Peter and the Shadow Thieves

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Peter and the Shadow Thieves Page 1

by Ridley Pearson Dave Barry




  ALSO BY DAVE BARRY

  FICTION

  Tricky Business

  Big Trouble

  The Shepherd, the Angel, and Walter the Christmas Miracle Dog

  NONFICTION

  Dave Barry’s Money Secrets: Like: Why Is There a Giant Eyeball on the Dollar?

  Boogers Are My Beat

  Dave Barry Hits Below the Beltway: A Vicious and Unprovoked Attack on Our Most Cherished Political Institutions

  Dave Barry Is Not Taking This Sitting Down

  Dave Barry Turns 50

  Dave Barry Is from Mars and Venus

  Dave Barry’s Book of Bad Songs

  Dave Barry in Cyberspace

  Dave Barry’s Complete Guide to Guys

  Dave Barry’s Gift Guide to End All Gift Guides

  Dave Barry Is NOT Making This Up

  Dave Barry Does Japan

  Dave Barry’s Only Travel Guide You’ll Ever Need

  Dave Barry Talks Back

  Dave Barry Turns 40

  Dave Barry Slept Here: A Sort of History of the United States

  Dave Barry’s Greatest Hits

  Homes and Other Black Holes

  Dave Barry’s Guide to Marriage and/or Sex

  Dave Barry’s Bad Habits: A 100% Fact-Free Book

  Claw Your Way to the Top: How to Become the Head of a Major

  Corporation in Roughly a Week

  Stay Fit and Healthy Until You’re Dead

  Babies and Other Hazards of Sex: How to Make a Tiny Person in Only 9

  Months with Tools You Probably Have Around the Home

  The Taming of the Screw

  ALSO BY RIDLEY PEARSON

  Kingdom Keepers—Disney After Dark

  Kingdom Keepers II—Disney at Dawn

  Kingdom Keepers III—Disney in Shadow

  Steel Trapp—The Challenge

  Killer Weekend

  Cut and Run

  The Body of David Hayes

  The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer: My Life as Rose Red (writing as Joyce Reardon)

  The Art of Deception

  Parallel Lies

  Middle of Nowhere

  The First Victim

  The Pied Piper

  Beyond Recognition

  Chain of Evidence

  No Witnesses

  The Angel Maker

  Hard Fall

  Probable Cause

  Undercurrents

  Hidden Charges

  Blood of the Albatross

  Never Look Back

  WRITING AS WENDELL MCCALL

  Dead Aim

  Aim for the Heart

  Concerto in Dead Flat

  ALSO BY DAVE BARRY & RIDLEY PEARSON

  Peter and the Starcatchers

  Peter and the Sword of Mercy

  Peter and the Secret of Rundoon

  Escape from the Carnivale

  Cave of the Dark Wind

  This book is not authorized for sale by Publisher

  in the countries of the European Union.

  Copyright © 2006 Dave Barry and Page One, Inc.

  Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Greg Call

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Editions, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  For information address Disney Editions, 114 Fifth Avenue,

  New York, New York 10011-5690.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Printing History

  Disney Editions/Hyperion Books for Children hardcover edition / September 2006

  Disney Editions/Hyperion Books for Children trade paperback / September 2007

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

  ISBN: 978-1-4231-4107-5

  Visit www.disneyhyperionbooks.com

  Visit www.peterandtheshadowthieves.com

  We dedicate this book to our children—Paige, Storey, Rob and Sophie—and to all the other children who read Peter and the Starcatchers, and asked us what happened next.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We thank Wendy Lefkon, our unflagging champion, and her colleagues at Disney, for all their encouragement and support. (Not to mention the passes to Disney World.)

  We thank Greg Call for his inspired illustrations, and his patience while we endlessly debated the question of what certain imaginary creatures look like.

  We thank the many people who helped with research (Yes! There was some actual research!) and copyediting, especially Norman Anderson, Judi Smith, and David and Laurel Walters.

  We thank the people who manage our lives despite all our efforts to thwart them: Louise Marsh, Nancy Litzinger, Joeylyn Lambert, and (again) Judi Smith.

  We thank Jim Dale, who recorded the audio versions of both of our books, and who has a thousand voices, with a funny story for every one.

