Peter and the Starcatchers (16 page)

“I think we can coax another knot or two out of her,” he shouted. “Let’s put her on a broad reach, eh?” The helmsman knew better than to question an order from Black Stache, but he shot him a glance. Putting the ship at a sharper angle to the wind would, indeed, increase its speed; but in this ferocious gale, it would also cause the ship to heel steeply, and put a massive strain on the sails, masts, and rigging.

Catching the helmsman’s look, Stache bel owed: “DO IT, MAN!”

The helmsman heaved on the wheel. The black ship slowly turned, groaning, and heeled hard to starboard. The crew grabbed for handholds as water crashed across the decks.

“HAUL IN THEM SAILS!” bel owed Stache. “GIVE ME MORE SPEED!”

Despite the fearsome angle of the deck, crewmen clambered to the winches and, working furiously, managed to take in a few more feet on the sheets, which were taut as piano wires from the massive strain of holding the sails. As the ship gained even more speed, the starboard rail went under, and from below came the crashing sound of unsecured cargo tumbling into the side of the holds.

“SMEE!” shouted Black Stache.

“Aye, Cap’n?” answered Smee, who was clinging to a mast, his chubby arms wrapped around it, holding the captain’s hat in front.

“Are the uniforms ready?”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Stache had ordered al the
Wasp
crewmen, including Captain Scott, stripped of their naval uniforms; they’d been left in their long johns.

“Good. Get below, and have the men come down one at a time and change into the uniforms. When those idjits on the
Never Land
sees Her Majesty’s fine ship coming their way, we’l want them to see fine British seamen on deck, coming to their rescue.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” said Smee, grateful for the chance to get out of the weather. He released the mast and lunged for a ladderway, staggering two steps before fal ing bel y-first on Stache’s hat.

“I’m al right!” he cal ed, crawling the rest of the way to the ladder. “I’m al right.”

Ignoring him, Stache turned to the helmsman, who was straining every muscle to keep the ship steady. Leaning close to the man’s ear, Stache said, “A gold piece to you, lad, if we reach the
Never Land
before the ful weight of this storm reaches us.”

The helmsman glanced back at the rol ing waves and punishing wind, then up at the straining sails, then forward into the stinging sea salt spray. “We’l do it, Cap’n,” he said. “If these sails hold.”

Stache grinned a wide, yel ow grin. The ship groaned as it rose to the top of a giant swel , then seemed to fly down the other side. The masts bowed and looked as if they might snap. At that moment sheets of rain poured from the sky, soaking both men and beating the ocean into a furious froth.

Stache, his long, wet locks streaming rainwater, tossed his head back and laughed.

He hadn’t had this much fun in years.

P
ETER’S SHOULDERS SAGGED WITH RELIEF. “Good,” he said. “I knew you—”

“Not here,” said Mol y, gesturing toward the snoring Leatherface. “We’l go to my cabin. Mrs. Bumbrake shouldn’t be back for an hour, at least.” Mrs. Bumbrake had taken to spending most of her evenings in Slank’s cabin, which was fine with Mol y.

“Al right,” said Peter, heading toward the ladderway.

“One thing first,” said Mol y. She picked up the padlock and hasp. “We need to find the other pieces to this.”

“Why?” said Peter.

“Just do it, please,” she said.

Sighing, Peter joined Mol y in searching the floor by the dim lantern light. In a minute or so they’d found the four rusty bolts Alf had broken.

“Close the door,” whispered Mol y.

Peter, having decided it was no use to question her, obeyed. Mol y held the padlock and hasp up to the door and inserted the broken bolts into their former holes. Careful y, she let go; the hasp and padlock remained in place. It looked as though the door were stil securely locked. Peter was impressed.

“Come on,” said Mol y.

Peter fol owed her up the ladder. She motioned him to stay in the passageway while she looked inside her cabin; seeing that it was, as she had expected, empty, she motioned Peter inside and closed the door.

