Peter and the Shadow Thieves (7 page)

“I know, Tink,” he snapped. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

Peter would have preferred to fly, but Fighting Prawn had insisted that he remain on the ground with the two warriors, ensuring that the three arrive at the pirate encampment together. And so Peter stumbled forward.

I hope this works,
he thought. The plan had sounded foolproof when Fighting Prawn had explained it back in the vil age. But now, out here in the thick of the jungle, enveloped in darkness, approaching Hook’s camp on foot, Peter felt less confident. In his mind he pictured the pirate’s sharp hook slicing through the mango. He also knew only too wel that the giant, hungry crocodile roamed this side of the island, looking for an easy meal. For an instant, fear seized his bel y, and he considered turning back. But then, remembering James, he forged ahead.

Lost in thought, he almost col ided with Fierce Clam, who had stopped on the path. They were nearly at the pirate encampment. Now the three of them—Peter and the two Mol usk warriors—exchanged looks:
Ready
?

Ready.

Fierce Clam gave a signal, pointing upward. Peter nodded, and flying now, raised himself a few feet off the ground. The two Mol usks moved beneath him and helped Peter adjust his sailcloth trousers and eel-skin shoes. When they were al three satisfied with the results, Peter, with Tinker Bel hovering close by, soared up through the tree canopy into the moonlit sky.

He drifted a few feet forward, saw the clearing with the hulking rough shape of the pirate fort at the far end. His eyes scanned the clearing, and then he saw the two shapes, one large, one smal .

Hook holding James.

“Peter!” James squealed in a fear-squeezed voice that tore at Peter’s heart.

“It’s al right, James,” answered Peter. “I’m here.”

“Yes, James,” said Hook, in a rasping, ugly mimic of Peter’s high-pitched voice. “Your heroic friend is here to rescue you.” Peter swooped closer. The pirate had his good hand firmly gripped around James’s left arm, leaving his hook free. As Hook had promised, they were alone—or so it appeared. Peter had little doubt that Hook’s men were hiding in the thick vegetation surrounding the clearing.

For now, that did not concern Peter. What did concern him was that Hook and James were standing too far from the spring. The spring lay to Hook’s left, at the edge of a clearing. In the moonlight, its clear water wel ed up from underground, forming a round pool perhaps six feet across; from the pool a smal stream trickled off into the jungle.

I have to lure them closer to the spring,
thought Peter. He drifted forward until he was almost directly over Hook’s head. He heard James whimper as Hook’s grip tightened on the boy’s arm.

“No tricks, boy,” growled Hook. “If you try anything—like making your little friend here fly—he’l have me hook in him before you can think about it, understand?”

“I understand,” said Peter. He hitched up his trousers and drifted a bit closer to the spring.
Come on, Hook. Follow me.

“But did you come alone, boy?” asked Hook. “Where are the sav—ah,
there
they are.” Fierce Clam and Running Snail had slipped silently into the clearing. They stood calmly at the jungle’s edge, watching the pirate, who moved his hook near James’s throat. He addressed Peter.

“Do they understand the agreement, boy? If they approach me, if they take so much as a step toward me, your friend is in pieces.”

“They understand,” said Peter.

“Excel ent,” said Hook. “Now, here’s how we do this, boy. You lower yourself to me, nice and easy. When you’re within reach, I let go of your friend.”

“Al right,” said Peter. Slowly, he drifted lower, but he also moved closer to the spring.
Come on….

Peter’s legs hung close to Hook now, his shoes just out of the pirate’s reach. Hook, stil gripping James firmly, eagerly edged closer, looking at Peter with hatred in his eyes.

Peter glanced over at the spring—
Am I close enough
?—and drifted just a bit nearer to it. His legs dipped a bit lower, the right one now within Hook’s grasp.

With a ferocious roar fueled by months of pent-up fury, Hook released James and, with a snake-quick motion, latched hard onto Peter’s leg. “GOT YOU NOW, BOY!” he bel owed in triumph. Then: “GET THEM, MEN!”

In an instant, a dozen pirates sprang from their concealment and into the clearing, racing toward the Mol usk warriors. Hook, gripping the leg of the boy, felt a surge of elation.

