بخش 05

CHAPTER 20

MOLLY’S STORY

PETER’S SHOULDERS SAGGED WITH RELIEF. “Good,” he said. “I knew you—”

“Not here,” said Molly, gesturing toward the snoring Leatherface. “We’ll go to my cabin. Mrs. Bumbrake shouldn’t be back for an hour, at least.” Mrs. Bumbrake had taken to spending most of her evenings in Slank’s cabin, which was fine with Molly.

“All right,” said Peter, heading toward the ladderway.

“One thing first,” said Molly. She picked up the padlock and hasp. “We need to find the other pieces to this.”

“Why?” said Peter.

“Just do it, please,” she said.

Sighing, Peter joined Molly in searching the floor by the dim lantern light. In a minute or so they’d found the four rusty bolts Alf had broken.

“Close the door,” whispered Molly.

Peter, having decided it was no use to question her, obeyed. Molly held the padlock and hasp up to the door and inserted the broken bolts into their former holes. Carefully, she let go; the hasp and padlock remained in place. It looked as though the door were still securely locked. Peter was impressed.

“Come on,” said Molly.

Peter followed her up the ladder. She motioned him to stay in the passageway while she looked inside her cabin; seeing that it was, as she had expected, empty, she motioned Peter inside and closed the door.

“Please sit,” she said, pointing to one of the cabin’s two narrow cots. “This will take some time.”

Peter sat. Molly remained standing, facing Peter, silent for a long moment, thinking. Finally she spoke.

“I shouldn’t tell you any of this,” she said.

“But you…”

“Just listen,” she said. “I shouldn’t tell you, but, given the circumstances, I’ve decided I have no choice.”

It sounded to Peter as though Molly was talking to herself, more than to him.

“I’m not sure how much to tell you,” she continued. “There’s much that I don’t know myself. But if I’m to ask for your help, if I’m to ask you to risk your…I mean, there is terrible danger, and it would be wrong if you…that is, if you didn’t…”

“Molly,” said Peter, exasperated. “Just tell me.”

“All right,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Peter, have you ever seen a shooting star?”

“Yes,” said Peter. It had been at St. Norbert’s, an eternity ago. The other boys had been asleep; Peter was lying on the narrow wooden platform that served as his bed, staring through the slit of a window at the night sky. He’d almost not believed it, the first time—the startlingly sudden, eerily silent flash of brilliant, streaking light, there for an instant and then…gone. But then he’d seen it again, and again, and again.

The next day he’d asked Mr. Grempkin what the streaks were, and Mr. Grempkin had said they were shooting stars. So Peter asked what shooting stars were, and Mr. Grempkin said they were meteors. So Peter asked what meteors were, and Mr. Grempkin said they were rocks that fell from the heavens. So Peter asked if that meant that the heavens were made of rocks, and why were the rocks so bright? Were they on fire? How did rocks catch fire? And Mr. Grempkin clouted Peter on the ear and told him not to ask so many questions. And that had been the end of it.

“Do you know what they are?” said Molly.

“They’re rocks,” said Peter. “That fall from the heavens.”

“That’s true of most of them,” said Molly. “Almost all of them, in fact. But not quite all.”

“What do you mean?” said Peter.

“I mean some shooting stars are not rocks. Some—a very few—are made of something quite different. It’s called starstuff. At least that’s what we call it.”

“Starstuff? You mean pieces that fell from a star?”

“We don’t know what it is, truthfully,” said Molly. “But it’s not rocks, and it comes from the heavens, and sometimes it comes to Earth. And when it does, we have to find it, before the Others do.”

Peter shook his head. “Who d’you mean by ‘we’?” he said. “Who are the ‘others’? What does this have to do with…”

“Please, Peter,” she said. “I’m explaining it as best I can.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Go on.”

“All right. First, what I mean by ‘we.’ Peter, I’m part of a group, a small group of people. Well, mostly people. We’re called”—Molly’s hand went to the gold chain around her neck—“the Starcatchers.”

“Starcatchers.”

“Yes. My father is one, as was his mother, and so on. Most of us are descended from Starcatchers, but not all. There have been Starcatchers on Earth for centuries, Peter. Even we don’t know how long. But our task is always the same: to watch for the starstuff, and to get to it, and return it, before it falls into the hands of the Others.”

“Return it where?”

“That’s…difficult to explain.”

“Well, then, who are the Others?”

“They’re…people, too, or most of them are. And they’ve also been around for a long time. They are our—that is, the Starcatchers’—enemy. No, that’s not quite right: we oppose them, but in truth they are mankind’s enemy.”

“Why? What do they do?”

“They use the power. They take it, and they…” Molly saw the puzzlement on Peter’s face. “But you don’t know what I mean, do you? I need to explain, about the starstuff.”

“Is that’s what’s in the trunk?” said Peter.

“Yes,” said Molly. “That’s what’s in the trunk. It has amazing power, Peter. Wonderful power. Terrible power. It…it lets you do things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, that’s one of the mysteries. It’s not the same for everybody. And it’s not the same for animals as for people.”

“The rat,” said Peter. “The flying rat.”

“Yes,” said Molly. “That’s one of the powers it can give. Flight.”

“To rats,” said Peter.

“Not just rats,” said Molly. “People, too.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “It makes people fly?”

“It can,” said Molly.

“Can you fly?” asked Peter.

“I have,” said Molly.

“Prove it,” said Peter.

“What?”

