“Sir, we can’t eat this,” said Peter.
“As you like,” said Hungry Bob, picking up the pot. “This’ll make a fine dinner for me. But in a day or two you boys’ll get hungry, and I’ll be taking this pot out polished clean by your tongues.”
“I don’t think so,” said Peter. “Look, sir, there must be better food on this ship.”
“Oh, there is, there is,” agreed Hungry Bob. “But not for me or you.”
“But, sir,” said Peter, “please, if you would …”
“Listen, boy,” interrupted Hungry Bob. “You’re wasting your time talking to me. I ain’t the one who decides these things. I’m a deck rat, not the captain.”
“Well,” said Peter, “what if I ask the captain?”
That struck Hungry Bob as even funnier than the request for spoons.
“Ask the captain?” he roared, almost choking. “Ask the captain? Yes! You do that! You ask Captain Pembridge for a nice dinner!”
Chuckling, muttering “Ask the captain!” to himself, Hungry Bob ducked back through the opening, carrying the dinner pot. The younger boys looked at Peter, who was not sure he liked being the one who was supposed to know what to do.
“All right, then,” he said.
The boys kept watching him.
“All right, then,” Peter repeated. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going, Peter?” asked James.
“I’m going to go see the captain,” said Peter. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea, especially after Slank’s warning to stay away from the aft part of the ship. But he figured he had to do something.
“You wait here,” he said to the boys, and ducked out into the passageway.
As Peter climbed the ladder, he heard a drunken voice bellowing. Reaching the deck, he looked around and saw that the voice was coming from amidships, where a red-faced and very round man in a comically elaborate, too-small uniform was shouting odd orders to an audience consisting of Slank and a half-dozen crewmen.
“AVAST THE MAIN MIZZEN!” the round man shouted.
“You heard Captain Pembridge!” shouted Slank. “Avast the main mizzen!” His voice was stern, but Peter saw he was smirking.
“Aye, aye, sir!” shouted the men, and, grinning, they began fussing busily with various lines, tying and untying knots. Peter didn’t know anything about ships, but he could see immediately that they were merely pretending to do something nautical.
“KEELHAUL THE SCUPPERS!” shouted the captain.
“You heard Captain Pembridge!” shouted Slank, struggling to keep his tone serious. “Let’s get them scuppers keelhauled!” The men were smiling openly now, making no effort to hide their contempt for the little round man.
They had good reason. Cyrus Pembridge was easily the worst captain in British nautical history. He had never bothered to learn even the basics of seamanship, choosing instead to occupy his time consuming vast quantities of rum. He held command of the Never Land solely because his wife’s family owned a shipping line, and his wife detested him. She had insisted that he be given a ship, her thinking being that he would be away from home most of the time; ideally, he would manage to sink his ship, and thus be out of her life altogether.
The shipping company, following sound business practices, had given Pembridge its most worthless ship, staffed with the most incompetent and disposable crew. The crew had quickly recognized that it was suicide to try to follow Pembridge’s commands, which never made sense anyway. It was Slank who ran the Never Land. But on those rare occasions when Pembridge staggered out on deck, Slank and the crew amused themselves by pretending to obey him.
“CAST OFF THE AFT BINNACLE,” Pembridge was shouting.
“Cast off that binnacle!” repeated Slank to the grinning crew.
Pembridge turned and looked at Slank, as if seeing him for the first time.
“Who are you?” he said. “And why are you shouting?”
“I’m your first officer, sir,” said Slank. “Mr. Slank. I’m just relaying your orders to the crew.”
“Ah,” said Pembridge.
“The aft binnacle has been cast off, sir,” said Slank.
“The what?” said Pembridge.
“The aft binnacle,” said Slank. “As you ordered.”
“I did?” said Pembridge, squinting suspiciously. “When?”
“Just now, sir,” said Slank.
Pembridge blinked at Slank.
“Who are you, again?” he said.
“Your first officer, sir,” said Slank.
Pembridge blinked again.
“My head hurts,” he said.
“Perhaps the captain would like to go to his cabin,” said Slank.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” said Pembridge. “I’m the captain.”
