Peter and the Shadow Thieves (16 page)

Ombra, the dark and deadly bloodhound, worked his way forward along the starboard side, almost to the bow of the ship. He was not pleased. He’d found nothing. Whatever, whoever, he was after was not to be found to starboard.

He slithered across to the port side and, stil moving his head back and forth, began making his way toward the stern. Suddenly, he stopped. He could feel it now: a warmth, a glowing—something foreign to him. He moved on, more quickly now.

Tink made a soft sound—not so much a word as a feeling.

Danger
.

Peter looked away from the barrel, from which he had been pul ing pieces of salt pork, which he stuffed into his shirt. He mouthed a question, making no sound.

“What?”

Tink crossed her arms, as if cold, and shivered.

I don’t know,
she said.
Something bad. Coming.

Peter searched her face and saw an expression he’d never seen there before: fear.

Ombra’s dark shape slithered sternward along the port rail. As he neared the companionway that Peter and Tink had gone down, he slowed, then stopped. The dark hood peered down into the companionway for a moment.

Then the cloak glided forward, and started to descend.

Tink’s sound was urgent now.

Hurry!

“Al right,” whispered Peter, stuffing a last piece of salt pork into his shirt. He grabbed the barrelhead and hastily put it back onto the barrel.

Too hastily. Peter didn’t get it on right. The barrelhead slid across the opening and fel to the floor with a loud clatter.

The cook woke instantly.

“Hey! What…WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he bel owed, struggling to get out of the hammock.

Come!
rang Tink in Peter’s ear, but he needed no persuading. In two steps he was out of the room and into the corridor. He turned right to race for the companionway.

NO!
Tink grabbed Peter’s hair in her tiny fists; she yanked with surprising force.
Not that way!

Peter was about to ask her why, when he saw it, straight ahead—somebody, something, clad in black, coming down the companionway. He turned and ran, fol owing Tinker Bel the other way along the corridor. They made a right-angle turn to the left. Behind him he heard the bel owing of the angry cook. But now, in the instant before he turned the corner, Peter also
felt
something—a sudden, strange chil , both in the air and shivering up through him. He dared not look back; the cook was thundering down the corridor now, roaring with rage, coming after him.

“STOP, THIEF!” he bel owed.

This way,
said the bel s in Peter’s ear.

They entered a corridor that cut across the width of the ship. Tink darted to the right, into a narrow passageway, and Peter quickly saw why: just ahead was a narrow companionway leading up to the deck. Tink shot up through the opening like a spark out of a chimney. Peter launched himself upward right behind her, clearing the companionway opening just as the cook, who moved with remarkable quickness for a man of his bulk, reached the bottom of the ladder.

“ON DECK THERE!” bel owed the cook. “STOP HIM! STOP THE THIEF!”

Peter found himself on the deck by the portside rail, almost to the stern. He heard the pounding of bare feet running toward him from the forward part of the ship. And now the cook’s furious face appeared in the companionway.

There was nowhere for Peter to go. Nowhere on the ship, in any event. After an instant’s hesitation, Peter ran to the stern and dove headfirst over the rail.

“MAN OVERBOARD!” bel owed the cook.

In a moment, three men reached the stern rail, then six, al looking down at the ship’s frothy wake, ghostly white in the black night sea. There was some discussion of bringing the ship about and attempting a rescue, but this plan was vehemently vetoed by the cook.

“Good riddance,” he said, to nods of agreement from the others. “We don’t need a food thief on this ship.”

“He’s shark food, then,” said one wit, drawing chuckles from the group.

But the joviality stopped instantly and the men fel silent when the air turned cool, and the dark form of Ombra oozed out of the companionway.

“Who was it?” asked the groaning voice. “Who went over the rail?”

Al eyes turned to the cook, the only man who’d seen the thief.

“I…I can’t say,” he said. “I never caught a look at his face. But he was a slight one. That I’m sure of. Slight and quick. And…” The cook hesitated.

