"No one made you come along," Molly reminded him.

"We'll starve!"

"No, we won't," said Molly, though she was quite hungry herself. "We'll find some food tonight."

"Tonight? Are you saying we're to go without food the entire day?"

"Apparently, I am."

George groaned and lay back down. They spent an unhappy morning under the dory, saying little, listening to the sounds of the ship and the grumble of their stomachs. Molly grew quite thirsty and knew that George must be thirsty, too. She was grateful he didn't complain.

The first suggestion of the storm was the dimming of light where the dory met the deck. The next sign was the rise and fall of the ship, which went from gentle rocking to a much more violent motion, the bow lifting high and then crashing loudly down into the sea. The dory rattled and shook, and Molly began to feel sick to her stomach. Things were not going as she'd planned.

She looked at George. By the dim light filtering under the dory, she saw that his face was as gray as driftwood.

"I need some air," he whispered.

"Please don't be sick," she said.

"I need air now," he said.

But it wasn't air George got: it was water. There was a sudden, loud drumming sound on the dory hull, then rivulets of cold rainwater surged across the deck and under the dory, soaking Molly and George. With the rain came an even more violent motion of the ship's deck, now rolling right and left as well as rocking up and down.

George made an ominous sound and clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Georgea" Molly warned.

"Sorry, Ia" George turned away from Molly just as his unhappy stomach rebelled. Instantly an awful stench filled the upturned dory; Molly, now retching herself, frantically untied the line holding the dory down and lifted the boat off with her back. At once, she and George were blasted by torrents of wind-driven rain; they scrabbled along the heaving deck, looking for something to hold on to. George was still retching pitifully.

"Hey!" a deep voice boomed over the roar of the wind. "You there!"

Molly turned to see a burly seaman fighting his way forward. He grabbed the sliding dory and quickly secured it to the deck, then turned to the children.

"What's this, now?" he boomed. "Stowaways, is it?"

"I'm the daughter of Lord Aster," Molly shouted. "If you please, sir, I wish to be taken to him at once."

"His lordship's daughter, hiding under a dory?" said the seaman, smiling skeptically. "And who might this be?" he asked, pointing at the retching George. "A duke, perhaps?"

"He's my friend," said Molly. "Please, just take us to my father."

"All right, then," said the seaman, eyeing George's clothes, which were covered with what had once been the contents of his stomach. "But first we need to make the duke more presentable." He turned and walked astern, returning moments later with a bucket.

"Here, your lordship," he said. As George, still on hands and knees, looked up, the seaman splashed him with a full bucket of cold seawater.

"That's much better," said the seaman, laughing as he reached out a hand to help the sputtering George to his feet. "Welcome aboard the Mich.e.l.le, my lord and lady."

Leonard Aster paced the captain's quarters, walking back and forth in front of two chairs. In one sat Molly; in the other, George; both were wrapped in rough wool blankets.

Leonard's face was grim and pale save for two red spots, one on each cheek. Those spots, Molly knew, meant her father was furious.

For more than a minute, Leonard strode back and forth, too angry even to speak. When he finally did, his voice quivered with rage.

"I cannot believe you would do this, Molly," he said.

"But, Fatherait's Peter."

"Silence."

Molly's mouth snapped shut.

"I am extremely disappointed in you, Molly. And George, youa"

"I talked him into it," Molly said.

"No, she didn't, sir," said George, "Ia"

"Silence, both of you."

Molly and George sat still as stones as Leonard paced for a full minute more.

"You've created a very bad situation, Molly. If I take you to the island, I expose you and George to danger, not to mention the fact that your mother and George's parents will be frantic with worry, not knowing your whereabouts. But if I order the ship turned around to return you to France, we lose precious time getting to the island. Precious to the Starcatchers. Precious to Peter."

Molly started to speak, but her father's look quelled that idea.

Leonard paced some more.

"Here is what I have decided," he said finally. "We will proceed to the island. Peter's well-being is paramount. We will try to get word to your mother through the porpoises; she can contact George's parents. For the remainder of this voyage, you and George will remain on this ship, under close supervision. You will not go onto the island; you are a liability on this expedition. So you will remain on the ship, and when we return to England"a"here Leonard stopped pacing and looked into Molly's eyesa""there will be consequences. Do you both understand?"

"Yes, Father," said Molly.

"Yes, Lord Aster," said George.

"The crew are making up cabins for you both," said Leonard. "You will go to them now and clean up as best you can. I will see you at dinner." He turned his back, dismissing them.

The two children left. Although they hadn't eaten for a day, neither was looking forward to dinner: George was still quite seasick, and Molly was not at all eager to face her father again. She'd been so sure that stowing away was a good ideaa"that her presence would, somehow, help Peter. Now it seemed that all she had done was muddle the rescue effort.

A liability, that's what her father had called her.

Neither Molly nor George spoke as a crewman led them to their cabins. When she reached hers, Molly closed the door and looked around the tiny s.p.a.ce, which had barely enough room for a chest and a bunk bed.

Molly sat on the bed, put her face in her hands, and wept.

CHAPTER 17.

THE ATTACK.

FIGHTING PRAWN STOOD ALONE on the beach, watching the war canoes surging ever closer. Behind him, his Mollusk warriors lay in wait, hiding in the jungle.

He'd done all that he could: thanks to Peter's warning, he knew where the Scorpions would land; he'd set his defenses accordingly. His best archers were perched high in the palm trees lining the beach, ready to rain arrows down on any attackers. The trails leading inland from the beach were bristling with trapsa"concealed pits, trip vines, and other surprises. More Mollusk warriors, armed with bows, spears, and knives, waited to ambush. Well beyond them, the gatesa"both front and reara"to the Mollusk village were secured shut, and still more warriors had been posted as defense along the top of the compound's towering log wall. On the mountainside rising above the village, Fighting Prawn had prepared other unpleasant surprises for the attackers.