“Prove you can fly.”

“Peter, this isn’t the time or the…”

Peter was on his feet now. “Listen,” he said. “You’re asking me to believe…I mean, it all sounds like nonsense, really. This ‘starstuff,’ and these ‘others,’ and…and I don’t know why I should believe any of it.”

“Peter, you saw the rat.”

“I don’t know what I saw. I mean, I saw a rat in the air, yes, but what if it was a trick? What if, I don’t know…what if you tied a string to it?”

“There was no string, Peter. The rat got into the starstuff somehow. It was flying.”

“Prove it.”

“Peter, please, you must…”

“Prove it.”

Molly took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “All right, then,” she said. “I really shouldn’t do this, but if you’re going to be stubborn…”

“I am,” said Peter.

“Then sit down.”

Peter sat. Molly reached her hand to her neck, put her finger under the gold chain, and from under her blouse pulled out a small golden five-pointed star. She placed this on the palm of her left hand, which she held at neck level.

“What’s that?” said Peter.

“A locket,” said Molly.

With her right hand, she opened the lid of the locket. As she did, it was suffused by light, so that Peter couldn’t see the locket, only a small, glowing sphere of golden light. Molly’s face, and the cabin ceiling above her, were bathed in the glow. Peter had the strangest sense that he could feel the light, as well as see it.

“Is that—” he began.

“Quiet,” said Molly. Slowly, carefully, she touched her right index finger into the sphere.

“Unhh,” she moaned, leaning her head back, her eyes closed, her expression calm, blissful. She remained that way for perhaps five seconds, and then there was the click of the locket closing, and the glow was gone.

Peter wanted it back.

Molly’s head came forward, and she opened her eyes, which to Peter looked unfocused, and more luminescent than ever.

“Are you all right?” Peter said.

Molly blinked, then looked at Peter. “Yes,” she said. “I’m all right.”

“What was—”

“Shhhh.” Molly said. “Watch.”

She stared at Peter, and he stared back into her startling green eyes. After a few moments Peter said, “I don’t see anything.”

“Peter,” she said. “Look at my feet.”

He looked down and gasped. Then he jumped up from the cot and dropped to his hands and knees, his cheek pressed to the floor, looking to see how she did it, what the trick was. But there was no trick.

Her feet weren’t touching the floor. They were at least two inches above it. And as Peter looked, the distance grew; Molly was rising, her head now gently touching the cabin ceiling. As it did, her body began to pivot, until she was completely horizontal, facing the floor, her back pressed to the ceiling, as though she were sleeping up there. She smiled down at Peter.

“Now do you believe me?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Peter.

“Good,” she said. Her legs swung back down to the vertical, and she descended gently to the floor.

For a moment Peter was speechless. Then questions came flooding out.

“Can you…can you do that any time?” he began. “I mean, could you just fly around whenever you want? Like a bird?”

“No,” said Molly. “To fly, I must use the power of the starstuff, and I…that is, we, the Starcatchers, carry only a limited amount. In time, it wears off. We’re supposed to use it only in an emergency. I really shouldn’t have used it just now. It’s precious, and I really don’t know how much I have in here.” She tapped her locket, and tucked it back into her blouse.

“But can’t you just get more?” said Peter. “From the trunk, I mean. There must be lots in there.”

“Yes, there is,” said Molly. “There’s enough in that trunk that I could fly forever, and do many other things besides.”

“Is that why you’re so concerned about it?” said Peter. “Because you want to get it?”

“No, Peter. I told you before. Our task is to get the starstuff before the Others do, and return it.”

“But why don’t you just keep it?” said Peter.

“Because of the power,” said Molly. “The power is too great. There’s too much danger that it can be used for evil.”

“But the Starcatchers—you’re good, aren’t you?” said Peter. “If you have the power, why don’t you just use it to control these…these others?”

“Because it doesn’t work,” said Molly. “Because if people have the power, even if they start out using it for good, in time they will use it for evil.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s how it all started, this business of the Starcatchers and the Others. It has been going on for thousands of years, Peter. Nobody knows precisely when it started, but in the beginning, somebody must have stumbled across some starstuff that had fallen to Earth. And whoever that was touched it, and felt it—it’s a wonderful feeling, Peter. Not just the flying. That’s the most obvious, but there’s much more…”

“Like what?”

“Intelligence, for one thing. It’s not so much that you become smarter, as that you feel as though you can really use your mind. You can see things you couldn’t see before, understand things that others can’t. Sometimes you even know what other people are feeling—you can feel it. And sometimes, if you’re close enough, you can change the way they feel—make them afraid, or happy, or sleepy…”

“The guard,” said Peter. “The night I saw you in the room with the trunk, and the rat—the guard fell asleep that night. Slank thought he was drunk. But you made that happen.”

“Yes,” said Molly. “I made that happen. I’d begun to suspect that the trunk…but I’m getting ahead of my story.”

“You were talking about the first person who found the starstuff,” prompted Peter.

“Right. Well, whoever that was had suddenly become the most powerful person on earth. And he must have shared it with some others, probably his family, his descendants. Because in time there came to be legends—stories of beings who had incredible powers, who could fly, who could control others. You’ve heard of those legends, Peter.”

“I have?”

