Peter and the Sword of Mercy (18 page)

O
NLY
B
LACKNESS

B
EYOND THE OUTERMOST REEF
guarding Mollusk island, a ramshackle raft plowed through the dark blue sea, which reflected the shimmering afternoon sun like a million mirrors. The raft was made of bamboo and palm-tree trunks, lashed together with ropes woven from jungle vines. It was rowed, awkwardly, by two of Hook’s men, using oars carved from driftwood; at the stern, a third man steered with a driftwood tiller.

In the center of the raft stood Hook, who, being captain, neither rowed nor steered; his role was to give orders and be generally dissatisfied with how they were carried out. In his non-hook hand he held a spear. Its shaft was bamboo; its tip was fashioned, Mollusk-style, from a piece of shell honed razor-sharp. It would pierce flesh as well as any steel.

Next to Hook stood the pot-bellied Smee, wearing pants shredded at the knees and a blue-and-white-striped shirt he’d worn so long that both the blue and the white were almost an identical shade of gray.

Behind them rested a wooden cage. Inside it was Peter, and a heavy load of rocks. Peter hated being in the cage, staring at the rocks designed to drag him to the sea bottom. He was certain Tink would do all she could to warn Fighting Prawn about Hook’s plan. But he wasn’t certain she would succeed. Meanwhile, he was trapped with the rocks, just a few inches above the waiting sea.

The pirates were looking toward the island, where an outrigger canoe was just emerging from Mermaid Lagoon. At the center of the canoe sat Fighting Prawn, his dark-eyed gaze on the pirate raft. Around him, paddling the canoe with quick efficiency, were four Mollusk warriors; two of them, Bold Abalone and Brazen Starfish, were Fighting Prawn’s sons.

The Mollusks quickly reached the rendezvous point, a fairly calm patch of sea just inside the outer reef. Fighting Prawn watched as the pirate raft zigzagged clumsily toward them. He spoke to the others in the Mollusk language, which to English speakers sounded like strange grunts and clicks.

“It’s a wonder they can navigate a ship,” he said.

“Is Peter in the cage?” said Brazen Starfish.

Fighting Prawn squinted. “Yes, I see his red hair,” he said. “Give the signal.”

Brazen Starfish, sitting on the side of the canoe away from the pirates, slapped the water with his paddle four times. Fighting Prawn saw a swirl of water, like a small rogue wave, near the edge of the reef. He nodded. His eyes then turned skyward, and, with effort, picked up a tiny bright speck shooting toward the pirate raft, approaching it from an angle such that if the pirates looked toward it, they would be blinded by the sun. But the pirates’ attention was focused on the Mollusk canoe; none of them saw the speck dart into the cage.

Tinker Bell landed in the crook of Peter’s elbow. He smiled, enormously relieved to see her; it was all he could do to keep from speaking. She darted to his head, nestling into his bushy red hair. She moved to his right ear and chimed quietly so the pirates wouldn’t hear.

We have a plan,
she said.

“Good,” whispered Peter. “What is it?”

Instead of answering, Tink burrowed into his hair. He looked up and saw why: Hook had his face pressed to the cage.

“Who are you talking to, boy?” he said.

“A rock,” said Peter. “And it’s smarter than you.”

The rowers giggled. Hook shot them a silencing glare. Turning back to Peter, he said, “That’s a funny joke, boy. You can tell that one to the fish when you get to the bottom of the sea. Meanwhile, here’s a joke for
you.”
He spat a foul gob at the cage; Peter turned away in disgust as it spattered him through the bars.

“Now, listen, boy,” said Hook, leaning close. “I’ll have this spear by your neck during the parley. If you say one word to the savages—if you so much as
sneeze
—I will bring the spear down, and your head and body will no longer be acquainted.”

Smee said, “Approaching the canoe, Cap’n.”

“Not one word,”
Hook snarled at Peter. To the rowers he said, “Keep us at a comfortable distance.”

As the two vessels neared each other, Tink dropped back to Peter’s arm, holding a tiny finger to her tiny lips to remind him not to speak. He made a shrugging gesture to ask her What’s
the plan?

No time,
she chimed back, and in a flash she was gone, unobserved by the pirates, whose attention was on the Mollusk canoe, now only about fifteen feet away.

“Don’t come any closer!” said Hook. He held the spear up so Fighting Prawn could see it, then held it over the cage, its deadly tip pointed at Peter. “If I see anything tricky from you savages, I’ll run the boy through, savvy?”

“There is no need to hurt the boy,” said Fighting Prawn. “I am offering you a chance to leave the island.”

“So your coconut said,” replied Hook. “But why would you make such an offer?”

“We don’t like you,” said Fighting Prawn.

“Fair enough,” said Hook. “I don’t like you, either. But I’ve been here twenty years and more. Why make this offer now?”

“Because some other white men came ashore, shipwrecked,” said Fighting Prawn. “We want them gone. You will take them with you.”

Hook thought about that. “Say the rest,” he said.

“My men will repair your ship and supply it with food and water,” said Fighting Prawn. “We will provide you with four seaworthy canoes for lifeboats. I give you my word we will make no attempt to harm you or your men. In return, you give me your word that you will leave and never come back.”

“Cap’n,” whispered Smee, “it sounds like a good bargain.”

“Shut up, Smee,” said Hook.

“Aye, aye,” said Smee.

