بخش 11

CHAPTER 50

EYES IN THE DARK

PETER STUMBLED DOWN A STEEP SLOPE of hard-packed dirt that formed the interior wall of the Mollusks’log structure. He couldn’t see where he was going, as the dense tree branches overhead blocked out most of the fading dusk-light.

After a few feet the wall became even steeper, almost vertical, and Peter lost his footing, falling…

“UNH.” Peter had slammed into a body sprawled on the earthen floor.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Get off me,” hissed Tubby Ted.

“Where are the others?” said Peter, scrambling to his feet.

“Here, lad,” said Alf, his deep voice reassuring to Peter. “Over here.”

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Alf’s big bulk, with the three smaller forms of James, Thomas, and Prentiss huddled next to him. They were in a corner of the space, but he couldn’t see how large it was; only two walls, disappearing off into the gloom.

He took a step toward Alf, and his foot hit something hard and hollow-sounding. It skittered forward a few feet. James bent and picked it up, then dropped it, screaming.

It was a skull.

“It’s all right, lad,” said Alf, hugging the sobbing boy. “It’s all right.”

“No it’s not,” said Prentiss. He was pointing at something, a pile of things. Peter peered at it. Bones. He looked around, and realized that the floor was covered with them. Bones and skulls. Dozens of skulls.

Then they heard it, from somewhere off in the darkness.

Another growl.

“We have to get out of here,” whispered Peter. He turned back and tried to scale the wall, but it was too steep to climb, and he couldn’t gain either a handhold or a foothold on its smooth, hardpacked surface.

“Here, lad,” said Alf, heaving Peter up onto his shoulders. But as high as Peter could reach, the wall was hard, and smooth, and steep.

“It’s no use,” he said, and Alf set him back on the floor.

Another growl, this one closer.

The boys backed away from the sound, into the corner, Alf and Peter in front of them, all of them peering into the darkness, watching, listening.

Another growl, still louder. And a scraping sound, like claws. And the rumble of a massive weight, shifting and dragging on the hard earth floor. Coming ever closer.

James screamed again, and as he did they all saw what he saw in the distance, in the darkness, coming toward them:

Two ovals, red, glowing, like coals, each with a cruel black vertical slit.

Those are eyes, thought Peter. But they’re impossibly far apart.

Another growl. The glowing eyes moved. CHAPTER 51

“BIRD!”

FIGHTING PRAWN AND THE REST OF THE MOLLUSKS stood outside the cage, silent, waiting. Waiting for the screaming to start, dreading it, knowing that once the screaming started, it would be much longer—hours, sometimes—before it finally stopped.

The Mollusks took no pleasure in enforcing the law. But Fighting Prawn was their leader, the only one who had lived with the outsiders, and he had told them that this, difficult as it was—especially with children—was the only way they could protect themselves, and their island.

And so they waited, as the evening sky darkened into night.

Fighting Prawn, as always, stood closest to the cage, staring at it, absolutely still. The others gathered around him in a loose semicircle, all of them facing the logs, imagining what was happening inside, waiting, waiting….

It was because they were facing the logs that they did not immediately notice the movement high in the trees just outside of the clearing. It was a small child, a girl of three, who saw it first; she cried out to her mother, her tiny voice making the grunt-click sounds for “bird.”

“Bird! Bird!” she said.

“Hush,” her mother said.

“Bird!” the girl repeated. “Big! There!”

And then her mother looked up and saw it, and her shout of surprise and alarm caused the rest of the Mollusks to look up, too, shouting as the thing swooped through the high branches at the edge of the clearing, coming closer now, clearly far larger than any bird they’d ever seen, its shape difficult to discern in the near-darkness.

The entire tribe was shouting and pointing now. Suddenly, the thing burst from the trees into the clearing, swooping low toward the Mollusks. Some screamed; others ducked; still others ran. A few men hurled spears toward the thing. But it was moving too fast, and in an instant it was over the wall, into the cage, out of sight.

Fighting Prawn, standing calmly amid the chaos of his people, watched the swooping thing pass overhead; for an instant, as it disappeared, he thought that it looked like…

But that’s impossible.

