II

II

"Do you remember the world outside, Wendy?" Peter asked, peering into a pale face somewhat shrouded by a hood.

In the fading light of the sun, which was sinking below the horizon, the ocean was stained the color of blood. It was another beginning—a brand-new day.

"Wendy, when you were small, you went to the outside world, right? Could you see these sights there, too?"

"Yes, but the sights there weren't this pretty, and they weren't all sunsets like this." The final drops of sunlight melted away. Wary, Wendy removed her hood and sighed. "I saw both oceans and forests. This island is the most wonderful place in the world, though. In the world beyond, adults pollute things."

"After all, it's the adults' fault. Why do adults do so many bad things? You and the others—"

"Stop!" she shouted, afraid. Her face had turned white. She shook, hugging her shoulders. "Please, stop talking about adults. I don't want to hear it!"

"S-sorry! I'm sorry, Wendy!" Hastily, Peter rubbed his hand in soothing circles across Wendy's back. "It's okay. It's okay, Wendy. I'll kill them! I'll kill anybody who torments you, Wendy, Don't cry, please!"

"Right." Ducking beneath the strands of her buckwheat hair, she barely succeeded in producing a smile. Yes, I'm the first big sister to come to this island. I can't worry my little brother like this. "That's right, Peter. I have you with me. I don't need to be afraid of any adults."

"Yeah! I'll kill them all for you!"

"Thank you, Peter. I'm relying on you."

The stars began to show. Soon, it would be time for the other children to get up.

Placing her hand on the boy's head, Wendy stood up lightly. "Come, we need to fix dinner. Peter, bring some milk from the cowshed." Wendy noticed that he wasn't listening to her.

He was gazing absently at the sky. "Say, what kind of bird is that?"

The shadow of the mysterious "bird" belched smoke. As they watched, the creature grew bigger.

"Peter, gather everyone in the school!" Wendy pointed at the slight hill where a building with a tall belfry rested. She couldn't keep her voice from becoming shrill with nervousness. "Hurry! I'll go and examine that."

"I'm going, too!"

"It's dangerous! You stay with everyone else."

"No! If you're going, so am I, Wendy."

She sighed again. "I guess it can't be helped." Touching the boy's cheek, which had stiffened with tension, she smiled. "Fine. We'll go together."

 

***

 

"Ow!"

At the exact moment the craft landed on the water, the flight gauge struck him directly in the face. His body was thrown backward, and a streak of red blood gushed up in a high arch. Stirred around in all directions like it was trapped by a mixer, the floating plane finally washed up on the sandy beach and sputtered to a stop.

"Hey, we're here, my dear passenger."

"I-I-I thought I was going to die. Couldn't you land a little more gently, Father Leon? When you do it this way, I can't tell a water landing from a crash." Stuffing a tissue into his bloody nostril, Abel glared at his companion. Crawling down to the shore, he noticed that cracks ran through the machine's body, and the engine was smoking.

"It can't be helped. Oh dear, this jalopy is going to burst into flames any minute now."

"Doesn't this flying machine belong to one your contacts, Leon? What do you mean by using this kind of antique deathtrap?"

"Unfortunately, my connection's hangar was practically empty, so this was the best choice. It was cheap."

Leon often would boast, "If you front the money, I can supply you with anything from airplanes to coffins." Abel wondered if Leon had considered selling airplanes and coffins in sets. "Ah, this is terrible. Maybe we can squeeze a lot of free reparations out of your contact for this. When we go back, what will I tell everyone in Accounting?"

"Don't worry: The radio is broken. Even if we wanted to go back, we couldn't return—for the time being, at least."

"Oh, well then, I'm relieved. . . . Wh-what!" The tissue erupted from Abel's nose. On the verge of fainting, he drew closer to Leon, who was combing the stubble on his chin. "The radio is broken? Then, we're . . . shipwrecked?"

"Well, you could look at it that way."

"How can you be so calm? Dear God, if you were going to send me into a survival situation with an old man like this, I'd rather be dead. Waaa—!"

The silver-haired priest, who had been wailing as if it were the end of the world, suddenly went silent. Abel had fallen facedown on the sand. He looked like a squished frog. There was a lump on the back of his head and a fist-sized rock lying next to him.

"Hey, are you alive?" Leon looked down with interest at his strangely silent companion. There was no answer, but Abel started to twitch, so Leon figured he was all right. "So, this is what death looks like? Dear Lord, he was a gloomy, brazen, poor man, but . . . well, he wasn't a bad guy. Go straight to heaven, Abel."

Leon gracefully caught the rock that suddenly came at him. His meaty palm clamped shut over the stone, and he called out to his unseen attacker, "Hey, hey—are we going to play a game of hide and seek or a game of catch?"

The sarcastic priest waved his hand. With a snap of his wrist, the stone whizzed over the sand dune and rolled into the quiet, dark forest.

A sharp scream of pain came from between the trees.

When Abel finally looked up, Leon was no longer on the sand dune. The other priest's huge body sprinted like a predator after prey, kicking up sand; he jumped at the small shadow of a person trying to escape into the forest.

"Ow! Crap, let go!"

"It's a kid," Leon said.

The shadowed figure writhed, caught by the scruff of its neck like a feral cat. Leon coughed as if disappointed. It was a boy, not yet ten years old—perhaps a native of this island? His baggy shorts and patched jacket were simple in design, but they had been cleaned carefully.

"Dammit! Let go of me! I said, 'let go!'"

"Are you from this island? Where are your parents? I want to speak to an adult."

"I don't have any parents! There isn't a single adult here," the kid said sullenly.

"Peter!"

Another shadow tumbled out from the trees. It was a girl in her mid-teens; she wore a blue maid's dress and her blonde hair was drawn up in a bun. She looked pale with fear, standing there under the moonlight.

"Peter, you be good." She turned to Leon. "Um, are you a pirate? Th-there s no treasure on this island, but I'll give you food. So, please, let that boy go."

"Oh, dear. You're calling a gentleman like me a pirate?" the priest muttered.

Still holding up the violently struggling boy, Leon smiled. His expression was like that of a jackal upon discovering a goat separated from the herd. He spoke in a tone that he undoubtedly believed to be polite. "Mucho gusto, senorita. I'm Father Leon. I'm a wandering priest from the Vatican. Lying over there — with the whites of his eyes showing — is my companion, Father Abel. On our way to Londinium on official business, we encountered a storm. Sorry to bother you, but won't you let us borrow your radio?"