Starcatchers 01 - Peter and the Starcatchers

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  “Why?” said Peter.

  “Because the Wasp was bound for Rundoon,” said Molly, “which is ruled by His Royal Highness, King Zarboff”—she held up the three middle fingers of her right hand—“the Third.”

  “Oh my,” said Peter. “He’s one of them, isn’t he.”

  “Yes,” said Molly. “Zarboff is one of the Others. He’s perhaps the most evil one there is. The Starcatchers could not allow him, of all people, to gain possession of the trunk.”

  “That’s why you’re on this ship,” said Peter. “To stop it.”

  “No,” said Molly. “My father put me on this ship precisely because he believed the trunk was not here. It was for my safety. He sailed on the Wasp because our spies said that’s where the trunk was. Obviously,” she added bitterly, “they were mistaken.”

  “What was your father planning to do on the Wasp?” asked Peter. “I mean, how was he going to get the trunk away from the others, if there was only one of him on the ship?”

  “It wasn’t going to happen on the Wasp,” said Molly. “It was going to happen when they got to Rundoon. There would be other Starcatchers waiting. They had a plan to get the trunk, and capture Zarboff, who’d become a problem. It was quite a brilliant plan, really, except that…”

  “…except that the trunk isn’t on the Wasp.”

  “No,” said Molly. “They switched it. I suspected it the first day, when I saw how that sailor reacted when he touched it. I should have tried to get word to Father then, but, stupidly, I didn’t. Then that night—the night you saw the flying rat—I went down there to check, and as soon as I walked into the hold, I knew it was the trunk. I could feel it, the immense power, like nothing I’ve ever felt. So I tried to send a message to Father, using Ammm…”

  “Who?”

  “The porpoise, Ammm. But I’m not very good at porpoise, and I thought I’d muddled it, and then Ammm came back and told me…he told me…”

  Molly pressed her face into her hands, sobbing. Peter wanted to do something, pat her shoulder, perhaps; but he was terrified she would take it wrong. So he stood helplessly and watched her sob for a minute or so. Finally she raised her face, showing him reddened eyes and tear-wetted cheeks.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” said Peter, feeling like an idiot.

  “Anyway,” Molly said, “Ammm said, at least I think he said”—she fought down a sob—“that Father’s ship has been sunk by pirates.”

  “Molly, no!” said Peter.

  Molly shook her head. “But Ammm also said, I think, that the other porpoises had rescued Father.”

  “Thank goodness,” Peter said.

  “Yes,” said Molly. “But Ammm said something else.”

  “What?” said Peter.

  “He said, ‘Bad man hunt Molly ship,’” said Molly.

  “Bad man?” said Peter. “What bad man?”

  “Peter,” she said, “have you ever heard of a pirate called the Black Moustache?”

  “Yes,” said Peter. He’d heard the crew talk, heard the fear in their voices.

  “I think he’s after the Never Land.”

  Peter felt a chill. “After this ship? But this is just an old…Wait—are you saying he knows about the trunk?”

  “He must, Peter. He must have been after the Wasp for that reason. He was fooled just as Father was. But now Father’s lost at sea somewhere, and the Black Moustache is coming for the trunk. He’s coming, Peter.”

  “Molly,” said Peter, “if he gets that trunk…”

  “I know,” she said. “I know. Peter, we must stop him.” Peter nodded. She was right.

  They had to stop him.

  But how?

  CHAPTER 21

  THE SIGHTING

  BLACK STACHE CUPPED HIS HANDS and screamed through the rain toward the crow’s nest. “Anything?”

  “Not yet, Cap’n!” returned the lookout from the top of the mainmast.

  “Not much chance of seeing her in this swill, Cap’n!” shouted the helmsman, over the roar of the storm.

  “She’s out there!” Stache shouted back. He rubbed the end of his spyglass on a wet bit of his jacket, but still had no luck looking through the thing.

  One by one, his crewmen were returning to the deck, having changed into British naval uniforms. Stache smiled at the look of it—cutthroat pirates, dressed as Her Majesty’s sailors.

