فصل 63

CHAPTER 63

THE GOLDEN MOON

MOLLY’S FACE HURT from pressing against the cell bars as she strained to see what was going on in the confusion of the courtyard. Behind her, also looking out, were her father and Bakari. They didn’t see much, other than soldiers shouting and firing their rifles at the sky. Every now and then they caught a glimpse of the flying ship, but usually it was too high overhead, clearly trying to stay out of range of the bullets.

The three prisoners speculated about the ship, concluding that it must have somehow become infused with starstuff. Leonard grew increasingly agitated as the ship sailed back and forth, a fat target for Zarboff’s soldiers.

“I wish they’d just leave,” he said. “They’re going to get themselves killed.”

Molly turned to her father. “Would you leave?”

Leonard smiled ruefully and shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I’d try to rescue you.”

Molly nodded and turned back to the courtyard.

“Someone’s coming,” said Bakari. He looked down the corridor. “It’s Peter!”

Molly and Leonard rushed to the cell door as Peter, with Tink on his head, trotted into view. Across the corridor, Hook, who’d been sitting in the shadows of his cell, rose to his feet.

“Peter,” said Leonard, “what’s happening?”

“No time to explain,” said Peter. “You must lie on the floor, as far from the window and outside wall as possible. And by all means, cover your heads.”

“But what…?” began Molly.

“Please, just get down!” said Peter.

Before Molly could speak again, he was gone.

King Zarboff the Third frowned at the meteor-streaked sky. Several minutes earlier the flying ship had stopped circling the palace and flown off on a straight course; it was no longer visible from inside the courtyard wall. Zarboff went over to Viktor Glotz, who was staring intently at the sky. Minutes ago the two men had been arguing heatedly over the apparent failure of the rocket, but now their anger at each other was replaced by shared concern about the strange ship. They had no doubt that starstuff was involved, but how had the boys gotten hold of it? And where were they now?

A soldier shouted something from one of the ramparts; he was pointing to something in the distance.

“The ship is coming back,” said Zarboff. He barked a command in the Rundoon language; the soldiers readied their rifles. Zarboff turned to Glotz, his expression a mixture of anger and puzzlement.

“What do they want?” he said. “Why do they return?”

Glotz had been thinking about that. Now, as Zarboff asked the question, the answer came to him.

“The Starcatchers in the dungeon!” he said. “They’re trying to free them!”

“The Starcatchers will die before they escape my kingdom,” snarled Zarboff. He barked another order. A half dozen soldiers started running toward the dungeon. As they did, a chorus of shouts arose in the courtyard, and a hundred fingers pointed toward the sky.

The flying ship was swooping down toward them under full sail.

“We’re a minute away!” shouted George, peering ahead at the palace courtyard. He saw muzzle flashes; the soldiers were already shooting. “Slightly, are you ready?”

“Almost!” came the reply from below, where Slightly, Nibs, Curly, and the twins were frantically loading the fourth and last starboard cannon. The boys had been very lucky—the shot, powder, fuses, and matches had all been stored close by the cannons. George, whose family kept an antique cannon at their country estate and fired it on ceremonial occasions, had raced below and hastily demonstrated the loading process on the first cannon; Slightly and the others had done the rest. George prayed they had done it right—cannons, even when properly loaded, had been known to explode.

George looked aloft, where James and Prentiss were working from the topsail yardarm. They had let the topsail out fully; the force of the wind on it was what was pressing the De Vliegen’s bow downward, causing the ship to descend. It would be James and Prentiss’s job to take the sail in when it was time to make the ship rise and escape. They were vulnerable to rifle fire up there, but there was no other way. Thomas and Tubby Ted stood by George, ready to pull in or let out sail as needed.

George looked forward again. He had judged the angle of descent well; the ship would just clear the compound wall on its dive into the courtyard. The rifle fire was increasing, the bullets again slamming into the ship’s hull.

“Take what cover you can!” shouted George. “We’re going in!”