“Yes. In fact, I’m sure you studied them. The legends of Zeus, of Apollo…”

“You mean mythology? The Greek and Roman gods? But Mr. Grempkin said that was just…”

“That was all true, Peter. Except that they weren’t gods. They were people who’d found the starstuff. But to ordinary people, they appeared to be gods; they inspired fear; they were worshipped; they were obeyed absolutely. In time they learned to guard their secret better, to use the power more subtly; instead of gods, they were called royalty. But they ruled just the same. They grew in power; they prospered; they had families; there came to be more of them. And they all wanted the power; they all needed the starstuff.

“But as I said, it only lasts for a while, and then you need more. From time to time, more falls to Earth, but nobody knows when it will fall, or where, or how much there will be. And so there came to be struggles, desperate struggles, over the starstuff that was known to exist, and the new batches that fell to Earth. Wars were fought, Peter. In the history you were taught, the wars were caused by disputes over land, or trade, or religion. And some of them were. But in truth, much of the death and misery visited upon mankind over the centuries was the result of a secret, vicious struggle, among a very few people, over starstuff.”

“And were the Starcatchers part of that struggle?” asked Peter.

“No,” said Molly. “They were a response to it. As the struggle became more violent and widespread, a few of the people who knew the secret of the starstuff began to see how dangerous it was—how there could never be enough of it, and how easily it could be turned to evil purposes. Those few formed a secret society—a secret society within a secret society, really. They swore an oath that they would dedicate their lives to ridding the earth of the starstuff, except for the small quantities they would need to carry out their mission. Their strategy was simple. They would not try to get the existing supplies of starstuff away from the Others; in time, they knew, those supplies would be used up. Instead, they would focus their efforts on new batches of falling starstuff. They would get to these first, and capture them. And so they called themselves the Starcatchers.

“And their strategy worked, Peter. It took time, but it worked. For years the Others didn’t realize what was happening—only that it was more and more difficult to replenish their starstuff supplies. By the time they found out about the Starcatchers, they had been greatly weakened, and most of the starstuff was gone.”

“Where did it go?” asked Peter. “What do the Starcatchers do with it?”

“I don’t honestly know,” said Molly.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” said Peter. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Molly, “but I’m still only an apprentice. It takes a great deal of training to be a senior Starcatcher. And one of the last things we learn is how to return the starstuff, once we’ve captured it.”

“But what do you mean return?” said Peter. “Return it where?”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” said Molly. “I haven’t learned that yet. However the process works, I think it’s dangerous, because there are…forces, I think, and…they’re not all good. This is probably a crude way of putting it, but: just as we have the Others and the Starcatchers here on Earth, there seems to be something similar going on up there.” She pointed toward the sky. “And you must be very, very careful when you deal with these forces, or…” She shook her head.

“But here on Earth—the Starcatchers are winning here, aren’t they?” said Peter. “You have the upper hand?”

“Well,” said Molly, “in recent times, yes. We’re better organized than the Others, by our very nature—we’re working for a common cause, while they’re every man for himself, and quick to stab the other one in the back for a bit of starstuff. So we’ve got quite an organization, and plenty of observers, counting people and porpoises.”

“The porpoises!” said Peter. “So you were talking to them!”

“Yes,” said Molly, blushing. “Sorry about the lie. We’ve been working with the porpoises for many years. Extremely intelligent, they are. More intelligent than many people, if you ask me. Anyway, there’s more sea than land, so as you’d imagine a fair amount of starstuff lands in the water, and the porpoises have learned, much as we did, that it’s best to get rid of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s very odd, what it can do to animals. Some of them hardly seem to be affected by it. But some of them change in the strangest ways. Horses, for example. It’s very bad to let a horse near starstuff.”

“Why?” said Peter.

“Back to your mythology,” said Molly. “Have you ever heard of a centaur?”

“The thing that’s half man, half horse,” said Peter. “But Mr. Grempkin said that was…”

“It was real, Peter. And not very pleasant, either. Something quite similar happens with squid.”

“What’s a squid?”

“An ugly, slimy, ill-tempered beast that lives in the sea, with lots of long arms,” said Molly. “Some time ago, some of them got hold of a large batch of starstuff and…well, the porpoises were years sorting all that out, not to mention all the problems that human sailors had with what they called ‘sea serpents.’”

“Oh,” said Peter.

“But, as I was saying, with the porpoises helping us, the Starcatchers have been able to deal with the starstuff situation most of the time, over most of the earth. The problem is that, every now and then, a new batch falls, and we’re not always able to get there before somebody finds it. Often, no harm is done; in fact, the results can be quite nice. Not so many years ago, some starstuff fell in Italy. Our agents got there soon enough, and thought they’d retrieved it all, but apparently they missed some, and some young men found it. Fortunately, they were not inclined toward evil. Have you ever heard of the artists Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo?”

“No,” said Peter.”

“Well,” said Molly, “they were quite good. But we’ve not always been so lucky. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Attila the Hun?”

“Was he an artist?”

“He most certainly was not. He was a very bad man who found a very big bit of starstuff and did some very bad things.”

“Oh.”

“Occasionally,” Molly continued, “very occasionally, even one of the Starcatchers succumbs to the lure of the starstuff, and has to be…dealt with. But for the most part, the Starcatchers have done their job, and done it very well. I don’t mean we’ve eradicated evil from the world, of course—the world will always have evil—but because of the Starcatchers, it has been a good long time since any widespread evil has been the result of starstuff. So to answer your question: Yes, for the moment, the Starcatchers have the upper hand. But only for the moment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean at the moment, the situation is a bit…unbalanced.”

“Unbalanced?”