  Just then he caught sight of a porpoise off to starboard. Good luck, he thought.

  “Strange to see a porpoise in a storm, don’t you think?” Stache shouted to his helmsman.

  “Where, Cap’n?” the helmsman shouted.

  Stache pointed. The helmsman gaped.

  “Strange don’t begin to capture it,” he said. “Porpoise is too smart to get caught in a blow. Never seen nothin’ like it.”

  “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” It was Smee, now dressed in a British uniform that barely contained his belly. He’d given up trying to button the pants, and as he held up the British flag—the Union Jack—his pants sank to his knees, drawing laughs from the crew. Smee tried to pull up his pants, but in doing so almost lost the flag to the howling wind.

  “Bring it here, you idjit!” Stache yelled.

  The distraction had taken his attention off the porpoise. He looked back, but it was gone. He felt a twist in his belly—That was my luck—then forced the thought from his mind.

  Smee staggered over and presented the Union Jack to Stache, his pants again dropping in the process.

  “Hoist her high!” Stache ordered, handing the flag to a sailor. “And you, Smee, hoist your britches.” This drew another laugh from the crew, interrupted by a cry from the crow’s nest.

  “SHIP HO!”

  Rain stinging his eyes, Stache looked in the direction of the lookout’s gesturing arm. He couldn’t see it, not yet, in the swirling storm. But the direction was right, and he had a feeling about it.

  The Never Land…

  It had to be.

  CHAPTER 22

  BLACKNESS ON THE HORIZON

  PETER HADN’T CLOSED HIS EYES ALL NIGHT. For one thing, the weather had steadily worsened; the ever-larger waves kept the Never Land in constant, sickening motion, and the groaning and creaking of the ship’s ancient timbers—much louder now—made sleep difficult.

  But Peter couldn’t have slept anyway. Not when his mind was still trying to absorb what Molly had told him. The thoughts swirled in his head…falling stars, centaurs, a trunk with the power to change the world…It was an incredible tale.

  But it’s not a tale. It’s all true.

  When he’d returned to his tiny sleeping space, Peter had wanted to tell the other boys, or at least James. But he’d decided it would be best, for now, not to. For one thing, he doubted that they’d believe him. For another thing, he didn’t want to run the risk that one of the boys would spoil whatever plan he and Molly came up with for the trunk.

  That was the question: what would they do about the trunk? Peter and Molly had just started to discuss it last night when they’d heard Mrs. Bumbrake clunking noisily down the ladder. Peter had barely managed to dart out of the room and hide on the lower ladder before Mrs. Bumbrake had reached the passageway. Molly’s last whispered words to him, as she pressed the door shut, had been: “We must act soon. Find me in the morning.”

  We must act soon. Yes, certainly; if what Molly had told him was true—and he believed her now, absolutely—they had to do something. But what? What could two children do on a ship full of men?

  So Peter’s night had been sleepless. At the first dim light of morning, he crept out of the boys’ cramped hole and made his way to the foredeck. The sky was a dull gray, and the wind was flicking foam off waves far bigger than any Peter had seen. He’d adjusted to the steady swells of the open sea, but these waves were much more menacing; some of them, as they swept toward the Never Land, looked taller than the masts. Fear tightened Peter’s chest, and he felt no better when he turned to the
horizon astern; the sky there was black as night, a vast swirling darkness The deck of the Never Land had never been busier. Slank bellowed orders, and the usually turtle-paced crew now scurried around urgently. Peter started aft and immediately encountered Alf, who was trotting forward, a barrel on his right shoulder. Seeing Peter, he glanced back to see if Slank was watching, then quickly set the barrel down and knelt next to the boy, as if scratching his foot.

  “Ahoy, little friend,” he said. “Looks like you got out of there all right last night. Missy decided not to scream, eh?”

  “Yes,” said Peter. “She didn’t…I mean, she was…” He trailed off, wanting to tell Alf more, tell him about the trunk, maybe enlist his help….

  “Not now, little friend,” said Alf. “No time to talk. Big storm coming. Slank’s turned us around, but there’s no chance this tub will outrun it.” He put his big hands on Peter’s bony shoulders, and looked into the boy’s eyes. “We’re in for a bad one, little friend. When it gets here, make sure you’re holding on tight to something.”

