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.
CHAPTER 9
A TASTY MEAL LOST
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.
“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
Learning to Kill: Stories