  Most of all, we thank our wonderful wives, Michelle and Marcelle, who smile benignly when their husbands dress like pirates and talk like porpoises.

  —Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  CHAPTER 1: A Speck on the Horizon

  CHAPTER 2: The Choice

  CHAPTER 3: The Wrong Side of the Mountain

  CHAPTER 4: The Voice

  CHAPTER 5: The Agreement

  CHAPTER 6: The Darkest Way

  CHAPTER 7: An Ally

  CHAPTER 8: The Mission

  CHAPTER 9: A Tasty Meal Lost

  CHAPTER 10: Dead Eyes

  CHAPTER 11: Strangers

  CHAPTER 12: Something Familiar

  CHAPTER 13: The Coming Danger

  CHAPTER 14: The Farewell

  CHAPTER 15: Into the Night

  CHAPTER 16: One Look Back

  CHAPTER 17:Ombra’s Feeling

  CHAPTER 18: “No Bees at Sea”

  CHAPTER 19: Anything Unusual

  CHAPTER 20: The Signal

  CHAPTER 21: The Scuttlebutt

  CHAPTER 22: Tubby Ted’s Discovery

  CHAPTER 23:A Second Visit

  CHAPTER 24: The Stowaway

  CHAPTER 25: Genius

  CHAPTER 26: St. Katherine’s Dock

  CHAPTER 27: Into the Storm

  CHAPTER 28: Not Safe at All

  CHAPTER 29: A Bone to Pick

  CHAPTER 30: Somehow

  CHAPTER 31: A Tiny Heart Beating

  CHAPTER 32: A Feeling

  CHAPTER 33: A Way Out

  CHAPTER 34: A Visitor

  CHAPTER 35: A Walk in the Dark

  CHAPTER 36:A Few Seconds

  CHAPTER 37: “I’ll Find You”

  CHAPTER 38: The Shadow Thief

  CHAPTER 39: The Market

  CHAPTER 40: The Fear in Her Eyes

  CHAPTER 41: Play It Safe

  CHAPTER 42:The Standoff

  CHAPTER 43: Thunder Down the Trail

  CHAPTER 44: The Collector

  CHAPTER 45: The Cold Iron Ring

  CHAPTER 46: Hopeless

  CHAPTER 47: The Drunken Centipede

  CHAPTER 48: Something Strong

  CHAPTER 49: Either Way

  CHAPTER 50: Grasping Hands

  CHAPTER 51: The Message from Egypt

  CHAPTER 52: The Letter

  CHAPTER 53: Potato Soup

  CHAPTER 54: A Fine Name Indeed

  CHAPTER 55: “Take All His Air”

  CHAPTER 56: A Very Strange Business

  CHAPTER 57:At Last

  CHAPTER 58: Visitor
s

  CHAPTER 59: Something Odd

  CHAPTER 60: Overheard Words

  CHAPTER 61: Footsteps

  CHAPTER 62: Rough Hands

  CHAPTER 63: The Thing on the Stairs

  CHAPTER 64: The Black Pool

  CHAPTER 65: An Urgent Search

  CHAPTER 66: The Envelope

  CHAPTER 67: The Phantom Light

  CHAPTER 68: Conversation in a Tree

  CHAPTER 69: A Cry on the Wind

  CHAPTER 70:Reluctant Allies

  CHAPTER 71: The Secret Place

  CHAPTER 72: The Warder and the Watcher

  CHAPTER 73: The Messenger

  CHAPTER 74: The Ravens’ Cries

  CHAPTER 75: Traitor’s Gate

  CHAPTER 76: McGuinn

  CHAPTER 77: Wolves on the Steps

  CHAPTER 78: A Deadly Fall

  CHAPTER 79: The Silent Struggle

  CHAPTER 80: The Metal Man

  CHAPTER 81: The Secret

  CHAPTER 82: The Keep

  CHAPTER 83: Ombra’s Plan

  CHAPTER 84: A Voice in the Dark

  CHAPTER 85: Dark Kites

  CHAPTER 86: An Offer of Help

  CHAPTER 87: The Golden Weather Vane

  CHAPTER 88: A Good Friend of His

  CHAPTER 89: No Choice

  CHAPTER 90: George’s Thought

  CHAPTER 91: The Destination

  CHAPTER 92: Not Much Time

  CHAPTER 93: A Raven’s Eye

  CHAPTER 94: The Return

  CHAPTER 95: A Swift, Sure Shadow

  CHAPTER 96: Over Their Heads

  CHAPTER 1

  A SPECK ON THE HORIZON

  A MANGO, THOUGHT PETER. The perfect weapon.

