Peter and the Secret of Rundoon

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  Tink settled next to the doves, who regarded her curiously. Hello, she said.

  Hello, said the nearest dove, in a thick accent that Tink barely understood.

  I’m looking for a boy, said Tink, speaking slowly. Boy.

  The dove studied Tink for a moment, then said, Girl.

  I know I’M a girl, said Tink, trying to remain patient. I am looking for a boy. Do you understand? Boy.

  The dove turned and consulted the other doves, speaking quickly in sounds Tink could not follow. Then it turned back to Tink.

  Girl, it said.

  Idiots! said Tink, losing her temper.

  Girl, replied the dove.

  With a hmph! of contempt, Tink launched herself from the roof and began a circuit of the courtyard, hovering in front of each window so she could look inside. It was slow going, and after only a few dozen windows—all looking into empty rooms—her patience had worn thin. At this rate it would take her all night to…

  What was that?

  It echoed across the courtyard, coming from well below where she was flying, a screeching sound Tink knew well from the thick, teeming jungles of Mollusk Island.

  Monkeys.

  Finally, an intelligent creature! Tink tucked her arms in and threw herself into a steep dive—down, down, down into the shadowy courtyard. Just before the ground she leveled off, swooping along a line of barred windows, listening. She thought she felt Peter’s presence closer now, but could not tell precisely where…

  There it was again, the screech. She shot to the window from which it had come. Cautiously, she poked her head through the bars, wrinkling her nose at the pungent monkey smell.

  Hello, she said in monkey. I’m looking for a boy.

  I’m a boy, said a monkey voice. And I’m looking for a banana.

  I haven’t got any bananas, said Tink.

  Neither have I, said the monkey. That’s why I’m looking for one.

  The monkey approached the window; Tink saw that he was quite young. Behind him she saw a dozen or so other monkeys of various ages sprawled around the cell, most of them asleep. The young monkey climbed up to the bars. Who are you? he said.

  I’m Tinker Bell. Who are you?

  My name is Franklin. You speak monkey quite well for a bird.

  I’m not a bird, said Tink, a bit huffily. I’m a bird-woman.

  Good, said Franklin. The birds around here are idiots.

  Tink, who was of bird ancestry, ordinarily would have defended the species, but in this case she agreed with the criticism. And she needed Franklin’s help. So all she said was, I’m looking for a boy human.

  Which one? said Franklin. There are lots of them around here.

  Tink’s hopes rose. This one is named Peter.

  Franklin frowned, rooted around in his chest fur, extracted a bug, examined it for a moment, then popped it into his mouth. I’ve heard that name, he said, chewing.

  When? said Tink. Where?

  From the cage that way, said Franklin, pointing. They have humans there.

  Thank you! said Tink, turning to go.

  Be prepared, said Franklin. They smell awful.

  But Tink was already gone, darting along the wall and in through the next barred window, where she found…

  Captain Hook!

  The pirate lay on the floor, snoring. Tink noticed his hook was gone: in its place was the wrapped stump of his forearm. Tink sneered at Hook defiantly but kept her distance, just in case. She darted through the bars into the next cell, which was a bit larger. On the floor were five sleeping forms wrapped in foul-smelling blankets. Heart pounding, her glow the only light in the cell, Tink darted from one body to the next. The first was James, the second Prentiss.

  Of the third, all she could see was the tangled, untamable mass of red hair so familiar to her—the place where, except for these past few horrid days, she had slept every night since she was brought into existence. With a gentle chime, Tink settled onto the unruly mop—knowing that she would soon have to leave and find Leonard, but utterly thrilled that her beloved Peter appeared to be all right, and that she, for at least this moment, was home.

  CHAPTER 31

  JIBRAN’S REWARD

  JIBRAN AVERTED HIS EYES as Zarboff, still dripping from his bath, dressed himself with the help of the servant boys, in a gold turban and purple robe. When he was done, Zarboff said, “Rat!”

  One of the boys ran out and returned moments later holding a fat, wriggling rat by its pink tail. Zarboff took the rat and carried it to Kundalini’s wicker basket. He held it over the basket and whistled a strange little tune with a haunting melody.

