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CHAPTER 10

BLACK STACHE CLOSES IN

BLACK STACHE HEARD THE SHARP WHISTLE pierce the night air—sounding like a gull’s hungry cry—and lifted his head to see his lookout wave from the crow’s nest.

We’re in range.

Stache banged the butt end of his sword on deck twice—thump, thump. Instantly, the eight long oars sticking out from the cannon bays lifted from the sea in unison, dripping water, and withdrew into the ship’s hull. The crew, desperate now for water as well as treasure, had been hard at it ’round the clock for almost two days straight, working both the sails and oars, reading the winds perfectly, closing the gap on the Wasp. Now they were ready for the final run.

She’s mine.

Black Stache thumped his sword three more times to summon his officers, then retreated below to his cabin, taking a seat at a table covered with navigational charts. Also on the table were two small, delicate models of sailing ships, one painted a shiny black like the Wasp, the other a replica of the Sea Devil.

There was a tentative tap at the door.

“Come in,” growled Black Stache. Smee entered and gagged; the cabin smelled like a dead cow. This was because there were, in fact, several pieces of dead cow on Black Stache’s bunk, as well as the half-eaten carcass of a turkey. Gnawed remnants of other meals littered the floor. Flies buzzed everywhere. Smee held his hand over his nose, trying to be discreet about it.

“You called, Cap’n?” he said, his voice muffled.

“It’s time,” said Stache, staring at the model ships. “The moment is at hand.”

“Yes, sir,” said Smee, turning, desperate to escape the eye-watering stench. “I’ll just go up and tell the—”

“Wait,” said Black Stache. “I want to go over the final plan with you and Storey.”

As Smee reluctantly turned back, there was a second knock, and Storey, the Sea Devil’s crew chief, entered. He fell back, momentarily staggered by the odor, then scrunched up his face and forced himself forward into the cabin, like a man walking against a gale.

“Aye, Cap’n?” he said, through gritted teeth.

“Sit down, men,” said Stache.

Smee and Storey looked around. There was nowhere to sit except the bunk, which was covered with rotting food, and a wooden stool, upon which sat a large fur-covered lump—an old cheese, perhaps, or a dead cat.

“If it’s all the same, Cap’n,” said Storey, “I’ll stand.”

“Me, too, Cap’n,” said Smee.

Black Stache looked around his cabin, apparently noticing its condition for the first time.

“Smee,” he said, “where the devil is my cabin boy? This place is a mess.”

“You had him walk the plank, Cap’n,” said Smee.

“I did?”

“You did, Cap’n,” said Smee. “For touching your model ships.” Smee chose not to add that the cabin boy had walked off the ship almost cheerfully, knowing he would no longer have to try to clean Black Stache’s cabin.

“Ah, so I did,” said Stache. “I’ll want you to get me a new cabin boy when we take the Wasp.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” said Smee. This would be the sixth cabin boy in less than a year.

“Now, about the Wasp,” said Black Stache, looking at Storey. “Are we ready?”

“We are, Cap’n,” said Storey. He pointed toward the ship models, careful not to touch them. “We’ve been gaining steady, with the rowing. Now we’re sitting just right for a downwind run. Your plan was right on the money, Cap’n. I don’t care how fast the Wasp is; with this wind, and this heading, when we raise the Ladies, we’ll close on her in no time.”

“And the Ladies are ready?” said Black Stache.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“All right, then,” said Black Stache, pausing dramatically, savoring the moment. “Raise the Ladies.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” shouted Storey and Smee, lunging for the doorway, and fresh air.

After they left, Black Stache turned his eyes to his model ships. He put his hand gently, almost lovingly, on the model of the Sea Devil. Slowly, he moved it forward until it touched the Wasp. He kept pushing until the Wasp reached the edge of the table. Then, smiling, he gave it a vicious shove; the Wasp model fell, its delicate hull smashing into pieces on the floor. Black Stache laughed, his breath further befouling the rancid cabin air. Then he stood and, stepping on the remains of the Wasp, stalked out of the cabin.

Time for the kill. CHAPTER 11

THE MESSENGERS

IT WAS JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT, an overcast night, no moonlight or starlight reaching the dark deck of the Never Land. The wind was steady at about five knots; the fat ship plowed forward on a following sea.

Molly, wearing a blanket like a cloak over her nightgown, emerged from the ladderway and looked quickly around. Seeing no one, she walked swiftly to the stern rail, her feet bare on the scarred wood of the deck. She’d not dared to put on shoes when she’d left the cabin, for fear she’d wake the snoring Mrs. Bumbrake.