  Peter looked at the horizon. The blackness looked distinctly closer now. Alf was on his feet again, hoisting the barrel to his shoulder.

  “Remember, little friend,” he said. “Hold on tight.” And he left.

  Peter headed aft, unnoticed in the confusion of shouting, bustling crewmen. To his relief, he found Molly immediately; she was standing on the aft deck, looking back at the approaching storm. He called her name, and she turned. Peter’s heart fluttered when he saw in her eyes how glad she was to see him.

  “Peter,” she said. “There’s a storm, a bad one. It’s…”

  “I know,” he said. “Alf says it’s going to get us soon.”

  “I fear he’s right,” she said, looking back at the horizon.

  “What about the trunk?” Peter said.

  Molly looked around before answering, though in this wind there was no chance that anyone could overhear them.

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can do now,” she said. “But as soon as the storm is over, we need to move it.”

  “Move it where?” said Peter.

  “I’m not sure,” Molly said. “But we have to hide it somewhere else on the ship, so that when Black Stache catches us—if he catches us—it won’t be easily found. Perhaps we can trick him into thinking it’s been thrown overboard, or was never on the Never Land in the first place.”

  “Why don’t we just throw it overboard ourselves?” said Peter. “He’d never get it, then.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” said Molly. “But we’d have no control over who would find it. It would be terrible, Peter—you’ve no idea how terrible—if it were to fall into the wrong hands. Or tentacles.” She glanced into the dark water, and shuddered. “If we absolutely must throw it overboard—if there is no other way to keep it from Black Stache—then we shall. But for now, we must try to guard it, keep it safe, and hope that we can gain enough time until my father can get to us.”

  “You’re sure your father’s coming?” Peter asked, and instantly regretted it, seeing the worry in Molly’s eyes.

  “Father will come,” she said. “He has to.”

  “Right,” said Peter. “So we move the trunk. But first…” He gestured at the approaching storm.

  “Right,” said Molly. “First we get through this.”

  If we get through this, thought Peter.

  “MOLLY ASTER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT THERE!”

  Peter and Molly turned to see the formidable form of Mrs. Bumbrake, one hand on a rail, the other gripping an umbrella.

  “Mrs. Bumbrake!” Molly said. “I was just…”

  “AND WHAT IS HE DOING BACK HERE?” shouted Mrs. Bumbrake, attempting to point at Peter with her umbrella hand, only to see a fierce wind gust grab the umbrella and send it flying forward, darting this way and that like a giant disturbed bat, before narrowly missing a ducking sailor and hurtling overboard.

  “MY UMBRELLA!” shrieked Mrs. Bumbrake. “WHAT ARE YOU TWO LAUGHING AT?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Bumbrake,” said Molly, forcing her face to frown.

  “Nothing, ma’am,” said Peter, hand over mouth.

  “DON’T YOU MOCK ME, YOU LITTLE URCHIN,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BACK HERE, AND I INTEND TO TELL MR. SLANK. AND AS FOR YOU, YOUNG LADY, I HAVE TOLD YOU A HUNDRED TIMES THAT…”

  But Mrs. Bumbrake did not get her chance to tell Molly for a hundred-and-first time. She was interrupted by a shout from the Never Land’s lookout, echoed by a chorus of shouts from the men on deck. A crowd of sailors joined Molly, Peter, and Mrs. Bumbrake at the stern; they were looking and pointing at the cause of the lookout’s shout: an approaching ship, between the Never Land and the storm. The sailors babbled excitedly, speculating on its identity, then fell silent when Slank appeared on the aft deck, holding a spyglass.

  Peter ducked behind a sailor, but Slank’s attention was focused on the following ship. The men grew silent as Slank raised the glass to his eye and focused it. He grunted, lowered the glass, shook his head, blinked, then looked through the glass again. Finally, he spoke.

  “I’ll be hanged,” he said. “It’s the Wasp.”

