Peter and the Secret of Rundoon

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  The boys nodded again. Glotz looked at his watch and said, “You have ten minutes.” The boys, two above the trunk and two below it, took hold of the handles and began ascending the steep ladderway inside the scaffolding.

  Peter and Slightly were at the upper end of the trunk. When they were far enough from Glotz, Slightly whispered to Peter through the gold mesh.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Peter had been thinking about just that. His first idea had been to simply dump the starstuff out of the trunk from the top of the scaffolding, but he’d rejected that idea. For one thing, it would get the other boys, and very likely himself, killed. For another, he feared Glotz would find a way to get the starstuff back into the rocket and proceed with the launch. What he needed, he knew, was a way to get the starstuff away from Glotz, Ombra, and Zarboff, but also to prevent it from being released into the sky. He wasn’t yet sure how he would do this. All he said to Slightly was, “I won’t do anything until we’re back on the ground. Keep the other boys close by, and be ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “I’m not sure. But you may have a chance to escape. If you do, run to the harbor. Look for James and the others. They’re getting a ship.”

  “They’re getting a ship?” said Slightly, his tone suggesting that he found this highly unlikely.

  “Well, they’re going to try,” Peter said.

  Slightly nodded. “What about you?” he said.

  “I’ll be along as soon as I can,” said Peter.

  They had reached the platform on the top of the scaffolding. They faced a hatch patterned with small air holes. Peter noted it was latched from the outside. Through the holes, he could hear the monkey making soft whimpering noises. Tink, still stuck inside Peter’s gold suit, made sympathetic sounds in return.

  Above the hatch was an opening just large enough for the trunk, leading into a compartment lined with gold. On the right side of the opening was a small door on hinges. On its left side was a latch attached to a steel cable that snaked down through a hole into the monkey compartment. Peter assumed this was how the monkey, in the chamber below the trunk, would open the door and release the starstuff.

  The boys lifted the trunk and slid it through the opening into the gold-lined compartment. When it was inside, Slightly reached for the button on the big gold trunk latch. Peter put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

  “I’ll do it,” Peter said. “You three get back.”

  Slightly, Curly, and Nibs stepped toward the ladder. Peter reached inside the rocket and pressed the button. With a snick the latch flipped open. The lid began to rise. Instantly, the compartment filled with a blinding light and a roaring sound. Peter quickly grabbed the door and closed it; the latch clicked tight. The air around the top of the rocket hummed and glowed.

  From below, the boys heard Glotz shouting at them to come down. The four gold-suited figures hastily descended the ladder. As soon as they reached the ground, a group of soldiers dragged the scaffolding away from the rocket. Glotz looked up into the sky, then at his pocket watch. He shouted for everyone to move back, and proceeded to pull a torch from the earth and walk over to the fuse. The sky was alight with meteors now, the courtyard so bright that even through the mesh Peter could clearly see Glotz’s face.

  All eyes focused on the scientist as he stood over the fuse, checking his watch. King Zarboff rose to his feet to get a better view, though Peter noted that he kept his guards between himself and the rocket. A movement at the outer edge of the crowd of spectators caught Peter’s eye. He looked that way and noted, with a small smile, that Slightly and the other boys, including the twins, had slipped away unnoticed, five shadows trotting toward the palace gate.

  Peter’s eyes returned to the crowd, scanning the spectators until he found Ombra, a dark shape among the shadows on the far side of the torchlight circle. Peter stared at Ombra for a moment, and as he did, the dark hood shape swiveled and seemed to look right at him. Peter felt a chill and quickly looked away, hoping desperately that he had not been too obvious.

  His eyes returned to Glotz. The scientist stood holding the torch and looking at his watch for several long minutes. Then, slowly, his eyes still on his watch, he began to lower the flame to the fuse. The courtyard fell utterly silent as the flickering flame descended until it touched the fuse. Sparks erupted from the ground and began crawling toward the waiting rocket. Glotz watched for a few seconds, then began slowly walking toward the circle of spectators. He stopped near Zarboff and turned back toward the fuse.

