بخش 12

CHAPTER 55

A CLOSE CALL

“HANG ON!” SHOUTED PETER.

“I’m scared!” whimpered Prentiss, looking down as they soared over the wall. “I don’t want to fall!”

“You won’t fall,” said Peter. “You’re flying!”

And they were, all of them. Molly was first, followed by Peter, who was holding the hand of Prentiss, who was holding the hand of James, who was holding the hand of Thomas, who was holding the hand of Tubby Ted, who was holding the huge hand of Alf, who hated heights and had his eyes tight shut.

Moments earlier, just after Mister Grin had floated out of the cage, Peter, urged on by the hovering Molly, had each of the others touch the glowing sphere in his hands. Then he’d snapped the locket shut and ordered them all to hold hands as they began to rise.

Peter, the only boy with flying experience, followed Molly, gently towing the others over the wall. As they cleared it, he looked down nervously, concerned that the Mollusks would use their spears to bring them down. But the surprise appearance of the flying Mister Grin had plunged the tribe into disarray. The only one remaining by the wall was the old man, Fighting Prawn. He stood still, watching, expressionless, as Molly, then Peter and the others, floated into view in the now-moonlit sky.

Peter’s eyes met the old man’s.

“I told you,” Peter called down. “There’s magic.”

Fighting Prawn said nothing, only stared back at Peter. Their eyes remained locked for a moment more, then Peter’s attention was drawn away by Molly’s shout.

“Peter!” she said. “We must get back to the beach before it wears off! This way!” She turned and swooped low over the dark jungle.

“All right,” Peter said to Alf and the boys. “We’re going to follow Molly. You need to lean forward, like this.” He leaned, and his pull on the others increased.

“Not me,” said Tubby Ted, looking down nervously. “I ain’t leanin’.”

Alf, likewise, remained rigidly vertical, petrified with fear. Prentiss and Thomas were still too stunned to respond. But James—good old James—was leaning. With his help, Peter was able to get the little hand-holding clot moving—slowly at first, and then picking up speed—across the clearing, and then over the treetops.

Peter’s eyes probed ahead over the moonlit treetops, trying to make out Molly’s distant, swooping form. Thus absorbed, Peter didn’t notice that, as they left the clearing, they passed directly over Black Stache and his pirate crew. He didn’t see Stache raise a pistol and aim it straight at Peter’s heart.

It would have been an easy shot, and Stache came this close to pulling the trigger. But much as he wanted to kill the boy, he wanted even more—having seen its power—to find the trunk, and he was sure the boy would lead him to it.

Only a few yards away, Fighting Prawn was thinking precisely the same thing. CHAPTER 56

CAPSIZED

THE FIRST TIME THE DORY LURCHED, Slank assumed it was a wave, although if he’d looked around, he’d have seen that the lagoon was dead calm now, its smooth surface turned silver by the brilliant moon rising in the east.

But Slank wasn’t paying attention to the water; his eyes were locked on the trunk resting in the longboat being towed by the dory.

The next time the dory lurched, Slank blamed Little Richard’s rowing.

“Stop that!” Slank complained.

“If you’d stop shifting your weight, sir,” Little Richard said, “we’d make smart time to the ship.”

“I ain’t shifting nothing,” Slank said. “It’s your…”

But before he could finish, the longboat rocked violently, nearly taking on water as the trunk slid to the side. Alarmed, Slank lurched to his feet, nearly swamping the dory. He would have gone overboard if Little Richard hadn’t turned and grabbed him. Slank lunged for the line and tried to pull the longboat—and the trunk—toward him, but it didn’t move.

“Give me a hand, here!” he shouted to Little Richard.

The big man slid next to Slank and leaned over the transom of the dory, which, because of the weight of the two men, was now nearly submerged. The men jerked back suddenly as a hideous gaping mouth of razor-sharp teeth shot, hissing, from the water.

“It’s them mermaids!” shouted Little Richard, as he and Slank tumbled backward in the bouncing dory.

The creature came down hard, her teeth sinking into the transom; she twisted her head viciously and tore off a half-moon-shaped piece of wood, leaving a jagged half-moon-shaped space, through which water began to spill. As she disappeared, another she-fish attacked to starboard, and then another to port, the two rocking the boat in a deadly game of seesaw. Slank rose, trying to scramble away from the she-fish closest to him, only to be smacked hard from behind by the powerful tail of the other, propelling him over the side, his yell for help cut off when he plunged beneath the surface of the lagoon.

Slank’s sudden departure left the dory unbalanced, and before Little Richard could correct it, the she-fish capsized the boat, dumping the big man into the lagoon as well.

