Peter and the Shadow Thieves (24 page)

“Too late,” he said again.

T
HE JAIL CELL REEKED of vomit and menace. Peter sat in a corner, where he’d remained since the bobby had shoved him in there, trying his best not to be noticed by the others.

There were eleven of them: three boys younger—or at least smal er—than Peter, five boys older, and three men. Peter wasn’t so worried about the men: al three were drunk and seemed mostly interested in sleeping, although one had awakened long enough to empty the contents of his stomach onto himself and onto the floor, fil ing the cel with an acrid stench before he fel back into a deep, snoring slumber.

No, it was the older boys who concerned Peter. They were already in the cel when he’d been brought in, and they seemed quite familiar with it, almost comfortable there. They apparently knew each other, or had at least formed into a hierarchy, as packs of males do. Their leader was not the tal est among them, but definitely the broadest: a brutish, muscular boy the others cal ed Rafe. He amused himself by tormenting the smal er boys, punching them and threatening to stuff them headfirst into the disgustingly ful wooden bucket that served as the cel ’s communal toilet.

Peter desperately hoped that he would not have to use that bucket; the thought repulsed him. He hoped, too, that Rafe would continue ignoring him. Peter kept his eyes cast down, not meeting anyone’s gaze. His mood had descended to a level below despair: he had no idea how to get himself out of this, let alone rescue Tink or find Mol y in time to warn her of the danger she was in. He had no hope at al . His stomach ached and his swol en jaw throbbed with agonizing pain.

“You,” said a menacing voice.

Peter looked up, and his heart sank at the sight of Rafe’s thick form looming over him.

“What?” he said.

“You got anything for me?” said Rafe. He squatted in front of Peter, his wide, grinning face only a foot away.

Peter said nothing. Why did everyone in this city want something from him?

Casual y, Rafe reached his meaty hand out. Peter flinched as Rafe grabbed a handful of Peter’s filthy, torn shirt.

Rafe made a disappointed face. “Can’t use these pitiful rags,” he said. Then he brightened as he spied the gold chain around Peter’s neck. Peter inwardly berated himself for not having thought to hide it.

“Here now,” Rafe said, pul ing the chain out and fingering the locket. “What’s this?”

Peter pushed Rafe’s hand aside and jumped to his feet, moving along the wal , away from Rafe. He couldn’t give up the locket. No matter what, he must not let that happen.

Rafe appeared surprised by the show of defiance, but pleased at the prospect of having some sport with his prey. He rose to his feet, smiling.

“So,” he said, moving slowly toward Peter. “You want to tussle with Rafe, do you?”

Peter continued to edge along the wal , looking frantical y around the cel . He saw he’d get no help from the drunks, who were sleeping, and none from the other boys, who were watching with the expressions of spectators at an execution: they were clearly grateful that somebody else was the victim.

Rafe advanced toward Peter. Peter slid sideways along the cel wal . He reached the corner; there was nowhere to go. Rafe was a yard away, smiling broadly, bringing his fists up, ready to begin the pummeling.

Peter felt his foot hit something. He looked down and saw it: the toilet bucket.

He reached down and grabbed the handle with his right hand, swinging the bucket up to waist level. The stench was almost overpowering, but Peter was driven by desperation now. He put his left hand on the bottom of the bucket and drew it back, ready to hurl its repulsive contents at Rafe.

Rafe stopped, his smug expression replaced by one of surprise, and—Peter was relieved to see—an undercurrent of fear.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

“Yes, I would,” replied Peter.

They stood facing each other in the silent cel , staring into each other’s eyes for the better part of a very long minute. It was Rafe who blinked first.

“Al right,” he said, backing away. “You stand there in the stink.” He settled down on the other side of the cel . “But soon enough you’l get tired. Soon enough you’l fal asleep.

And then I’l have that thing around your neck.” He hurled a hate-fil ed glare at Peter. “And I’l have your neck, too,” he added.

Peter didn’t answer. He stood in the corner, holding the bucket, enveloped in foul fumes. He would not al ow his face to betray his feelings. But he knew that Rafe was right: he could not hold out forever.

A
PIRATE NAMED CHAMBERS led the hunting party, a group of able-bodied sailors armed with swords and bamboo spears tipped with sharpened shels. They moved smartly, knowing Hook was watching from his position on the mountainside.

They trudged through the humid, thick jungle, dodging snakes as thick as an arm and spiders the size of a fist. Chambers posted a man or two at various points on the jungle paths, according to Hook’s plan. By the time the hunting party had reached the herd of wild boars that Hook had seen earlier, it was down to Chambers and three others.

About a dozen of the huge, hairy, tusked beasts wal owed at the edge of a shal ow watering hole, more mud than water. Chambers, using arm gestures so as not to spook the boars, positioned his men in a semicircle around one side of the watering hole. When they were set, he used the polished metal of his belt buckle to reflect a beam of sunlight toward the mountain. Then he waited.

Hook saw Chambers’s ready signal, and nearly al owed a smile to bend his moustache across his face. But not yet. He observed al : the jungle treetops, the boys’ hut, the paths. Squinting to his right, with some effort, he caught a glimpse of Hurky and more of his men concealed in the jungle on both sides of the trail that led past the hut. By now they would have laid the fishing net on the ground, stretching it across the path. Hook’s bril iant plan was coming together.

Hook drew his sword from his belt, angled the flat of its blade into the sun, and sent a blinding flash back in the direction of Chambers. Another: two quick flashes in a row. Then he watched as Chambers went to work.

Chambers nodded as Hook’s double signal blinked from the mountainside. He rose and waved his hand, issuing the silent command. The other three men stood, and al four of them began whooping and shouting as loud as they could. Then, pointing their spears and swords in front of them, they charged toward the wal owing boars.

This was the critical moment, because the boars might react by attacking, and if they did, they would likely tear the men to pieces. When Chambers had pointed this out to Captain Hook, Hook had boldly declared that this was a risk he was wil ing to take.

And so, despite the fierce faces of the shouting men, there was fear in their hearts as they saw the boars lift their heads. The hairy beasts snorted and pawed the mud, clearly considering charging. Then, to the great relief of the men, the boars turned and ran. The ground shook with their retreat; mud flew from their hooves.

From his mountainside lookout, Hook watched delightedly as, to his left, Chambers startled the boars. The beasts took off racing down the jungle trail, heads low. At the first intersection of trails, the boars encountered a nervous pirate pointing a spear; they veered to the right, just as Hook had drawn it up. He lost them for a few seconds to the thick jungle treetops, but then the herd reappeared, running even faster, their hooves tossing up a brown cloud of dirt clods behind them.

At the next junction of jungle paths, a pair of pirates surprised the boars and turned them again. Now the animals were headed right for the thatched hut where the boys lived.

Hook chortled and final y grinned, his brown teeth showing beneath his famous foot-wide moustache as he half whispered, “I have you now, you little devils.” James felt it before he heard it.

“Run!” he shouted.

“What?” asked Prentiss, who was putting the finishing touches on a length of bamboo. The boys were currently working to improve the bamboo gutters that hung from their hut and col ected rain water. When working properly, the storage system saved them repeated bucket trips to the spring-fed wel dug by the Mol usks.