Peter and the Starcatchers Read Free

morning?” he asked.
    “It looks like it,” said Mack. “But it ain’t. There was two trunks come in together. The black one got loaded onto the Wasp by them soldiers. Heavy as lead, it was. Then Slank pul s me aside and says he wants us, real careful-like, to put this one aboard the Never Land. He says, tie the canvas tight ’round it and walk it up the main gangway like it belong to one of the travelers. He says if we do this right there’s two bob more in our pay.”
    “Apiece?” said Alf.
    “Apiece,” said Mack.
    “Al right, then,” said Alf, who was not one to ask questions when two bob was involved.
    “Let’s tie her up, then,” said Mack. “You lift the end there, and I’l tuck this canvas underneath, and slip the rope ’round it.”
    “Why don’t you lift the end?” said Alf.
    “It’s me back, Alf,” complained Mack. “You know how it troubles me.”
    “No more than mine troubles me,” said Alf.
    “But I said it first,” said Mack.
    Alf sighed. The longer they argued—and Alf knew, from experience, that Mack would argue this point a good long time—the less chance he’d have at some grog before they set sail.
    “Al right, then,” Alf said, and he squatted to grab hold of the end of the trunk.
    Alf was a simple man, of simple wants. What he hoped to get from life was food that was soft enough to chew, a place to sleep out of the rain, and some grog now and again.
    Alf had never known true happiness, and he didn’t expect to.
    And so he was not ready, not ready at al , for what happened when his rough, cal used hands touched the trunk.
    First, he felt it: a warmth, starting in his hands but quickly moving up his arms and down his back and into his legs, and everywhere the warmth went it was … wonderful. Like stepping into a bath. In an instant the pain in his bent old spine, the throbbing pain that he’d lived with since almost his first day on the docks, was gone. So was the aching weariness in his legs. Gone!
    But there was more: there was a … smell. It was flowers. New grass in a meadow right after a spring rain. A fresh orange being peeled. It was cinnamon and honey, and bread just baked and pul ed from the oven. And another smel even more wonderful than al the others, though Alf couldn’t place it. Like nighttime, he thought.
    Alf could see light now, swirling around his head, colors and sparkles, moving to music, dancing to the sound of … bells, yes, it was bel s, tiny ones, by the sound of them, and it was a sweet and joyful sound, though Alf could hear something else in it, something that seemed to be trying to tel Alf something. He strained to hear it, he wanted to hear it….

    “ALF!” said Mack, shaking Alf’s shoulder harder now, hard enough so that Alf let go of the trunk. And when he did, the wonderful smel s were gone, and so were the lights, and the bel s, and Alf could feel the weight come back into his body, his back and his arms and his legs, along with al the old aches and pains, and he felt himself settling, as though he’d been—but that was impossible—floating above the warehouse floor, just a little bit of an inch, but floating. He brushed off his hands, thinking someone had put rat poison on the outside of the trunk. He’d seen sailors go into a crazy dance from messing with rat poison.
    “ALF!” said Mack again. “What’s wrong with you?”
    Alf looked at Mack, then down at the trunk, then back at Mack. He put his fingers in both ears, looking sil y.
    “I … when I touched it …” Alf said. “Didn’t you hear them?”
    “Hear what?” said Mack.
    “The bel s,” said Alf.
    “What bells? ” said Mack. “There weren’t no bel s.”
    “Bel s,” said Alf. “And lights, and …” He stopped, seeing the way Mack was looking at him. “Rat poison!” he said, slapping his hands against his pants, trying to get them clean.
    “You already been to the tavern today?” asked Mack suspiciously.
    “Rat poison!” said Alf, now rubbing