“Well,” said Tootles, “there’s…OW!”
Peter, lightning fast, had swooped down from the tree and landed with a hard bump against Tootles, knocking him sideways. Peter ignored him, his eyes on O’Neal.
“There’s nothing in the water,” he said. He looked around at the Lost Boys. “We’re going swimming now.”
“But I want to hear some more sailing stories!” said Slightly. The other boys, comfortable in the shade, grumbled as well.
“I said, we’re going swimming now,” said Peter, glaring at them.
Reluctantly they rose and, still grumbling, started down the path toward the lagoon. Peter, herding them, was the last in line. As they disappeared into the jungle, he glanced back at the sailors. They had not moved. O’Neal was watching Peter. His face was impassive, but there was something in his dark, glittering eyes—something that amused him, and terrified Peter.
Peter looked quickly away, knowing that O’Neal had seen his fear. He hurried forward, into the safe embrace of the jungle.
Late that afternoon, Peter found his way to the Mollusk village and went straight to the hut of Fighting Prawn. He found the chief asleep in a hammock and gently shook him. A single eye popped open, giving Peter an inquisitive look.
“Could I have a minute, sir?”
Without a word, Fighting Prawn pulled himself out of the hammock. A moment later he and Peter were standing in the shade of a palm tree on the beach, a warm breeze on their faces.
Peter told Fighting Prawn about Cheeky O’Neal’s conversation with the Lost Boys. When he got to O’Neal’s question about the island water, Fighting Prawn’s face grew somber. “This is bad,” he said. “I knew there was something about those men.”
“He might be guessing,” said Peter. “How could he know about the water?”
“I don’t know how much he knows,” said Fighting Prawn. “But if he finds out …” The chief sighed. “I was afraid this would happen some day. We’ve been blessed on this island, Peter. We were given a gift. Now it seems there’s a price to pay. If these men discover our secret, they will never leave us alone.” He looked at Peter. “I must get them off the island. Soon, before they learn anything more.”
Peter felt relieved that Fighting Prawn wanted only to make the sailors leave. There was a time when the Mollusk chief would not have hesitated to kill the intruders.
“But how will you get them off?” Peter asked.
Fighting Prawn stared out to sea. “I had planned to wait for a ship to pass, and put them on it. But so few ships come near this island…it could take months, or even years. We need a ship now.”
Peter thought for a moment, then said, “There’s the ship in the pirate lagoon.” He was referring to the ship that had flown from Rundoon to the island years earlier, carrying Peter, Starcatchers, the Lost Boys, Captain Hook—and a hull filled with starstuff, which had kept it aloft.
The chief frowned. “That ship’s been sitting on the bottom for decades,” he said.
Peter nodded. “Yes, but aside from the hole in the hull where the starstuff fell out, it seems to be in decent condition. What if it could be raised and repaired? O’Neal and his men are quite handy; they repaired our hut quick as you please. With the help of your men, they might be able to do the same to the pirate ship.”
Fighting Prawn pondered that, then said, “How do you think Hook would feel about your idea?”
“I should think he’d be happy,” said Peter. “He’s always saying he wants to get off the island. With the ship repaired, he could sail away, a captain again.”
“So,” said Fighting Prawn. “We would rid ourselves of our troublesome guests, and our unhappy neighbors.”
“Yes,” said Peter.
Fighting Prawn nodded, a smile spreading slowly over his sun-baked face.
CHAPTER 8
WENDY LEARNS THE SECRET
NOT ANOTHER WORD OF THIS NONSENSE! I forbid it!”
George Darling rose from his chair and stood over Molly, his face a deep, angry scarlet. Molly studied her husband, wondering how this could be the same George Darling who once took command of a flying ship in a raging battle over a distant desert. He looked much the same—a bit heavier, with a touch of gray in his hair, but still quite handsome. Yet he sounded so stuffy, so…old.
“You forbid it?” she said.
