“James!” shouted Thomas. He and Prentiss ran toward their friend, who looked very tired and had scratches on his bare arms and legs from the trek over the mountain in the dark.
“Are you all right?” said Prentiss.
James managed a weak smile. “I’m…Yes, I’m all right. Is Peter here?”
“No,” said Thomas. “Isn’t he with you? I mean, Tinker Bell is here.”
“Yes,” said James. “Peter sent her with me, to guide me back.”
“Where’s Peter, then?” said Prentiss.
James told them briefly about his rescue, and the little that Peter had told him about Shining Pearl. Eagerly, Prentiss and Thomas prodded him for more details, and he recounted his watery mermaid-aided escape from the pirate lair. He was just finishing when an angry and accusing burst of bells from Tink caught the boys’ attention, and they looked up to see Peter swoop down into the clearing, his bare feet skidding ruts in the dirt as he landed.
“Peter!” shouted all three boys at once. They peppered him with questions, but he silenced them with an upraised hand. Silencing Tink took a little longer.
“There isn’t much time,” Peter said, once they were all quiet. “You must listen carefully. There are bad men on the island. They came by ship and they captured Shining Pearl. But it’s not her they want; it’s the starstuff.”
“But the starstuff is gone!” said Prentiss. “Molly’s father took it!”
“That’s right,” said Peter. “It’s all gone, except for this.” His hand touched the gold locket that hung on a gold chain around his neck—the locket given to him by Lord Aster. “Fighting Prawn told them that Lord Aster took it, and now they’re going to England to get it.”
“So they’re leaving the island?” said James.
“Yes,” said Peter.
“So we’re safe,” said Thomas.
“Yes,” said Peter. “We’re safe. But Lord Aster isn’t. And neither is Molly. These are very bad men.” Peter did not tell them about the troubling figure in the dark cloak, and the strange thing Fighting Prawn’s shadow had done. He didn’t want to scare his friends. Besides, he wasn’t exactly sure what he had seen.
James studied Peter, frowning. “Peter,” he said, “what did you mean when you said there isn’t much time?”
Peter looked at his friends. He felt a tightness in his throat. “I have to go to England,” he said.
“What?” said all three. Peter looked down, not wanting to see the fear on their faces.
“But how?” asked James. “Even if you could fly all that way, how could you find it? The sea is enormous.”
“I know,” said Peter. “I’ll have to follow the ship.”
“The ship?” said Thomas. “The very bad men’s ship?”
Peter nodded.
“But what if they see you?” said James. “What happens when you get tired? Where will you sleep?”
“I dunno,” said Peter. “But I have to try. I have no choice. I can’t just stay here and do nothing while they go after Lord Aster and…and Molly.”
Tink made an unpleasant sound. She did not care for Molly.
“But if you leave, what will we do?” said Prentiss. “Who will be our leader?”
“James will,” said Peter. He stepped forward and put his hands on James’s shoulders. As he did so, he realized that James, who had always been smaller than Peter, was now precisely the same height.
He’s growing older, thought Peter. By the time I get back, he’ll be taller than I am. If I get back.
“You’ll take care of them, won’t you, James?” he said.
James, his eyes wet, sniffed and nodded bravely.
“There’s a good fellow,” said Peter, squeezing his shoulders, then turning away and coughing to cover up a sniff of his own. Turning back, he said, “The Mollusks are here, if you need help. Just stay away from those pirates, all right?”
James, Thomas, and Prentiss nodded, and Peter saw tears on all six cheeks.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll be back. I promise you.”
The three nodded again, not looking the least bit convinced.
“All right, then,” said Peter. “I’ve got to get going before the ship leaves.”
He rose a few feet into the air and hovered, looking at Tinker Bell. She turned her back on him and folded her arms.
“Well…I guess I’m going alone, then,” he said. Then, with a wave to his friends—displaying a jauntiness he did not feel—Peter swooped up over the trees and turned toward the water.