“And
what
?” groaned Ombra.

“Nothing, sir,” said the cook, who had decided that it was wiser not to mention the strange light he’d seen darting about the thief. “Just that he was a slight one, sir. And quick.”

“Get the captain,” groaned Ombra. “Tel him I want a ful muster of al the men on this ship. I want to know who went over the side.
Now.
” A sailor scurried off to give the captain the unwelcome news. The rest remained at the stern, watching the wake. Nobody looked skyward; there was no reason to. So nobody saw Peter and Tink, who had, after launching themselves from the stern, flown alongside the ship at wavetop level to the bow, then arced high into the dark sky, then swooped back down to their hiding place inside the furled sail.

From there, as their racing pulses gradual y slowed to normal, they watched and listened to the proceedings below: the unhappy sailors, roused from their sleep, lined up on deck to be counted, then counted again; the embarrassed anger of Captain Nerezza, forced to confront the fact that there had been a stowaway on his ship; the mysterious dark figure, silently watching it al .

“Who
is
that?” Peter whispered, pointing out the cloaked form of Ombra.

Tinker Bel shivered, and again Peter saw the unfamiliar look of fear on her face as she crossed her tiny arms.

Bad,
she said.

Peter remembered the chil he’d felt belowdecks. Could it possibly have come from the cloaked man?

“But who
is
he?” he whispered. “How do we know he’s bad?”

Tink only shivered, and shook her head.
Bad,
she repeated.
Stay away.

Peter slid down into the canvas sail. He pul ed a piece of salt pork from his shirt and, after offering it to Tink—who shook her head with distaste—tore off a piece with his teeth and began chewing.

A hundred feet below, the sailors who’d been awakened were dismissed; they trudged back to their hammocks, muttering unhappily. In a minute, Nerezza and Ombra stood alone on deck.

“So it was a stowaway,” said Nerezza.

Ombra was silent.

“Whoever it was,” said Nerezza, “he’s dead now.”

“Is he?” groaned Ombra. “Are you sure?”

“Wel , of course he is,” said Nerezza. “He went over the rail. By now he…”

Nerezza didn’t finish the sentence; Ombra was gone, having melted away into the darkness.

Nerezza stood alone, wondering who had been on his ship, and why Ombra would possibly doubt that the stowaway had drowned.

H
OOK WAS IN A COLD RAGE.

He was never pleasant to be around, but now his mood was foul even for him. A dark fury consumed him. He’d been this way for days, ever since his utter humiliation at the hands of the cursed flying boy.

Revenge. He wanted revenge. He
would
have his revenge.

And so this day, for the first time since he had been marooned on this wretched island, he laboriously climbed to the top of the great steep peak that separated the pirate side from the side where the boys—and the Mol usks—lived. After reaching the peak, he slowly, stealthily, worked his way down the far side to a rock outcropping that gave him a good view of the Mol usk vil age, and the place nearby where the boys had their driftwood hut. He lay on his stomach to keep out of sight, and he watched and waited. He would wait as long as it took. He
would
have his revenge.

An hour went by. Two. And then he saw them…

The boys!
Two…three…no,
four
of them. The flying boy was not among them, but Hook assumed he would be somewhere around. They were moving away from the Mol usk vil age, and Hook saw that they were carrying things. Two of them held stacks of large, jungle-plant leaves—
Why
? Hook wondered. One had his arms wrapped around what looked like a smal stool or table. The chubby one was carrying an armful of coconuts.

Hook tracked them intently as they moved left to right along one of the many jungle paths. His view of them was interrupted by a clump of palm trees. He shifted his gaze slightly to the right, where the path became visible again.

Nothing.

Hook watched the clump of trees intently for twenty minutes. Then the boys emerged again, going back the way they had come.

But now their hands were empty.

