Peter and the Secret of Rundoon

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  Peter and Leonard looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: it would be easy to simply untie the rope and be done with the man who had tried, more than once, to kill them.

  Then Leonard said, “He saved my life, Peter. And Bakari’s.”

  Peter nodded. Together, he and Leonard began hauling on the rope, pulling the pirate onto the ship.

  “James!” shouted George. “Hurry!”

  James was working furiously on the topsail, but the De Vliegen was still too low. The bow was only feet from the wall. They weren’t going to make it.

  “Hang on!” shouted George, a second before the ship’s keel struck the top of the wall. The sudden stop sent everyone sprawling to the deck, save George, who clung to the wheel. There was a horrible grinding sound from below, wood scraping over stone, and then a crash as a chunk of wall broke off and fell to the ground. The ship began to turn to the right, pivoting slowly clockwise on its keel. It finally ground to a stop, its starboard side now facing the courtyard. George spun the wheel, but nothing happened. They were stuck.

  A roar went up from the courtyard as the soldiers realized that their prey had not escaped after all. Zarboff was screaming orders at his men. In moments, soldiers appeared with a ladder, then another. They rushed these toward the wall where the ship sat, immobile.

  “James!” George shouted. “Take in more sail! Take in all you can! The rest of you lighten the ship! Throw everything overboard!”

  James worked the sails as Peter, Leonard, Molly, Bakari, and the others—even Hook—scurried around the deck, grabbing barrels and boxes and heaving them over the side. The De Vliegen shifted but did not rise. The soldiers had leaned the ladders against the wall on either end of the ship and were starting to climb. Zarboff stood in the middle of the courtyard, still screaming orders. More barrels went over the side; the ship shifted again. It wanted to rise—George could feel it. He needed just a little more lift…

  “Slightly!” he shouted. “The fourth cannon—is it loaded?”

  Slightly, lifting a barrel, answered, “Yes!”

  “Fire it now!” shouted George. “Hurry!”

  Slightly hurled the barrel over the side and raced down the companionway. The soldiers were on the wall now, coming toward the ship from both ends. Seconds passed…

  “Hurry!” shouted George again. What was Slightly doing down there?

  Slightly was aiming. He’d lit the cannon’s fuse, and now, in the few seconds left, he was heaving his body against the heavy barrel, shifting it until he hoped it was pointed where he wanted.

  The sparking, smoking fuse fire disappeared into the touch hole. Slightly closed his eyes and clapped his hands over his ears.

  BOOM!

  The cannon thundered just as the first of Zarboff’s soldiers reached the ship. George felt a lurch and then let out a whoop. The ship was rising. The cannon shot had jolted it free. George spun the wheel to port and got the bow turning; wind filled the sails, and the ship began to gain speed, rising and moving away from the palace. The courtyard was in an uproar now, Zarboff’s thwarted soldiers shrieking in fury, while the few riflemen with ammunition remaining fired ineffectively at the receding ship.

  Such was the clamor in the courtyard that, for a few moments, nobody noticed where the cannonball had gone.

  It had gone where Slightly aimed it—right at King Zarboff the Third. But the ball had not hit him; the portly king had seen the flash and somehow sensed the ball sizzling at him through the night air. In the instant it took to fly from the ship to him, Zarboff managed to lunge to his left just enough so that the ball barely brushed him as it whistled past. That was lucky for Zarboff.

  Not so lucky for him was the fact that his momentum sent him stumbling sideways, right into the heavy basket that had been sitting in the courtyard for hours now, unnoticed. Zarboff fell, and, grabbing the basket for support, pulled it over with him. As he did, its lid came unfastened and its occupant spilled out onto the portly king as he lay on the ground. Kundalini’s tongue darted out, tasting Zarboff’s scent. It was familiar, but familiarity did not translate as affection for a snake. Food was food.

