Peter and the Shadow Thieves (6 page)

“SO,” SAID FIGHTING PRAWN. “You got your friend into trouble.”

The Mol usk chief looked at Peter with piercing dark eyes, made al the blacker by their contrast with Fighting Prawn’s flowing, snow-white hair.

“But it’s not my fault!” said Peter, panting, stil out of breath from his frantic flight back across the mountain to the Mol usk compound. “James fol owed me to the pirates! I told him not to, but…”

Peter’s tongue was stil ed by Fighting Prawn’s stern stare, a look so disconcerting that Peter had to turn away.

“He fol owed you,” the chief said, “because he wanted to join in your
game.
Because you boasted about how much
fun
you were having taunting the pirates. Isn’t that right?” Peter, stil looking away, nodded. He was grateful that Tinker Bel , for once, was silent, though she listened with approval to the lecture as she perched on Peter’s shoulder.

“What have I told you about taunting the pirates?” said Fighting Prawn. “What have I told you a dozen times and more?”

“It’s foolish,” Peter answered softly. “And dangerous.”

“That’s right,” said Fighting Prawn. “It’s a misuse of the gifts you’ve been given. I can protect you on this side of the island; the captain won’t come for you here. But on the other side, you’ve got the captain and his men, any of whom would be happy to slit your throat. And you’ve got Mister Grin running loose, with a taste for human flesh. There’s no reason to go over there except to look for trouble. But you chose to look for it. And now you’ve found it.” Peter’s lip quivered. A tear slid down his cheek; Tink reached out and gently wiped it away.

“Listen, boy,” said Fighting Prawn, his voice softer now. “You have a good heart. You have great courage. You fought the pirate. You saved my life. For that you wil always have my friendship and protection. But you’re stil a boy, and you must learn to become a man.” Peter looked up, about to say something; then he closed his mouth, thinking better of it.

“I know,” said Fighting Prawn. “Because of the change in you”—he pointed to the golden locket that hung at Peter’s throat—“you wil never grow old. You wil always have the
body
of a boy. But in here”—now Fighting Prawn touched Peter’s forehead—“in your
mind,
you must become a man, because the other boys need you. You are their leader. They trust you. You must become worthy of their trust.”

“But it’s too late,” said Peter, a flood of tears wel ing from his eyes now, streaming down his cheeks. “I’ve let them down. Hook has James. He’l kil him if I don’t surrender myself.”

“You do,” said Fighting Prawn, “and he’l kil
you.
”

“But it’s my fault. You said so yourself. It’s
my fault.
” He looked down, sobbing, his tears spattering the dusty ground. Tink fluttered down and caught one in midair. In her hand, it turned into a tiny diamond. She showed it to Peter; ordinarily, a trick like this would have delighted him. But now he only shook his head.

Fighting Prawn put a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Al right, boy,” he said. “We wil see what we can do to get your friend back.” He glanced toward a smal group of Mol usk warriors who stood a respectful distance away, watching. With a tiny movement of his head, he summoned them over.

Peter looked up. “Are you going to attack the pirates?” he asked. “Because Hook says he’l kil James if you do.”

“I’m sure he would,” said Fighting Prawn. “I’m sure he means to kil him anyway.”

“But,” said Peter, “he said you could send two savag—I mean, warriors—and they could bring James back.” Fighting Prawn smiled a thin, mirthless smile. “He means to kil the
savages,
too,” he said. “He’l have men hidden nearby. The instant he has you in hand, you’re al dead.”

“So what can we do?” said Peter.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Fighting Prawn. “Can you possibly fly your friend out?”

“No,” said Peter. “Hook says he won’t let go of James until he can grab me. And even if James and I were both free, I’m not sure I can lift him. I’ve tried flying him before, and I usual y go al wobbly and come right back down.”

Fighting Prawn pondered for a moment, then said: “You say Hook told you to surrender yourself next to the spring?”

“Yes,” said Peter. “The spring at the edge of the clearing.”

“I see,” said Fighting Prawn thoughtful y. He turned and said something to one of the warriors in the Mol usk language—a mixture of grunts and clicks, sounding very odd to the English ear. It always sounded especial y odd to Peter when Fighting Prawn spoke it; he was accustomed to the Mol usk chief’s impeccable English, learned from his years as a forced laborer aboard British navy ships.

The Mol usk warrior answered Fighting Prawn at some length, Fighting Prawn listening intently. After another brief exchange, he turned to Peter.

“Just as I thought,” he said. “That spring rises from a cavern. There’s a tunnel leading to the cavern underground—a tunnel just wide enough for a person to fit through. But it’s a long way from the spring to the tunnel mouth. A very long way. And it’s al under water.”

“I don’t understand,” said Peter. “Are you suggesting that James and I could
swim
out of there? Because I’m not much of a swimmer, and James can barely swim at al .”

“No, it’s too far for you,” said Fighting Prawn. “But we may be able to use the tunnel to disappoint Captain Hook. We must make some preparations, and quickly.” He grunt-clicked something to the warriors, a long and complicated set of instructions. They listened closely, occasional y smiling
(Why are they smiling
? Peter wondered). When the chief finished, they trotted off.

“Now,” said Fighting Prawn. “We need to enlist an al y.”

“An al y?” said Peter.

“Yes,” said Fighting Prawn. “We need somebody who’s reliable. Trustworthy. And brave.”

Tink flew between the two men, chiming loudly and pointing to herself.

“Somebody who’s a
very
good swimmer,” added Fighting Prawn.

