Peter and the Sword of Mercy

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

“Closer,” said von Schatten.

  Peter edged around the bench. He was now next to von Schatten.

  “Put your hand on the bench,” said von Schatten.

  No! chimed Tink.

  “If you don’t,” said von Schatten, “she will die right now.”

  Peter put his hand on the bench, next to Tink. He feared von Schatten would cut his hand off, but what actually happened was almost worse. With a sudden motion, von Schatten set the sword down and put his hand on Peter’s. Peter’s mind told him to pull his hand free, but his body would not allow him to move. He felt the awful cold seeping into him, paralyzing him as he was inhabited by the evil presence he had felt before, during a desperate struggle inside a rocket hurtling over a faraway land.

  Ombra.

  Peter heard a groaning voice, but it did not come from von Schatten’s lips; it came from inside his own mind.

  You did not kill me in the desert, the voice said. You weakened me, so I must inhabit this host, this flesh that was once von Schatten. But you did not kill me, boy, and you did not defeat our cause. When I am finished with you, I will retrieve the chest; have no doubt of that. Do you think your pathetic little band can defeat me? No, I will have the starstuff, from here and from the island you so love. But first I will put an end to you, and your precious little friend. You should have listened to her. You should have escaped. Now you will die. And the last thing you will know is this: you failed.

  Peter tried to pull his hand away, but it would not move, would not even twitch. He felt the cold deepening, felt his consciousness draining away. The room seemed to be getting darker. He was no longer able to hear the sounds of the fighting still going on by the tunnel entrance. His head slumped forward. He could now see only the ground by von Schatten’s feet.

  Behind them, he saw movement.

  It was James.

  Somehow, despite the awful wound to his head, James had regained consciousness. He was crawling toward von Schatten. Peter felt a pang of despair, knowing that his brave friend would be killed in this hopeless effort. As the light faded from his eyes, Peter watched James, using his elbows, drag himself forward.

  He was holding something. Something in each hand, in fact. Something metal, attached to something black. That was also what Peter saw, before blackness engulfed him.

  Von Schatten, his attention on Peter, did not see James; did not see him clench his hands to open the clamps; did not notice anything until James, with his last ounce of strength, lunged forward and attached the clamps to von Schatten’s legs.

  The underground chamber echoed with an unearthly high-pitched moan that seemed to come from everywhere as von Schatten’s body, 600 volts coursing through it, went rigid and fell backward. Peter, suddenly released, groaned and slumped to the ground. He lay there for a few seconds, and then heard a familiar sound—Tink chiming in his ear.

  Get up! Get up!

  Peter rolled over. He screamed at the ghastly sight only inches from his face: Von Schatten lay twitching on his back, smoke pouring from his clothes as his flesh burned with a stomach-turning stench. The worst was his face. His eyeglasses had melted, forming two black rivers down his gaunt cheeks. Left exposed were his eyes, which were not eyes at all, but two gaping holes in the center of his skull, revealing nothing inside but a red glow. Wisps of smoke drifted upward from the holes.

  Peter turned away, trying not to vomit as he struggled to his feet.

  This way, chimed Tink. Hurry. As always, she was ahead, leading the way, although Peter could see she was weak and flying erratically.

  “Wait a moment,” he called. “I have to get James.”

  He bent and grabbed James’s hands, pulling him to his feet. His childhood friend was now a grown man a foot taller than Peter, but had been so badly starved that they weighed nearly the same. Peter put James’s arm around his shoulder and together they followed Tink. She led them to the right, toward Magill, who was getting the better of Mauch and Coben. Karl was not doing as well. He had tried, over and over, to use his massive size and strength against the Skeleton, but each time he had been rewarded only with a jolt of excruciating pain. The old bear was tiring, and weakening. The Skeleton was coming ever closer.

  Magill had just knocked Mauch hard to the ground—apparently for good—and had grabbed Coben in a headlock. He shot a glance at Karl, then yelled to Peter, “Get to the train! I’ll help Karl finish this lot, and we’ll be right behind.”