  Zarboff struggled to get free, but struggling was useless against Kundalini. The giant snake was perfectly designed for just this situation; each move made by his prey only gave Kundalini another opportunity to tighten his muscled coils. Zarboff emitted a few panicked cries, but they were lost amid the courtyard din. And then he could no longer breathe; he could only struggle in silent horror as his beloved pet began the slow, relentless process of feeding on him.

  The last thing Zarboff saw, before he received the gift of unconsciousness, was the silhouette of a ship sailing past the fat, golden moon.

  CHAPTER 64

  THE ONLY HOPE

  TORCHES FLICKERED DIMLY against the cave walls, the flames barely visible through the thick dust swirling in the air. The cave echoed with the sound of rock hitting rock, underscored by the groans and coughs of Mollusks toiling under the glare of their whip-wielding Scorpion guards.

  Fighting Prawn, not daring to stop working, sneaked a glance around him. He saw his people: men, women, and—most heartbreakingly—children, with sweat pouring from their bodies; rock dust turning their hair white, their fingers bloody and broken from the endless smashing of lava.

  The Scorpions were literally working them to death. If a Mollusk passed out from hunger and exhaustion, the Scorpions whipped him until he resumed working. Those who did not awaken were dragged away, unconscious, and never seen again. Fighting Prawn didn’t want to think about what happened to them.

  Fighting Prawn knew his people were beyond despair. They no longer looked to him, as they once had, for hope; they knew he had no hope to give them. He wanted more than anything for this ordeal to be over. He wanted to simply lie down on the hard cave floor and let the end come. But he would not do that. He was the Mollusk chief and would not leave his people, even though in his heart he knew he had failed them.

  Fighting Prawn felt a nudge from the man working next to him, Leaping Toad. He was holding something in his hand so that only Fighting Prawn could see it. It was a piece of rough lava, with a different type of rock nestled inside, glittering in the torchlight.

  It was a rough diamond the size of a knuckle. Diamonds appeared from time to time among the volcanic rock that formed the island; the Mollusks had traditionally called these “hard rocks,” and viewed them as amusing trinkets. But Fighting Prawn knew, from his experience as a slave aboard British ships, the great value placed on hard rock by the outside world.

  The diamonds were what the Scorpions were after; Fighting Prawn was convinced of that. Somehow they had known of the hard rock on Mollusk Island. Twice in recent days, Mollusk workers had uncovered glittering stones, and both times the Scorpion guards had become very excited, only to be disappointed when they realized that the stones were ordinary minerals. But the rock in Leaping Toad’s hand was no ordinary mineral. Fighting Prawn knew it was a diamond, and a big one.

  A Scorpion guard, seeing that Fighting Prawn and Leaping Toad had stopped pounding, shouted and came striding toward them. Fighting Prawn, with the slightest shake of his head, indicated to Leaping Toad that the guard was not to see the discovery. Leaping Toad dropped the rock and put his knee over it.

  The guard looked briefly at the rocks in front of the two men, then shouted something at them and, raising his whip, gave them each a lash to put them back to work. Fighting Prawn resumed pounding rocks, his mind racing. If the Scorpions saw the diamond, he knew, they would work the Mollusks even harder—if that was possible—in their frenzy to find more. He had to pass the word to the others—any hard rock they found was to be kept from the Scorpions’ sight. Maybe if no diamonds were found, they would give up.

  Maybe.

  It was the only chance Fighting Prawn saw, in the dim, despair-filled cave, to save his people.

  CHAPTER 65

  THE SECRET WEAPON

  IN THE LIGHT OF
THE MORNING SUN, Peter leaned over the rail of the De Vliegen, looking at the water far below. With no landmarks in sight—only the vast, uninterrupted blue of the sea stretching out below them in every direction—he couldn’t judge how far the ship had flown during the night. But he knew it had to be a great distance because the ship was flying very, very fast.

  They were headed for Mollusk Island. It had been Leonard’s intention to sail the flying ship straight back to London so he could confer with the rest of the Starcatchers about the alarming events in Rundoon. But Peter had begged Leonard to go to the island first, to see what could be done to help the Mollusks. Leonard had reluctantly agreed, deciding that when the ship reached the island, he would use the porpoises to send a brief report on the Rundoon situation back to London.

