Together, Molly and Peter crept to the bottom of the staircase. Molly peered through the archway and gasped. Coming toward her, along the lower room’s long side wall, was a woman’s shadow cast by the wavering light of a lantern. Its source was invisible, blocked by the armor display. Molly saw the shadow raise its hands in a pleading gesture, and again heard her mother’s voice:
“Molly! Please!”
“It’s her,” Molly whispered. “Peter, it’s her.”
Tink made a soft warning sound.
“No,” said Peter. “Look.”
Lady Aster’s shadow had moved closer along the wall, and now they could see where, at its base, it tapered into a long, dark teardrop shape that stretched across the floor.
The teardrop shadow connected to Ombra.
He glided toward them, his black hood swiveling left and right, hunting; its movement independent of those of the shadow.
“Molly!” The shadow’s plaintive voice pierced Molly’s heart. “Please!”
Molly stared at the oncoming shapes, frozen. Peter grabbed her by the arm, pulled her back into the archway.
“It’s not her, Molly,” he whispered. “It’s not.”
Molly allowed herself, reluctantly, to be pulled back, her eyes refusing to leave the shadow.
“Come on,” whispered Peter, pulling her to the stairs.
Finally Molly turned and followed. She put her hands to her ears to stop the pitiful sound coming from below.
“Molly…please.”
With Peter leading, they quickly ascended the steps to the middle floor, the one where McGuinn had let them in to the White Tower. Across the cavernous dark room they saw the flickering of a lantern and the shadows of men searching; clearly they would not be able to get to the door through which they had entered. There was no sign of a door on the side of the room where they now stood.
Tink made the warning sound again.
Peter and Molly looked back and saw the reason: lantern light now shone from below on the stairway behind them. Then the beseeching voice came again….
“Molly!”
Ombra, having crossed the lower room, was now ascending on their side. The searchers on the middle floor were coming closer. Peter and Molly saw they had no choice now but to take the stairs to the upper floor. Without speaking, they tiptoed quickly up the staircase. The upper room Was very dark; they could just make out the shapes of several columns toward the middle. Peter and Molly listened for a moment, hearing nothing. Peter broke the silence.
“Now what?” he whispered.
“Let’s see if there’s a window,” answered Molly.
Cautiously they moved along the back wall. They came to an opening in the wall; the darkness there was just slightly less black. Peter reached into the opening, feeling with his hands.
“It’s a window,” he whispered. “But it has bars on it.”
Molly was about to answer, when a deep voice thundered at them.
“WHO’S THAT!” it shouted.
Peter and Molly froze, neither one breathing. The voice was coming from the shadows near a column no more than twenty-five feet away.
“I SAID, WHO’S THAT?” the voice repeated.
Silence.
“BLACKIE!” the voice boomed. “BRING THE LANTERN! THERE’S SOMEBODY UP HERE!”
Instantly there was shouting from below, the pounding of heavy-booted feet on stone, light coming up the stairs.
Peter and Molly, having nowhere else to go, ran along the rear wall, away from the stairs, toward the corner of the room. In the darkness, Peter nearly slammed face-first into the side wall. With Molly behind him, he felt along the wall and came to an opening.
“In here!” he whispered.
They ducked into the opening and found themselves in a pitch-black space, so narrow they could touch the walls on either side. Behind them the shouting was louder. Ahead of them was…
A hole, Tink said.
“What?” whispered Peter.
There’s a hole, she said.
“Where?” said Peter.
“What?” said Molly.
Right in front of you, said Tink. She flitted forward and, for just a second, glowed softly, illuminating a low wooden platform set into the rough tower stone. In the center of the platform was a hole, a bit more than a foot in diameter.
Molly recognized it instantly, it being one of the more popular attractions on the tower tour.
“The garderobe,” she whispered.
“What’s that mean?” whispered Peter.
“It’s a toilet,” whispered Molly, blushing.
“Where’s it go?”