“Yes. About two months ago, a very large quantity of starstuff fell to Earth, in Scotland. A very large quantity. Father says it’s the most that has fallen in his memory, and perhaps in centuries. The Starcatchers knew it was coming; I don’t know why, but we feel it when it falls. And, as I say, this was an unusually large amount—we had people see it as well as feel it. They were headed to the landing place on horseback immediately. It was a remote spot, no towns around, and our men got there quickly. But the starstuff was gone.”

“Somebody found it first.”

“Yes,” said Molly, “but that has happened before. And usually whoever it is is still there when our agents arrive. In fact usually they’re floating at treetop level, happy as birds, and it’s easy enough for our agents to retrieve the starstuff from them, and help them to forget all about it by…well, it’s a technique I haven’t learned yet. But when it’s used, they fall asleep; and when they wake up, they’ve forgotten all about it, no harm done. But this time there was nobody there, and no starstuff. And that was the odd part. This was a large and powerful supply, Peter. It can be moved, but it takes skill and knowledge to handle it, and a proper container to put it in. So it wasn’t moved by some local folk who happened across it. Whoever took it knew what it was, and knew how to handle it.”

“The Others.”

“Yes. Somehow, they got there first, and now they have more starstuff than they’ve had for centuries.”

“And you…the Starcatchers…you don’t know what they’ve done with it?”

Molly laughed, but not happily. “Oh, I know exactly what they’ve done with it.”

“What, you…you mean…You mean the trunk on this ship?”

“Yes,” said Molly. “That trunk.”

“But how…I mean, who…”

“Bear with me just a little longer,” said Molly. “We’re almost there. The Starcatchers have always had spies among the Others. After the starstuff went missing in Scotland, we had our spies poke around, and they found out quickly enough what had happened to it. It had been placed in a trunk and taken to a castle in a little town called Fenkirk.”

“Couldn’t the Starcatchers fetch it from there?” asked Peter. “Using those, what did you call them, techniques?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Molly. “For two reasons. One is that those techniques are not effective against people who know how to use the starstuff power. The other is that, in addition to the Others, the castle was heavily guarded by soldiers.”

“Soldiers?”

“Soldiers of the Queen of England.”

“The Queen?” said Peter. “Are you saying the Queen is one of the Others?”

“No,” said Molly. “At least we don’t think so. The Starcatchers have people who know the Queen—my father is one of them—and they’re quite certain she is not in league with the Others. But apparently somebody close to the Queen is, and whoever that person is has made it impossible for our agents to get near the trunk. After a week in the castle, it was moved under heavy guard to London, where our spies learned that it was to be loaded onto a ship called the Wasp. And that was a very bad sign indeed.”

“Why?” said Peter.

“Because the Wasp was bound for Rundoon,” said Molly, “which is ruled by His Royal Highness, King Zarboff”—she held up the three middle fingers of her right hand—“the Third.”

“Oh my,” said Peter. “He’s one of them, isn’t he.”

“Yes,” said Molly. “Zarboff is one of the Others. He’s perhaps the most evil one there is. The Starcatchers could not allow him, of all people, to gain possession of the trunk.”

“That’s why you’re on this ship,” said Peter. “To stop it.”

“No,” said Molly. “My father put me on this ship precisely because he believed the trunk was not here. It was for my safety. He sailed on the Wasp because our spies said that’s where the trunk was. Obviously,” she added bitterly, “they were mistaken.”

“What was your father planning to do on the Wasp?” asked Peter. “I mean, how was he going to get the trunk away from the others, if there was only one of him on the ship?”

“It wasn’t going to happen on the Wasp,” said Molly. “It was going to happen when they got to Rundoon. There would be other Starcatchers waiting. They had a plan to get the trunk, and capture Zarboff, who’d become a problem. It was quite a brilliant plan, really, except that…”

“…except that the trunk isn’t on the Wasp.”

“No,” said Molly. “They switched it. I suspected it the first day, when I saw how that sailor reacted when he touched it. I should have tried to get word to Father then, but, stupidly, I didn’t. Then that night—the night you saw the flying rat—I went down there to check, and as soon as I walked into the hold, I knew it was the trunk. I could feel it, the immense power, like nothing I’ve ever felt. So I tried to send a message to Father, using Ammm…”

“Who?”

“The porpoise, Ammm. But I’m not very good at porpoise, and I thought I’d muddled it, and then Ammm came back and told me…he told me…”

Molly pressed her face into her hands, sobbing. Peter wanted to do something, pat her shoulder, perhaps; but he was terrified she would take it wrong. So he stood helplessly and watched her sob for a minute or so. Finally she raised her face, showing him reddened eyes and tear-wetted cheeks.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s all right,” said Peter, feeling like an idiot.

“Anyway,” Molly said, “Ammm said, at least I think he said”—she fought down a sob—“that Father’s ship has been sunk by pirates.”

“Molly, no!” said Peter.

Molly shook her head. “But Ammm also said, I think, that the other porpoises had rescued Father.”

“Thank goodness,” Peter said.

“Yes,” said Molly. “But Ammm said something else.”

“What?” said Peter.

“He said, ‘Bad man hunt Molly ship,’” said Molly.

“Bad man?” said Peter. “What bad man?”

“Peter,” she said, “have you ever heard of a pirate called the Black Moustache?”

“Yes,” said Peter. He’d heard the crew talk, heard the fear in their voices.

“I think he’s after the Never Land.”