They passed over the wall. The rifle fire was constant. George heard a high-pitched scream and saw Thomas crumple to the deck, holding his leg. He felt a thud in his left arm, as though somebody had punched him; he looked down and saw blood. A second later, he felt the searing pain. Using his right hand, he spun the ship’s wheel to the right, then left again, angling the ship so that it would run parallel to the massive dungeon building, which would be off the starboard side. The ship was still descending; its keel was now no more than twenty feet above the courtyard itself. Soldiers ran behind, firing upward at the ship.

The dungeon was just ahead; George saw the row of barred cell windows along the bottom of the wall. Peter had told him Molly was in the fourth cell from the near end. He hoped the cannons were aimed low enough. His arm was throbbing intensely now.

“James!” he shouted, “a bit less topsail!” He needed to stop the ship’s descent before it hit the ground. As James and Prentiss worked above, George returned his attention to the dungeon, now almost alongside.

“Slightly!” he shouted. “Ready on the forward cannon!”

“Ready!” came the shout back, over the sound of the rifle fire.

George watched the wall, trying to judge when the cannon would be lined up with the fourth cell window. A few more feet…

“Fire one!” he shouted.

Molly, lying on the cell floor, heard the cannon’s boom. It was louder and deeper than the crack-crack-crack of the rifles. Then she heard a resounding crash as the cannonball struck the dungeon wall near the cell. A cloud of dust filled the corridor. She struggled to her feet. Her father was already at the cell window.

“They’re firing the cannons at the dungeon!” he shouted. “They’re trying to—”

He was interrupted by the shout of “Fire two!” and another huge boom as a second cannonball slammed into the dungeon wall directly outside their cell, hurling all three occupants to the ground in a hail of flying stone. Coughing and choking in the thick dust, their ears ringing, the three struggled back to their feet. Blood poured from Leonard’s chin, where he’d been cut by a shard of masonry, but they were otherwise unhurt. Their relief lasted only a few seconds, however; there were shouts coming their way and now soldiers in the corridor. One of them produced a ring of keys and began to open the cell door. Behind him, the others drew their swords, and the looks on their faces told Molly the frightening truth: they mean to kill us.

“Ready on three!” shouted George. The first shot had gone too early, striking the cell next to Molly’s. But the second had been right on target, blasting big chunks of stone out of the wall. A third ball in the same spot should poke a hole through it.

“Fire three!” he shouted.

The third cannonball blasted through the dungeon wall just as the soldiers entered the cell. Molly, Leonard, and Bakari, having heard George give the order to fire, dropped to the floor, but the soldiers ran head-on into a hail of stone fragments that knocked them over backward, some of them screaming in pain. The ball shot across the corridor and knocked the door to Hook’s cell off its hinges, very nearly decapitating the crouching Hook himself.

Molly, disoriented by the dust and the noise, felt her father’s hands pulling her to her feet. Over the ringing in her ears she dimly heard a familiar voice shouting her name…

Peter!

He was extending his hand through the jagged hole in the wall left by the cannonball.

“This way!” he shouted. “Hurry!”

Leonard pushed Molly through the hole, then Bakari; then he climbed through himself. The three of them, turned ghost white by the dust, stood with Peter by the dungeon wall. The action in the courtyard had moved on, following the flying ship, which was traveling away from the dungeon. Its stern loomed against the meteor sky as rifle-wielding soldiers ran after it. Molly could make out George at the helm, shouting to the other boys, who were working on sails and ropes as bullets whistled around them. For the moment, nobody seemed to notice Peter and the three escaped prisoners in the shadow of the dungeon.

“Now what?” Leonard asked Peter.

“George is going to turn the ship and bring it back this way,” said Peter. “They’ll lower a rope. I might be able to fly Molly up to it, but I doubt that I can lift you or Bakari.”

You can’t lift her either, observed Tink, who was perched in Peter’s hair. She’s a cow.

“Tink!” reprimanded Peter, glancing at Leonard. But Leonard’s attention was focused on the ship. “Let’s hope George gets back here before anybody notices us,” he said.

He had barely gotten those words out when they heard angry shouts behind them. They turned to see a soldier, his sword drawn, coming through the hole in the wall. And there were others right behind him.

“Loosen that rope, Ted,” shouted George. “No, not that one. That one. James! After we tack, give us more topsail so we can get down and pick them up. Ready about!”