  Peter thought about arguing, but decided that, in their current condition, he and James would be useless against the Skeleton, more hindrance than help to Magill. He glanced back at von Schatten’s smoldering body. The two columns of smoke coming from his eye sockets seemed to be thickening. Peter felt a twinge of dread.

  Holding James up, he stumbled toward the tunnel, Tink leading the way. Peter noticed that some of the guards who’d been beaten down by Karl and Magill in their initial charge were groaning and shifting on the ground, starting to revive.

  “Wait a moment,” whispered James.

  “What?” said Peter.

  “Keys,” said James, pointing toward one of the guards. Peter saw he had a ring of keys on a belt hook. “The other prisoners,” said James.

  Peter bent over, snatched the keys and hooked them onto the frayed piece of rope that served as James’s belt. He slung James’s arm over his shoulder. As they entered the tunnel, Peter was intensely aware of the sounds of struggle behind them, and Karl’s roars of pain. He wondered about his decision to leave, but did not look back.

  He had not remembered the tunnel being so long. His legs were weak, and it was an effort to keep James upright. Twice they stumbled badly. The third time, they fell.

  Get up, chimed Tink. Hurry.

  “Come on, James,” said Peter, struggling with his friend.

  “I don’t think I can,” said James. “You go ahead.”

  “No,” said Peter.

  “Let me help,” said a soft voice, and then Wendy was bending down next to Peter. Tink was right behind her, and Peter realized how weak she was; she hadn’t even managed to say anything unpleasant about Wendy.

  They managed to get James back to his feet and, supporting both his arms, started down the tunnel again. Tink, too tired to fly farther, settled into Peter’s hair.

  “It’s just ahead,” said Wendy. “Next to the cells where they have my parents. We’re going to pull the doors free, but we don’t dare until everyone is safely through, because the tunnel will collapse. We’re hoping to block von Schatten from following us.”

  “What about the starstuff?” said Peter.

  “Neville and Ted have gone ahead with the dolly. They’re going to load it onto the train. Neville thinks he can figure out how to drive it. I hope he’s right.”

  In another fifty feet they came to Patrick, standing in the tunnel next to George’s cell. He held the end of a plank that George had handed him through the cell window. The other end was wedged behind a tunnel support post next to the door.

  “There you are, Peter,” he said as they approached. “We’re ready to go here.”

  “But not until Magill gets here,” said Peter. “Wendy, can you help James get to the train?”

  “I want to stay here with my parents,” said Wendy.

  “Wendy,” said George firmly. “Help James. He needs you.”

  “All right,” said Wendy. “But I’m coming right back.” She took James’s arm and started helping him down the tunnel toward the train.

  “Where are Magill and Karl?” said Patrick.

  “They should be here soon,” said Peter, trying to sound confident. He looked back up the tunnel, a silent plea in his thoughts.

  Please come soon.

  Magill had defeated Mauch and Coben; they lay in the dirt, unconscious and bleeding. He glanced at Revile and Scarlet; they had not moved from the wall. Magill turned now to help Karl. The big bear was still valiantly trying to attack the Skeleton, but Magill saw he was seriously weakened, and wou
ld not last much longer. Magill knew he could not allow himself to get within reach of the Skeleton’s claws. He looked around for a weapon. His gaze stopped at the workbench. On it lay the Sword of Mercy.

  He ran over and grabbed the sword. Gripping it with both hands, he took three quick steps toward the Skeleton, who was about to make another lunge at the flagging Karl. Magill swung the sword, aiming for the Skeleton’s neck. The Skeleton somehow sensed it coming, ducking and whirling with astonishingly quickness, at the same time darting a deadly stump of a hand out at Magill. Thanks to the sword, Magill was just far enough away that it missed him.

