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 t
he 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.
CHAPTER 30
A HELPING HAND
THE THIRD WAVE GRABBED PETER high on his chest and yanked him down in its cold, relentless grip. As his head went under, he grabbed a
breath of air, wondering if it was his last, but the churning of the water brought him up again for a moment, and he managed to get another. Then the massive weight of the wave drove him deep, tumbling him, so he no longer knew which way the surface was. Seconds passed, then more seconds, and as his body continued to tumble, his chest began to burn, to ache, and as the ache turned to agony, he knew that soon he would not be able to hold his breath any longer.
That was when he felt a hand grab him by the hair.
Molly.
He felt himself being pulled up, up, but before he reached the surface, his desperate lungs gave out and he felt seawater rushing into his mouth, and then for a while he didn’t know what was happening, and then he was gagging and coughing up seawater, and he was cold, but he was also breathing, which meant he was still alive.
“Peter, are you all right?” Molly was shouting into his ear. He wanted to tell her he was all right, but he couldn’t talk, because of all the water coming out of him.
“Peter,” shouted Molly, “you must hold on to me, do you understand? I can’t keep us up much longer.”
That was when Peter noticed he was flying again. Actually, Molly was flying, and somehow holding Peter up, having draped his right arm around her shoulder. They were perhaps twenty-five feet above the sea now, and Peter could see that just ahead of them, the towering waves were crashing, with an ungodly thunder, onto what appeared to be jagged rocks.
He could feel that Molly was struggling to hold him; her voice was strained.
“Put your arms around my neck,” she shouted. “There’s rocks here. There might be an island. But the starstuff is wearing off.”
Her locket, thought Peter. She used her locket. Still choking up seawater, he managed to drape his arms around her neck, locking his hands together as tightly as he could. He felt Molly lean forward, and felt them glide downward a bit, then swoop up. The thundering of the waves on the rocks grew louder, deafening now. Peter, trying not to think about what lay below him, concentrated on holding on to Molly. But his arms were getting weary; his hands were beginning to slip apart.
Starcatchers 01 - Peter and the Starcatchers Page 14