  Jibran’s jaw went slack as Kundalini’s enormous head rose from the basket, torchlight glinting from the snake’s scales. An impossibly long tongue flicked out toward the squirming rat; huge jaws opened like a trapdoor. Zarboff dropped the rat. With a movement almost too quick to see, Kundalini snatched the doomed animal out of the air. His jaws snapped shut. The rat was now a bulge in the snake’s throat, wriggling for a few more seconds, then still.

  Jibran tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.

  The snake’s massive head rose higher, toward Zarboff’s hand, his flicking tongue looking for more.

  “That’s all for now, Kundalini,” said Zarboff. “Perhaps there will be another treat soon.” He gave Jibran a look that made the man’s blood run cold.

  In a moment, it ran colder still, as Ombra glided soundlessly into the chamber. Jibran started to back away from the dark form but stopped when its head—or the place where its head should have been, turned toward him. Jibran saw no face, only what looked like two glowing coals. He could not move; he could barely breathe.

  Zarboff dismissed the boys with a wave. They left quickly, including Slightly, who had no desire to remain in the room with Ombra.

  The door closed. Jibran stared at Ombra.

  “Lord Ombra,” said Zarboff, “this is Jibran. He has news of English visitors who arrived by ship in Ashmar. He wishes to be paid for this information.”

  “Does he?” said Ombra, in a voice that sounded like the moaning desert wind, a voice that made Jibran drop to his knees, whimpering in fear.

  “Please,” he said. “I will tell you. There is no need to pay me.”

  “No,” said Ombra, moving forward. “There is not.”

  As the dark shape glided toward him, Jibran tried to scream, but no sound came from his throat. He raised his arms to protect himself from the blow he expected. But instead of striking him, Ombra slithered to Jibran’s right, to the place on the stone floor where the torchlight cast the kneeling man’s shadow. Jibran watched his shadow stretch like a falling drop of water, reaching as if with a will of its own toward Ombra’s dark shape, flowing into it, and then…

  Jibran slumped, his arms falling to his sides, his face slack, vacant.

  Ombra was still for a moment. Then Jibran’s shadow flowed back, reattaching itself to the man. He slipped sideways to the floor, moaning. Ignoring him, Ombra turned toward Zarboff, who shivered in his purple robe, feeling an unpleasant chill as he saw the glowing orbs in the dark hood.

  “This man saw Lord Aster,” Ombra groaned. “Aster and Bakari were on the road to Maknar; they are probably already here. You will order your men to seal the palace immediately. You will double the guard on the prisoners. I will go to the dungeon now.”

  With that, Ombra was gone, flowing from the chamber with astonishing speed, like windblown smoke.

  Zarboff also moved quickly, for a man unused to haste.

  “Guards!” he called, waddling to the doorway. Reaching it, he turned, remembering Jibran. The informant was still lying on his side, moaning, disoriented by his encounter with Ombra.

  Zarboff looked toward the wicker basket and whistled the odd little tune. Immediately, the massive head of Kundalini appeared. It moved back and forth, tongue flicking, sensing the air. Then the snake began to move, flowing out of the basket with an easy, eerily smooth movement that belied
its enormous size. In no hurry, the snake undulated across the floor toward Jibran.

  Zarboff hesitated, wishing he could stay, then reluctantly closed the door.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE BATTLE IN THE DUNGEON

  TINK!” SAID PETER, blinking awake in the dark cell. “You found me!”

  Well, of course I did, said Tink, settling into Peter’s outstretched hand, pleased by the joy on his face.

  “But how did you…”

  No time to explain. Wake up the others and tell them to get ready. I’ll be back soon with Lord Aster to get you out of here.

  “Lord Aster! How…”

  No time. Do you know where the palace kitchen is?

  “No.”

  Never mind. I’ll find it. Just be ready.

  Before Peter could respond, she was gone, a blur of green-gold light streaking through the barred window into the courtyard.

  Tink rose to a hundred feet, looking around for a sign that would indicate a kitchen—a plume of smoke, perhaps, or barrels of food. She saw neither of those, but something did catch her sharp eyes—small dark shapes scurrying along the edge of a wall below. Rats.

