Peter and the Sword of Mercy (49 page)

Gripping the bag firmly, he lifted it toward Peter.

A tiny head appeared, poking out of the top.

Von Schatten squeezed the sack. Tink grimaced. A high, plaintive chime cut through the sound of the fighting, cut through to Peter’s heart.

“No,” he said. “Please.”

“Come here,” said von Schatten.

Peter sank to the ground, his eyes on the tiny head poking out of the sack in von Schatten’s hand. Tink looked awful, her usual glowing color replaced by a dull, ashen gray. She saw him starting toward von Schatten.

No,
she chimed.
Get away. He will kill you.

Peter stopped.

Von Schatten held Tink down on the workbench with his left hand. With his right, he raised the sword over her. He looked at Peter.

“Come here,” he repeated.

No!

Ignoring Tink’s desperate chimes, Peter took a step, then another. He saw movement to the right, behind von Schatten. Suddenly he realized it was James. Peter forced himself not to react. He took another step forward. Another. He had almost reached the bench. He could see that James was very close to von Schatten, tensing to attack.

With impossible speed, von Schatten spun, bringing the sword around. The flat side caught James in the forehead with a sickening sound. James fell to the ground, blood gushing from his head.

Von Schatten turned quickly back toward Peter. The sword was again poised over the helpless form of Tink.

“Come here,” he said, a third time.

Peter hesitated. Von Schatten raised the sword. Peter stepped forward. He had reached the bench.

“Closer,” said von Schatten.

Peter edged around the bench. He was now next to von Schatten.

“Put your hand on the bench,” said von Schatten.

No!
chimed Tink.

“If you don’t,” said von Schatten, “she will die right now.”

Peter put his hand on the bench, next to Tink. He feared von Schatten would cut his hand off, but what actually happened was almost worse. With a sudden motion, von Schatten set the sword down and put his hand on Peter’s. Peter’s mind told him to pull his hand free, but his body would not allow him to move. He felt the awful cold seeping into him, paralyzing him as he was inhabited by the evil presence he had felt before, during a desperate struggle inside a rocket hurtling over a faraway land.

Ombra.

Peter heard a groaning voice, but it did not come from von Schatten’s lips; it came from inside his own mind.

You did not kill me in the desert,
the voice said.
You weakened me, so I must inhabit this host, this flesh that was once von Schatten. But you did not kill me, boy, and you did not defeat our cause. When I am finished with you, I will retrieve the chest; have no doubt of that. Do you think your pathetic little band can defeat me? No, I will have the starstuff, from here and from the island you so love. But first I will put an end to you, and your precious little friend. You should have listened to her. You should have escaped. Now you will die. And the last thing you will know is this: you failed.

Peter tried to pull his hand away, but it would not move, would not even twitch. He felt the cold deepening, felt his consciousness draining away. The room seemed to be getting darker. He was no longer able to hear the sounds of the fighting still going on by the tunnel entrance. His head slumped forward. He could now see only the ground by von Schatten’s feet.

Behind them, he saw movement.

It was James.

Somehow, despite the awful wound to his head, James had regained consciousness. He was crawling toward von Schatten. Peter felt a pang of despair, knowing that his brave friend would be killed in this hopeless effort. As the light faded from his eyes, Peter watched James, using his elbows, drag himself forward.

He was holding something. Something in each hand, in fact. Something metal, attached to something black. That was also what Peter saw, before blackness engulfed him.

Von Schatten, his attention on Peter, did not see James; did not see him clench his hands to open the clamps; did not notice anything until James, with his last ounce of strength, lunged forward and attached the clamps to von Schatten’s legs.

The underground chamber echoed with an unearthly high-pitched moan that seemed to come from everywhere as von Schatten’s body, 600 volts coursing through it, went rigid and fell backward. Peter, suddenly released, groaned and slumped to the ground. He lay there for a few seconds, and then heard a familiar sound—Tink chiming in his ear.

Get up! Get up!

Peter rolled over. He screamed at the ghastly sight only inches from his face: Von Schatten lay twitching on his back, smoke pouring from his clothes as his flesh burned with a stomach-turning stench. The worst was his face. His eyeglasses had melted, forming two black rivers down his gaunt cheeks. Left exposed were his eyes, which were not eyes at all, but two gaping holes in the center of his skull, revealing nothing inside but a red glow. Wisps of smoke drifted upward from the holes.

Peter turned away, trying not to vomit as he struggled to his feet.

This way,
chimed Tink.
Hurry.
As always, she was ahead, leading the way, although Peter could see she was weak and flying erratically.

“Wait a moment,” he called. “I have to get James.”

He bent and grabbed James’s hands, pulling him to his feet. His childhood friend was now a grown man a foot taller than Peter, but had been so badly starved that they weighed nearly the same. Peter put James’s arm around his shoulder and together they followed Tink. She led them to the right, toward Magill, who was getting the better of Mauch and Coben. Karl was not doing as well. He had tried, over and over, to use his massive size and strength against the Skeleton, but each time he had been rewarded only with a jolt of excruciating pain. The old bear was tiring, and weakening. The Skeleton was coming ever closer.

Magill had just knocked Mauch hard to the ground—apparently for good—and had grabbed Coben in a headlock. He shot a glance at Karl, then yelled to Peter, “Get to the train! I’ll help Karl finish this lot, and we’ll be right behind.”

