What troubled him more was Molly’s height. When last he’d seen her, back on Mollusk Island, they were the same height; if Peter stood up straight—as he tended to do when he was around Molly—he could even make himself a bit taller.
But when they’d climbed down from the tree and, for a moment, stood next to each other, Peter noticed that Molly was now taller—not by much, but taller nonetheless.
He thought Molly noticed it, too, though she said nothing.
Now, as he trotted along behind her in the darkness, a part of Peter’s mind strayed from their current predicament to the troublesome fact that she was growing older and he was not. How much had she changed? What would this mean for their friendship? Would they—
“Oof,” he said, running into Molly’s back, nearly knocking her over and getting a mocking chime from Tink. “Sorry! I…I didn’t see you stop. What is it?”
“That’s Kensington Road,” Molly whispered. Ahead, Peter saw the dim sphere of a streetlight, with paler echoes on either side. “George’s house is just down there, past Prince’s Gate in Ennismore Gardens.”
They walked forward and crossed Kensington Road, deserted at this late hour. In a moment they were on a grand street lined on both sides with massive mansions standing shoulder to shoulder.
“George’s house is just down here to the left,” said Molly, setting off briskly. In a minute she stopped in front of a particularly fine home, with marble steps leading up to a front door flanked by massive pillars.
Molly stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at the door, frowning.
“Are you going to knock?” said Peter.
Molly shook her head. “No,” she said. “George’s parents are very…proper. If they see y—”
She looked at Peter in his filthy rags, with Tinker Bell on his head. “If they see us at this time of night, they may become quite alarmed. They might even call the police, and we don’t want that. One of those men back there was a constable, or at least disguised as one. We don’t know who the real police are. And even if we did, how could I explain the situation to them? If I start talking about the Others, and starstuff, and the shadow creature—”
Peter nodded. Having recently escaped from the police, he had his own reasons for not wanting to be seen by them. “So what are we going to do?” he said.
“George’s room is in the back,” she said. “We’ll go ’round through the alley, then see if we can find a way to wake him.”
They walked past the mansion and turned left into a lightless alley. Gingerly, they felt their way to the end and around to the back of the Darling house. All the windows on this side were dark; what little light there was came from a streetlight on the next street over.
“George’s room is on the third floor, on this corner,” said Molly, pointing. “That window there.”
Peter wondered how she knew that.
Molly was studying a large elm that stood next to the house. “If we could get up to that branch there,” she said, “we could tap on the window.”
“I can fly up there,” Peter said.
Molly looked doubtful. “But George doesn’t know you,” she said. “He’d probably think you were a burglar and sound the alarm. Can you help me up? If I could just get to that lower branch there—” She pointed to a limb about ten feet away. “I think I could climb the rest of the way.”
“All right,” said Peter. “Hold on to my neck.”
Molly stepped close and draped her arms around him. There was an awkward moment as they embraced—awkward, yet strangely pleasant for both—then Peter said, “On three, jump as hard as you can. One…two…three.”
They sprang upward together, floating just high enough that Molly could grab the limb and clamber onto it. From there, with Peter’s help, she was able to climb to the limb at the third-floor level. Then, with Peter crouching behind, she crept out onto the limb to the window.
She took a breath, then made a fist and rapped on the glass three times.
Nothing.
Three more raps, harder this time.
Still nothing.
Molly had drawn back her fist to try again, when she gasped; a pale, puzzled face had appeared in the window. Molly’s fist became a waving hand.
“George!” she whispered. “It’s me! Let me in!”
The look of puzzlement on George’s face turned to recognition. The window slid open.
“Molly?” George said quite loudly. “What are you doing—”
“Shhh!” said Molly. “Don’t wake your parents! May I come in?”
“But how did you—”
“I’ll explain,” said Molly. “But may I please come in out of this tree?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry!” George pushed a large telescope away from the window, then helped Molly into his room. He was wearing a long nightshirt and a tasseled nightcap, which made his ears seem to protrude even more than usual.
“You must be freezing,” he said, noticing that Molly wore no coat. He began to close the window.
“No!” whispered Molly.
George looked back at her.
“There’s someone else in the tree,” she said. “A friend.”
“What?” said George, sticking his head out the window. Seeing Peter, he raised up and smacked his head hard on the window frame.
“OW!”
Another idiot, observed Tinker Bell.
“Quiet,” said Peter, stuffing her into his shirt.
Rubbing his head, George said, “Who on earth are you?”
“I’m Peter,” said Peter.
“He’s a friend of mine,” said Molly. “He’s cold. Please let him in.”
“But…but…” said George, his aching brain in danger of being overwhelmed.
“Please, George,” said Molly.
“Well, I mean…I suppose if—” said George.
