Peter and the Sword of Mercy (21 page)

“Stop the digging immediately,” von Schatten said. “I will be there shortly.”

“Yes, Baron,” said the guard. He scurried back down the corridor.

Von Schatten turned to the Skeleton, and once again his thin lips writhed into a ghastly smile.

“It appears you arrived at an opportune time,” he said. “You bring the tip of Curtana, and now we appear to have broken through to the chamber. That give us two legs of the tripod. We now need only the third leg, and we shall have it soon enough, thanks to our friend in the palace.”

“Still,” rasped the Skeleton, “you run the risk of discovery here, so close to the Underground.”

“We are well hidden,” said von Schatten. “We are protected by powerful friends in the police force. No one knows of our efforts here except, of course, the guards, who are well aware that their lives are worthless if they betray us.”

“What about the prisoners?” said the Skeleton.

“We will not need them much longer,” said von

Schatten. “When their usefulness expires, they will be eliminated.”

“Perhaps,” said the Skeleton, “you will allow me to carry out that task.”

Von Schatten’s lips twitched. “You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” rasped the Skeleton, and Scarlet shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Very well, then,” said von Schatten. “When their work is done, they will be yours. Now let us observe as they finish digging their graves.”

Von Schatten and the Skeleton started down the corridor. Behind them, Scarlet hesitated. She had been promised great deal of money for her expertise, which had been critical in finding the tip of Curtana. But now that the tip was found, had her usefulness also expired? She thought about the woman in the cell only yards away. Suddenly she was seized by the urge to run, to forget the money and get out of this underground hell. Could she escape? Would she be able to get past the guards? And even if she did, would they …

“Scarlet!” the angry rasp of the Skeleton’s voice jolted her back to the moment. She saw that von Schatten and the Skeleton had stopped and were looking back at her.

“Are you coming?” rasped the Skeleton.

Scarlet half-turned toward the exit corridor, her body tense, on the edge of running. But she could not get past that edge. She sagged, then slowly turned and began walking toward the two dark figures.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m coming.”

Molly had heard every word; a trick of acoustics carried sound perfectly from the wooden table to her cell. Molly had listened with increasing dismay to von Schatten’s conversation with the two visitors. Now, as they walked away, she tried to piece together the meaning of what she had overheard.

The strangers had brought von Schatten the tip of something, the name of which Molly did not recognize. But she recognized the name of the city it had been found in: Aachen. That triggered a memory in Molly. James said he had overheard von Schatten talking about a “missing piece” that had something to do with Germany. Aachen, Molly knew, was in Germany. Apparently the strangers had brought von Schatten his missing piece.

Whatever that piece was, it was one of three things von Schatten needed—the “legs of the tripod,” he called them. Apparently he also had the second leg—a chamber, close by, which must be what James, Thomas, and the other prisoners had been digging for. As for the third leg, Molly had no idea what it was, other than that von Schatten expected to have it soon.

That was bad enough. Much worse was the discussion about the fate of the prisoners.

When their usefulness expires,
von Schatten had said,
they will be eliminated.

Molly wondered how soon that would be. Tomorrow? Today? In the next hour?

She peered through the cell window. She had done this a thousand times, but this time she focused her attention on the wooden supports that held up the tunnel. Her gaze then went to the boards that formed her cell floor. She went to the wall of her cell and dug her finger into the dirt, grabbing the end of the widest board. She grunted and pulled with all her strength. With a sucking sound, the end of the board came up. Spiders and centipedes, disturbed by the board being moved, scurried across the mud. Molly jumped back. The board was oak, thick and sturdy.

Molly again moved to the door and examined the tunnel supports outside her cell. They appeared to have been constructed hastily, for temporary use. She looked down again at the loose floorboard, then at the steel bars across the cell window.

Molly looked both ways down the corridor. She saw nobody. She lifted the floorboard, slipped it quietly through the bars, and went to work.

L
IFELINE

T
HE ORNITHOPTER’S MOTOR
was coughing more often now. Sometimes it belched three or four times, the big feather wings jerking in hesitation, before finally the engine roared back to life.

Each time this happened, Wendy worried the engine might not come back. Her mood was not helped by her discomfort. Her legs ached from standing on the tiny platform; her hands ached from gripping the ornithopter control levers. She was thoroughly cold now, shivering almost constantly in the chilly, damp ocean air. She had managed to eat some bread and cheese, but when she’d tried to drink some water, the bottle had slipped from her aching hand and fallen into the sea far below.