“Yes, I …” George hesitated, seeing the defiance in Molly’s glittering green eyes. “Well, I…I mean…Dash it, Mary! How could you go to the police? Do you have any idea what would happen if word of your little escapade got to my firm?”
“Escapade?” hissed Molly. “It was not an escapade when the constable tried to grab me.”
“You have no reason to believe he meant you harm,” said George. “He was probably just trying to assist you.”
“He was not trying to ‘assist’me.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just know.”
“You just know,” mocked George. “The same way you just know that James has discovered that the prince—the prince—has fallen under the spell of a…ghost.”
Molly glanced toward the stairs, concerned that the children would overhear. “It’s not a ghost,” she said. “You know very well what it is.”
“I know no such thing,” he replied. “I know only that James felt a chill in Buckingham Palace, and now my wife is jeopardizing my career by traipsing off to Scotland Yard and—”
“Your career?” interrupted Molly. “Is your career more important than James’s safety? Than mine? Is it more important than the future of England?”
“There is no evidence that either England, or James, is in any danger,” George said, using his barrister-arguing-before-a-judge voice, which Molly found quite irritating. “You said yourself that James’s superior explained how he’d gone on holiday. We have no reason to disbelieve him. Sounds to me as though James was under quite a bit of strain, imagining this preposterous tale about von Schatten. A bit of holiday makes perfect sense.”
“But what if it’s not preposterous?” said Molly. “What if it’s true?”
George leaned over, gripped Molly’s arms, looked into her eyes, his face somber. “Listen to me, Mary,” he said. “If it becomes known that you’re making these allegations about the king, it could do far more than ruin my career. It could get you charged with treason. Do you understand that? Treason.”
“Let go of me,” Molly said softly.
George released his grip. “All right,” he said. “But there shall be no more talk of this. Any of this. I forbid it. I have worked too hard. I won’t have you jeopardizing our family name, everything I’ve achieved, all because of James’s deluded ravings about evil forces taking over England.”
Molly stared at him for a few seconds, then said, “You once fought against those same forces, George. James fought at your side. Peter…Can you forget so easily?”
George shook his head. “It was long ago,” he said. “And far away.”
Without another word, he turned and walked from the room.
Molly watched him go, feeling more alone than she could remember ever having felt.
It took her a day to decide what to do.
First, she would go see her father, Leonard Aster, the head of the Starcatchers. Given his poor health, Molly hated to involve him, but she felt she had no choice.
Her second decision was more difficult. She wanted somebody to know what she was planning to do and, in case something happened to her, why she felt it so important that something be done. It was now obvious that she couldn’t tell George. He’d only try to stop her.
That left but one person. …
“Wendy,” she said, entering her daughter’s room.
“Yes, Mother?” said Wendy, looking up from the book she was reading in bed.
Molly closed the door. She took a deep breath. “Do you remember the other day,” she said, “when you asked me who the Starcatchers were?”
“Yes,” said Wendy
, putting down the book, her attention now fully focused on her mother.
Molly sat on the bed and said, “I felt I couldn’t tell you then.” She stroked her daughter’s cheek. “But how quickly things can change. Besides, you’re about the same age as I was at the time. You’re a thoughtful, intelligent girl. You’re more ready than I was.”
“Ready for what?” Wendy sat up, eager to hear more. “What is it, Mother?”
Molly took a deep breath. “I’ve so much to tell you,” she said.
She spoke for more than an hour. Wendy occasionally asked questions, but mostly listened, fascinated, sometimes barely able to believe what she was hearing.
Molly began by telling Wendy about starstuff, the mysterious substance that, for eons, fell to earth at unpredictable times and places, bringing with it fantastic power; about the Starcatchers, a secret group to which Wendy’s ancestors belonged, formed to find the starstuff and return it to the heavens before it could fall into the hands of the evil Others; and about the mighty, but hidden, struggle between these two groups that had gone on for centuries.
