Peter and the Shadow Thieves (9 page)

W
ITH TINKER BELL FLITTING far ahead, Peter and James labored up the mountainside in the dark. James, weary from his ordeal in pirate captivity, stopped to rest every twenty steps or so. It was slow going—agonizingly slow for Peter, who felt he had to stay with James, but desperately wanted to launch himself upward and fly over the mountain to the Mol usk vil age.

They have Shining Pearl,
Fighting Prawn had said. Peter wondered who
they
were. Some of Hook’s men? That seemed unlikely: the pirates knew better than to anger the Mol usks, who outnumbered them and barely tolerated their presence on the island.

But if not the pirates, Peter wondered, then who? Strangers on the island? Shipwrecked sailors? But why would they take Fighting Prawn’s oldest daughter? And—this question nagged at Peter—would they have been able to take her if Fighting Prawn had not been on the other side of the island rescuing James from the mess Peter had gotten him into?

If only I could fly
to
the village,
Peter thought.
Maybe I could help Fighting Prawn.

But he couldn’t leave James alone in the jungle at night. Not after what James had been through. What if James got lost on his way back? What if Hook’s men were out here looking to even the score?

Unless
…

“Tink!” Peter cal ed. “Come back here! I need your help!”

Tinker Bel , stil angry about Teacher’s flirting with Peter, made some unhappy, dul sounds, which could be loosely translated as: “If you need help, why don’t you ask your girlfriend, the big fat grouper?”

“Tink!” said Peter sternly. “I’m serious!”

Tinker Bel , her arms folded in a dramatic show of annoyance, drifted back toward the boys, glowing with pouty-ness.

“Listen,” Peter said, “I think I should fly to the Mol usk vil age and try to help Fighting Prawn.” James gave Peter a wan smile. “Go ahead, Peter,” he said. “I’l be fine.”

Peter gripped his friend’s arm.
Good old James.

“Tink,” Peter said. “You’l stay with James, and make sure he gets back to the hut. Al right?” With a burst of much brighter-sounding bel s, Tink replied that she would be happy to remain with James, since she did not intend to spend another moment with Peter ever again, and hoped he and his fat grouper girlfriend would be very happy together until an octopus ate them.

“What did she say?” asked James.

“She said…she’s happy to take you back,” answered Peter. “Tel the others to stay near the hut and not to go near the Mol usk vil age, al right?”

“Al right,” said James. “But be careful, Peter.”

“You too,” said Peter. Then, after giving James’s arm another reassuring squeeze, he jumped upward and soared into the night sky. Angling his body so he was paral el to the steep mountain slope, he shot straight to the summit, reaching it in only seconds. From this vantage point he had a sweeping view of the island, its lush, jungle greenery turned a dark and ghostly gray by the moonlight. Peter spun a ful circle, looking in every direction. As he looked east, he gasped at the sight of four thin fingers rising through the mist blanketing the bay. Masts.

A ship. A big ship.

Peter shifted his weight forward, putting his body at a steep angle to the ground. He swooped down the mountainside, his ears fil ed with the sound of rushing wind. He flew recklessly, far faster than he’d ever flown at night before. At one point he had to swerve sharply to avoid something large—a bird, perhaps, or a fruit bat—that shot up suddenly out of the jungle. He quickly reached the base of the mountain, slowed and leveled off, gliding just above the treetops, scanning the jungle ahead for the wide clearing where the Mol usk vil age lay.

There! Just ahead…. Slowing stil more, Peter arrived at the edge of the clearing. He let himself down into the treetops and onto a stout branch, where the foliage hid him.

Through the enormous leaves, he spotted a gathering next to a large hut that he recognized as Fighting Prawn’s. Drifting silently from treetop to treetop, Peter flew until he saw more clearly that the gathering was actual y two groups. On one side stood Mol usk warriors holding spears and shields. They looked grim-faced at the smal er, second group of men, al strangers to Peter. These strangers carried swords and pistols. One of the men had an arm around Shining Pearl, a knife held to her neck. Peter studied the man with the knife for a moment. He couldn’t see his face clearly, yet there was something familiar about him….

