Molly stared back for a moment, remembering Jenna’s odd visit to her room just a few hours earlier. She wondered if Jenna—who looked wide awake—had slept at all.
“Tell her I’ll be right down,” Molly said curtly, closing the door.
She dressed quickly and went downstairs to the breakfast room, where she found her mother seated at the table, a half-finished breakfast in front of her, a reproving look on her face.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Molly said, sitting down. “I couldn’t get to sleep last night. There was the strangest…”
She stopped in midsentence as Jenna entered the room, carrying a plate of eggs, which she set in front of Molly. Molly remained silent as Jenna bowed slightly and left the room. Louise Aster looked at her daughter expectantly.
“Yes?” she prompted. “The strangest what?”
Molly looked toward the doorway through which Jenna had just departed. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, “Last night—”
She was interrupted by an outburst of furious barking from the rear of the house, soon joined by loud shouts. Molly and her mother looked at each other, then jumped up and hurried out of the breakfast room and down the hall. Following the noise, they passed by the kitchen and into the staff dining room.
Inside they found a frantic scene:
Homblower, normally a placid dog, was in a raging fury, his huge teeth bared in a fierce snarl as he barked furiously and lunged at Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Cadigan. The two men stood near the far wall, eyeing the dog, their faces pale in the bright gaslight; Molly thought their expressions were oddly impassive, almost vacant, considering how close they were to the snapping jaws. The third guard, Mr. Hodge, was desperately trying to hold Homblower back, gripping his collar with both hands. Hodge was a large man, but Homblower was a large dog, and Hodge was just barely able to restrain him.
Finally, with great effort, Hodge was able to get a leash on Homblower and drag him outside, where he tied the leash to a tree. He returned to the dining room, red-faced and panting, and sat at the table. Jarvis and Cadigan remained standing by the wall, neither having moved. Several servants, including Jenna, had come to see what the fuss was about.
Louise Aster addressed the three guards. “What on earth was that about?” she said.
Hodge shot a look at the other two men—an odd look, Molly thought—then spoke.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he said. “I had Homblower in the room with me last night—it was my night off—and when we came downstairs, as soon as he saw Mister Jarvis and Mister Cadigan, why, he just went mad. I don’t understand it.” Again, he looked at Jarvis and Cadigan. “He’s never done anything like that before. He knows them well as he knows me.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Aster. “Mister Jarvis? Mister Cadigan? Have you an idea what’s gotten into the dog?”
The two men shook their heads, but neither spoke. This was odd, Molly thought: both Jarvis and Cadigan were usually talkative.
“I see,” said Mrs. Aster, and Molly noticed that she, too, seemed a bit puzzled by the reticence of the two men. “Well then,” she went on, “I suppose it’s best to keep Hornblower outside until he calms down.”
Hodge nodded. Jarvis and Cadigan remained motionless.
“Well then,” repeated Mrs. Aster as the silence became awkward. “Molly, let’s finish our breakfast.”
She left the room. Molly followed, feeling Jenna’s eyes on her as she walked past the servants. Molly felt tired and confused. Everything seemed wrong: Jenna’s behavior; the strange events she’d seen by the gaslight last night; Hornblower’s sudden hostility to Jarvis and Cadigan; and their uncharacteristic passivity. There was something else about them as well—Molly frowned, thinking of the two of them against the wall—yes, there had definitely been something strange about the way they looked, though at the moment she couldn’t quite identify it.
Molly followed her mother to the breakfast room, determined to voice her concerns.
“Mother,” she said as they sat down. “There’s something wrong.”
“I know,” said her mother quietly.
“You do?” said Molly.
“Yes,” said her mother. “But we can’t talk about it now.” She tilted her head slightly toward the doorway; as she did, Jenna glided past.
“Mother,” whispered Molly, “I’m scared.”
“It’s all right,” her mother said, putting her hand on Molly’s. “We’ll be all right.”
The words were reassuring, but Molly was not persuaded by them. She heard the strain in her mother’s voice. And she saw the fear in her eyes.
