Starcatchers 01 - Peter and the Starcatchers

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  Stache reviewed the situation. The trunk could not be far off, that was for certain. When things started flying that should not be flying, the trunk had to be near. But who were these two men, and what were they doing in his longboat?

  “All right, men,” said Stache. “We double-time down to this lagoon. Crenshaw, you lead the way, and show us where you seen this flying longboat. MOVE!”

  Trotting with a pronounced limp, Crenshaw headed back down the path, followed by Stache, and, somewhat more reluctantly, Smee and the others. In a few minutes the path widened. Patches of low fog shone in the moonlight, like tiny puffs of gray cotton. Crenshaw had left out mention of the swirling fog.

  Stache smelled the lagoon before he saw it: like a fresh rainfall. From far to his left came the trickling sound of water—a stream, and waterfall that fed the lagoon. Then, above the sounds of the water, he heard distinctly human sounds—grunting, shouting, splashing, the crack of a whip—familiar sounds to a pirate: fighting.

  The path led to a small sand dune. Stache stopped his men short. By the sound of it, the fight was raging in the water just on the other side. No reason to join a fight until you know what side you’re on.

  Another crack of the whip. Then, a scream: a woman’s scream.

  His men stopped, all eyes on Stache.

  “Here’s what we do,” he whispered. “Whoever’s out there, we let them kill each other off. When they’re done and the fighting stops, we’ll take care of whoever’s left. Get your weapons ready.” He was thinking: flying boats and fighting…the treasure’s at the heart of this.

  Then, drawing his sword, Stache began to creep up the side of the dune.

  CHAPTER 62

  PETER’S DECISION

  PETER’S HANDS WERE BLEEDING, sliced time and again by the jagged lava as he fought his way up the hillside. As he neared the top, the slope became very steep, almost vertical, causing Peter to question the wisdom of his plan. He periodically glanced back down along the hillside, but could no longer see Molly or the others; he wondered if he’d be able to find them again.

  Finally he reached the top, and saw immediately that his suspicion had been correct: the hill was in fact a narrow neck, separating the cove from a wide, curved lagoon. The slope on the other side of the hill was as steep as the one he had ascended, leading down to another beach. He swept his gaze along it, starting on the far right, seeing nothing of interest until some huge rock formations in the center of the lagoon curve, near the beach. He focused on these, his eyes straining to pick up details in the moonlight.

  After a moment, he saw it: a slim, dark shape on the silver water.

  A boat.

  Peter squinted. There were people in the boat; there was commotion around it. Pirates, he was sure of it. Who else could it be?

  And they’ve got the trunk, I wager.

  Peter considered the situation. He was certain that Ammm, forced to take the water route, was leading Molly around the point to this boat. He decided it made no sense for him to go back down the way he had come, over the rough lava, and try to catch up with Molly. Obviously, he should proceed down to this new beach and wait for the others there.

  So he descended, finding the going-down much quicker than the climbing-up had been. He stood on the beach for five long minutes, then five more, then five more, peering down the beach to his right, waiting impatiently for Molly and the others to come into view, remembering how slow their progress had been when he’d left them.

  Finally his impatience got the better of him.

  I’ll just go down and have a look, he thought.

  And so he set off, keeping out of the moonlight, staying under the tall palms that edged the beach, trotting toward the big rocks, and the longboat.

  CHAPTER 63

  GONE AGAIN

  FOUR DISTINCT Vs APPEARED in the moonlit water, all aimed at the port side of the longboat.

  “Broadsides!” Slank called out. Too late.

  The mermaids timed their strike perfectly, lifting the port side high just as Little Richard was leaning the wrong way. He fell, flailing, and his massive weight flipped the boat, catapulting Slank into the air, and then into the lagoon.

  Slank bobbed to the surface, frantically stabbing into the water and thrashing with his legs, expecting at any second to feel mermaid teeth sink into his flesh. Instead, he felt…

  He felt the bottom. During the fight, the boat had drifted within ten yards of shore; Slank could stand easily.