  CHAPTER 23

  ANY MINUTE NOW

  SMEE PULLED HAND-OVER-HAND, hoisting the Union Jack high on the Jolly Roger’s mainmast, as Black Stache watched approvingly. Stache’s men were all now wearing British uniforms. Stache glanced down at his own uniform—a captain’s uniform—and felt particularly handsome.

  Stache peered through the glass at the Never Land. His swift ship had turned downwind and was now closing quickly on the old cargo hulk.

  Any minute now…

  “READY, MEN?” he called out, and he was answered with a roar, as his men thrust their swords into the air.

  “Keep those blades hidden!” shouted Stache. “Wait for my command!”

  He raised his glass again. The Never Land was very close now; he could see the storm was treating her badly. Stache grinned.

  They don’t stand a chance….

  CHAPTER 24

  OVERBOARD

  THE GOOD NEWS SPREAD QUICKLY on the Never Land.

  “It’s the Wasp! The Wasp is coming!”

  More sailors gathered at the stern, watching Slank as he raised the glass to his eye again.

  “She’s changed course,” he said. “She’ll be coming alongside, to port. It’s Captain Scott. He must have turned to run from the storm. Now he’s come to stand by us.

  The crew was delighted. Instead of facing a monster storm alone at sea in a decrepit barge, they now would be escorted by the finest ship in Her Majesty’s navy.

  “All right, you bilge rats,” shouted Slank. “We hold steady until the Wasp is alongside, then we…”

  “NO!”

  Slank looked down, startled, into the frightened but determined face of Molly Aster.

  “What did you say?” he said.

  “You can’t let that ship get close to us,” she said. “That ship is under the command of Black Stache.”

  The sound of the dreaded name drew a nervous murmur from the crew, quickly silenced by a laugh from Slank.

  “Black Stache?” he said. “Young lady, with all due respect, Black Stache commands a ship called the Sea Devil. That there”—he pointed at the approaching ship—“is the Wasp. I know her well. We was in port with her. And that’s her.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Molly. “But Black Stache…”

  “Molly Aster!” Mrs. Bumbrake elbowed her way past the sailors and took Molly by the arm. “You stop this silliness this instant.”

  “Let go,” said Molly, yanking her arm free.

  “Well, I never,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “Young lady, when your father…”

  “Oh, be quiet,” said Molly, startling Mrs. Bumbrake so much that she actually became, for a moment, quiet. Turning to Slank, Molly took a deep breath to calm herself, and said: “Sir, you must believe me. That is the Wasp, yes. But it was captured by Black Stac
he, and he’s coming for this ship now.”

  “And how do you know that?” asked Slank. “Did a seagull tell you?” This brought chuckles from the crew.

  Something like that, thought Peter.

  “Please,” said Molly, desperation in her voice, “I can’t explain how I know, but I know. That ship is commanded by Black Stache.”

  Slank’s smile wavered for an instant, then returned.

  “Young lady,” he said, “even if that was Black Stache, which it ain’t, it’s only the finest ships he’s after. He wouldn’t waste his time on an old bucket like this, especially not with that storm closing on him.”

  “MOLLY ASTER,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, having recovered the ability to speak, now tugging at Molly’s arm again. “YOU LEAVE OFF THIS SILLINESS AND COME WITH ME THIS . . .”

  “Please,” Molly begged Slank, her eyes welling with tears of frustration. “You must not allow that ship to reach us.”

  Slank turned and raised the spyglass to his eye again, taking a moment to find the following ship. He took the glass away and looked back at Molly, smiling again.

  “Young lady,” he said, “that ship is manned by sailors of the British navy.” He held the glass out toward her. “Look for yourself.”

  Molly took the glass, peered through it, then handed the glass back.

  “It’s a trick,” she said. “It has to be. Please, listen to me! You can’t—”

  “THAT’S QUITE ENOUGH, YOUNG LADY,” bellowed Mrs. Bumbrake, moving in.

  “All right then,” said Slank, visibly relieved, as he turned to the sailors who’d been watching the little drama. “WE GOT A STORM COMING!” he shouted. “BACK TO WORK, YOU BILGE RATS!”