Peter and the Sword of Mercy (33 page)

“Yes, Baron,” said Revile, turning to go.

“Wait,” said von Schatten. “Where is the Skeleton?”

“In the Underground. He’s been asking when he may, ah,
interview
the prisoners.”

“Not yet. I still need them alive. Tell him I would appreciate his help in apprehending the boy and the girl.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. He has skills that can be useful in this situation. But tell him I want the boy alive. Make that very clear: the boy is
mine”

“And the girl?”

“He can do what he wants with the girl. Go.”

“Yes, Baron,” said Revile. He backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving von Schatten once again alone with the king, who still had not moved a muscle. Revile hurried down the long palace hallway to carry out von Schatten’s orders. Revile was not one to feel concern for others, but even he could not help but feel a twinge of pity for the two children. He could imagine no worse fate than to fall into the disfigured hands of the Skeleton—unless it was to become the prey of von Schatten.

A
LMOST
H
ERE

P
ETER FLEW OVER THE HIGH WALL
along the back of the Aster property and settled gently on the ground. He walked to the wall’s iron gate and found the latch; as Wendy had promised, the gate could be opened from the inside without a key. He carefully lifted the latch and pushed the gate open so Wendy could come through. They left the gate ajar.

Peter pointed toward the bushes where the bobby was concealed. Wendy nodded. They split up, Peter going toward the bobby, and Wendy melting into the shadows along the wall in the other direction. In the pocket of Wendy’s skirt, and not happy about it, was Tinker Bell; Peter didn’t want her with him, for fear her glow would give him away.

He walked on tiptoe until he could just make out, by the faint light from the service entrance, the profile of the bobby, who was facing the house. Peter crept toward him, closer, closer, until he was barely two yards away. He took a deep breath, then in one quick motion lunged toward the bobby, grabbed his hat, swerved away, and started running.

“HEY!” shouted the bobby. “COME BACK HERE! STOP!” Peter glanced back to make sure the bobby was chasing him. He was; in fact he was quite close. Peter picked up speed, sprinting through the gate. The bobby was right behind, still shouting “STOP!” This is what prevented him from hearing the click of the gate closing and locking behind him.

It was darker on the other side of the wall, dark enough that Peter could cheat a bit; he was more flying than running, his feet barely touching ground. Increasing his lead but remaining close enough to be visible, he led the bobby to the same clump of trees where he and Wendy had stood a few minutes earlier. He stopped, made sure the bobby could see him, then put the hat on his head, grabbed the trunk of a large oak, and shot up it, moving his arms and legs to make it appear that he was climbing. In seconds he was high up in the tree, concealed in the darkness by the mass of branches.

The bobby puffed up to the base of the tree.

“YOU COME DOWN RIGHT NOW!” he shouted. “AND GIVE ME MY HAT!”

“I don’t think I will,” Peter called down. “I rather
like
your hat.”

Enraged, the bobby grabbed the tree trunk and tried to hoist himself up, only to fall to the ground in quite an undignified manner. He jumped to his feet and ran around the tree, looking for a way up but finding none; there were no branches low enough for him to reach. Still, he ran around the tree several times, like a dog chasing an invisible squirrel. Peter found this quite amusing.

“PARKER!” a voice called from the dark.

“Over here!” shouted the bobby under Peter’s tree.

A second bobby came trotting up; Peter recognized him as the one who’d been guarding the front of the house.

“What’s happened?” he said. “I heard shouting.”

“Some wretched boy stole my hat,” said the first bobby.

“How’d he do that?” said the second.

“He ran up and snatched it. Now he’s up this tree.”

“He climbed
this
tree?”

“Yes, and I’m going to go up there and strangle him with me bare hands!” He looked up into the tree and shouted: “D’YOU HEAR ME BOY? WITH ME BARE HANDS!”

“How’re you going to climb this tree?” said the second bobby.

“I can if he did! Give me a hand.”

Reluctantly, the second bobby clasped his fingers together so the first bobby could use his hands as a foothold. The first bobby again grabbed the tree and, putting his weight on the second bobby’s hands, lunged upward. This time both bobbies fell ingloriously to the ground.

Peter laughed out loud. This made the second bobby as angry as the first. The two of them struggled to their feet and resumed their furious, but fruitless, effort to climb the tree and strangle the boy. They were so focused on their task that neither of them noticed the dark shape that darted out of the top of the tree and swooped back toward the house. A tiny light shot toward him; in a second Tink was at his ear.

Her dress smells like seaweed,
she said.

“Did she get into the house?” said Peter.

They let her in. She left the back door open.

“Good,” said Peter. “I think those two will be trying to get up the tree for a while, but keep an eye on the neighborhood in case anybody else shows up.”

Would you like me to fix your dinner, too?
“

That would be nice,” said Peter.