George spun the wheel hard to the left, using only his right arm. His left arm was useless and throbbing with pain. The ship began to turn; below, the soldiers scurried to get better shooting positions. Fortunately, they were miserable marksmen; they also appeared to be running low on ammunition. The shots were coming less frequently. As the ship came around, George peered ahead and found the dungeon wall, the place where Peter was to wait with Molly, her father, and Bakari. His heart jumped when he caught sight of the four figures near the dark wall. Then he saw other figures with them—soldiers.

This isn’t good, he thought.

“More topsail, James!” he called. “Let’s take her down!”

“Stay behind me, Molly!” said Leonard, putting himself between his daughter and the tips of the soldiers’ swords.

Seven soldiers had come through the wall, four of them bleeding from the cannonball blast, all of them very angry. They were advancing in a semicircle toward Molly, Peter, Leonard, and Bakari.

“Peter,” said Molly, “get out of here while you can.”

Listen to her, said Tink.

Instead of answering, Peter took a step directly toward the nearest soldier. The man thrust his blade forward, but struck only the air. Peter had launched himself straight up and was now coming back down, hitting the top of the soldier’s head with both feet. The man cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground, dropping his sword; in a flash, Leonard stooped and picked it up. As he did, Peter swooped sideways, delivering a hard kick to another soldier’s right wrist. His sword tumbled loose, and Bakari was on it like a cat.

Now the fight was on. Peter no longer had the element of surprise; the soldiers knew he could fly. But he could still serve as an annoyance, swooping at them from above as they slashed at him with their swords. Meanwhile, Leonard and Bakari, both strong swordsmen, were able—barely—to keep the soldiers at bay, the two of them standing with their backs to the dungeon wall, protecting themselves and Molly from the five remaining blades arrayed against them.

As he swooped and darted, Peter kept glancing at the De Vliegen. It had turned around and was heading back toward the dungeon. Unfortunately, the ship was bringing with it a horde of angry soldiers following behind, still getting off the occasional shot. Somehow Molly, Leonard, and Bakari would have to break through the ranks of their attackers and get aboard—before the rest of the soldiers spotted them.

The big ship was close now, its bow filling the sky.

“Get ready!” Peter shouted. But as he did, he saw that, skilled as they were, Leonard and Bakari, two blades against five, could not force their way through the wall of flashing steel.

“Ted!” shouted George. “Throw the rope over!”

Tubby Ted—getting it right the first time, for once—picked up the heavy coil of rope on the forward port-side deck and heaved it over the rail. One end was tied to a winch on the ship, the other would fall to the ground to be grabbed by whoever was down there. George, unable to see the end of the rope from where he stood at the wheel, watched the rail intently, not knowing whether the rope would be bringing friends aboard, or killers.

Peter saw the rope drop down over the side of the ship; Leonard saw it, too.

“Take Molly, Peter!” he shouted between blade thrusts.

“No, Father!” said Molly.

“YES!” thundered Leonard, in a voice that even Molly dared not defy. He glanced at Peter, then Bakari, and said, “On the count of three.”

Bakari nodded. Peter arced into the air.

“One,” said Leonard. “Two…THREE!”

Leonard and Bakari lunged at the soldiers, thrusting furiously, momentarily driving them back. At the same time, Peter dove, leveled off, and scooped Molly into his arms, praying he had enough momentum to reach the deck. He lifted her off the ground and veered toward the ship, rising, rising…

…and then stalling and starting to descend.

“Let me go!” shouted Molly.

Yes! Let her go! concurred Tink.

“Hang on!” shouted Peter, and he swerved desperately sideways.

UNNH! Molly and Peter grunted together as they slammed into the side of the ship. They started to slide down the wood. Peter reached his left arm out and managed to grab the dangling rope.

“Here!” he gasped, yanking it toward Molly. She gripped it and hung on, letting go of Peter. He looked up and saw Tubby Ted leaning over the rail, his arms outstretched. As Molly began struggling her way up the rope toward Ted, Peter turned and darted back down toward Leonard and Bakari.

