“But if the Others have Peter’s father,” said Molly, “why would they need Peter?”
“I don’t know,” said Leonard. “Perhaps to keep him away from us. Or perhaps something happened to his father, and they want Peter as a replacement. If that’s the case, they’ll want him even more now. We managed to get that last batch of starstuff away from them. It was obvious they wanted it very badly—sending that Ombra creature after it. They’ll be looking to get more.”
“And they’ll try to use Peter to get it,” said Molly.
“I think they might,” said Leonard. “We can’t take any chances. I’ve arranged for a ship to leave Le Havre tonight. Whether Peter wants it or not, I’m going to bring him back to London, for his protection as well as ours.”
“When do we leave?” said Molly.
“We?” The exclamation came simultaneously from both of Molly’s parents.
“Oh please, can’t George and I go?” said Molly.
“Absolutely not,” said Louise.
“It’s far too dangerous,” said Leonard. “You, your mother, and George will return to London, where you’ll remain under protection.” Seeing Molly’s disappointment, he softened his voice. “I’m sorry, Molly. I—all of us—very much appreciate all the good work you and George have done.”
“If you appreciated it,” said Molly, “you’d let us go with you and stop treating us like children. Without us, the Others would have the starstuff and you’d be—”
“That’s quite enough, young lady,” said Louise, in a tone that did not allow for a reply.
Molly said no more, but she seethed with disappointment and anger. She felt betrayed. To be treated like this after all she had done…and after Peter had risked his life to come to her rescue in London. Now, when he was in trouble, she was being denied the chance to help him. It wasn’t fair!
For his part, George didn’t look too unhappy about not being included in the voyage to find Peter. He and Peter were not exactly best friends. “Your father’s right, you know,” he said to Molly. “Perhaps there’s more to be done in the libraries and public records to—”
Molly shut George up with a glare that told him she was not interested in libraries or public records. She wanted one thing and one thing only: to be on the ship bound for Mollusk Island.
Three hours later, Molly, George, and Louise Aster boarded a train for Calais, where they would board a ship to England. But Molly’s mind was on another train in the same station: the train her father had just boarded for Le Havre. The two trains were scheduled to leave only minutes apart.
As her mother was supervising the storage of their luggage, Molly pulled George into their train compartment and whispered, “You can do what you want, but I’m going with Father.”
“What?” George said. “Are you insane? How…”
“Shh!” Molly said as her mother entered the compartment. “Mother,” she said, “George and I are going to explore the train. Can I bring you anything from the dining car?” She knew her mother was never far from a cup of tea.
“Some tea would be lovely,” her mother said. She dug into her purse and, after searching a bit, frowned and said, “All I have is a twenty-franc note.” Handing it to Molly, she said, “Make sure you get change.”
“Oh, I will,” said Molly. She saw the worry in George’s eyes, and for a moment she feared he might reveal her plan. Louise also noticed George’s expression.
“George, are you all right?” she said.
“Yes, Mrs. Aster,” George answered. He forced a smile. “One tea, coming up!” He turned and followed Molly into the train corridor.
“Molly,” he whispered. “You can’t be serious. Your parents will…”
“I am completely serious,” interrupted Molly. “If you wish to stay, fine. But don’t you dare give me away until the train is under way. Do you hear me, George Darling? If you muddle this up, I will never speak to you again, ever.”
“I’m not going to muddle anything,” George said quietly. “I’m going with you.”
Molly stopped and turned to look at him.
“Are you sure?” she said. “It may be dangerous.”
“I’m sure.”
“Thank you, George,” she said, and both of them blushed.
They moved into the next car. Molly bent and peered out a window until she caught a glimpse of the train to Le Havre, three platforms away.
“What time is it?” she said.
George consulted his pocket watch. “Three minutes before the hour.”