His plan had worked. At last, at long last, he had the boy.
The hated boy was his!

And then, in the next instant, Hook saw it al go wrong. His first inkling of trouble came when he yanked on Peter’s leg to pul him down, stil undecided as to whether he would kil him then and there, or take his time, make it last for the pleasure of it.

He yanked, and the leg came down—both legs came down, in fact—but not the boy.

The boy was still hovering up there.

Hook looked down at the leg in his hand, stil inside the trousers, eel-skin shoes stil sticking out the bottom….

Long trousers. Shoes.

The boy didn’t wear long trousers or shoes.

His triumph turning to horror, Hook looked up to see Peter wearing his customary cutoff shorts. Peter was grinning as he demonstrated to Hook how he’d tucked his legs up in front of him inside the trousers that Hook was now holding. Bel owing in rage, the captain slashed his hook through those trousers, which was an unfortunate decision, as the Mol usks had fashioned the false legs using rancid fish guts wrapped in animal skin. These foul innards exploded al over Hook, fil ing the air with putrid fumes, which mingled with…

Laughter. The boy was
laughing.

Hook lunged upward at Peter, stumbling forward as he slashed the air with his hook. This was exactly what Peter wanted him to do, as it took Hook away from James. Peter drew him forward a few more steps, then darted over the pirate’s head—the arcing hook missing him by perhaps an inch—and swooped down to James, who stil stood exactly where Hook had released him, frozen in fright.

Not daring even to land—for Hook had whirled and was charging back toward them—Peter took James by his shoulders and, to James’s utter shock, shoved him into the spring.

“HOLD YOUR BREATH, JAMES,” he shouted, and spun to see Hook and two of his pirate crew coming for him. Peter, leaping up, felt Hook’s hand on his leg—his real leg, this time—but just as the grip was closing, Hook yel ed “YOW!” and clapped the hand to his eye, which had just received a hard poke from a tiny but amazingly potent fist.

“Thanks, Tink!” shouted Peter, shooting upward and out of Hook’s reach. He stopped and looked down just in time to see James’s moonlit face—the expression of shock stil intact—disappearing beneath the dark surface of the spring.

“GET THAT ONE!” screamed Hook to one of the crewmen, shoving him into the spring after James. The crewman ducked beneath the surface, reappearing a few moments later, soaking wet, water streaming from his shoulders.

“He’s gone, Cap’n,” he reported. “He musta sunk to the bottom.”

Hook looked up, the fury on his face now mingled with mystification.

“You drowned your own friend, boy!” he shouted. “Some hero you are!”

Peter only smiled, enraging Hook stil more.

“I thought we had a bargain, boy!” shrieked Hook. “You coulda saved the lad!”

“You never planned to hold up your end,” said Peter. “Your men were going to capture James
and
the Mol usks.” Remembering the Mol usks—at least he would have
them
as prisoners—Hook whirled, looking around the clearing. He saw only his men, sheepish looks and downcast faces.

The two Mol usk warriors were gone.

“Where are the savages?” bel owed Hook.

“They…they got away, Cap’n,” a crewman said. “We fol owed ’em into the jungle, and they was right in front of us, and…they just
vanished.
” Giggles from overhead. Giggles, and the sound of tiny, mocking bel s.

For a moment, Hook stood absolutely stil , reeking of fish guts. And then it erupted from him, a string of oaths so vile that Peter reached out to cover Tink’s tiny ears. The sound of the oaths fil ed the clearing for thirty seconds, a minute, with both Peter and the pirate crew watching in fascination.

And then there was another sound, this time from the jungle. A deep growl. Then a tremor in the ground. Then the sound of thick vegetation being thrust aside by a massive, lumbering shape.

“Cap’n!” shouted Smee, bursting from the fort. “It’s…coming!”

At first, Hook, stil loudly spewing bile, didn’t hear. It was only when he felt Smee’s urgent tug on his tattered coat sleeve, and saw the terror on the faces of his men sprinting past him toward the fort, that Hook looked to the clearing’s edge and saw, emerging from the jungle, the giant crocodile known as Mister Grin, his two cannonbal -size eyes glowing red above the gaping, tooth-studded jaws, big as a grand piano.