Before Peter could consider this further, a noise rose from the jungle, below and to Peter’s right. Fighting Prawn—his body glistening with sweat from what must have been a grueling run over the mountain—sprinted into the clearing. The strangers turned to face them.

Peter moved a giant leaf out of his way so he could see clearly what happened next.

W
ITH THE LONG, POWERFUL strides of a chief who could stil outrun a young warrior, Fighting Prawn arrived at the standoff between the Molusks and the men from the ship. As he neared, he raised his spear over his head and drew it back, its sharpened tip pointed directly at Slank. But then, seeing the knife at his daughter’s neck, Fighting Prawn stopped. Slowly, he brought the spear back down, his black eyes brimming with fury.

The clearing was silent; nobody moved. Fighting Prawn studied Slank for a moment, then scanned the other strangers. His gaze lingered on Nerezza’s fearsome face, then longer on the dark, hooded form of Lord Ombra. Seconds turned into a half minute, and stil nobody moved.

When Fighting Prawn spoke, he addressed Slank.

“Let go of my daughter,” he said, “and I wil let you live.”

Slank swal owed but did not answer. He tightened his grip on the girl; he could feel her shal ow breathing.

Fighting Prawn glanced at his own men. “You see how many of us there are. How few of you. This is your last chance to live. And I promise you that your death—yours in particular—wil not be pleasant.”

Slank swal owed again. But it was Ombra who spoke, his voice coming from the darkness of his cloak’s hood like a cold wind from a cavern.

“We don’t want your daughter,” Ombra said.

Fighting Prawn now directed himself to Ombra, his rage stil distorting his normal y kind face.

“Then what
do
you want?” he asked.

“Not long ago,” said Ombra, “a box washed ashore on this island. It was the cause of a great deal of trouble. You know the box of which I speak.” Fighting Prawn nodded. “Yes.”

“We have come for that box,” said Ombra, “and its contents. We want no trouble, only the box. It belongs to us—was stolen from us. Once we have that box back, we wil leave.

We wil release your daughter unharmed.”

A pause, then Fighting Prawn spoke. “We do not have the box.”

“He’s lying!” said Slank. “It was—”

“
Silence
,” hissed Ombra, in a voice that chil ed the spine of every man there.

Ombra’s hooded form faced Fighting Prawn once again. “Then tel us where it is,” he said.

“It is gone,” said Fighting Prawn. “It was taken off the island.”

“By whom?”

Fighting Prawn hesitated. Then, looking at his daughter, he sighed.

“An Englishman,” he said. “His name is Aster.”

Nerezza and Slank reacted to the name, looking at each other.

“I see,” said Ombra. “And where did Aster take the box?”

“I do not know,” said Fighting Prawn.

“How do we know he’s tel ing the truth?” asked Nerezza.

“That’s right,” said Slank. “The savage could be lying.”

“Savage?” said Fighting Prawn, turning to Slank. “I am not the one holding a knife to the throat of a child.” As Fighting Prawn spoke, Ombra glided forward almost imperceptibly. Only two pairs of eyes saw what happened next. One pair belonged to Slank, who, having noticed it earlier, knew what to watch for; the other pair belonged to the flying boy concealed in the nearby treetops, whose vantage point gave him a good view.

Ombra advanced to within inches of Fighting Prawn’s wavering shadow, cast by a flickering torchlight. Ombra made contact with the shadow, and as he did, it stretched and slithered forward, flowing under and into Ombra’s dark cloak. Fighting Prawn emitted a low moan. His eyes went dead; his posture slumped; his head drooped to the side. The warriors looked apprehensively at their chief, but they were looking at his face, and thus did not see what Slank and Peter saw: Fighting Prawn was no longer casting a shadow.

A few seconds passed, and the dark shape flowed back out from under Ombra’s cloak and reconnected with Fighting Prawn. Ombra glided back a few feet. Fighting Prawn, once again casting a shadow, jerked his head upright and staggered sideways a step, a puzzled expression on his face.

“He is tel ing the truth,” Ombra announced. “The box is not on the island.”