Peter thought about arguing, but decided that, in their current condition, he and James would be useless against the Skeleton, more hindrance than help to Magill. He glanced back at von Schatten’s smoldering body. The two columns of smoke coming from his eye sockets seemed to be thickening. Peter felt a twinge of dread.

Holding James up, he stumbled toward the tunnel, Tink leading the way. Peter noticed that some of the guards who’d been beaten down by Karl and Magill in their initial charge were groaning and shifting on the ground, starting to revive.

“Wait a moment,” whispered James.

“What?” said Peter.

“Keys,” said James, pointing toward one of the guards. Peter saw he had a ring of keys on a belt hook. “The other prisoners,” said James.

Peter bent over, snatched the keys and hooked them onto the frayed piece of rope that served as James’s belt. He slung James’s arm over his shoulder. As they entered the tunnel, Peter was intensely aware of the sounds of struggle behind them, and Karl’s roars of pain. He wondered about his decision to leave, but did not look back.

He had not remembered the tunnel being so long. His legs were weak, and it was an effort to keep James upright. Twice they stumbled badly. The third time, they fell.

Get up,
chimed Tink.
Hurry.

“Come on, James,” said Peter, struggling with his friend.

“I don’t think I can,” said James. “You go ahead.”

“No,” said Peter.

“Let me help,” said a soft voice, and then Wendy was bending down next to Peter. Tink was right behind her, and Peter realized how weak she was; she hadn’t even managed to say anything unpleasant about Wendy.

They managed to get James back to his feet and, supporting both his arms, started down the tunnel again. Tink, too tired to fly farther, settled into Peter’s hair.

“It’s just ahead,” said Wendy. “Next to the cells where they have my parents. We’re going to pull the doors free, but we don’t dare until everyone is safely through, because the tunnel will collapse. We’re hoping to block von Schatten from following us.”

“What about the starstuff?” said Peter.

“Neville and Ted have gone ahead with the dolly. They’re going to load it onto the train. Neville thinks he can figure out how to drive it. I hope he’s right.”

In another fifty feet they came to Patrick, standing in the tunnel next to George’s cell. He held the end of a plank that George had handed him through the cell window. The other end was wedged behind a tunnel support post next to the door.

“There you are, Peter,” he said as they approached. “We’re ready to go here.”

“But not until Magill gets here,” said Peter. “Wendy, can you help James get to the train?”

“I want to stay here with my parents,” said Wendy.

“Wendy,” said George firmly. “Help James. He needs you.”

“All right,” said Wendy. “But I’m coming right back.” She took James’s arm and started helping him down the tunnel toward the train.

“Where are Magill and Karl?” said Patrick.

“They should be here soon,” said Peter, trying to sound confident. He looked back up the tunnel, a silent plea in his thoughts.

Please come soon.

Magill had defeated Mauch and Coben; they lay in the dirt, unconscious and bleeding. He glanced at Revile and Scarlet; they had not moved from the wall. Magill turned now to help Karl. The big bear was still valiantly trying to attack the Skeleton, but Magill saw he was seriously weakened, and would not last much longer. Magill knew he could not allow himself to get within reach of the Skeleton’s claws. He looked around for a weapon. His gaze stopped at the workbench. On it lay the Sword of Mercy.

He ran over and grabbed the sword. Gripping it with both hands, he took three quick steps toward the Skeleton, who was about to make another lunge at the flagging Karl. Magill swung the sword, aiming for the Skeleton’s neck. The Skeleton somehow sensed it coming, ducking and whirling with astonishingly quickness, at the same time darting a deadly stump of a hand out at Magill. Thanks to the sword, Magill was just far enough away that it missed him.

The next minute saw a deadly dance—Magill and the Skeleton circling, Magill thrusting the sword, the Skeleton countering with his hands, neither gaining an advantage. As he circled, Magill assessed the situation. He was tiring, and Karl would soon be too weak to be effective. They needed to get out of the chamber. He began to maneuver his way toward the tunnel entrance, growling at Karl to follow. The Skeleton saw what he was doing and tried to block him, but Magill was steadily gaining ground. He and Karl managed to reach the tunnel mouth. Four of the six guards were now conscious, but in no mood to fight; they scrambled away as Karl growled at them. Magill and the bear entered the tunnel, Magill walking backward, still fending off the Skeleton with the sword.

Suddenly the chamber was filled with a furious sound, a groan that seemed to come from the earth itself. The Skeleton stopped and turned. Magill, looking past his foe, saw a chilling sight. The two columns of smoke pouring from the empty eye sockets of von Schatten’s body had united into a thick, swirling column, which was now forming unto the unmistakable shape of a dark cloaked figure, with a hooded head and glowing red orbs for eyes. It towered over von Schatten’s corpse, yet still seemed to be attached to it.

It groaned again, and with a dark snakelike arm, pointed toward the electrical cables clamped to the feet of the corpse.

The Skeleton understood. He turned and swiftly moved back to the body. Magill knew he should run, but he could not take his eyes off the spectacle.

The Skeleton was beckoning toward Revile and Scarlet. They cowered against the far wall, fearful of the dark thing now filling the center of the chamber. The Skeleton beckoned again, more insistently. Reluctantly, they approached. The Skeleton rasped something to them—Magill couldn’t hear it. They looked at each other.

“Do it!” rasped the Skeleton, loud enough for Magill to hear.

They knelt on the floor. Each carefully took hold of one of the thick black electrical cables.