Peter felt a chill. “After this ship? But this is just an old…Wait—are you saying he knows about the trunk?”

“He must, Peter. He must have been after the Wasp for that reason. He was fooled just as Father was. But now Father’s lost at sea somewhere, and the Black Moustache is coming for the trunk. He’s coming, Peter.”

“Molly,” said Peter, “if he gets that trunk…”

“I know,” she said. “I know. Peter, we must stop him.” Peter nodded. She was right.

They had to stop him.

But how? CHAPTER 21

THE SIGHTING

BLACK STACHE CUPPED HIS HANDS and screamed through the rain toward the crow’s nest. “Anything?”

“Not yet, Cap’n!” returned the lookout from the top of the mainmast.

“Not much chance of seeing her in this swill, Cap’n!” shouted the helmsman, over the roar of the storm.

“She’s out there!” Stache shouted back. He rubbed the end of his spyglass on a wet bit of his jacket, but still had no luck looking through the thing.

One by one, his crewmen were returning to the deck, having changed into British naval uniforms. Stache smiled at the look of it—cutthroat pirates, dressed as Her Majesty’s sailors.

Just then he caught sight of a porpoise off to starboard. Good luck, he thought.

“Strange to see a porpoise in a storm, don’t you think?” Stache shouted to his helmsman.

“Where, Cap’n?” the helmsman shouted.

Stache pointed. The helmsman gaped.

“Strange don’t begin to capture it,” he said. “Porpoise is too smart to get caught in a blow. Never seen nothin’ like it.”

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” It was Smee, now dressed in a British uniform that barely contained his belly. He’d given up trying to button the pants, and as he held up the British flag—the Union Jack—his pants sank to his knees, drawing laughs from the crew. Smee tried to pull up his pants, but in doing so almost lost the flag to the howling wind.

“Bring it here, you idjit!” Stache yelled.

The distraction had taken his attention off the porpoise. He looked back, but it was gone. He felt a twist in his belly—That was my luck—then forced the thought from his mind.

Smee staggered over and presented the Union Jack to Stache, his pants again dropping in the process.

“Hoist her high!” Stache ordered, handing the flag to a sailor. “And you, Smee, hoist your britches.” This drew another laugh from the crew, interrupted by a cry from the crow’s nest.

“SHIP HO!”

Rain stinging his eyes, Stache looked in the direction of the lookout’s gesturing arm. He couldn’t see it, not yet, in the swirling storm. But the direction was right, and he had a feeling about it.

The Never Land…

It had to be. CHAPTER 22

BLACKNESS ON THE HORIZON

PETER HADN’T CLOSED HIS EYES ALL NIGHT. For one thing, the weather had steadily worsened; the ever-larger waves kept the Never Land in constant, sickening motion, and the groaning and creaking of the ship’s ancient timbers—much louder now—made sleep difficult.

But Peter couldn’t have slept anyway. Not when his mind was still trying to absorb what Molly had told him. The thoughts swirled in his head…falling stars, centaurs, a trunk with the power to change the world…It was an incredible tale.

But it’s not a tale. It’s all true.

When he’d returned to his tiny sleeping space, Peter had wanted to tell the other boys, or at least James. But he’d decided it would be best, for now, not to. For one thing, he doubted that they’d believe him. For another thing, he didn’t want to run the risk that one of the boys would spoil whatever plan he and Molly came up with for the trunk.

That was the question: what would they do about the trunk? Peter and Molly had just started to discuss it last night when they’d heard Mrs. Bumbrake clunking noisily down the ladder. Peter had barely managed to dart out of the room and hide on the lower ladder before Mrs. Bumbrake had reached the passageway. Molly’s last whispered words to him, as she pressed the door shut, had been: “We must act soon. Find me in the morning.”

We must act soon. Yes, certainly; if what Molly had told him was true—and he believed her now, absolutely—they had to do something. But what? What could two children do on a ship full of men?

So Peter’s night had been sleepless. At the first dim light of morning, he crept out of the boys’ cramped hole and made his way to the foredeck. The sky was a dull gray, and the wind was flicking foam off waves far bigger than any Peter had seen. He’d adjusted to the steady swells of the open sea, but these waves were much more menacing; some of them, as they swept toward the Never Land, looked taller than the masts. Fear tightened Peter’s chest, and he felt no better when he turned to the horizon astern; the sky there was black as night, a vast swirling darkness The deck of the Never Land had never been busier. Slank bellowed orders, and the usually turtle-paced crew now scurried around urgently. Peter started aft and immediately encountered Alf, who was trotting forward, a barrel on his right shoulder. Seeing Peter, he glanced back to see if Slank was watching, then quickly set the barrel down and knelt next to the boy, as if scratching his foot.

“Ahoy, little friend,” he said. “Looks like you got out of there all right last night. Missy decided not to scream, eh?”

“Yes,” said Peter. “She didn’t…I mean, she was…” He trailed off, wanting to tell Alf more, tell him about the trunk, maybe enlist his help….

“Not now, little friend,” said Alf. “No time to talk. Big storm coming. Slank’s turned us around, but there’s no chance this tub will outrun it.” He put his big hands on Peter’s bony shoulders, and looked into the boy’s eyes. “We’re in for a bad one, little friend. When it gets here, make sure you’re holding on tight to something.”

Peter looked at the horizon. The blackness looked distinctly closer now. Alf was on his feet again, hoisting the barrel to his shoulder.