  Peter was sure they were close to Mollusk Island, with the ship traveling at such amazing speed.

  That was Hook’s doing. Leonard and George, recognizing the pirate’s vastly superior seamanship, had reluctantly given him command. Hook had taken the helm, and after experimenting with the flying ship’s rudder and sails, issued a crisp series of commands, adding, then adjusting, sail after sail, each time gaining speed and altitude. Now the ship was flying every scrap of canvas it had, soaring thousands of feet above the waves, pressed forward by winds far stronger than those at the surface of the sea, winds that made the taut rigging whistle. The air here was crisp and cold; the sun’s rays were welcome.

  Peter turned away from the water and looked at his shadow stretching across the deck. It was twice his own length. He stared at it for several seconds.

  You’re afraid he’ll come back.

  Peter jumped, the sudden movement nearly throwing Tink off his head.

  “I didn’t know you were awake,” he said.

  Awake and cold, she said, snuggling down into his hair. Why are you afraid of him? He’s gone.

  “He was gone once before,” Peter said, still looking at his shadow. “And he came back.”

  But he’s not here now.

  “I know. But he could be at any time. I feel a bit silly, but I keep looking at my shadow, wondering if he’ll come back.”

  “Who will come back?” said Molly, her voice startling Peter. He hadn’t seen her approaching, clutching a gray blanket around her shoulders to keep warm.

  “Um, nobody,” said Peter. “Tink and I were just talking.”

  “I see,” said Molly.

  No, you don’t, said Tink.

  “What did she say?” asked Molly.

  “She said, ah, we must be getting close to Mollusk Island,” said Peter.

  “That’s what I came to tell you,” said Molly. “We may be there quite soon. George found a sextant and took some sights. The only question is whether we have the correct time. George found a clock belowdecks. It’s the strangest thing—the clock glows, and it ticks quite loudly. Father thinks it must have come into contact with the starstuff. But it seems to be working, and if the time it gave is correct, we’re getting quite close to the island.” Molly pointed to a speck of white on the horizon. “George thinks that cloud might be over where the island is.”

  Peter nodded. “Good,” he said. He stared at the cloud, thinking of the gentle Mollusks and the vicious Scorpions.

  “You’re worried for your friends,” said Molly, seeing his expression.

  “I just hope we’re in time,” said Peter. He started to say more, but his chest was too tight. He looked away, hoping Molly wouldn’t see his eyes glistening.

  Molly reached out her hand, and—ignoring Tink’s glare—touched Peter’s arm. “We’ll do what we can,” she said. “All of us. We owe you that, for what you did back there.”

  He had help, noted Tink.

  “What’s important is that you’re safe,” said Peter, reddening. “We’re all safe.”

  “You saved more than just us, Peter.” She paused. “Will you stay on the island?”

  Of course he will, said Tink.

  “I’ll stay on the island if there’s anything left,” said Peter. “It’s home for me, Molly.”

  “And your friends? George says they should be in school.”

  Peter stiffened. “Well, if that’s what George says…”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Peter.”

  Yes, she did, observed Tink.

  Peter was about to speak when he saw George clomping toward them, his hair blowing and his smiling face ruddy with the cold. His injured arm had been expertly bandaged by Bakari, who had also tended to Thomas’s leg wound; fortunately, neither boy had been seriously hurt.

  “Well, well!” George called out. “Smashing bit of wind Hook has managed to find up here, what? With no resistance from the water, we’re making three or four times the speed we could make on the sea, and perhaps more! If I’m not mistaken, Peter, that means we should reach your island quite soon. What do you think of that?”

  I think most of the wind is coming from him, chimed Tink.

  “What’d she say?” asked George.

  “She said the sooner the better,” said Leonard, just joining them. He and Peter exchanged a look; Peter grinned.

