Peter and the Sword of Mercy (40 page)

“Five of them. Three men—we don’t know who they were—and two children. The Darling girl…and the flying boy.”

The glow around von Schatten’s glasses intensified. Revile felt the cold deepen.

“Was the boy captured?” said von Schatten.

“N…No, Baron, they…
uhh.”
Revile was unable to finish, as a searing pain shot through him. He realized he was
feeling
von Schatten’s anger. It lasted a moment, and then subsided. Revile desperately wanted to step backward, but still could not.

“They
what?”
said von Schatten.

“They escaped, Baron. There was a struggle; others arrived and set upon the Skeleton’s men. It was dark; apparently they had some kind of animal, which wounded the Skeleton’s men. But the Skeleton
did
get the stone.”

There was a long and, for Revile, exceedingly uncomfortable silence. When von Schatten spoke, his tone was measured, though Revile could still feel his fury.

“If they were after the stone,” said von Schatten, “then they know about the sword. They must know the entire plan.”

“Yes, Baron.”

“Tell Superintendent Blake I want him to intensify his search for the boy and the others. Tell him to concentrate on the neighborhood around the museum. They have to be staying
somewhere.”

“Yes, Baron.”

“What is the situation at the Tower?”

“All is in readiness, Baron. We have three men in place, posing as representatives of the king. The Beefeaters weren’t happy about this, but they could hardly argue with a direct request from His Majesty. Officially, our men are there to oversee the safeguarding of the jewels as they are transported from their cases and prepared for the coronation next week.”

“Do these preparations involve Curtana?”

“As it happens, Curtana is to be polished tomorrow, Baron, along with the Sword of Spiritual Justice and the Sword of Temporal Justice.”

“I see,” said von Schatten, looking away, thinking. Seconds passed, stretching out to a minute. Finally von Schatten turned back to Revile and said, “Tell our men at the Tower I want the substitution to be made tomorrow, when the sword is being transported.”

Revile was stunned. “Tomorrow?” he said. “But—”

“Tomorrow,”
said von Schatten. “Inform the Skeleton there has been a change of plan. And arrange for the train. We will reunite Curtana with its tip tomorrow night. We must act quickly, before the boy and his allies can make any more mischief.”

“Yes, Baron.”

“And tell the Skeleton to be on guard. We
cannot
allow the boy to thwart us. I am disappointed that the Skeleton has failed twice now to capture him.”

“He did not fail completely, Baron.”

“What do you mean?” said von Schatten.

Revile pulled his left hand from his pocket. He was holding a black velvet sack, tied tightly at the top with a double-knotted silver cord.

“What is that?” said von Schatten.

“Something very dear to the flying boy,” said Revile. He handed the sack to von Schatten. “I suggest you open it carefully.”

Von Schatten swiftly untied the knot with long, bony fingers. Keeping a firm grip on the top of the bag, he opened it just a bit. From within came a faint glow, and then a lone mournful chime. Von Schatten retied the knot and looked at Revile. He did not smile—von Schatten never smiled—but there was a look of grim satisfaction on his hatchet-thin face.

“This pleases me,” he said, his bony forefinger tapping the velvet sack. “The boy will never leave England without her.”

“No, Baron.”

“Which means,” said von Schatten, “the boy will never leave England.”

U
NTIL
T
ONIGHT

P
ETER SAT SLUMPED IN A CORNER
chair in the drawing room of the Scotland Landing Hotel. He had barely spoken a word since the night before, when he and the others had returned from their ill-fated trip to the museum.

Mrs. Bumbrake fixed breakfast for everyone—Peter hadn’t touched his—then retired upstairs with John and Michael. Karl was asleep in front of the fireplace, periodically emitting massive bear snores. Magill was out buying food for his new guests. Wendy, Neville, Ted, and Patrick were seated in the center of the room, discussing what to do next.

“We have no choice now,” Wendy was saying. “If we can’t stop them from fixing the sword, we have to stop them from getting to the Cache.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” said Neville, “without knowing where it is.”

“Then we’re just going to have to find it,” said Wendy.

“Tell me again,” said Patrick, “exactly what your grandfather told you about the Cache.”

“He said it’s in London,” said Wendy. “In a gold-lined chest, in a vault deep underground. But he didn’t tell me
where
in London. He was very ill.”

“Underground in London,” said Neville. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“No, it doesn’t,” agreed Patrick.

Ted was frowning at Wendy. “Wasn’t there something else?”

“What do you mean?” said Wendy.

“Something else Lord Aster told you about the Cache.”

“I don’t think so,” said Wendy. “He said something odd about ‘confess,’ but…”

“Yes,” said Ted. “You told me he said somebody should confess.”

“He did,” said Wendy, “but I think he meant that for Peter. I don’t think—”

“That’s it!” said Patrick, leaping to his feet.

“I beg your pardon?” said Neville.”

“The Sword of Mercy!” said Patrick. “Do you know what it’s also known as?”

“Curtana,” said Wendy.

