Peter and the Starcatchers (43 page)

By the time the cursed boy had got to his feet, in the prow, just in front of the old savage, Black Stache was upon him, his sword drawn back.

“Good-bye, boy,” Stache said.

Smiling, he lunged his sword forward, the tip of his blade aimed at the boy’s heart, and…

The boy disappeared.

In fact, he flew straight up, but so quickly did he launch himself that Stache never real y saw it, and thus had no chance to stop the thrust of his sword, which continued right through, plunging deep into the chest of Fighting Prawn.

P
ETER WAS ASCENDING WHEN HE HEARD THE SCREAM; he looked down and saw Stache, a look of puzzlement on his face, pul his sword from Fighting Prawn’s chest. Fighting Prawn, stil standing, looked down at the blood gushing from the awful wound, then, with a groan, fel backward onto the starstuff trunk.

Peter looked back to the beach, where chaos had erupted. Mol usk warriors, roaring with rage, were sprinting along the sand and into the water, spears cocked. Behind them, a dozen more highly agitated warriors surrounded Leonard, Mol y, and the others, ready to strike at the slightest move, the points of their spears almost touching the captives.

“ROW, YOU DOGS!” screamed Stache to his men. “ROW FOR YOUR LIVES!” The pirates, needing no encouragement, were already at the oars, pul ing with al their strength.

A spear thunked into the side of the longboat, then another, then one just overhead. Stache, in the prow, yanked Fighting Prawn upright, and dragged him to the side of the boat. The old man’s face was gray from blood loss, but he blinked, stil alive. Stache raised the wounded man up in front of him for the Mol usks on the beach to see.

“
DO YOU WANT TO KILL HIM, THEN
?” bel owed Stache. Afraid of hitting their chief, warriors stopped throwing spears. Some of them, insane with frustration, plunged into the lagoon and began swimming, but the pirate rowers had found their rhythm, and the longboat was moving far too fast for any swimmer to catch.

Stache was getting away. With the Starcatchers unable to move on the beach, and the Mol usks unable to reach him,
Black Stache was getting away.

Peter swooped through the sky—bright now; the sun was up—toward the longboat, looking for an opening, trying desperately to think of a plan. There was no way he could overpower the pirates without help, without…

Teacher
.

As he thought of her, he felt her thoughts; she was down there, underwater, fearful of al the commotion, uncertain about what was happening, what she should do…

Stop the boat,
thought Peter.
Stop the boat.

He swooped lower. The longboat appeared to be unhindered; if anything, it seemed to be picking up speed.

Stop the boat,
thought Peter.
Stop the boat!

And then he saw it: the flick of a tail in the surging longboat’s wake.

Stop the boat!

The longboat lurched, sending Stache backward, cursing.

“ROW!” he bel owed. Another lurch, another.

“WHAT THE DEVIL IS WRONG WITH YOU MEN?”

“We ain’t doin’ it,” shouted one of the pirates. “There’s somethin’ doin’ it to us.”

“ROW!” screamed Stache, and the men heaved on the oars, but the longboat had stopped completely now, dead in the water.

Push it back
to shore, Peter wil ed.

Slowly, despite the screams of Stache and the furious efforts of the pirates, the boat, Peter floating just behind it, began to move back toward shore, toward the waiting Mol usks…a hundred yards away, then fifty, then twenty-five…

The warriors stood, spears in hand, waiting….

“LISTEN TO ME!” shrieked Stache, desperation fil ing his voice. He held up his sword, red from hilt to tip with Fighting Prawn’s blood, then held it against the old man’s throat.

“IF YOU COME NEAR THIS BOAT, I WILL CUT OFF HIS HEAD, D’YOU UNDERSTAND, SAVAGES?”

The Mol usks didn’t understand his words, but his gestures were clear. They hesitated, watching as the boat, with Peter hovering above it, came closer to shore, closer…

And then it stopped, ten yards offshore. The mermaids could propel it no farther, the water too shal ow. The Mol usks stood on the shore, watching. The sailors, exhausted and fearful, slumped at the oars. Stache, in the prow, held the body of Fighting Prawn, stil gushing blood.

He’s going to die soon,
thought Peter.
If he dies, the Mollusks will kill us all.

“Let him go!” he shouted to Stache.

Stache looked up with a hate-fil ed glare.

“Why don’t you
make
me let him go, boy?” he said.

“Al right,” said Peter, drawing Slank’s dagger.

He swooped straight at Stache, praying that the pirate’s first instinct would be to defend himself, rather than carry out his threat to kil Fighting Prawn. He was right. Releasing the old man’s unconscious body, which slumped to the floor of the longboat, Stache raised his blade, getting it up just in time to parry Peter’s thrust—and in the process cutting a gash in Peter’s right arm.

Peter grunted in pain as he soared back up. Blood dripped from his arm now, onto his hand, making the knife grip slippery.

“Come on back, boy!” shouted Stache. “Let me finish you off.”

Peter turned, rol ed and dove again; this time it was Stache who did the thrusting, and Peter the parrying. Twice more, he swooped; twice more he just avoided Stache’s sword.

Peter saw the problem: he had the shorter weapon, and could not get past Stache’s longer one. He could keep attacking, but eventual y Stache would likely nick him again, unless…

Peter was not a student of swordplay, but he’d noticed that when Stache lunged with his right, sword-holding hand, he threw his left out, as if for balance. He swooped again to test this observation; sure enough, the left hand was out there.

If I can feint him…If I can change directions quickly enough.

