“In any event,” said Molly, “we’ve got to get it back.”
“How?” said George. “We can’t just walk into the Tower of London with a sword and …”
“I’ll return it,” said Peter. “I’ll drop it off on my way back to the island.”
“What?” said Wendy.
“Peter,” said Molly, “you don’t need to go back so soon. Surely you can stay a few days.”
Peter shook his head. “Von Schatten told me they were going after the island, too,” he said. “To get the starstuff there.”
Molly frowned, remembering her brief encounter with von Schatten in the tunnel the night before. “He said the same thing to me,” she said softly.
“So I have to go back there.”
“We’ll go with you!” said Wendy. “You helped us, now it’s our turn to help you!”
How? chimed Tink, who’d been listening from her perch in Peter’s hair. You fly like a stone.
“I appreciate it, Wendy,” said Peter. “But Tink is right. You’d have to go by ship. There isn’t time.”
“But…” began Wendy.
“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I have to go. Patrick, if you’ll get me that sword …” He rose, followed by the others, except for Wendy, who sat with her face buried in her hands.
“Good-bye, everyone,” said Peter, his eyes on Wendy.
“Peter,” George began formally, “I don’t know how we can begin to …”
“Hush, George,” said Molly.
George hushed.
Molly put her a hand on Peter’s arm. “Peter,” she said, “we can never thank you enough. Just know that we love you, and will do anything for you.”
“I know,” said Peter, looking down, his face red.
“And promise us you’ll come back to visit.”
Peter’s eyes met hers, and they both remembered a moment long ago on the island, when Molly—then a girl Wendy’s age—had asked him to make that same promise.
He nodded. “I promise,” he said.
Wendy sobbed. Peter started toward her, then turned and went to the door.
CHAPTER 75
THE SWORD FROM THE SKY
HERE IT IS,” said Patrick, handing the sword to Peter. Peter shivered, remembering the last time he’d touched it—when he’d plunged it into the living corpse that Ombra had become.
“And here’s the tip,” said Patrick. Peter stuck it into his pocket.
“Do you know where the Tower is?” said Ted.
“I think I remember,” said Peter. He and Molly had spent an unpleasant night there once, fleeing from Ombra. “Tink will get me there.” Tink, thrilled that she was once again the lone female presence around Peter, beamed from her perch in his hair.
“And you’re sure you don’t want us to …” began Ted.
“Yes,” said Peter. They’d been through this several times. “I’m sure.”
“All right, then,” said Ted. He wanted to hug his old friend, but settled for a manly clap on the back. “Off you go,” he said.
And off Peter went.
The two bored Beefeaters stood guard outside the Jewel House. There was nobody to guard against; the tourists were gone for the day. But it was the Jewel House and their job was to guard it, so guard it they did.
The sword landed in between them. It fell with a hissing sound and plunged into the grass, its blade going more than a foot into the earth. For a moment the two Beefeaters stood still, stunned. Then one ran to the sword.
“Will you look at this,” he said.
The other was staring at the sky.
“Did you see …” he said. “I mean, was that…”
The first Beefeater looked up; he saw only gray. “What?” he said. “Did you see something?”
“I don’t know,” said the other.
CHAPTER 76
STANDOFF
NEREZZA STARED OUT THE CAVE ENTRANCE. The rain had finally stopped, and dawn was breaking. For a moment his hopes rose, but then, by the gray light, he spotted the massive shape a few yards down the mountainside.
Nerezza spat out a curse. Mister Grin was still there, watching the cave, waiting.
Nerezza waded back to the place where he and the others had settled for the night, a relatively dry flat rock next to the underground creek. The last torch had sputtered out hours ago; the only illumination was the dim light filtering through from the cave mouth. The starstuff chest, locked tight shut, sat against the cave wall; the key was on a chain around Nerezza’s neck. O’Neal and eight of the crewmen were sprawled around the rock, dozing. The ninth crewman was watching Shining Pearl, who sat with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head down.
O’Neal opened his eyes at Nerezza’s approach. “Well?” he said.
“It’s still there.”
O’Neal nodded. “The Mollusks will be out there, too.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“You wouldn’t, unless they wanted you to,” said O’Neal. “But they’re there, believe me.”
“A standoff,” said Nerezza.
“Yes,” agreed O’Neal. “So what do we do now?”
Nerezza’s eyes went to Shining Pearl.
Fighting Prawn’s arms and legs ached. He had spent the night crouched in a tree overlooking the clearing; the rest of his men were in trees all around him. During the night, one of the younger warriors had dropped to the ground and tried to creep closer to the cave, but Mister Grin, whose sense of smell was extremely sensitive, had detected the intruder and gone after him. The warrior barely made it back to his tree.
At the moment the crocodile’s attention was again focused on the cave mouth. So was Fighting Prawn’s. His daughter was inside. He had to get her out. And he had to stop these men from taking the starstuff that had, for more than twenty years, made Mollusk Island a paradise on earth, where nobody ever got sick, or grew old. From the day this priceless gift had been bestowed on the island—literally falling from the sky—Fighting Prawn had worried that someday, somebody would try to take it away. Now that day had come.
“PRAWN!”
