Peter and the Sword of Mercy (45 page)

“H
E SEEMS TO WANT MORE
”

N
EREZZA GLARED AT SHINING PEARL
. “This is another one of the chief’s daughters?” he said.

“Yes,” said O’Neal. “She freed the other children; they escaped. That means the Mollusks will be up here soon.”

“Then we will leave now. We’re almost ready.” Nerezza nodded toward the pool. His men were hauling ropes, carefully raising the chest from the bottom. It had been filled with starstuff and locked shut. The divers were stripping off their golden suits.

“We can’t leave now,” said O’Neal.

“Why not?”

“Follow me.”

O’Neal grabbed a torch and led Nerezza toward the mouth of the cave. When they were ten feet from it, he stopped.

“Look there,” he said, pointing.

“What?” said Nerezza, peering into the darkness outside the cave.

O’Neal took two more steps toward the mouth. From the darkness came a deep growl.

Then Nerezza saw the huge glowing yellow eyes, the massive snout.

“What
is
that?” he said.

“A crocodile,” said O’Neal. “A very
big
crocodile. The natives call him Mister Grin.”

“Where’s the guard I posted?” said Nerezza.

“Inside Mister Grin,” said O’Neal. “He seems to want more.”

Nerezza stared at the monster, pondering his options. He had no firearms; he hadn’t expected to need them. He could order one of his men to make a run for it in an attempt to lure Mister Grin away. But he doubted that any man would be fool enough to follow such an order.

“We’ll have to wait, then,” he said. “It has to go away eventually.”

“By then the Mollusks will be here,” said O’Neal. “If they’re not here already.”

Nerezza pondered that, then said, “I assume the chief is fond of his daughter?”

“Yes.”

“In that case,” said Nerezza, “she may be useful.”

V
ERY
W
ARM

I
T TOOK PETER, WENDY
, and the others the better part of two hours to reach Westminster Abbey. After leaving the Scotland Landing through the back door, they took an indirect route, Magill leading them south on a zigzag course through pitch-black alleys until they reached the Thames. They then followed the embankment east and north, past rundown buildings and docks. Occasionally they were approached by rough-looking characters, sometimes in groups; but they quickly melted back into the fog upon catching sight of the large figure of Magill, and the even larger figure of Karl shuffling along in an overcoat and bowler hat.

Just as Big ben tolled eleven, they reached the area of the riverbank below the abbey, which was hidden from them by the dense fog that had settled over the river. As they had agreed, the others stayed there while Peter flew ahead. Launching himself upward into the fog, Peter keenly felt the absence of Tink. Ordinarily she would be flying just ahead of him, leading the way with her reassuring glow. But now he was forced to find his way, flying tentatively with his hands in front of him, almost feeling his way in the fog. Finally, through the gloom ahead, he saw the abbey’s two front towers.

He descended carefully, landing on the edge of a steeply sloped roof behind the towers. He listened for a minute, then, hearing nothing aside from the traffic on the street in front of the abbey, lowered himself to the ground. He looked around for police or guards, and, seeing none, began to make his way around the vast building. He found what looked like the front door—a massive thing—but, not surprisingly, it was locked. He kept going, again wishing he had Tink to help him. Slowly he worked his way around the building. He came to another big, locked door. He kept going, and finally, in a dark corner at the rear, he came to a smaller door. It, too, was locked. But it was what he was looking for.

He flew back down to the river, finding the others shivering in the fog. He led them on foot back up to the door at the rear of the abbey. Magill studied it for a moment, then said, “All right.”

Magill growled something. Karl lumbered over, rose up on his hind legs, put his massive forepaws against the door, and pushed. The door burst open with a crash and the sound of metal snapping.

“Good boy,” said Magill.

Patrick went inside, followed by the others, Magill and Karl bringing up the rear. They were in a hallway, and then a vast, echoing, dimly lit space. Peter gasped at its grandeur—magnificent stone columns in the center, and towering arches leading up to majestic windows and a ceiling that seemed as high as the sky itself.

“Someone’s coming!” hissed Wendy.

In fact, it was two someones—a pair of night watchmen, one stocky and one stockier, both clutching electric torches as they trotted toward the group, heavy shoes clomping on the stone floor.

“Here now!” shouted the less stocky one. “Stop!”

This command was unnecessary, as nobody in the group was moving. They stood waiting in the gloom as the watchmen clomped up.

“Here now!” said the stockier one, puffing. “The abbey is closed!”

“We regret the intrusion,” said Patrick. “But we’re here on an important matter that simply can’t wait.”

“The abbey is closed!” repeated the watchman. He was very firm on this point.

“How did you get in?” demanded the less stocky one.

“Through that door back there,” said Patrick, gesturing.

“That door’s locked!” said the watchman. “I locked it myself.”

“Indeed you did,” said Patrick.