For a moment the clearing was silent. The silence was broken by an explosion of bells—and it was a very good thing that the boys did not understand these bells—as Tink shot into the sky, turned in the direction Peter had taken, and was gone.
And then once again the clearing was silent, except for the sniffling of three very worried boys, and the sound of angry bells fading in the distance.
CHAPTER 15
INTO THE NIGHT
NIGHT FELL EARLY ON LONDON. The pale, sinking, northern sun was no match for the city’s blanket of clouds and dark gray fog, thickened by coal smoke and soot drifting out of ten thousand chimneys. The air, chilly enough in daytime, had turned a biting cold, made all the worse by the penetrating damp of the North Sea.
With darkness came danger. London’s vast twisting tangle of streets, lanes, and alleys, confusing enough in daylight, by night became a baffling, impenetrable maze to anybody who did not know it well. And those who knew it also knew enough to get inside before darkness came. Because the London streets at night were a grim, grimy jungle prowled by thugs and lowlifes of every kind; a hunting ground where the weak and vulnerable were prey. For London’s poor, night was a time to huddle together in a tiny room (if you were lucky enough to have one), wrapped in rags to try to stay warm, waiting for the long, black night to turn into another cold, gray dawn.
In the city’s wealthier areas, the streets were illuminated—somewhat—by gas lamps, each creating a small, round island of light (or at least diminished gloom). But the upper classes rarely ventured out on foot at night, for well-dressed people were prime targets of criminals who would kill for a lady’s necklace or a gentleman’s watch.
So London’s wealthy also spent the dark hours indoors, although, of course, they passed the time in far greater comfort than the poor. The wealthiest lived in grand homes, eating servant-cooked meals in rooms kept warm by servant-tended fires.
On this particular night, in a particularly fine home, on a particularly broad street, not a hundred yards from the grandeur of Kensington Palace, the family of Leonard Aster was eating dinner. The dining room was large enough to serve as a croquet court; the table could easily seat two dozen, and had often accommodated that many. But tonight it was just the three Asters—Lord Aster; his wife, Louise; and their daughter, Molly.
Molly looked much like her mother—the same thick, cascading, brown hair, the same delicate face. But her most distinctive feature was the one she shared with her father: her eyes, unusually large and radiantly green. Molly was a beautiful child; all of London society agreed on that. But she was also, it was widely whispered, unusual—especially since she had returned with her father from their sea voyage a few months earlier.
The story was sketchy: what little was known in London had come from Mrs. Bumbrake, Molly’s governess, who had, unfortunately, spent most of the adventure locked in the hold of a pirate ship. She came back to England telling tales of a mysterious treasure chest and a strange island where Molly apparently had had some kind of ordeal. But Mrs. Bumbrake did not really know what had happened out there, and neither Molly nor Lord Aster would talk about it.
The lack of information did not, of course, prevent London society from endlessly discussing the matter. It was generally agreed that there was something odd about the Asters—some said there always had been—and especially about young Molly, who did not seem to be at all interested in the kinds of things that girls of her class were s
upposed to be interested in. Molly often seemed distracted, people said, as though her mind were elsewhere.
Which it often was.
But on this night, Molly’s attention was fully focused on her father. Leonard Aster had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the meal, leaving Molly and her mother to make polite, meandering conversation. It was not until the serving maid had cleared the dinner plates and left them alone with dessert that Leonard, looking around to make sure he would not be overheard, began to speak, his voice low, his tone somber.
“I’m afraid I must leave you two for a while,” he began.
Louise Aster nodded once slowly but said nothing.
“A while?” said Molly.
“A few weeks,” said Leonard.
“Why?” said Molly.
Leonard Aster studied his daughter for a moment. He remembered her bravery at sea, and on the island—how she had fought, at times alone, to protect the trunk and its treasure from dangerous, desperate men. He decided that, despite her youth, she had earned the right to know more than he had told her so far.
