Peter and the Sword of Mercy (34 page)

“Molly? Is that you?”

Molly sprang to her feet, her face pressed against the bars.
Could it possibly be …

“George?” she called out, much too loudly.

“HERE NOW!” shouted a guard’s gravelly voice from down the hall. “SHUT YER GOB OR I’LL COME DOWN THERE AND SHUT IT FOR YOU!”

Molly didn’t dare say any more. She could barely speak anyway. She clung to the bars with both hands to keep from falling as sobs racked her body, an outpouring of the emotion pent up over so many lonely days and nights.

Several long minutes passed. Then the whisper came again.

“Molly,” George said, “is that really you? Are you all right?”

It was several seconds before Molly had regained control enough to answer. Finally she whispered, “It is me, my love. I’m…I’m alive.”

George groaned. “Oh, Molly,” he whispered, “Please forgive me. I should have believed you…I …”

“Are the children all right?” interrupted Molly, fearing the guard would stop their conversation.

After a moment, George whispered, “They’re…fine.” His hesitation troubled Molly. She was about to probe when she heard footsteps coming rapidly down the tunnel.

“George,” she whispered urgently, “do you know Morse code?”

“Of course. Learned it from a friend of my father’s, chap named Robert Baden-Powell. Served in Her Majesty’s cavalry in …”

“George,”
she hissed. “I’ve been tapping to you in Morse code for
days.”

“Oh,” he said, sheepishly. “I thought that was the pipes.”

“No! It was—”

“I said SHUT YER GOBS,” bellowed the guard, stomping into view. “And since you didn’t listen, YOU’LL GET NO FOOD TODAY. If I hear ANOTHER WORD from either of you, you’ll get ME BOOT IN YOUR FACE.” The guard stomped off, but this time not far. He was clearly waiting, listening. George and Molly remained silent in their cells.

Hungry as she was, Molly didn’t care about the food. She’d survive a day without eating. She felt hope stirring again, after so many nights of despair. She was no longer alone. George was nearby, and even though they couldn’t talk, they could communicate. They would find a way to get out of this horrible place, to get back to their children. They had to.

Molly picked up the rock again and began tapping.

O
NE
L
IGHT
AND
O
NE
D
ARK

G
RANDFATHER! CAN YOU HEAR ME
?” Wendy bent over Leonard Aster’s gaunt, gray, apparently lifeless face. Peter, standing next to Wendy, was shocked to see this frail old man in place of the strong and courageous Starcatcher leader he once knew.

“Grandfather,
please,
wake up!” said Wendy.

“It’s no use, child,” said Mrs. Bumbrake softly. She stood in the doorway, dabbing at her eyes. “He’s been like this for days.”

From downstairs, they heard pounding on the big front door, and muffled shouts.

Neville appeared in the doorway, panting from hurrying up the stairs.

“I’ve locked all the doors,” he said. “The police are trying to get in.”

The pounding got louder.

“Sooner or later they’ll break down the door,” said Neville.

“Or come through a window,” said Peter.

“We’ve got to move Grandfather,” said Wendy.

“How will we get him out?” said Peter.

“Through the back door,” said Wendy.

“They’ll be waiting for us back there,” said Peter.

“What we need,” said Uncle Neville, “is a diversion.”

“A what?” said Peter.

“Mrs. Bumbrake,” said Uncle Neville, “do you have any flour?”

“Any
what?”
said Mrs. Bumbrake.

“Flour,” said Uncle Neville. “The kind you bake with.”

“There’s a sack in the kitchen, downstairs,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “But why …”

“What about candles?” said Uncle Neville.

“Also in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “But…”

“No time to explain!” said Uncle Neville. To Wendy and Peter, he said, “Bring Leonard down to the rear door.” Then he was gone. As he left, Tink zoomed into the room.

Bad man,
she chimed to Peter.

“I know,” he said. “The police.”

Not the police,
she chimed. A
very bad man.

Peter wanted to ask more, but Wendy was tugging his arm.

“We’ll have to carry Grandfather,” said Wendy.

“No,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “He’s too weak!”

A crashing sound echoed through the house.

“We have to try!” said Wendy, slipping an arm under Leonard’s shoulders. “Take hold of his legs.” As Peter and Mrs. Bumbrake stepped forward, Leonard moaned.

“He’s waking up!” said Mrs. Bumbrake. Leonard’s eyes fluttered open, focused on Wendy, then Peter and Tink, then back on Wendy. The faintest of smiles formed on his lips, and in a voice so weak they could barely hear it, he said, “You found him.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” said Wendy, tears welling in her eyes. “I found him.”

They wouldn’t be here without me,
chimed Tink.

“Yes, of course,” whispered Leonard, who was the only human being other than Peter who understood Tink. “Thank you, Tinker Bell.” He reached a thin, bony hand toward Peter. “We need your help,” he said. “Don’t let them …” He coughed, then with effort regained his breath. “The Cache. Confess …” He coughed again, unable to stop this time, his body curling up in pain.

Another crash downstairs, louder than before. Footsteps on the stairs. John appeared in the doorway, breathless.

“Uncle Neville says you must come down to the kitchen right now!” he shouted, then turned and ran back downstairs.

Wendy leaned over her grandfather and said, “Grandfather, the police are here.”

His eyes widened. “No,” he whispered. “You must go.” There was another crash, and the sound of wood splintering.