  The scrawny, sunburned boy, dressed in a tattered shirt and pants torn off below scabby knees, brushed the unkempt reddish hair out of his face. It fell right back into his eyes as he bent to the sandy soil and scooped up the plump red-and-yellow fruit sphere, a bit bigger than an orange. The mango was squishy to the touch, too ripe for eating. But it was just the thing to drop on somebody’s head from a great height. And Peter knew precisely whose head he wanted to drop it on.

  Holding the sweet-smelling mango in his left hand, Peter raised his right hand over his head and, pointing his index finger skyward, sprang up and rose swiftly from the earth. It was a dramatic takeoff, and totally unnecessary: Peter—an expert flyer now, after three months’ practice—could float easily upward in any position. But he enjoyed impressing the other boys.

  “Peter!” shouted young James as he trotted toward the mango tree. He was followed by the rest of the Lost Boys, as they had come to call themselves—Prentiss, Thomas, and, lagging far behind, Tubby Ted.

  “Where are you going?” asked James, his thin voice cracking.

  “To pay the pirates a visit,” Peter announced. “I’ve a delivery to make.” He held out the oozing, overripe mango.

  “Please, can’t I come?” begged James.

  Peter was silent for a long moment. The only noise was the distant sound of surf pounding on the reef outside the lagoon. Then, reluctantly, Peter said, “’Fraid not, James. You can’t…I mean…You know.”

  “Right,” said James. “I can’t fly.”

  James said it matter-of-factly, but Peter saw the now-familiar look of disappointment in his eyes. He saw it also on the faces of Prentiss and Thomas, though all he saw on Tubby Ted’s face was mango pulp, as Tubby Ted had decided it was time for a snack. (For Tubby Ted, it was always time for a snack.)

  Peter hovered for a moment, feeling a flicker of guilt. It seemed that more and more lately, he’d been having his best adventures alone. He almost decided to return to the earth and to carry out his attack by land, so his mates could join in the fun. Almost…

  But walking took so long, and if they were on foot, the pirates might catch them. No, flying was the only way to do this.

  “You’ll be safer here,” he said. “I’ll be back soon! We’ll have a game, or a snake hunt.”

  “But,” said James, “I—”

  “Sorry!” interrupted Peter, shooting skyward, not looking back. He soared above the treetops, his pangs of guilt changing to irritation tinged with self-pity.

  It’s not my fault I can fly and they can’t, he thought. Besides, they’re safer back there. Can’t they see I’m looking out for them?

  These thoughts were quickly driven from Peter’s mind by the sweeping view that greeted him as he shot into the radiant blue sky between two small, puffy, bright white clouds. He ascended at a steep angle, keeping his body parallel to the dark green mountain ridge that rose sharply to form the backbone of the island.

  As he cleared the summit, he could see the whole of Mollusk Island. Far below, on the side he’d come from, was the shimmering blue-green expanse of calm, protected water that the boys called Mermaid Lagoon. Peter could see the tiny figures of a half dozen mermaids sunning themselves on the broad, flat rock they favored. One of the figures waved—probably their leader, the one known as Teacher. She was quite fond of Peter, a fact that both embarrassed and pleased him.

  Peter returned the wave, then continued his aerial survey of the island. Curved around the blue-green waters of the lagoon was the island’s widest beach, a semicircle of soft, sugar-white sand, fringed with coconut trees. Behind the beach, in a small clearing nestled at the base of the mountain slope, was the boys’ home—a dome-shaped driftwood hut, covered with palm thatch, that they’d erected with the help of the Mollusk tribe. A quarter mile from their hut, in a bigger clearing surrounding a massive tree, was the Mollusk village itself, where gray smoke was drifting skyward from several cooking fires.