CHAPTER 41
PLAY IT SAFE
CAPTAIN NEREZZA SIPPED warm tea from a battered mug, staring at Slank over the rising steam. They sat at the large table in the center of the captain’s oversized cabin. The wan light of dawn flowed through the row of windows at the stern. A small cannon, useful as a stern chaser during combat at sea, was strapped to the wall, its brass gleaming.
Outside on the quay, weary sailors, awakened too early, rolled barrels, while others cursed and shouted as they struggled to maneuver nets filled with heavy cargo. Some sailors, having overdone the grog, slept against the wall of the Jolly Tar; one was passed out in a wheelbarrow. A typical morning on St. Katherine’s dock.
“I don’t like it,” Slank said. “We were so close.”
Nerezza said, “We have two of the three guards now. He knows what he’s doing.”
“We should have finished it,” Slank complained. “We should have charged in there. Who was going to stop us?”
“That’s just it,” said Nerezza. “We don’t know, do we?”
“There were five of us! And with the two guards taken—”
“—and a third guard, we don’t know where,” Nerezza added calmly. “There’re the other servants in the house that need taking care of. Ombra’s got plans for that. And time’s running short, and dawn coming. And that ain’t all.”
“What d’you mean?”
“You’ve had a small taste of what them Starcatchers can do,” Nerezza said.
Slank winced at the memory of how he had been bested by the flying boy back on the island.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you,” continued Nerezza, “what even a boy can do if he has hold of the starstuff. Now, inside that house you have a mother and daughter, true enough. But not a normal mother and daughter, eh, Mister Slank? Not considering the father. No, them is Starcatchers. Maybe they can fly, like the boy. If they can, what good is storming in on them if they take off out the window like a pair of birds? Maybe they got powers we ain’t seen yet, eh? That’s what Ombra’s thinking, I tell you. He don’t intend to come all this way to lose them by rushing things. No, he wants to deal with that third guard, put the odds in our favor, give us the advantage when we go after Mrs. Aster and the girl, y’see? So I’d be patient if I was you, Mister Slank, unless, of course, you fancy to be the first one he sends through that door and into that house.”
Slank nodded, seeing Nerezza’s point. He looked out the window, pondering. Mention of the Starcatchers and the flying boy reminded him of the bone he’d found in the sail, and his suspicions. He wondered if now wasn’t the time to tell Nerezza that there might be still another Starcatcher in London, maybe inside the Aster house. The thought dangled there on the tip of Slank’s tongue, but he could not spit it out, for fear Nerezza would think him a fool.
Nerezza saw the worry on Slank’s face. “What is it?” he said.
There it was: an invitation for Slank to reveal his suspicions.
But instead, Slank said, “I don’t want to be the first one into that house. You’re right about that.”
“You and me both,” Nerezza said.
“So we wait for tonight,” Slank said.
“Right,” said Nerezza. “We play it safe. And by the time the woman and the girl know we’re there, it’ll be too late.” He took another sip of tea, heavily sugared, the way he liked it. He savored its sweet
ness as he swallowed.
“Too late,” he said again.
CHAPTER 42
THE STANDOFF
THE JAIL CELL REEKED of vomit and menace. Peter sat in a corner, where he’d remained since the bobby had shoved him in there, trying his best not to be noticed by the others.
There were eleven of them: three boys younger—or at least smaller—than Peter, five boys older, and three men. Peter wasn’t so worried about the men: all three were drunk and seemed mostly interested in sleeping, although one had awakened long enough to empty the contents of his stomach onto himself and onto the floor, filling the cell with an acrid stench before he fell back into a deep, snoring slumber.
No, it was the older boys who concerned Peter. They were already in the cell when he’d been brought in, and they seemed quite familiar with it, almost comfortable there. They apparently knew each other, or had at least formed into a hierarchy, as packs of males do. Their leader was not the tallest among them, but definitely the broadest: a brutish, muscular boy the others called Rafe. He amused himself by tormenting the smaller boys, punching them and threatening to stuff them headfirst into the disgustingly full wooden bucket that served as the cell’s communal toilet.