  Little Richard was also standing, peering nervously at the water, whip at the ready. “Where’d they go?” he asked.

  Slank looked around, seeing no sign of tails or splashes, only the now-gentle lagoon surface, mirroring the moon. Then it hit him.

  “Where’s the trunk?” he said.

  The two men spun in circles. Gone. Again.

  Slank spat a curse at the sky, then took a deep breath.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s get the boat ashore.”

  They grabbed the swamped longboat, walked it to the beach, dumped the water out and hauled the boat onto the sand.

  “I don’t get it,” panted Little Richard, when they were done. “They was after us like banshees, then they was gone!”

  Slank had been thinking about that.

  “They was trying to rescue the one I had in the boat,” he said. “That’s why they capsized us. But then they saw she wasn’t there, and went looking for her. It’s the only explanation.”

  “But where’d she go?” Little Richard asked.

  “I don’t care where she went,” Slank said. “What I care about is the trunk, and I’m thinking if we didn’t see it drift off, them she-devils didn’t see it neither.”

  Slank was studying the lagoon intently now, hands on hips. To the left, fresh water poured in over the waterfall and swirled in a deep pool by the island of rocks. Watching the movement of the foam, Slank detected a slight current, moving to the right, down the curve of the beach.

  “Come on!” he said, setting off at a trot. “Where are we going now?” said Little Richard, none too happy, lumbering behind.

  “If the trunk comes ashore,” said Slank, “it’ll be this way.”

  CHAPTER 64

  “HE SURELY WILL”

  KEEPING TO THE MOON-CAST SHADOWS beneath the palms, Peter trotted along the beach toward the longboat. As he drew closer, he heard angry shouts, and a cracking sound, as well as other—stranger—noises; and saw figures in and around the boat in frenzied activity, apparently fighting.

  Who would the pirates be fighting?

  He stopped and looked back toward the rocky point. There was still no sign of Ammm, or Molly.

  It’s taking them forever.

  Peter hesitated. On the one hand, he was reluctant to get too close to the battle ahead, and risk capture; on the other hand, he was very curious to know who was fighting the pirates, and where the trunk was. He decided he could risk getting a little closer.

  He had walked no more than twenty feet when he heard it: a moan, coming from his right, at the water’s edge. He stopped, and heard it again, louder this time. He glanced ahead at the shouting figures, then, keeping his head low, darted down the beach to the water.

  He saw her immediately: a girl lying facedown in the shallow water, her long blond hair splayed forward, touching the sand. She appeared to be struggling to crawl onto the beach. Her arms moved feebly, her hands clawing at the wet sand.

  Peter ran to the girl, dropping to his knees into the water. He took her by the shoulders and turned her over, and immediately noticed several things. The first was that she was startlingly beautiful, with astonishingly large, luminescent green eyes. The second was that she did not appear to be wearing any clothes, her only covering coming from her lush cascade of hair.

  Ordinarily this second thing would have gotten Peter’s full attention, but he was much distracted by the third thing, which was blood seeping from a deep gash in her forehead.

  Supporting the girl
’s head in his hands, Peter looked frantically around for something to put over the wound.

  My shirt, he thought.

  He decided to pull the girl farther up on the sand, so he could rest her head on the beach while he removed his shirt. Getting his hand under her arms, he heaved backward. That was when Peter noticed a fourth, even more startling thing.

  She had a tail.

  “Aaah!” said Peter, jumping up, dropping her head. The girl, or fish, or whatever she was, moaned piteously, and writhed in pain. Peter stood over her, water dripping from his body.

  “Wh…who are you?” he said.

  The mermaid did not answer, but blinked and looked at Peter, as if seeing him for the first time.

  Those eyes!

  She drew a sharp breath, her expression suddenly fearful.

  “It’s okay,” said Peter, softly, kneeling again. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The mermaid’s expression remained wary, but her large eyes closed again. Peter saw she was weakening rapidly as her blood, dark in the moonlight, continued to ooze onto the sand.