  Peter was also watching the fuse now, trying to get a sense of when to move. He needed to time it perfectly—too soon and the soldiers would shoot him out of the sky; too late and the rocket would be out of his reach.

  The sparks crawled across the dirt and, reaching the rocket, began to climb the fuse. Peter tensed; it would be in a moment, now. A nagging worry made him risk a look across the circle of spectators into the shadows.

  Ombra wasn’t there.

  Peter looked around frantically but didn’t see the dark shape. He heard a roar and turned back toward the rocket. The fuse had ignited the fuel; flames and black smoke billowed from the base. The rocket shook and started to lift. Peter, for a fraction of a second, felt something cold and horrible in his legs. With a shout, he crouched and hurled himself upward.

  Glotz saw the gold-clad figure flying toward his beloved rocket. He screamed in rage and shouted at the soldiers to shoot. Transfixed by the rocket’s roar, they took several seconds to understand what he wanted, and several more to get their rifles into firing position.

  Peter flew straight to the top of the rocket. He searched desperately in the billowing smoke for the latch to the door covering the monkey’s compartment. He heard a shot; a bullet zipped past. He yanked the gold hood off his head so he could see better. Another shot went past. He found the latch and yanked the door open, hurling himself headfirst in with the monkey as a bullet clanged off the hatch door behind him.

  Glotz screamed when he saw Peter duck into the rocket, which was now off the ground, rising slowly on a cushion of fire and smoke. Glotz shouted incoherently, nearly insane with rage and helplessness as he watched his life’s work, the crowning achievement of his genius, being threatened by a boy. He ran toward the smoke, his face twisted in fury.

  And then, suddenly, he stopped, and the fury on his face turned to hope. For he saw something in the roiling smoke, a dark shape rising, twisting, and contorting itself—now thick, now thin, but always moving upward through the bib lows, upward to the base of the rocket, and then along its side—a black blot, oozing in through a seam in between two metal plates.

  Glotz smiled.

  Ombra was aboard the rocket.

  CHAPTER 55

  THE GIANT EYE

  PLEASE GET UP, MR. SMEE,” whispered Shining Pearl, glancing nervously back down the jungle hillside. “Hurry!”

  Smee lay where he’d fallen, having tripped on a vine for at least the hundredth time. Sweat dripped from his round face; it gleamed in the light of the meteor shower, which filled the normally dark nighttime jungle with an unearthly flashing light.

  “I don’t think I can keep going,” he panted.

  “You must!” said Shining Pearl, again looking down the hill. “He’s coming!”

  Smee turned his head and moaned in fear. The treetops shook as the huge beast shoved his way through the thick jungle growth. Mister Grin had been following Shining Pearl and the seven pirates for hours now, never seeming to tire. At one point he had come so close that Shining Pearl, in desperation, had dropped the lure—Hook’s smelly pants—onto the ground, leaving them behind as the little group continued up the mountainside. This had stopped Mister Grin, but only for as long as it took him to gulp down the garment. Then, with a roar, the monster croc had resumed following Shining Pearl and the pirates, who realized to their horror that the beast thought Hook was still among them.

  Now there was no turning back; they had t
o continue over the mountain to the Mollusk camp and hope that Mister Grin would turn his attention from them to the Scorpions.

  Shining Pearl looked up the hillside; the other pirates were almost out of sight.

  “Help!” she called. “Mr. Smee has fallen again!”

  Two pirates, Hurky and Boggs, turned and came trotting down.

  “Cap’n,” said Hurky. “You have to get up.”

  “I can’t,” said Smee. “I’m too…OW!”

  “Sorry, sir,” said Hurky, as he and Boggs, one grabbing each arm, jerked Smee to his feet, put his arms over their shoulders, and began dragging the little round man up the hill, with Shining Pearl right behind. She stopped for a moment to glance back at the jungle. The shaking trees were only a dozen yards away. She caught a glimpse of a giant eye glowing red in the meteor light. It seemed to be looking right at her.

