Peter and the Sword of Mercy (38 page)

A minute later Mrs. Bumbrake had joined the others. Neville introduced her to Patrick, then said, “Could you please repeat for Mr. Hunt what you told me the other night, about what Lord Aster talked about in his delirium?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, “he kept mumbling something about a sword.”

“And wasn’t there something else?” prodded Neville.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “Sometimes he talked about a meteorite.”

“What did he say about it?” Patrick asked eagerly.

“Nothing that I understood,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “I’m sorry.”

“No need,” said Neville. “You’ve been very helpful.”

As Mrs. Bumbrake climbed back up the stairs, Patrick said, “Lord Aster’s words support the legend—that the sword was made from a strange metal rock that fell from the sky.”

“Strange in what way?” said Neville.

“For one thing, it sometimes glows,” said Patrick.

“It’s starstuff!” said Peter.

“Not exactly,” said Wendy. “A large lump of pure starstuff would kill whoever came near it. Grandfather Aster said the sword was made from metal that was
infused
with starstuff.”

“What does that mean?” said Peter.

“It means the metal has some starstuff in it,” said Wendy. “Grandfather said the vault that contains the Cache is made from the same metal.”

“In the legend, this particular metal is called ‘heaven-stone,’” said Patrick. “It has some unusual properties, among them great strength. Not even diamond can cut it; only another piece of heavenstone will do.”

“This is all quite interesting,” said Neville. “But I fail to see how it helps us stop von Schatten.”

“I’m getting to that,” said Patrick. “Let’s assume that von Schatten has gotten hold of the tip to Curtana. On Coronation Day he’ll be able, through his control over the king, to obtain the sword itself. So he’ll have both the tip and the sword. But I believe that to put them together, he must have a third element.”

“What?” said Wendy.

“More heavenstone,” said Patrick. “Essentially, he has to weld the tip to the sword at high temperature. But to do that, he needs a filler material, to fuse the two pieces. He cannot use ordinary metal. I believe he must use heavenstone.”

“With all due respect,” said Neville, “I still fail to see why this is relevant.”

“It’s relevant,” said Patrick, “because other than the tip and the sword, there is only one known piece of alleged heavenstone on earth. I say ‘alleged’ because there are reputable scientists who scoff at the legend.”

“What do
you
think?” said Wendy.

“I believe it’s heavenstone,” said Patrick. “It’s almost certainly of extraterrestrial origin, and it exhibits unusual properties. All attempts to analyze it have failed. It was found by a British archaeologist named Mansfield in a cave in the Aquitaine region of France, where Charlemagne rose to power, and where the Sword of Mercy was made. The age of other artifacts Mansfield found in the cave suggests that the stone—which is known as the Mansfield Stone—was placed there at around the time of the sword’s creation. Perhaps it was excess heavenstone, not needed for the sword and therefore placed in the cave for safekeeping. In any event, if my theory is correct, von Schatten cannot repair Curtana without the Mansfield Stone. At some point, he will have to try to acquire it.”

“Where is it now?” said Peter.

Patrick smiled and said, “Less than a mile from here.”

For a moment there was a shocked silence. Then Peter, Wendy, and Neville simultaneously exclaimed
“What?”

“The Mansfield Stone,” said Patrick, “currently belongs to the Natural History Museum, right here in London. The stone is not on exhibit; as I say, some authorities believe it’s a fraud, and the museum has chosen to keep it out of public view until its experts can agree on what, exactly, it is. It’s stored in a specimen room, under lock and key.”

“If what you say is correct,” said Neville, “we need to appropriate this stone as soon as possible.”

“Appropriate?” said Peter.

“Steal,” said Wendy.

Peter nodded.

“For the greater good,” said Neville.

“I was thinking,” said Patrick, “that we might steal…I mean
appropriate
it tonight.”

“We?” said Wendy.

“I can get us into the museum,” said Patrick.

“Then ‘we’it is,” said Wendy. “Tonight.”

O
NLY
D
ARKNESS

T
HEY LEFT THE SCOTLAND LANDING HOTEL
at 7 p.m., when the dark, fog-filled streets were virtually empty of homebound pedestrians.

Peter, with Tink tucked into his coat, led the way. The chilly air made him grateful for the warm clothes and shoes he was wearing, courtesy of Patrick, who’d gone shopping for Peter and Wendy that afternoon. He’d also picked up some special materials Neville had requested.

Peter kept to the shadows and peered around each corner, scouting for bobbies or anyone else of concern. Following a half-block behind were Wendy, Ted, and Neville, who was carrying a small satchel. Wendy had initially suggested that her uncle not accompany them, but he would not hear of it.

“I believe my expertise may prove useful,” he said. “And I do not fear danger. I have faced danger many times.”

Most
of it caused by your own experiments,
thought Wendy. But she didn’t argue.

The little party avoided the main roads, working its way through the maze of streets and alleys east of Sloane Square, Peter relying on Tink’s flawless sense of direction. Just after 7:30, Peter cautiously emerged from Queensberry Place onto Cromwell Road. Looming out of the fog across the street was the Natural History Museum, a massive, ornate brick structure.