Again and again she peered ahead, blinking into the rushing wind, searching the horizon for the dark shape of land. Again and again she saw only the dark green sea, stretching away. Her only reassurance came from the sight of the porpoises. Thank goodness: there was always one below, and always another waiting for her ahead.

The day was cloudy, so most of the time she could not tell the location of the sun, nor her direction of travel. From what glimpses of the sun she did manage, she figured that the porpoises were now leading her southwest. Uncle Neville had guessed that the motor had three or four hours’ worth of fuel. Wendy didn’t know exactly how long she’d been aloft, but she was quite sure it was already longer than four hours. She glanced constantly at the fuel tank, each time patting the locket around her neck.

The engine coughed again, this time longer than ever, and when it started up again the roar was more of a sputter. Then more coughing. The wings hesitated and jerked. The ornithopter, though still flapping, was starting to descend.

This is it,
thought Wendy.

She leaned forward and grabbed the filler cap on the top of the fuel tank. She gave it a counterclockwise twist. The cap did not budge.

The engine coughed again, and again, and this time it kept coughing. The ornithopter, its wings beating very slowly now, began descending at a steeper angle.

Fighting panic, Wendy gripped the cap and twisted it as hard as she could. Still it did not budge. She let go of the control lever and put both hands on the filler cap. The engine’s sputter was more silence than combustion now. Out of the corners of her eyes Wendy saw the dark sea below drawing closer and closer. She gritted her teeth and with a desperate grunt yanked at the cap. This time it gave.

The engine stopped, belched, and then sputtered again ever more weakly. Wendy could hear the waves below. She spun the cap off and tucked it into the pocket of her coat. She braced herself against the ornithopter frame. With cold-stiffened fingers, she reached behind her and fumbled with the clasp of her locket. The wave tops were near. From somewhere below came the urgent chitter of a porpoise:
Up! Up!

The engine wheezed and shuddered violently, clearly about to die. With a jerk, Wendy pulled the locket from her neck, breaking the chain. She leaned forward, holding the locket toward the fuel tank’s opening. With her thumb, she flicked the locket open.

Instantly the air was filled with light, and Wendy was no longer cold, or scared, or anything bad at all. In fact, despite her desperate predicament, she felt wonderful. The source of this feeling was a radiant golden sphere of light that now enveloped the locket and her hand, from there infusing her whole body with a sense of calm and well-being. And that melodious sound…Was that
bells?

Up! Up!

The urgent warning brought her back to the moment. She saw the porpoise now, directly below her, only yards away. The sputtering ornithopter was in free fall, its wings barely moving. Forcing herself to concentrate, Wendy tilted the locket over the fuel tank. A thin stream of golden light poured into the hole. A second later, the sputtering engine came to life. But this time, instead of the clackety roar she had been listening to for hours, it emitted a smooth, almost pleasant, hum.

Up! Up! Up!

Wendy snapped the locket closed with one hand and pulled the altitude lever with the other. The ornithopter responded instantly, swooping upward as its big wings beat in powerful whooshes. As it rose, Wendy carefully pushed the locket down into her coat pocket. She retrieved the fuel cap and tightened it over the tank opening. The ornithopter, its motor humming happily, continued rising swiftly and easily, flying far faster now than it had before. Soon Wendy was again soaring high above the limitless sea. Below and well behind her was the porpoise that had warned her to stay up. She waved; the porpoise leaped high in response, then was gone. Wendy looked ahead and found her next guide, waiting patiently.

She allowed herself a tiny smile. As she’d hoped, the starstuff had held her aloft. And she felt fantastic; the warmth still filled her; a vibrant energy had replaced her exhaustion.

But it would not last. She could already feel the effects of the starstuff diminishing. In time she would have to pour more into the fuel tank. How soon would that be? How much starstuff was left in the locket? How far away was the island? And what would she do when night fell? How would she see her porpoise guides? Assuming that she made it to nightfall …

As each new question popped into Wendy’s mind, her confidence diminished. She put her hand into her pocket and gripped the locket, feeling its reassuring warmth. Her eyes went back to the horizon, searching for a hint, a promise of land. She saw nothing.

She tightened her grip on the locket, her lifeline, her only hope.

T
UG-O
’-W
AR

P
IRATE
C
OVE LOOKED LIKE
a giant spiderweb. Arranged around its shore were eleven pulleys, some suspended from palm trees, others from ropes stretched tightly between trees and rocks. Connecting these were long runs of rope, strung through the pulleys and coming together in the middle of the cove, where Mollusk divers had tied the ropes together beneath the hull of the sailing ship De
Vliegen.
The ship, which had a huge hole in its hull, had sat on the bottom for more than twenty years, with only its masts sticking out of the water.