Part 9 (1/2)

How long could they hold out?

”One man's misfortune is another man's opportunity,” said Hook, peering through his spygla.s.s with a smile that revealed two jagged rows of brown tooth stumps.

Hook and seven of his men had observed the battle from a hidden perch on the jungle-covered mountainside. They witnessed the landing of the huge flotilla of war canoes; they watched with a mixture of awe and fear as the howling horde of red-painted invaders easily routed the Mollusk beach defenders.

Now, as the attackers charged into the jungle below, the pirates looked nervously to Hook.

”What's the plan, Cap'n?” asked Smee.

With the sharpened point of the curved blade attached to his left arm, Hook scratched the thick black bristles of his foot-wide moustache. ”The plan?” he said. ”We steal one of them nice big savage canoes and we get ourselves off this blasted island. That's the plan.”

One of the men frowned, then said, ”But, Cap'n, what about the men back at the fort?”

With lightning speed, Hook shot out his left arm and placed the point of his razor-sharp hook into the man's right nostril.

”I don't recall asking for your opinion,” he said. ”Do you recall me asking for your opinion?”

With his crossed eyes on the hook, the pirate shook his head, barely moving it so as to avoid cutting himself.

”Then let's leave the captaining to me, shall we?” said Hook, who was not certain that ”captaining” was a word, but was certain that n.o.body would question him on this point.

”Now, listen, men,” he said. ”We ain't got time to go back to the fort. By the time we get all the way there and back, these attacking savages will control the whole island. We'd never make it to the canoes. We need to strike now, while the savages is busy killing each other. Savvy?”

Some of the men were frowning.

”So what we do,” said Hook, addressing the frowners, ”is we s.n.a.t.c.h ourselves a canoe and put to sea, then we go 'round the other side of the island and get the men at the fort, time permitting. How's that sound, men?”

The men nodded slowly, though they had their doubts about ”time permitting” them to rescue the others.

”All right, then,” said Hook. He pointed off to the right. ”Looks like them red-painted savages is heading to the local savage village; so that's where the big battle will be. Ma.s.sacre is more likely, but that's not our concern. While that's under way, we'll sneak down to the beach, careful as cats. We'll stay to the left there, away from the fuss. Are you with me, men?”

The men nodded again. Hook smiled, for two reasons: one was that he was, at last, about to get off this cursed island; the other was that the path to the beach went right past the hut where the cursed flying boy was sometimes found. Ordinarily, the pirates didn't cross to this side of the island, didn't go near that huta”not with the village so close. But now the savages were fighting for their lives, which meant that Hook mighta”just mighta”be able to manage one last encounter with the boy who'd cost him his treasure, his s.h.i.+p, and his hand.

If the boy was in that hut, he intended to take his revenge.

The Scorpion warriors swarmed along the jungle paths like fire ants. Some succ.u.mbed to the traps set by the Mollusksa”tumbling into hidden pits lined with sharp stakes, tripping on vines, becoming ensnared in falling nets. Some were felled by defenders waiting in ambush.

But not nearly enough of them. For every Scorpion who fell, ten red-painted attackers came shrieking right behind. Fighting Prawn, who could still move more swiftly through the thick jungle than anyone in his tribe, raced from place to place, constantly repositioning his warriors, placing them where they would be most effective.

His men fought with great courage, but the numbers were overwhelmingly against them. Relentlessly, brutally, the Scorpions pushed the Mollusks back through the jungle, closer and closer to the high-walled Mollusk compound. Finally, Fighting Prawn had no choice but to order his men into position for a last-ditch defense of the village. His marksmen mounted towers around the log wall, aiming across the clearing into the jungle. As the Scorpions started across the clearing, the front line was felled instantly. The remaining warriors retreated quickly into the jungle, but Fighting Prawn knew they would regroup and return soon with their s.h.i.+elds protecting them.

He had one last hope to save the village.

”Now,” he grunted to the warrior with the conch sh.e.l.l.

Immediately, the conch sounded four short bursts. Fighting Prawn turned his gaze to the mountainside rising behind the village. He saw a group of his warriors using logs as levers to maneuver ma.s.sive lava boulders into earthen chutes that he had ordered dug years ago, hoping that he would never have to use them. At the same time, men with burning torches raced across the clearing to a long, shallow ditch filled with dried gra.s.s and fish oil. Seconds later, a curtain of dark smoke rose.

Fighting Prawn squinted through the smoke and saw that the Scorpions were again coming out of the jungle, this time behind s.h.i.+elds. He nodded to the conch man, who blew another four blasts. The men on the hillside yanked on their logs, and a dozen boulders came rumbling down the earthen chutes, which were angled so that the boulders shot across the field and over the shallow ditch, bursting through the smokescreen and into the oncoming ma.s.s of attackers. Perhaps twenty-five Scorpions went down, maybe a few more. But as a gust of wind cleared the smoke for a moment, Fighting Prawn saw it was not enough. Not nearly enough.

The Scorpions had only been slowed, not stopped. They continued forward relentlessly as Mollusk arrows glanced harmlessly off their upright s.h.i.+elds. In a moment they would reach the compound wall. Their numbers were far too great. They would soon destroy the village, killing every man, woman, and child. They would exterminate the Mollusk tribe.

Unlessa Fighting Prawn's shoulders sagged. He turned to the conch signalman and gave an order that had never been given, in untold generations, by a Mollusk chief.

”Sound the surrender.”

The signalman stared at Fighting Prawn, stunned.

”Sound it!”

The man blew seven long, slow, mournful blasts. The Mollusk archers stopped shooting. The Scorpions stopped advancing and peered warily out from behind their s.h.i.+elds. The clearing fell eerily silent.

Fighting Prawn, carrying his spear, walked forward alone. He stepped through the smoke and stopped, facing the Scorpions. Slowly, he raised the spear over his head, then brought it down over his knee, breaking it into two pieces with a loud snap. He dropped the pieces onto the ground.

The Scorpions, with howls of glee, surged forward to claim their prize.

Peter lay on his mat, too weak to sit up, listening to the sound of shrieks and screams m.u.f.fled by the jungle. A terrible battle was raging, that much was obvious; but who was winning? Tink, as promised, had gone to see, but she had yet to return with a report.

James, Prentiss, Thomas, and Tubby Ted huddled in the driftwood hut with Peter, listening to the horrible sounds.

”Peter,” said Prentiss, ”I'm scared.”

”It'll be all right,” whispered Peter.

”You don't know that,” said Thomas.

”Be quiet,” said James.

”Is there any more food?” said Tubby Ted.

”But he can't even fly,” said Thomas. ”How can he know it's all right?”

”Peter is our leader,” said James firmly.

”I'm going to go look for coconuts,” said Tubby Ted, opening the s.h.i.+p's hatch that served as the door of the hut.

”Ted,” said Peter, ”don'ta”

But Ted was already pulling the door open.

And then he was screaming.

”Well, well,” said Captain Hook, shoving Ted backward and stepping into the hut. ”What have we here?”

Thomas made a move to dart around Hook, but stopped when he saw that the doorway was blocked by more pirates. The boys froze as Hook sauntered over and crouched next to Peter's pale form.