بخش 06

CHAPTER 25

A FLY IN A SPIDERWEB

BLACK STACHE’S PLAN WAS GOING PERFECTLY. The crew of the Never Land had shown no sign of alarm as the disguised pirate ship came alongside.

While the pirates were approaching, they’d heard some kind of commotion—shouting, then screams—coming from the deck of the Never Land. But whatever it was, it had not caused the old freighter to change course. Now the two ships were side by side; sails had been lowered, lines tossed to secure the ships together, fenders positioned to keep the hulls, which had slammed into each other, from colliding again.

Stache kept his face hidden behind a mast, though he knew his ruse would not fool the Never Land sailors much longer. They’re bound to notice that my entire crew is barefoot.

Stache had a single-shot flintlock pistol in his right hand, held to his side, out of sight. He liked the idea of a bloodless coup, with no sword soiled. The sight of pirates generally put such fear into merchant sailors that they often surrendered immediately.

He waited, relying on Smee to be his eyes.

From the corner of his mouth, Smee said, “They’s tied up to us now, Cap’n.”

Like a fly in a spiderweb.

“How many on deck?” said Stache.

“A dozen or so crew. A few passengers, including some children.”

“Armed?”

“The children?”

“No, you idjit! The crew.”

“A few knives,” Smee said. “A pistol or two.”

“Our crew?”

“Ready and itching to go.”The pirates had gathered along the rail, their blades concealed in their uniforms.

“Good,” said Stache. “Now, call for the captain.”

“AHOY THERE! NEVER LAND,” shouted Smee, to the other ship. “WHO’S IN CHARGE THERE, IS IT?” He knew this didn’t have the right ring to it, but there was no taking it back.

“THAT WOULD BE ME!” a deep voice thundered back. The owner of the voice, a big man, stepped to the rail; Smee saw that the man’s arm was bleeding.

“ARE YOU THE CAP’N THEN, MATE?” Smee said, then cringed. He wasn’t getting any of this navy talk right.

“THE CAP’N IS… INDISPOSED,” the other man said. “I’M THE FIRST MATE, SLANK.” His eyes were on the half hidden form of Black Stache. “IS THAT CAP’N SCOTT?”

“NO, I…” stammered Smee. “I MEAN, YES, BUT…I MEAN…”

“You idjit,” hissed Stache.

Slank, suddenly suspicious, scanned the hard, unshaven faces of the men lining the rail of the dark ship, then glanced down, and noticed the bare feet.

“CUT THE LINES!” he bellowed. “CUT THE LINES!”

But before the crew could act, Black Stache was out from behind the mast.

“NOW!” he roared, and before the sound had died from his lips, two dozen pirates had drawn their blades and leaped onto the deck of the Never Land, whose crewmen froze in terror.

Stache, moving calmly, deliberately, followed his men over to the Never Land deck. He sauntered up to Slank and pointed his pistol directly into his face.

“Mr. Slank, is it?” he said. “Black Stache, at your service.”

Some Never Land crewmen whimpered at the name. Slank, on the other hand, stared coolly at Black Stache for a moment, then—in a reaction that Stache found odd—

turned and looked back over his shoulder, toward a young girl who was standing by the far rail, sobbing, as a huge man held her arms, as if keeping her from jumping over the side.

Slank turned back to Stache, again meeting his eyes. Stache was impressed by how little fear the man showed. I might have room for a man like that, he thought. But what he said was: “If you wants to keep breathing, Mr. Slank, you’ll tell your men to disarm.”

Not taking his eyes away from Stache’s, Slank shouted to his crew: “Put them down, men!”

The relieved Never Land sailors, who’d had no intention of trading steel with the pirates, hastily dropped their weapons to the deck.

“Very good,” Stache said, stepping closer to Slank, his pistol barrel now almost touching the space between Slank’s eyes. “Now, we ain’t got much time with this storm, so I’ll make this quick. You have something I want. Where is it, Mr. Slank?”

Slank took a moment to answer. Again, Stache was impressed by the man’s calm in the face of a loaded pistol.

“We have a few women,” Slank said. “And plenty of rum. But if you think there’s treasure on this old scow, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

Stache’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger, then he eased off. Was Slank bluffing? Or could it be that he didn’t know what he had on his ship? Stache thought about it for a moment, then decided that, for now, Slank was more useful alive than dead.

