Peter and the Sword of Mercy

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  Mauch detached the clamp from the sword; he and Coben set the cables down on the dirt floor, keeping them well apart.

  “May I lift it?” asked von Schatten.

  “By the handle, yes,” answered Coben. “The blade is still hot.”

  Von Schatten grasped the handle and lifted the sword so it gleamed in the light. The weld was perfect, the seam barely visible.

  The Sword of Mercy, broken for so many centuries, was whole again.

  Holding it in front of him, von Schatten turned toward the vault.

  CHAPTER 72

  THE WOMAN LOOKING BACK

  KARL, PADDING ALONG JUST BEHIND Magill in the tunnel, emitted a low growl. Magill stopped and signaled for the others to wait. He then crept ahead, disappearing into the darkness past the next dangling light. Several minutes passed, and he returned.

  “Men ahead, in a locked cell. Two guards. We took care of them.”

  They moved forward, walking past the guards, who lay bound and gagged next to the tunnel wall. They arrived at the cell, little more than a cramped cage. Seven filthy, haggard men huddled together on the dirt floor eyeing the visitors warily, saying nothing.

  “Who are you?” said Patrick.

  No response.

  “Who is keeping you prisoner?”

  Still no response. Patrick turned to the others. “They’re too weak or too scared to answer,” he said. “We’ll have to tend to them later. We need to move on.”

  “Agreed,” said Ted.

  “Can’t we at least let them out?” said Wendy.

  Magill examined the lock, then the bars. “Might be able to,” he said. “But we’d have to pull this wall out, and that might collapse the tunnel.”

  “Wendy, we’ll get them out,” said Patrick. “But for now we need to keep going.”

  They started forward again. After about a hundred feet, Karl growled again, and the group stopped. Magill crept forward to check, returning quickly.

  “A woman,” he said.

  Before anyone could stop her, Wendy had brushed past the others and was running ahead.

  “Wait!” called Ted. But Wendy wasn’t listening. Reaching the cell door, she grabbed the bars and pressed her face against them. She gasped at what she saw—a gaunt, dirt-smeared face, framed by filthy, matted hair. Wendy would not have recognized the woman looking back at her except for the brilliant green eyes—eyes identical to her own.

  “Mother!” she cried, reaching through the bars.

  “Wendy! Oh, Wendy,” sobbed Molly, grabbing her daughter’s hands and clinging to them to keep from collapsing to her cell floor. “But how…how did you …”

  “There’s a group of us,” said Wendy. “Peter is here.”

  “Peter?” said Molly.

  Peter’s head appeared in the window next to Wendy’s.

  “Peter!” Molly exclaimed. “Oh my…It’s been so long!”

  “Hello, Molly,” said Peter, hoping his expression didn’t betray his shock at Molly’s appearance.

  Molly peered through the bars at the others. She knew Ted and Neville, and vaguely remembered Magill. Ted introduced her to Patrick. Surveying the group, she said, “But…what are you all doing here?”

  Wendy quickly explained the group’s search for the starstuff Cache, and how their visit to Westminster Abbey had led them to the Underground and the secret tunnel. Molly listened intently, occasionally interrupting with questions.

  When Wendy was finished, Molly said, “Von Schatten is going after the starstuff tonight. They’ve gathered farther down the tunnel, the whole lot of them. They’ve got James.”

  “James!” said Peter.

  “Yes,” said Molly. “He’s one of the prisoners they’ve been using to dig the tunnel.”

  There was an insistent tapping sound from farther on in the tunnel. Hearing it, Molly said to Wendy, “That’s your father. He’s in the next cell, that way. Go and see him, but come back. We’ve got to make a plan.”

  Wendy dashed down the tunnel and found her father. His condition was as shocking as her mother’s had been: The strapping, well-dressed George Darling was now a skeleton of a man in rags, his face covered by a thick beard. Tears spilled from his eyes as he held her hands through the bars.