  The next minute saw a deadly dance—Magill and the Skeleton circling, Magill thrusting the sword, the Skeleton countering with his hands, neither gaining an advantage. As he circled, Magill assessed the situation. He was tiring, and Karl would soon be too weak to be effective. They needed to get out of the chamber. He began to maneuver his way toward the tunnel entrance, growling at Karl to follow. The Skeleton saw what he was doing and tried to block him, but Magill was steadily gaining ground. He and Karl managed to reach the tunnel mouth. Four of the six guards were now conscious, but in no mood to fight; they scrambled away as Karl growled at them. Magill and the bear entered the tunnel, Magill walking backward, still fending off the Skeleton with the sword.

  Suddenly the chamber was filled with a furious sound, a groan that seemed to come from the earth itself. The Skeleton stopped and turned. Magill, looking past his foe, saw a chilling sight. The two columns of smoke pouring from the empty eye sockets of von Schatten’s body had united into a thick, swirling column, which was now forming unto the unmistakable shape of a dark cloaked figure, with a hooded head and glowing red orbs for eyes. It towered over von Schatten’s corpse, yet still seemed to be attached to it.

  It groaned again, and with a dark snakelike arm, pointed toward the electrical cables clamped to the feet of the corpse.

  The Skeleton understood. He turned and swiftly moved back to the body. Magill knew he should run, but he could not take his eyes off the spectacle.

  The Skeleton was beckoning toward Revile and Scarlet. They cowered against the far wall, fearful of the dark thing now filling the center of the chamber. The Skeleton beckoned again, more insistently. Reluctantly, they approached. The Skeleton rasped something to them—Magill couldn’t hear it. They looked at each other.

  “Do it!” rasped the Skeleton, loud enough for Magill to hear.

  They knelt on the floor. Each carefully took hold of one of the thick black electrical cables.

  “Now!” the Skeleton ordered.

  Scarlet and Revile yanked on the cables, pulling the clamps free of von Schatten’s legs.

  Instantly the column of smoke began to contract and descend, its two streams swirling back into the eye sockets, like black water going down the drain. In seconds the smoke was gone.

  The corpse began to move.

  As Magill watched in horror, the hideous charred thing that had once been von Schatten rose to its feet. It turned slowly and looked directly at Magill with eye sockets red as fire.

  Magill, with Karl right behind, turned and ran.

  “Maybe I should go back for them,” said Peter, for the dozenth time.

  “I don’t think that would be wise,” said Patrick. “If Magill and Karl can’t handle the situation, then—”

  He was interrupted by a chime from Tink, who was still sitting in his hair.

  “Someone’s coming,” said Peter.

  “Ready?” said George, gripping the bars of his cell window.

  “Ready,” said Patrick, his hands on the plank wedged behind the support post.

  They stared into the tunnel. They heard running footsteps. Then two figures came into view, and Peter’s heart leaped.

  “It’s them!” he cried.

  “Get back, Peter,” said Patrick.

  Magill, still holding the sword, was almost to them. He was glancing back constantly, clearly frightened. Peter didn’t want to think about what it would take to frighten Magill.

  “Steady, now,” said Patrick, gripping the plank. “As soon as they get here …”

  Magill and the bear had reached them.

  “Keep moving!” shouted Patrick. To George he said, “Now!”

  Patrick pulled on the plank, yanking the tunnel support post free. At the same instant George threw himself into the door, which burst free of the now unsupported wall. Immediately huge chunks of earth and rock began to fall from the tunnel roof. A roof beam fell on George, knocking him to the ground.

  “GO!” he shouted.

  But Patrick and Magill had him by the arms, and were dragging him free of the falling rubble. He staggered to his feet and followed the others, who were already running to Molly’s cell. She was waiting anxiously, her face pressed to the bars. She lit up when she saw her husband.

  “Oh, George!” she said. “I was so worried!”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Now let’s get you out.”

  Tink made another warning sound.

  “Someone’s coming,” said Peter. They looked back toward George’s cell. The tunnel had not been fully blocked by the cave-in; there was a space about a foot high at the top. Hands were frantically scooping away rocks and dirt. Through the opening Peter saw the heads of two guards.

  “Faster!” called a voice. Peter recognized the rasp of the Skeleton. Then his stomach clenched as he caught sight of a face looming behind the guards—a hideous face, with blackened flesh hanging off and two glowing eyes looking directly at him.