“Oh, thank you,” said Molly, brushing past George and helping Peter through the window. For a moment Peter and George studied each other; neither seemed impressed with what he saw. Peter saw a gawky, stiff, and—unfortunately—tall boy with dark eyes, pink cheeks, and large ears. George saw a compact, wiry boy with an impish face and a tousled nest of reddish hair, barefoot and clad in filthy, torn rags. Under George’s scrutiny, Peter suddenly became acutely aware that he had not bathed in a very long time.
“Well then!” said Molly. “George, this is Peter. Peter, George.”
The two boys continued to regard each other doubtfully.
“I suppose I should explain,” Molly said.
“Yes,” said George, turning to her. “Please do.”
“All right, then,” she said. “It’s a bit complicated”—she gave Peter a look. “But I’ll try.” She took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “Some men came to my house tonight and took my mother.”
“What?” said George. “Took her where?”
“I don’t know,” said Molly. “They forced her into a cab and took her away.”
“But…who are these men?”
“They’re evil men, George. They’ve taken my mother because they want something from my father. They’re using her as leverage to get it.”
“So they’re kidnappers!” said George. “But, Molly, that’s awful! Did you tell the police?”
“No,” said Molly.
“Why on earth not?”
Molly looked at Peter again, then said, “I can’t, George. I think the police may be involved. And there are”—she glanced at Peter—“other reasons.”
“Well then, let me tell Father,” said George. “He knows some very important people. He can…”
“No,” said Molly, with an urgency that made George flinch. “You mustn’t tell anybody. You could put my mother in even worse danger. Please promise me, George. You mustn’t tell anybody.”
“All right,” said George reluctantly. “But if you don’t want help, why are you here?” He glanced at Peter as he said this.
“We have nowhere else to go,” said M
olly. “We were getting cold.”
“But what about your own house?”
“We can’t go there,” said Molly. “The men who…who took my mother are still there.”
“They’re in your house now?” George threw his hands up, then let them fall at his sides. “Well, if you’re not going to ask the police for help, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Molly. “I need to think about it. But for now, I was hoping that you could let us stay here, and perhaps lend us some warm clothes.”
George eyed Peter’s filthy figure with a look of open distaste. Peter looked back defiantly.
“Please,” said Molly.
George sighed. “I suppose I could find some old things,” he said, “from when I was smaller.”
Peter bristled, standing up straight.
“I don’t need charity,” he said.
Yes you do, chimed Tink.
“Be quiet,” said Peter.
“What did you say?” said George.
“Nothing,” said Peter.
“Yes, you did,” said George. “I heard you say something.”
The two boys glared at each other until Molly stepped between them.
“Please,” she said. “Please don’t argue, not now. I’ve got to find my father. I’ve got to help my…my…” Molly buried her face in her hands, sobbing.
George and Peter both looked down, ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” said George.
“Me too,” said Peter.
She even cries like a cow, said Tinker Bell.
“Be quiet,” said Peter. George heard him, but let it go.
“I’m sorry,” said Molly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
Both boys shifted position, as if about to comfort her, but neither moved. For a moment there was no sound except for Molly sniffling.
“All right, then,” George said finally. “I’ll go get some clothes for…for—”
“Peter,” said Peter.
“Right, Peter,” said George. “And, Molly—”
“Yes?”
“Whatever help you need,” said George, “I’m…I mean—”
“Thank you, George,” said Molly. She put her hand on his arm, an act that caused both George and Peter to redden, but for quite different reasons. The boys exchanged a look, and two things were clear to both of them:
One was that they were, for now, allies.
The other was that they were most definitely not friends.
CHAPTER 71
THE SECRET PLACE
GEORGE HAD FINALLY fallen asleep. He was snoring on the floor, having insisted that Molly, being a girl, should take his bed. Molly had refused, insisting that Peter, being the most tired, should take the bed. Peter, of course, had refused.
So the bed was empty, and all three young people lay on the floor. George was the only one who’d managed to fall asleep, despite the fact that he was using a cricket bat as a pillow. Molly and Peter lay next to each other, both exhausted but too agitated by the night’s events to find the comfort of slumber. Tink—who had been hidden, unhappily, under the bed while George was awake—now sprawled on Peter’s chest.
Peter had cleaned himself up, somewhat, in George’s washbasin and was wearing a pair of George’s old knickers and a white cotton shirt, both finer than any clothing Peter had ever owned himself. George had also given him stockings and a pair of shoes that were a bit too large, but far better than nothing.
For the better part of an hour, the only sound in the room was George’s rhythmic drone of a snore. Then Molly whispered, “I’m going to open it.”
“Open what?” whispered Peter.
“The letter that…Ombra thing gave me,” whispered Molly.
“I thought he said to give it to your—”
“Father, yes. But I don’t know where Father is, and there might be something in the letter that will help. Tinker Bell? Do you think you could give me a bit of light?”
I’m too tired.