  “Wendy,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’m so sorry to have doubted you. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Oh, Father …” began Wendy, but when she tried to say more her words turned into sobs. For a few moments they simply clung to each other through the bars. Then, willing herself to be strong, Wendy wiped her tears and, as quickly as she could, explained the situation to her father, as she had for her mother. When she’d finished, she said, “We’re making a plan. I’ll be back in a moment.” Reluctantly, her father released her hands, and she ran back to the others, who were deep in discussion.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  It was Peter who answered. “We’re going to go down the tunnel and try to stop them,” he said.

  “How?” said Wendy.

  Peter looked around at the others, then said, “We’re going to figure that part out when we get there.”

  “Neatly summarized,” said Patrick.

  “What about my parents?” said Wendy. “We’ve got to get them out.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, then Molly said, “That will have to wait for the moment, Wendy.”

  “But why?” said Wendy.

  “We’ve no key, for one thing,” said Magill, pointing to the lock on the cell door.

  “Karl could pull the door off its hinges!” protested Wendy.

  “Indeed he could,” said Magill. “The problem is, your mum and dad have been weakening the tunnel walls.” He pointed to the support post next to Molly’s cell door. “If we pull their doors out, the tunnel will collapse.”

  “We were planning to bring it down tonight,” said Molly. “We were going to wait until von Schatten was coming back out.”

  “But it would collapse on you, too!” said Wendy.

  Her mother said nothing, and suddenly Wendy understood that her parents had been planning to sacrifice themselves to stop von Schatten.

  “No!” she cried. “You can’t! You—”

  She was silenced by the massive right hand of Magill, clamped over her mouth.

  “Not so loud,” he said, politely. “All right?” Wendy nodded, and he released her.

  “You can’t…” she began again, but Molly—now in the role of mother—raised her hand, and Wendy stopped instantly.

  “Wendy,” said Molly, “we’ve worked out a plan that might get us all out of this. It’s not ideal, but it’s our best chance. It won’t help for you to waste time arguing, so please just listen, all right?”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Wendy.

  “Good,” said Molly brightly. “Now here’s what we’re going to do.”

  CHAPTER 73

  LIKE SOME STRANGE COMET

  VON SCHATTEN, holding the Sword of Mercy, stood with the Skeleton in front of the gleaming vault, where they had been conferring quietly for several minutes. James had heard the word “prisoners” several times, had seen the Skeleton aiming his yellow eye in their direction. Each time, he felt his stomach clench in fear. He glanced toward the tunnel, considering a desperate dash for freedom. But burly guards blocked the way; there was no hope for escape.

  Von Schatten and the Skeleton finished their discussion. The Skeleton stepped back. Von Schatten turned toward the gleaming vault. Holding the sword handle in his right hand, he raised the blade with his left, guiding the tip to the slot in the center of the door. Carefully, he inserted the tip. He paused for a moment; there was not a sound in the chamber.

  Von Schatten took his left hand off the blade and slowly pushed the sword into the slot. It slid in smoothly, all the way to the handle.

  For several seconds nothing happened. Von Schatten started to turn toward the Skeleton, as if to say something.

  Then the vault door started to open. V
on Schatten moved away quickly. Suddenly James felt the guards shoving him forward, along with the other three prisoners. They now stood closest to the vault, forming a human shield to protect the others from whatever was inside.

  Slowly the massive door, made of metal more than a foot thick, came toward them, pivoting outward on hidden hinges. It opened smoothly, almost soundlessly, as though it had been oiled and opened that very morning, instead of having been shut tight for centuries.

  The door reached a right angle, then, with just the faintest click, stopped. The inside of the vault was as smooth and pristine as the outside—its walls, ceiling, and floor all the same smooth, shining metal. Sitting precisely in the center of the floor was a wooden trunk, looking quite ordinary except for its hinges and lock, which were made of the same metal as the vault.

  For a moment everyone stared at the trunk. Then von Schatten, apparently satisfied that it posed no danger to him at the moment, pushed past the prisoners for a closer look. He turned back to the Skeleton.