“We’ll see what the police have to say about this,” said the stockier one.

“We would prefer that you didn’t,” said Patrick.

“Is that so?” said the watchman, turning. He then emitted a most unwatchmanlike yelp, for he had turned directly into the massive hairy bulk of Karl, who had circled around in the gloom and, on padded feet the size of dinner plates, come up silently behind him. The other watchman then turned and emitted a similar sound. The two men stood staring at the bear.

“Now then,” Patrick said reasonably. “Why don’t you two gentlemen sit on that bench over there? Karl here will keep you company.”

Magill stepped forward and, taking the watchmen by their arms, led them to an oak bench against a wall. He grunted something to Karl, who curled up on the stone floor in front of the watchmen and immediately began snoring.

“You’ll be fine, long as you don’t move,” Magill told the watchmen. “If you move, you’ll wake him up. And believe me, you don’t want to wake him up.” He walked away, leaving the two men frozen as still as the abbey’s stone columns.

The group spread out and began the daunting task of searching the abbey’s many spaces, large and small—its chapels, statues, monuments, and memorials—hoping to find some clue, some sign of where the Cache might be hidden. But at the end of an hour they had seen nothing that a million tourists had not seen before them. A feeling of hopelessness was beginning to settle over them.

They had left St. Edmund’s Chapel and were trudging into St. Benedict’s Chapel when Wendy felt a strange sensation on her right-hand side. She reached her hand into her pocket. Then she stopped.

“Wait,” she said.

“What is it?” said Peter.

Wendy withdrew her hand. In it she held the locket her mother had given her, the one she had torn from her neck so she could pour its starstuff into the fuel tank of Neville’s ornithopter. She had stuck it into her pocket then and kept it with her since.

“It’s warm,” she said.

“What is it?” said Patrick, peering at the locket.

“It’s a starstuff locket,” said Peter. “I remember Mol—your mother wore one like it.”

“It’s that same locket,” said Wendy. “She gave it to me. And something’s making it warm.”

“Let’s see if you can make it warmer,” said Peter. “Try moving this way.” He walked toward the part of the abbey known as Poets’ Corner. Wendy followed him.

“No,” she said. “It’s getting colder.”

Peter turned and led her past some columns toward the sanctuary.

“Warmer,” she said. “Much.”

They reached the sanctuary. “It’s very warm now,” said Wendy, her voicing rising in excitement. Her eyes fell on the high altar. She turned toward it, then started walking quickly toward it. She drew close, then went around and past it. Ten feet behind the altar, she stopped. She was standing next to a large, ornate shrine.

She held the locket toward it. It glowed like fire.

“It’s under here!” she said. “I can almost feel the locket pulling my hand downward.”

“Fascinating,” said Patrick.

“What is?” said Ted.

“This is the shrine to Edward the Confessor, containing his remains,” said Patrick. “Stands to reason it would be located over the Confessor’s original tomb.”

Ted was studying the area around the shrine. “I see no evidence that this floor has been tampered with, do you?” he said.

The others looked, and agreed that the area appeared undisturbed.

“So if the Cache is, in fact, buried beneath this,” said Ted, “it’s obvious that von Schatten hasn’t tried to get at it from here. It would be an awfully messy job, impossible to do unnoticed.”

The others nodded.

“So,” said Patrick, “if they’re not getting to it from here in the abbey …”

“They must be getting to it from underneath,” said Ted.

“A tunnel,” said Neville. “Clever!”

“But wouldn’t that also be a massive undertaking?” said Patrick. “To tunnel beneath the abbey?”

“Indeed it would,” said Neville. “It would require a great deal of time and manpower.”

“The missing Londoners!” exclaimed Ted.

“What?” said Neville.

“It’s been going on for months,” said Ted. “People missing from the Underground. All from the District Line.”

“Are you suggesting,” said Patrick, “that von Schatten is using these missing people to dig a tunnel?”

“I am,” answered Ted. “The Westminster Bridge station is a stone’s throw from here. And it’s on the District Line.”

There were a few seconds of silence, as everyone stared at the abbey’s stone floor.

“So,” said Patrick, “let’s have a look ’round the Underground, shall we?”

T
ONIGHT

S
ILENT AS A SHADOW
, von Schatten glided down the tunnel, followed by the plodding Revile. Molly, gaunt and haggard, watched him through the barred window of her cell. For hours, she and George—they’d gotten very good at Morse code—had been tapping hasty messages to each other when they thought it was safe, discussing the unusual level of activity in the tunnel. Some of it was quite puzzling—especially the men who had passed through an hour earlier, unspooling the two fat black cables that now snaked along the tunnel floor. And now von Schatten had come. Something was up.

As von Schatten reached Molly’s cell, he stopped and looked in. Molly stared into his dark lenses, willing herself not to back away.