“Lo…Lock …” said Leonard, his trembling hands reaching under the neck of his nightgown. Wendy saw a bit of fine gold chain in his fingers.

“He’s got a locket!” she said. She helped her grandfather pull the locket out from under the nightgown. It was identical to the locket her mother had given her. “It’s starstuff!” she cried.

“Use it,” gasped Leonard. “Now. Get away.” His shaking hands fumbled with the clasp.

“Here, let me,” said Wendy, taking the locket in her hands. She undid the clasp. A glowing sphere of light surrounded her hands, and everyone in the room—despite the peril of the situation—felt a sense of exhilaration and well-being.

“Are you going to use it?” said Peter.

“No,” said Wendy firmly. “Grandfather is.”

Hearing this, Leonard reached his hand out to stop Wendy, but he was too late. With a flick of her wrist she overturned the locket. Instantly the room blazed with brightness as a shower of brilliant light poured onto the old man’s face and chest. Wendy, Peter, and Mrs. Bumbrake turned away, closing their eyes, hearing strange and wonderful music in the air. It was ten seconds before they were able to reopen their eyes, and when they did, Leonard was no longer in the bed; instead he stood before them in his nightgown. He was as gaunt as ever, but his once-pale skin now glowed with ruddy health, and his eyes were clear and alert.

“That starstuff wasn’t for me,” he told Wendy. “That was for
you.”

“We’re not leaving you here,” she said.

“I appreciate that, Wendy, but my time is done, and you must…”

He was cut off by a resounding crash downstairs, and the sound of splintering wood.

“Maybe we should argue about this later,” said Peter.

“All right,” said Leonard, once again in command. “Let’s go.” He started for the door, stopped, and said “Just a moment.” He went to his massive oak wardrobe, opened it, and pulled out a sword. He brandished it, his eyes shining.

“Now we’re ready,” he said. “Like old times, eh, Peter?”

“Yes, sir!” said Peter.

“Come on, then,” said Leonard, moving quickly out the door, followed by the other three. At the bottom of the stairs they stopped to look toward the front door. As they did, it shuddered with a loud crash and the men outside heaved against it.

“It won’t hold much longer,” said Leonard. “Tink, go outside and have a look at the back door. We’ll meet you down in the kitchen.”

Yes, sir,
chimed Tink, streaking to the main fireplace and up the chimney.

Leonard shepherded Mrs. Bumbrake, Wendy, and Peter onto the kitchen stairs. He followed them, stopping on the top step to push a heavy door closed, then lock it.

“I had this door installed long ago, when I thought I might need to barricade the family in the basement,” he said. “Never needed it until now. It’s stronger than the front door. They won’t get through it any time soon.”

There was a thunderous crash from the other side of the door, and the sound of shouting and heavy shoes tromping on the wooden floors.

“They’re in the house,” said Leonard. “We’d best get down to the kitchen.”

In the kitchen they found John and Michael with Uncle Neville, who had set a large cloth sack of flour in the middle of the floor.

“Hello, Leonard,” said Neville. “You’re looking well.”

“Thank you, Neville,” said Leonard. “Nice to see you. Why have you put a flour sack on the floor?”

“To make a bomb,” said Neville.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Bumbrake.

“Uncle Neville’s gonna splode the kitchen!” said Michael.

“It’s explode, you ninny,” said John.

“That’s what I
said,”
said Michael.

There was pounding on the door at the top of the kitchen stairs.

“What do you mean, a bomb?” said Leonard.

“Flour particles,” said Neville. “If you get enough of them suspended in the air, then introduce a flame”—he waved an unlit candle and a box of matches—“you get quite a dramatic explosion. I’ve done some experiments on my estate. Lost a building, in fact. Fortunately, no one was in it at the time.”

“Oh dear,” repeated Mrs. Bumbrake.

The pounding on the stairway door intensified.

“So your plan is to set off the explosion
here?”
said Leonard, peering down at the flour sack.

“Precisely,” said Neville. “We tromp on the flour, like so.” He brought his right foot down on the flour sack, which blew out a cloud of flour directly onto Leonard, covering him head to toe in white.

“Sorry!” said Neville.

“Quite all right,” said Leonard, brushing at the flour ineffectively. “Go on.”

“Yes,” said Neville. “By tramping on the sack, we fill the air with flour particles. Then we nip into the pantry over there and toss a lighted candle into the kitchen. This will cause an explosion. In the ensuing confusion, we make our escape!”

Neville looked around the room, pleased with his plan. The others were less enthusiastic.

“I’m not sure,” said Wendy, “exactly how …”

She stopped as Tink zoomed in through the kitchen-fireplace chimney, chiming excitedly.

“Interesting,” said Leonard.

“What is it?” said Wendy.

“The policemen,” said Peter. “There’s only three upstairs, pounding on the door.” He pointed toward the stairway, which echoed with the sound of continual pounding. “The rest are all waiting outside the back door.” He pointed toward the hallway that led to the back door.

“Why aren’t they trying to get in by the back door, then?” said Wendy.

“It’s a trap,” said Leonard. “They
want
us to run out the back door, into their clutches.”

“Should we try to go upstairs?” said Wendy.

“There are three men that way,” said Leonard. “We
might
be able to fight our way through, but …” He trailed off, looking at Mrs. Bumbrake and the two boys.