  “It’s locked,” he said.

  The Skeleton looked toward Scarlet Johns.

  “I suspect,” she said, “that the sword will open that lock as well. Although of course it would be very unwise to open it without taking precautions.”

  Von Schatten nodded. “All right,” he said. “Have them take it to the train.”

  Once again, Peter was acting as scout. When they had spotted the guards in the chamber ahead, the others had stayed back, hidden in the darkness of the tunnel while Peter floated up and glided carefully forward, hoping that if the guards glanced back, they would be looking for people on foot, not somebody pressed up against the ceiling.

  At the moment, the guards’ attention was on the activity in front of them. As Peter inched closer, he saw that past the guards were some other men, and a woman. He inhaled sharply when he caught sight of the hooded form of the Skeleton. He felt the fear building in him, fought the impulse to turn and fly back down the tunnel as fast as he could, past Wendy and the others, out of the Underground, into the safety of the open skies. Struggling for control, he forced himself to think of Tink.

  She could be in that room.

  He inched forward. Looking past the Skeleton, he saw four prisoners. He knew one of the ragged, bearded men was James, but at this distance he could not tell which. Beyond them he saw the vault, the chest…and von Schatten. As Peter watched, von Schatten’s head turned in his direction. Peter pressed as hard as he could against the tunnel ceiling, praying the darkness concealed him. Von Schatten’s dark eyeglass lenses appeared to be pointing directly at him. Did he sense Peter’s presence? Peter held utterly still, prepared to turn and flee.

  Slowly, von Schatten turned away. He was saying something, apparently giving orders. The four prisoners reluctantly trooped into the vault. They surrounded the wooden chest, preparing to pick it up. All eyes in the chamber were on them. Peter turned and quickly flew back down the tunnel to report.

  The chest was surprisingly light. This confirmed what James had suspected since he first saw it: there was starstuff inside. He understood now why the prisoners had been summoned to handle the chest. If it were to break open, its contents would kill anyone who was nearby. Von Schatten and the Skeleton were going to let James and the others assume that risk.

  “Put it here,” rasped the Skeleton, gesturing with his claw hand toward the rubber-tired dolly. The prisoners carefully set the chest down on it, then looked to the Skeleton.

  “You two pull; you two push,” he said, gesturing. “I want guards on all sides.” As directed, James and another prisoner positioned themselves in front of the dolly, grabbing its handle. The other two went behind it. The guards surrounded them—two in front, one on each side, two behind.

  “You will move it cautiously,” said the Skeleton. “Or you will die painfully.”

  “One moment,” said von Schatten. He went to the vault door and slid the sword out of the slot. “Ready,” he said.

  “Go,” said the Skeleton.

  The prisoners began rolling the dolly toward the tunnel. The guards moved with them, keeping a bit of distance, their wary eyes fixed on the chest. The Skeleton walked behind, followed by Scarlet, Mauch, and Coben, followed by Revile. Von Schatten, holding the sword, was last.

  The dolly was almost to the tunnel mouth.

  From the darkness came a bone-shaking roar.

  The two guards in front had almost no time to react before Karl, coming out of the tunnel with astonishing speed, slammed into them, knocking them hard to the ground. The prisoners, terrified, ducked as Karl hurtled past them to the left, leveling the guard on that side of the dolly. An instant later Magill, coming right behind the bear, leveled the one on the other side with a hard fist to the face, as Karl took out the two rear guards.

  The dolly was now liberated; it had taken perhaps three seconds.

  Karl and Magill kept right on going. Karl’s target was the Skeleton; Magill’s was Mauch and Coben. Here the fight was more even. Magill was a powerful man, but Mauch and Coben were both skilled fighters, and they had numbers on their side. Seeing Magill coming, they quickly separated and began to circle the big man, keeping apart, feinting, looking for an opening.