Peter desperately hoped that he would not have to use that bucket; the thought repulsed him. He hoped, too, that Rafe would continue ignoring him. Peter kept his eyes cast down, not meeting anyone’s gaze. His mood had descended to a level below despair: he had no idea how to get himself out of this, let alone rescue Tink or find Molly in time to warn her of the danger she was in. He had no hope at all. His stomach ached and his swollen jaw throbbed with agonizing pain.
“You,” said a menacing voice.
Peter looked up, and his heart sank at the sight of Rafe’s thick form looming over him.
“What?” he said.
“You got anything for me?” said Rafe. He squatted in front of Peter, his wide, grinning face only a foot away.
Peter said nothing. Why did everyone in this city want something from him?
Casually, Rafe reached his meaty hand out. Peter flinched as Rafe grabbed a handful of Peter’s filthy, torn shirt.
Rafe made a disappointed face. “Can’t use these pitiful rags,” he said. Then he brightened as he spied the gold chain around Peter’s neck. Peter inwardly berated himself for not having thought to hide it.
“Here now,” Rafe said, pulling the chain out and fingering the locket. “What’s this?”
Peter pushed Rafe’s hand aside and jumped to his feet, moving along the wall, away from Rafe. He couldn’t give up the locket. No matter what, he must not let that happen.
Rafe appeared surprised by the show of defiance, but pleased at the prospect of having some sport with his prey. He rose to his feet, smiling.
“So,” he said, moving slowly toward Peter. “You want to tussle with Rafe, do you?”
Peter continued to edge along the wall, looking frantically around the cell. He saw he’d get no help from the drunks, who were sleeping, and none from the other boys, who were watching with the expressions of spectators at an execution: they were clearly grateful that somebody else was the victim.
Rafe advanced toward Peter. Peter slid sideways along the cell wall. He reached the corner; there was nowhere to go. Rafe was a yard away, smiling broadly, bringing his fists up, ready to begin the pummeling.
Peter felt his foot hit something. He looked down and saw it: the toilet bucket.
He reached down and grabbed the handle with his right hand, swinging the bucket up to waist level. The stench was almost overpowering, but Peter was driven by desperation now. He put his left hand on the bottom of the bucket and drew it back, ready to hurl its repulsive contents at Rafe.
Rafe stopped, his smug expression replaced by one of surprise, and—Peter was relieved to see—an undercurrent of fear.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said.
“Yes, I would,” replied Peter.
They stood facing each other in the silent cell, staring into each other’s eyes for the better part of a very long minute. It was Rafe who blinked first.
“All right,” he said, backing away. “You stand there in the stink.” He settled down on the other side of the cell. “But soon enough you’ll get tired. Soon enough you’ll fall asleep. And then I’ll have that thing around your neck.” He hurled a hate-filled glare at Peter. “And I’ll have your neck, too,” he added.
Peter didn’t answer. He stood in the corner, holding the bucket, enveloped in foul fumes. He would not allow his face to betray his feelings. But he knew that Rafe was right: he could not hold out forever.
CHAPTER 43
THUNDER DOWN THE TRAIL
A PIRATE NAMED CHAMBERS led the hunting party, a group of able-bodied sailors armed with swords and bamboo spears tipped with sharpened shells. They moved smartly, knowing Hook was watching from his position on the mountainside.
They trudged through the humid, thick jungle, dodging snakes as thick as an arm and spiders the size of a fist. Chambers posted a man or two at various points on the jungle paths, according to Hook’s plan. By the time the hunting party had reached the herd of wild boars that Hook had seen earlier, it was down to Chambers and three others.
About a dozen of the huge, hairy, tusked beasts wallowed at the edge of a shallow watering hole, more mud than water. Chambers, using arm gestures so as not to spook the boars, positioned his men in a semicircle around one side of the watering hole. When they were set, he used the polished metal of his belt buckle to reflect a beam of sunlight toward the mountain. Then he waited.