Wendy’s fascination turned to astonishment when Molly got to her own part in the story—how, when she was about Wendy’s age, she found herself aboard a ship carrying a trunk full of starstuff; how she fought to defend it from the Others and a band of pirates, her only allies being some orphan boys and some porpoises.
“Porpoises?” interrupted Wendy.
“Yes,” said Molly. “Their leader is named Ammm.”
“So,” Wendy said slowly, “when I was a girl, and you taught me to speak Porpoise, and I thought it was just a game …”
“It was no game,” said Molly. “That’s how they speak.”
“So I can speak to a porpoise?”
Molly smiled. “You can.”
“Excellent!” said Wendy. “Do go on.”
Molly told how she and the orphans had been shipwrecked on an isolated island, where they had defeated their foes with the help of the native Mollusk tribe, and where the orphans had decided to stay. She told how the Starcatchers had brought the starstuff back to England, only to find that they had been followed by a hideous, inhuman shadow-stealing creature called Ombra. The smile left Wendy’s face as her mother described the terrifying night that Ombra came to her house, looking for her—and how Peter, one of the orphan boys, had flown through her window to rescue her.
“He flew?” said Wendy.
“Yes,” said Molly, “Peter can fly. He was exposed to enough starstuff to kill him, but instead, it…changed him.”
Wendy noticed that when her mother spoke of Peter, her voice softened and her face took on an odd expression. Wendy wanted to ask more about Peter, but her mother had resumed the story. She told how the Starcatchers defeated Ombra at Stonehenge, with the help of Peter and Wendy’s father.
“Father?” said Wendy. “Father was there?”
“Yes,” said Molly, with an odd expression. Again Wendy had more questions, but her mother had moved on, speaking quickly now, telling about a strange country called Rundoon, where the Starcatchers had fought a fantastic battle against Ombra and the forces of an evil king called Zarboff the Third—a battle involving a monstrous snake, a flying ship, and a starstuff-filled rocket that had smashed into a desert tomb and destroyed Ombra and his allies forever.
“Or so we thought,” she said.
“What do you mean?” asked Wendy.
“James—Mr. Smith, from Scotland Yard—believes Ombra must have survived, and that he has come back, and somehow taken control of…”
“Baron von Schatten,” said Wendy.
“How do you know that?” said Molly, surprised.
“I heard Mr. Smith tell you the other night,” said Wendy. “When I listened on the stairs.”
“Well,” said Molly. “You shouldn’t have been listening.”
“I’m sorry,” said Wendy, not sounding sorry at all. “But how does James—Mr. Smith—know about Ombra?”
“He was one of the orphan boys,” said Molly. “He decided, in the end, not to remain on the island, so he returned to England with my father and me, along with three of the others—Prentiss, Thomas, and Ted. Peter remained on the island.”
Again, Wendy saw the odd expression on her mother’s face when she spoke of Peter.
“In any event,” continued Molly, “I hadn’t seen James, or the others, in years, until he visited the other night to tell me about von Schatten. And now he’s gone missing.”
“What do you mean, missing?”
“He said he’d return the next night, but he didn’t. And I’m quite worried about him. I went to Scotland Yard to inquire about his whereabouts, and I’m quite sure his superior lied to me. And when I …” Molly stopped, deciding she would not tell Wendy about the bobby in the Underground. “In any event,” she continued, “I’m worried that James is in danger. And if his suspicions about von Schatten are correct, then…we’re all in danger. So I’ve decided to go see my father. He’s quite ill, but he knows so much. I…I…” Molly looked down. “I just hope he’ll know what to do.”
“But why can’t Father help?”
Molly’s head jerked up. “You must not speak to your father about this.”
“But why not?”
“He thinks it’s…well…nonsense.”
“But you said he was there, when you fought them.”
