بخش 22

CHAPTER 42

THE STANDOFF

THE JAIL CELL REEKED of vomit and menace. Peter sat in a corner, where he’d remained since the bobby had shoved him in there, trying his best not to be noticed by the others.

There were eleven of them: three boys younger—or at least smaller—than Peter, five boys older, and three men. Peter wasn’t so worried about the men: all three were drunk and seemed mostly interested in sleeping, although one had awakened long enough to empty the contents of his stomach onto himself and onto the floor, filling the cell with an acrid stench before he fell back into a deep, snoring slumber.

No, it was the older boys who concerned Peter. They were already in the cell when he’d been brought in, and they seemed quite familiar with it, almost comfortable there. They apparently knew each other, or had at least formed into a hierarchy, as packs of males do. Their leader was not the tallest among them, but definitely the broadest: a brutish, muscular boy the others called Rafe. He amused himself by tormenting the smaller boys, punching them and threatening to stuff them headfirst into the disgustingly full wooden bucket that served as the cell’s communal toilet.

Peter desperately hoped that he would not have to use that bucket; the thought repulsed him. He hoped, too, that Rafe would continue ignoring him. Peter kept his eyes cast down, not meeting anyone’s gaze. His mood had descended to a level below despair: he had no idea how to get himself out of this, let alone rescue Tink or find Molly in time to warn her of the danger she was in. He had no hope at all. His stomach ached and his swollen jaw throbbed with agonizing pain.

“You,” said a menacing voice.

Peter looked up, and his heart sank at the sight of Rafe’s thick form looming over him.

“What?” he said.

“You got anything for me?” said Rafe. He squatted in front of Peter, his wide, grinning face only a foot away.

Peter said nothing. Why did everyone in this city want something from him?

Casually, Rafe reached his meaty hand out. Peter flinched as Rafe grabbed a handful of Peter’s filthy, torn shirt.

Rafe made a disappointed face. “Can’t use these pitiful rags,” he said. Then he brightened as he spied the gold chain around Peter’s neck. Peter inwardly berated himself for not having thought to hide it.

“Here now,” Rafe said, pulling the chain out and fingering the locket. “What’s this?”

Peter pushed Rafe’s hand aside and jumped to his feet, moving along the wall, away from Rafe. He couldn’t give up the locket. No matter what, he must not let that happen.

Rafe appeared surprised by the show of defiance, but pleased at the prospect of having some sport with his prey. He rose to his feet, smiling.

“So,” he said, moving slowly toward Peter. “You want to tussle with Rafe, do you?”

Peter continued to edge along the wall, looking frantically around the cell. He saw he’d get no help from the drunks, who were sleeping, and none from the other boys, who were watching with the expressions of spectators at an execution: they were clearly grateful that somebody else was the victim.

Rafe advanced toward Peter. Peter slid sideways along the cell wall. He reached the corner; there was nowhere to go. Rafe was a yard away, smiling broadly, bringing his fists up, ready to begin the pummeling.

Peter felt his foot hit something. He looked down and saw it: the toilet bucket.

He reached down and grabbed the handle with his right hand, swinging the bucket up to waist level. The stench was almost overpowering, but Peter was driven by desperation now. He put his left hand on the bottom of the bucket and drew it back, ready to hurl its repulsive contents at Rafe.

Rafe stopped, his smug expression replaced by one of surprise, and—Peter was relieved to see—an undercurrent of fear.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

“Yes, I would,” replied Peter.

They stood facing each other in the silent cell, staring into each other’s eyes for the better part of a very long minute. It was Rafe who blinked first.

“All right,” he said, backing away. “You stand there in the stink.” He settled down on the other side of the cell. “But soon enough you’ll get tired. Soon enough you’ll fall asleep. And then I’ll have that thing around your neck.” He hurled a hate-filled glare at Peter. “And I’ll have your neck, too,” he added.

Peter didn’t answer. He stood in the corner, holding the bucket, enveloped in foul fumes. He would not allow his face to betray his feelings. But he knew that Rafe was right: he could not hold out forever. CHAPTER 43

THUNDER DOWN THE TRAIL

A PIRATE NAMED CHAMBERS led the hunting party, a group of able-bodied sailors armed with swords and bamboo spears tipped with sharpened shells. They moved smartly, knowing Hook was watching from his position on the mountainside.

They trudged through the humid, thick jungle, dodging snakes as thick as an arm and spiders the size of a fist. Chambers posted a man or two at various points on the jungle paths, according to Hook’s plan. By the time the hunting party had reached the herd of wild boars that Hook had seen earlier, it was down to Chambers and three others.

About a dozen of the huge, hairy, tusked beasts wallowed at the edge of a shallow watering hole, more mud than water. Chambers, using arm gestures so as not to spook the boars, positioned his men in a semicircle around one side of the watering hole. When they were set, he used the polished metal of his belt buckle to reflect a beam of sunlight toward the mountain. Then he waited.

