Peter and the Shadow Thieves (55 page)

James, a decent swimmer, whipped his head desperately around, looking for the other boys, especial y Peter, who was far too weak to swim. He saw Thomas, who began swimming toward James but then froze, his face twisted in terror.

“My leg!” he screamed. “My…”

Before he could say another word, he was gone, pul ed straight down into the bubbling sea. James swam to the spot where Thomas had been, and was about to dive when he felt something wrap around his right leg. He kicked at it with his left, but the grip tightened painful y. He reached down and felt something thick and slippery….

And then he, too, was gone.

For another minute, the sea continued to bubble and boil, as one by one, other desperate swimmers were suddenly sucked below. Then, at once, the sea quieted, becoming as flat as a country pond. The Scorpion canoe floated peaceful y upside down. One by one, the survivors swam to it and clung, panting, to its sleek hul . There were seven of them: Smee, and the six other men who’d been with Hook. But Hook himself was gone.

And so were al of the boys….

M
OLLY AND GEORGE FOUND IT MORE DIFFICULT than they expected to get off the
Michelle.
Leonard Aster, wel aware of Moly’s tendency to take matters into her own hands, had left orders with Captain Stavis that the two children were to be watched closely, and Captain Stavis had relayed these orders to the crew.

But sailors being sailors, and a port being close at hand, it was not long before the crew became distracted. By the second evening, Mol y and George, having waited impatiently al day, saw their chance to sneak off. As darkness fel , with the crew dozing after a bit too much food and grog, they sneaked onto the ship’s deserted main deck and tiptoed down the gangway to the dock.

Once ashore, they ducked behind a huge pile of traps next to a stone building; the traps reeked of dead fish.

“Now what?” whispered George.

“One thing for sure,” said Mol y. “We must get away from these awful traps.”

“We can’t go ’round in these clothes,” said George. “We need robes, like the one your father wore.” Mol y nodded. “I saw laundry lines from the ship, by a big house up that way. We can borrow some robes.”

“
Borrow
?” said George.

“Desperate times,” said Mol y, “cal for desperate measures.”

“What does that mean?” said George.

“It’s an expression my father uses: it means sometimes you have to borrow a robe,” said Mol y. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pul ed out some coins, the last of the French money her mother had given her. “Besides, we’l leave this as partial payment. Come on.” The streets were nearly empty, as most of Ashmar was having supper; nevertheless, Mol y and George kept to the narrow al eys as they moved away from the harbor and up a hil , their mouths watering as the aroma of cooking food wafted out of every house they passed.

“There,” Mol y whispered. Just ahead was a whitewashed stone house, much larger than its neighbors, with a fine view of the harbor. Along the side of the house was a clothesline, on which hung a half-dozen white robes. Next to the clothesline, kneeling in a patch of dirt and contentedly chewing its cud, was a camel.

Mol y and George looked around. The street was deserted. With nightfal now complete, they crept in darkness around the side of the house, took the two smal est-looking robes off the clothesline, and put them on. George’s fit fine; Mol y’s was too large, but she rol ed and tucked it until it was serviceable. When they were dressed, Mol y put the coins on a stone next to the clothesline and whispered, “Let’s go.”

George didn’t move. He was looking at the camel.

“Why don’t we borrow this as wel ?” he whispered.

“Are you
insane
?” hissed Mol y.

“Mol y, we’ve got to go miles across the desert,” George said. “On foot it could take us forever.”

“But we don’t know how to ride a camel.”

“It’s got a sort of saddle,” said George, eyeing the wooden contraption strapped to the camel’s back. “How different can it be from a horse?” Mol y frowned. She didn’t like the idea of taking a camel—
stealing
was the word for it, she knew—but they
were
desperate. She had to find her father and Peter.

“Al right,” she said.

Quickly, George untied the camel. Then he and Mol y climbed into the saddle, wedging themselves in, George in front and Mol y in back. George dug his heels into the camel’s sides and said, “Up!”

Slowly, the camel turned its head and looked back with an expression of what appeared to be annoyance. It turned its head forward again and resumed chewing its cud.

“Fine bit of horsemanship,” said Mol y.

“I suppose you can do better,” said George.

“I’m not the one who said he could ride a camel,” said Mol y.

George, irritated now, brought his legs out farther and kicked the camel hard. This time, the camel, rather than turning around, raised its head and emitted a loud, unhappy, gurgling sound. From inside the house came a shout.

“Someone’s heard us!” said Mol y.

George kicked the camel again; the camel responded with another protest, this one even louder.

Now Mol y and George heard several shouting voices and running feet.

“They’re coming!” Mol y said. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Mol y struggled to get out of the saddle, hampered by her bulky robe and the tight quarters. George, determined to dominate the camel, kicked it yet again. “Up, you mangy beast!” he hissed. This time the camel whirled its head around and spit at him. George leaned violently backward, knocking his head into Mol y’s. A wad of camel spit sailed past.

“Ow!” she said. “George,
let me out of this saddle!
”

Just then, four men, two holding swords, burst around the corner of the house. Catching sight of George and Mol y, they charged toward the camel, shouting angrily, their faces fil ed with fury. Now George and Mol y were both trying frantical y to climb out of the saddle, but they and their robes were too entangled. Mol y thought about using the starstuff in her locket but could not get to it in time. They had no chance to escape—the first shouting man was almost upon them, drawing back his sword, and…

…and stopping short as a bril iant streak of light flashed in front of him, inches from his eyes. The man jerked backward abruptly, causing the second man to run into him, and the third and fourth to run into both of them. The men went down in front of the camel in a clattering, shouting heap.

“Tink!” shouted Mol y.

Tink responded with a burst of chimes that Mol y did not understand. It wasn’t aimed at her anyway; Tink was saying something to the camel. Instantly, the beast got up, the sudden motion almost pitching George and Mol y out of the saddle. But they hung on as the camel, urged on by Tink, got to its feet and lurched forward toward the street. One of the fal en men managed to lunge at the camel as it passed. He grabbed Mol y’s leg, jerking it down and back. Mol y screamed in pain. George lashed out and kicked the man’s head; he grunted and let go. The camel reached the street and turned right. George clung to the saddle and Mol y to George, as the camel, responding to Tink’s chimes, went from a trot to a gal op. From behind, they heard the sounds of angry voices and running feet. Neither looked back. The sounds receded.

In minutes they were at the edge of the city and then on a road going into open desert. The camel slowed down to a swaying walk. The night closed around them.

“Are you al right?” said George.

“Yes,” said Mol y, though her leg throbbed. “I’m fine.” She leaned around George and spoke to Tink, who now sat atop the camel’s head between its floppy ears, looking forward.

“Thanks, Tink,” she said. “You found us just in time.”

Tink turned and, with an expression that was slightly less disdainful than the one she usual y used on Mol y, chimed a response. Then she chimed again. And again, more earnestly.

“What is she so worked up about?” said George.

Mol y shook her head. “I can’t understand bel -speak,” she said. “But I think I recognized one bit. It’s Peter she’s worried about.” She looked out at the vast darkness of the desert. “And it’s Peter she’s taking us to.”