The two men thrashed to the surface, struggling to stay afloat in their heavy clothes, weighed down by swords and pistols that they quickly jettisoned and let sink to the bottom.

The water boiled ominously around them. Little Richard screamed as he was bitten on his right leg, then his left.

Slank, paddling furiously, managed to get to the longboat. As he grabbed the gunwale, he felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into his thigh. He let go of the boat to strike at his attacker, and as he did, the longboat went over, and the trunk tumbled into the lagoon, where it…

…floated.

Slank lunged for it, but missed. It was moving. Sitting atop the water surface, barely an inch of it submerged, the trunk turned left, paused, then right, and finally moved off briskly back toward the island, leaving a V of ripples, like a long, fading arrow in the silver lagoon. In the middle of the V rose parallel lines of bubbles.

Little Richard sputtered to the surface, bleeding, cursing.

“Here,” called Slank, and Little Richard paddled over. They clung to the longboat, which was lying hull-up in the water.

Slank lifted his head and squinted across the lagoon. The watery arrow, led by the slowly shrinking trunk, was heading back in the direction they’d come from, back toward the she-fish cave.

“You think you’ve won, do you?” muttered Slank. “We’ll see about that, ladies.”

“What are we going to do?” said Little Richard.

In answer, Slank pulled out his locket, then said: “How are you with heights?” CHAPTER 57

AN OLD FRIEND

PETER AND THE OTHERS just made it to the beach. The starstuff began wearing off while they were still over the jungle; for a few moments, Peter thought they would be plunged into the thick, dark vegetation underlying the moonlit tree canopy. He didn’t relish the thought of being lost in there at night.

But with James’s help, Peter was able to drag the little hand-holding group of reluctant fliers into one last swoop-and-soar, and this time, as they reached the apex of their upward curve, he heard Molly just ahead, shouting and pointing, and then saw, to his great relief, the white of the beach, looking like snow under the startlingly bright moon.

“Hang on!” he shouted. “We’re coming down over there.”

They just cleared the last set of palms—in fact, Alf’s feet brushed the highest one, sending a coconut thudding to the sand—and then they crash-landed onto the beach, tumbling and rolling a few yards from where Molly was waiting. They were at the edge of a sandy cove, bounded on either side by steep, rocky hillsides.

For a moment, Alf, James, Prentiss, Thomas, and Tubby Ted stood speechless, brushing off sand and absorbing their disbelief at their flight, and relief at being on the ground again. Then the questions started.

“How did we do that?” asked Prentiss. “How could we, I mean…”

“And the crocodile!” interrupted Thomas. “How did…”

“I’m hungry,” said Tubby Ted. “Is there any…”

“And that thing!” said James. “That thing we touched! What was that? It felt so…”

“It was the magic from the trunk, wasn’t it, lad,” said Alf. “You must’ve…”

“Can we fly again?” said James.

“Yes!” said Prentiss and Thomas, simultaneously. “We want to…”

“All right, all right,” said Peter. “I’ll try to explain, though it’s a bit, um, strange. But first I have to…uh…Listen, just wait here a minute.”

Peter walked to where Molly was standing, watching him, her expression blank as he approached.

“You came back,” he said. “To rescue me.” He blushed. “I mean, us.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said.

Molly didn’t answer.

“But you said you couldn’t,” Peter said. “You said you had to get the trunk. You said that was the most important thing.”

“It is,” she said. “And I should have left you. Now I don’t know how much starstuff I have left in that locket, and it’s night, and the pirates are on the island, and I fear they already have the trunk. It’s been moving Peter; I’ve felt it. Somebody has found it, and whoever it is won’t want us to have it. And now those natives will be after us, and that crocodile is loose somewhere, and…and I’m just afraid it’s hopeless.”

Peter saw she was crying. He wanted to hug her, but he couldn’t, not with Alf and the others watching. He settled for patting her shoulder.

“It’ll be all right,” he said. “We’ll find the trunk.”

Molly forced a wan smile. “I appreciate that, Peter. I know you want to help. But at this point I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“You say you can feel the trunk,” said Peter.

“Yes.”

“D’you know what direction it’s in?”

“No, only that it’s moving.”

“Well if it is, then somebody’s moving it, and perhaps we’ll be able to see it. In the morning, we’ll climb that mountain again and have a look.”

Molly nodded. “I suppose that’s as good a plan as any.”

“In the meanwhile,” said Peter, “we need to get some sleep, if we can. We can set up a watch, in case somebody comes along. Or that thing.” He shuddered, thinking about Mister Grin.

“All right,” said Molly, her spirits picking up a bit, now that they had a plan.