After glancing quickly around again, she leaned over the stern rail and peered out at the dark water. She saw only the ship’s churning wake, ghostly pale by the light of the ship’s lone stern lantern. Her eyes strained to see more.

Where were they? She wondered if she was too early. Or, worse, too late.

Telling time on the ship was a problem, especially when overcast skies kept Molly from seeing the stars.

Five minutes went by. To Molly, it felt like an hour.

Where were they?

Molly heard a man’s voice, and she tensed, ready to race back to the ladderway. But then she heard another voice, and realized it was two sailors, well forward, passing another long night watch with the endless gossip of a ship at sea.

Molly relaxed and turned her gaze back toward the …

What was that?

She squinted at the patch of dark water where she thought she’d seen something, at the rightmost edge of the roiling wake.

There!

Molly’s heart leaped as a gray shape flowed from the water, forming a graceful arc before disappearing again beneath the surface. The shape was followed by another, then another.

Porpoises. Five of them, their sleek bodies keeping pace effortlessly with the lumbering ship.

Molly leaned over the stern rail and waved frantically, then caught herself, feeling foolish.

They know I’m here, she thought. They see everything.

As if reading her mind, a large porpoise rose straight up, using its powerful tail to lift its head well clear of the water, dancing on the churning water. It looked at Molly, grinning, and said, “Hello.”

Not in English, of course. It spoke in clicks and squeaks. But Molly had studied enough Porpoise to understand the standard greeting. Struggling to recall her lessons, Molly squeaked and clicked (the clicks were the hardest) something back, which she hoped was “Hello.” What she actually said was “My teeth are green,” but the porpoise was too polite to point that out.

Now the other four porpoises rose from the water, and, observing the protocol, also said “Hello.” Molly told them all that her teeth were green. With the pleasantries out of the way, the lead porpoise, whose name was Ammm, made a longer series of clicks and squeaks. Molly knew just enough Porpoise to understand that Ammm was asking her if she was all right. She expected this question: it had been arranged that the porpoises would check in with Molly tonight, and the assumption had been that Molly would tell them yes, she was all right.

“No,” Molly said, struggling to get the sounds right. “Trouble.”

This set off a chorus of chittering and chirping among the porpoises, all still standing on their tails. Molly understood none of it, but they were clearly concerned.

Ammm turned to her again.

“Tell me,” he said.

Molly had been thinking all day about how, with her very limited Porpoise vocabulary, she could say what she had to say. Leaning forward, speaking as clearly as she could—but not too slowly, as porpoises cannot understand slow talking—she said: “Message father.”

“Say,” said Ammm.

Molly’s heart leaped: she was getting through! But now came the hard part.

“Bad man hunt ship,” she said.

“Again,” said Ammm.

Molly took a deep breath, then: “Bad man hunt ship.”

More chittering among the porpoises. Then Ammm said: “What ship? Molly ship?”

They had understood!

“No,” said Molly. “Father ship.”

Ammm paused, then repeated: “Father ship.”

“Yes,” said Molly, thrilled they were communicating.

Urgent chittering. Then Ammm spoke again: “We go. Good-bye.”

“NO!” shouted Molly, so upset that she said it in English. But Ammm understood, and looked at her expectantly. The other four porpoises resurfaced, one by one.

“More,” said Molly.

“Say,” said Ammm.

Molly struggled to form the sounds: “Box on Molly ship.”

“What on Molly ship?” asked Ammm.

“Box,” said Molly. “Box. Box.”

“What?”

It was no use; the sound she was making for “box” clearly made no sense to Ammm. Molly stamped her foot in frustration, trying desperately to think of another way to say it. Maybe she could …

Her thoughts were interrupted by voices getting louder behind her; someone was coming her way! She gestured helplessly to Ammm, turned, and ran to the ladderway, ducking down it just as the two night-watch sailors arrived.

“… somebody back here talking,” one was saying. “Slank says we’re not to allow …”

“There’s who was talking,” said the other, pointing over the side.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said the first. “Porpoises making all that noise! What d’you suppose has ’em so roused up?”

“Probably saw some tasty fish.”

“That’s the life, if you ask me. Eat and play, not a care in the world.”

“Looky this big one here! He’s talkin’ to us! A right speechmaker, he is!”

“Probably wants us to throw him a bite to eat.”

In fact, Ammm was saying something very impolite about the sailors and their ancestors. The other four porpoises snorted, then all five turned, arced, sliced smoothly into the dark water, and disappeared.

The two sailors watched them go.

“Yes, indeed, that’s the life,” said the first. “Not a care in the world.” CHAPTER 12

ANGRY WORDS

PETER AND JAMES HAD SEEN THE WHOLE THING.

