Peter and the Sword of Mercy

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  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.

  “Molly? Is that you?”

  Molly sprang to her feet, her face pressed against the bars. Could it possibly be …

  “George?” she called out, much too loudly.

  “HERE NOW!” shouted a guard’s gravelly voice from down the hall. “SHUT YER GOB OR I’LL COME DOWN THERE AND SHUT IT FOR YOU!”

  Molly didn’t dare say any more. She could barely speak anyway. She clung to the bars with both hands to keep from falling as sobs racked her body, an outpouring of the emotion pent up over so many lonely days and nights.

  Several long minutes passed. Then the whisper came again.

  “Molly,” George said, “is that really you? Are you all right?”

  It was several seconds before Molly had regained control enough to answer. Finally she whispered, “It is me, my love. I’m…I’m alive.”

  George groaned. “Oh, Molly,” he whispered, “Please forgive me. I should have believed you…I …”

  “Are the children all right?” interrupted Molly, fearing the guard would stop their conversation.

  After a moment, George whispered, “They’re…fine.” His hesitation troubled Molly. She was about to probe when she heard footsteps coming rapidly down the tunnel.

  “George,” she whispered urgently, “do you know Morse code?”

  “Of course. Learned it from a friend of my father’s, chap named Robert Baden-Powell. Served in Her Majesty’s cavalry in …”

  “George,” she hissed. “I’ve been tapping to you in Morse code for days.”

  “Oh,” he said, sheepishly. “I thought that was the pipes.”

  “No! It was—”

  “I said SHUT YER GOBS,” bellowed the guard, stomping into view. “And since you didn’t listen, YOU’LL GET NO FOOD TODAY. If I hear ANOTHER WORD from either of you, you’ll get ME BOOT IN YOUR FACE.” The guard stomped off, but this time not far. He was clearly waiting, listening. George and Molly remained silent in their cells.

  Hungry as she was, Molly didn’t care about the food. She’d survive a day without eating. She felt hope stirring again, after so many nights of despair. She was no longer alone. George was nearby, and even though they couldn’t talk, they could communicate. They would find a way to get out of this horrible place, to get back to their children. They had to.

  Molly picked up the rock again and began tapping.

  CHAPTER 46

  ONE LIGHT AND ONE DARK

  GRANDFATHER! CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Wendy bent over Leonard Aster’s gaunt, gray, apparently lifeless face. Peter, standing next to Wendy, was shocked to see this frail old man in place of the strong and courageous Starcatcher leader he once knew.

  “Grandfather, please, wake up!” said Wendy.

  “It’s no use, child,” said Mrs. Bumbrake softly. She stood in the doorway, dabbing at her eyes. “He’s been like this for days.”

  From downstairs, they heard pounding on the big front door, and muffled shouts.

  Neville appeared in the doorway, panting from hurrying up the stairs.

  “I’ve locked all the doors,” he said. “The police are trying to get in.”

  The pounding got louder.

  “Sooner or later they’ll break down the door,” said Neville.

  “Or come through a window,” said Peter.

  “We’ve got to move Grandfather,” said Wendy.

  “How will we get him out?” said Peter.

  “Through the back door,” said Wendy.

  “They’ll be waiting for us back there,” said Peter.

  “What we need,” said Uncle Neville, “is a diversion.”

  “A what?” said Peter.

  “Mrs. Bumbrake,” said Uncle Neville, “do you have any flour?”

  “Any what?” said Mrs. Bumbrake.

  “Flour,” said Uncle Neville. “The kind you bake with.”

  “There’s a sack in the kitchen, downstairs,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “But why …”

  “What about candles?” said Uncle Neville.

  “Also in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “But…”

  “No time to explain!” said Uncle Neville. To Wendy and Peter, he said, “Bring Leonard down to the rear door.” Then he was gone. As he left, Tink zoomed into the room.

  Bad man, she chimed to Peter.

  “I know,” he said. “The police.”

  Not the police, she chimed. A very bad man.

  Peter wanted to ask more, but Wendy was tugging his arm.

  “We’ll have to carry Grandfather,” said Wendy.

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

  A crashing sound echoed through the house.

  “We have to try!” said Wendy, slipping an arm under Leonard’s shoulders. “Take hold of his legs.” As Peter and Mrs. Bumbrake stepped forward, Leonard moaned.

  “He’s waking up!” said Mrs. Bumbrake. Leonard’s eyes fluttered open, focused on Wendy, then Peter and Tink, then back on Wendy. The faintest of smiles formed on his lips, and in a voice so weak they could barely hear it, he said, “You found him.”

  “Yes, Grandfather,” said Wendy, tears welling in her eyes. “I found him.”

  They wouldn’t be here without me, chimed Tink.

  “Yes, of course,” whispered Leonard, who was the only human being other than Peter who understood Tink. “Thank you, Tinker Bell.” He reached a thin, bony hand toward Peter. “We need your help,” he said. “Don’t let them …” He coughed, then with effort regained his breath. “The Cache. Confess …” He coughed again, unable to stop this time, his body curling up in pain.

  Another crash downstairs, louder than before. Footsteps on the stairs. John appeared in the doorway, breathless.

  “Uncle Neville says you must come down to the kitchen right now!” he shouted, then turned and ran back downstairs.

  Wendy leaned over her grandfather and said, “Grandfather, the police are here.”

  His eyes widened. “No,” he whispered. “You must go.” There was another crash, and the sound of wood splintering.

