Peter and the Sword of Mercy (Peter and the Starcatchers)
Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
this?” said Wendy. Molly hesitated, then said, “I just…I needed you to know.” Wendy waited, but her mother said nothing more. Finally Wendy said, “But why …” “Wendy,” said Molly, “I said, not tonight. You must trust me.” “All right,” sighed Wendy. “Now, go to sleep,” said Molly, closing the door. But Wendy couldn’t sleep, not with all these astonishing things to think about. She had so many questions, but one in particular kept popping up in her mind: Why had her mother told her about the
in his clawlike hand. “The tip of Curtana,” he rasped. “The Sword of Charlemagne. The Sword of Mercy.” Despite the need for haste, the four stood for a few moments, examining the tip. It was made of silver-colored metal that glinted in the candlelight like steel, but to the Skeleton it felt heavier. The tip was pointed at one end; the opposite edge jagged and at an angle, as the tip had not broken from the sword evenly. It was only a few inches long, about the length of his hand. The Skeleton
island permanently.’” “Permanently.” Hook inhaled through his nose, filling his lungs, then exhaled so hard that the few wisps of hair on Smee’s head blew backward. The smell of fish lingered in the air. “Repair the ship,” Hook muttered. “It’s almost too good to be true!” said Smee. “For once you’re right, Smee. It is too good to be true. Has to be trap. A clever trap, cleverly designed by the cunning savages to lure us into… a trap. They think I’m a fool, Smee.” “But a request for a parley,”
“Nonsense!” she said, taking his arm and pulling him into the foyer. “John, Michael,” she said. “This is Mr. Smith.” Michael eyed James warily. “Who are you?” he said. “Michael Darling, that is a rude question,” said Mrs. Darling. “Mr. Smith is a very dear friend to your father and me. And we are delighted to see him at any hour, especially after…James, how long has it been?” “Years, I’m afraid, Molly,” said James. “Molly?” said John. He giggled. She turned to her son. “It’s the name I went by
your hands inside the boat,” said O’Neal, but the others, eyeing the mermaids warily, had already done so. The mermaids gathered at the stern of the boat and put their hands on it. Moments later, propelled by a dozen powerful tails, the boat was skimming toward the island, faster than it had ever moved by sail. Peter flew ahead, following Tink, an angry red dot out in front. Cheeky O’Neal, with a glance back at the mermaids, lowered his voice, so that only the other three men could hear him.