“Remember, little friend,” he said. “Hold on tight.” And he left.

Peter headed aft, unnoticed in the confusion of shouting, bustling crewmen. To his relief, he found Molly immediately; she was standing on the aft deck, looking back at the approaching storm. He called her name, and she turned. Peter’s heart fluttered when he saw in her eyes how glad she was to see him.

“Peter,” she said. “There’s a storm, a bad one. It’s…”

“I know,” he said. “Alf says it’s going to get us soon.”

“I fear he’s right,” she said, looking back at the horizon.

“What about the trunk?” Peter said.

Molly looked around before answering, though in this wind there was no chance that anyone could overhear them.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do now,” she said. “But as soon as the storm is over, we need to move it.”

“Move it where?” said Peter.

“I’m not sure,” Molly said. “But we have to hide it somewhere else on the ship, so that when Black Stache catches us—if he catches us—it won’t be easily found. Perhaps we can trick him into thinking it’s been thrown overboard, or was never on the Never Land in the first place.”

“Why don’t we just throw it overboard ourselves?” said Peter. “He’d never get it, then.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” said Molly. “But we’d have no control over who would find it. It would be terrible, Peter—you’ve no idea how terrible—if it were to fall into the wrong hands. Or tentacles.” She glanced into the dark water, and shuddered. “If we absolutely must throw it overboard—if there is no other way to keep it from Black Stache—then we shall. But for now, we must try to guard it, keep it safe, and hope that we can gain enough time until my father can get to us.”

“You’re sure your father’s coming?” Peter asked, and instantly regretted it, seeing the worry in Molly’s eyes.

“Father will come,” she said. “He has to.”

“Right,” said Peter. “So we move the trunk. But first…” He gestured at the approaching storm.

“Right,” said Molly. “First we get through this.”

If we get through this, thought Peter.

“MOLLY ASTER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT THERE!”

Peter and Molly turned to see the formidable form of Mrs. Bumbrake, one hand on a rail, the other gripping an umbrella.

“Mrs. Bumbrake!” Molly said. “I was just…”

“AND WHAT IS HE DOING BACK HERE?” shouted Mrs. Bumbrake, attempting to point at Peter with her umbrella hand, only to see a fierce wind gust grab the umbrella and send it flying forward, darting this way and that like a giant disturbed bat, before narrowly missing a ducking sailor and hurtling overboard.

“MY UMBRELLA!” shrieked Mrs. Bumbrake. “WHAT ARE YOU TWO LAUGHING AT?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Bumbrake,” said Molly, forcing her face to frown.

“Nothing, ma’am,” said Peter, hand over mouth.

“DON’T YOU MOCK ME, YOU LITTLE URCHIN,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BACK HERE, AND I INTEND TO TELL MR. SLANK. AND AS FOR YOU, YOUNG LADY, I HAVE TOLD YOU A HUNDRED TIMES THAT…”

But Mrs. Bumbrake did not get her chance to tell Molly for a hundred-and-first time. She was interrupted by a shout from the Never Land’s lookout, echoed by a chorus of shouts from the men on deck. A crowd of sailors joined Molly, Peter, and Mrs. Bumbrake at the stern; they were looking and pointing at the cause of the lookout’s shout: an approaching ship, between the Never Land and the storm. The sailors babbled excitedly, speculating on its identity, then fell silent when Slank appeared on the aft deck, holding a spyglass.

Peter ducked behind a sailor, but Slank’s attention was focused on the following ship. The men grew silent as Slank raised the glass to his eye and focused it. He grunted, lowered the glass, shook his head, blinked, then looked through the glass again. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ll be hanged,” he said. “It’s the Wasp.” CHAPTER 23

ANY MINUTE NOW

SMEE PULLED HAND-OVER-HAND, hoisting the Union Jack high on the Jolly Roger’s mainmast, as Black Stache watched approvingly. Stache’s men were all now wearing British uniforms. Stache glanced down at his own uniform—a captain’s uniform—and felt particularly handsome.

Stache peered through the glass at the Never Land. His swift ship had turned downwind and was now closing quickly on the old cargo hulk.

Any minute now…

“READY, MEN?” he called out, and he was answered with a roar, as his men thrust their swords into the air.

“Keep those blades hidden!” shouted Stache. “Wait for my command!”

He raised his glass again. The Never Land was very close now; he could see the storm was treating her badly. Stache grinned.

They don’t stand a chance…. CHAPTER 24

OVERBOARD

THE GOOD NEWS SPREAD QUICKLY on the Never Land.

“It’s the Wasp! The Wasp is coming!”

More sailors gathered at the stern, watching Slank as he raised the glass to his eye again.

“She’s changed course,” he said. “She’ll be coming alongside, to port. It’s Captain Scott. He must have turned to run from the storm. Now he’s come to stand by us.

The crew was delighted. Instead of facing a monster storm alone at sea in a decrepit barge, they now would be escorted by the finest ship in Her Majesty’s navy.

“All right, you bilge rats,” shouted Slank. “We hold steady until the Wasp is alongside, then we…”

“NO!”

Slank looked down, startled, into the frightened but determined face of Molly Aster.

“What did you say?” he said.

“You can’t let that ship get close to us,” she said. “That ship is under the command of Black Stache.”

The sound of the dreaded name drew a nervous murmur from the crew, quickly silenced by a laugh from Slank.