“Outside.”
“You mean, just…outside?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, then,” whispered Peter. “Tink, give us a little light.”
By Tink’s soft glow, Peter climbed onto the platform, sat, and stuck his feet into the hole. He slid forward into it, then raised his hands over his head as he went through. It was a tight fit, but he made it. He disappeared for a moment, then his head popped back up through the hole.
“Come on!” he urged Molly. “It’s a bit of a drop, but I’ll hold you.”
Molly looked doubtful.
She thinks she’s too good to go down a toilet, observed Tink.
The searchers’ shouts were quite loud now. One came from just outside the narrow opening leading to the garderobe.
“Come on,” repeated Peter.
Gingerly, Molly stepped up onto the wooden platform. Peter ducked out of the way, and she put her legs through, being careful to tuck her dress. She began to slide forward, and raised her arms. She slid halfway through…
And got stuck. Her hips were just a bit too large for the opening. She began kicking her feet, trying to wiggle through, but she didn’t budge.
“I’m stuck,” she whispered.
Peter, hovering in the darkness on the underside of the hole, couldn’t hear her, but he saw what was happening. He wrapped his arms around her legs and tugged downward. Still, she did not move.
A voice boomed from right outside the garderobe.
“BRING THE LIGHT OVER HERE.” Boots clomped closer. Molly saw the light coming now. She wiggled and kicked furiously, one of her shoes catching Peter in the ribs, sending him tumbling away into the night.
A man entered the garderobe, lantern in hand. He saw Molly and let out a yell of triumph.
“IN HERE!” he shouted. “SHE’S IN HERE!” Other men piled into the space behind him, the walls too close set to let them pass the man with the lantern.
“GRAB HER!” shouted a voice.
The man with the lantern reached forward to grab Molly by the arm, then immediately jerked backward, roaring in pain as he felt Tinker Bell, moving almost too swiftly to see, punch a tiny but hard fist into his right eye. The man staggered backward, knocking down the man behind him, who knocked down the man behind him. As they fell, yelling, the lantern went out, and at the same moment Molly felt Peter’s arms around her legs once again. She raised her arms again, and, as Peter yanked from below, she wiggled with all her strength; this time she felt herself sliding, one agonizing inch, then another. The fallen men were clambering to their feet. Molly felt a hand grope for her, grabbing at her face. She opened her mouth and bit down on it with all her strength. The hand was yanked away as the owner screamed in pain, and Molly, with a last, desperate wiggle, fell through the hole.
“Hang on!” shouted Peter, fighting desperately to slow her descent. Molly clung to his neck, feeling him strain against her weight, not sure how far they had to…
THUMP.
They hit the ground quite hard, but fortunately feet-first. They fell and rolled, tangled up in each other’s arms. From above them—quite far above, Molly could now see—a light appeared in the garderobe hole, and there was a great deal of angry and confused shouting.
A sudden silence, and then, drifting down through the night, a horrid groaning voice, indistinct but clearly enr
aged.
Quickly, Molly and Peter disentangled themselves, rose to their feet and, with Tink flitting behind them, began to run.
CHAPTER 85
DARK KITES
Two CARRIAGES, each drawn by four horses, waited on the quay near a gaslight at the bottom of Le Fantome’s gangplank. The horses were unusually restless, their hooves shifting on the stones, their breath steaming.
The cause of their restlessness glided silently up to the rear carriage, keeping to the shadow side, unseen by the driver until he heard a strange, wheezing voice next to him.
“Driver.”
“Eh, Guv’nor?” The driver turned and leaned down, then gasped as he found himself looking into an empty hood. Before he could speak again, Ombra slid onto the driver’s shadow, cast by the gaslight onto the quay. The driver’s head sagged. He now cast no shadow at all.
Ombra’s voice rasped into the chilly air: “Sit up.”
“Yes, my lord.” The driver lifted his head and stiffened his back.