Tink made an impolite sound and zoomed off. Peter landed by the service door and went into the house. He ran through the staff kitchen and up the stairs, where he found a scene of emotional turmoil. Mrs. Bumbrake, sobbing with joy and relief, was embracing the long-lost Wendy from the front, while Michael and John were hugging her from behind. Close by, looking happy but not quite up to joining the hug, was Uncle Neville. Peter hesitated in the doorway, unnoticed, reluctant to disturb the emotional reunion.

“Wendy!” Mrs. Bumbrake was saying. “Where have you
been?
We’ve all been so worried!”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” said Wendy, extricating herself from the hug. “I promise I’ll explain.” She turned to Neville and said, “Uncle Neville, I’m
so
sorry I took your ornithopter, but I had to …”

“Nonsense!” said Uncle Neville, waving the apology away. “You did brilliantly! How did you get it to fly so well?”

“Well, I, ah …”

“And how far did it go? A mile? Two?”

Wendy smiled. “It went a good deal farther than that,” she said.

“Really!” said Uncle Neville. “You must tell me how …”

He was interrupted by Mrs. Bumbrake, who had just spotted Peter.

“Peter!” she exclaimed. “Is that
you?”

“Hello, Mrs.
mmph,”
said Peter, as he was swept into Mrs. Bumbrake’s embrace.

“Who is Peter?” asked Uncle Neville.

“He’s a family friend,” said Wendy.

“I see,” said Uncle Neville, clearly not seeing.

“We have to go,” said Peter. “Right now.”

“What?” said Mrs. Bumbrake and Uncle Neville together.

“Peter’s right,” said Wendy. “There’s no time to explain. We must go immediately.”

“Go where?” asked Uncle Neville.

Peter and Wendy looked at each other.

“We don’t know,” said Wendy. “But we—”

“What is
that?
” said John, pointing at a blur of light as it zipped across the room and stopped on Peter’s shoulder.

“That’s Tinker Bell,” said Peter.

“My word,” said Uncle Neville, gaping.

“It’s a fairy!” said Michael.

Tink made an unhappy sound.

“She prefers the term ‘bird woman,’” said Peter. Tink chimed rapidly into his ear. He nodded, frowning.

“How far?” he said.

Tink chimed some more.

“Keep an eye on them,” said Peter, and Tink zoomed from the room.

“What is it?” said Wendy.

“Police,” said Peter. “A lot of them. At the bottom of the big street out front, headed this way.”

“That’s it,” said Wendy. “We have to go
right now.”

“But if it’s the police,” said Uncle Neville, “why would we—?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Wendy. “But right now you must trust me. Everyone in this house is in great danger. We must get out
now,
before those men arrive.
Please,
Uncle Neville.”

Neville blinked once, then said, “All right.”

“Thank you,” said Wendy. “We’ll leave by the service entrance. Michael, John, come along.” She took her brothers by the hand and started for the stairs. Neville was right behind.

Peter looked at Mrs. Bumbrake, who had not moved.

“Come on, Mrs. Bumbrake,” he said.

“Can’t,” she said.

“Mrs. Bumbrake,” Wendy called over her shoulder. “Please! The men will be here soon!”

“I don’t care, miss,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “I’m not leaving Lord Aster.”

Wendy stopped and turned, her face white.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I’d forgotten.”

“Can he walk?” said Peter.

“No,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “He’s much too weak.”

Peter and Wendy exchanged a look:
What do we do now?

Tink zoomed back into the room, chiming urgently.

“What did she say?” asked Wendy.

“The men are almost here,” said Peter.

A W
HISPER
D
OWN THE
T
UNNEL

M
OLLY WAS GROWING DESPERATE
. For two days, when she thought it was safe to do so, she’d tapped her rock against the bars of her cell, sending
h-e-l-l-o
in Morse code, and sometimes
s-o-s.
. But she’d gotten no answer. There was definitely someone in the cell farther down the tunnel; the guard delivered food there. But whoever it was didn’t respond. Molly concluded that the other prisoner either didn’t understand Morse code or simply didn’t care to respond to her messages.

She decided to risk calling out. She waited until there had been no guard noise in the tunnel for a quite some time, then pressed her face to the bars, turning toward the other cell. Keeping her voice to a whisper, and cupping her hand to her mouth, she called out, “Psst! Hello!”

Nothing.

She raised her voice: “Hello!
Can you hear me?”

Still, nothing. Molly slumped to the cell floor and put her face in her hands, sobbing. She had resigned herself to the fact that she would never see her family again; that she was going to die in this cold, miserable, filthy place. All she had left to hope for was a stolen moment of communication with another human being. And now even that hope was gone.

Then she heard a voice, a forced whisper from down the tunnel.