And then his mind went to something the boy had said: “It’s magic, and we think it’s on this island.” CHAPTER 52

MISTER GRIN

THE GLOWING EYES WERE COMING.

“Get behind me, lads!” shouted Alf, crouching, preparing to fight—but what, he wasn’t sure.

Peter, ignoring Alf, dropped to hands and knees, looking in the gloom for a weapon. He grabbed a heavy bone—Must be a leg, he thought—then found its mate, which he handed to Alf.

The thing was coming fast, now. The cage echoed with the sound of claws scrabbling on the floor, and massive weight being dragged closer, closer. Now Peter could see the massive, flat head. And now the glowing eyes disappeared from view as the thing opened the biggest mouth Peter had ever seen, lined top and bottom with jagged teeth as big as daggers, a gaping cavern of a mouth that easily could have taken him in whole. The cage echoed with a monstrous, bone-chilling roar. Then the enormous mouth snapped shut with a sound like a gunshot and the thing sprang forward at its prey.

“NO!” bellowed Alf, leaping forward to meet it, swinging the leg bone down hard with both hands onto the massive charging snout, and right in time. The bone broke in two; the creature stopped for a moment, as if surprised. Then it snapped again, and lunged at Alf, who sidestepped, trying to draw it away from the boys. His ploy worked; the thing turned toward him, pivoting its huge body, sending its massive tail—a tail, Peter now saw, that was the size of a longboat—sweeping across the wall, sending Peter and the other boys flying.

“COME ON, YOU DEVIL!” Alf was shouting. “COME ON AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN!” He was walking backward, trying to keep his eye on the monster as he looked around desperately for another weapon. Peter lunged to his feet and followed, careful to keep out of the way of that terrible tail, his plan being to toss the other leg bone to Alf. As the tail swept back and forth, Peter jumped over it as though it was a jumprope.

“ALF!” he yelled.

“STAY BACK, BOY!” shouted Alf. “ST—UNH.”

Alf was down. He’d tripped on a skull, and he’d hit his head hard. He moaned and rolled sideways, but did not get up. The monster opened its mouth again; it would be eating Alf in another step.

“NO!” screamed Peter, leaping forward, again dodging the sweeping tail, and bringing his bone-club smashing down on the thing’s hard, scaly back. “NO! NO! NO!” he shouted, each time striking it again. The monster whirled and snapped, moving far faster than Peter expected. Peter jerked his hands back just far enough, but the bone was caught, instantly crunched to splinters in the monster’s massive jaws.

Now it was Peter’s turn to scramble backward, with the thing turning in his direction, coming after him…coming, coming…its glowing eyes strangely dispassionate, a hungry beast about to do its work. As Peter backed away, he simultaneously crouched and felt around his feet for another bone…for anything…He touched nothing but hard ground. He backed up some more. Hit something hard.

The wall.

He was trapped in the corner.

The monster paused, as if knowing Peter had no way out. It halted and then slowly opened its massive mouth, close enough now that Peter could smell its musty, fetid breath. He could have reached out and touched the dagger teeth that were about to tear into his flesh.

Peter closed his eyes and held out his hands in a futile gesture of self-protection, and as he did…

“Peter!” shouted a voice.

Molly!

He opened his eyes and saw her hovering above him, waving something.

“Here!” she shouted, dropping it.

He caught it. The locket. He fumbled frantically at it, but could not find a catch.

“It won’t open!” he shouted.

The beast moved closer, its jaws wide open.

“There’s a button on the side,” shouted Molly.

Closer.

Hands shaking, Peter found the button, and the locket sprang open. Instantly his hands disappeared inside a glowing sphere.

“Touch the inside part!” shouted Molly.

Peter put his finger into the heart of the sphere, and immediately he felt his body start to rise, felt his feet leave the floor….

Too late.

He saw it in an instant; the jaws were closing, and they would catch him.

Too late.

Instinctively, Peter struck out at the closing jaws; his right hand, with the locket still in it, landed directly on the tip of the monster’s snout, which was suffused by the sphere.