  “So, Peter,” said Leonard. “I assume George told you that we believe we’re nearing Mollusk Island.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Peter. “I suppose the question is, what do we do when we get there?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Leonard. “I need you to draw a detailed map of the island, so we can plan our attack.”

  “I can do that,” said Peter, “but there are hundreds of Scorpions, and they’re brutal fighters. All we’ve got is…” Peter looked around and shrugged.

  “We have a ship, Peter,” said Leonard. “A flying ship. And we have the element of surprise. And we have…a pirate.” They turned and looked at Hook, still at the wheel. Hook, seeing everyone staring at him, glared back.

  “You trust him?” said Peter.

  “I trust him to do what’s in his interest,” said Leonard. “Right now it’s in his interest to take us where we want to go so that we don’t toss him over the side, which I have assured him we will happily do at the first sign of treachery.”

  Peter smiled and was rewarded with a personalized glare from Hook.

  Leonard added, “And let’s not forget Tinker Bell.”

  Tink chimed with delight. You can see who got the brains in the family.

  “After all,” said Leonard, “she’s our secret weapon.”

  CHAPTER 66

  A MISERABLE NIGHT

  SHINING PEARL CREPT to the mouth of the cave. It was little more than a hole in the mountainside, the cave itself barely big enough to hold Shining Pearl and the pirates.

  They had found it just in time. With Mister Grin close on their heels, they’d crossed the mountain ridge and started down the other side, tripping and falling in the darkness. It had soon become obvious that they could not outrun the relentless beast. They stumbled upon the cave with seconds to spare, crowding inside just as Mister Grin reached them. They huddled together in terror against the back wall as the hungry crocodile thrust his monstrous jaws into the narrow opening, his dagger teeth snapping at them from only a few feet away. But the entrance was too small by just inches. Finally, Mister Grin had backed out, roaring in frustration.

  But he did not go away. All night long he stayed close to the cave, pacing in front of the opening, sometimes stopping to try yet again to force his way in. It made for a tense and miserable night; Shining Pearl and the pirates crowded together in the cramped darkness with no room to stretch out.

  Now, as the sun rose over the island, Shining Pearl realized that Mister Grin had stopped patrolling past the cave. Cautiously, she poked her head outside to get a look. Her heart leapt. The cave was directly above the Mollusk compound. In the clearing far below, she could see the high pole wall that surrounded it and smoke rising from cooking fires. She saw figures moving about, though from this distance she could not tell which were Mollusks and which
were Scorpions.

  She hunched over and warily took a step outside. Coming upright, she looked right and left; she didn’t see Mister Grin. Another step, then another…

  There!

  The giant croc lay motionless—asleep?—some fifteen yards away. Shining Pearl watched him carefully for a full minute. She waved her arms in his direction. He did not react.

  She returned to the cave, where the pirates waited anxiously.

  “Well?” whispered Smee. “Is he still there?”

  “To the right, about fifteen yards,” whispered Shining Pearl. “But I think he’s asleep. We might be able to get away if we’re quiet.”

  “What if he wakes up?” said Smee, with more than a hint of fear in his scratchy voice.

  “That’s why I said we need to be quiet,” said Shining Pearl. “That is, until it’s time to wake him up.”

  Smee’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Why would we do that?” he said.

  “To get him to follow us, of course,” said Shining Pearl.

  “But I don’t want him to follow me,” said Smee. “He keeps trying to eat us.”

  The pirate named Hurky cleared his throat. “Cap’n,” he said. “That’s the plan, remember?”

  “Plan?” said Smee. “What plan?”

  “The little girl’s plan,” said Hurky, “which we agreed on, is the croc follows us, and we lead him to them savages, and he eats them or runs ’em off.”

  “Ah,” said Smee, looking doubtful. “That plan.” He glanced nervously toward the cave entrance. “Maybe we need another plan.”

  “With all due respect, Cap’n,” said Hurky, “we been through this already. Them savages outnumber us a hundred to one, and they’re all over this island. Either we get rid of them, or they hunt us down like rats. That croc is our only hope.”