He was as ready as he could be. Buta It looked as if there were at least a hundred Scorpion canoes coming straight at him, possibly more. And with ten warriors in each canoeait made a thousand warriors attacking Mollusk Island. Fighting Prawn had fewer than two hundred Mollusk men with whom to defend it. They were fearless fighters and skilled in the use of their weapons. They would do anything their chief asked of them, as would the women and children back in the village. They would fight to the deatha"all of thema"if asked.

If he asked. The decision to fight, and how long to fight, weighed on his shoulders like a stone.

The Scorpions' lead canoes pulled close enough now that Fighting Prawn could see the men doing the paddling. Their faces and chests were covered with blood-red war paint. A Scorpion warrior stood in the lead canoe, his teeth showing bright white against his red-painted face. He raised a bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Fighting Prawn turned his back to the man and began to walk up the beach toward the jungle. His pace was unhurried. He would not let his men, or the Scorpions, see him run. As he reached the line of palms he heard one of his men shout, but he did not react. He kept walking calmly forward.

THUNK!.

The arrow drilled deep into a tree trunk a foot to the right of Fighting Prawn's head. He did not flinch. He continued walking into the shade of the trees, where he grunted an order to a man holding a conch sh.e.l.l.

"Sound the battle call."

Peter, awakened by the low moan of the battle conch, tried to sit up. He was lying on some palm fronds on the floor of the hut. Normally the boys slept in their underground hideout, but with the Scorpions approaching, Fighting Prawn had insisted that the boys move to their driftwood hut, which was closer to the protection of the Mollusk village.

As Peter struggled to raise his head, Tink flew in front of his face and emitted a deafening burst of chimes.

"All right! All right!" said Peter, weakly trying to brush Tink away.

"What did she say?" said James, who'd been sleeping next to Peter on the mat.

"She wants me to drink my medicine."

"What was that horn?" asked Tubby Ted. "Is it breakfast?"

"It's the battle," said James. "It's starting."

"I have to help them," Peter said, again struggling to rise.

Another furious flurry of chimes. Tinker Bell landed on Peter's nose, forcing him to look at her cross-eyed.

"I think she wants you to rest," said James.

I want him to grow a brain, said Tink.

"But I can help," said Peter. "I can fly out anda"

You can't even sit up, said Tink.

"You can barely sit up," said James.

That's what I said, said Tink.

"What'd she say?" asked James.

"She agrees with you."

No, he agreed with me.

"Tink," said Peter, "please get off my nose."

"She's right," said James. "You can't fly, and even if you could you'd get shot again. You need your medicine, and you need more rest."

"I need breakfast," said Tubby Ted.

James picked up a cup made from a hollow coconut. It contained a thick, greenish-brown liquida"made by the Mollusk medicine womana"that smelled like a combination of trail mud and rotting seaweed. Peter turned his head. Tink flew in front of his face.

Drink it, she chimed.

"It's foul," Peter complained.

Drink it, or I'll pour it in your ear.

"But it's disgusting!" said Peter, pushing the cup away.

Tink's chimes softened. If you drink it, I'll fly out over the beach and tell you what's going on.

Peter eyed the cup. "All right," he said. "But as soon as I feel a bit stronger, I'm going to fly out there myself."

He took the cup in one hand, held his nose with the other, shut his eyes, and choked down the malodorous brew in two hasty gulps. He then rolled sideways on the mat, gagging.

"Are you all right?" said James.

"No, I'm not all right," said Peter. "I think this medicine is worse than the poison." He turned to Tink. "I held up my end of the bargain. Now go find out what's happening."

With a burst of bells that Peter would not have wanted to translate, Tink soared skyward in a brilliant blur and shot over the village wall. Peter resumed gagging.

"When's breakfast?" asked Tubby Ted.

The Scorpion war canoes charged straight at the beach, the warriors paddling furiously to catch the breaking waves and surge high onto the sand. The Mollusk marksmen, following Fighting Prawn's orders, waited patiently until the canoes came to rest, then let loose a fearsome volley of well-aimed arrows from the treetops. The Scorpions, clearly expecting the arrows, quickly raised shields made from the sh.e.l.ls of sea turtles. A few of the Mollusk arrows found their targets, but most clattered harmlessly off the sh.e.l.ls and onto the sand.

As the Mollusks reloaded their bows, the Scorpions leapt from their canoes, pulled them high up onto the beach, and raced forward toward the trees, shrieking a high-pitched, hideous-sounding war cry. The Mollusks fired another volley; again the raised sh.e.l.ls blocked most of them. From behind the wall of shields, Scorpion marksmen returned fire, sending dozens of poison-tipped arrows hissing toward the tops of the palm trees. A scream, then another, then still morea"and Mollusk warriors began to fall from their perches.

Fighting Prawn immediately ordered another volley of arrows, this time fired by his men on the ground. Then, as the attackers crouched defensively under their sh.e.l.ls, he ordered his men out of the trees. As they slid swiftly down the palm trunks, Fighting Prawn turned to the man with the conch sh.e.l.l.

"Sound regroup!" he grunted.

The conch sounded; the Mollusk warriors moved back into the jungle, some carrying wounded comrades who moaned in agony from the sharp arrows and the poison.

Fighting Prawn, the last to leave, looked back to see the red-painted Scorpions moving steadily up the beacha"his beacha"shrieking in triumph. They had good reason to sound triumphant: they had easily routed the initial Mollusk defenders and were now established on the island in force. The Mollusks knew the island better, of course, and they had laid some clever traps that were yet to be revealed. But they faced far superior numbers.

Worry gnawed at Fighting Prawn as he trotted into the jungle, where his men were taking up defensive positions.