“And I should give you this back,” said Peter, reaching for the locket around his neck. “You might…”

“Did you hear that?” Molly said, her hand on Peter’s arm.

“What?” said Peter. “I didn’t…”

“Shhh,” hissed Molly. She cocked her head, listening, then smiled.

“It’s him!” she said, tossing the words back over her shoulder, as she was already running toward the water.

“Who?” said Peter, running to catch her. But her attention was focused ahead, and the sounds she was making were not intended for him.

And then Peter saw a familiar shape—a blunt and grinning snout, sticking up from the moonlit wavelets perhaps ten yards offshore, clicking and chittering in return.

“Ammm!” Peter shouted. CHAPTER 58

CROSSROADS

BENEATH A THICK TREE CANOPY ringing with monkey howls and other jungle sounds, Black Stache led his band of pirates, following a path that meandered in the general direction that the flying children—and Mister Grin—had gone.

Smee, jumping at every sound, said, “Cap’n, what if that humongous flying lizard landed somewheres ahead, here?”

“Weren’t no lizard,” said Stache, over his shoulder. “That was a croc.”

“Whatever it was, Cap’n,” said Smee, “it might be up ahead here. Maybe we should…”

He stopped, because Stache had turned, scowling.

“Maybe we should what, Smee?”

“W…well, Cap’n,” stammered Smee, “with that…that thing flying around here, and those children, them flying, too, it’s just all so strange on this island, Cap’n, and it bein’ night and all, I thought, that is, we thought, that is, me and the men here, we thought maybe if we waited ’til daylight, we could…”

“You thought?” interrupted Stache. “You thought?” He glared at Smee, then at the men standing nervously behind him.

“Y…yes,” began Smee. “I, that is, we…”

“YOU DON’T THINK!” thundered Stache, causing Smee and the others to jump like a gaggle of puppets all attached to the same string. “I do the thinking, you understand?”

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the chorus of replies.

“Good,” said Stache, and resumed walking.

The fact was, Stache—although he would never let his men know—was also quite uneasy about going the same direction as the croc. He was not fond of crocs, having fed people to the beasts on a number of occasions, and seen firsthand the terrible things their jaws could do. And a croc of this monstrous size, flying…

No, Stache did not relish encountering the thing. But he had to find those children. Flying children. He had no doubts about it now: They can fly. And Stache meant to have the source of that power.

Overhead, the thick tangle opened a bit, and then more, the full tropical moon shining down, nearly as bright as the English sun, illuminating a clearing where two paths intersected. A jungle crossroads.

Stache considered the paths.

“Crenshaw! Bates!” he said. Two men stepped reluctantly forward.

“You two are volunteering for the scouting party,” said Stache. “Crenshaw, take this path to the south. Bates, you’ll head west. You listen and you look, but you will not be heard and you will not be seen. Am I clear on that?”

“Aye…”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“We’re looking for them kids, or the treasure, or both. You report back to me the moment you see anything of interest. You have ’til the moon’s straight overhead. Then we’ll be taking the south path…that’s toward you, Crenshaw. Am I clear on that?” He didn’t wait for their answers. “Go!”

As the two scouts trotted off, unhappily, in different directions into the dark jungle, Stache and his men made themselves comfortable in the moonlit clearing. Nobody spoke, but each man, Stache included, was thinking the same thing.

Glad it’s not me, going out there alone. CHAPTER 59

AMMM’S MESSAGE

PETER TROTTED DOWN THE BEACH toward Molly, who was now waist-deep in the moonlit cove, squeaking and chittering as she waded toward the upthrust, grinning snout of Ammm.

James, trotting alongside Peter, said, “What is it? What’s she doing?”

“She’s talking to the porpoise,” said Peter. “His name is Ammm.”

“Fish can talk?” said James.

“This one can,” said Peter.

“What’s it saying?” said James, as they reached the water’s edge.

“I dunno,” said Peter. “I don’t speak Porpoise. But Molly does. She’ll tell us.”

They were now standing next to Molly, with Ammm several feet in front of them, listening politely. Molly, desperate for news from her father, forced herself to remember the mandatory opening formalities of porpoise talk.

“Greetings,” she said.

“Greetings,” said Ammm.

“Molly teeth green,” said Molly.

“Yes,” agreed Ammm. “Molly teeth green.”

“Molly happy see Ammm,” she said. The Porpoise language has 237 words that mean “happy,” and Molly had actually chosen the one denoting the happiness derived from having one’s belly tickled by seaweed. Ammm doubted that Molly was feeling this particular happiness, but out of politeness used the same word in responding.

“Ammm happy see Molly,” he said.