Hook saw Chambers’s ready signal, and nearly allowed a smile to bend his moustache across his face. But not yet. He observed all: the jungle treetops, the boys’ hut, the paths. Squinting to his right, with some effort, he caught a glimpse of Hurky and more of his men concealed in the jungle on both sides of the trail that led past the hut. By now they would have laid the fishing net on the ground, stretching it across the path. Hook’s brilliant plan was coming together.

Hook drew his sword from his belt, angled the flat of its blade into the sun, and sent a blinding flash back in the direction of Chambers. Another: two quick flashes in a row. Then he watched as Chambers went to work.

Chambers nodded as Hook’s double signal blinked from the mountainside. He rose and waved his hand, issuing the silent command. The other three men stood, and all four of them began whooping and shouting as loud as they could. Then, pointing their spears and swords in front of them, they charged toward the wallowing boars.

This was the critical moment, because the boars might react by attacking, and if they did, they would likely tear the men to pieces. When Chambers had pointed this out to Captain Hook, Hook had boldly declared that this was a risk he was willing to take.

And so, despite the fierce faces of the shouting men, there was fear in their hearts as they saw the boars lift their heads. The hairy beasts snorted and pawed the mud, clearly considering charging. Then, to the great relief of the men, the boars turned and ran. The ground shook with their retreat; mud flew from their hooves.

From his mountainside lookout, Hook watched delightedly as, to his left, Chambers startled the boars. The beasts took off racing down the jungle trail, heads low. At the first intersection of trails, the boars encountered a nervous pirate pointing a spear; they veered to the right, just as Hook had drawn it up. He lost them for a few seconds to the thick jungle treetops, but then the herd reappeared, running even faster, their hooves tossing up a brown cloud of dirt clods behind them.

At the next junction of jungle paths, a pair of pirates surprised the boars and turned them again. Now the animals were headed right for the thatched hut where the boys lived.

Hook chortled and finally grinned, his brown teeth showing beneath his famous foot-wide moustache as he half whispered, “I have you now, you little devils.”

James felt it before he heard it.

“Run!” he shouted.

“What?” asked Prentiss, who was putting the finishing touches on a length of bamboo. The boys were currently working to improve the bamboo gutters that hung from their hut and collected rain water. When working properly, the storage system saved them repeated bucket trips to the spring-fed well dug by the Mollusks.

“Run!” repeated James. “The hideout!”

This time nobody questioned him, because now they could all feel it, and hear it: a deep rumbling sound quickly getting louder and closer. The boys dropped what they were doing and took off running away from the sound, down the jungle path and toward their hideout.

The thunder gained on them; they could not outrun it. James and Thomas, the quickest of the boys, reached the hideout first. James pulled the plant out of the way of the door. Thomas dove down the hole into the ground, face-first, with James right behind.

But as Prentiss and Tubby Ted reached the secret cave, the snorting, stampeding beasts were right on their heels, and the two boys dared not slow down. They passed the cave’s secret entrance, running as fast as they could, Prentiss in the lead. They followed the jungle trail around the corner…

…and ran smack into a tangle of rope.

The rope stopped Prentiss, and Tubby Ted slammed into him from behind, the two of them falling over onto the trail. Prentiss looked back to see the oncoming boars, now only yards away, and he knew he was about to be trampled and killed.

But just then he felt the ropes tightening. Then he and Tubby Ted skidded sideways across the trail’s hard-packed dirt, just as the boars reached them.

The frantic boars roared past in a blur of hairy hides and a mighty pounding of hooves. The sound faded and, in a few moments, was gone.

Prentiss, who had shut his eyes in terror, opened them, amazed to find himself ensnared in a net, along with Tubby Ted. They were saved! How lucky they were to have been caught in this net, no doubt intended for the boars!

But his mood changed quickly as he found himself face-to-face with a pockmarked pirate. The man opened his toothless mouth and laughed. His breath stung Prentiss’ eyes.

Hook observed all this from his mountain perch: he saw the boys take off running; he saw the boars rip past the hut—one of the animals running right through the hut, breaking a hole through the back wall of sticks, and dragging a pair of pants on his head.

Hook lost sight of the boys briefly, but then saw two of them run right into his net. They were swiftly hauled to the side of the trail as the boars ran past.

Chambers and the others, following the boars, caught up to the group with the boys. Chambers flashed his belt buckle at Hook, signaling success.

Hook flashed back with the flat of his sword: first one, then another, and finally a third. This three-flash signal warned that a patrol of Mollusks had left the compound and was quickly approaching. The pirates had to hurry.

And hurry they did.

The last thing Hook saw, before the jungle swallowed them entirely, was his sailors carrying a netted bundle over their heads at a steady trot.

And in that net were two young boys. Hook would rather have had four, but two would do for his purposes.

Oh, yes, he had plans for those two.