Peter and the Starcatchers (20 page)

“PETER, THE TRUNK!” Mol y shouted. Peter rol ed, stood, got his arms around the trunk, and felt it come up easily from the deck. He turned toward the rail, just
two steps
now…

“GET HIM!” roared Slank, struggling to his feet, and in that moment Peter felt a massive hand on his shoulder, felt himself yanked back and slammed to the deck, the trunk again slipping from his hands. Through the throbbing haze of his pain, Peter heard more screams. Looming above him, he saw the giant form of Little Richard, holding Mol y, and now the fury-twisted face of Slank.

“BITE ME?” he shrieked. “YOU DARE TO BITE ME?” Peter saw it al slowly, as if in a dream—the face coming closer, the hamlike fists closing violently on his shirt. He felt himself lifted high in the air, and he had a momentary glimpse of the horror on Mol y’s face as Slank hurled him, with al his strength, over the side of the
Never Land,
toward the raging sea.

B
LACK STACHE’S PLAN WAS GOING PERFECTLY. The crew of the
Never Land
had shown no sign of alarm as the disguised pirate ship came alongside.

While the pirates were approaching, they’d heard some kind of commotion—shouting, then screams—coming from the deck of the
Never Land.
But whatever it was, it had not caused the old freighter to change course. Now the two ships were side by side; sails had been lowered, lines tossed to secure the ships together, fenders positioned to keep the hul s, which had slammed into each other, from col iding again.

Stache kept his face hidden behind a mast, though he knew his ruse would not fool the
Never Land
sailors much longer.
They’re bound to notice that my entire crew is
barefoot.

Stache had a single-shot flintlock pistol in his right hand, held to his side, out of sight. He liked the idea of a bloodless coup, with no sword soiled. The sight of pirates general y put such fear into merchant sailors that they often surrendered immediately.

He waited, relying on Smee to be his eyes.

From the corner of his mouth, Smee said, “They’s tied up to us now, Cap’n.”

Like a fly in a spiderweb.

“How many on deck?” said Stache.

“A dozen or so crew. A few passengers, including some children.”

“Armed?”

“The
children
?”

“No, you idjit! The
crew.
”

“A few knives,” Smee said. “A pistol or two.”

“Our crew?”

“Ready and itching to go."The pirates had gathered along the rail, their blades concealed in their uniforms.

“Good,” said Stache. “Now, cal for the captain.”

“AHOY THERE!
NEVER LAND
,” shouted Smee, to the other ship. “WHO’S IN CHARGE THERE, IS IT?” He knew this didn’t have the right ring to it, but there was no taking it back.

“THAT WOULD BE ME!” a deep voice thundered back. The owner of the voice, a big man, stepped to the rail; Smee saw that the man’s arm was bleeding.

“ARE YOU THE CAP’N THEN, MATE?” Smee said, then cringed. He wasn’t getting any of this navy talk right.

“THE CAP’N IS
…
INDISPOSED,” the other man said. “I’M THE FIRST MATE, SLANK.” His eyes were on the half hidden form of Black Stache. “IS THAT CAP’N SCOTT?”

“NO, I…” stammered Smee. “I MEAN, YES, BUT…I MEAN…”

“You
idjit,
” hissed Stache.

Slank, suddenly suspicious, scanned the hard, unshaven faces of the men lining the rail of the dark ship, then glanced down, and noticed the bare feet.

“CUT THE LINES!” he bel owed. “CUT THE LINES!”

But before the crew could act, Black Stache was out from behind the mast.

“NOW!” he roared, and before the sound had died from his lips, two dozen pirates had drawn their blades and leaped onto the deck of the
Never Land,
whose crewmen froze in terror.

Stache, moving calmly, deliberately, fol owed his men over to the
Never Land
deck. He sauntered up to Slank and pointed his pistol directly into his face.

“Mr. Slank, is it?” he said. “Black Stache, at your service.”

Some
Never Land
crewmen whimpered at the name. Slank, on the other hand, stared cool y at Black Stache for a moment, then—in a reaction that Stache found odd—

turned and looked back over his shoulder, toward a young girl who was standing by the far rail, sobbing, as a huge man held her arms, as if keeping her from jumping over the side.