“Mr. Slank,” he said, “if I don’t find what I’m looking for, it’s you who’ll be sorry. Now, step aside.”

Stache turned to a knot of pirates nearby, raising his voice over the wind.

“YOU MEN COME WITH ME,” he shouted. “WE’RE LOOKING FOR A TRUNK.” CHAPTER 26

INTO THE SEA

PETER COULD NOT SWIM, so he knew, even as he felt Slank lift him, felt his body being hurled over the side of the Never Land, that he was going to die.

He was terrified, of course, but at the same time, as he felt himself tumble in space, he was acutely aware of his terror, as if it were somebody else’s; he was also acutely aware of the pain in his head, of Molly’s anguished screams from the deck, of the sound of the wind, of everything around him.

It seems to be happening so slowly.

But it wasn’t happening slowly; it was happening very quickly; Peter was aware of that, too. It was only that, since he’d touched the trunk, he could think about it so much faster than he usually thought about things. He could even think about how fast he was thinking about things.

But I’m still about to die.

Peter saw he was going to land in a trough between two waves.

Should I hold my breath?

He noticed that one of the waves was slightly higher than the other, and had some seaweed in its churning foam.

If I hold my breath, it will take me longer to die. Is that good or bad?

He decided to hold his breath, and to try to twist his body so he could look up at the ship as he entered the water, in case somebody tried to throw him a rope.

Though I doubt Slank will throw me a rope….

He held his breath, and he got his body twisted around just as he reached the water, so he was looking up at the ship as he felt his left leg plunge into the sea.

It’s cold.

And then his right leg, and then his waist, and then…

What?

He felt it in his back, a sudden pain, as if he’d landed on something blunt, and…

What’s happening to me?

Peter felt his body rising with the swell of the wave, and then, as the wave receded, he felt himself rise out of the wave, all the way out, back into the wind.

I’m…like the rat. Like Molly…

He twisted around and saw that he was several feet above the water now, drifting across the tops of the waves, the wind pushing him away from the Never Land. He heard an odd sound beneath him, looked down, saw the familiar rounded snout.

The porpoise. It pushed me up out of the sea.

It was chittering at him, but he had no idea what it was saying. Peter was sure it was the large porpoise, the one Molly had been talking to.

Ammm, that’s what she called him.

The porpoise began to swim toward the Never Land, now receding in the distance, then back toward Peter, then toward the ship again, then back. More chittering.

He wants me to follow.

Tentatively, Peter waved his arms; the wind was carrying him away, but he found that his arm motion had turned his body, so that he was horizontal, with his head pointing toward the ship. He waved his arms some more; nothing. Then he heard Ammm squeaking urgently, now from directly under him. Peter looked down, and…

Whoa.

His body suddenly swooped forward, against the wind, gaining speed….

I’m going into the sea!

Peter raised his head; instantly, his body swooped upward, into a vertical position. He stopped moving forward, and found himself again being carried back by the wind. More squeaking from below. Tentatively, Peter leaned his body toward the horizontal again, and again he started moving forward, more slowly this time.

Ammm is teaching me to fly.

Peter began to experiment, cocking his head at different angles, shifting his body, his shoulders, his arms, his legs, noticing how the movements affected his direction and speed, caused him to rise and fall. The wind was howling, the rain pelting his face; but Peter felt himself gliding through the storm almost effortlessly. He was far above the waves now, perhaps fifty yards, perhaps more. He felt increasingly confident, then excited, then almost joyful.

And then the thought struck him.

The ship. Where’s the ship?

Peter squinted into the storm, but saw only darkness, and towering waves. He wasn’t sure how far he’d flown; wasn’t sure what direction. His exhilaration was gone, replaced by the cold squeeze of fear in his gut.

I’m lost out here.

And then he heard it, above the roar of wind and wave; the high-pitched sounds, calling from somewhere in the darkness below. Carefully, Peter angled himself down through the swirling gloom, descending slowly toward the menacing wave tops, following the sounds, until finally he saw the ghostly gray snout of Ammm.

“I’M HERE!” Peter shouted, relief cracking his voice. “HERE!”

Ammm rose high on his tail, dove forward, then rose again, looked back at Peter, turned and dove again. Understanding that he was to follow, Peter leaned toward Ammm’s ghostly form as it plunged swiftly through the waves, until…

There’s the ship.