  “I’m going to put a bandage on you,” Peter said, untucking his shirt. “You’ll be fine.”

  But she didn’t seem to hear him; her head had slumped sideways now, and the life seemed to be slowly draining from her face. Peter felt certain it was too late for a bandage to do much good, but, not knowing what else to do, he began to pull his shirt over his head, only to get it tangled in…

  The locket.

  Peter slipped it off his neck and looked at it. He’d meant to give it back to Molly, but then Ammm had appeared, and in the excitement he’d forgotten. He had no idea how much, if any, starstuff was left in it. If there was any, it likely wasn’t much.

  Should I save it? I might need it, against the pirates. Molly might need it….

  The mermaid moaned again, a weak sound. A dying sound. Peter looked at her face, then at the locket, then down the still-empty beach toward the rocky point.

  “I’m sorry, Molly.” He whispered the apology and then snapped open the locket.

  Immediately a sphere of golden light blinded him; first his hands, then the rest of his body, experienced the now-familiar warmth and feeling of well-being. Peter wanted to luxuriate in that feeling, but forced himself to invert the locket and pour its contents onto the mermaid’s wounded forehead. The warmth quickly drained out of him. The glow spread over the girl’s body, then disappeared, like water absorbed by a sponge.

  It’s working…. In a moment, the glow was gone.

  Peter picked up the locket; it still hung open, but was now just lifeless metal. He snapped it shut, and put it back around his neck. He found himself aware of the silence; the splashing and shouting from down the beach had stopped. He started to rise to have a look, when he felt a hand grip his forearm.

  Startled, he whirled and saw that the mermaid was sitting up, her eyes open and focused on Peter. Her wound was gone.

  “Are you…all right?” Peter asked.

  The girl said nothing, but reached her hand out and gently traced her fingers along the side of Peter’s face. He blushed. She smiled, a stunningly beautiful smile.

  As they stared at each other, Peter heard a splash a few yards offshore and, looking up, saw not one…but two…no three more mermaids. Waist high in the shallow water, they hissed at him and dragged themselves forward. Peter tried to scramble away, but the blond mermaid made an odd, deep-throated sound, and they stopped their advance. An exchange of strange sounds followed. The three other mermaids smiled at Peter, who blushed even more.

  This pleasant scene was interrupted by the sudden surfacing of yet another mermaid, who, with barely a glance at Peter, emitted a rapid series of throaty sounds that clearly excited and alarmed the three others. They whirled and, with a flash of their green tails, were gone, underwater. The mermaid whom Peter had rescued hesitated only a moment longer, giving Peter’s arm one final squeeze. She offered another radiant smile, slid gracefully forward into the water, and then she, too, was gone.

  Seconds later, the whole group of mermaids surfaced twenty yards to Peter’s left, making sounds, gesticulating excitedly to one another. Peter stood on his tiptoes but couldn’t see. He ran up the beach, and looked back. The mermaids were trying to work their way through the shallows to a dark form lying, wave-lapped, at the water’s edge.

  Peter blinked, not believing his luck.

  The trunk. Unguarded.

  Racing through the shallow water, he reached it in seconds. There was no question; even in the brilliant moonlight, he could see the glow through the cracks; the moment his hand touched the rough wood, he felt the familiar warmth.

  His attention was drawn away by urgent sounds out in the lagoon. The mermaids, struggling frantically to make their way to him, were waving their arms, and flopping their now-useless tails through the shallow water. The blond mermaid he’d saved was in front. Her eyes met his as she made a series of urgent, but incomprehensible sounds, clearly trying to tell him something.

  “What is it?” called Peter. “WhUNNNH.”

  The clublike wooden handle of Little Richard’s whip, two feet of two-inch-diameter oak, slammed into Peter’s skull from behind. Peter instantly crumpled to the shallow water, unable to break his fall, and lay facedown, motionless. The mermaids, hissing, lunged forward with teeth bared, but were at a hopeless disadvantage in the shallow water, and scurried back as the whip cracked out at them.

