Peter and the Starcatchers (33 page)

Slank, paddling furiously, managed to get to the longboat. As he grabbed the gunwale, he felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into his thigh. He let go of the boat to strike at his attacker, and as he did, the longboat went over, and the trunk tumbled into the lagoon, where it…

…floated.

Slank lunged for it, but missed.
It was moving.
Sitting atop the water surface, barely an inch of it submerged, the trunk turned left, paused, then right, and final y moved off briskly back toward the island, leaving a
V
of ripples, like a long, fading arrow in the silver lagoon. In the middle of the
V
rose paral el lines of bubbles.

Little Richard sputtered to the surface, bleeding, cursing.

“Here,” cal ed Slank, and Little Richard paddled over. They clung to the longboat, which was lying hul -up in the water.

Slank lifted his head and squinted across the lagoon. The watery arrow, led by the slowly shrinking trunk, was heading back in the direction they’d come from, back toward the she-fish cave.

“You think you’ve won, do you?” muttered Slank. “We’l see about that, ladies.”

“What are we going to do?” said Little Richard.

In answer, Slank pul ed out his locket, then said: “How are you with heights?”

P
ETER AND THE OTHERS just made it to the beach. The starstuff began wearing off while they were stil over the jungle; for a few moments, Peter thought they would be plunged into the thick, dark vegetation underlying the moonlit tree canopy. He didn’t relish the thought of being lost in there at night.

But with James’s help, Peter was able to drag the little hand-holding group of reluctant fliers into one last swoop-and-soar, and this time, as they reached the apex of their upward curve, he heard Mol y just ahead, shouting and pointing, and then saw, to his great relief, the white of the beach, looking like snow under the startlingly bright moon.

“Hang on!” he shouted. “We’re coming down over there.”

They just cleared the last set of palms—in fact, Alf’s feet brushed the highest one, sending a coconut thudding to the sand—and then they crash-landed onto the beach, tumbling and rol ing a few yards from where Mol y was waiting. They were at the edge of a sandy cove, bounded on either side by steep, rocky hil sides.

For a moment, Alf, James, Prentiss, Thomas, and Tubby Ted stood speechless, brushing off sand and absorbing their disbelief at their flight, and relief at being on the ground again. Then the questions started.

“How did we
do
that?” asked Prentiss. “How could we, I mean…”

“And the crocodile!” interrupted Thomas. “How did…”

“I’m hungry,” said Tubby Ted. “Is there any…”

“And that thing!” said James. “That thing we touched! What
was
that? It felt so…”

“It was the magic from the trunk, wasn’t it, lad,” said Alf. “You must’ve…”

“Can we fly
again?
” said James.

“Yes!” said Prentiss and Thomas, simultaneously. “We want to…”

“Al right, al right,” said Peter. “I’l try to explain, though it’s a bit, um, strange. But first I have to…uh…Listen, just wait here a minute.” Peter walked to where Mol y was standing, watching him, her expression blank as he approached.

“You came back,” he said. “To rescue me.” He blushed. “I mean,
us.
”

“Yes,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said.

Mol y didn’t answer.

“But you said you couldn’t,” Peter said. “You said you had to get the trunk. You said that was the most important thing.”

“It is,” she said. “And I should have left you. Now I don’t know how much starstuff I have left in that locket, and it’s night, and the pirates are on the island, and I fear they already have the trunk. It’s been
moving
Peter; I’ve felt it. Somebody has found it, and whoever it is won’t want us to have it. And now those natives wil be after us, and that crocodile is loose somewhere, and…and I’m just afraid it’s
hopeless.
”

Peter saw she was crying. He wanted to hug her, but he couldn’t, not with Alf and the others watching. He settled for patting her shoulder.

“It’l be al right,” he said. “We’l find the trunk.”

Mol y forced a wan smile. “I appreciate that, Peter. I know you want to help. But at this point I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“You say you can feel the trunk,” said Peter.

“Yes.”

“D’you know what direction it’s in?”

“No, only that it’s moving.”

“Wel if it is, then somebody’s moving it, and perhaps we’l be able to see it. In the morning, we’l climb that mountain again and have a look.” Mol y nodded. “I suppose that’s as good a plan as any.”

“In the meanwhile,” said Peter, “we need to get some sleep, if we can. We can set up a watch, in case somebody comes along. Or that
thing.
” He shuddered, thinking about Mister Grin.

“Al right,” said Mol y, her spirits picking up a bit, now that they had a plan.