Two ships, in fact; Peter saw, in the gloom ahead, that the Never Land was now tied to the black ship. The pirate ship. Peter slowed himself, and angled toward the starboard side of the Never Land, the side Slank had thrown him from, away from the pirate ship. As he drew near, he heard shouting, and saw that the decks were swarming with unfamiliar men—men wearing uniforms, carrying swords. Peter glided close to the hull, keeping his head just below deck level, trying to decide what to do.

It was then that he noticed something disconcerting: he was starting to sink toward the water. It was gradual, and with an effort, he was able to pull himself up again. But it was definitely getting more difficult to stay aloft.

I’m going to have to get back onto the ship, he thought. Soon.

Then he heard Molly’s voice, shouting, from nearby on the deck.

And then he heard the screams. CHAPTER 27

THE RETURN

BLACK STACHE WAS FURIOUS.

He and his men had searched belowdecks on the Never Land, looking for the treasure trunk. They’d had no luck in the main holds. There were a few trunks, which they’d smashed open with an ax; but these contained only clothing and household goods.

They’d also gone through the cabins, finding a few small pieces of jewelry in one, but nothing else of value. In the captain’s cabin they’d found a confused man talking gibberish. There had been one moment of hopeful excitement, when they’d found an aft hold that apparently had, at some point, been padlocked shut. But it was empty.

Now they were back on the main deck. Stache, quivering with rage, wished he could make somebody walk the plank; this usually had a soothing effect on him. But plank-walking, done right, took time, and Stache did not have time: from the look of the approaching storm, he had only minutes to get off this wretched bucket and make his run.

So, once more, he pressed his pistol to Slank’s forehead.

“Mr. Slank,” he said, “I have no more patience. Where is the trunk?”

Slank glared back at him. But Stache caught something in his look…a wavering, perhaps. He curled his finger on the trigger, making the motion elaborate, so Slank could see it. Stache saw a flicker of fear in Slank’s eyes. He’s about to crack…

“Cap’n!” It was Smee, stumbling across the pitching deck, his ill-fitting British uniform trousers falling to his knees.

“NOT NOW, SMEE!” shouted Stache. “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M ABOUT TO BLOW THIS MAN’S BRAINS OUT?”

“Sorry, Cap’n,” said Smee, yanking his pants up practically to neck level. “But you said you was looking…”

“I SAID NOT NOW!” bellowed Stache, turning his attention back to Slank. “Now, Mr. Slank, I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t tell me where the trunk…”

“Yes!” said Smee. “A trunk!”

Stache whirled to Smee. “YOU FOUND THE TRUNK?”

“Over there, Cap’n! By the starboard rail! There was a canvas over it, and the wind tore it off, and we seen it.”

Stache glanced at Slank, and saw in the man’s eyes that this was, indeed, what he was after.

“I’ll deal with you in a moment, Mr. Slank,” he said, and strode to the starboard rail.

There he saw it: an old trunk, its wood rough and scarred, nothing like the elegant black trunk he’d found on the Wasp filled with sand.

Clever, he thought. Put the treasure in an old box, and leave it out on deck, where nobody would think to look.

A few feet from the trunk stood a huge man, who was warily watching, and being watched by, a semicircle of pirates, their swords ready. The giant held a young girl—pretty young thing, thought Stache—by her right arm, as if restraining her.

Restraining her from what? Stache wondered. And why is she looking at me that way?

But he had no time for the girl, not now, not with the treasure, finally, at hand. His men had left it alone, not daring to approach it before he did.

Stache stepped forward and looked down at the trunk, savoring the moment. The greatest treasure ever to go to sea. And it was about to be his!

He leaned forward and touched the trunk lid. As he did, he felt a strange tingle in his hand, then his arm—strange but not unpleasant. He grabbed the latch holding the trunk lid and…

“NO!”

The shout came from the girl, who had managed, somehow, to twist herself free from the grasp of the giant. She lunged toward Stache, her green eyes blazing with fury. Before Stache could react, she had knocked him away from the trunk, her hands clawing at his face. As he tripped and fell onto his back, he screamed in rage, in pain, his screams mingling with the roars of the giant, who had lunged forward to grab the escaping girl, only to be attacked by the pirates who’d been watching him.