They were losing the fight. Their backs were against the dungeon wall; the soldiers were closing in on them. To make matters worse, more soldiers were running toward them. Soon they would be impossibly outnumbered. And the flying ship, their only hope for escape, was getting away, the rope end dragging on the ground.

Peter swooped down at the swordsmen, shouting and punching as he dodged their blades. Tink did her part as well, darting into their faces, delivering surprisingly painful kicks with her tiny feet. But it was not enough. More soldiers were arriving, and the ship was leaving. For a fraction of an instant, amid the furious clash of blades, Peter’s eyes met Leonard’s, and Peter saw only despair; Leonard knew the fight was lost.

“OUT OF MY WAY, YOU SCURVY DOGS!”

The roar came from the right, a booming voice that Peter knew well but had never before been grateful to hear: Hook. He had just emerged through the cannonball hole in the dungeon wall and, with snakelike quickness, snatched a sword from the hand of a soldier with his right hand while clubbing him to the ground with the stump of his hookless left arm. Bellowing fearsomely and wielding the sword with a pirate’s ruthless efficiency, he began hacking his way through the soldiers, who were thrown into confusion by this blindside attack. Hook quickly joined forces with Leonard and Bakari, the three of them forming a deadly triangle of steel, their combined skills overmatching any soldiers able to get close. In a few furious seconds, they had fought their way free of the wall and were moving faster and faster toward the receding ship, its rescue rope still dangling tantalizingly.

Peter darted ahead, his intent being to tell George to slow the ship, if possible, to allow the men to reach it. But he was stopped by Tink’s sharp chime in his ear.

There’s a boy back there.

Peter turned, his eyes scanning the mob of shouting soldiers running this way and that. He spotted the small figure crouching near the hole in the dungeon wall: Tootles. Peter had completely forgotten about the slave boy whose gold suit he’d borrowed. He swooped into a turn and headed back, praying that Tootles weighed less than Molly. A good deal less.

“James!” shouted George. “Take in the topsail!”

As James and the others got to work aloft, George, for the dozenth time in the last minute, peered nervously ahead. The ship was nearing the massive wall and was far too low to clear it. Unless they gained altitude soon, they’d smash bow-on into the stone. But so far, only Molly had made it up the rope; Leonard and Bakari were still trapped in their fight with the soldiers. If they didn’t reach the ship soon…

George glanced back, and his heart leapt. Bakari was running toward the ship, with Leonard right behind, followed by a mob of soldiers. George glanced ahead again. The wall was very close; the ship was still too low.

“Hurry, James!” he shouted, praying that the ship would rise very soon—and that Leonard and Bakari would reach the rope before it did.

Bakari had almost reached the rope. Its end was off the ground now; the ship was rising. Bakari glanced back. Leonard was right behind him, followed by Hook, the two of them slashing their swords back at the pursuing soldiers.

“Go on!” shouted Leonard. “I’m right behind you!”

Bakari let go of his sword, grabbed the rope, and—despite arms aching from the furious swordfight—began to climb, hand over hand. The dangling rope end was now more than six feet off the ground and rising. Hook and Leonard reached it at the same time, and, flinging their swords back at the soldiers, jumped together and caught the rope. Leonard began to climb. Hook, with but one hand, could only cling desperately to the rising rope end, wriggling to evade the swords of soldiers slashing at him from below.

Leonard, gasping from the arm-wearying rope climb, reached the ship’s rail and was helped over by a smiling Bakari and a tearful Molly. Leonard looked around, assessing the scene aboard the ship. George, at the helm, was shouting frantically at some boys aloft in the sails. Just ahead loomed the compound wall. To Leonard it looked too close, too high.

Something thumped on the deck next to him. He turned and smiled at the sight of Peter, who was carrying a very scared-looking young man on his back.

“HELP!”

The shout came from below. Peter and Leonard leaned over the rail and saw Hook, still dangling from the end of the rope above the thrusting blades of the soldiers. The pirate looked up; his glittering black eyes met Leonard’s, then Peter’s. There was a plea in those eyes but no groveling; Hook did not beg.

Peter and Leonard looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: it would be easy to simply untie the rope and be done with the man who had tried, more than once, to kill them.