“There’s no time to lose,” Molly said. As she spoke, the train car lurched and began to move. “Hurry!” said Molly. With George right behind, she ran to the end of the corridor, opened the coach door, and descended the steps. The train was moving quite quickly now; the end of the platform was near. Molly looked at the platform and prepared to jump.
“It’s too late!” said George. “You can’t possibly…”
But Molly had already jumped. The train’s momentum sent her stumbling alongside the train, almost falling. She caught her balance and turned to see that George had been unable to catch his; he was sprawled on the platform, wincing in pain.
“George, are you all right?” she said, reaching to help him up.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, ignoring her offer of help as he scrambled to his feet, his face beet red with embarrassment.
The train rumbled out of the station carrying Molly’s mother, not to mention Molly’s luggage and any hope Molly might have had to avoid infuriating her parents. All she had now were the clothes she wore and the twenty-franc note she clutched in her hand. And, of course, George.
“Hurry,” she shouted, running toward the platform stairs. “Father’s train is about to leave!”
The train station in the port city of Le Havre smelled of coal smoke, with hints of salt water and fish. Molly and George emerged cautiously from the third-class coach they had ridden in to avoid being seen by Molly’s father. The night sky was cloud-covered and dark. Molly and George hid behind a column on the bustling station platform and watched as Leonard Aster descended from the first-class coach. He was met by two men and a porter to carry his trunk.
Hanging back in the crowd, Molly and George followed Leonard and the other men downstairs to a waiting horse-drawn carriage. A few minutes later, the children were in a taxi following the carriage along bumpy cobblestone streets lit by flickering gaslights.
They soon arrived at a busy wharf lined with tall sailing ships in various stages of being loaded and unloaded, with sweating dockworkers moving heavy barrels and crates this way and that. Keeping well back, Molly and George followed Leonard Aster and the other men to a large, handsome ship that bore the name Michelle in gold lettering on her bow. The men walked up a gangway onto the deck, followed by a dock man with Leonard’s trunk.
Molly and George got as close to the ship as they dared, concealing themselves behind a stack of wooden crates.
“We can’t just walk up that ramp,” George whispered.
“No, we can’t,” agreed Molly, looking desperately for some other way to board. She touched the locket she wore around her neck. It held a small amount of starstuff, enough to enable her and George to fly onto the ship. But it had been given to her by her father to be used only in the gravest of emergencies. She wondered if this qualified.
Molly studied the Michelle, whose crew was preparing the ship for departure. All of the activity, she noted, was taking place toward the stern. At the moment, there were no crewmen at the bow, which was attached to the dock by a thick line.
“Can you climb a rope, George?” she whispered.
“Of course I can,” George said, his gaze following Molly’s. “But you can’t seriously be thinking about…are you?”
Molly’s look answered his question.
“We run across to that pile of nets,” she said. “From there, it’s straight to the bow line. And up. Quickly, George. It’s our only chance. All set?”
<
br /> George was about to say that no, he was not all set, but Molly wasn’t interested in his views.
“On three,” she said. She took a deep breath, looked both ways, and took George’s hand.
“One…two…”
CHAPTER 15
HOOK’S PLAN
THE EASTERN HORIZON HAD barely begun to lighten with the first pink hint of dawn when the mournful sound of the conch horn came echoing down the mountain.
The Mollusks had been expecting it; most had been up all night waiting for it. Yet it still came as a shock, confirming the brutal reality: the attack was coming.
Fighting Prawn, followed by a half dozen of his senior warriors, stood at the edge of a rock outcropping on a steep cliff overlooking the eastern side of the island. He stared out at a place where the indigo water met the lightening sky. His eyesight was still superb, but it was a minute before he could see the black shapes of the lead canoes. He stood motionless, watching as more canoes came into view, then more, then still more, until they seemed to cover the horizon. Each canoe, he saw, carried ten men at least, perhaps more. Fighting Prawn did not allow his face to betray the despair he felt upon seeing the size of the attacking force. But he saw the worry in the eyes of his men as he turned to face them.