  “Lo…Lock …” said Leonard, his trembling hands reaching under the neck of his nightgown. Wendy saw a bit of fine gold chain in his fingers.

  “He’s got a locket!” she said. She helped her grandfather pull the locket out from under the nightgown. It was identical to the locket her mother had given her. “It’s starstuff!” she cried.

  “Use it,” gasped Leonard. “Now. Get away.” His shaking hands fumbled with the clasp.

  “Here, let me,” said Wendy, taking the locket in her hands. She undid the clasp. A glowing sphere of light surrounded her hands, and everyone in the room—despite the peril of the situation—felt a sense of exhilaration and well-being.

  “Are you going to use it?” said Peter.

  “No,” said Wendy firmly. “Grandfather is.”

  Hearing this, Leonard reached his hand out to stop Wendy, but he was too late. With a flick of her wrist she overturned the locket. Instantly the room blazed with brightness as a shower of brilliant light poured onto the old man’s face and chest. Wendy, Peter, and Mrs. Bumbrake turned away, closing their eyes, hearing strange and wonderful music in the air. It was ten seconds before they were able to reopen their eyes, and when they did, Leonard was no longer in the bed; instead he stood before them in his nightgown. He was as gaunt as ever, but his once-pale skin now glowed with ruddy health, and his eyes were clear and alert.

  “That starstuff wasn’t for me,” he told Wendy. “That was for you.”

&
nbsp; “We’re not leaving you here,” she said.

  “I appreciate that, Wendy, but my time is done, and you must…”

  He was cut off by a resounding crash downstairs, and the sound of splintering wood.

  “Maybe we should argue about this later,” said Peter.

  “All right,” said Leonard, once again in command. “Let’s go.” He started for the door, stopped, and said “Just a moment.” He went to his massive oak wardrobe, opened it, and pulled out a sword. He brandished it, his eyes shining.

  “Now we’re ready,” he said. “Like old times, eh, Peter?”

  “Yes, sir!” said Peter.

  “Come on, then,” said Leonard, moving quickly out the door, followed by the other three. At the bottom of the stairs they stopped to look toward the front door. As they did, it shuddered with a loud crash and the men outside heaved against it.

  “It won’t hold much longer,” said Leonard. “Tink, go outside and have a look at the back door. We’ll meet you down in the kitchen.”

  Yes, sir, chimed Tink, streaking to the main fireplace and up the chimney.

  Leonard shepherded Mrs. Bumbrake, Wendy, and Peter onto the kitchen stairs. He followed them, stopping on the top step to push a heavy door closed, then lock it.

  “I had this door installed long ago, when I thought I might need to barricade the family in the basement,” he said. “Never needed it until now. It’s stronger than the front door. They won’t get through it any time soon.”

  There was a thunderous crash from the other side of the door, and the sound of shouting and heavy shoes tromping on the wooden floors.

  “They’re in the house,” said Leonard. “We’d best get down to the kitchen.”

  In the kitchen they found John and Michael with Uncle Neville, who had set a large cloth sack of flour in the middle of the floor.

  “Hello, Leonard,” said Neville. “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you, Neville,” said Leonard. “Nice to see you. Why have you put a flour sack on the floor?”

  “To make a bomb,” said Neville.

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Bumbrake.

  “Uncle Neville’s gonna splode the kitchen!” said Michael.

  “It’s explode, you ninny,” said John.

  “That’s what I said,” said Michael.

  There was pounding on the door at the top of the kitchen stairs.

  “What do you mean, a bomb?” said Leonard.

  “Flour particles,” said Neville. “If you get enough of them suspended in the air, then introduce a flame”—he waved an unlit candle and a box of matches—“you get quite a dramatic explosion. I’ve done some experiments on my estate. Lost a building, in fact. Fortunately, no one was in it at the time.”

  “Oh dear,” repeated Mrs. Bumbrake.

  The pounding on the stairway door intensified.

  “So your plan is to set off the explosion here?” said Leonard, peering down at the flour sack.

  “Precisely,” said Neville. “We tromp on the flour, like so.” He brought his right foot down on the flour sack, which blew out a cloud of flour directly onto Leonard, covering him head to toe in white.

  “Sorry!” said Neville.

  “Quite all right,” said Leonard, brushing at the flour ineffectively. “Go on.”

  “Yes,” said Neville. “By tramping on the sack, we fill the air with flour particles. Then we nip into the pantry over there and toss a lighted candle into the kitchen. This will cause an explosion. In the ensuing confusion, we make our escape!”

  Neville looked around the room, pleased with his plan. The others were less enthusiastic.

  “I’m not sure,” said Wendy, “exactly how …”

  She stopped as Tink zoomed in through the kitchen-fireplace chimney, chiming excitedly.

  “Interesting,” said Leonard.

  “What is it?” said Wendy.

  “The policemen,” said Peter. “There’s only three upstairs, pounding on the door.” He pointed toward the stairway, which echoed with the sound of continual pounding. “The rest are all waiting outside the back door.” He pointed toward the hallway that led to the back door.

  “Why aren’t they trying to get in by the back door, then?” said Wendy.

  “It’s a trap,” said Leonard. “They want us to run out the back door, into their clutches.”

  “Should we try to go upstairs?” said Wendy.

  “There are three men that way,” said Leonard. “We might be able to fight our way through, but …” He trailed off, looking at Mrs. Bumbrake and the two boys.

  “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 t
he 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.