The jaws stopped, half open, half closed.

The monster made a noise—not a roar, this time; more of a groan, or even a sigh.

And then, slowly, slowly, the monster began to rise from the floor of the cage, its body perfectly still, and in the light from the locket, Peter—who was also rising, slowly—could finally see its true size. It has to be twenty-five feet long, he thought. Maybe thirty feet. It must weigh a ton.

But it rose like a feather, the monster did; rose as easy as a bit of ash carried by a wisp of smoke, up, up, and then over the thick log wall. And then, with a flick of its tail, it drifted, still sighing, off into the jungle night. CHAPTER 53

THE POWER

BLACK STACHE, WITH SMEE and the rest of his raiding party crouched behind him, peered through the dense jungle into the camp of the savages.

It looked to Stache as if the whole lot of them were praying to a giant wall made of wood and mud. They stood silently facing it, man, woman, and child.

Stache was intensely interested in what was on the other side of that wall. For only moments earlier, he’d seen the boy—that boy, the cause of so much of Stache’s troubles—climb a bamboo ladder, say something to the white-haired old savage below, and then disappear over the wall.

Where that boy is, the trunk is nearby. Stache was sure of it. He was eager to lead his men over that wall, but unsure of the disposition of the savages. And so he waited, and watched, and listened.

“NO!”

The shout—from a grown man—came from the other side of the wall. The man sounded terrified. His shout was followed by a loud, unnatural snapping sound, like…could that be a bone? Stache wondered what could snap a bone like that.

Just then a little girl savage turned his way, pointed, and started shouting. Stache ducked, thinking at first that she’d spotted him. But then he heard a rustle in the branches above. He looked up, and gasped.

A flying girl. Directly over them. Swooping like a bird.

The same girl that had been on the ship. He was sure of it.

“Sir,” whispered Smee, pointing, “there’s a mmmpph.”

“I see her, idjit,” hissed Stache, clapping his hand over Smee’s mouth.

The girl swooped swiftly across the clearing and, as the natives shouted and pointed in alarm, disappeared over the wall.

Stache was worried now. All this flying, he was now certain, had something to do with the treasure he was after. The flying boy had gone over the wall, and now this flying girl. He decided that, savages or no, it was time to find out what was on the other side of that wall.

He signaled to his men. They rose, drawing swords and pistols. Facing the clearing, Stache held his hand up, about to give the signal to attack.

Then his arm dropped, limp, staring in astonishment. His men followed his gaze. Several shouted in alarm, but there was no danger of their being heard by the savages, who were now in loud disarray themselves, many shouting and running frantically to get away from the gigantic creature now emerging from behind the wall.

A crocodile, Stache thought as the thing floated fully into view. A flying crocodile.

Stache had seen crocodiles before; he’d seen dozens. But never one this large. Never one half the size of this monster. He stood, motionless, as the croc drifted his way, thirty feet in the air, its tail swishing back and forth lazily, its legs moving as though it were swimming. It passed almost directly overhead, then continued off over the jungle treetops.

Stache watched it disappear, then looked at his men, who were looking back at him with expressions ranging from concern to outright terror.

“All right, men,” he said. “It’s a crocodile. You seen crocodiles before.”

“Not flyin’, we haven’t,” said one of the men. “Nor a flyin’ girl, neither.”

It was an unheard-of display of impudence, but Stache saw that the man spoke for the others. Fearing a mutiny, he forced his voice to stay calm, asking the man, “What’s your name, son?”

“Simons,” said the man.

“Simons,” Stache said gently, making a mental note to kill Simons when he was no longer needed, “I admit it ain’t usual to see a flyin’ croc. Nor a flyin’ girl. But I know what’s do in’ it. It has to do with this treasure we’re after, see? It has a great power, it does, the power to make people fly, and more. Power is better than gold, men. Much better than gold. With the power this treasure gives you, you can have all the gold you want for the takin’. That’s what we’re after, men, and once we gets that trunk, you’ll all be sharin’ in it.”