  Shining Pearl turned and started running again.

  CHAPTER 56

  THE SECOND LAUNCH

  LEANING AGAINST THE STACK of barrels, Tubby Ted sucked olive oil off his fingers, his eyes closed, his lips smacking.

  “Mmmm,” he said, wishing he had a warm piece of bread.

  Then, hearing shouts, he jumped to his feet. A dozen men were running down the hill toward the dry-docked ship. Under a sky alight with streaking meteors, Ted saw the angry looks on their faces. Very angry. Some of them were waving knives in the air.

  Ted looked down at the ship and saw his mates scattering in opposite directions; George held the white handkerchief in his hand, his arms pumping furiously as he ran.

  Ted wondered: Did I miss something?

  He couldn’t exactly describe George’s motion as waving the handkerchief over his head, but he decided it was close enough. He turned and, as George had told him to, kicked at the bottom barrel. It was stubborn, but it dislodged from the stack and rolled down the hill. He jumped back as the entire barrel stack collapsed in an olive-oil avalanche. A half dozen barrels exploded as they struck the ground, sending a wave of slippery oil gushing down the hill, followed by more barrels, rolling and bouncing and spewing their contents as they split open.

  Tubby Ted, staying clear of the olive-oil cascade, began lumbering down the hill toward the ship. Ahead, he caught sight of Thomas and Prentiss on either side of the dry dock trench, each struggling frantically with a big winch. As Ted ran toward the ship, the winches—first Thomas’s, then Prentiss’s—began to turn, paying out the heavy ropes. At once the whole ship began to shudder, groan, and creak. Behind Ted, the sound of the men’s shouting grew louder, more frantic. Thomas and Prentiss started clambering down into the trench, running for the ship.

  “Wait!” Ted shouted, but neither boy heard. Reaching the ship, they grabbed on to the nets suspended from the decks and began to climb. There was a loud CRACK as one of the big side supports fell away. Then another. The groaning became deeper, turning into a rumbling noise, and now the ship was moving, rolling on the huge logs beneath the keel.

  “Wait!” Ted yelled again, but nobody heard him over the sound of the sliding ship. He ran alongside the trench and spotted George at the big wooden gate behind the ship. He was struggling with a chain. The ship was moving toward him, rudder first, but George seemed unaware of the fact that he was about to be crushed.

  Ted heard screams behind him. He turned and looked up the hill. The mob of angry men, their eyes on the escaping ship, had run right into the olive-oil cascade. They were tumbling and sliding down the hill, knocking each other over, their knives flying everywhere. Ted turned back and began running toward George, screaming unheard warnings about the oncoming ship.

  George struggled with the chain that held the gate to the piling. It was too heavy, made of massive links that George could barely lift, let alone raise over the top of the piling to release the gate. He glanced behind him and saw with a mixture of elation and alarm that the ship was moving, its stern rising high above him, its huge rudder pointing right at him. To the side, he saw men tumbling down the hillside, shouting in confusion and fury. At least that part of his plan had worked. But what about the chain? If he couldn’t release it, the huge links would stop the ship. And if he stayed where he was much longer, the ship would squash him like a bug.

  George turned back to study the massive chain. He saw that one of the links was held to the next by an iron bolt. He twisted it with all his strength, and to his relief it began to unscrew. He turned the bolt as fast as he could; it unscrewed and unscrewed, but did not come free. The ship was gaining momentum now; the side struts were splintering and snapping and falling away. The rollers made a deafening grinding sound.

  Several of the men had made it down the hillside. One of them saw George at the gate and shouted; he and the others began running toward George. The ship was only a few yards away. George gave the bolt a few more frantic twists. Finally, it came free, clanking on the rocks underfoot. The chain fell away. Water leaked in around the edge of the gate. The ship was rushing toward him, the enormous rudder coming at him like a blade.

  The shouting men reached the gate.

  George dove. He landed just to the side of the ship’s hull. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed hold of a rope dangling from the deck, and started to climb it. One of the men leaned out over the trench, knife in hand, and slashed at George. George, unable to get away, closed his eyes, waiting for the pain of the blade.