“Ah,” said Hook, with a smile that revealed his brown tooth stumps in al their jagged glory. “Got ourselves a little
hiding place,
have we?” He stayed there, watching, and in fifteen minutes the boys appeared again, carrying more leaves and coconuts. Again they disappeared into the palm clump, again reappearing with empty hands. They made several more trips as Hook watched, thinking, plotting. The boys had made a mistake, choosing a hiding place away from the protection of the Mol usk warriors. It was not al
that
far away, but perhaps far enough to do the trick.

If he could catch them as a group…

Hook’s eyes wandered far to the left, where his attention was captured by several low, brown shapes moving on a distant hil side. A glimmer of an idea began to glow in his sinister mind, and the more he pondered it, the brighter it grew. He continued pondering until he was satisfied he had a plan that was not only workable, but—Hook had to admit it, in al modesty—bril iant. Final y, the rage that had engulfed him for days was gone, and the joy of pure evil fil ed his cal oused heart.

Hook rose and made his way back across the mountain to the pirate camp.

“Smee!” he shouted as he entered the clearing. “Fetch me writing tools!”

“Aye, Cap’n!” answered Smee from inside the log fort. After a minute he bustled out, in al his roundness, carrying a quil made from a parrot feather and a coconut-shel bowl fil ed with octopus ink. These he set on a rickety desk made of driftwood, with a stump for a chair. Hook sat at the desk and, frowning in concentration, sketched out something on a large yel ow leaf that had been dried in the sun. Smee, looking over Hook’s shoulder, studied the drawing, which consisted of a complex web of lines and arrows.

“What’s that, Cap’n?” he asked.

“It’s a
plan,
” said Hook.

“Ah,” said Smee. He was silent for a few moments, then said: “A plan of what?”

“Paths,” said Hook. “The boys are using the same path over and over.”

“I see,” said Smee, although in fact he did not.

“We can’t go near their hut, can we, Smee?”

“No, Cap’n.”

“And why’s that?”

“Them Mol usks.”

“Right you are. The savages watch over the boys. But what if we was to flush ’em out and herd ’em down this path?” He pointed to his drawing.

“The Mol usks?” said Smee.

“No, you idjit,” said Hook. “The boys.”

“Herd the boys?” said Smee.

“Exactly!” said Hook, gesturing to his drawing. “The jungle is thick here. There’s nowhere to go but down this path, is there?” He smiled. “We’l scare ’em half to death, run ’em straight away from that hut so fast they won’t have time to think. They’l be running
away
from the Mol usks. A few minutes is al it’l take.”

“But won’t the Mol usks see us herd ’em?” said Smee.

“Ah!” said Hook, delighted with his cleverness. “But it won’t be us doing the herding.”

“I see,” said Smee, stil not seeing.

Hook sketched some more arrows onto the leaf, then sketched some crosshatch lines where one of the arrows turned right. He nodded with satisfaction.

“I am a genius,” he observed.

Smee, frowning hard at the leaf, said nothing.

Hook sighed and said, “Tel Hurky to fetch the fishing net.”

“The fishing net?” said Smee.

“Yes, the fishing net,” said Hook. “And tel the men to col ect their spears.”

Smee frowned even harder. “We’re going fishing with spears?”

“No, idjit,” said Hook. “It’s boars we’re after.”

“Boars?” said Smee, completely lost now. There were huge, hairy, wild pigs that roamed the island. They were vicious, aggressive, and crafty—even the Mol usks steered clear of them—but the pirates had managed to catch an injured one once. They’d cooked and eaten it, and the fresh meat had been a welcome change from the usual island fare of coconuts, fish, and the occasional boiled sea urchin.

“But, Cap’n,” said Smee. “I thought we was after them boys.”

“We
are,
you idjit,” said Hook. “That’s why we need the boars.”

“But…” said Smee.

“It’s genius, is what it is,” said Hook. “We’re going to let the hunted do the hunting while those of us who are usual y the hunters go fishing. Genius!”

“So we’re going fishing
and
hunting?” said Smee.

“NO, you idjit!” roared Hook. “Haven’t you been
listening
?”