Peter and the Sword of Mercy (35 page)

“So what do we do?” said Wendy.

“We open the back door,” said Leonard.

“We do?” said Peter.

“We do,” said Leonard, with a small smile. “Now, listen closely.” It took him several minutes to explain the plan. The others listened in silence, except for Mrs. Bumbrake, who said “Oh dear” four times.

When Leonard was done, he dragged the flour sack into the hallway next to the back door, then stomped on it until the air was thick with flour dust. He was now totally, completely white. He returned to the kitchen, tucked his sword under his arm, and took the candle and matches from Neville. The pounding from the stairway door continued unabated.

“All right,” he said. “Go to your positions.”

Mrs. Bumbrake, Neville, John, and Michael headed for the pantry. Wendy and Peter, with Tink inside Peter’s shirt, started for the stairway. Leonard put out a white hand, stopping them.

“When you get out of here,” he said, “go straight to a hotel in Sloane Square called the Scotland Landing.”

“But you’ll be with us!” said Wendy.

Leonard put his hand on her shoulder. “I shall try,” he said. “But this starstuff is going to wear off, and when it does, I shall be as bad off as I was before. Worse, in fact.”

“But…”

“No, Wendy,” said Leonard. “I’ve had my time. This is your time. Don’t fail us.” Leonard’s voice was breaking. “Don’t fail the Starcatchers,” he said. He pushed Wendy gently toward the stairway, then turned away, toward the flour-filled hall. Wendy was about to call out to him; there was so much more she needed to know. But it was too late. Leonard was opening the box of matches.

The policemen out back—seven large, tough men—were growing impatient.

“Why don’t we just break the door down?” said one. Several others murmured agreement.

“Our orders are to wait here,” said another man. He lowered his voice and tilted his head. “Does anybody want to tell
him
that we’re going to disobey orders?”

All seven man looked toward the corner of the house, where they could just make out the dark shape of a man in a hooded cloak, standing where he could see both the street and the rear entrance to the Aster mansion. None of the bobbies wanted anything to do with the cloaked man. They would follow their orders. They turned back toward the door.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty.

Then the night erupted.

The earsplitting blast blew the rear door off its hinges so hard that it shattered against the garden wall fifty feet away, exploding into burning shards. A huge tongue of flame came right behind it, blasting across the lawn, turning a wide swath of it black.

Fortunately for them, none of the bobbies was directly in front of the door when it blew, although all of them were thrown violently backward and onto the ground. It was several seconds before they were able to get to their feet. They stared, ears ringing, at the gaping, smoking hole where the door had been, trying to understand what had happened.

It was then that they saw the ghost.

When the flour bomb went off, Peter and Wendy, as Leonard had instructed them, were kneeling at the top of the stairway, facing the door with their eyes closed and their hands clamped tightly over their ears. After the explosion, they waited a few seconds, then opened their eyes to see that the stairway was thick with dust and smoke. They stood up, coughing. The pounding on the door had stopped, but now it resumed, more frantic than before.

“Ready?” said Peter.

“Ready,” said Wendy.

Peter pulled Tink out from under his shirt.

“All right,” he said.

Tink flew halfway down the smoke-filled stairway and hovered there. Wendy went down and stood next to her. Peter stepped to the side of the stairway, pressing himself against the wall.

“Don’t forget to close your eyes,” he said.

“I won’t,” said Wendy.

Peter unlocked the door and turned the handle. It was several seconds before the pounding men on the other side realized it was unlocked.

“It’s open!” shouted a voice.

The door was pushed open. Peter was now concealed behind it. A bobby stepped onto the stairs, followed by two more.

“There’s the girl!” shouted the first, spotting Wendy in the smoke. All three men started toward her. She closed her eyes, and as she did, Tinker Bell flashed her brightest light, filling the stairway with a blinding glare. The instant it was gone, Wendy opened her eyes and grabbed Tink, who was so weak from her effort that she could barely fly. Wendy turned and ran to the bottom of the stairs, where Mrs. Bumbrake, Neville, John, and Michael were waiting. Wendy made it to the bottom and jumped out of the way just as the three bobbies, yelping in pain and fear, tumbled after her. Peter had shoved the first from behind; he had taken the other two down, like bowling pins. They sprawled onto the floor, moaning and still temporarily blind, unaware of the group of people now quickly climbing the stairs.