With the formalities concluded, Molly took a breath and frowned in concentration, not wanting to make any mistakes as she got to the critical question:

“Molly father come?”

Ammm paused for several moments, during which Molly did not breathe. Then Ammm said, “Yes. Molly father come.”

Molly exhaled, and, in English, said, “Thank heaven.”

“What?” said Peter.

“He says my father is coming,” said Molly.

“When?” said Peter.

“I don’t know,” said Molly. Switching back to Porpoise, she said, “When Molly father come?”

“Day,” said Ammm.

Molly frowned. “What day?”

Ammm hesitated, as if confused by the question, then repeated: “Day.”

“Day,” said Molly.

“Day,” said Ammm.

“What’s he saying?” said Peter.

“I’m not actually sure,” said Molly. “I think he’s saying ’day,’ but my Porpoise is not very good, and the Porpoise language is vague about time. If he is saying day, he could mean my father is coming tomorrow, but I think he also could be saying it will be more days.”

“I hope he means tomorrow,” said Peter.

“Yes,” said Molly, “but even that might be too late, if the pirates have the trunk. We must…”

She was interrupted by more chittering from Ammm. Molly listened, struggling to follow the sounds. The only part she caught was “bad man.”

“Again, please,” she said.

Ammm spoke again, more deliberately. This time Molly caught “bad man” again, and “light.”

Molly pondered that. Light. What could he mean by…

“Oh, no,” she said.

“What?” said Peter.

“I think he’s saying the pirates have the trunk,” said Molly.

“Does he know where they are?” said Peter.

“Where bad man?” Molly asked Ammm. “Where light?”

“Molly come,” said Ammm. He darted a few yards to the left, toward the rocky, wave-lashed point at the left end of the cove, then repeated: “Molly come.”

“He wants us to follow,” said Molly. To Ammm, she said, “Molly come.”

Ammm whirled and plunged into the water, surfacing just moments later twenty-five yards farther along the beach toward the point of land, chittering “Come!” Peter and James trotted diagonally back to the beach, then on a parallel course with the porpoise, who kept popping up to make sure they were with him. Alf and the other boys, thoroughly mystified, trotted along behind.

“What’re we doin’, lad?” panted Alf.

“Following the porpoise,” said Peter.

“But why?” shouted Tubby Ted, bringing up the rear.

“It’s a talking porpoise!” shouted James. “It’s taking us to the treasure!”

“It’s what?” said Alf and Tubby Ted, at the same time.

“He’s right,” said Peter, over his shoulder.

“But who has the treasure? It’s them pirates, is that it, lad?” Alf questioned.

“Yes, we think so,” Peter admitted. “And we…I mean, Molly, has to get the trunk back from them.”

“Well, then! Why didn’t ya says so? I wouldn’t miss it!” said Alf.

“Same!” said James.

Thomas and Prentiss said nothing, but—not wanting to be left alone on this increasingly strange island—trotted along with the group, as did the panting, incessantly complaining Tubby Ted.

They trotted for a hundred yards, at which point the beach curved sharply to the right, along a steeply rising lava slope. At the end lay the point, where huge ocean rollers—having traveled, unhampered, across thousands of miles of open ocean—slammed, thunderingly, into massive lava formations, sending spray high into the air. Ammm continued to follow the coast, heading out toward the end of the point.

On shore, the little band of humans followed, but as the hard-packed beach sand gave way to sharp, treacherously hole-ridden lava, the footing instantly became near-impossible, and the going very slow. Peter stopped for a moment, and studied the slope.

“Look,” he said to Molly. “Ammm has to swim ’round that point. He can’t use the land. But we can. It would be a lot quicker for us to just climb this hill and meet him at the water on the other side.”

Molly considered the hill, then shook her head.

“We don’t know what’s on the other side of this hill. It might be another cove, but it might also be more island. We could be back in the jungle, and lost. Besides, Ammm may be leading us to the end of this point.”

“But we can’t keep up with him, not on these rocks,” said Peter. He gestured toward the others, who were picking their way over the dark lava rock by rock, with agonizing slowness. Ammm was far ahead now, an intermittent speck of light gray in the dark roiling water.

“I’ve got to try to stay with him,” said Molly. “I don’t dare lose him.”

“All right, then,” said Peter. “I’ll climb this hill, and see what I see. Water or land, either way I’ll come back and tell you.”

Molly looked doubtful.

“You’ll come right back?” she said.

“I’ll find you,” he said.

Their eyes met for a moment.

“All right,” she said.

And with that, Peter was gone, clambering up the steep, rocky hillside, leaving the others to struggle along in pursuit of Ammm, wherever he was leading them.