“What did she say?” whispered Molly.
“She said she’d be delighted,” said Peter, prodding Tink to her feet.
By Tink’s soft golden glow, Molly broke the wax seal on the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper bearing words written in compact, precise penmanship. Together, she and Peter read the message:
Lord Aster,
You are in possession of certain property unlawfully taken from the ship Never Land. I am in possession of your wife. I propose to make an exchange.
You are to send a representative to the center of Tower Bridge at midnight. He will receive instructions for the exchange from my representative, who will be holding a red lantern. My representative will be on the bridge each night at midnight for seven nights. If you do not respond within that time, or if you make any effort to dispose of the property, you will not see your wife again. Likewise, if you or anyone, should attempt to rescue your wife, she will come to the gravest harm.
I trust that, as a man of reason, you will agree that your wife’s well-being is more important than your continued possession of property that rightfully belongs to others.
Most sincerely,
Lord Ombra
Molly put the letter down and looked at Peter, despair filling her face.
“He’s going to kill her,” she whispered.
“No, no,” said Peter, draping his arm somewhat awkwardly over Molly’s shoulders. “We’ll find your father.”
“But how?” said Molly. “This”—she held up the letter—“doesn’t tell us anything. I don’t know where to start.”
“You must know somebody who knows where he went,” said Peter. “Aren’t there other Starcatchers in London?”
“Yes, but Father has always shielded me from most of his Starcatcher activities. He said I wasn’t old enough yet to—” She stopped and sat up straight. “That’s it!”
“What?” said Peter.
“The Tower,” said Molly.
“What tower?”
“The Tower of London.”
“What about it?”
“Before Father moved the starstuff,” Molly said, “he said it was somewhere here in London—somewhere well guarded. I think he meant the Tower.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes,” said Molly, “when Father has business in the City, he takes me along. Three times this year, when he was done with his meetings, we stopped at the Tower. It was always at night, after visiting hours. A certain guard, a man with a thick white beard, would let Father pass, but Father always made me wait with the guard. If I asked why, Father would make some joke about not wanting me to get my head chopped off. He’d be inside for fifteen minutes—half an hour, at most—then he’d come out and we’d go home.”
Peter thought for a moment, then said, “So you don’t know the starstuff was even in there.”
“No, I don’t,” agreed Molly. “But it makes sense. It’s a well-guarded place, and Father visited it, and he obviously was keeping the reason secret, even from me.”
“But even if the starstuff was there,” said Peter, “it’s not there now, is it?”
“No,” said Molly. “But if I go in there, I might find somebody who knows where Father has gone.”
“All right,” said Peter. “Let’s go.”
Molly smiled, grateful that Peter had included himself. She looked at the window; the black of night was giving way to the gray of dawn.
“We’ll have to wait until tonight,” she said. “The Tower is full of visitors during the day. And we need to go when we’re certain to find the guard who let my father in.”
“All right,” said Peter. “But what do we do today?”
“I suppose we’ll have to stay here with George,” said Molly.
“Oh,” said Peter.
They both looked at George, still snoring on his cricket bat.
“He’s really not such a bad sort,” said Molly. “Once you get to know him.”
Peter said nothing.
&
nbsp; You’re jealous! said Tinker Bell.
“I am not,” said Peter.
“What did she say?” said Molly.
“Nothing,” said Peter. Then, turning away from Molly, he lay back down on the hard wooden floor and tried, with little hope of success, to fall asleep.
CHAPTER 72
THE WARDER AND THE
WATCHER
PETER AND MOLLY spent a long, restless day hiding in George’s room. After eating the scones that George had managed to spirit away from the breakfast table, they spent most of the time dozing and staring out the window at the gray London sky. They tried reading some of George’s books, but most of them were about astronomy, and quite technical; neither Peter nor Molly found them particularly interesting. Tink spent the day under the bed, out of George’s sight; and though she was not happy about it, she was at least quiet.
The one moment of tension occurred when the housemaid came to tidy up George’s bedroom. George managed to turn her away with a story about not wanting her to disturb the baby bat that he had found and was nursing back to health. The housemaid found this quite believable, as the Darling house did, in fact, have a colony of bats in the attic, and the maid was terrified of them. She scurried away, muttering about the insanity of wanting to make a bat any healthier than it already was.
Other than that, the day was a slow, dull procession of uneventful hours. George tried several times to get Molly to tell him more about her predicament, only to be rebuffed, to his irritation and Peter’s not-very-well-concealed enjoyment. George was also quite miffed that, when night finally fell, Molly borrowed two coats from him, and money for a taxi—then refused to let him accompany her and Peter, or even to tell him where they were going.
“But why not?” he said.
“I can’t explain,” said Molly. “Not now. But you can’t go.”
“Then why is he going?” said George, pointing at Peter, who stared back with just enough of a smile to infuriate George.
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