Ombra glided swiftly up to the front carriage. The driver glanced back and saw a dark shape approaching: a shadow moving within a shadow.
“You move smooth as water,” said the driver jovially. “Don’t even look like you’re walking!”
“I’m not.”
A moment later Ombra’s sack was a little fatter, and the second driver was as still and obedient as the first.
Ombra turned and signaled Slank, who stood waiting on the deck of Le Fantome, holding the arm of a smaller figure draped in a plaid blanket. Slank strong-armed the figure down the gangplank, and as he did, the blanket slipped, revealing the ashen face and matted, oily hair of Lady Louise Aster. She descended the gangplank woodenly, like a child learning her first steps. When they reached the quay, Slank pushed her into the first carriage, then climbed in after her.
Next off the ship was Gerch, who took a seat alongside to the driver of the first carriage; and Hampton, who sat alongside the second driver. Two of Nerezza’s men followed, taking positions on the footholds at the back of each carriage. Both men were armed with dagger and pistol.
Nerezza came down the plank next, carrying a sea bag. He was followed by four of the men who had accompanied Ombra to the Tower. They tied bags and a trunk to the roof of the second carriage, then climbed inside.
Ombra spoke quietly to the driver of the first carriage, so quietly that even Gerch, sitting right next to the driver, did not hear the destination. Then Ombra slithered into the carriage, closing the door and taking his seat across from Slank and Lady Aster. Slank shivered as the air inside the carriage suddenly felt much colder. Lady Aster sat immobile, her face vacant of expression.
“Soon enough, my lady,” Ombra groaned, “you’ll be seeing your husband again.”
Lady Aster stared straight ahead through bloodshot eyes.
“Perhaps you’ll see your little girl as well,” said Ombra. “At the Tower, your old family friend Mister McGuinn was kind enough to…share with me…where the Return is to take place. I suspect he may have told young Molly as well. If so, we shall have quite the family reunion, shall we not?”
Slank was watching Louise Aster’s face; it revealed nothing.
“Oh, yes, my lady,” hissed Ombra. “I have plans for your happy little family.”
Slank thought he saw a flicker in Louise Aster’s eyes, the tiniest hint of emotion cross her haggard face. Then it was gone.
“Signal the driver,” groaned Ombra.
Slank raised his fist and banged sharply twice on the roof of the carriage.
The horses heaved. The carriages rattled and shook as they began to move, their wheels rumbling on the stone. They rolled forward into the last of the lingering London night.
The rumble of the wheels was suddenly joined by another, harsher sound.
Caw! Caw!
The sound came from a half dozen ravens circling high above Ombra’s carriage, following it obediently, like dark kites on invisible strings.
CHAPTER 86
AN OFFER OF HELP
BY THE TIME Molly and Peter made it back to George’s house, the eastern sky was showing the first dull-gray streaks of dawn. Molly and Peter were cold and exhausted. After fleeing from the White Tower, they had hid in a dark alley for the better part of an anxious hour until they were sure they were safe from their pursuers. Then, lacking the money for a cab, they had walked all the way back to George’s house, taking a roundabout route so as not to expose themselves on the busier streets.
Now, at long last, they were in the tree outside George’s bedroom window. As Molly tapped on the glass, Peter tucked the complaining Tinker Bell back into his shirt.
In a moment George’s sleepy face appeared. He opened the window; Molly and Peter climbed into the room.
“Thank you,” said Molly.
George, wearing his nightcap and nightshirt, merely nodded, watching Molly, obviously waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he spoke, his voice low but angry.
“Listen,” he said. “This won’t do.”
“What won’t?” said Molly.
“This business of you and,” George said, gesturing at Peter, “your friend here staying in my room and traipsing in and out my window at all hours. I can’t keep hiding you here, Molly. You come here in the middle of the night and tell me your mother’s been kidnapped and there are men in your house, and yet you don’t let me tell Father, you don’t let me help you, and you won’t tell me what’s happening, and—”
George paused, his face reddening, then went on: “Molly, I want to help you. But I can’t help if you won’t let me.”
