فصل 57

CHAPTER 57

THE CREEPING COLD

FRANKLIN THE MONKEY was most unhappy. He hooted and screeched, baring his teeth at the smelly human who had so rudely barged into his little space.

Peter’s mood was no better. The monkey’s cage inside the roaring rocket was loud and cramped, with barely enough room for the monkey and his control levers. These levers were sticking painfully into Peter’s back. At the same time, the monkey was shrieking into his ear, and Tink, still stuck inside his gold suit, was pounding on his chest with her tiny fists and clamoring: Let me out!

Peter wriggled sideways and was able to give Tink enough room to escape. She and Franklin exchanged odd noises.

He wants you to get out of his cage, she told Peter.

“I’d love to,” he said. “But how?” The only opening was the hatch through which he’d entered; the hatch door hung open and the wind howled as the rocket gained speed and altitude. If Peter went out that way, the rocket would leave him behind.

Tink squirmed past Peter and examined the cage behind him.

Here, she said, chiming loudly to be heard over the howl of the wind and the roar of the rocket. Open this side.

Peter craned his neck and saw that the back wall of the cage was held in place by metal pins at the top and bottom. He yanked these out. The cage wall dropped away, clattering as it fell to the base of the rocket. Peter pushed himself out and hovered next to the cage. The starstuff was in the compartment directly above him; he could feel it and see it—the compartment wall glowed brightly, filling the upper part of the rocket with light. Below him was the main section of the rocket, a chimneylike cylinder a bit more than three feet in diameter, filled with smoke from the fuel burning down at the base of the rocket.

Coughing from the smoke, Peter stuck his head back into the cage, which was starkly illuminated by the glow from the starstuff compartment. Franklin, he now saw, was held firmly in place by a leather harness. The monkey had his face pressed against what looked like a telescope eyepiece, and he was manipulating two levers. A third lever, with a red handle, projected into the cage from above; this, Peter assumed, would open the door to the starstuff compartment.

“Ask him what he’s doing,” Peter said to Tink. She exchanged sounds with Franklin, then told Peter, He’s keeping the light in the circle. If he keeps it in the circle, he gets a banana.

“Let me see,” said Peter, pushing the monkey aside. Franklin screeched in protest.

He thinks you’re going to take his banana.

“Tell him he can have his banana,” snapped Peter. While Tink calmed Franklin, Peter squinted into the eyepiece and saw a magnified image of the starry desert sky with a small white circle painted in the middle. Evidently, Franklin was supposed to steer the rocket so that a certain star—Peter couldn’t tell which one—remained in the circle, thus holding the right course. He glanced out the open hatchway; at the moment, the rocket appeared to be going straight up into the meteor-streaked sky. He would have to change that.

Peter quickly unbuckled Franklin’s straps and shoved the still-protesting monkey aside. He looked out the hatchway and pulled on one of the control levers. The rocket veered to the right so sharply that Peter, Franklin, and Tink were almost hurled out. Peter quickly pushed the lever forward, straightening the rocket. He tried the other lever, gently pushing and pulling, getting the feel of it.

What are you doing? chimed Tink.

“I’m steering it,” said Peter.

Steering it WHERE?

Peter was pondering the same question. He looked out the open hatchway. Below—quite far below—he saw the city of Maknar and the palace; in the distance to one side was the desert. To the other side lay the harbor and the sea. His eyes rested a moment on the vast expanse of dark water. Then he gently pushed on both levers. The rocket began to turn to a horizontal position.

What are you doing? said Tink.

“I’m going to fly it into the sea,” said Peter. “That way they can’t get the starstuff back. We’ll jump out before it reaches the water.”

What about Franklin?

“I’ll hold him.”

The rocket leveled off. Peter, sticking his head out the hatchway to see, put it into a sweeping turn over the desert, aiming toward the harbor. He brought the rocket lower, lower; he passed over the palace and could see, hurtling past, the ring of torches still burning around the launch site in the courtyard. Ahead, he saw the curve of the harbor, the masts of ships. He squinted against the rushing air as he looked out toward the sea.

He angled the rocket even lower. The roar of the wind filled his ears. Thus he did not hear the urgent warning sound from Tink, nor the shriek from Franklin.

Then he felt the cold creeping into his feet. He turned to see Ombra just outside the cage. He was shrinking from the light of the starstuff in the compartment above but managing to reach a black tentacle out to touch Peter’s shadow, cast in that same light. Peter felt his strength being sucked away. He whirled back to the hatchway and, sticking his head out, saw that the rocket was just about to reach the harbor; ahead, almost level with the rocket, was the mainmast of a large sailing ship.

Peter felt the cold rising in his legs. There was no more time. He reached up and yanked on the red lever. He heard the hatch on the starstuff compartment opening, then saw a flash outside, like lightning. He heard a roar of rage and felt the warmth flood back into his legs as the flash drove Ombra back. Before Ombra could touch his shadow again, Peter released the red lever and dove out of the opening.

As he did, he heard a clang above him, and he realized to his horror that the starstuff hatch—either because of the motion of the rocket, or Ombra’s actions—had swung closed. He whirled back, hoping to reach the lever again, but the rocket was already hurtling past, faster than he could fly. With a desperate lunge he managed to grab on to its side, but the smooth metal gave him no purchase. He slid down to the end of the rocket, finally stopping when he caught hold of one of the four hinged steering plates sticking out of the base.

He clung to the plate, the wind roaring past. He dared not let go of the rocket for two reasons: one was that Tinker Bell was still inside; the other was that, although he had dumped some of the starstuff over the harbor, he had not dumped it all—he could see that the top of the rocket was still glowing brightly. He didn’t know whether there was enough starstuff left to accomplish Glotz’s mission, but he did know this: the rocket was no longer descending. He felt a movement in the plate he was clinging to as it was pulled by the cable attached to it. Something—either the monkey, or Ombra himself—was operating the steering levers.

The rocket began to rise.