  Tink swooped toward the shapes, trying to remember her rodent vocabulary. She landed in front of the lead rat, a big fellow who stopped abruptly and raised himself up on his hind legs, snarling.

  Move, bird, he said.

  Tink, pleased that she understood the rat but not at all happy with his tone, said, I’ll move when you tell me where the kitchen is.

  The rat blinked, apparently not understanding.

  Food, said Tink. Where is the food?

  Instantly the rat dropped to all fours, baring needle-sharp teeth. Behind him the other rats, a half dozen of them, did the same.

  Our food, said the big rat. OUR FOOD. With an ugly screech it lunged toward Tink, who, hurling herself upward, barely escaped its snapping jaws. Trembling, she shot upward, leveling off when she was well out of reach. The rats watched her for a moment, then resumed scurrying along the wall.

  Keeping well above and behind, Tink followed the rats around a corner, then to a low stone building with a series of chimneys on the roof. The rats scurried along the side of this building to an old wooden door with a wide crack near the bottom. One by one, they squeezed through the crack.

  The kitchen, Tink thought. Zooming low, she shot around a corner of the building. Her heart swelled with relief when she saw two figures, one tall and one short, standing in front of it.

  “Tink!” said Leonard. “Did you find Peter?”

  Yes, said Tink. This way. Hurry.

  With Tink darting impatiently ahead, Leonard and Bakari trotted along the wall, then across the courtyard to the low windows of the dungeon cells. Peter was waiting for them, his face pressed against the bars, smiling at the sight of Molly’s father. Behind him, looking sleepy, stood James, Prentiss, Thomas, and Tubby Ted.

  Leonard dropped to his knees. “Peter,” he whispered through the bars. “Are you all right? Can you walk?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Peter. “Thank you for…”

  “We’re going to get you out,” interrupted Leonard. “Which way is the entrance to the dungeon?”

  Peter frowned, remembering the night the prison guards had taken him out. “That way,” he said, pointing to Leonard’s right. “But there’s guards.” As he spoke, the sound of men shouting echoed across the courtyard.

  “We’ll hurry,” said Leonard, rising to his feet. “Be ready, Peter.”

  Leonard and Bakari, with Tink zipping ahead, ran to the right along the dungeon wall to a massive wood door, crisscrossed with bands of iron. Bakari tried the handle; the door swung open.

  The echoing shouts were louder now.

  Stepping through the doorway, Leonard and Bakari found themselves in a small room with two red-coated palace guards—both sound asleep. Tink fluttered above them, then pointed to a metal ring glinting from her glow.

  Keys, she chimed softly.

  The shouts in the courtyard were now very loud.

  Carefully, Bakari unhooked the ring of keys from the hook on the sleeping guard’s belt. Then, with Tink leading, they raced down a torch-lit corridor leading left, back toward Peter’s cell. They passed a dozen empty cells, then one filled with small dark shapes. Leonard stared.

  Monkeys, said Tink in his ear. The next cell is Hook’s, and then…

  But before she could finish, there were angry roars from behind. Bakari and Leonard whirled to see the two guards they had left sleeping—apparently awakened by the shouts outside—charging toward them with swords drawn. Leonard and Bakari drew their own swords, and in a moment the stone corridor rang with the clash of steel on steel, swords flashing in the torchlight. Leonard and Bakari were excellent swordsmen, but time was against them; the sound of the battle was sure to bring more guards. Leonard heard an urgent chime in his ear.

  Close your eyes! said Tink. Tell Bakari!

  “Bakari!” shouted Leonard. “When I count to three, drive him back, then close your eyes!”

  “During a sword fight?” said Bakari.

  “Trust me!” said Leonard. “One, two…NOW!”

  Leonard and Bakari both thrust their swords violently, driving their opponents back; they then closed their eyes, Bakari quite reluctantly. In the next instant the once-dim corridor flashed with a white light more brilliant than the midday desert sun. Tink, having used all her energy, dropped to the floor. The two guards screamed, covering their eyes—too late, as they were temporarily blinded. When the brightness was gone, Leonard opened his eyes and stepped quickly between the helpless guards, raising his sword, hilt-first, and quickly clubbing them both unconscious.