“I must move the starstuff,” he said.
“Move it?” said Molly, surprised. “But you said it was safe.”
“I thought it was,” said Aster. “But this afternoon I received some disturbing news from Ammm.”
Molly’s face brightened. “Ammm!” she said. “How is he?”
“He’s fine,” said Aster, smiling. “He sends his regards and asked me to tell you something.”
Suddenly, Leonard began emitting strange squeaking, whistling, and popping sounds. Neither his wife nor his daughter was surprised; Leonard was simply quoting Ammm, who happened to be a porpoise. The sounds translated roughly to, “My teeth are green.”
Molly laughed, for this was exactly what she, with her minimal grasp of the Porpoise language, had told Ammm a few months earlier—it seemed so long ago—when she stood barefoot on the deck of a sea-tossed ship at night, trying to get an urgent message to her father.
“Please tell Ammm that my Porpoise is improving,” she told her father. “But what was the disturbing news?”
“Well,” said Leonard, “it’s a bit muddled because Ammm got the message from the local Mollusk Island dolphins and, as you know, Dolphin and Porpoise are not quite the same. But the essence of it is that a strange ship arrived at Mollusk Island, and some men went ashore.”
“Is Peter all right?” Molly blurted it out, then blushed.
“I don’t know,” said Leonard. “There was no mention of Peter. But I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a very capable boy.”
Molly nodded, still blushing. Leonard continued: “The men, whoever they were, went ashore, had some kind of confrontation with the Mollusks, and then left.”
“So they’re off the island now?” said Louise.
“Yes,” said Leonard. “And they’re sailing on a course that will bring them, if the wind holds, straight to England.”
“Oh, dear,” said Louise.
“Yes,” said Leonard. “They’re coming for the starstuff.”
“But,” said Molly, “even if they do come for it, you said it was too well guarded to be taken.”
“I’m afraid I may have been overconfident,” said Leonard.
“What do you mean?” said Molly.
Leonard looked grim. “The dolphins told Ammm that one of the men on the ship was not a man.”
“I don’t understand,” said Molly. “What was it, then?”
“The dolphins didn’t say. Only that it was with the men, but it was not a man. And when he passed over the water, the water became cold.”
At those words, Molly felt a chill herself. “What does that mean?” she said.
Leonard exchanged looks with Louise. “I’m afraid it means the Others have sent somebody…something…very formidable to retrieve the starstuff. Something with powers that are not easily countered. So I’m going to move the starstuff out of London, to a place known by only a very few of us. We will guard it there until the time comes for the Return.”
“Why can’t you just return it now,” said Molly, “before this…this something gets here?”
“I wish I could,” said Leonard. “But the Return can only happen at certain times. We have no choice but to wait for the next one.”
“When will you leave?” said Louise.
“Tonight, I’m afraid,” Leonard said. “Within the hour, in fact.”
As his wife and daughter absorbed this unhappy news, Leonard rose, went to the large dining-room window, and beckoned. Seconds later there was a knock at the front door. Waving off the servant who appeared instantly, Leonard went to answer the door himself. He returned to the dining room with three men, all well dressed, all serious-looking, all quite large. One of the men held a leash attached to a dog, also quite large.
“Louise and Molly,” said Leonard, “may I present Mister Cadigan, Mister Hodge, and Mister Jarvis. The dog’s name, I’m afraid, is Hornblower.”
The men removed their hats, and everyone except Hornblower exchanged how-do-you-dos.
“These men will be staying here until I return,” said Leonard. “They will be outside most of the time. I’ve instructed Cook to feed them; they will sleep in shifts in the attic. Molly, until I return, you’re to go nowhere—nowhere—without one of these men accompanying you, do you understand?”
Molly had questions—many questions—but she understood that now was not the time to ask them. So she simply nodded.
“Good,” said Leonard. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must make some preparations.”
He left the room, and the three men went back outside with Hornblower. When they were gone, Molly looked at her mother.