Now there were bodies sprawling all over the pitching, rain-slicked deck: Stache, on his back, with the relentless girl still clawing at his face; the giant, beaten to the deck but still fighting, his massive thrashing arms and legs knocking down his pirate attackers like bowling pins. More pirates ran toward the commotion, slipping and falling as they came.

Slank, temporarily unguarded, also moved toward the starboard rail, and he was among the first to see it—a sight so stunning that, for a moment, all the fighting stopped, as all eyes turned to watch, and there was no sound except the storm.

It was a boy. It was—But that’s impossible—the boy Slank had thrown overboard. He was coming back aboard the ship. But he wasn’t climbing the rail; he was floating, a good ten feet over the men’s heads as he swooped onto the deck.

The boy was flying. CHAPTER 28

MOLLY’S TURN

MOLLY RECOVERED FIRST. While the others—pirates and non-pirates alike—were momentarily paralyzed by the astonishing sight of the flying boy, Molly rolled away from Black Stache and got to her feet, pointing to the trunk and shouting: “PETER! THERE!”

Peter saw it and swooped, landing hard on the deck next to the trunk. He stumbled, then found his feet and threw his arms around the rough wood.

“STOP HIM!” screamed Slank and Stache both, almost with one breath, and a half dozen pirates lunged toward Peter across the rain-slicked deck. But they were just a bit too far away, and Peter was just a bit too quick; he had the trunk on the rail now, and as the closest pirate got to him, he gave it a shove.

“NO!” screamed both Slank and Stache, again sounding almost like one man, as the trunk toppled off the rail and…

…and it did not fall. Instead, it hung in the air next to the ship, then lazily, pushed by the wind, began to drift forward, and ever so slightly downward….

“AFTER IT!” shouted Stache, scrambling to his feet and lunging to the rail, only to find his way blocked again by Molly.

Who IS this infernal girl?

Hurling Molly aside, Stache ran along the rail, chasing the trunk, reaching his hand out to grab it, and…

UNNH

Peter, having made a leap that covered twenty feet of deck, slammed into Stache from behind, slamming him forward onto the rail. His hand slapped the trunk, sending it into a lazy spin, the wind carrying it faster now as it twirled gently forward and down, down, to the waiting waves.

With a roar of fury Stache turned and grabbed for Peter, meaning to wring this little flying pest’s neck, for starters. But Peter was again too quick, seeing the pirate’s hands coming and springing backward, his momentum carrying him over the rail, over the side, off the ship. He twisted in the air, angled his body forward, and…

UH-oh.

Peter felt it immediately: He could no longer make himself rise.

Molly said it wears off. He was sinking. Not quickly, but there was no question: He was falling gently back into the sea. He had time to look back to the deck of the Never Land, at Black Stache, screaming in fury; at the pirates, still battling to subdue the giant Little Richard; at Slank, glaring at Peter with what looked like hatred; and at Molly, at the rail, her wet hair matted down, her dress torn, watching Peter intently until she knew he saw her, then mouthing something….

Fly, she was saying. Fly.

“I CAN’T,” Peter shouted, moving his arms helplessly. “I CAN’T, MOLLY!”

And as he shouted those words, he felt his feet touch the crest of a wave. It passed, but Peter looked down, and saw he would be in the sea soon. He scanned the waves, hoping, desperately, to see the familiar round snout. But Ammm was not there.

Another wave crest, this one hitting his knees, tossing him sideways. The next wave would take him down with it.

Peter looked back up at the Never Land, hoping for a last look at Molly. But she wasn’t where she had been. Frantically, Peter ran his eyes along the ship. Then he saw her: she was at the bow. She had climbed up on the rail, and was balanced, precariously, as the ship tossed. Behind her, Mrs. Bumbrake was shrieking; men were running toward Molly. But it was too late.

Molly jumped into the sea. CHAPTER 29

ABANDON SHIP

BLACK STACHE WAS IN A DARK RAGE. The treasure had been in his hands—in his hands—and now it was in the sea, thrown there by a boy. A boy. Stache had always disliked boys, and the fact that this one had appeared to be flying made him even more unappealing in the pirate’s eyes. Stache had seen many things in his pirate career, but never a flying person, and, even in the wild confusion on the wave-washed deck of the Never Land, it nagged at him.

Maybe he wasn’t really flying. Maybe it was a trick played by the wind.