  The Mollusks—whose chief, Fighting Prawn, owed Peter his life—had proved to be generous hosts. They’d shown the boys how to spear fish, which fish to spear, how to clean and cook them, where to get fresh water, how to keep a fire going, what to do when a hairy jumping spider the size of a squirrel leaped on your head—all the basic skills of island survival.

  Peter suspected that Fighting Prawn also had men posted in the jungle to keep an eye on the boys’ hut, lest the pirates decided to pay a visit. This had been reassuring at first, but as the weeks and months passed, Peter had become more and more certain that the pirates didn’t dare venture to this side of the island, where they would be greatly outnumbered by the Mollusks. His fear had turned to confidence, then to cockiness. In recent days he’d taken to amusing himself by flying across the island to the pirate encampment and taunting the pirate who had once terrified him and the entire seafaring world—Black Stache.

  But Peter had given him a new name.

  Peter looked down the other side of the mountain, toward what the boys called Pirate Cove. On a bluff overlooking the cove was the pirates’ fort, a squat structure made of logs that had been laboriously hacked down with swords and bound with thick jungle vines.

  Reaching the apex of his ascent, Peter eased to a stop and hovered for a moment. He was about to begin his descent when he heard a sound behind him. To a normal person it would have sounded like bells—tiny, perfectly pitched, melodious bells. Peter could hear the bells, but he also heard words inside his head, and they were not happy words. He sighed and turned slowly to face a most displeased Tinker Bell, her silvery wings buzzing furiously, her tiny face red and pinched with anger.

  “I did not run off,” he said, though he knew he had. “It’s not my fault if you don’t keep up.”

  More bells. Peter cut them off mid-tinkle.

  “Listen, Tink,” Peter said. “You’re not my mother or father. I have no mother or father. I don’t have to answer to you. I don’t have to answer to anybody.”

  The sound of more bells: musical and quieter now.

  “Yes, I do know that,” Peter said, also softening. “I understand perfectly well that Lord Aster left you to look out for me, and I appreciate it. But that was when I was new to…to all this.” He gestured at his airborne body, then the island below. “It’s
different now. I’ve learned a lot. I can take care of myself. I don’t need a fairy watching—”

  He was interrupted by an angry outburst of shrill bells. Tinker Bell disliked the name “fairy,” which she saw as a slight to her heritage.

  “Sorry,” said Peter. “I mean, I don’t need a birdgirl watching over me.”

  More bells. Instructive.

  “What dangers?” said Peter. “There’s nothing on this island for me to worry about except old Captain Hook down there, and he’s too scared to come near our side of the island with the Mollusks about. Even if he does come, how’s he going to catch me if he can’t fly? Face it, Tink, nothing here can hurt me. Nothing.”

  More bells.

  “Well, that’s your opinion,” said Peter. “But I don’t agree, and I don’t plan to stay up here all day arguing with a…a birdgirl.”

  He turned his back on her and angled his body to start his downward swoop. Tinker Bell flew in front of him, still tinkling.

  “Fine,” Peter said, impatient now. “I can’t stop you from coming. Just don’t get in the way, okay?”

  With that, he gripped the mango, let out a whoop, and began his dive toward the pirate fort, his mind focusing now on his plan of attack. He was so intent on landing the mango on his target that he failed to notice two things: one was a small human form below, making its way laboriously up to the summit of the mountain. Had Peter looked closely, he would have seen that the form was James, who was determined that, this time, he would not miss out on the adventure.

  The other thing Peter missed was a speck on the horizon—a tiny dark shape, far out to sea.

  A speck that was, ever so slowly, growing larger.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE CHOICE

  THE AIR SUDDENLY TASTED OF LAND.

  Captain Nerezza turned his pox-eaten face windward, where two small, puffy clouds hugged the horizon, reminding him of the mashed potatoes in a shepherd’s pie.

  Everything reminded Nerezza of food these days: he and his crew had dined on hardtack and skinned rats for the past two weeks, having run low on food and, far worse, water, as they wandered the sea aimlessly, increasingly desperate. Nerezza had begun to wonder if there really was an island, or just a madman’s confused memories.

  But now these midmorning clouds hovered, stationary, all alone, not another spot of white in the rich, cobalt-blue sky. And that tantalizing taste lay ever so gently on his salty, parched tongue.

 

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