“Yes,” said Molly softly. “He was there. But he’s changed since then.” Seeing the look in Wendy’s eyes, she quickly added, “Your father is a good man, Wendy. A very good man. And he may be right about James. I hope he is right; I hope this really is all nonsense. But just in case it’s not, I must go see your grandfather. I’ll go tomorrow, when your father is at work. And you will say nothing, to anyone, about what I have told you. Promise me.”
“I promise,” said Wendy.
“And you must keep that promise,” said Molly. “You’re a Starcatcher, Wendy. These are matters of the utmost importance. We guard these secrets with …” Molly stopped, not wanting to complete the sentence.
Wendy nodded gravely.
“Good,” said Molly. “Now, it’s past your bedtime.”
“But I’ve so much to ask you!” said Wendy.
“Not tonight,” said Molly, firmly. “Good night.” She leaned over to kiss Wendy’s forehead, then rose from the bed and started for the door.
“Mother,” said Wendy.
Molly stopped. “Yes?” she said.
“If I can’t tell anyone, if I can’t do anything, then why did you tell me any of this?” said Wendy.
Molly hesitated, then said, “I just…I needed you to know.”
Wendy waited, but her mother said nothing more. Finally Wendy said, “But why …”
“Wendy,” said Molly, “I said, not tonight. You must trust me.”
“All right,” sighed Wendy.
“Now, go to sleep,” said Molly, closing the door.
But Wendy couldn’t sleep, not with all these astonishing things to think about. She had so many questions, but one in particular kept popping up in her mind: Why had her mother told her about the Starcatchers, after all this time? The more Wendy thought about it, the more she became convinced that her mother was afraid, and had told Wendy of her intention to visit her grandfather so that someone would know, in case …
In case what?
Wide awake now, Wendy rose from her bed and began pacing her room, her mind swirling with thoughts. After a few minutes, tired of pacing, she went to her window, which overlooked the street. She parted the lace curtains and peered out. The night was, as usual, foggy, but by the dim glow of the streetlight below Wendy could just make out a lone figure on the sidewalk. Pressing her face to the glass, she saw the distinctive round-helmeted silhouette of a London constable. She couldn’t make out his features, but he was facing Wendy’s house. To Wendy, it seemed almost as though he were looking straight at her.
After a long moment the bobby turned and began walkin
g, and was quickly lost to the night fog. Wendy returned to her bed and lay down, wanting to sleep, but was prevented from doing so by her mother’s warning, echoing over and over in her mind:
…we’re all in danger.
CHAPTER 9
THE BISHOP’S MITER
Aachen, Germany
THE FOUR HOODED FIGURES made their way around the exterior of the Aachen Cathedral. It was more than a thousand years old, and had been added to and remodeled so many times that the group had trouble finding the main doors among the confusion of stone facades.
Finally they rounded a corner and saw an open plaza leading to the cathedral’s grand entrance. The sound of a boys’ choir spilled out into the plaza, where scattered groups of men and women had gathered to listen.
The robed figures had started across the plaza when the Skeleton, in front, raised his hand. The other three—Scarlet Johns and the two large men—stopped immediately. The Skeleton nodded toward two uniformed men—police or military—standing beneath a large tree near the entrance.
The four waited. It was late in the day, nearly six o’clock. The choir, having finished its rehearsal, went silent; the unearthly beauty of the boys’ voices was replaced by the more distant sounds of motor cars and the clopping of horse hooves. Several dozen of the listeners, apparently parents, started toward the cathedral’s entrance to collect their children.
“Now,” the Skeleton rasped.
He and the three others moved forward quickly, joining the mass of parents. They passed the uniformed men and entered the cathedral. It was an awe-inspiring space, the ceiling sixty feet over their heads, an amber light flooding in through a row of high windows. Every sound echoed, so the footsteps and voices of the parents and children merged into a thunderous roar.
Unnoticed by the throng, the four hooded figures moved up the east aisle, using the wide columns to screen themselves. Scarlet was now leading the way. She led them to an odd, freestanding set of stone steps leading to a massive stone chair.
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