“Yes, sir,” said Slank.
“I’m going to my cabin,” said Pembridge.
“Yes, sir.”
The round man took a step, then stopped, frowning, his round body teetering.
“Which way is my cabin?” he said.
“That way, Captain Pembridge,” said Slank, pointing aft.
Pembridge teetered off. Behind him, the crewmen burst into laughter, only to be silenced by a scowl from Slank.
“That’s enough,” he shouted. “Back to work.”
From behind a mast, Peter watched Pembridge stagger aft. Now seemed as good a time as any to try to talk to him. Peter stepped out from behind the mast and …
“YOU! RUNT!” bellowed Slank. The man saw everything. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”
“Nowhere, sir,” said Peter.
“That’s right,” said Slank, striding toward Peter. “You’re going nowhere. You’re to stay below, and you’re to come out when I say you can. We got work to do on this ship, and we don’t need you in the way. You follow me, runt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you swim, runt?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, you’ll find out quick enough if I see you on deck again without my permission.”
“Yes, sir,” said Peter. Feeling Slank’s glare on his back, he turned and went back down the ladderway, back to the cramped and smelly little cabin. As he entered, the other boys all looked at him hopefully.
“What did the captain say?” said Tubby Ted. “Can we have some real food?”
“Yes, Peter,” said James. “What did the captain say?”
“I … well,” said Peter, “… I didn’t talk to him just yet.” The boys’ faces fell. James looked down, and sniffed. “But I will!” said Peter. “I’ll talk to him. Just not right now. But don’t you worry,” he said, putting his hand on James’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. I have a plan.”
“You do?” said James, looking up. “Really?”
“Of course I do,” said Peter, patting his shoulder.
“Oh, good,” said James. “Because I’m hungry.”
“I’m starving,” said Tubby Ted.
“We’ll have real food soon enough,” said Peter. “I promise.” And as he saw the hope return to the eyes of the other boys, Peter thought: I need a plan.
CHAPTER 6
BLACK STACHE IN PURSUIT
SHE’S GETTING AWAY!” Black Stache bellowed. “Hurry up with Preston and Harbuckle! And ready those barrels!”
“Aye, Cap’n!” came a shout from below.
Through his glass, Black Stache saw the Wasp’s gleaming black hull race for the horizon, cutting a foaming white wake in the deep blue-green of the ocean. Black Stache had never seen a ship sail like that. He knew now that he no longer wanted only the Wasp’s treasure; he wanted the Wasp herself. He’d strip her flag and fly his own on her mast.
“What flag should we be flying, Cap’n?” First Mate Smee leaned his bulging belly over the open chest of flags captured from ships the Sea Devil had scuttled.
“Let’s make it something colorful,” said Black Stache. “The Union Jack would do just fine, eh? She’d like that wouldn�
�t she? Kissing cousins?”
Black Stache liked the British flag—he had a dozen or more in his collection—and felt especially proud when he sank a ship belonging to the Queen. Black Stache had no love for the Queen, no love for women of any sort, except for his ma. He had a real soft spot for his ma, and was truly sorry for the time he’d marooned her.
“What’s the delay down there?” Black Stache thundered. On the main deck, several men were tying a fat crewman’s ankles to his wrists behind his back, so he looked like a rocking horse. A gag covered the man’s mouth, or he would have been heard screaming for his life.
The Union Jack was run up the Sea Devil’s mainmast and snapped loudly in the wind. Black Stache held the glass to his eye again, watching the retreating Wasp, getting farther away each minute.
“How do you plan to take her,” said Smee, grinning. “Fire?”
One of Black Stache’s many tricks was to sail close to another ship at night and, using a smoking barrel of tar, make it appear the Sea Devil had caught fire. His prey would turn and come to help, only to be rewarded for this act of mercy by being attacked. But Black Stache knew that even if he could get the Sea Devil close, the Wasp’s captain, Scott, was too experienced to fall for that ploy.
“We’ll have to think of something better than that,” Black Stache said.
“The broken mast trick?” Smee slapped his leg. “I love that broken mast trick, Cap’n.”