“Yes, that,” said Patrick. “But it’s also called Edward the Confessor’s sword.”

“Interesting,” said Neville, “but how does that…”

“Edward the Confessor’s tomb,” said Patrick, “is in Westminster Abbey. In fact, it was he who constructed the original abbey on the site, in the eleventh century.”

“I see,” said Ted. “So you’re suggesting …”

“If Edward the Confessor’s sword opens the Cache,” said Patrick, “it stands to reason that the Cache is in, or near, Edward the Confessor’s tomb. That’s what Lord Aster was trying to tell Wendy!”

“It does seem to make sense,” said Wendy. She looked around. “Does anybody have a better suggestion?” Nobody spoke. “Then we’ll go to Westminster Abbey and have a look at this tomb,” she said.

“Um,” said Patrick, “That’s a bit of a problem.”

“What is?” said Wendy.

“We don’t know where the tomb is.”

“We don’t?” said Ted. “I thought it was a great big thing right there in the middle.”

“Not quite,” said Patrick. “That’s the
shrine
to the Confessor; his remains were moved there centuries ago from his tomb. But the shrine is above ground, so if the Cache is buried, as Lord Aster said, it can’t be in the shrine. The Confessor’s original
tomb
is underground, but unfortunately nobody knows precisely where. Over the centuries, the abbey has seen many changes, and records were not always well kept. The location of the Confessor’s tomb is one of the abbey’s enduring mysteries. In fact, it’s believed that there are quite a few lost tombs, chambers, and vaults beneath the abbey.” “So how on earth are we supposed to find it?” said Neville.

“It could be a problem,” admitted Patrick.

“We’ll just have to see when we get there,” said Wendy.

“As good a plan as any,” said Patrick.

The front door of the hotel creaked open; the group listened to the thumping of heavy footsteps in the hall. Magill appeared in the drawing room, his arms laden with packages.

“It’s a good thing the lot of you stayed here,” he said.

“Why?” said Ted.

“Police,” said Magill. “All about. Hundreds, looks like. Going door to door, asking questions. Especially interested in a girl and a boy. An unusual red-haired boy,’is the description they’re using.”

Wendy glanced over at Peter, still slumped in the corner chair. He hadn’t reacted to Magill’s news; hadn’t moved at all. She turned back to Magill.

“Do you think we can get past the police?” she said. “We need to go to Westminster Abbey.”

“We can get past them,” said Magill. “But not in daylight.”

“All right, then,” said Wendy. “Tonight.”

The group dispersed, leaving Wendy and Peter in the drawing room, alone except for the snoring Karl. Wendy took a breath, exhaled, and walked over to Peter’s chair.

“Peter,” she said.

He didn’t move.

“We’re going to need you tonight,” she said.

His head snapped up. His eyes were red, his face tear-streaked.

“Why?” he said. “So I can fail again?”

“Peter, it wasn’t your fault. That man, or that
thing,
whatever it was, would have been too much for any of us.”

“I
ran away,
Wendy. I left the stone. And I left Tink.
I left Tink.
Because I was afraid of him. I
am
afraid of him.”

“I’m afraid of him, too, Peter,” she said. “But we have to try to stop them. And we need your help. We need your special abilities.”

“I never asked to be special!” shouted Peter. “I don’t
want
to be special!” He looked away. Wendy reached out and touched his arm. He pulled away from her.

“Peter,” she said, “I never asked to be a Starcatcher. I’d rather be a regular English schoolgirl, sitting in my regular English home having a regular English supper with my regular English family. But come to find out, that’s not what or who I am. I have to accept that. I’m a Starcatcher now, and I don’t know where my parents are, and the police are after me, and somehow I’m supposed to save England from evil with the help of some Oxford fellows and a dotty uncle and an old snoring bear. Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I want it?”

Suddenly, Wendy was sobbing, her face in her hands, her body shaking.

For few moments, Peter stood still, listening to Wendy cry. Then he turned toward her. Slowly he reached out a hand and rested it on her shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “you also have the help of an unusual red-haired boy.”

Wendy turned and flung her arms around him. For a few moments she held him as tightly as she could. Then she let him go, and they both looked away, blushing.

“Well,” said Wendy, “I’d better get some rest. I don’t suppose we’ll get much sleep tonight.”

“I don’t suppose so,” agreed Peter.

“Until tonight, then,” said Wendy, heading for the stairs.

“Until tonight,” said Peter.

A M
INOR
M
ISHAP

R
EVILE’S MEN WAITED
until after the three swords had been polished, so that the counterfeit would not be subject to close scrutiny. Acting as the King’s official representatives, they solemnly observed as the Crown Jeweler and his staff worked on the swords in a subterranean room in the tower of London’s Jewel House. When the work was done, they joined the procession of Yeoman Warders, or “Beefeaters,” transporting the swords back upstairs to their secure cases. Two of Revile’s men—a small man, and a tall man who walked a bit stiffly—went in front of the Beefeater who was carrying Curtana. The third man fell in behind.