They had crept aft, hoping to find some edible food somewhere, slithering silently past the two gabbing sailors on watch. They were crouched behind a barrel near the stern when they’d seen Molly emerge from the ladderway, go to the rail, and lean over.

Peter had been about to approach her when she had started making the strangest noises he’d ever heard a human make.

“Peter,” whispered James. “What is she…?”

Peter silenced him with a quick squeeze on his arm. He motioned for James to stay low, and the two boys slid on their bellies to a spot where they could peer through an opening in the stern rail and look down at what Molly was seeing. They emitted simultaneous gasps when they saw the five porpoises, which looked as though they were dancing on the water as they used their powerful tails to hold their heads far above the waves.

They watched, astonished, as Molly and the largest of the porpoises exchanged the odd noises, almost as if—but that’s impossible—they were having a conversation.

To Peter, Molly’s noises sounded increasingly urgent and frustrated, until finally she broke into English and shouted, “No!” Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Peter stood to approach her, only to dive back to his belly when he heard the night-watch sailors coming. He saw Molly turn and run back to the ladderway as he and James squirmed back behind the barrel. They waited there, afraid to breathe, as the sailors commented on seeing porpoises. Sailors apparently thought porpoises brought good luck. Finally, the sailors climbed to a higher deck and disappeared.

“Peter,” whispered James, “what did we…?”

“Not now,” whispered Peter. “Go back to our cabin, and don’t get caught.”

“But where are you…”

“Never mind,” hissed Peter. “I’ll be along. Just get going.”

After seeing that James had crawled away safely, Peter climbed a rope and slipped under a railing that took him to the upper deck. The night-watch sailors stood talking not twenty feet away. When the nearest one turned his back, Peter edged along the rail and reached a doorway leading down a ladderway into darkness.

Peter looked around, unsure how to get to Molly’s cabin from here. He waited…waited…and finally the two sailors agreed it was time for tea. They moved on. Peter slipped down the steep ladderway, into a darkened hallway. Yellow light seeped from beneath several doors in both directions. Peter moved on to the next, sticking his ear to the door. He heard loud snoring.

Assuming that it was Mrs. Bumbrake, he opened the door and slipped inside.

“Peter!” whispered Molly. “What are you doing here?”

“I must talk to you,” whispered Peter.

“Now?”

“Now,” he said.

Molly frowned, then whispered, “All right. But outside in the passageway.” They stepped outside, and Molly closed the door.

“I saw you,” said Peter.

“Saw me what?” asked Molly. She kept her voice calm, but Peter could tell he’d surprised her.

“You were talking to that fish.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You were talking to that fish. You were making strange noises, and it was making them back.”

“Don’t be silly. Fish can’t talk.”

“Molly, I saw you.”

Molly stared at him for a moment, weighing something.

Then she sighed and said, “All right, listen. Those are not fish. Those are called porpoises, and they breathe air, the same as we do.”

“But they look like fish.”

“But they’re not. They breathe air, and they make noises, just like dogs and cats and cows and other animals. I was imitating the noises they make, purely out of curiosity, to see if I could get a response. That’s all you saw. It was nothing.”

“That’s not what it looked like,” said Peter. “It looked like you were talking to them. And you were upset about something. I heard you shout ‘No!’”

“I was just frustrated, because I couldn’t make the noises properly,” said Molly. “That’s all. Nothing more.”

“You ran away when the sailors came. Why?”

Molly paused, again weighing something, then answered: “Only because I didn’t want them to report me to Mrs. Bumbrake. She told me to stay in the cabin. Really, Peter, you’re imagining things.”

She’s lying.

“I am?” said Peter. “And I suppose I imagined the flying rat? And I imagined that you were in that aft hold? What’s going on, Molly? Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing, Peter,” said Molly. “There’s nothing going on.”

Why is she lying?

“Fine,” said Peter. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out for myself.”

“No,” she said with sudden intensity, grabbing his arm with a startlingly powerful grip. “Peter, you must not go down to that room again. You must not.”

Peter yanked his arm away. “Who’s going to stop me?” he said.

Molly’s eyes bored into his. She spoke slowly.

“I will, Peter.”

“How?” he snapped.

“I’ll tell Slank,” Molly threatened.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“I will if I have to,” she said.

“All right then,” said Peter, his cheeks burning, his voice quivering with anger. “I see now that not all the rats on this ship are four-legged.”

“Please, Peter,” said Molly, reaching for his arm again. “You don’t understand.”

“Good-bye…rat,” said Peter, brushing her hand away.

“Peter, please…”

He faced her. “You know,” he said, “I thought you…I thought we…Well…I was obviously wrong.”

