Peter and the Sword of Mercy (29 page)

“Come here!” he shouted to the others. They stumbled over, and he positioned them against one of the walls.

“On three, push like your lives depend on it,” he said, “because they do. One…two…THREE!”

The four heaved against the wall, and the gap widened by several inches.

“Again!” said O’Neal. “One…two…THREE!”

With a crash, the wall gave way. The men stumbled into the passageway.

“The lifeboat,” said O’Neal. “Nobody stops us.”

Peter and Wendy climbed onto the deck. The
Jolly Roger
had righted itself somewhat but was still listing. The steamship’s long hull had just finished passing; its stern loomed high above, bearing the name
Lucy.

Peter looked forward on the deck of the
Jolly Roger.
Hook, Smee, and the rest of the pirates were regaining their footing, turning to watch the ship that had almost crushed them.

And then Hook saw Peter.

For a moment he stood utterly still, staring.

“You!” he shouted. “You’re
dead.
I
killed
you.”

“He don’t look very dead to me, Cap’n,” said Smee.

Hook ignored Smee, keeping his glittering black eyes on Peter. Had the boy’s ghost come back to haunt him? But no: he appeared perfectly real. Hook started walking aft.

“I killed you once, boy,” he said. “And I will kill you again.”

“Peter,” said Wendy. “Fly away.
Now.”

Yes,
said Tink, in a rare moment of agreement. Fly.

Peter wiped some blood from his eyes, trying to force his woozy brain to think.

“Peter, he’ll
kill
you!” said Wendy. “Fly!”

Hook was only yards away, his razor-sharp hook held high.

“Wendy,” said Peter. “Hang on.”

She started to speak, but her words became a scream when Peter reached behind her, grunted, and picked her up.

“NO!” screamed Wendy.

NO! chimed Tink.

“NO!” bellowed Hook.

Ignoring them all, Peter turned, took two staggering steps, and with a desperate effort leaped with Wendy over the stern rail of the ship, eluding by inches the furious arc of the pirate captain’s lunging hook.

On the main deck of the
Lucy,
Samuel Deasy had trotted the entire length of the starboard rail from bow to stern, trying to stay even with the drama below, watching with fascinated horror as the steamship’s hull brushed aside and swept past the sailing ship.

Incredibly, the smaller ship had not sunk. And now, as it tossed in the wake of the
Lucy,
Deasy saw an amazing scene unfold. Two children—a boy and a girl—stood on the moonlit aft deck as a tall man charged toward them, shouting, with something—a knife?—glinting in his hand. Just as he was about to reach the children, the boy swept the girl into his arms and, as Deasy gasped,
leaped off the stern.

What happened next was so astonishing that Deasy nearly fell over the rail. The boy and the girl, instead of falling into the sea, began to…
rise.
Their ascent was wobbly; it seemed to require great effort on the boy’s part. But after a few moments they had gained enough altitude to be level with Deasy. They continued to rise as they flew toward the
Lucy,
passing a good fifty feet over Deasy’s head, preceded by a strange streak of light, like a tiny shooting star.

“Hello!” shouted Deasy, this being the only thing he could think of to say.

The boy and girl did not respond; they swooped toward the bow of the
Lucy,
passing the tall, red-and-black smoke-belching funnel. Then they were gone, leaving Deasy struggling to comprehend what he had just seen—if he’d seen it at all.

He heard a shout, and turned to look astern. The sailing ship was rapidly disappearing behind; it would soon be out of sight. But Deasy could see that the tall man was still standing at the stern rail, shouting in the direction of the
Lucy.
He seemed very, very upset.

O’Neal, DeWulf, Kelly, and McPherson crept along the starboard rail, unseen and unheard. The pirates were all on the port side of the
Jolly Roger,
some assessing the damage inflicted by the steamer, some watching Hook, who was still screaming curses at the hated flying boy.

It took less than a minute for the four men, experienced hands all, to untie the lifeboat and lower it over the side. With O’Neal rowing as quietly as he could, they slipped quickly and silently away from the
Jolly Roger,
undetected by the pirate crew and their furious captain.

Samuel Deasy, red-faced and disheveled, stumbled into the elegant main dining room of the
Lucy,
shouting incoherently. He was quickly surrounded by a curious crowd, which included the steamship’s captain, an experienced, dignified-looking seaman named Alfred Hart, who’d been dining with invited passengers at his table.

It took several minutes for Deasy to calm down enough to get his story out. And quite a story it was, starting with an account of the
Lucy
colliding with a sailing ship. This drew doubtful looks from the crowd, as nobody had felt anything. A few guests went out on deck and returned quickly to report that they saw nothing. Captain Hart declared that such a thing would not happen, especially not on a bright moonlit night.

But Deasy was adamant: not only had they struck another ship, but that ship had pink sails!

Now the doubtful looks turned to amusement: clearly this man was drunk. Deasy’s wife and her family, mortified, tried to pull him away, but he yanked himself free and began shouting that two children had leaped off the sailing ship and…
flown over the steamship.

At this absurdity, the crowd roared with laughter. Deasy’s in-laws, furious, were pulling him away as he continued to insist that he had seen these things with his own eyes. He was still shouting as he was dragged out of the dining room.

The passengers returned to their tables, still laughing. Now they’d have a fine story to tell, about a drunk who claimed he’d seen a pink-sailed ship and flying children.

Of all the silly tales!

A S
ECOND
B
OWL

M
OLLY LAY SHIVERING
in the grim darkness of her cell, listening to the endless
drip-drip-drip
of water in the tunnel outside. Aside from being cold, she was weak from hunger and aching from the effort she’d put into using the plank to pry the tunnel support.

Over the past two days she’d loosened it a good deal. She stopped when she felt that the next hard yank or two would bring down the post and, in turn, the overhead beam. She had set her trap; now she had to be patient, to wait for the opportunity to use it as a means to escape. She prayed it would come soon, before she was too weak to take advantage.

She heard footsteps in the tunnel. She stood, grunting with the effort, and peered through the bars into the yellowish light cast by the string of electric bulbs. A guard was coming, carrying a bowl. Mealtime: lukewarm brown slop, perhaps some moldy bread. She thought this might be breakfast. Or was it dinner? She’d lost track.

She prepared to take the bowl. If she didn’t grab it as it came through the slot, the guard allowed it to fall, dumping it into the mud. More than once, compelled by aching hunger, she’d eaten a meal with pebbles and sand crunching between her teeth.

The tin bowl pushed through. Molly grabbed hold tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the guard, desperate in her loneliness to engage in conversation with
someone,
even her captors.

The guard, as always, ignored her. Talking was not permitted. She watched him leave, and was about to sit and eat her meager meal when she noticed something unusual: the guard turned and went on down the hall. After delivering the food, the guard always went back the way he’d come. But this time he continued along the tunnel to her right. Molly pressed her face against the bars to follow his progress. She caught a glimpse of something in the guard’s hands.

A second bowl.

She watched intently as the guard stopped about thirty feet down the hall. He turned toward the wall and pushed the bowl forward. When he pulled his hands back, the bowl was gone. The guard came back along the tunnel, passing Molly’s cell, then disappeared around the corner.

Molly sat on the floor, chewing the spongy slop and thinking about what she’d seen. Clearly there was another cell. And clearly it was now occupied by a prisoner. Was it one of the workers, being punished? Or someone new to the tunnels? If so, who?