinked against the sunlight. Smee was just ahead, slowing at a pen tended by two rangy pirates wielding whips. Within the pen were four cowering boys in the process of having their shirts stripped from their backs. They whimpered and cried out pleadingly.

"Misters Jukes and Noodler," Smee greeted cheerfully, nodding first to the one whose muscular body was as black as ebony and then to the one whose blond hair and beard had the appearance of a rat's nest. "Top of the morning, mates!"

He skipped on, whistling once more, but Peter slowed in spite of himself, horrified at what he was seeing.

"They're just children," he whispered up to Tink.

He could hear her hiss with disdain and anger. "Hook's a scummy slaver. He makes his prisoners count his treasure for him-over and over and over again."

Suddenly there was a roar from behind Peter, and a flood of pirates surged out of the smoky tunnel, singing and chanting. Peter had no time to get clear of the rush, and he was quickly caught up and swept along. Down the wharf front the crowd flowed, past the collection of scavenged ships that formed the town's entrance, out from the huge sign that hung over the tunnel and read in bold letters good Form pier, to the end of the dock and the gangplank leading up to the only vessel moored in the entire harbor.

But such a dark and sinister craft it was! A brigantine, fully rigged and outfitted, cannons bristling from its gun ports, its hull rakish and gleaming in the light. A skeleton with an upraised sword formed the spine of its prow, its death's-head grinning with the anticipation of its next victim's demise. A huge cannon, four times the size of any other, sat alone atop the aft deck behind the wheel, its massive barrel swung about to guard the harbor entrance, its cradle mounted on a revolving base. Below, the captain's quarters were framed by a stern crafted like a huge skull with windows forming luminous eyes and gilt the outline of its jaw, nose, and brows. The railing above was shaped like a captain's hat with serpents hissing at the corners. The hull was painted red and black with gold trim, and brass fittings gleamed in the sunlight. The pirate ship looked fast and wicked, like a cat prepared to pounce.

Atop its highest mast flew a gold shield and crossbones on a field of black with banners proclaiming good form and jas. On the port side of the main deck, protruding like a tongue, was the dreaded plank.