Black Stache snorted. “She’s carrying the richest treasure ever taken to sea,” he said. “She won’t fall for the broken mast.”
Below, the crew had finished hog-tying the first man and had started on a second, also a portly fellow. He looked just as terrified, his cries muffled by a gag. Black Stache smiled. He loved other people’s misery.
“Cap’n,” said Smee, very timidly, “why’re they tying up Preston and Harbuckle?” Preston and Harbuckle were both very good sailors, and Black Stache seemed to be preparing to toss them overboard for no good reason.
Black Stache spat a gob onto Smee’s bare foot.
“Smee,” he said, “I’ve decided we’re going to take the Wasp the old-fashioned way.”
“Sir?”
“I mean without cheating,” said Black Stache.
“Without cheating, sir?” Smee said, shocked. Black Stache always cheated.
“Not this time,” said Black Stache. “Captain Scott won’t stop the Wasp for no trickery. We got to pure run her down, Smee.”
“But how, Cap’n?” said Smee. “Are we going to use the Ladies?”
Black Stache shot Smee a look of contempt, which sent a chill down Smee’s spine.
“You idjit,” the captain sneered. “We can’t use the Ladies on this heading. We’ve got to get abeam of the Wasp, then turn downwind. Then we raise the Ladies and run her down.”
“But, Cap’n,” Smee said timidly, “how do we get abeam of her? She’s fast as the wind, and pulling away.”
“Yes,” said Black Stache. “We need more speed, and that means we need to get rid of some weight. So I’ve ordered the crew to throw most of our water overboard.”
He pointed toward the stern. Smee turned, and saw crewmen rolling heavy wooden barrels toward the rail, and heaving them over the side.
Smee gasped. Even for Black Stache, this was insane. At sea, there was nothing more precious than water. Nothing. Not even rum. Nobody ever threw water away.
“Cap’n,” Smee sputtered, “sir, we can’t, I mean …”
“Smee,” said Black Stache, savoring his own malignant brilliance. “Water is heavy, right?”
“Yes, Cap’n, but …”
“And we’ll run faster without the weight, right?”
“Yes, Cap’n, but…”
“And if we run faster, we’ll have a better chance of catching the Wasp, right?”
“I s’pose so, Cap’n, but…”
“And when we catch the Wasp, we’ll have the Wasp’s water, won’t we now?”
Smee fell silent now, finally grasping the lunatic plan.
“Don’t you see?” said Black Stache. “It’s a carrot for the men. They know we’re carrying just enough water for a few days. So they know we have to catch the Wasp in that time, or they die of thirst. Isn’t it a fine plan, Mr. Smee?”
Insane, thought Smee. But what he said was “Aye, Cap’n. Brilliant.”
“Of course it’s brilliant,” said Black Stache. “And to make it even more brilliant, I’m going to give the crew another carrot.”
“Another one, Cap’n?” Smee did not like the sound of that at all.
“Yes,” said Black Stache, admiring his own genius. “Smee, aside from water, cannon, and cargo, what’re the two heaviest things on the Sea Devil?”
Smee thought for a moment, then said, “That would be Preston and Harb—”
He looked down at the deck, where the two fat pirates had been hefted into the dory, which was now being lowered alongside the ship.
“You see, Smee?” said Black Stache. “This’ll teach the men that they got to work hard. They must be worth their weight to me, Smee, or it’s over the side.”
Smee looked down at his own belly. It was not a small belly. Black Stache caught the look and smiled broadly, showing his brown tooth stumps. He continued to smile as the dory, with its squirming and terrified passengers, was cut loose, and quickly fell behind the Sea Devil, growing smaller by the minute, until it was gone. Along with most of the Sea Devil’s water.
“Good riddance,” Black Stache growled, and he spat again, a major gob, this time hitting Smee’s other foot. He turned to face the crew, now watching him warily.
“The deadweight is gone, men,” he said. “We’re picking up speed.” He gestured toward the dot on the horizon that was the Wasp. “She’s a fast ship, but we’re going to be faster. We’d better be, because your water rations are gone in three days’time. So work hard, men. Work hard, if you don’t want to join those two bales of lard drifting astern.”