“Please sit,” she said, pointing to one of the cabin’s two narrow cots. “This wil take some time.” Peter sat. Mol y remained standing, facing Peter, silent for a long moment, thinking. Final y she spoke.

“I shouldn’t tel you any of this,” she said.

“But you…”

“Just listen,” she said. “I shouldn’t tel you, but, given the circumstances, I’ve decided I have no choice.” It sounded to Peter as though Mol y was talking to herself, more than to him.

“I’m not sure how much to tel you,” she continued. “There’s much that I don’t know myself. But if I’m to ask for your help, if I’m to ask you to risk your…I mean, there is terrible danger, and it would be wrong if you…that is, if you didn’t…”

“Mol y,” said Peter, exasperated. “Just
tell
me.”

“Al right,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Peter, have you ever seen a shooting star?”

“Yes,” said Peter. It had been at St. Norbert’s, an eternity ago. The other boys had been asleep; Peter was lying on the narrow wooden platform that served as his bed, staring through the slit of a window at the night sky. He’d almost not believed it, the first time—the startlingly sudden, eerily silent flash of bril iant, streaking light, there for an instant and then…
gone.
But then he’d seen it again, and again, and again.

The next day he’d asked Mr. Grempkin what the streaks were, and Mr. Grempkin had said they were shooting stars. So Peter asked what shooting stars were, and Mr.

Grempkin said they were meteors. So Peter asked what meteors were, and Mr. Grempkin said they were rocks that fel from the heavens. So Peter asked if that meant that the heavens were made of rocks, and why were the rocks so bright? Were they on fire? How did rocks catch fire? And Mr. Grempkin clouted Peter on the ear and told him not to ask so many questions. And that had been the end of it.

“Do you know what they are?” said Mol y.

“They’re rocks,” said Peter. “That fal from the heavens.”

“That’s true of most of them,” said Mol y. “Almost al of them, in fact. But not quite al .”

“What do you mean?” said Peter.

“I mean some shooting stars are not rocks. Some—a very few—are made of something quite different. It’s cal ed starstuff. At least that’s what we cal it.”

“Starstuff? You mean pieces that fel from a star?”

“We don’t know what it is, truthful y,” said Mol y. “But it’s not rocks, and it comes from the heavens, and sometimes it comes to Earth. And when it does, we have to find it, before the Others do.”

Peter shook his head. “Who d’you mean by ‘we’?” he said. “Who are the ‘others’? What does this have to do with…”

“Please,
Peter,” she said. “I’m explaining it as best I can.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Go on.”

“Al right. First, what I mean by ‘we.’ Peter, I’m part of a group, a smal group of people. Wel , mostly people. We’re cal ed”—Mol y’s hand went to the gold chain around her neck

—“the Starcatchers.”

“Starcatchers.”

“Yes. My father is one, as was his mother, and so on. Most of us are descended from Starcatchers, but not al . There have been Starcatchers on Earth for centuries, Peter.

Even we don’t know how long. But our task is always the same: to watch for the starstuff, and to get to it, and return it, before it fal s into the hands of the Others.”

“Return it where?”

“That’s…difficult to explain.”

“Wel , then, who are the Others?”

“They’re…people, too, or most of them are. And they’ve also been around for a long time. They are our—that is, the Starcatchers’—enemy. No, that’s not quite right: we oppose them, but in truth they are mankind’s enemy.”

“Why? What do they do?”

“They use the power. They take it, and they…” Mol y saw the puzzlement on Peter’s face. “But you don’t know what I mean, do you? I need to explain, about the starstuff.”

“Is that’s what’s in the trunk?” said Peter.

“Yes,” said Mol y. “That’s what’s in the trunk. It has amazing power, Peter. Wonderful power. Terrible power. It…it lets you do things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Wel , that’s one of the mysteries. It’s not the same for everybody. And it’s not the same for animals as for people.”

“The rat,” said Peter. “The flying rat.”

“Yes,” said Mol y. “That’s one of the powers it can give. Flight.”

“To rats,” said Peter.