Slank turned back to Stache, again meeting his eyes. Stache was impressed by how little fear the man showed. I
might have room for a man like that,
he thought. But what he said was: “If you wants to keep breathing, Mr. Slank, you’l tel your men to disarm.”

Not taking his eyes away from Stache’s, Slank shouted to his crew: “Put them down, men!”

The relieved
Never Land
sailors, who’d had no intention of trading steel with the pirates, hastily dropped their weapons to the deck.

“Very good,” Stache said, stepping closer to Slank, his pistol barrel now almost touching the space between Slank’s eyes. “Now, we ain’t got much time with this storm, so I’l make this quick. You have something I want. Where is it, Mr. Slank?”

Slank took a moment to answer. Again, Stache was impressed by the man’s calm in the face of a loaded pistol.

“We have a few women,” Slank said. “And plenty of rum. But if you think there’s treasure on this old scow, I’m afraid you’l be disappointed.” Stache’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger, then he eased off. Was Slank bluffing? Or could it be that he didn’t know what he had on his ship? Stache thought about it for a moment, then decided that, for now, Slank was more useful alive than dead.

“Mr. Slank,” he said, “if I don’t find what I’m looking for, it’s you who’l be sorry. Now, step aside.” Stache turned to a knot of pirates nearby, raising his voice over the wind.

“YOU MEN COME WITH ME,” he shouted. “WE’RE LOOKING FOR A TRUNK.”

P
ETER COULD NOT SWIM, so he knew, even as he felt Slank lift him, felt his body being hurled over the side of the
Never Land,
that he was going to die.

He was terrified, of course, but at the same time, as he felt himself tumble in space, he was acutely
aware
of his terror, as if it were somebody else’s; he was also acutely aware of the pain in his head, of Mol y’s anguished screams from the deck, of the sound of the wind, of everything around him.

It seems to be happening so slowly.

But it wasn’t happening slowly; it was happening very quickly; Peter was aware of that, too. It was only that, since he’d touched the trunk, he could
think
about it so much faster than he usual y thought about things. He could even think about how fast he was thinking about things.

But I’m still about to die.

Peter saw he was going to land in a trough between two waves.

Should I hold my breath?

He noticed that one of the waves was slightly higher than the other, and had some seaweed in its churning foam.

If I hold my breath, it will take me longer to die. Is that good or bad?

He decided to hold his breath, and to try to twist his body so he could look up at the ship as he entered the water, in case somebody tried to throw him a rope.

Though I doubt Slank will throw me a rope….

He held his breath, and he got his body twisted around just as he reached the water, so he was looking up at the ship as he felt his left leg plunge into the sea.

It’s cold.

And then his right leg, and then his waist, and then…

What?

He felt it in his back, a sudden pain, as if he’d landed on something blunt, and…

What’s happening to me?

Peter felt his body rising with the swel of the wave, and then, as the wave receded, he felt himself
rise out of the wave,
al the way out, back into the wind.

I’m…like the rat. Like Molly…

He twisted around and saw that he was several feet above the water now, drifting across the tops of the waves, the wind pushing him away from the
Never Land.
He heard an odd sound beneath him, looked down, saw the familiar rounded snout.

The porpoise. It pushed me up out of the sea.

It was chittering at him, but he had no idea what it was saying. Peter was sure it was the large porpoise, the one Mol y had been talking to.

Ammm, that’s what she called him.

The porpoise began to swim toward the
Never Land,
now receding in the distance, then back toward Peter, then toward the ship again, then back. More chittering.

He wants me to follow.

Tentatively, Peter waved his arms; the wind was carrying him away, but he found that his arm motion had turned his body, so that he was horizontal, with his head pointing toward the ship. He waved his arms some more; nothing. Then he heard Ammm squeaking urgently, now from directly under him. Peter looked down, and…

Whoa.

His body suddenly swooped forward, against the wind, gaining speed….

I’m going into the sea!

Peter raised his head; instantly, his body swooped upward, into a vertical position. He stopped moving forward, and found himself again being carried back by the wind. More squeaking from below. Tentatively, Peter leaned his body toward the horizontal again, and again he started moving forward, more slowly this time.

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 fal . 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, cal ing from somewhere in the darkness below. Careful y, Peter angled himself down through the swirling gloom, descending slowly toward the menacing wave tops, fol owing the sounds, until final y 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 fol ow, 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