  As for Karl, he swiftly discovered that the Skeleton was no ordinary human. The bear charged, but at the last instant the Skeleton shifted sideways, at the same time thrusting a claw-hand deep into the bear’s thick hide. Karl roared as he fell forward, his entire body consumed by a searing pain that would have killed a man. He tumbled on the dirt and scrambled to his feet, furious, but also, for the first time in his life, fearful. He turned to face the Skeleton, who stood motionless, waiting. Karl began to move warily toward him.

  For the moment, these two struggles provided cover for the group now coming from the tunnel into the chamber. Ted, Neville, and Patrick went straight to the dolly and rolled it into the tunnel. Wendy and Peter grabbed the stunned prisoners and pushed them, stumbling, after the dolly. Three of them went, but James, recognizing his rescuers, stopped.

  “Wendy!” he said. “Peter!”

  Peter waved in acknowledgment, but was moving past his old friend

  “Please, Uncle James!” said Wendy. “We have to get out of here!” James started into the tunnel after her. He glanced back toward Peter, who was heading toward the fighting.

  For the moment, Karl was holding his own against the Skeleton. But Peter saw that Magill was in trouble. Coben and Mauch had worked their way around to one side, forcing Magill to face them. What the big man did not see, but Peter did, was that von Schatten was coming up behind, drawing the sword back to strike.

  “Look out!” Peter shouted, at the same time launching himself into the air.

  Magill turned and ducked just in time to avoid the arcing blade. Peter flew over Mauch and Coben, straight at von Schatten, spinning in midair to position himself for a kick. As he reached von Schatten, he shot his right foot out, aiming for the head. Von Schatten, with snakelike quickness, jerked his head back and shot out his hand, grabbing Peter’s foot. Instantly Peter felt a horrible sensation of cold creeping into his leg. He had felt it before, long ago; he knew he could not allow it to consume any more of him. With all his strength, he yanked his leg away, the effort sending him tumbling erratically through the air, bumping against the chamber ceiling, almost falling.

  He collected himself and turned, hovering. Von Schatten was now standing next to the workbench in the center of the room. Behind him, the fierce struggles continued—Karl against the Skeleton; Magill against Mauch and Coben. Revile was crouched in a corner, apparently trying to avoid any part of the fight; Scarlet Johns stood next to him, motionless, watching without expression. Out of the corner of his right eye, Peter saw movement along the chamber wall. But his gaze was fixed on von Schatten, who, ignoring the fighting, was reaching into his pocket. Slowly he withdrew a black velvet sack, tied with a silver cord. He held it down on the bench, raised the sword, then brought it down swif
tly, cutting off the top of the bag.

  Gripping the bag firmly, he lifted it toward Peter.

  A tiny head appeared, poking out of the top.

  Von Schatten squeezed the sack. Tink grimaced. A high, plaintive chime cut through the sound of the fighting, cut through to Peter’s heart.

  “No,” he said. “Please.”

  “Come here,” said von Schatten.

  Peter sank to the ground, his eyes on the tiny head poking out of the sack in von Schatten’s hand. Tink looked awful, her usual glowing color replaced by a dull, ashen gray. She saw him starting toward von Schatten.

  No, she chimed. Get away. He will kill you.

  Peter stopped.

  Von Schatten held Tink down on the workbench with his left hand. With his right, he raised the sword over her. He looked at Peter.

  “Come here,” he repeated.

  No!

  Ignoring Tink’s desperate chimes, Peter took a step, then another. He saw movement to the right, behind von Schatten. Suddenly he realized it was James. Peter forced himself not to react. He took another step forward. Another. He had almost reached the bench. He could see that James was very close to von Schatten, tensing to attack.

  With impossible speed, von Schatten spun, bringing the sword around. The flat side caught James in the forehead with a sickening sound. James fell to the ground, blood gushing from his head.

  Von Schatten turned quickly back toward Peter. The sword was again poised over the helpless form of Tink.

  “Come here,” he said, a third time.

  Peter hesitated. Von Schatten raised the sword. Peter stepped forward. He had reached the bench.