  Instead, the rope jerked him violently backward as the last supports snapped and the ship suddenly picked up speed. He clung desperately to the rope as the ship smashed into the gate, which splintered into hundreds of pieces. A wall of water roared into the trench, nearly taking George with it; he hung on to the rope, sputtering, and struggled to haul himself onto the deck. Behind him, the man who’d tried to stab him screamed as he fell into the trench, now a deadly boiling cauldron, as the surging seawater tossed huge timbers around.

  The ship plunged into the sea stern first and slowed with a shuddering jerk. George, reaching the deck, saw that Prentiss and Thomas had managed to scramble aboard. He looked back to see Tubby Ted standing on the side of the trench where the gate had been, looking uncertain. The ship’s bow was just passing him.

  “Ted!” screamed George, running toward him on the deck. “Jump!”

  For once, Ted—normally not one to act quickly—did as he was told, leaping toward the ship and just catching the last of the nets. As Prentiss helped Ted up onto the deck, George raced to the stern and grabbed the ship’s wheel. He looked up the mainmast at James, who was just then releasing the last of the ties. The mainsail fell away, ruffling in the wind. George heaved on the ship’s wheel, turning it hard, trying to angle the ship so the sail would fill with wind. But the ship was losing momentum; it didn’t answer to the rudder.

  “Come on,” said George, glancing toward the furious men on the shore, then back up at the sails. “Come on.”

  The sail flapped and snapped, and caught some wind. George held the wheel all the way to starboard. The ship began to turn, but agonizingly slowly.

  James shouted something from the mast and pointed toward shore. George looked in that direction and saw a small rowboat in the water with five figures heaving hard on the oars. It was headed straight for the ship. At first George thought it was the men who’d been chasing them, but as the dory drew closer he saw, to his shock, that they were boys—the same slave boys he’d seen in the desert with King Zarboff.

  James recognized them as well. “Slightly!” he yelled, quickly climbing down from the mast.

  The rowboat reached the ship; the five boys struggled up the netting and onto the deck. Three of them—Slightly, Curly, and Nibs—were wearing golden suits; the other two—the twins—wore their servant garb.

  “Where’s Peter?” said James.

  “He’s back at the rocket,” said Slightly. “He told us to run here while Zarboff and the rest were distracted by the rocket launch.”

  “And Molly?” said George.

  “Didn’t see her,
” said Slightly. “Peter just said to come here and—”

  He was interrupted by a shout from Thomas, who was pointing toward shore. The angry mob, having seen the slave boys row to the ship, had decided to do the same: they had run to a dock where some rowboats were tied, and were in the process of launching three of them.

  George looked up at the luffing mainsail, willing it to fill with wind. The ship was moving, but pitifully slowly.

  “Untie the nets and ropes!” he shouted. “We want nothing over the sides for them to grab on to!” But he doubted they’d have time to untie a single net; the first rowboat was already launched and making good time. It was rowing straight for the ship; and its occupants did not look at all friendly.

  George glanced around in desperation for a weapon, something—anything—with which to defend the ship. He saw nothing. Hopelessness filled his heart.

  Had he looked toward the city, he would have seen, amid the myriad streaks in the sky, one light of a different color: the fiery tail flame of the rocket, now rising over the palace wall.

  CHAPTER 57

  THE CREEPING COLD

  FRANKLIN THE MONKEY was most unhappy. He hooted and screeched, baring his teeth at the smelly human who had so rudely barged into his little space.

  Peter’s mood was no better. The monkey’s cage inside the roaring rocket was loud and cramped, with barely enough room for the monkey and his control levers. These levers were sticking painfully into Peter’s back. At the same time, the monkey was shrieking into his ear, and Tink, still stuck inside his gold suit, was pounding on his chest with her tiny fists and clamoring: Let me out!

  Peter wriggled sideways and was able to give Tink enough room to escape. She and Franklin exchanged odd noises.