بخش 09

CHAPTER 16

ONE LOOK BACK

AS DAWN APPROACHED, Peter was growing desperate.

He’d been flying behind the ship for hours now—far longer than he’d ever remained aloft before—and it was a demanding kind of flying, not the effortless swooping Peter enjoyed so much on the island. He dared not slip too far back from the ship, lest he lose sight of it and become lost. But he also dared not get too close or too high, lest he be spotted in the moonlight.

He flew behind the ship, low to the water, only a few yards above the swirling wake, keeping a sail between him and the lookout high up in the crow’s nest. This positioning required intense concentration, and over the hours it took its toll.

All at once, Tinker Bell’s shrill warning chimed in his ear. Peter startled, his bare toes catching in the churning wake. He pointed his arms up and strained higher, just in time to miss a wave. He’d dozed off, sinking to within inches of the wave tops.

That was close!

“Thanks, Tink,” he whispered, having regained some altitude. She didn’t answer, instead flitting off a few yards to resume pretending that she was ignoring him.

It’s a good thing she came along, he thought.

Exhaustion wasn’t Peter’s only problem: he was also hungry, and very thirsty. He hadn’t thought about any of this when he’d left the island, but obviously he would need food and water. The only place he was going to get them was on the ship. But exactly how would he get them? He licked his salt-parched lips. He knew he’d have to solve the water problem soon.

Peter looked back at the reassuring shape of Mollusk Island. Each time he’d looked, as the night wore on, the island had grown smaller; now it was but a bump on the horizon. Soon it would be gone altogether, leaving him and Tink alone with the ship and its dangerous inhabitants. This had seemed like such a good idea when he’d explained it to the others. Now he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. For the dozenth time, he thought about turning back. If he did, it would have to be soon. Once he lost sight of the island, the ship would be his only hope.

Peter looked ahead and noted with alarm that the sky had grown lighter, changing from black to a dark blue. Soon sunlight would flood the sea, and Peter would be exposed. He had to either turn back now or hide—and if he was going to hide, he had to find a place very soon.

Peter drew closer to the ship and drifted upward, toward the top of the sternmost of the ship’s four tall masts. The mast was intersected by five stout horizontal poles; Peter knew, from his one sea voyage, that these were called yards. The ship’s sails hung from these yards; depending on the wind and the ship’s course, the crew would climb up and furl—hoist up—or unfurl the sails as needed.

Peter noticed that the sail on the topmost yard was only loosely furled. He moved steadily closer, now directly above the stern of the ship. He kept his eyes trained down, watching the few men on deck at this early hour—the man at the wheel, an officer standing next to him, and a few sailors standing well forward. They were all looking toward the promise of the sun on the horizon. Satisfied that no one was looking up, Peter flew high to the yard and settled gently onto its smooth, weathered wood. It felt very, very good to be sitting on something firm again, even if it was a hundred feet above the deck of a moving ship.

Lying on his stomach on the yard, Peter examined the furled sail, which hung from the yard in thick folds. Peter found that, by wriggling his body, he could squirm down into one of these folds, so it held him like a hammock. There, nestled in the rough canvas, he was well hidden—that is, unless crewmen climbed up and unfurled the sail.

But for now, Peter was too tired to worry about that. His hunger and thirst would have to wait. For now: sleep. As his eyes fluttered shut, he heard a soft tinkling and saw Tinker Bell landing on the yard just above him.

“G’night, Tink,” he mumbled, so tired he barely got the words out before sleep pulled him under.

Tink didn’t answer. She dropped down into the fold with him, settling into his tousled mass of reddish hair, her favorite place to rest. Almost instantly, she too was asleep.

Which meant neither of them was looking down.

Which meant neither of them saw when, in the waning moments of darkness, the black form of Lord Ombra slithered from a companionway onto the quarterdeck. Neither saw the hooded head move from side to side, as if searching, like a dog smelling something in the air. Neither saw the hood pause as it faced the aftmost mast. Neither saw it slowly train its gaze upward, upward…only to stop suddenly when the first rays of dawn flooded the ship in an exhilarating light.

Recoiling from the glare, the dark form moved quickly back to the companionway. Then it slithered down into the bowels of the ship, but not before stopping to take one look back, and upward…

Directly at the furled sail. CHAPTER 17

OMBRA’S FEELING

LORD OMBRA GLIDED ACROSS the floor planks of the captain’s quarters, where thick wool blankets hung over the stern windows, preventing even a sliver of sunlight from penetrating. A lone lantern suspended from an overhead beam cast a dim yellow light. The lantern rocked and tilted back and forth with the movement of the ship, sending shadows chasing along the floor and walls.

Captain Nerezza, seated at a table beneath the lantern, studied a chart of the South Atlantic, with a hand-drawn speck representing Mollusk Island. He had not heard Ombra enter, but then he never did. He kept his eyes on the chart, hoping his uninvited visitor would go away.

But Ombra came closer, gliding among the moving shadows, though he himself cast none. Standing directly over Nerezza, he spoke, his voice a low moan.

“I wonder, Captain, if it might be possible to send one of your hands aloft to inspect the mizzen sails?”

“Inspect? Inspect for what, sir?” As he spoke the word “sir,” Nerezza’s wooden nose whistled, as happened when he was agitated. Ombra or no, Nerezza did not like to be told, even politely, what to do with his crew.

“A stowaway, perhaps,” said Ombra. “Perhaps nothing.”

“Lord Ombra,” said Nerezza, trying to keep the anger from his voice. “If there were a stowaway, my men would have—”

Ombra silenced him with a raised hand. Nerezza felt a chill creep along his neck.

“Humor me, Captain,” groaned Ombra. “It’s just a feeling I have.”

I didn’t know you had feelings, thought Nerezza.

“Ah, but I do have them,” said Ombra, as if Nerezza had spoken aloud. “And I have learned to trust them.”

Nerezza stammered out a reply. “Of…of course,” he said. “As you wish. I’ll send a boy up to take a look around.”

“Good,” said Ombra. “I will retire to my cabin.”

Ombra spent the day in a tiny room, a windowless, coffinlike space. The crew had strict orders not to look in there—not that any man would.

“Yes, Lord Ombra,” said Nerezza. “If we find anything, I—” he stopped, realizing that Ombra was gone.

Nerezza rose from the table and went to open the door.

He touched the handle, then gasped and drew his hand back. The handle was cold as ice.

Regaining his composure, he opened the door and ascended through a companionway.

On deck, he looked up at the mizzenmast sails and rigging; there was nothing amiss. He sighed, then called to an officer.

“Send a boy up to check the mizzen sails,” he said.

The officer, puzzled, risked a question: “If I may ask, sir, check for what?”

“Just check them!” barked Nerezza. He stormed below, embarrassed to be giving orders that made no sense to him.

A feeling, indeed, he thought.