“We’ll be fine,” said Louise.
“But will Father be fine?” said Molly.
“Of course he will,” said Louise, smiling bravely. But Molly saw the worry in her eyes.
In a half hour, Leonard, now dressed for travel, was ready to leave. He hugged Louise, then Molly.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said.
Louise turned away, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. Leonard rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, then turned to go.
To Molly’s surprise, her father did not leave by the front door, as he almost always did. Instead he left by the service entrance at the rear of the house.
As though someone is watching the house, she thought.
Molly followed her father back through the kitchen. He paused at the door, blew her a kiss, then turned and left. Molly held the door open for a moment, watching until her father’s tall form had disappeared completely into the swirling fog of the dark London night.
Be careful, she thought.
CHAPTER 16
ONE LOOK BACK
AS DAWN APPROACHED, Peter was growing desperate.
He’d been flying behind the ship for hours now—far longer than he’d ever remained aloft before—and it was a demanding kind of flying, not the effortless swooping Peter enjoyed so much on the island. He dared not slip too far back from the ship, lest he lose sight of it and become lost. But he also dared not get too close or too high, lest he be spotted in the moonlight.
He flew behind the ship, low to the water, only a few yards above the swirling wake, keeping a sail between him and the lookout high up in the crow’s nest. This positioning required intense concentration, and over the hours it took its toll.
All at once, Tinker Bell’s shrill warning chimed in his ear. Peter startled, his bare toes catching in the churning wake. He pointed his arms up and strained higher, just in time to miss a wave. He’d dozed off, sinking to within inches of the wave tops.
That was close!
“Thanks, Tink,” he whispered, having regained some altitude. She didn’t answer, instead flitting off a few yards to resume pretending that she was ignoring him.
It’s a good thing she came along, he thought.
Exhaustion wasn’t Peter’s only problem: he was
also hungry, and very thirsty. He hadn’t thought about any of this when he’d left the island, but obviously he would need food and water. The only place he was going to get them was on the ship. But exactly how would he get them? He licked his salt-parched lips. He knew he’d have to solve the water problem soon.
Peter looked back at the reassuring shape of Mollusk Island. Each time he’d looked, as the night wore on, the island had grown smaller; now it was but a bump on the horizon. Soon it would be gone altogether, leaving him and Tink alone with the ship and its dangerous inhabitants. This had seemed like such a good idea when he’d explained it to the others. Now he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. For the dozenth time, he thought about turning back. If he did, it would have to be soon. Once he lost sight of the island, the ship would be his only hope.
Peter looked ahead and noted with alarm that the sky had grown lighter, changing from black to a dark blue. Soon sunlight would flood the sea, and Peter would be exposed. He had to either turn back now or hide—and if he was going to hide, he had to find a place very soon.
Peter drew closer to the ship and drifted upward, toward the top of the sternmost of the ship’s four tall masts. The mast was intersected by five stout horizontal poles; Peter knew, from his one sea voyage, that these were called yards. The ship’s sails hung from these yards; depending on the wind and the ship’s course, the crew would climb up and furl—hoist up—or unfurl the sails as needed.
Peter noticed that the sail on the topmost yard was only loosely furled. He moved steadily closer, now directly above the stern of the ship. He kept his eyes trained down, watching the few men on deck at this early hour—the man at the wheel, an officer standing next to him, and a few sailors standing well forward. They were all looking toward the promise of the sun on the horizon. Satisfied that no one was looking up, Peter flew high to the yard and settled gently onto its smooth, weathered wood. It felt very, very good to be sitting on something firm again, even if it was a hundred feet above the deck of a moving ship.
Lying on his stomach on the yard, Peter examined the furled sail, which hung from the yard in thick folds. Peter found that, by wriggling his body, he could squirm down into one of these folds, so it held him like a hammock. There, nestled in the rough canvas, he was well hidden—that is, unless crewmen climbed up and unfurled the sail.
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