“Black Stache?” he said. “Young lady, with all due respect, Black Stache commands a ship called the Sea Devil. That there”—he pointed at the approaching ship—“is the Wasp. I know her well. We was in port with her. And that’s her.”

“Yes, yes,” said Molly. “But Black Stache…”

“Molly Aster!” Mrs. Bumbrake elbowed her way past the sailors and took Molly by the arm. “You stop this silliness this instant.”

“Let go,” said Molly, yanking her arm free.

“Well, I never,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “Young lady, when your father…”

“Oh, be quiet,” said Molly, startling Mrs. Bumbrake so much that she actually became, for a moment, quiet. Turning to Slank, Molly took a deep breath to calm herself, and said: “Sir, you must believe me. That is the Wasp, yes. But it was captured by Black Stache, and he’s coming for this ship now.”

“And how do you know that?” asked Slank. “Did a seagull tell you?” This brought chuckles from the crew.

Something like that, thought Peter.

“Please,” said Molly, desperation in her voice, “I can’t explain how I know, but I know. That ship is commanded by Black Stache.”

Slank’s smile wavered for an instant, then returned.

“Young lady,” he said, “even if that was Black Stache, which it ain’t, it’s only the finest ships he’s after. He wouldn’t waste his time on an old bucket like this, especially not with that storm closing on him.”

“MOLLY ASTER,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, having recovered the ability to speak, now tugging at Molly’s arm again. “YOU LEAVE OFF THIS SILLINESS AND COME WITH ME THIS . . .”

“Please,” Molly begged Slank, her eyes welling with tears of frustration. “You must not allow that ship to reach us.”

Slank turned and raised the spyglass to his eye again, taking a moment to find the following ship. He took the glass away and looked back at Molly, smiling again.

“Young lady,” he said, “that ship is manned by sailors of the British navy.” He held the glass out toward her. “Look for yourself.”

Molly took the glass, peered through it, then handed the glass back.

“It’s a trick,” she said. “It has to be. Please, listen to me! You can’t—”

“THAT’S QUITE ENOUGH, YOUNG LADY,” bellowed Mrs. Bumbrake, moving in.

“All right then,” said Slank, visibly relieved, as he turned to the sailors who’d been watching the little drama. “WE GOT A STORM COMING!” he shouted. “BACK TO WORK, YOU BILGE RATS!”

“And you’re coming with me, young lady,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, towing Molly toward the ladderway.

As Molly was pulled away, she caught Peter’s eye, and pointed downward. Her meaning was clear: Meet me below.

Peter nodded. Dodging among the bustling crewmen, he found a relatively quiet place along the starboard rail where he could wait for a chance to go below. From time to time he glanced back at the following ship, growing steadily larger, as was the roiling mass of clouds behind it. He didn’t know which he was more nervous about: Black Stache, or the storm.

I guess we’re going to get both, he thought.

In a few minutes he saw his opportunity and ducked, unobserved, down the aft ladderway. He rapped softly on Molly’s door, and she opened it immediately. Peter was momentarily startled to see Mrs. Bumbrake on her bed, snoring; then he understood. Molly had put her to sleep.

“Hurry,” Molly said, brushing past Peter and heading for the lower ladderway. He followed, and they descended to the hold level, where they had their first piece of good luck: there was no guard. Evidently Slank had decided that, for the moment, preparing for the storm was more important than protecting the trunk.

Their second stroke of luck came when Molly pulled on the padlock. It came off easily in her hand; their ruse had not been detected. She opened the hold door and, with Peter behind her, stepped inside. At first he saw nothing in the darkness, though Molly seemed to know exactly where she was going. He heard her footsteps, then a rustling sound.

“Help me get the canvas off,” she said.

Holding his hands in front of him, Peter inched forward until he felt his knees bump into a solid bulk. He reached down, felt the rough canvas covering the trunk.

“There’s a rope,” said Molly.

Peter’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. He saw the rope, and helped Molly work the canvas free. It dropped to the floor, exposing the trunk, and…

UHHHH

Moaning, Peter staggered back, momentarily blinded by a brilliant golden light filling the hold. He closed his eyes, but could still feel the light, a powerful, wonderful warmth flooding into his body, feeling so good. And there was more—bells, it sounded like, making some kind of fantastic music…

“Peter! Peter!”

Molly was shaking Peter’s arm. He opened his eyes to find the hold suddenly dim again.

“The light,” he said. “What did…”

“There are cracks in the trunk,” said Molly. “It’s not made right; I think the cracks are getting bigger. I’ve put the canvas back on.”

Peter’s eyes were readjusting. He saw the trunk now; the canvas was over it once again, tucked loosely into the rope. But now the whole bulk, canvas and all, was glowing faintly. Peter stared into the glow, feeling lightheaded, euphoric. Feeling wonderful.

Molly’s hand was on his arm again.

“Peter,” she said, “I know this is difficult for you. It’s difficult for me, and I’m used to it.”

Peter struggled to speak. “What?” he said, his own voice sounding distant to him. “I mean, what shall we…”

“Help me lift it,” she said. “Take that end.”

Following Molly’s lead, Peter bent and, reaching under the canvas, took an end of the trunk. Immediately he heard the music again, and felt the wonderful warmth, surging through his hands, his arms, into his body. He fought to keep his mind on what Molly was saying.

“All right, then,” she said. “Lift it.”