The shout came from inside the cave. Fighting Prawn recognized the voice.
“I am here, O’Neal,” he called down.
“We seem to have a problem,” said O’Neal.
“We will not have a problem,” said Fighting Prawn, “if you release my daughter, and leave the island. I will let you go unharmed. You have my word.”
“With the starstuff?”
“No,” said Fighting Prawn. “That is ours.”
“Then we still have a problem,” said O’Neal.
A pause, then a new, harsher voice came from the cave: “Prawn!”
“Who are you?” said Fighting Prawn.
“I am Captain Nerezza. And I believe I have something of value to you.”
There was a whimper, and then Nerezza appeared just inside the cave entrance. His right hand held a knife; his left gripped Shining Pearl by the hair. His eyes were on Mister Grin, who watched from fifteen yards away, apparently judging Nerezza to be too close to the safety of the cave to be worth pursuing, at least at the moment.
Across the clearing, Fighting Prawn saw warriors fitting arrows to their bows. Nerezza saw it, too. He pressed his knife blade against Shining Pearl’s neck.
“If I die,” he said, “she’ll die first.”
Fighting Prawn grunted a command. The warriors lowered their bows.
Fighting Prawn’s eyes went back to his daughter. Speaking in the Mollusk language, he said, “Are you all right?”
She started to answer in Mollusk.
“Speak English!” snarled Nerezza, jerking her hair.
“I asked her if she was all right,” said Fighting Prawn.
“Yes,” she answered, tears spilling from her eyes. “Oh, Father, I’m so sorry, I just wanted to …”
She was silenced by another jerk from Nerezza.
“That’s enough,” he said. “Now, listen, Prawn. If you want her
to stay alive, you will do two things. You will get that croc away from here, far away. And you will give me and my men—and the starstuff—free passage to our boat, and then back to the ship. I will have my knife at your daughter’s throat the whole time.”
There was a low growl. Mister Grin was apparently becoming more interested in the humans at the cave mouth. He moved forward a few feet.
“Get rid of him,” said Nerezza, nodding toward the monster croc.
“How can I do that?” said Fighting Prawn.
“You’ll think of something,” said Nerezza. “You had better.”
Still holding Shining Pearl’s hair, he yanked her roughly back into the cave.
CHAPTER 77
THE EMPTY SEA
WAKE UP!
Tink’s urgent chime aroused Peter from his stupor. He saw that this time he had descended to less than fifty feet above the wave tops.
He grunted, forcing himself to rise. His arms and legs felt like stone. He had never tried to fly the whole distance between England and Mollusk Island; he’d always had a ship to rest on.
He gained some altitude and glanced ahead, seeing nothing but the vast, empty sea.
“How far?” he asked Tink, as he had many times.
We’re getting closer, she answered, as she always did.
“I don’t know if I can make it,” he said.
You have to make it, she said.
“Tink,” he said. “I can’t.”
He felt himself drifting downward again. He fought to stop, but could not. He had nothing left.
“I just can’t,” he whispered. His eyes started to close. I see a ship, said Tink.
CHAPTER 78
SAFE PASSAGE
ABOARD THE Jolly Roger, there was mutiny in the air.
The collision with the steamer had left the ship a barely floating wreck—her masts and spars smashed, her sails in tatters, her hull a sieve of leaks. They had made what repairs they could, and jury-rigged a sad pink sail. But she was hardly seaworthy, capable of making one or two knots at best. And the men had to work constantly at the pumps—twenty-four hours a day, day after exhausting day—to keep her from sinking.
The food was gone, and the water barrel was down to the last few putrid inches. The sun was blistering hot. Every man on board had one goal: to get back to Mollusk Island. That was their only hope; that was what kept them going.
And now they had come to a horrible realization.
Hook was lost.
He would not admit it, of course; he was Captain Hook, and Captain Hook did not make mistakes, especially not nautical ones. But the signs were unmistakable to everyone except the blindly loyal Smee. The ship had been going in circles—big, slow circles.
Clearly, Hook had no idea where the island was.
The question now was, what to do about it.
The sailors who were not on pump or lookout duty had gathered on the foredeck to discuss this matter. Hook, with Smee at this side, was at the helm, sitting slumped on a crate. Theoretically, he was steering; but as often was the case of late, he did not appear to be particularly concerned about what his course was.
The crew members had decided something needed to be done, and were now discussing what it would be. They were evenly divided: half wanted to throw Hook over the side; the other half wanted to slit his throat, then throw him over the side.
Either way, he was gone. The lone remaining question was who would become the new captain. This was a trickier issue, for Hook, despite his many flaws, was by far the most skilled navigator on the ship. If he was lost, the rest of them would be even more lost.
The crew was debating its next course of action when a hoarse cry came from one of the lookouts.
“It’s him!” he shouted. “The flying boy!”
Hook was off the crate in an instant, whirling around, scanning the sky.
“Where?” he shouted.
And then he saw Peter, a few hundred yards off, flying toward the ship erratically and low to the water, clearly in trouble.
“Smee,” said Hook.