“And I should give you this back,” said Peter, reaching for the locket around his neck. “You might…”

“Did you hear that?” Mol y said, her hand on Peter’s arm.

“What?” said Peter. “I didn’t…”

“Shhh,
” hissed Mol y. She cocked her head, listening, then smiled.

“It’s him!” she said, tossing the words back over her shoulder, as she was already running toward the water.

“Who?” said Peter, running to catch her. But her attention was focused ahead, and the sounds she was making were not intended for him.

And then Peter saw a familiar shape—a blunt and grinning snout, sticking up from the moonlit wavelets perhaps ten yards offshore, clicking and chittering in return.

“Ammm!” Peter shouted.

B
ENEATH A THICK TREE CANOPY ringing with monkey howls and other jungle sounds, Black Stache led his band of pirates, folowing a path that meandered in the general direction that the flying children—and Mister Grin—had gone.

Smee, jumping at every sound, said, “Cap’n, what if that humongous flying lizard landed somewheres ahead, here?”

“Weren’t no lizard,” said Stache, over his shoulder. “That was a croc.”

“Whatever it was, Cap’n,” said Smee, “it might be up ahead here. Maybe we should…”

He stopped, because Stache had turned, scowling.

“Maybe we should
what,
Smee?”

“W…wel , Cap’n,” stammered Smee, “with that…that
thing
flying around here, and those children,
them
flying, too, it’s just al so strange on this island, Cap’n, and it bein’ night and al , I thought, that is,
we
thought, that is, me and the men here, we thought maybe if we waited ’til daylight, we could…”

“You thought?” interrupted Stache.
“You thought?
” He glared at Smee, then at the men standing nervously behind him.

“Y…yes,” began Smee. “I, that is, we…”

“YOU DON’T THINK!” thundered Stache, causing Smee and the others to jump like a gaggle of puppets al attached to the same string. “I do the thinking, you understand?”

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the chorus of replies.

“Good,” said Stache, and resumed walking.

The fact was, Stache—although he would never let his men know—was also quite uneasy about going the same direction as the croc. He was not fond of crocs, having fed people to the beasts on a number of occasions, and seen firsthand the terrible things their jaws could do. And a croc of this monstrous size,
flying..
.

No, Stache did not relish encountering the thing. But he
had
to find those children.
Flying
children. He had no doubts about it now:
They can fly.
And Stache meant to have the source of that power.

Overhead, the thick tangle opened a bit, and then more, the ful tropical moon shining down, nearly as bright as the English sun, il uminating a clearing where two paths intersected. A jungle crossroads.

Stache considered the paths.

“Crenshaw! Bates!” he said. Two men stepped reluctantly forward.

“You two are volunteering for the scouting party,” said Stache. “Crenshaw, take this path to the south. Bates, you’l head west. You
listen
and you
look,
but you wil not
be heard
and you wil not
be seen.
Am I clear on that?”

“Aye…”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“We’re looking for them kids, or the treasure, or both. You report back to me the moment you see anything of interest. You have ’til the moon’s straight overhead. Then we’l be taking the south path…that’s toward you, Crenshaw. Am I clear on that?” He didn’t wait for their answers. “Go!” As the two scouts trotted off, unhappily, in different directions into the dark jungle, Stache and his men made themselves comfortable in the moonlit clearing. Nobody spoke, but each man, Stache included, was thinking the same thing.

Glad it’s not me, going out there alone.

P
ETER TROTTED DOWN THE BEACH toward Moly, who was now waist-deep in the moonlit cove, squeaking and chittering as she waded toward the upthrust, grinning snout of Ammm.

James, trotting alongside Peter, said, “What is it? What’s she doing?”

“She’s talking to the porpoise,” said Peter. “His name is Ammm.”

“Fish can
talk
?” said James.

“This one can,” said Peter.

“What’s it saying?” said James, as they reached the water’s edge.

“I dunno,” said Peter. “I don’t speak Porpoise. But Mol y does. She’l tel us.”

They were now standing next to Mol y, with Ammm several feet in front of them, listening politely. Mol y, desperate for news from her father, forced herself to remember the mandatory opening formalities of porpoise talk.

“Greetings,” she said.

“Greetings,” said Ammm.

“Mol y teeth green,” said Mol y.

“Yes,” agreed Ammm. “Mol y teeth green.”

“Mol y happy see Ammm,” she said. The Porpoise language has 237 words that mean “happy,” and Mol y had actual y chosen the one denoting the happiness derived from having one’s bel y tickled by seaweed. Ammm doubted that Mol y was feeling this particular happiness, but out of politeness used the same word in responding.