Shoving Smee aside, Hook turned and sprinted for the fort. Mister Grin, with astonishing agility for his vast bulk, launched himself across the clearing, his quarry, as always, Hook. It was a close race: Hook sprinted through the fort gates only a few yards ahead of the beast, screaming “CLOSE THE GATES! CLOSE THE GATES!” The men behind him managed to slam the two gates shut and bar them a half second before Mister Grin reached the fort. The giant croc, finding his path blocked, emitted an earsplitting roar, sending Hook racing to his hut, where he lay on the floor and curled into a bal , whimpering like a child.

Watching from above, Peter smiled in radiant triumph; he’d beaten Hook
again.
His smile disappeared at the discordant sound of angry bel s in his ears, reminding him that al was not yet resolved.

“James!” he said, clapping his hand to his forehead. Then he whirled and shot forward, zooming across the jungle treetops, leaving the great beast roaring in frustration at a tasty meal lost.

S
LANK LED THE WAY DOWN the overgrown jungle path, folowed by Lord Ombra, Captain Nerezza, and the dozen large scurvies.

Head of the line was not a place of honor. Slank knew that if the natives were unfriendly, he would be the first to take an arrow or spear. His eyes nervously roamed the darkness ahead. A lifelong sailor, he’d never taken to land, especial y when he could barely see it. He didn’t care for the squishy things underfoot, the crying things in the darkness overhead.

Another step, and he shuddered as his face was suddenly caught in an invisible, clinging, and sickeningly sticky spiderweb. He clawed at it, trying to untangle himself, spitting to keep the acrid taste out of his mouth. Just then, its creator—a hairy spider the size of his hand—landed on his head, apparently planning to eat him.

Slank grabbed at the spider, felt its thick fur and scrabbling legs. He was about to emit a most un-seamanlike scream when he felt something touch his hand from behind…

something very cold. In an instant, the spider stopped twitching and slid from Slank’s head. A dead thing now, it landed on the jungle floor with a muffled thud.

Slank stood stil , panting, sweating, not wanting to turn around. Then came the groaning voice.

“I wil lead,” Ombra announced.

Slank gladly stepped aside to al ow the dark form, near-invisible in the jungle gloom, to glide past. With Ombra in front, the raiding party moved quickly, soon reaching the base of a steep mountain slope. They turned right, fol owing a narrow trail that led through a berry patch—the prickly branches grasping at the men but seeming to have no effect on Ombra—

then across the crunch of volcanic rock and down to a smal creek and a larger path that curved to the left, into deeper gloom.

Ombra raised an arm and groaned, “Halt"; the sound of his voice causing the unseen screeching creatures overhead to suddenly go silent. Ombra waved Nerezza forward, and Slank watched as the captain loosened the leather strap securing his wooden nose to his face. Holding his nosepiece at his side, he sucked in the jungle air, making a harsh, wet sound that reminded Slank of a wild boar. Nerezza pointed to the right, and the raiding party moved that way.

Another fifty yards; another halt. Nerezza again sniffed the air, then said something to Ombra. Ombra nodded—at least there was a movement of his hood—then said, “You wil wait here.”

“Yes, lord,” said Nerezza.

This reply turned heads among the men. Nerezza, brutal ship commander,
never
showed this kind of deference.

Ombra moved off, but to Slank’s surprise, did not take the path. Instead, he melted into the jungle, making no noise whatsoever. Slank knew this was impossible—the vegetation was far too thick for a man to move through it soundlessly. But there was no noise, no rustling of vines, nothing.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Then Ombra reappeared
in front
of Slank, coming not from the jungle, but from down the path ahead. He halted, a dark wraith in a flowing cape, and beckoned.

“Move,” Nerezza ordered his men.

The group started forward. Ombra in the lead, fol owed by Nerezza, then Slank, then the rest. Another twenty yards and the trail widened, the tree branches overhead parting enough to al ow some pale moonlight to reach the ground.