بخش 05

CHAPTER 8

THE MISSION

TWELVE HARD MEN, KILLERS ALL, slipped over the side of Le Fantome and clambered down rope ladders to the two longboats, where Nerezza awaited them. Sheets of fog rose from the water, hovering at eye height between the ship and the shore, broken into patches and wisps by an intermittent breeze.

Ahead of the raiding party, a dory slid through the water, manned only by a lone oarsman, and Le Fantome’s mysterious black-cloaked passenger sitting in the bow.

The unhappy oarsman was Slank, ordered by Nerezza to take the passenger—Lord Ombra, Nerezza had called him—ashore. Slank had protested: Lord or no lord, he didn’t want to be alone in the boat with him. But Nerezza had given him no choice.

Slank pulled on the oars, his back to the shore and his unwelcome passenger. The night air was warm, but Slank felt a chill through his back, a chill to his bones. He’d felt it from the moment Ombra descended to the dory. Ombra hadn’t exactly climbed down the rope set out for him, nor had he slid. It was more like he’d oozed down the rope, Slank thought, like harbor mud dripping down an anchor line.

Slank didn’t want to think about that. He wanted only to get to the island and get out of this boat.

Lazy waves lapped the shore, on this, the leeward side of the island. Slank pulled toward that sound, wondering why Nerezza had assigned him this task.

“Steady on,” came Ombra’s voice, a deep groan that sent a shudder slithering down Slank’s spinee Moonlight broke through the swirling mist. Slank leaned sideways to study the surface of the water, looking for signs of the hated mermaids. He would never admit it, but he was terrified of the demon she-fish. As he moved, his moon-cast shadow moved with him, playing across the small boat.

Slank glanced toward the ship, saw the longboats pushing off. What Slank didn’t see was the strange behavior of his shadow behind him. As if taking on a life of its own, it began to stretch and shift, slithering toward the bow, toward Ombra.

Slank felt suddenly light-headed. Behind him, he heard Ombra’s wheezing groan, but in a low murmur, not addressed to him, as if Ombra were talking to himself. But then Slank heard a second voice…a voice eerily familiar to him, a voice so familiar that it was as if…

Ombra spoke again, this time to Slank. “So,” he groaned, “you’re afraid of the she-fish….”

But how…

“I ain’t afraid of any kind of fish, nor anything else on this island,” Slank said aloud. His thoughts were quite different: You’d be afraid, too, Lord whoever you are, if you’d tangled with them fish in this water like I did. And you might not find that flying boy so easy to deal with, neither.

“I see,” groaned Ombra. “You think the flying boy might give me trouble, as he did you?”

Slank froze, halting the oars in midstroke. It’s like he hears me thinking.

“Exactly,” groaned Ombra. “Row.”

Slank resumed rowing. The moon passed behind a cloud; the sea went dark again. Slank lost sight of the longboats following.

“They’re fierce, them she-fish,” Slank said defensively. “Teeth like razors. And cunning…”

“How many she-fish?” All business.

“Were a sea full of ’em. Circling my dory. Five…six…ten. Taking bites out of the transom. You ain’t never seen anything like it.”

“Indeed, I’ve seen a great many things you’ve not dreamed of, Mister Slank. We needn’t concern ourselves over a few she-fish. Nor pirates. Nor a flying boy. Nor the little girl, the daughter of the Starcatcher.” Ombra hissed the beginning of “Starcatcher,” a hiss of disdain.

“We concern ourselves with one thing, one thing only,” continued Ombra. “To retrieve the starstuff you left behind.”

Slank started to say something but thought better of it.

“Wise decision, Mister Slank. Now, with your knowledge of the island, and those men in the longboats, and my special…capabilities, we should have no trouble carrying out our mission. But you, Mister Slank, must be a help to us, not a hindrance. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Slank, through gritted teeth.

“That means you must remember that our purpose here, our only purpose, is to get the starstuff, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“It is not to gain revenge.”

Slank stiffened.

“That’s right,” said Ombra. “I know of your plans for the boy.”

Slank said nothing.

“You will not waste time pursuing your personal agenda, Slank. You will not jeopardize our mission. You will obey my orders. Failure to do so would be very, very unpleasant for you, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Here we are.”

The dory was lifted by a small wave and came down to rest on the beach. Slank never felt his passenger move, heard no splash of boots in the water; but when he turned, Ombra was gliding up the beach.

The moonlight broke through again, though only briefly. Ombra glided swiftly away from the advancing light—Like he’s scared of it, thought Slank—into the darkness of the jungle.

Slank clambered out of the boat and hauled the dory out of the water. He looked up the beach, now pale white in the moonlight. His eyes traced the path Ombra had taken across the wet sand, and he felt the chill again.