In a calm voice, he grunted a brief command. There was little to say: his men knew what to do. They trotted off, heading for the various stations from which they would try to defend their island.
Fighting Prawn, alone now, turned back to the sea and watched the flotilla of black canoes coming relentlessly closer, bringing terror and death to his peaceful island.
High above the outcropping where Fighting Prawn stood, a pirate by the name of Boggs was hidden in the foliage near the top of the island’s mountain ridge. He was also looking at the oncoming canoes and trying to count them, but he gave up after reaching thirty-nine, which was the highest number he knew. Then he turned and began running toward the pirates’ side of the island.
It took him nearly an hour to reach the pirate camp. Out of breath, he ran straight to Hook’s hut and gasped out the news.
“Canoes, Cap’n. Coming from the east. Big ones. Lots of ’em. A war party is what it looks like.”
Hook was on his feet in an instant, his close-set black eyes glittering.
“How many canoes?” he rasped.
“More’n thirty-nine,” said Boggs. “A LOT more.”
“Big ones, you say?”
“Aye, Cap’n. Each carrying ten men.”
“SMEE!” bellowed Hook, stepping out from his hut.
“Coming, Cap’n!” said Smee, approaching the hut at a rapid waddle, mango juice dribbling from his chin.
“Round up a small party of the best men,” said Hook. “Tell them to bring their weapons and as much food and water as they can carry. We’re getting off this cursed island.”
“We are?” said Smee. “How?”
“Boggs here has spied a war party of savages approaching in canoes,” said Hook. “We’re going to borrow some of their canoes and take our leave of this wretched place.”
“But, Cap’n,” said Smee, frowning. “Do you think the savages will let us borrow their canoes?”
Hook stared at Smee for three long seconds.
“Smee,” he said finally.
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“You have the brain of a sea urchin.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“We ain’t going to ask the savages to borrow their canoes, you idjit. We wait until they’s fighting the local savages. While they ain’t looking, we slip off in their canoes.”
“Ah!” said Smee, brightening. “It’s a fine plan, Cap’n.”
“Of course it is,” said Hook. “Now assemble the men.”
As Smee waddled off, Hook allowed himself a moment to reflect upon his genius and savor the knowledge that, within a few hours, he would be leaving this hideous island behind forever. His only regret was that he would not have a chance to get his revenge on that cursed flying boy.
CHAPTER 16
A LIABILITY
GEORGE AND MOLLY QUICKLY found a good place to hide. Near the bow of the ship there was a dory turned upside down and lashed to the deck. George loosened one of the lines and lifted the edge; the two slipped underneath and retied the line. It was cramped and dark under the dory, but safe.
Trying to ignore their hunger, they fell asleep beneath the little upside-down boat, out of the wind, the salt spray, and the view of crewmen. In the morning, with the pink light of dawn showing through the gap where the boat met the deck, George was awakened by Molly’s hair tickling his nose. Forgetting where he was, he tried to sit, and bumped his forehead on the dory’s bench.
“Ow!”
The sound woke Molly, who blinked a few times, remembering where they were and how they’d gotten there.
“I’m starving,” whispered George, rubbing his head. “How long do we have to stay out of sight?”
“Long enough so they won’t turn the ship around and take us back. Two days at least.”
“Two days?”
“No one made you come along,” Molly reminded him.
“We’ll starve!”
“No, we won’t,” said Molly, though she was quite hungry herself. “We’ll find some food tonight.”
“Tonight? Are you saying we’re to go without food the entire day?”
“Apparently, I am.”
George groaned and lay back down. They spent an unhappy morning under the dory, saying little, listening to the sounds of the ship and the grumble of their stomachs. Molly grew quite thirsty and knew that George must be thirsty, too. She was grateful he didn’t complain.