“Not just rats,” said Mol y. “People, too.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “It makes
people
fly?”

“It can,” said Mol y.

“Can
you
fly?” asked Peter.

“I have,” said Mol y.

“Prove it,” said Peter.

“What?”

“Prove you can fly.”

“Peter, this isn’t the time or the…”

Peter was on his feet now. “Listen,” he said. “You’re asking me to believe…I mean, it al sounds like nonsense, real y. This ‘starstuff,’ and these ‘others,’ and…and I don’t know why I should believe any of it.”

“Peter, you saw the rat.”

“I don’t know what I saw. I mean, I saw a rat in the air, yes, but what if it was a trick? What if, I don’t know…what if you tied a string to it?”

“There was no string, Peter. The rat got into the starstuff somehow. It was flying.”

“Prove it.”

“Peter, please, you must…”

“Prove it.
”

Mol y took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Al right, then,” she said. “I real y shouldn’t do this, but if you’re going to be stubborn…”

“I am,” said Peter.

“Then sit down.”

Peter sat. Mol y reached her hand to her neck, put her finger under the gold chain, and from under her blouse pul ed out a smal golden five-pointed star. She placed this on the palm of her left hand, which she held at neck level.

“What’s that?” said Peter.

“A locket,” said Mol y.

With her right hand, she opened the lid of the locket. As she did, it was suffused by light, so that Peter couldn’t see the locket, only a smal , glowing sphere of golden light.

Mol y’s face, and the cabin ceiling above her, were bathed in the glow. Peter had the strangest sense that he could
feel
the light, as wel as see it.

“Is that—” he began.

“Quiet,” said Mol y. Slowly, careful y, she touched her right index finger into the sphere.

“Unhh,” she moaned, leaning her head back, her eyes closed, her expression calm, blissful. She remained that way for perhaps five seconds, and then there was the
click
of the locket closing, and the glow was gone.

Peter wanted it back.

Mol y’s head came forward, and she opened her eyes, which to Peter looked unfocused, and more luminescent than ever.

“Are you al right?” Peter said.

Mol y blinked, then looked at Peter. “Yes,” she said. “I’m al right.”

“What was—”

“Shhhh.
” Mol y said. “Watch.”

She stared at Peter, and he stared back into her startling green eyes. After a few moments Peter said, “I don’t see anything.”

“Peter,” she said. “Look at my feet.”

He looked down and gasped. Then he jumped up from the cot and dropped to his hands and knees, his cheek pressed to the floor, looking to see how she did it, what the trick was. But there was no trick.

Her feet weren’t touching the floor.
They were at least two inches above it. And as Peter looked, the distance grew; Mol y was rising, her head now gently touching the cabin ceiling. As it did, her body began to pivot, until she was completely horizontal, facing the floor, her back pressed to the ceiling, as though she were sleeping up there. She smiled down at Peter.

“Now do you believe me?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Peter.

“Good,” she said. Her legs swung back down to the vertical, and she descended gently to the floor.

For a moment Peter was speechless. Then questions came flooding out.

“Can you…can you do that any time?” he began. “I mean, could you just fly around whenever you want? Like a bird?”

“No,” said Mol y. “To fly, I must use the power of the starstuff, and I…that is, we, the Starcatchers, carry only a limited amount. In time, it wears off. We’re supposed to use it only in an emergency. I real y shouldn’t have used it just now. It’s precious, and I real y don’t know how much I have in here.” She tapped her locket, and tucked it back into her blouse.

“But can’t you just get more?” said Peter. “From the trunk, I mean. There must be lots in there.”

“Yes, there is,” said Mol y. “There’s enough in that trunk that I could fly forever, and do many other things besides.”

“Is that why you’re so concerned about it?” said Peter. “Because you want to get it?”

“No, Peter. I told you before. Our task is to get the starstuff before the Others do, and return it.”

“But why don’t you just keep it?” said Peter.

“Because of the power,” said Mol y. “The power is too great. There’s too much danger that it can be used for evil.”