“Hurry!” whispered Peter, as they reached the top. “This way.” He led them toward the smashed front door, and out into the night.

Four of the seven bobbies in the back simply ran from the ghost. They had already been terrified by the explosion; the sudden appearance of a bizarre white figure flying over them—
flying
—and waving a sword was more than they could stand. They ran to the rear gate, opened it, and took off into Hyde Park.

The other three bobbies tried to do battle with the ghost, but they had no chance. It swooped and darted above them, back and forth, easily evading their clumsy efforts to hit it with their nightsticks while skillfully slashing at them with its sword. In less than a minute they, too, were running into the park to escape the flying fiend.

The little group stopped by an oak a few dozen yards from the Aster mansion, in an area dimly lit by one of the street-lamps on Kensington Palace Gardens.

“Is she okay?” said Peter.

“I think so,” said Wendy, handing Tink to Peter. Tink’s eyes were closed, but she was glowing. He held her for a moment, nodded, then gently put her into his shirt. “We need to get away from here,” he said.

“To where?” said Neville.

“Lord Aster said we should go to a hotel near Sloane Square,” said Peter.

“I believe that would be…that way,” said Neville, pointing down the street. As he did, the clang of a fire-truck bell came from the other direction.

“We’d better get going,” said Peter.

Wendy hesitated, looking back toward the house. “What about Grandfather?” she said.

“I’ll go back and see,” said Peter.

“I’ll go with you,” said Wendy.

“No,” said Peter, with a firmness that surprised even himself. “He’s just done everything he could so that you could escape. All that would be for nothing if you got caught now.”

Wendy nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’ll fly over the house and see,” said Peter.

Then he heard a soft, urgent chime from Tink.

And then he screamed in pain. Without knowing how he got there, he realized he was on his knees. The awful pain had receded from his body, but it had left him too weak to stand. He was aware that Wendy had screamed, and that Michael and John were crying. He felt something on his neck, something rough and repellant, and he knew that whatever it was had caused the pain, and might cause it again. He desperately hoped it would not. He would do anything—anything—to keep from feeling that pain again.

He turned his head as much as he dared. A man in a black cloak stood next to him. He had apparently come from the shadows by the tree. Peter hadn’t heard him approach.

“Don’t move, unless you want to feel that again,” said the Skeleton, his voice a harsh rasp, his words distorted.

“Let him go!” said Wendy. The Skeleton turned toward her, and suddenly she saw his face by the dim streetlight. She screamed again.

“Here now!” said Neville, stepping toward the Skeleton. “Let the boy…
unnh.”

The Skeleton’s movement was so quick that nobody actually saw it. He merely reached out and touched Neville’s forearm, then withdrew his hand. But the touch sent an agonizing shock up Neville’s arm into his shoulder. He stumbled away, groaning, toward Mrs. Bumbrake, who was staring in horror at the Skeleton as she clutched the whimpering John and Michael to her.

From the ground, Peter whispered urgently, “Get away! All of you! Run!”

The others hesitated, not wanting to spend another second near the Skeleton but not wanting to leave Peter.

The Skeleton broke the silence. “If you run away, any of you, this boy will feel a pain so unbearable that it will never leave him, however long he lives. Something far worse than this.” His gnarled stump of a hand moved slightly on the back of Peter’s neck. Peter collapsed to the ground, unable to scream or even breathe, his entire body jerking in agony.

“Shall I proceed?” said the Skeleton, reaching his stump down toward Peter.

“No,” whispered Wendy. “Please.” As she spoke, something in the sky behind the Skeleton caught her eye—a white figure, soaring over the house.

Like an angel,
she thought.

The Skeleton saw Wendy’s reaction, and turned to see what had caused it. He whirled as Leonard Aster, still covered head to toe in flour, landed ten feet in front of him, sword in hand. He started carefully toward the Skeleton. The Skeleton shifted a bit to his right, angling his body sideways.