Hook saw Chambers’s ready signal, and nearly allowed a smile to bend his moustache across his face. But not yet. He observed all: the jungle treetops, the boys’ hut, the paths. Squinting to his right, with some effort, he caught a glimpse of Hurky and more of his men concealed in the jungle on both sides of the trail that led past the hut. By now they would have laid the fishing net on the ground, stretching it across the path. Hook’s brilliant plan was coming together.
Hook drew his sword from his belt, angled the flat of its blade into the sun, and sent a blinding flash back in the direction of Chambers. Another: two quick flashes in a row. Then he watched as Chambers went to work.
Chambers nodded as Hook’s double signal blinked from the mountainside. He rose and waved his hand, issuing the silent command. The other three men stood, and all four of them began whooping and shouting as loud as they could. Then, pointing their spears and swords in front of them, they charged toward the wallowing boars.
This was the critical moment, because the boars might react by attacking, and if they did, they would likely tear the men to pieces. When Chambers had pointed this out to Captain Hook, Hook had boldly declared that this was a risk he was willing to take.
And so, despite the fierce faces of the shouting men, there was fear in their hearts as they saw the boars lift their heads. The hairy beasts snorted and pawed the mud, clearly considering charging. Then, to the great relief of the men, the boars turned and ran. The ground shook with their retreat; mud flew from their hooves.
From his mountainside lookout, Hook watched delightedly as, to his left, Chambers startled the boars. The beasts took off racing down the jungle trail, heads low. At the first intersection of trails, the boars encountered a nervous pirate pointing a spear; they veered to the right, just as Hook had drawn it up. He lost them for a few seconds to the thick jungle treetops, but then the herd reappeared, running even faster, their hooves tossing up a brown cloud of dirt clods behind them.
At the next junction of jungle paths, a pair of pirates surprised the boars and turned them again. Now the animals were headed right for the thatched hut where the boys lived.
Hook chortled and finally grinned, his brown teeth showing beneath his famous foot-wide moustache as he half whispered, “I have you now, you little devils.”
James felt it before he heard it.
“Run!” he shouted.
“What?” ask
ed Prentiss, who was putting the finishing touches on a length of bamboo. The boys were currently working to improve the bamboo gutters that hung from their hut and collected rain water. When working properly, the storage system saved them repeated bucket trips to the spring-fed well dug by the Mollusks.
“Run!” repeated James. “The hideout!”
This time nobody questioned him, because now they could all feel it, and hear it: a deep rumbling sound quickly getting louder and closer. The boys dropped what they were doing and took off running away from the sound, down the jungle path and toward their hideout.
The thunder gained on them; they could not outrun it. James and Thomas, the quickest of the boys, reached the hideout first. James pulled the plant out of the way of the door. Thomas dove down the hole into the ground, face-first, with James right behind.
But as Prentiss and Tubby Ted reached the secret cave, the snorting, stampeding beasts were right on their heels, and the two boys dared not slow down. They passed the cave’s secret entrance, running as fast as they could, Prentiss in the lead. They followed the jungle trail around the corner…
…and ran smack into a tangle of rope.
The rope stopped Prentiss, and Tubby Ted slammed into him from behind, the two of them falling over onto the trail. Prentiss looked back to see the oncoming boars, now only yards away, and he knew he was about to be trampled and killed.
But just then he felt the ropes tightening. Then he and Tubby Ted skidded sideways across the trail’s hard-packed dirt, just as the boars reached them.
The frantic boars roared past in a blur of hairy hides and a mighty pounding of hooves. The sound faded and, in a few moments, was gone.
Prentiss, who had shut his eyes in terror, opened them, amazed to find himself ensnared in a net, along with Tubby Ted. They were saved! How lucky they were to have been caught in this net, no doubt intended for the boars!
But his mood changed quickly as he found himself face-to-face with a pockmarked pirate. The man opened his toothless mouth and laughed. His breath stung Prentiss’ eyes.
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