She nearly got us killed, said Tink.
“What did she say?” said Wendy.
“It was a scary night,” said Peter. “We escaped through this park. That was the night I met your father. We hid in his room.”
“Really? His room?” said Wendy.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” said Peter.
They hid me under the bed, fumed Tink.
“What did she say?”
“She’d rather not talk about it either,” said Peter.
They walked some more in silence, passing by the looming shape of Kensington Palace, its lighted windows barely visible off to the right. They were approaching, from the back, a row of grand homes on a grand street called Kensington Palace Gardens. Wendy pointed to a particularly large house off to the right.
“There it is,” she said.
“I know,” said Peter. He would never forget that house.
They started trotting toward it, energized by thoughts of warmth and food. Suddenly Tink made a low sound. Peter grabbed Wendy’s arm.
“Wait,” he whispered.
“What is it?” she whispered back.
“Men,” he said.
Wendy peered toward the house. “I don’t see anybody,” she whispered.
Of course you don’t.
Peter led Wendy into a stand of trees. It was pitch-black there, save for Tink’s glow.
“What do we do?” whispered Wendy.
“I’ll have a look,” said Peter. “You and Tink stay here.”
I’m not staying with her.
“Yes you are,” whispered Peter. “If you go with me, they’ll see you glow.”
Put me in your shirt.“No. They still might see you.”
Hmph, said Tink, this being the closest she ever came to saying “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’ll be right back,” whispered Peter. Before Wendy could say anything more, he launched himself straight up, his body brushing against tree branches. In a moment he was a hundred feet in the air, hidden by fog. Flying felt good after all the walking. When he figured he was close to the house, he descended slowly until he could see that he was over the large back lawn. He first studied the service entrance at the back of the mansion, which had an electric light glowing over the door; he saw nobody near it. Upstairs from the entrance and to the right was a large window revealing a well-lit room. Inside, Peter saw two children—one small, one medium—and a stout man with a red face and white hair.
As Peter watched, a large, red-faced woman entered the room and said something to the children. Despite the tension of the moment, Peter smiled as he recognized Mrs. Bumbrake. He was about to swoop forward for a better look when he heard a cough almost directly below. He froze, then slowly leaned forward, straining to peer through the darkness. Finally he saw the shape, standing against a bush.
A bobby.
Peter’s eyes swept the lawn, but he saw no other men. Slowly, silently, he flew straight up into the fog, then forward over the high roof of the Aster mansion, stopping when he could see the street in front. This time the bobby was easier to spot: he was across the street, using the shadow of a large tree to keep out of what little light was cast by the streetlamp.
Peter turned and headed back toward the park. It took him a few minutes, flying through the fog, to locate the stand of trees where he’d left Wendy and Tink.
“Well?” whispered Wendy.
“Two policemen are watching the house,” he answered. “One in front and one in back.”
“Did you see anybody inside the house?”
“Mrs. Bumbrake,” said Peter. “Two boys, one little and one maybe seven or eight.”
“Michael and John!” said Wendy. “My brothers!”
“And an older man, sort of heavy, with white hair.”
“That’s Uncle Neville,” said Wendy. “Did you see my father? Tall man? Handsome?”
“No, nobody else,” said Peter, annoyed at himself for resenting Wendy’s description of her father.
“Maybe he was in another room,” said Wendy.
“Maybe,” said Peter.
“Well,” said Wendy, “whoever’s in there, we need to get them out.”
“We do?” said Peter. “Why?”
Because she’s crazy, said Tink.
“Because the police are here,” said Wendy. “That means they’re in danger, especially if von Schatten finds out we’re in London. We need to get everyone out of that house, so we can all go to someplace safe, and then we can figure out what to do next.”
“Someplace safe?” said Peter. “Where?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Wendy.
She is just full of good ideas, said Tink.
CHAPTER 43
NO WORSE FATE
HOLDING SOME PAPERS AND sweating despite the chill in the air—a chill he felt whenever Baron von Schatten was near—Simon Revile hesitated at the door to the king’s bedchamber in Buckingham Palace. He raised his hand and rapped twice on the door.
“Enter.” Von Schatten’s moaning voice sounded, as always, as if it came from somewhere distant. Revile stepped inside. Except for the light coming through the open doorway, the bedchamber was dark. Von Schatten and the king occupied facing chairs in the middle of the room. The king sat utterly still, seemingly unaware of Revile’s entrance. Von Schatten turned his head slowly until his dark glasses faced Revile.
“What is it?” he said.
“I apologize,” said Revile. “I know your orders were that you were not to be disturbed. But I felt that, in this instance—”
“What is it?” snarled von Schatten, in a voice that chilled Revile’s blood.
“Chief Superintendent Blake,” Revile said quickly. “He’s just sent a man here with a police report.”
“Concerning?”
“A few hours ago, two officers were called to Victoria Dock to meet a ship and take custody of two stowaways.”
“Why would that interest me?”
“They were children,” said Revile. “A boy and a girl.”
“The world is full of children,” said von Schatten, turning his head toward the king.
“The boy escaped by flying.”
Von Schatten’s head snapped back toward Revile. “Flying? The police are certain?” he said.
“Not exactly. The boy jumped off the gangway, followed by the girl. It was dark. Neither child was seen again. The bobbies commandeered a small boat and searched the harbor, but found nothing.”
“Perhaps the children drowned.”
“Perhaps. But witnesses, including one of the officers, said they saw something flying away from the ship.”
“A bird.”
“Much bigger than a bird. The story has already caused quite a stir in London, sir.”
“What are the names of these children?”
“We don’t know. The ship’s captain questioned them, but they told him nothing.”
“How did they get aboard the ship?”
“Nobody knows that, either. They were discovered when the ship had been at sea for more than a week.”
“They just appeared on the ship? Out at sea?”
“Yes.”
For a few moments von Schatten was silent. Then, in a voice so low Revile could barely hear it, said, “He’s come back.”
“But how would he know? All those years on the island …”
“The Darling girl must have gotten word to him,” said von Schatten.
“The girl who disappeared,” said Revile.
“Yes,” said von Schatten. “We should have taken her when we took her parents.” He thought for a moment, then said, “How many men does Blake have watching the Aster house?”
“Two, sir. Front and back. ’Round the clock.”
“Tell him to send ten more of his best men right now. Tell him they must surround the house, but they must not be seen. Let the boy and the girl think it’s safe. Let them go inside, where the boy can’t fly. Then take them. Do you understan
d?”
“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.
CHAPTER 44
ALMOST HERE
PETER 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,” s
aid 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.
CHAPTER 45
A WHISPER DOWN THE TUNNEL
MOLLY 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!”
Peter and the Sword of Mercy Page 19