Hook studied the Mollusk chief across the short expanse of water. His face was calm, but his mind was racing. He had realized, to his surprise, that the Mollusk chief was sincere: he actually intended to help the pirates leave the island. That was good. But Hook did not want to give up on his plan to drown the boy. He had waited too many years for his moment of sweet revenge. He would have to handle this just right. The savage had to believe that the boy’s death was an accident. That way he would still allow Hook to leave unpunished.

It was perfect, Hook decided. He would rid himself of the boy forever,
and
get off this wretched island. A brilliant plan. Hook was only sorry that everyone around him was too stupid to admire it.

He smiled at Fighting Prawn. “All right, then,” he said. “We have an accord. If you don’t mind, I won’t shake your hand on it, so we’ll have to do with a nod.” Hook nodded.

Fighting Prawn nodded back. “So now you can let the boy go,” he said.

Hook shook his head. “Sorry, chief,” he said. “The boy is my insurance. I don’t plan on letting him go until you’ve completed your end of the deal. When the ship is ready, the boy goes free. Not before.”

Fighting Prawn said nothing, his eyes on the spear tip at Peter’s neck. After a moment, Hook barked an order to his men to turn the raft around. Peter pressed his face to the cage slats, his eyes meeting Fighting Prawn’s. Peter couldn’t read the expression on the Mollusk chief’s face. Didn’t he know what Hook planned to do? Hadn’t Tink warned him? Or did he actually believe the pirate was telling the truth?

Is
he going
to
just let Hook take me away?

The raft was moving away now. The canoe began to turn. Peter started to cry out to Fighting Prawn, but Hook, expecting this, touched the spear tip to Peter’s neck. Peter felt blood trickle.

“One word, boy,” said Hook, “and you die right here and now.”

Desperately, Peter weighed the situation. If he shouted to Fighting Prawn, Hook would spear him. But Hook planned to drown him soon, anyway. His only hope was that the plan Tink told him about would work. But what
was
the plan?

He watched helplessly as the Mollusk canoe, propelled by the paddles of the four strong warriors, pulled swiftly away, growing smaller in the distance. Fighting Prawn was still looking back toward the raft but had made no move to rescue Peter. The pirates, meanwhile, were paddling the raft toward the outer reef and the deep water just beyond it. Peter heard the crashing of waves against the reef, and felt the ocean swells lifting and lowering the raft. He imagined the depths beneath him and what it would feel like to plunge into them, imprisoned by the weighted cage.

Hook, seeing the fear on Peter’s face, cackled. “You can shout all you want now, boy,” he said. “The savage can’t hear you. The primitive fool actually believed I’d let you live.”

With a glance at the receding Mollusk canoe, Hook casually curled the toes of his bare right foot around a rope and pulled it; a knot came loose. Hook used his left foot to loosen another. The raft shifted. Water gushed up into Peter’s cage. The spaces between the logs were getting wider.

“Oh dear,” said Hook. “Looks like we’re having a spot of trouble.” He smiled at Peter, his black eyes glittering.

“Good-bye, boy,” he said.

“Mr. Smee,” Peter pleaded. “This isn’t right.”

Smee could not bring himself to look at Peter. He shuffled his bare feet on the raft, his head bent.

“Okay, boys,” said Hook. “Make it look good, now. Put her into that surf at the edge of the reef.”

Peter looked back toward the Mollusk canoe. It was still heading away. He was desperate now, moving from wall to wall in the cage, looking for some way out, knowing there was none.

The raft was almost on the reef. The gaps between the raft logs increased. Smee’s leg slipped through a gap, and he went down. A wave lifted the raft, and suddenly it broke apart, now just a loose tangle of logs and boards.

“HELP!” bellowed Hook. “HEEEELLLLPPP!”

Peter’s cage was precariously balanced between two logs. It began to slip off. Peter looked frantically back toward the island and saw that the canoe, now little more than a speck in the distance, was turning around. They were coming back.

Too
late.

Peter screamed as his cage slipped off the logs and into the sea. As it went under, Peter gulped a last breath. The surging water surrounded him; underwater, he heard the dull roar of the waves, saw the pirates’ legs kicking above him as the heavy rocks dragged him down, down …

A wave broke above him, clouding the water with foam and air.

Down, down …

He jammed his hands, painfully, through the cage, fumbling for the knots holding it together. It was no use. There were far too many knots, and far too little time. His lungs were starting to burn.

Down, down …

The water grew darker; the light and sound of the surface far above now.

Down, down …

Only blackness now. His lungs were on fire. He swallowed water. He was losing consciousness.

He felt something tug on the cage, pulling it through the water. He looked around desperately but could see only blackness.

And then there was nothing.

Peter! Peter!

The voice was urgent. Peter tried to answer but could not. He rolled sideways, vomiting seawater, then coughing violently, his throat raw. He blinked, but could see little. Wherever he was, it was dark and damp. He was lying on rock. He could hear the roar of waves nearby. He could make out the outline of a woman’s head, her hair long and wet.

You are safe, Peter.

He realized that the voice, unlike the sound of the waves, was coming from inside his head.

“Teacher?” he croaked.

I’m here,
responded the mermaid, her thoughts becoming his thoughts.

“Where am I?” he said.

A
cave in the reef. You are safe.

“Thank you.”

I’m sorry it took so long to reach you
. Chief didn’t want the pirate to see.

Peter understood. Fighting Prawn wanted to make sure Peter and the mermaid were safely out of Hook’s murderous reach.

“Can I go back now?”

Chief wants you to wait here until the pirates return to their side.

Peter nodded, seeing the cleverness of Fighting Prawn’s plan: let Hook think he had succeeded in killing Peter. Let him think he had outwitted the “savage.” Then get him off the island.