Peter and the Sword of Mercy Read Online Free PDF Page A

few feet above the men’s heads. He looked to be twelve or thirteen years old; he had red hair, and freckles still visible in his deeply tanned face. He was studying the men in the boat but listening to the sounds coming from the shimmering, darting orb, which had perched on his shoulder, and which the men could now see was what looked like a tiny winged woman.
    “No they’re not, Tink,” the boy said. “They’ve just been at sea for a while.”
    More bells, and then the boy said, “I can’t just leave them out here.” Speaking to the men, the boy said, “My name is Peter. Who are you?”
    The men in the boat looked to O’Neal, who said, “We’re crewmen from the freighter Inganno. She sank three weeks and two days ago. Terrible storm. We lost our oars, and our mast broke, as you see. We’re in a bad way…Peter.”
    More bells, ominous in tone. Peter looked at the tiny flying woman, then shook his head.
    “They need help, Tink,” he said. This was not what Tink wanted to hear. She flashed red and flew off.
    “We’re trying to get to that island,” said O’Neal, pointing. “Is that your island?”
    “I live there,” said Peter. “With the Mollusks.”
    “The Mollusks?”
    “You’ll meet them.”
    “Then you’ll help us get there?”
    Peter, hovering, studied them a moment, then said, “I will. You’ll get food and water. But the Mollusks won’t let you stay.”
    “Fair enough,” said O’Neal. “Men, paddle for the island.”
    Peter smiled and said, “You don’t need to paddle.”
    “What do you mean?” said O’Neal.
    “My friends can help you.”
    “What friends?” asked O’Neal, his eyes searching the sky.
    “These friends,” said Peter, gesturing toward the water.
    The men looked down and saw, poking out of the water all around the boat, the heads of a dozen lovely long-haired women, looking at them with interest. Then, moving as one, the heads ducked under, and long green tails flicked the surface.
    “Mermaids,” whispered DeWulf.
    “Aye,” agreed McPherson.
    “These are interesting waters,” said Kelly.
    “The mermaids will swim your boat to the island,” said Peter. “But don’t try to touch them. They don’t like to be touched, and you wouldn’t enjoy their bite.”
    “Put 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. “Mermaids,” he said. “And a flying boy.”
    The other three nodded, their eyes on the distant speck of land, which was growing steadily larger.

     
    The island was breathtakingly beautiful, its jungle green volcanic mountainsides rising steeply into the vivid blue sky. As the mermaids expertly navigated the lifeboat through an opening in a coral reef, the four men looked across a placid lagoon to a vertical rock cliff with a foaming waterfall plunging hundreds of feet onto a jumble of boulders below. To the left of the cliff stretched a curved beach, easily a mile long, its bright white sand leading up to a line of tall palms guarding the entrance to the jungle.
    Peter had flown ahead to tell the Mollusks about the men in the lifeboat. Now he stood on the beach with a dozen bronze-skinned warriors, all holding spears, all watching the approaching boat.
    “Look friendly, men,” said Cheeky O’Neal.
    As the boat reached the island, some of the warriors waded into the lagoon and hauled it up onto the beach. The mermaids, with a flash of tails, disappeared. The four men climbed out of the boat; O’Neal was almost a foot taller than the other three. The four stood on the sand, watching the