“Then where is it?” asked Nerezza.

“Aster wil take it back to England,” said Ombra. “He wil take it to the Return.”

“Then we’ve lost it,” said Nerezza. “If he’s taken it to the Return, we’ve lost it.”

“What do you mean?” said Slank. “What are you talking about?”

Ombra, ignoring Slank, spoke to Nerezza. “No,” he said. “We have not lost it, not yet.”

“But he’s had three months’ head start,” said Nerezza. “He’s wel back to England by now.”

“Yes,” said Ombra. “But as we understand it, the Return can happen only at certain times—and those times seem to be rare. Aster wil likely have to wait for the next opportunity. We must get the starstuff before that happens. We must sail for England at once.”

“But how wil we find the starstuff?” said Nerezza. “Aster wil have it hidden, and he won’t tel us where it is. He would die first.”

“Perhaps,” groaned Ombra. He looked between Shining Pearl and Fighting Prawn. “But fathers have a special place in their hearts for their daughters.” In the tree, Peter flinched at those words, thinking about Aster’s daughter, Mol y, the brave girl who had once saved his life.

Nerezza smiled and said, “Ah, yes…the daughter.”

Slank grinned as wel , though his face was grimmer. He had reasons of his own for wanting to see Aster’s daughter again. She had caused him great torment and embarrassment the last time they’d met, here on this island—she and that cursed boy.

Fighting Prawn, now ful y recovered, fol owed the conversation careful y, his eyes moving back and forth from Nerezza’s face to the dark hole surrounded by Ombra’s hood.

“Then you wil leave the island,” Fighting Prawn said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” answered Ombra. “We wil leave. But you wil understand that we must keep your daughter with us until we reach the beach. Once we are safely in the boats, we wil release her. You have my word.”

“And you have my word that if any harm comes to my daughter, none of you wil ever reach your ship,” said Fighting Prawn. “Not a single man.” He stared at Ombra, then added softly, “or whatever you are.”

“Then we have an understanding,” said Ombra. To Nerezza, he said, “I wil lead the way back to the ship. Your men wil form an escort around Slank. Slank, do not harm the girl, but do not release her, either.”

And so they formed a procession—Ombra in front, gliding out of the compound, fol owed by Nerezza and his men in a loose formation around Slank and Shining Pearl, fol owed by Fighting Prawn and his warriors.

They came to the first pair of Mol usk sentries, stil standing statuelike. As Ombra passed by, they suddenly went limp and fel . Then they sat up slowly, clearly disoriented but no longer in a trance. A few minutes later the same thing happened to the second pair of sentries, and then the third.

The uncomfortable procession continued down the path to the beach, where the dory and longboat waited.

Under the watchful eyes of the Mol usks, Nerezza and his men slid the boats into the shal ow surf as Ombra and Slank stood by, Slank stil restraining Shining Pearl.

“Have your pistols ready,” Nerezza ordered. His eyes met Fighting Prawn’s. “If you come after us,” he said, “we’l shoot your daughter where she stands.” Fighting Prawn said nothing, his rage barely contained.

As Nerezza and his men climbed into the longboat, Ombra spoke to Shining Pearl. “We wil let you go now,” he said. “But you wil not move until we row away, do you understand?”

Shining Pearl, not looking at Ombra, nodded.

“Let her go,” said Ombra.

Slank released the girl and quickly climbed into the dory. In an instant, without apparent exertion, Ombra flowed aboard.

“Row,” he said, but Slank was already pul ing on the oars, as were the men in the longboat with Nerezza. As the boats slid away, Shining Pearl stood absolutely motionless.

Then, as the longboats rowed out of pistol range, Fighting Prawn opened his arms, and his daughter ran up the beach and into his waiting embrace. Fighting Prawn hugged her hard, but his eyes remained on the two receding boats, his thoughts far away, in England.

It was not Fighting Prawn’s business anymore, now that these outsiders were gone from his island. But he knew Aster was a good man and a loving father. And as a father, Fighting Prawn wished that he could warn Aster of the danger now heading toward him.