  “Forget them,” said Slank. “They can’t reach us here. Get the trunk. We’re going back to the longboat.”

  “But if we’re in the boat, those things’ll swamp us again,” said Little Richard, gesturing at mermaids.

  “Not this time,” said Slank. “With what’s in the trunk, we can leave the way we come in, flying over them she-devils.”

  He laughed at the mermaids, who were highly agitated; he noticed that one of them, the blond one, was, despite the risk of the whip, crawling toward Peter, who had not moved.

  “Oh, you fancy this lad, do you?” he asked. “You’re welcome to him.” With his right foot, he gave Peter’s motionless form, still facedown, a shove toward the deeper water.

  “Get the trunk,” said Slank to Little Richard, “and let’s get off this miserable island.”

  Little Richard hoisted the trunk to his shoulder, then glanced down at Peter. “Shouldn’t we turn the boy over?” he called to Slank. “If we leave him like that, he’ll surely drown.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Slank, not looking back. “He surely will.”

  CHAPTER 65

  HE’S GONE AHEAD

  “COME ON,” CALLED MOLLY TO THE OTHERS, for what felt to her like the hundredth time. “Can’t you go any faster?”

  They were picking their way with agonizing slowness along the rocky, wave-lashed point, trying to keep from falling on the slippery, irregular, razor-sharp coral, their legs now covered with scrapes and bleeding cuts.

  Right behind Molly, as he had been from the start, walked James, steady James. But the others lagged at a considerable distance—Prentiss and Thomas, both miserable but gamely struggling forward, and Alf, far to the rear, now essentially carrying Tubby Ted. Molly had been tempted more than once to leave them behind, but could not bring herself to abandon them. Even with the big sailor to look after them, this strange and scary island required everyone to stick together.

  Peter should never have gone off on his own….

  She looked ahead and to the right, her eyes searching just beyond the breakers until she caught sight of Ammm, his snout appearing almost white in the moonlight, chittering at her to come, come, come. Peter had been right: Ammm had led them around the point only because he could not lead them by land. The destination was clearly the broad lagoon that now came into view. Molly assumed this meant that Peter was ahead of them, somewhere on the beach by now. She hoped that for once he would show some patience, and wait for her as planned.

  At last, the terrain improved, the unforgiving lava giv
ing way to rock and sand. Molly scanned the broad, sweeping curve of beach, but saw no sign of Peter.

  Where are you? she wondered.

  She glanced back at the others.

  “Come on,” she called out, for what felt like the hundred-and-first time. Then, urged on by the chittering Ammm, she began trotting along the hard-packed sand, still searching through the night for Peter.

  I hope you haven’t gotten yourself into trouble.

  CHAPTER 66

  THE DREAM

  PETER HAD NEVER KISSED A GIRL. He had never kissed anybody, at least not technically. Not that he remembered. He did have a memory, dim and dreamlike, of being kissed, but that was by a grown-up, a lady. When he recalled this memory, which he sometimes did as he was falling off to sleep, he thought that perhaps the lady might have been his mother. He tried to see her face, but the memory wouldn’t allow it. It felt more like a shadow, old and faded by the light. But he had never kissed a girl. He’d read of it, this girl-kissing; he had heard the older boys at St. Norbert’s snicker about it. For most of his life Peter had not understood why anyone, girl or boy, would want to do such an unappetizing thing as put their mouth together with someone else’s. Lately, though, since he’d met Molly, the idea seemed less and less repulsive, and more and more intriguing. But still, he had never done it; had never come close.

  So he was sure that he was dreaming now, in this strange and unreal moment, in this weightless watery tumble, in this swirl of light, in this burble of strange noises. He must be dreaming, because he was in the arms of a girl, a very beautiful girl, with blond hair and green eyes—Molly has green eyes—and this beautiful girl was holding him, and her mouth was touching his mouth, and—the strangest thing—her breath was becoming Peter’s breath.

  The strangest thing. A dream, certainly. But it was a pleasant dream, and Peter decided the best thing to do was simply let go and enjoy it.