Peter watched the street and sidewalk for several minutes, keeping an eye on the occasional pedestrian and the dwindling Cromwell Road traffic. When he was convinced that there was no trap awaiting them, he turned and opened his coat. Tink emitted three brief flashes of light. A minute later, the other three joined them.

Wendy pointed to the left and said, “That’s Queensgate Mews. Patrick said we go around that way, then knock on the door at the back corner of the museum.”

“Right,” said Peter. “We’ll wait until the road is clear, then cross.” Ted and Neville nodded. A smile twitched Peter’s lips; Ted was a grown man, but Peter, at least at this moment, was still the leader.

When they saw a break in traffic, they ran across Cromwell Road, Neville in the rear, puffing to keep up. They went up Queensgate Mews, along the side of the museum. When Peter was sure there were no guards about, he led them onto the museum grounds. As Patrick had told them, there was an unmarked door near the corner in back of the huge main building. Peter rapped on it three times. There was the sound of a deadbolt sliding, and the door opened.

“Welcome to the museum,” said Patrick, smiling broadly.

They stepped into a long corridor lit by overhead electric lights. Patrick closed the door. “It went as planned,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I identified myself to the museum staff as a Cambridge fellow, giving a false name, and said I wanted to do some research in one of the restricted areas. They weren’t a bit suspicious, as they get many such requests. Just before closing I made a show of announcing I was leaving. Instead I hid in a storage room until the staff had gone for the day.”

“Is there anyone else here?” asked Peter.

“At least one watchman, who is currently snoring loudly at his post in the main hall. There may be one or two others. But I don’t think they’ll be a problem for us. We’re going to a specimen room on the third floor here in the rear of the building. The stairway is this way.”

He led them up the stairs to a long, dimly lit marble hallway lined on both sides with heavy oak doors. About halfway down he stopped in front of one on the left-hand side with a sign that said MINERALOGY.

“It’s in here,” said Patrick.

“All right, then, stand back,” said Neville, starting to open his satchel. Patrick stopped him. “No need for that yet.”

“Then how are we going to open the door?” said Neville.

“With this,” said Patrick, pulling a key from his pocket. “The museum staff keeps the specimen-room keys hanging on a board downstairs. I happened to brush against it as I walked past.” He smiled proudly.

Ted stared in amazement at his light-fingered Cambridge colleague. “You actually
enjoy
being a criminal,” he said.

“Immensely!” said Patrick. “I think I’m rather good at it.” He used the key to open the door, and the group entered. Patrick found the light switch and flicked it on, revealing a large, musty room with four massive tables in the center, littered with books, scientific instruments, and mineral specimens. Along the walls were rows of cabinets and display cases filled with more mineral specimens of all shapes and sizes.

“There’s thousands of rocks here,” said Wendy. “How are we supposed to find the one we’re looking for?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Patrick. “We’ll just have to—”

He was interrupted by a chime from Tink, who was hovering next to a massive steel cabinet at the far end of the room.

“She says it’s in that box,” said Peter.

“But how would she know that?” said Patrick.

“She knows,” said Peter.

“All right, then,” said Neville, bustling over with his satchel. He examined the cabinet, then said, “I don’t think I can get enough explosive into the lock mechanism itself. But I can blow the hinges. The door should come right off.” He opened the satchel and set to work.

The others waited in silence. The minutes crept past.

Tink emitted a low chime.

“What?” said Wendy, looking at Peter.

“She hears somebody downstairs,” said Peter.

“I didn’t hear anything,” said Patrick.

“Tink has very good ears,” said Peter.

“Maybe we ought to leave,” said Ted.

“Not without the stone,” said Wendy. “We might not have another chance to get it. Uncle Neville, how much more time do you need?”

“Almost done,” said Neville, working furiously.

Peter opened the door, stuck his head out and looked both ways. “There’s nobody in the hallway,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I say we light the fuse, get the stone, and run,” said Wendy.

Nobody argued.

“There are two stairways,” said Patrick. “The one we used, and another at the far end of the hall. The explosion will bring them running. Whichever hallway they come up, we’ll go down the other.”

Peter, Wendy, and Ted nodded.

“Shall I light the fuse?” said Neville.

“Yes,” said Wendy.

“Gather in the far corner, then,” said Neville. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

They huddled in the corner near the door. Peter tucked Tink into his coat. Neville struck a match and touched it to the fuse. A shower of sparks erupted. Neville rose and, carrying his empty satchel, puffed across the room, dodging the big tables. As he reached the others, he shouted, “Turn around and cover your ears!” They did, and waited.

And waited.

And …

BOOM!

The concussion knocked them over as the room roared with deafening noise, then filled with smoke. Peter was the first back on his feet. He stumbled through the acrid-smelling haze to the metal cabinet. As Neville had promised, the door had been blown off its hinges; it lay bent on the floor a good ten feet from the cabinet. The rest of the cabinet was also blackened and badly damaged. But inside it, looking unharmed, was a lump of metal. It was roughly the shape of a potato but about twice the size, with an uneven silvery surface that seemed to shimmer in the smoke.

Peter reached in and picked it up. It seemed unusually heavy. Peter’s fingers tingled where they touched it.

“Is this it?” he asked the others, who had come up behind him.

“That’s the Mansfield Stone,” said Patrick.

Tink, emerging from Peter’s coat, chimed urgently.