Whatever the explanation for the boy, Stache was sure it had something to do with the trunk. Which was now in the sea. This fact made Black Stache so angry he could barely think. He wanted very much to soothe his nerves by killing somebody, perhaps several people, ideally including a boy. But there simply wasn’t time. The Never Land was pitching and heaving in twenty-foot seas, riding up one gigantic wave and then slipping down the backside only to be caught by the next and lifted again. Towering walls of foaming seawater crashed over both ships from all directions; Stache knew he had to cut the Never Land loose from the Jolly Roger before the ships smashed each other to bits.

“Back to the Jolly Roger, men!” he shouted over the roar of the wind. The pirates, eager to escape the Never Land, began leaping from one pitching deck to the other, taking whatever valuables they’d been able to scrounge from the Never Land, including a very alarmed pig.

“Cap’n,” shouted Smee. “What about prisoners?”

“We’ll take the giant,” replied Stache, gesturing to Little Richard, who’d finally been subdued by six pirates and was lying, beaten and bound, on the deck. A man like that could be useful, once he’d learned to obey.

“Take the woman, too,” said Stache, pointing to Mrs. Bumbrake. It was Stache’s policy always to take women, although this one was quite large. But a woman was a woman, the way Stache looked at it. The large woman had been sobbing uncontrollably since the girl had jumped into the water. Stache wondered about that, too—why a girl would do such a thing.

It had something to do with that trunk, he thought, and that reminded him of something.

“Take Mr. Slank as well,” he shouted. He had noticed how eager Slank had been to protect the trunk. As he was shoved toward the Jolly Roger, Slank gave Stache a cool look, and then glanced into the water, where the trunk had gone over.

He knows something about the trunk, thought Stache. And I aim to find out what it is.

Stache had not given up on the treasure, not at all; in fact, now that he’d had it in his hands, he was more determined than ever to have it. The trunk was made of wood, and it was clearly not heavy; the boy had lifted it easily. It would float. It was in the sea, somewhere, nearby. The storm would pass. And Stache would find it.

“And the others, Cap’n?” shouted Smee, pointing to the rest of the Never Land’s crew and passengers—a wretched, drenched lot of bedraggled sailors and small boys. Some were screaming, begging to be taken aboard the Jolly Roger, having decided it was better to be prisoner on a ship full of vicious pirates than to be left aboard the Never Land. The pounding, crashing waves were sweeping across the old ship’s deck, breaking off pieces of wood; the Never Land was starting to fall apart. It would not be long now.

“LEAVE ’EM TO DIE,” shouted Stache, and he was gratified by the looks of terror on the faces of those he had just doomed. Especially the boys.

“REEF HO!” shouted the lookout from the crow’s nest of the Jolly Roger. This got Stache’s attention; if the lookout could see a reef in this weather, it was very close.

“CUT ’EM LOOSE,” bellowed Stache, and his men cut the lines holding the Jolly Roger to the Never Land and its wailing occupants.

If the storm don’t get ’em, the reef will, he thought happily.

Stache watched as the Never Land separated and, grabbed by a wave, rose up impossibly high, then slipped over the far side of a monstrous mountain of seawater. As it disappeared from his view, he heard the wails of men mixed with the high-pitched screams of boys. A moment later it was the Jolly Roger’s turn to be lifted. As the ship settled, Stache cleared his eyes of the rain, and saw that the Never Land had vanished in the spray and gloom.

“Smee,” shouted Stache.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“A reef ain’t out here on its own,” he said. “There’ll be an island nearby, and maybe a harbor or cove where we can ride out this blow. Tell the lookout to find that island. And tell him—tell all the crew—that there’s ten gold pieces and a bottle of grog for the man who spots that trunk that went overboard.”

Smee’s eyes widened.

“Ten gold pieces, Cap’n?”

“Twenty, if he spots that boy, too.”

“The boy that was flying, Cap’n’?”

“He wasn’t flying, you idjit,” roared Stache. “That was a trick of the wind.”

“Aye, Cap’n. Well, if he can’t fly, I reckon he’s gone for sure now, in these seas.”

“Stop reckoning,” shouted Stache, “and give the crew me orders.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” said Smee, stumbling away on the pitching deck, leaving Stache staring into the raging sea. The trunk was out there, he was sure; and somehow he knew that the boy was out there, too.

I’ll find them both, he thought. And when I do, that boy will walk the plank. Let’s see how high he can fly with cannonshot lashed to him.