Peter darted up the ladderway to the relative safety of the darkened deck. He crouched for a moment, breathing deeply, seething with feelings of rage and betrayal.

Thinks she can lie to me, does she? Thinks she can tell me what to do? Well, I’ll show her. I can do this myself, me and Alf. I don’t need her help.

Who does she think she is? CHAPTER 13

THE LADIES

IN THE DARKNESS JUST BEFORE DAWN, Leonard Aster paced back and forth on the stern of the Wasp, his long legs carrying his lanky frame across the beam in just a few strides each way. Again and again he looked into the water; again and again he saw nothing.

Where are you?

Finally impatience overcame him. After checking around for observers, he leaned over the rail and made a series of inhuman noises. Almost instantly he saw the glistening silver back of a porpoise break the ship’s wake. It rose on its tail, quickly joined by the other four, facing in different directions, as if keeping watch.

“Hello,” said Ammm.

“Hello,” said Aster, anxious to hear news, but observing porpoise protocol.

“Ammm talk Molly,” said Ammm.

“What say Molly?” said Aster, leaning forward eagerly.

“Molly say three things,” said Ammm.

“What things?”

“Molly teeth green.”

“Molly teeth green?”

“Yes.”

Aster contemplated that for a moment, and decided the problem was likely Molly’s limited command of Porpoise.

“What more Molly say?” he asked.

“Bad man hunt father ship,” said Ammm.

Aster felt a chill.

“Again,” he said, and the response was the same:

“Bad man hunt father ship.”

Bad man. Aster figured he knew who that would be. He thought for a moment, then squeaked a question to the porpoise.

“Ammm see bad man ship?”

The answer was immediate: “Yes.”

“Where?”

Glittering among the dolphins, then: “Near.”

Damn. Aster thought furiously. He needed to see the captain. He started to go, then remembered that Ammm had said there were three messages.

“What more Molly say?”

Ammm hesitated, as if struggling with something, then finally said: “On Molly ship.”

“What?” said Aster, puzzled.

“On Molly ship,” repeated Ammm.

“What on Molly ship?” said Aster.

“Not know. Molly talk sound.” Ammm made a noise that sounded like an attempt at a human voice, but porpoises were ill-suited for this task, and Aster couldn’t make it out.

“Again,” he said, leaning forward, desperate to understand.

“Who goes there?” A sailor’s voice, behind Aster.

Damn. “Go,” said Aster to the porpoises. “Go.”

The porpoises turned and, in an instant, were gone.

What was on Molly’s ship?

“I said who goes there?” The sailor was right behind Aster, who turned from the rail to face him.

“Ah, Mr. Aster!” the sailor said, his tone changing when he realized he was speaking to the Wasp’s most important passenger. “I wondered who was making them noises. Not feeling well, eh? Got the heaves, do you?”

“I need to speak to Captain Scott,” said Aster impatiently.

The sailor hid a smile. “Beg your pardon, but there’s nothing the cap’n can do about a sour stomach, sir.”

“It’s something far more urgent than that,” said Aster.

“But sir, with respect, it’s just past five in the morning, and the cap’n would have me keelhauled if…”

“Never mind,” said Aster, pushing past the protesting sailor. He strode to the ladderway, descended it, and pounded on the door to the captain’s cabin. In a moment the door was opened by Captain Scott, pulling his pants on over a long nightshirt, looking ready to tear the head off whoever had disturbed his slumber. His anger instantly turned to surprise when he saw who had awakened him.

“Mr. Aster,” he said.

“Captain Scott. Please accept my apologies for this intrusion, but I must speak to you immediately.”

The sailor clambered down the ladderway, puffing.

“I’m sorry, Cap’n,” he said. “I tried to tell Mr. Aster that…”

“It’s all right,” said Scott. “Back to your watch.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the sailor, leaving.

“Please come in, Mr. Aster,” said Scott, stepping back so the tall man could enter his spotless, tidy cabin.

Aster shut the door behind him, and turned to face Scott. His expression was intense; to Scott, it almost looked as though the tall man’s green eyes were glowing. A trick of the lantern light, Scott thought.

“Captain Scott,” Aster began. “You know of my diplomatic status. You understand that I am on a mission for the Queen herself.”

“I do, sir.”

“And you understand that, as such, I am privy to certain information that is not generally available?”

“I imagine you are, at that.”

“Captain Scott, I ask that you not question how I might know what I am about to tell you, but only to trust that it is true: a pirate ship now approaches the Wasp, intending to do her harm.”

“Approaches?”

“It is very close, I fear.”