And if you believe that, you’re as stupid as you look, he added to himself.

He saw he had the men’s interest now, having brought their minds back to the treasure, having shown the connection between it and the things they’d seen. He pressed his advantage.

“Now, look,” he said. “That old croc is gone now. And them savages is run off into the jungle, most of ’em, except that old man out there. There ain’t nothin’ between us and that wall, and there ain’t nothin’ behind that wall now except children. And I got a feeling the treasure’s right near by them somewhere. It’s right here, men. Right in our hands.”

The men were nodding. He had them now.

“All right then,” said Stache. “Grab your swords and…”

He stopped, seeing the expressions on the men’s face suddenly change as their gazes shifted to something behind him.

He whirled, looked, and cursed.

Now the children, holding hands, were rising slowly into the jungle sky. CHAPTER 54

SLANK’S PLAN

“PORT,” SLANK SAID. “NO, port is left, idjit! That way!”

Little Richard—who, despite years at sea, could never get the port-starboard thing straight in his mind—corrected course.

The huge man was rowing the dory, with Slank in the stern. They were towing Black Stache’s longboat, in which sat the battered wooden trunk.

Little Richard, at Slank’s order, had carried the trunk from the cave. He’d been reluctant at first—fearful of following the she-fish, and in severe pain from the two gaping bite-wounds they had inflicted. But when he touched the trunk, his mood changed almost instantly: a feeling of warmth, of well-being, of joy flooded his battered body. And there was more….

“D’you hear that?” he’d said to Slank, as he slung the trunk—it felt almost weightless—onto his shoulder.

“Hear what?” asked Slank.

“Bells,” said Little Richard. “Y’don’t hear ’em?”

“No,” said Slank, eyeing Little Richard sharply.

But as they had trudged out of the cave, Little Richard still heard the bells, and when they reached the mouth, he noticed something else: the pain from his wounds was gone. He looked down at his forearm, and grunted in surprise.

“What?” said Slank.

“Look,” said Little Richard, pointing to his arm.

Slank looked. The wound was gone. Where minutes ago there had been mangled flesh and oozing blood, there was only unbroken skin.

“My leg, too!” said Little Richard, feeling the back of his thigh.

“Put down the trunk,” said Slank, sharply.

“But…”

“Put it down now,” said Slank.

Little Richard trudged to the beach and set the trunk on the sand. As he released it, the sound of bells faded, died. He reached his hand back toward it….

“Leave it alone!” said Slank. Reluctantly, Little Richard withdrew his hand.

“I’ll stay here with the trunk,” said Slank. “You go get the boats. Row the dory back here, and tow that pirate’s longboat with you.”

“Why don’t we just carry the trunk to the boats?” said Little Richard. “I don’t mind carrying it.”

Because I don’t want you touching it, thought Slank, but all he said was: “Get them boats NOW!”

When Little Richard returned with the boats, Slank loaded the trunk into the trailing longboat, then climbed into the dory and ordered Little Richard to row them back to the pirate ship.

Slank was feeling very, very good about the way things had worked out. First, and most important, he had the trunk. He had the trunk.

He also had the longboat, which meant Black Stache was now marooned on the island. Slank smiled.

The fool pirate. He never really knew what he was after. Nor who he was up against.

Slank’s plan now was to return to the pirate ship and have Little Richard toss most of the tied-up crew overboard, keeping just enough men—he’d need only two or three—to sail the ship at pistol-point. And when he got where he was going, he’d get rid of those as well. And of course the idjit Little Richard, who knew too much now.

Yes, things were looking very, very good, Slank thought. Even the night was pleasant. The sun was down now, and a full moon had risen; it hung low over the lagoon, looking impossibly large in the cloudless sky, as though it had drawn closer to Earth to get a better look at this strange island. The light shining from it was bright enough to cast shadows, bright enough that Slank could easily see the deserted beach, and the palm trees beyond, and the dark mass of the mountains.

It was bright enough that, if Slank had been looking at the water behind the longboat, he would have seen something else.

A trail of bubbles, following them.

Getting closer, and closer…