Then Leonard said, “He saved my life, Peter. And Bakari’s.”

Peter nodded. Together, he and Leonard began hauling on the rope, pulling the pirate onto the ship.

“James!” shouted George. “Hurry!”

James was working furiously on the topsail, but the De Vliegen was still too low. The bow was only feet from the wall. They weren’t going to make it.

“Hang on!” shouted George, a second before the ship’s keel struck the top of the wall. The sudden stop sent everyone sprawling to the deck, save George, who clung to the wheel. There was a horrible grinding sound from below, wood scraping over stone, and then a crash as a chunk of wall broke off and fell to the ground. The ship began to turn to the right, pivoting slowly clockwise on its keel. It finally ground to a stop, its starboard side now facing the courtyard. George spun the wheel, but nothing happened. They were stuck.

A roar went up from the courtyard as the soldiers realized that their prey had not escaped after all. Zarboff was screaming orders at his men. In moments, soldiers appeared with a ladder, then another. They rushed these toward the wall where the ship sat, immobile.

“James!” George shouted. “Take in more sail! Take in all you can! The rest of you lighten the ship! Throw everything overboard!”

James worked the sails as Peter, Leonard, Molly, Bakari, and the others—even Hook—scurried around the deck, grabbing barrels and boxes and heaving them over the side. The De Vliegen shifted but did not rise. The soldiers had leaned the ladders against the wall on either end of the ship and were starting to climb. Zarboff stood in the middle of the courtyard, still screaming orders. More barrels went over the side; the ship shifted again. It wanted to rise—George could feel it. He needed just a little more lift…

“Slightly!” he shouted. “The fourth cannon—is it loaded?”

Slightly, lifting a barrel, answered, “Yes!”

“Fire it now!” shouted George. “Hurry!”

Slightly hurled the barrel over the side and raced down the companionway. The soldiers were on the wall now, coming toward the ship from both ends. Seconds passed…

“Hurry!” shouted George again. What was Slightly doing down there?

Slightly was aiming. He’d lit the cannon’s fuse, and now, in the few seconds left, he was heaving his body against the heavy barrel, shifting it until he hoped it was pointed where he wanted.

The sparking, smoking fuse fire disappeared into the touch hole. Slightly closed his eyes and clapped his hands over his ears.

BOOM!

The cannon thundered just as the first of Zarboff’s soldiers reached the ship. George felt a lurch and then let out a whoop. The ship was rising. The cannon shot had jolted it free. George spun the wheel to port and got the bow turning; wind filled the sails, and the ship began to gain speed, rising and moving away from the palace. The courtyard was in an uproar now, Zarboff’s thwarted soldiers shrieking in fury, while the few riflemen with ammunition remaining fired ineffectively at the receding ship.

Such was the clamor in the courtyard that, for a few moments, nobody noticed where the cannonball had gone.

It had gone where Slightly aimed it—right at King Zarboff the Third. But the ball had not hit him; the portly king had seen the flash and somehow sensed the ball sizzling at him through the night air. In the instant it took to fly from the ship to him, Zarboff managed to lunge to his left just enough so that the ball barely brushed him as it whistled past. That was lucky for Zarboff.

Not so lucky for him was the fact that his momentum sent him stumbling sideways, right into the heavy basket that had been sitting in the courtyard for hours now, unnoticed. Zarboff fell, and, grabbing the basket for support, pulled it over with him. As he did, its lid came unfastened and its occupant spilled out onto the portly king as he lay on the ground. Kundalini’s tongue darted out, tasting Zarboff’s scent. It was familiar, but familiarity did not translate as affection for a snake. Food was food.

Zarboff struggled to get free, but struggling was useless against Kundalini. The giant snake was perfectly designed for just this situation; each move made by his prey only gave Kundalini another opportunity to tighten his muscled coils. Zarboff emitted a few panicked cries, but they were lost amid the courtyard din. And then he could no longer breathe; he could only struggle in silent horror as his beloved pet began the slow, relentless process of feeding on him.

The last thing Zarboff saw, before he received the gift of unconsciousness, was the silhouette of a ship sailing past the fat, golden moon.