"Pan?" he said, turning back on Smee.

"Aye sir, it's Pan alright. Last night while I was walking to relive the watchman I saw him flying off the mizzenmast, circling 'bout like a lark, but he flew off before I could fetch me the musket."

He glanced down at the glistening metal protruding from the stomp. It throbbed anew as he thought about it. The ubiquitous ticking from his front jacket pocket accentuated the passing of time.

"That wouldn't have done any good" he told Smee. "You know as well as I do that your weapons are worthless against him."

"You say that sir but I know if I just got a good shot--"

"You fool." He lifted his left foot and booted Smee in the shin, the leather making a solid thunk upon contact.

"But sir!" Smee pleaded.

"Have the men set the mainsail and come about steady to larboard. Head back to where he was last spotted."

The first mate obeyed and proceeded out of the captain's quarters; the ticking of the various clocks which adorned the walls and floorboard continuing in his absence in steady solidarity. The man at the table clicked what used to be his hand in synchronization on the wooden desk, although he couldn't keep the timing quite right. He sighed and turned around, lowering himself with some difficulty to the planks. He felt around for a moment and picked up the floorboard which was loose, glancing behind him and then resuming.

Later that night Hook was out prowling the deck, as his custom. The night watchman was staring up to the cloudless black, what seemed like millions of spectral diamonds emblazoning the sky. It was a full moon out and the sea shimmered like a liquid mirror.

"Look!" he suddenly yelled. "It's him! Pan!"

Hook didn't take a step. "Come face me, Pan!"

"You old crocodile! I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole!"

Hook could feel the air flutter as a large object came within feet of him. Then suddenly the unnatural twang of something hitting something and then thud against the deck.

Pan was rolling haphazardly across the deck at Hook's feet, entangled in a fishing net.

"What? What's this? How did you know where I was going to fly?"

The moonlight reflected off of the hook and another blade, much larger, in his other hand as he approached. Pan struggled and floundered, with the watchman and now Smee looking on, and he struck his right hand out of the netting and looked over just in time to see the black line of the blade come down.