Chapter 27

"Land ho!" O'Sullivan called down from the crow's nest. His voice didn't have such a low pitch as Mr. Murray's and so it didn't carry as well, but for now it did the trick. It would be a long time before Murray would be able to make it up there again, if he ever did. The words were a relief - for they heralded news of land within sight - but the voice carrying them was an uncomfortable reminder that Hook had yet to reassign the titles of his crew.

He hadn't yet named a new first mate, nor sought a new carpenter, and more than a week had now passed since the night the two deaths had occurred. So far, the men had filled in whatever gaps as necessary when it came to the responsibilities aboard, but the way they did so altogether in accord wouldn't continue in perpetuity. He wasn't looking forward to making the changes and replacements, but he knew it would be necessary. It would have to wait though, and he was content to let it. He didn't think it likely that Safe Haven would provide him with any new recruits. They were there for information, and they would get that first. He could worry about finding new hands later.

The shore drew near after some hours, and it looked much the same as it always had. Further back, nestled in the trees however, there were new additions of defensive architecture. Cavalry stakes protruded between the trunks of the forest in front of sharp wooden palisades. He did not bring the ship as close to the island as he could have, wary of possible archers or other manifestations of ranged aggression. This was not a place that appeared welcoming, but he didn't know what lengths the residents might go to in order to protect their privacy when an unknown ship approached. He was certain there were eyes on them already.

Once the anchor hit bottom and its chain stilled, things were eerily quiet. At the very least, they should have heard bird songs wafting on the breeze, but there was no sound aside from the wind. He'd seen fortifications such as this one before and he'd had dealings with the sort who built them. It was best to advance with caution, the white flag raised and as few individuals on land as he might dare. Typically in such a situation, he would bring only Smee with him (or Connors, though never again would that be the case), but before they'd even conferred, Hook knew that both Emma and Baelfire would insist upon joining the landing party as well. That was more people than he'd have preferred, but at least he knew that Baelfire had some pertinent skills. He'd always been able to hold his own against the Lost Boys back in Neverland. Emma was a quick enough thinker that Hook had no undue concerns about her.

He was right, of course. Both crossed their arms and planted their feet, stating flatly that they would be coming as though they expected him to resist. He knew that doing so would only be a waste of his efforts. He might as well save his persuasive charisma for now. He'd be making use of it soon enough. Diplomacy would be their only option with the Resistance forces. Luckily, he'd learned to make good use of his silver tongue over the years, and it had saved his skin more than once.

Perched on the seat at the bow of the dinghy, he chewed the tip of that adept tongue in contemplation as Smee rowed the four of them to shore and Bae held a white sheet aloft where it could catch and flutter on the wind. After disembarking and dragging the rowboat up onto the sand, Hook proceeded to find a branch of driftwood they could tie the sheet to, so that they could lift it even more prominently to be sure that their point was made. But despite how broadly Baelfire swung their impromptu flag, the reciprocating gesture from the fort was far less friendly.

Before Hook completed drawing breath to call out and announce their presence, an arrow struck the ground barely a hand's breadth from his foot.

"That's far enough." The speaker appeared nothing like what he might have expected when Hook looked again toward the spiked tops of the palisade walls off toward his right, where the arrow had come from. It was an elderly woman who stood there. A white mass of hair was piled atop her head, and her torso was wrapped in a knit cardigan. Thin glasses, fastened with a fine chain, sat on the bridge of her nose, sharpening the gaze that stared at them down the length of the crossbow she held. It was already reloaded.

Hook licked his lips, and suppressed the nerves rising around his uncertainty. "Good day, milady." He shouted up toward her, trying to sound merry and jovial. "As you see, we come bearing the white flag."

"Actually, I'm a bit colorblind." Her tone was firm. "And not too fond of strangers."

Emma tapped on Hook's shoulder. When he turned, she indicated a spot at the top of the wall on their left. There was another arrow pointed at them, notched into a black recurve shortbow, held by a brunette clad in dark heavy armor accented with bronze and a flowing cape. Although this second woman fit his image of a guard far better, his instinct instructed him to keep addressing the older one. He nodded his acknowledgment to Emma and pressed on.

"I assure you, we've brought our white one. I double-checked. We're here seeking parlance because we're under the impression that we all share a common enemy. We feel that discussions between us may prove mutually beneficial for both parties."

A small fraction of her hostility melted out of her posture and the tip of her arrow dipped slightly. "Look honey, whatever cookies you're selling, we ain't buying. So you can turn yourselves right back around, paddle your little boat back to your bigger boat and sail off into the distance. We need nothing from you."

They weren't being perceived as a threat, but they still weren't welcome. Hook's eyes flickered over the scene, searching for clues on how to best use his talent for flattery when he was interrupted.

"I'm Emma Swan." He heard Emma declare.

His head whipped around to look at her as his eyes shot wide. No subtlety, no nuance, no regard for her vulnerability, Emma had pulled off her cap and unrolled one of her own wanted posters with her chin held high to present visual proof. At times she could be even more reckless than he was, and it had the potential to drive him mad. He hadn't any idea how she'd even gotten her hands on the bill, but there it was. She'd played that card.

She pointed the image first toward the white-haired woman, who squinted hard through her glasses, but then shook her head and shrugged. Emma turned the picture to face the brunette. The younger woman's face conveyed no emotion, but she partially turned herself to speak to someone below and behind her, hidden behind the gate. The exchange was inaudible from where Hook and the others stood, but it was clearly an attempt to come to a decision.

In the end, it seemed the decision was made in their favor. A pulley system lowered a section of the wall outward, so its spikes issued one last threatening reminder before touching the ground. It was then that they saw the man whom the armored woman had been conversing with. He stood some distance back from the gate in a wide stance with his arms loosely folded before him, casually waiting for them to enter and approach him.

Hook strode directly to him, coming to a halt somewhat more than an arm's length away, so that none of his movements would appear to be an assault. "Are you the one in charge here?" Hook inquired. The women on the wall had seemed to defer to this man's judgment.

The man looked straight past him, ignoring him entirely, his eyes locked on Emma. "If you're really Emma Swan, come over here and let me look at you."

She did as he told, stepping up beside Hook, then shuffling another few steps forward when the man gestured for her to move closer still. He didn't touch her, but he leaned in closer than Hook cared for to intently examine her features. His gaze didn't even flicker to the drawing on the poster, as though he were comparing her face to his own memory instead of the more widely-spread reference.

Finally, he smirked, and gave a small nod. "I believe you."

Emma's brow furrowed tightly. "Who are you?" She asked him.

"Oh, I don't think that's relevant right now," he evaded. "But in the interest of polite conversation, if you want to use a name for me, you can call me, let's say..." He seemed to ponder for a beat, swaying his head side to side before settling on a word. "August."