There were no footprints. CHAPTER 9

A TASTY MEAL LOST

PETER STUMBLED DOWN the dark jungle path, tripping over what seemed like every rock, root, and vine. Behind him followed a young Mollusk warrior named Running Snail; ahead of him went Fierce Clam, second in seniority only to Fighting Prawn himself. The two Mollusk warriors, unlike Peter, moved effortlessly no matter how steep, twisting, or muddy the terrain.

At one point Fierce Clam disappeared altogether in the gloom ahead. A warning chime sounded in Peter’s right ear.

“I know, Tink,” he snapped. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

Peter would have preferred to fly, but Fighting Prawn had insisted that he remain on the ground with the two warriors, ensuring that the three arrive at the pirate encampment together. And so Peter stumbled forward.

I hope this works, he thought. The plan had sounded foolproof when Fighting Prawn had explained it back in the village. But now, out here in the thick of the jungle, enveloped in darkness, approaching Hook’s camp on foot, Peter felt less confident. In his mind he pictured the pirate’s sharp hook slicing through the mango. He also knew only too well that the giant, hungry crocodile roamed this side of the island, looking for an easy meal. For an instant, fear seized his belly, and he considered turning back. But then, remembering James, he forged ahead.

Lost in thought, he almost collided with Fierce Clam, who had stopped on the path. They were nearly at the pirate encampment. Now the three of them—Peter and the two Mollusk warriors—exchanged looks: Ready?

Ready.

Fierce Clam gave a signal, pointing upward. Peter nodded, and flying now, raised himself a few feet off the ground. The two Mollusks moved beneath him and helped Peter adjust his sailcloth trousers and eel-skin shoes. When they were all three satisfied with the results, Peter, with Tinker Bell hovering close by, soared up through the tree canopy into the moonlit sky.

He drifted a few feet forward, saw the clearing with the hulking rough shape of the pirate fort at the far end. His eyes scanned the clearing, and then he saw the two shapes, one large, one small.

Hook holding James.

“Peter!” James squealed in a fear-squeezed voice that tore at Peter’s heart.

“It’s all right, James,” answered Peter. “I’m here.”

“Yes, James,” said Hook, in a rasping, ugly mimic of Peter’s high-pitched voice. “Your heroic friend is here to rescue you.”

Peter swooped closer. The pirate had his good hand firmly gripped around James’s left arm, leaving his hook free. As Hook had promised, they were alone—or so it appeared. Peter had little doubt that Hook’s men were hiding in the thick vegetation surrounding the clearing.

For now, that did not concern Peter. What did concern him was that Hook and James were standing too far from the spring. The spring lay to Hook’s left, at the edge of a clearing. In the moonlight, its clear water welled up from underground, forming a round pool perhaps six feet across; from the pool a small stream trickled off into the jungle.

I have to lure them closer to the spring, thought Peter. He drifted forward until he was almost directly over Hook’s head. He heard James whimper as Hook’s grip tightened on the boy’s arm.

“No tricks, boy,” growled Hook. “If you try anything—like making your little friend here fly—he’ll have me hook in him before you can think about it, understand?”

“I understand,” said Peter. He hitched up his trousers and drifted a bit closer to the spring. Come on, Hook. Follow me.

“But did you come alone, boy?” asked Hook. “Where are the sav—ah, there they are.”

Fierce Clam and Running Snail had slipped silently into the clearing. They stood calmly at the jungle’s edge, watching the pirate, who moved his hook near James’s throat. He addressed Peter.

“Do they understand the agreement, boy? If they approach me, if they take so much as a step toward me, your friend is in pieces.”

“They understand,” said Peter.

“Excellent,” said Hook. “Now, here’s how we do this, boy. You lower yourself to me, nice and easy. When you’re within reach, I let go of your friend.”

“All right,” said Peter. Slowly, he drifted lower, but he also moved closer to the spring. Come on….

Peter’s legs hung close to Hook now, his shoes just out of the pirate’s reach. Hook, still gripping James firmly, eagerly edged closer, looking at Peter with hatred in his eyes. Peter glanced over at the spring—Am I close enough?—and drifted just a bit nearer to it. His legs dipped a bit lower, the right one now within Hook’s grasp.

With a ferocious roar fueled by months of pent-up fury, Hook released James and, with a snake-quick motion, latched hard onto Peter’s leg. “GOT YOU NOW, BOY!” he bellowed in triumph. Then: “GET THEM, MEN!”

In an instant, a dozen pirates sprang from their concealment and into the clearing, racing toward the Mollusk warriors. Hook, gripping the leg of the boy, felt a surge of elation. His plan had worked. At last, at long last, he had the boy. The hated boy was his!

And then, in the next instant, Hook saw it all go wrong. His first inkling of trouble came when he yanked on Peter’s leg to pull him down, still undecided as to whether he would kill him then and there, or take his time, make it last for the pleasure of it.