Molly sighed. “You’re right, George,” she said. “You’ve been very gracious, and I’ve been horribly rude. But this is something very, very dangerous. I don’t want to involve you or your family.”
“Molly,” said George. “You and I—that is, my family and yours—are already involved. We have been for years. If I were in trouble, you’d help me, wouldn’t you?”
Slowly, Molly nodded.
“Well,” said George, “that’s how I feel. About you.” His face was now the color of a beet. “About helping you, I mean.”
The room fell silent. Peter, though standing just two feet from Molly, felt as if he were a thousand miles away. He hated the way she was looking at George.
“You’re right,” she said finally.
“Molly,” Peter cautioned. She waved him off.
“No, Peter, George is right,” she said. “We’ve nowhere else to turn at this point.”
Now it was Peter’s turn to sulk, but Molly ignored him.
“I need to find Father,” she said. “He’s the only person who can deal with the Oth…with the kidnappers. But he’s gone from London on a…a confidential business trip, and I don’t know where he is. Tonight Peter and I went to a place where we thought we might get some information about where he’s gone, but we found nothing. No, wait, that’s not quite true. We found this.”
Molly reached into her pocket and pulled out the wine merchant invoice she’d found in the Starcatchers’ Keep. She handed it to George, who looked at it and frowned.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Neither do I,” said Molly. “But I know that’s my father’s handwriting, in the blue ink. And I know he must have written it just before he left London.”
“S,” George read, “ten thirty, two forty-six.”
“I thought perhaps it was an address,” said Molly. “But I can’t make anything of it.”
“You say he wrote this just before he left London?” said George.
“Yes,” said Molly.
“Hang on,” said George, striding from the room. He was back in ten minutes, this time holding a sheaf of papers.
“What’re those?” said Molly.
“Train timetables,” said George.
Molly’s face lit up.
“George!” she said in a voice that stabbed Peter’s heart. “That’s brilliant!”
/> George blushed as he dumped the timetables onto the bed.
“Give a hand, then,” he said, his attempt to sound gruff undermined by his obvious pleasure.
“Come on, Peter!” said Molly.
“What are we doing?” said Peter, feeling like an idiot.
“We’re looking for a train that leaves at ten thirty and arrives at two forty-six,” said George, with more than a hint of condescension in his voice.
“And that somehow involves the letter S,” added Molly, grabbing a timetable and settling on the floor to study it.
Without speaking, Peter picked up a timetable and joined the other two in their search. It was tedious going, wading through long lists of train numbers, cities, and times. It reminded Peter of school—something he’d had nothing to do with for quite a while. Several times, feeling the effects of another sleepless night, Peter felt his eyes closing. He had in fact dozed off entirely when he was awakened by George’s unwelcome voice.
“Hang on,” said George.
“What?” said Molly.
“Look at this,” he said, thrusting a timetable toward Molly. She looked at the number marked by his finger.
“So it departs at ten thirty from Waterloo Station—” she said. Her eyes scanned across a column of figures. “And it arrives at two forty-six at…Salisbury. That’s it! Father took the train to Salisbury!”
“What’s in Salisbury?” said Peter.
“I don’t know,” said Molly. “But I have to go there.”
“What?” said George. “Now?”
“Yes,” said Molly. “I’ve got time to make the train. Can you lend me the money for a ticket?”
“Well…yes, of course,” said George.
“And Peter as well?” said Molly. “I’ll repay you, I promise.”
“He’s going with you?” said George.
“Yes,” said Molly.
“If he is,” said George, “then I am.”
“No,” said Molly.
“Why not?” said George.
“Because…” said Molly, “because your parents wouldn’t allow it.”
“My parents left yesterday for Paris,” said George. “I’ll tell the housekeeper I’ve gone to spend a few days with a friend. I’ve done that many times.”
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