Peter and the Shadow Thieves (53 page)

“Who’s Ammm?” said George.

“A porpoise,” said Mol y. “He’s a friend of my family.”

“Ah,” said George, no longer easily surprised by Mol y’s family.

The rest of the trip to London passed quietly. Mol y, Peter, and George—al stil a bit weary from the events of the previous days—dozed; Leonard and Louise sat close together, speaking quietly. A coach met them at the Waterloo train station and took them to the Aster mansion. There they had a happy reunion with the household staff, except for the new housemaid, Jenna, who had disappeared several days earlier and had not returned. Leonard Aster immediately sent a messenger off with encoded instructions, which would quickly find their way to the coast and thence to Ammm.

George, after one last round of thank-yous from the Asters, went home. As he left, he and Peter shook hands solemnly. They were no longer enemies; each had come to a grudging respect for the other. But for reasons they could never state aloud—and in fact could only barely acknowledge in their thoughts—they knew they would never truly be friends.

With George gone, Mol y and Peter went to the sitting room, where they sat quietly, talking little, awaiting nightfal . It came soon enough. When the sky was ful y dark, Peter and the three Asters climbed the stairs to Mol y’s room.

Peter went to the window and raised it. Cold air flowed in, but nobody seemed to notice.

“You’re to fly to the Isle of Wight,” said Leonard. “There’s a lighthouse there next to the Needles—some huge jagged rocks sticking out of the sea. Ammm wil be waiting for you there.”

“You’re certain you can find your way?” said Louise.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Peter, pointing to Tink, who stood on the windowsil , eager to be off. “Tink wil get me there.” Leonard put his hand out. “Good luck, Peter,” he said.

Peter shook his hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Be careful, Peter,” said Louise, giving him a hug and a quick peck on his cheek.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, blushing.

Louise stood back. Mol y and Peter looked at each other awkwardly.

“Leonard,” said Louise. “Perhaps we should—” She nodded toward the door.

“Yes, of course,” he said. The Asters left the room.

Peter and Mol y stood silently for another moment, then Mol y said, “Thank you, Peter. For leaving the island. For finding me. For everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I, uh, it was, I mean, I wanted to see you, Mol y. Not just to help you. But to…see you.” He was blushing furiously now.

“Did you mean what you said to Father?” she said. “About coming back, if we need you again?”

“Yes,” said Peter.

“Then I hope we do, soon. Need you, I mean. Not because I want something bad to happen, but because—” Now it was Mol y’s turn to blush.

“Me too,” said Peter.

And then, having virtual y lost the ability to speak to each other, they hugged. It was awkward for a moment, as Peter had to rise on tiptoes. But then it was not awkward at al ; it was at once the happiest moment either of them could remember, and the saddest.

And then it was over. Gently, Peter pul ed himself away and walked to the window.

“Good-bye, Mol y,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Good-bye, Peter,” she said.

Peter turned and put one foot up on the windowsil . Tinker Bel flitted out the window, hovering, waiting for Peter.

“Tinker Bel !” cal ed Mol y. “Take good care of him!”

Don’t worry, Molly,
chimed Tink.

“What did she say?” asked Mol y.

“She said don’t worry,” said Peter. He gave Mol y a little wave, turned, slid his body onto the sil , and slipped out into the night.

Mol y ran to the window and looked out; she saw them rising high against the moonlit sky—a bright, darting speck of light fol owed by a swift, sure shadow.

Mol y watched them until they were gone, then watched some more, feeling the cold night air wash over her face, chil ing her tears.

T
EN DAYS SQUATTING in the bamboo cage. Maybe eleven days. James had lost count.

The pirates let them out once a day, one at a time, under guard, to relieve themselves. They also ate once a day, usual y some awful concoction such as starfish mush cooked in coconut milk, with the occasional bony fish. The rest of the time they squatted in filth and boredom, virtual y ignored by their captors.

Thomas and Prentiss passed the time playing tic-tac-toe, writing the
X’s
and
O’s
in the dirt on their forearms. They had played hundreds of games, perhaps thousands. Every one ended in a draw.

Tubby Ted passed the time discussing food: how much he missed it; what dishes he would have if he could have whatever he wanted; what order he would eat these dishes in.

He could go on about this for hours. He
did
go on for hours.

James mostly stared at the sky, waiting for Peter to appear, wil ing Peter to appear. James also watched the pirate camp, looking, so far without success, for an escape plan.

That’s what he was doing on this particular sunny afternoon, when Prentiss, preparing to draw an
O
on Thomas’s arm, asked a question he had asked, in one form or another, several times a day.

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

“He’l come back,” said James. “He said he’d come back.”

“But what if he can’t
get
back?” said Prentiss.