  “Come on,” he said to Bakari, turning to run along the corridor. He passed a cell where the tall, thin figure of Hook stood in the shadows. Then, at last, he came to the cell where Peter was waiting with his mates.

  “All right, boys,” Leonard said. “We’ll have to move quickly now.” He looked over his shoulder at Bakari, who was standing ten feet away, next to a torch.

  “Bring the keys!” said Leonard.

  Bakari did not move.

  “For heaven’s sake, man!” said Leonard. “Hurry!”

  Bakari did not move.

  “Lord Aster,” said Peter.

  “What?”

  Peter was pointing toward Bakari’s feet. “Look.”

  Leonard looked, and his blood ran cold.

  Bakari had no shadow.

  There was shouting in the corridor now, the sound of many men running, coming closer.

  Leonard raised his sword, pointing it at Bakari’s chest.

  “Give me the keys,” he said.

  Bakari opened his mouth, but instead of Bakari’s voice an awful groan came out.

  “Go ahead, Lord Aster,” it said. “Stick your sword into your Starcatcher friend. Do you think I care?”

  Leonard hesitated, then lowered his sword, his shoulders slumping. Ombra emerged from the shadows, and now the groaning voice came from his own dark shape.

  “A wise decision, Lord Aster,” he said. Moments later, thundering feet announced the arrival of a dozen guards; Leonard was now hopelessly outnumbered. On Ombra’s orders, the guards disarmed him, then shoved him, along with the slack-faced Bakari, into a vacant cell next to the boys’.

  “Now that you both are comfortable,” groaned Ombra, “I will return your associate’s shadow. I need no longer burden myself with it, as it has given me all I need to know.” A shadow emerged from under his robe, and as two terrified guards leapt out of the way, it slithered across the floor and into the cell. It attached itself to Bakari, who groaned and slid to the floor.

  As Leonard was helping the disoriented Bakari to his feet, King Zarboff, surrounded by his personal guards, entered the corridor, huffing from the exertion of crossing the courtyard.

  “Lord Ombra,” he gasped. “My men have sealed the palace. It is impossible for the Starcatchers to get inside.”
r />   Zarboff felt a chill as Ombra looked at him, then groaned, “The Starcatchers are here.”

  Zarboff stared at Leonard and Bakari. “But that’s not possible!” he sputtered. “How did they get in?”

  “They were admitted by an accomplice, a member of your palace guard,” said Ombra.

  “Who is this traitor?” roared Zarboff. “I will feed him to Kundalini one piece at a time!”

  “I will give you his name,” said Ombra. “But first you must dispatch a group of your best men—ten should be sufficient—to the port of Ashmar. Have them wear civilian clothes and travel unobtrusively. They are to board a French ship called the Michelle.”

  “No!” said Leonard, lunging to the cell bars.

  Ombra ignored him, continuing to speak to Zarboff. “On the ship is Lord Aster’s daughter, whose name is Molly.”

  Now Peter was gripping the bars of his cell, staring at Ombra.

  “Your men are to seize this girl,” said Ombra, “and bring her here.”

  “You don’t need my daughter, Ombra,” said Leonard. “You have me.”

  “Your gallantry is touching,” said Ombra. “But the girl has already caused me far too much trouble. She is a Starcatcher; the more of you in captivity, the better.” He turned to Zarboff. “Dispatch your men to Ashmar at once. I will see you in your chambers.”

  Zarboff, who disliked taking orders but had no intention of contradicting Ombra, huffed from the room, trailed by his personal guards.

  “Ombra,” said Leonard. “Whatever you’re planning to do here, I give you my word that I will not interfere if you will leave my daughter alone.”

  Ombra turned to face Leonard, the red spheres in his hood-shape glowing brightly.

  “You amuse me, Lord Aster,” he groaned, “talking as though you can interfere, when in fact you are helpless. I will do as I please with your daughter and this boy and you. The only reason you are alive right now is that I expect to enjoy your reaction when you see the undoing of everything you Starcatchers have done for thousands of years.”