  Peter turned away.

  It can’t be.

  “We’d better hurry,” said Patrick. “Mr. Magill, please get the door.”

  Magill handed the sword to Peter and grabbed the bars in Molly’s cell door. Patrick and George wedged the floor plank behind the support post.

  “Ready?” said Patrick. The others nodded. “Now!”

  Again both door and support post gave way, sending dirt cascading down into the tunnel. As Molly tumbled into the hall, George grabbed her, pulling her free. For a moment they embraced, Molly sobbing.

  “I’m sorry,” said Patrick, “but we really don’t have time for that.”

  Peter saw he was right. The guards had cleared away enough of the first cave-in to start climbing through the opening. The second cave-in had not brought down nearly as much debris; the pursuers would get through quickly.

  “Go!” said Magill, pushing the others along the tunnel.

  Nobody argued. They headed for the train—Molly and George, holding on to each other; Peter, still carrying the sword; then Patrick, with Magill and Karl bringing up the rear. Their pace was slowed by Molly and George, who were too weak to move at any more than a fast walk. Peter kept looking back over his shoulder, each time fearing he would see that horrible face. They passed the cage that had held the other prisoners, and Peter was glad to note that it was empty, its door ajar. James had used the keys.

  He saw a figure in the tunnel running toward them; it was Wendy, coming back as she’d promised. She quickly embraced her parents and said, “The train’s just ahead.”

  They quickened their pace a bit and soon reached the end of the tunnel, and the waiting train. As before, the doors to all three cars stood open. Ted and Neville stood in the doorway to the middle car; behind them, sprawled on the canvas-covered floor, were James and the other freed prisoners.

  “Where’s the chest?” said Peter.

  “It’s right there,” said Ted, gesturing toward the front of the middle car. Peter looked and saw that the chest had been taken off the dolly, which lay by the side of the tracks.

  “We need to leave immediately,” said Patrick. “Neville, can you drive this train?”

  “I believe so,” said Neville. “The controls have several ingenious safety features, but I …”

  “Just get going!” shouted Magill, reaching the train with Karl.

  Neville scurried forward to the engineer’s cab in the first car. The
others helped George and Molly climb up into the middle car, a difficult task, as they were weak; and since there was no train platform, the door opening was nearly four feet off the ground. Once they were aboard, Patrick climbed in, followed by Magill and Karl, who was given a wide berth by the prisoners. To Peter, standing anxiously next to the track, it seemed to take forever for everyone to board the train. He wondered why Neville hadn’t gotten the train moving yet. He kept glancing into the tunnel.

  He saw them even before he heard Tink’s chime.

  “They’re coming!” he shouted.

  “Neville!” shouted Ted. “Start the train!”

  “Almost there!” Neville called back.

  Peter looked back up the tunnel. He counted three…no, four guards running toward them. The Skeleton was right behind them.

  Behind the Skeleton was the thing that had been von Schatten.

  He heard a hiss of air, and turned to see that the train had finally started moving. He took a last hasty glance into the tunnel. The first guard had almost reached the end. Peter flew into the train. It was picking up speed. Peter willed it forward.

  Faster.

  The first guard emerged from the tunnel. Now the second guard. Now the others.

  Faster.

  The guards reached the doorway to the third car. One by one, they hauled themselves in. Peter prayed it would be just the guards—Magill and Karl could handle the guards.

  Faster, please …

  Too late. The Skeleton, with an odd slithering motion, almost lizardlike, was in the third car. Then came the Ombra creature, who seemed to glide into the car effortlessly.

  Their pursuers were all on the train.

  “Close the gate!” shouted Patrick, pointing to the passageway at the back of the car.

  Magill ran over and slammed the metal gate shut. It had a latch; he closed it. Seconds later, the guards were attacking it from the other side, delivering powerful kicks. The metal was bending. The gate would not hold.

  The train was picking up speed. Peter looked ahead; they were just reaching the Westminster Bridge station, through which they had entered the Underground. Suddenly an idea struck Peter.