Tink, deflated, went back to Peter’s shoulder.

“But,” said Peter, “I can’t…I mean, none of the boys can…” Then he stopped, final y understanding who Fighting Prawn meant.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes,” said Fighting Prawn. “You have a big favor to ask.”

T
WELVE HARD MEN, KILLERS ALL, slipped over the side of
Le Fantome
and clambered down rope ladders to the two longboats, where Nerezza awaited them. Sheets of fog rose from the water, hovering at eye height between the ship and the shore, broken into patches and wisps by an intermittent breeze.

Ahead of the raiding party, a dory slid through the water, manned only by a lone oarsman, and
Le
Fantome’
s mysterious black-cloaked passenger sitting in the bow.

The unhappy oarsman was Slank, ordered by Nerezza to take the passenger—
Lord Ombra,
Nerezza had cal ed him—ashore. Slank had protested: Lord or no lord, he didn’t want to be alone in the boat with him. But Nerezza had given him no choice.

Slank pul ed on the oars, his back to the shore and his unwelcome passenger. The night air was warm, but Slank felt a chil through his back, a chil to his bones. He’d felt it from the moment Ombra descended to the dory. Ombra hadn’t exactly climbed down the rope set out for him, nor had he slid. It was more like he’d
oozed
down the rope, Slank thought, like harbor mud dripping down an anchor line.

Slank didn’t want to think about that. He wanted only to get to the island and get out of this boat.

Lazy waves lapped the shore, on this, the leeward side of the island. Slank pul ed toward that sound, wondering why Nerezza had assigned him this task.

“Steady on,” came Ombra’s voice, a deep groan that sent a shudder slithering down Slank’s spinee Moonlight broke through the swirling mist. Slank leaned sideways to study the surface of the water, looking for signs of the hated mermaids. He would never admit it, but he was terrified of the demon she-fish. As he moved, his moon-cast shadow moved with him, playing across the smal boat.

Slank glanced toward the ship, saw the longboats pushing off. What Slank didn’t see was the strange behavior of his shadow behind him. As if taking on a life of its own, it began to stretch and shift, slithering toward the bow, toward Ombra.

Slank felt suddenly light-headed. Behind him, he heard Ombra’s wheezing groan, but in a low murmur, not addressed to him, as if Ombra were talking to himself. But then Slank heard a
second
voice…a voice eerily familiar to him, a voice so familiar that it was as if…

Ombra spoke again, this time to Slank. “So,” he groaned, “you’re afraid of the she-fish….” But
how
…

“I ain’t afraid of any kind of fish, nor anything else on this island,” Slank said aloud. His thoughts were quite different:
You’d be afraid, too, Lord whoever you are, if you’d tangled
with them fish in this water like I did. And you might not find that flying boy so easy to deal with, neither.

“I see,” groaned Ombra. “You think the flying boy might give
me
trouble, as he did you?” Slank froze, halting the oars in midstroke. It’s
like he hears me thinking.

“Exactly,” groaned Ombra. “Row.”

Slank resumed rowing. The moon passed behind a cloud; the sea went dark again. Slank lost sight of the longboats fol owing.

“They’re fierce, them she-fish,” Slank said defensively. “Teeth like razors. And cunning…”

“How many she-fish?” Al business.

“Were a sea ful of ’em. Circling my dory. Five…six…ten. Taking bites out of the transom. You ain’t never seen anything like it.”

“Indeed, I’ve seen a great many things you’ve not dreamed of, Mister Slank. We needn’t concern ourselves over a few she-fish. Nor pirates. Nor a flying boy. Nor the little girl, the daughter of the Starcatcher.” Ombra hissed the beginning of “Starcatcher,” a hiss of disdain.

“We concern ourselves with one thing, one thing only,” continued Ombra. “To retrieve the starstuff
you
left behind.” Slank started to say something but thought better of it.

“Wise decision, Mister Slank. Now, with your knowledge of the island, and those men in the longboats, and my special…
capabilities,
we should have no trouble carrying out our mission. But you, Mister Slank, must be a help to us, not a hindrance. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Slank, through gritted teeth.

“That means you must remember that our purpose here, our
only
purpose, is to get the starstuff, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“It is not to gain revenge.”

Slank stiffened.

“That’s right,” said Ombra. “I know of your plans for the boy.”

Slank said nothing.

“You wil not waste time pursuing your personal agenda, Slank. You wil not jeopardize our mission. You wil obey my orders. Failure to do so would be very, very unpleasant for you, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Here we are.”

The dory was lifted by a smal wave and came down to rest on the beach. Slank never felt his passenger move, heard no splash of boots in the water; but when he turned, Ombra was gliding up the beach.

The moonlight broke through again, though only briefly. Ombra glided swiftly away from the advancing light—
Like he’s scared of it,
thought Slank—into the darkness of the jungle.

Slank clambered out of the boat and hauled the dory out of the water. He looked up the beach, now pale white in the moonlight. His eyes traced the path Ombra had taken across the wet sand, and he felt the chil again.

There were no footprints.

P
ETER STUMBLED DOWN the dark jungle path, tripping over what seemed like every rock, root, and vine. Behind him folowed a young Molusk warrior named Running Snail; ahead of him went Fierce Clam, second in seniority only to Fighting Prawn himself. The two Mol usk warriors, unlike Peter, moved effortlessly no matter how steep, twisting, or muddy the terrain.

At one point Fierce Clam disappeared altogether in the gloom ahead. A warning chime sounded in Peter’s right ear.