They rose, and to Peter’s surprise the trunk rose with them as if it weighed nothing. Fascinated, Peter let go of his end of the trunk; it hung in the air for a moment, then slowly, slower than a falling feather, began to descend. He caught it again, and raised it with just the barest effort. He heard the music again, the bells, and the warmth spread through his body. He felt peaceful, relaxed, yet at the same time completely aware of his surroundings, of Molly, of everything.

“This way,” said Molly, holding her end of the trunk as she backed through the hold door, Peter following. They easily maneuvered the trunk to the ladderway, and Molly began to climb the steps, guiding her end of the trunk with one hand; Peter, on the bottom, pushing the almost-weightless bulk upward with his fingertips.

They paused at the top of the ladderway, Peter again becoming aware of the creaking and rocking of the ship—he’d almost forgotten the storm raging outside.

“Where are we taking it?” he asked.

She pointed up. “To the main deck,” she said.

“But they’ll see it!” said Peter.

“By the time they do,” she said, “it will be in the sea.”

“Overboard?” said Peter. “But I thought we were going to hide it!”

“There’s no time,” said Molly. “Black Stache will be here in minutes.”

“But what if it’s not him?” said Peter. “How do we know it’s him?”

“Because Ammm told me,” said Molly. “And because there is no other reason why that ship would be coming for us now, in this storm. It’s not a rescue, Peter; it’s an attack. And this trunk is what he wants.”

“But…” said Peter, “but…” He tried to think of an argument, but the only one that came to mind was: But I want to keep touching the trunk.

Molly studied his face for a moment.

“I know,” she said, softly. “I know. I feel it, too. More than you. But we must do this, Peter. Now.”

She started forward again, and Peter, sighing, followed. They guided the trunk to the upper ladderway, and, again with Molly leading, they ascended the steps. The wind was shrieking outside now; through the opening, Peter saw rain flying past sideways in dense gray sheets.

At the top of the ladderway, Molly stuck her head out and looked around. She ducked back down, her hair now wet and in wild disarray.

“There are some men over there,” she said, pointing to the ship’s port side. “I think they’re shouting to the other ship. It’s very close. When we get the trunk onto the deck, we’ll go that way”—she gestured to the starboard side—“and throw it overboard directly. All right?”

Peter nodded.

“Peter,” Molly said, “if anybody sees us, if anybody tries to stop us, we must keep going, do you understand? We must not fail.”

“All right,” said Peter.

“Let’s go, then,” said Molly, and, grabbing the end of the trunk, stepped onto the deck. Peter followed, and in a moment found himself drenched with wind-driven rain. As Molly had said, a knot of sailors was at the port rail, shouting; in the swirling gloom beyond them, Peter saw the shape of a large, long, black ship, very close now; Peter recognized it as the ship he’d seen the day the Never Land left port, what seemed like years ago. Its crew was lowering sail, apparently preparing to come alongside.

On the raised deck at the black ship’s stern, Peter saw a stocky helmsman, fighting to control the wheel as the two ships drew together. Next to him, partially hidden by a mast, was a tall man, wearing an officer’s uniform, apparently the captain. Peter noticed—even with the storm and confusion, Peter was noticing everything—that the tall man seemed to be deliberately using the mast to conceal his face. He looked at Molly, and saw that she had spotted the tall man, too. She caught Peter’s eye.

“It’s him,” she said. “Come on.”

Stepping carefully on the wet, pitching deck, they guided the trunk toward the starboard rail. The yelling from the port side was louder now, some of the shouts turned to cries of alarm as the two ships converged. Molly and Peter reached the starboard side, and Molly raised her end of the trunk over the rail.

“Now!” she shouted, over the wind.

Peter braced himself to shove his end and push the trunk into the sea. But as he did the hulls of the two ships, riding different parts of different waves, slammed together. Peter felt his feet slide out from under him as he fell backward, slamming the back of his head onto the deck. He heard a cry from Molly and saw that she, too, had fallen, almost landing on him; he was dimly aware of the trunk settling gently onto the deck a few feet to the other side of her. From the port side of the ship Peter heard shouts, and now some screams.

Head throbbing, Peter struggled to his knees.

“Molly!” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” she said, sitting up. “The trunk! Peter, hurry!”

Struggling to their feet, Molly and Peter staggered on the lurching deck to the trunk, Molly reaching it first, leaning down and…

“PUT THAT DOWN!”

Molly screamed as Slank, grabbing her by her hair, yanked her away from the trunk. Peter lunged forward, grabbed Slank’s arm, and sank his teeth into it, tasting blood. Now it was Slank’s turn to scream as he spun away from Peter, releasing Molly—all of them crashing to the rain-slicked deck.

“PETER, THE TRUNK!” Molly shouted. Peter rolled, stood, got his arms around the trunk, and felt it come up easily from the deck. He turned toward the rail, just two steps now…

“GET HIM!” roared Slank, struggling to his feet, and in that moment Peter felt a massive hand on his shoulder, felt himself yanked back and slammed to the deck, the trunk again slipping from his hands. Through the throbbing haze of his pain, Peter heard more screams. Looming above him, he saw the giant form of Little Richard, holding Molly, and now the fury-twisted face of Slank.

“BITE ME?” he shrieked. “YOU DARE TO BITE ME?” Peter saw it all slowly, as if in a dream—the face coming closer, the hamlike fists closing violently on his shirt. He felt himself lifted high in the air, and he had a momentary glimpse of the horror on Molly’s face as Slank hurled him, with all his strength, over the side of the Never Land, toward the raging sea.