“COME ON, BOY!” bel owed Stache. “STOP FLITTING ABOUT LIKE A MOSQUITO! COME FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!”

“I’m coming,” said Peter. He took a breath, rol ed, and dove again, aiming, as before, directly at Stache’s body, watching for the thrust….

Here it comes
….

Peter twisted his body and shot to his right, and as he did he switched his knife to his left hand and slashed downward with it, and it happened too fast for him to see, but he could feel it as he flashed past, feel the knife finding a target, and then, as he shot upward, he heard the scream, and turned to look down upon the vision of Black Stache, holding his sword in his right hand, and looking in horror at the bleeding stump where the left had been.

Several things happened then, in quick succession.

The first was that Peter caught a thought from Teacher. More of a feeling, real y: a feeling of stark terror.
Something dangerous was in the lagoon.

The second was that the pirates, seeing their captain grievously wounded, abandoned the stranded longboat, leaping into the water and sprinting toward the beach.

The third was that the Mol usk warriors started after the pirates, only to stop suddenly when they saw, lumbering from the lagoon and onto the sand, the reason for the mermaids’ distress: Mister Grin. The giant reptile looked left, at the Mol usks, and then right, at the fleeing pirates, then left again, then right, as if deciding which would be dinner, and which dessert.

The fourth thing was that Smee, who had loyal y remained in the longboat with Stache, wrapped his shirt around his captain’s bleeding stump, and managed to drag him out of the longboat and get him stumbling, in shock, toward shore.

The fifth thing was that Peter flew up the beach to where Mol y and the others were being held at spear point, swooped down, and before the Mol usk guards could move, grabbed Leonard Aster’s locket chain and yanked the locket from Leonard’s neck. He flew back to the longboat, now vacant except for the motionless, blood-covered form of Fighting Prawn. He landed next to the old man and gently turned him over, exposing the wound.

He heard shouting from the shore; the Mol usks, keeping an eye on the stil -motionless Mister Grin, were coming.

Fighting Prawn looked dead; his eyes were open but had rol ed back, leaving only the whites exposed.

Peter fumbled with Leonard Aster’s locket.

Please, please…

He got the locket open, saw the glow, and poured it al onto the old man’s chest.

Please…

The shouting was close now, the warriors splashing to the longboat….

Please…

The Mol usks were on him now, hands grabbing his arms, trying to pul him away from the old man, who…

…who opened his eyes.

Thank you.

The warriors, stil holding Peter, grunt-clicked something. Fighting Prawn answered with similar clicks. Then he smiled. It was a weak smile, but a smile just the same.

More shouts from the warriors, but this time, shouts of joy-Fighting Prawn looked at Peter.

“You saved me, boy,” he said.

Peter shrugged.

“Why?” said Fighting Prawn.

“To save my friends,” answered Peter.

“Al right then, boy,” said Fighting Prawn, touching Peter’s arm. “You have saved your friends.” The old man said something to the warriors; they let Peter go. He stood, and looked down the beach to his left; Mol y and the others were free now, no longer surrounded by guards, but were not coming his way; instead, they stood nervously, warily. He looked to his right, and saw why: Mister Grin was stil on the beach, unmoving.

A bit farther, stumbling toward the sand with the help of Smee, was Black Stache. The pirate was holding his left arm under his right armpit, wailing in pain. At the edge of the water, he stopped, looking down in horror at something tumbling in the gentle surf.

“IT’S ME HAND, SMEE!” he screamed. “ME HAND!”

“Yes, Cap’n,” said Smee. “Now you need to…”

“GET ME HAND, SMEE!” wailed Stache.

“But, Cap’n,” said Smee, “it’s…”

“PICK UP ME HAND!”

“Al right,” said Smee, leaning over reluctantly, then leaping back, shouting, “RUN, CAP’N! RUN!” Stache looked up and saw it: Mister Grin was coming right at them. Supported by Smee, Stache began to stumble down the beach in the direction his crew had gone.

“Hurry, Smee!” he shouted. “Faster!”

Behind them, Mister Grin lumbered up to where they’d been standing. Smel ing something, he swept his enormous snout back and forth, until, having found his quarry, he opened his enormous jaws, engulfing Black Stache’s hand. He swal owed it in one easy gulp. Then, after a moment’s pause, he set off down the beach, on the trail of the famous, fearsome pirate, moving slowly and easily, as if he knew he had al the time in the world.

T
HE SUN WAS HIGH NOW, the sky a briliant blue. A perfect day on the island.

The Mol usks—generous hosts, when they weren’t trying to kil you—had brought a feast to the beach for their guests: smoked fish and luscious tropical fruits, served on glossy green leaves; gourds of cool water; sweet coconut meat right from the shel .

The Mol usks took pleasure in watching their guests eat, especial y Peter and the boys, who hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. They ate like hungry dogs, licking the leaves clean, grateful y accepting more, and more, and more, until even Tubby Ted was satisfied. He final y could eat no more, emitting a belch so massive that it propel ed him backward onto the sand, where he lay groaning, his bel y bulging skyward. The others roared with laughter, except for Peter, who, throughout the meal, had seemed oddly distant, distracted.

With the feast concluded, everyone gathered by the longboat, which, with its precious cargo, had been guarded by four Starcatchers and four stout Mol usk warriors, in case the pirates returned. But al was quiet; even the lagoon was placid, as if resting after a tense, eventful night. Offshore the mermaids lazed by their rock; Ammm and his brethren porpoises glided in the shal ows, waiting to lead the longboat back to the ship.