The first suggestion of the storm was the dimming of light where the dory met the deck. The next sign was the rise and fall of the ship, which went from gentle rocking to a much more violent motion, the bow lifting high and then crashing loudly down into the sea. The dory rattled and shook, and Molly began to feel sick to her stomach. Things were not going as she’d planned.
She looked at George. By the dim light filtering under the dory, she saw that his face was as gray as driftwood.
“I need some air,” he whispered.
“Please don’t be sick,” she said.
“I need air now,” he said.
But it wasn’t air George got: it was water. There was a sudden, loud drumming sound on the dory hull, then rivulets of cold rainwater surged across the deck and under the dory, soaking Molly and George. With the rain came an even more violent motion of the ship’s deck, now rolling right and left as well as rocking up and down.
George made an ominous sound and clapped his hand over his mouth.
“George…” Molly warned.
“Sorry, I…” George turned away from Molly just as his unhappy stomach rebelled. Instantly an awful stench filled the upturned dory; Molly, now retching herself, frantically untied the line holding the dory down and lifted the boat off with her back. At once, she and George were blasted by torrents of wind-driven rain; they scrabbled along the heaving deck, looking for something to hold on to. George was still retching pitifully.
“Hey!” a deep voice boomed over the roar of the wind. “You there!”
Molly turned to see a burly seaman fighting his way forward. He grabbed the sliding dory and quickly secured it to the deck, then turned to the children.
“What’s this, now?” he boomed. “Stowaways, is it?”
“I’m the daughter of Lord Aster,” Molly shouted. “If you please, sir, I wish to be taken to him at once.”
“His lordship’s daughter, hiding under a dory?” said the seaman, smiling skeptically. “And who might this be?” he asked, pointing at the retching George. “A duke, perhaps?”
“He’s my friend,” said Molly. “Please, just take us to my father.”
“All right, then,” said the seaman, eyeing George’s clothes, which were covered with what had once been the contents of his stomach. “But first we need to make
the duke more presentable.” He turned and walked astern, returning moments later with a bucket.
“Here, your lordship,” he said. As George, still on hands and knees, looked up, the seaman splashed him with a full bucket of cold seawater.
“That’s much better,” said the seaman, laughing as he reached out a hand to help the sputtering George to his feet. “Welcome aboard the Michelle, my lord and lady.”
Leonard Aster paced the captain’s quarters, walking back and forth in front of two chairs. In one sat Molly; in the other, George; both were wrapped in rough wool blankets.
Leonard’s face was grim and pale save for two red spots, one on each cheek. Those spots, Molly knew, meant her father was furious.
For more than a minute, Leonard strode back and forth, too angry even to speak. When he finally did, his voice quivered with rage.
“I cannot believe you would do this, Molly,” he said.
“But, Father…it’s Peter.”
“Silence.”
Molly’s mouth snapped shut.
“I am extremely disappointed in you, Molly. And George, you…”
“I talked him into it,” Molly said.
“No, she didn’t, sir,” said George, “I…”
“Silence, both of you.”
Molly and George sat still as stones as Leonard paced for a full minute more.
“You’ve created a very bad situation, Molly. If I take you to the island, I expose you and George to danger, not to mention the fact that your mother and George’s parents will be frantic with worry, not knowing your whereabouts. But if I order the ship turned around to return you to France, we lose precious time getting to the island. Precious to the Starcatchers. Precious to Peter.”
Molly started to speak, but her father’s look quelled that idea.
Leonard paced some more.
“Here is what I have decided,” he said finally. “We will proceed to the island. Peter’s well-being is paramount. We will try to get word to your mother through the porpoises; she can contact George’s parents. For the remainder of this voyage, you and George will remain on this ship, under close supervision. You will not go onto the island; you are a liability on this expedition. So you will remain on the ship, and when we return to England”—here Leonard stopped pacing and looked into Molly’s eyes—“there will be consequences. Do you both understand?”
Peter and the Secret of Rundoon Page 7