“But, Mr. Aster, that is not possible,” said Scott. “Our lookouts have seen no other ship for days, save for the frigate flying the Union Jack. She may be an imposter, but even if she means us harm, she’ll never catch the Wasp.”

“I hope you are right, sir. But if an enemy should overtake us…”

“He will not, I assure you.”

“Just so, but if he does…”

“Then we shall fight.”

“And I trust that we shall prevail, Captain Scott. But whatever happens, understand this: the special cargo that this ship carries for the Queen must not fall into our enemy’s hands. It must not. If that were to happen, the consequences would be dire. More dire than you can imagine.”

“Then I shall make sure it is well protected,” said Scott. “But I assure you that no such protection will be necessary. As I say, no ship can catch the Wasp.”

“I pray that you are right, Captain.”

“Praying will no doubt help, Mr. Aster, but so will good seamanship. I’ll go topside and see to the sails.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

The two men climbed the ladderway, Captain Scott wondering if his distinguished passenger had lost his mind. How would he get information out here in the middle of the ocean? And what ship could be capable of catching the Wasp?

His answer came as soon as they reached the deck, which was washed in the blood-red light of the dawn sun creeping over the horizon. The Wasp’s first mate, a burly man named Romelly, came running up, breathless.

“Cap’n, sir, I was just coming to get you. We just seen it, sir, just now.”

“Seen what?”

“A ship, sir, closing on us fast, and it’s flying….”

“But that’s impossible,” said Scott. “How can…

And then he saw it. Less than a mile astern was the frigate: but now she was moving faster than the Wasp, and faster than any man aboard had ever seen a ship move. Even at this distance they could see the two white waves of wake surging aside as the prow blasted through the water.

“What in the world?” said Scott, almost whispering. “What kind of…”

“It’s flying the skull and bones,” said Romelly, fear creeping into his voice. “It’s pirates, sir.” The word was picked up by other crewmen, and shouts of “Pirates!” rang out around the ship.

Captain Scott, usually unflappable, stood staring at the apparition bearing down on his ship. “What kind of…” he said. “What…” Words failed him. He had never seen such a thing in all his years at sea.

For the attacking ship carried no sails. At least none of the ordinary kind. Instead of sheets of white canvas, the sky above the pirate ship was filled with an enormous black brassiere—an undergarment of fantastic size, as if made for a giant woman. The twin mountains of fabric, funnel-shaped, pointed and bulged ahead of the breeze.

“What is that?” Scott gasped.

“That,” said Leonard Aster, “is Black Stache.”

The crew heard that, too, and the murmur went quickly around the deck. Black Stache.

“He’s here for the Queen’s cargo,” said Aster. “I don’t know how he knows, but he knows. That’s what he’s after.”

“Well,” said Scott grimly, “he won’t get it without a fight.” CHAPTER 14

THE ALLIANCE

PETER FOUND ALF THE NEXT MORNING. The big man was down on his aching old knees, scrubbing the deck. The wind was picking up; to the west Peter saw gathering clouds, dark and threatening, though still a good way off. They made the ship feel smaller to Peter.

Alf looked up as the boy approached.

“Hello, little friend,” he said, grinning. “Seen any flying rats?”

“No,” said Peter. “But I’m going back to look.”

Alf’s grin disappeared. He looked around the deck to be sure nobody could overhear.

“To the aft hold?” he whispered. “To the trunk?”

“Yes. Tonight.”

“But there’s a guard there,” said Alf, “and he’ll be wary. Slank was right furious at John for falling asleep last time. Had him whipped good and proper. He’s put a new man on guard, an ornery old scone called Leatherface. He won’t be dozing.”

“I thought about that,” Peter said. “I have a plan to get past the guard.”

“Do you now, little friend?”

“I do,” said Peter. “But I need a helper.”

“I see. And you were thinking old Alf would be your helper?”

“I was.”

Alf stood, towering over Peter, and put a callused hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Hear this, lad. Slank told the crew that if he found out who was in that hold, or found anybody else going in there, he’d feed ’em to the sharks.”

“It’s a good plan,” Peter said stubbornly. “It will work.”

Alf studied Peter’s face for a moment.

“You really want to get into that trunk, don’t you,” he said.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Bad enough to risk your life?”

“Sir,” said Peter, “I don’t have much of a life now, and from what I’m told I’ll have even less where I’m going. If there’s something wonderful on this ship, I want to know what it is. This is my only chance, sir.”

Alf looked out to sea for several seconds, then back to Peter, and Peter saw there were tears in the big man’s eyes. “Little friend,” Alf said, “those words are truer of me than they are of you.” He moved closer, and put his head next to the boy’s. “Tell me our plan.”