“Or never made it to England in the first place?” said Thomas.

“He made it,” said James. “And he’l be back.”

“If I made it to England,” said Tubby Ted, “I’d eat a whole pie. A mincemeat pie. That would be first. Then I’d—”

“Shut up, Ted,” said the other three boys in unison.

“Wel , if he doesn’t come back—” began Prentiss.

“He wil ,” said James.

“But if he doesn’t,” said Prentiss, “what wil they do with us?”

James had no answer to that. He, too, worried about what would happen to them if Hook decided that Peter was not returning, and the boys were no longer needed as bait. The more James thought about it, the more he knew that he had to think of an escape plan. But it seemed hopeless: the cage was built of stout bamboo poles, lashed together with thick rope, tied on the top—where the boys could not reach—with complex, seamanlike knots.

If James had a knife, or any kind of sharp edge, he could cut the rope, through the cracks between the bamboo poles. But he had no knife. A few days earlier, he’d hidden a fish bone from their daily meal; that night, he’d spent hours sawing away at the rope with the bone. It had no effect at al .

Thomas marked an
X
on his arm; Prentiss added an
O
.

“Draw,” said Thomas. They began another game, this time on Prentiss’ arm.

A screeching from the jungle drew the attention of al four boys.

“It’s the monkeys,” said James, pointing to a tree at the edge of the clearing, where a dozen or more lithe dark shapes darted from branch to branch. The boys had become quite familiar with the monkeys, which came into the pirate camp each night, scavenging for scraps of dropped food after the pirates fel asleep.

“They’re eating something,” said Tubby Ted.

James squinted at the monkeys. They were eating, and fighting over, smal purplish fruits.

“Figs,” he said. “Those are fig trees over there. The pirates get figs from there, too. They dry them out and eat them. Not that they let
us
have any.”

“Figs,” said Ted. “I love figs.”

“Wel , tel that to the monkeys,” said Thomas. “Maybe they’l give you one.”

“I could eat a hundred,” said Ted. “I could eat
anything
right now. I feel like that old sailor, the one who brought us that horrible food back on the
Never Land
…What was his name?”

“Hungry Bob,” said Prentiss.

“That’s right,” said Ted. “Remember he used to bring us that horrible slop with bugs in it, and he
ate
it? He told us he even ate rope once, remember?”

“Yes!” said Prentiss, smiling for the first time in more than a week.

“Wel , right now,” said Ted, “I could eat—”

“Wait a minute,” said James, putting his hand on Ted’s arm. “
Wait a minute.
”

“What?” said Ted.

“That’s it,” said James.

“What is?” said Ted.

“It’s bril iant,” said James. “Ted, you’re a genius!”

“I am?” said Ted. “But what did—”

“Shut up,” said James. He peered out through the cage bars, looking for the short, round form of…

There he was.

“Mister Smee! Sir!” cal ed James. “Excuse me, sir, may I please have a word?”

Smee waddled over.

“What is it, boy?” he asked. “I can’t let you out, if that’s what you want. Cap’n’s orders.” Smee felt sorry for the boys, and had even once tried to suggest to Hook that he consider freeing them. Hook had responded by throwing a coconut at Smee, which Smee took as a sign of disagreement.

“No, sir, it’s not that,” said James. “It’s…our mouths. We have sores, and our teeth hurt. Hurt something fearful. And it’s the same for al of us.”

“No, it’s not,” said Ted. “I don’t h-” Ted was silenced by James’s elbow hitting his shrunken but stil ample stomach.
OOOF
.

“James is right, sir,” said Prentiss, catching on. “Our mouths hurt something awful. Don’t they, Thomas?” Thomas quickly nodded in agreement.

Smee said, “Teeth hurt? Sores in the mouth?
All
of you? Oh, my.” The little man looked around the pirate compound. As usual, it was a hive of inactivity: most of the pirates were sleeping, including the two who were supposed to be guarding the gate in the tal wooden wal surrounding the fort. In the distance, two men were throwing knives at a tree, trying—

so far without success—to hit a hairy spider the size of a dinner plate. Smee turned back to the boys, a conspiratorial look on his spherical face.

“Al right,” he whispered. “I’l get something for your mouths. But you can’t tel nobody. ’Special y the cap’n.”

“We won’t, sir,” said James. “We promise.”

Smee, glancing around nervously, waddled off toward the driftwood hut that served as the kitchen for the pirate fort.

“What was
that
about?” said Ted. “My mouth’s not sore.”

“Yes, it is,” said James. “If you want figs.”

“Figs?” said Ted. “What do figs have to do with it?”

James sighed. “There’s a thing cal ed scurvy that pirates get,” he said. “Their mouths get sore. The way they fix it is by eating fruit. Figs, for instance.”