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Fetch my pistol.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Smee disappeared below, returning moments later with the pistol, which he handed to Hook. Peter was now almost to the ship. Catching sight of Hook, he reacted with obvious surprise, and seemed about to veer away. But he had no strength left. With a last desperate lunge he swerved upward, landing precariously in the rigging above the ship’s lone fluttering sail.
He looked down at Hook, who looked back up at him.
“Hello, boy,” said Hook. Slowly, dramatically, he raised the pistol and pointed it at Peter.
“Good-bye, boy,” he said.
He pulled the trigger.
The pistol went click. Hook stared at it disbelief.
“SMEE!” he bellowed.
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“THERE ARE NO BULLETS IN THIS PISTOL!”
“No, Cap’n. There’s none on board.”
“THEN WHY DID YOU HAND ME THE PISTOL, SMEE? WHAT DID YOU THINK I PLANNED TO DO WITH IT?”
Smee frowned, thinking about it. Finally he came to a conclusion. “I don’t know,” he said.
Hook hurled the pistol to the deck and turned toward the sailors on the foredeck, who were watching these proceedings with interest.
“You and you!” Hook said, pointing to the two closest men. “Climb up there and bring me that boy!”
The two men looked at each other.
“No,” said one, a big man named Crankins.
“No?” screamed Hook. “NO?? I AM YOUR CAPTAIN, AND I GAVE YOU AN ORDER.!”
Crankins glared defiantly back at Hook. “You ain’t the captain anymore,” he said.
“WHAT??” screamed Hook.
“I said you ain’t the captain.”
“Says who?”
“Says all of us.” The other sailors nodded, gathering behind their new spokesman.
Hook, always one to sense a shift in the wind, suddenly switched to a more reasonable tone.
“Listen, men,” he said. “I know things haven’t gone well for us lately. But all that will change soon, when we reach the island.”
“You don’t know where the island is!” shouted a sailor. “You’re lost!” The others murmured agreement.
“Lost?” said Hook. “Of course I’m not lost!”
“Then which way is the island?” said Crankins.
“That way,” said Hook, pointing confidently with his hook. “South by southwest.”
“That’s what you say now,” shouted a voice. “Yesterday you were steering northeast!”
“But…but…” Hook sputtered. The men were advancing toward him, and he saw by the look in their eyes that they were done with talking.
“Wait!” called a voice from the rigging.
The sailors stopped and looked up at Peter.
“What?” said Crankins.
“I know where the island is,” he said. “Actually, she does.” He pointed to Tink, sitting in his hair.
“Which way?” shouted a sailor.
“We’ll lead you there,” said Peter. Tink chimed something in his ear. “We’ll have you there in a day, if you’ll give us safe passage.”
The men spoke among themselves for a moment. Then Crankins looked up at Peter.
“All right,” he said. “Safe passage.”
Peter slumped against the rigging, relief filling his exhausted body.
“We’re going to make it, Tink,” he whispered.
Not if he can help it, said Tink, pointing down. Peter looked at Hook. The pirate captain was glaring back up at him, his dark eyes glittering with hate.
CHAPTER 79
THE SMILE
THE PLAN WAS SIMPLE. Very dangerous, but simple.
Bold Abalone and Fleet Snail would be the lures. Fleet Snail was the fastest warrior on the island, so he was a logical choice. Bold Abalone was not nearly as fast, but as the chief’s son
, he insisted on being one of the two.
To make themselves irresistible to Mister Grin, they went into the jungle and smeared their bodies with boar dung. When they were ready, they circled around so that they were downwind from the cave, to prevent the crocodile from picking up their scent too soon.
From his perch in the tree, Fighting Prawn watched as his son and Fleet Snail crept toward the clearing. When Bold Abalone signaled that they were ready, Fighting Prawn called out, “Nerezza!”
“What is it?” came the harsh voice from inside the cave.
“Look outside, and you will see,” said Fighting Prawn.
“I’d better see the croc leaving,” said Nerezza, “because I won’t wait much longer.”
Cautiously, Nerezza poked his wooden beak out of the cave mouth. In front of him, Mister Grin stirred.
“He’s still there,” said Nerezza.
“Wait,” said Fighting Prawn. He nodded to Bold Abalone and Fleet Snail.
With high-pitched cries, the two warriors burst from the jungle and ran across the edge of the clearing, putting themselves upwind. Mister Grin raised his huge snout into the air. A second later, displaying amazing agility, he spun around and shot toward the spot where the warriors had just disappeared into the jungle. He plunged in right behind boat hoist. Nerezza’s men began securing them, his massive body bowling over several trees.
Fighting Prawn worried that Bold Abalone and Fleet Snail had not gotten enough of a head start. Their plan was to lead Mister Grin away from the mountain trail, toward the steep slope that led down to the pirate lagoon. For several minutes, Fighting Prawn could follow their progress by the swaying of the trees as the croc brushed against them. From time to time, Mister Grin roared, but so far there had been no screams. As the snaking line of swaying trees disappeared down the mountainside, Fighting Prawn prayed that his two brave warriors would be quick enough to avoid the jaws of the beast pursuing them. For now, that was all he could do for them. It was time to concentrate on saving his daughter. He quickly climbed down from the tree and approached the cave mouth.
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