Black Stache glared at the crew, daring anyone to challenge him. His glare was met by a fearful silence.
“Good,” said Black Stache. “Now, let’s get more sail up.”
The pirates scurried into action as if their lives depended on it, which they did. Black Stache turned to Smee.
“I’ll be in my cabin,” he said. “When I come back, I want that ship”—he pointed to the distant Wasp—“to be closer. If it’s not, we’ll have to toss some more weight over the side.”
He looked pointedly at Smee’s belly, then turned and stalked off.
Smee pushed the men hard all afternoon, and ate no dinner that night.
CHAPTER 7
PETER VENTURES AFT
BY THE THIRD DAY the boys were so hungry that when Hungry Bob brought their daily slop, they actually ate some of it. They picked carefully through the lumps, still (to Hungry Bob’s delight) passing on the wriggling ones, and choking down others as best they could. But it wasn’t enough food, not nearly enough. Hunger now clawed constantly at their bellies.
Peter, still wondering if it was such a good thing to be the leader, was feeling intense pressure to do something. He had given up on pleading the boys’ case to Captain Pembridge. Several times now, the boys had heard the captain staggering around on the main deck, shouting senseless commands (“HEAVE TO ON THE STIZZENS! FURL THE YARDARM!”) to the vast enjoyment of the crew. Pembridge sounded even more confused than he’d been the first day; the sailors mocked him openly now.
No, Pembridge would be no help. And Peter didn’t dare approach Slank; to ask him for better food would be to ask for a lashing. And so, as the third day turned into the third night, and the boys prepared for another restless, hungry night in their dank little cabin, listening to James whimpering—and rats scuttling—Peter made up his mind: he would steal some food.
There had to be decent food on the ship. Slank surely wasn’t eating the swill that the boys got, and he just as surely wasn’t feeding it to the first-class pass
engers, like that girl Molly and her governess. No, they were eating decent food, and Peter meant to have some of it.
He figured it was stored in the aft part of the ship, where the important people slept, and the valuable items were stored. He’d done some poking around, and determined that there was no way he could go aft belowdecks without passing through the crew’s quarters, where he would surely be seen. His plan, then, was to wait for dark, then sneak aft on the main deck.
He waited until an hour past sunset, then carefully detached himself from the clump of dozing boys huddled together on the floor for warmth, and protection from the rats. Tubby Ted continued to snore, but James sat up, rubbing his eyes, and said, “Peter, where are you going?”
“Quiet,” Peter hissed. “I’m going to look for food.”
“I’ll go with you,” said another voice. Prentiss.
“And I,” said Thomas.
“Bring me a ham sandwich,” said Tubby Ted, awakened by the talk of food.
“I’m going alone,” said Peter, ducking out of the room. “And I’ll bring back what I can.”
“Be careful,” said James, behind him.
“Also, some cheese,” said Tubby Ted.
Peter climbed the ladderway to the deck, poked his head up and looked around. He saw a small knot of crewmen a few yards aft, looking off the ship’s port rail, talking; otherwise, the deck appeared to be empty. He eased himself out of the ladderway and slid on his belly to the starboard side, away from the men. Then, on hands and knees, he crawled aft.
As he neared the stern of the ship he heard loud talk and laughter coming from a cabin window. He recognized Slank’s booming voice, and the high-pitched giggle of Molly’s governess, Mrs. Bumbrake.
“Oh, Mr. Slank!” she was saying. “You are a devil!”
“That I am, Mrs. Bumbrake!” boomed Slank. “And you know what they say!”
“What do they say, Mr. Slank?”
“They say,” roared Slank, “the devil take the hindmost!”
Then Peter heard Mrs. Bumbrake emit a very un-governess-like squeal, followed by what sounded like a slap, followed by some thumping, then more squealing, then more thumping, and then much laughing. From the sound of it, Peter figured they wouldn’t be breaking up the party any time soon.
Starcatchers 01 - Peter and the Starcatchers Page 4