He yanked, and the leg came down—both legs came down, in fact—but not the boy.

The boy was still hovering up there.

Hook looked down at the leg in his hand, still inside the trousers, eel-skin shoes still sticking out the bottom….

Long trousers. Shoes.

The boy didn’t wear long trousers or shoes.

His triumph turning to horror, Hook looked up to see Peter wearing his customary cutoff shorts. Peter was grinning as he demonstrated to Hook how he’d tucked his legs up in front of him inside the trousers that Hook was now holding. Bellowing in rage, the captain slashed his hook through those trousers, which was an unfortunate decision, as the Mollusks had fashioned the false legs using rancid fish guts wrapped in animal skin. These foul innards exploded all over Hook, filling the air with putrid fumes, which mingled with…

Laughter. The boy was laughing.

Hook lunged upward at Peter, stumbling forward as he slashed the air with his hook. This was exactly what Peter wanted him to do, as it took Hook away from James. Peter drew him forward a few more steps, then darted over the pirate’s head—the arcing hook missing him by perhaps an inch—and swooped down to James, who still stood exactly where Hook had released him, frozen in fright.

Not daring even to land—for Hook had whirled and was charging back toward them—Peter took James by his shoulders and, to James’s utter shock, shoved him into the spring.

“HOLD YOUR BREATH, JAMES,” he shouted, and spun to see Hook and two of his pirate crew coming for him. Peter, leaping up, felt Hook’s hand on his leg—his real leg, this time—but just as the grip was closing, Hook yelled “YOW!” and clapped the hand to his eye, which had just received a hard poke from a tiny but amazingly potent fist.

“Thanks, Tink!” shouted Peter, shooting upward and out of Hook’s reach. He stopped and looked down just in time to see James’s moonlit face—the expression of shock still intact—disappearing beneath the dark surface of the spring.

“GET THAT ONE!” screamed Hook to one of the crewmen, shoving him into the spring after James. The crewman ducked beneath the surface, reappearing a few moments later, soaking wet, water streaming from his shoulders.

“He’s gone, Cap’n,” he reported. “He musta sunk to the bottom.”

Hook looked up, the fury on his face now mingled with mystification.

“You drowned your own friend, boy!” he shouted. “Some hero you are!”

Peter only smiled, enraging Hook still more.

“I thought we had a bargain, boy!” shrieked Hook. “You coulda saved the lad!”

“You never planned to hold up your end,” said Peter. “Your men were going to capture James and the Mollusks.”

Remembering the Mollusks—at least he would have them as prisoners—Hook whirled, looking around the clearing. He saw only his men, sheepish looks and downcast faces. The two Mollusk warriors were gone.

“Where are the savages?” bellowed Hook.

“They…they got away, Cap’n,” a crewman said. “We followed ’em into the jungle, and they was right in front of us, and…they just vanished.”

Giggles from overhead. Giggles, and the sound of tiny, mocking bells.

For a moment, Hook stood absolutely still, reeking of fish guts. And then it erupted from him, a string of oaths so vile that Peter reached out to cover Tink’s tiny ears. The sound of the oaths filled the clearing for thirty seconds, a minute, with both Peter and the pirate crew watching in fascination.

And then there was another sound, this time from the jungle. A deep growl. Then a tremor in the ground. Then the sound of thick vegetation being thrust aside by a massive, lumbering shape.

“Cap’n!” shouted Smee, bursting from the fort. “It’s…coming!”

At first, Hook, still loudly spewing bile, didn’t hear. It was only when he felt Smee’s urgent tug on his tattered coat sleeve, and saw the terror on the faces of his men sprinting past him toward the fort, that Hook looked to the clearing’s edge and saw, emerging from the jungle, the giant crocodile known as Mister Grin, his two cannonball-size eyes glowing red above the gaping, tooth-studded jaws, big as a grand piano.

Shoving Smee aside, Hook turned and sprinted for the fort. Mister Grin, with astonishing agility for his vast bulk, launched himself across the clearing, his quarry, as always, Hook. It was a close race: Hook sprinted through the fort gates only a few yards ahead of the beast, screaming “CLOSE THE GATES! CLOSE THE GATES!” The men behind him managed to slam the two gates shut and bar them a half second before Mister Grin reached the fort. The giant croc, finding his path blocked, emitted an earsplitting roar, sending Hook racing to his hut, where he lay on the floor and curled into a ball, whimpering like a child.

Watching from above, Peter smiled in radiant triumph; he’d beaten Hook again. His smile disappeared at the discordant sound of angry bells in his ears, reminding him that all was not yet resolved.

“James!” he said, clapping his hand to his forehead. Then he whirled and shot forward, zooming across the jungle treetops, leaving the great beast roaring in frustration at a tasty meal lost.