Peter and the Sword of Mercy (5 page)

Molly flinched, remembering the dark, shifting shape that caused her and her family so much torment and terror. “Yes,” she whispered. “Ombra.”

“But what if he survived?” said James.

“No,” said Molly. “He was on the rocket. It was destroyed in the explosion.”

“Yes. But remember that Peter escaped that rocket. And so did his shadow. Perhaps Ombra did, too, somehow.”

“And you think he now controls von Schatten? That he has taken his shadow?”

“No,” said James. “That’s the curious thing. Von Schatten casts a shadow.”

“But wasn’t that how Ombra controlled people? By taking their shadows?”

“It was,” said James. “He did it to me, once.” James shuddered at the memory. “But this is something different. I think something happened to Ombra in the explosion, something that weakened him, left him unable to function on his own. I think he stayed down there, deep in the hole in the sand, in the dark, waiting. And when von Schatten came along, Ombra somehow…
inhabited
him, and now controls him.”

“But how can you know that?”

“I watched him in the palace, Molly. I got close to him only once; he keeps the palace staff at a distance, dealing with them through his assistant, an unpleasant man named Simon Revile. But I was able to observe von Schatten from a distance a number of times. He is always close to the king, and makes physical contact with him often.”

“He
touches
the king?”

“It’s very subtle—an elbow brushing an elbow, a hand resting for a moment on a shoulder. But once you know to look for it, you see it often. And each time, the king responds. Again, it’s subtle—a flutter of the eyelids, a slight twitch of the head. But it’s there, Molly; it’s definitely there. I think this contact is how Ombra, through von Schatten, is controlling the king.”

Molly shook her head. “I’m sorry, James,” she said. “But this is simply too far-fetched. Perhaps something did happen to von Schatten in Rundoon. Perhaps he has a strange relationship with the king. But to say that he’s being
inhabited
by that creature—how can you possibly know that?”

James leaned toward Molly, and when he spoke, his tone was urgent.

“I told you that on one occasion I managed to get close. I won’t go into the details of how I did it, save to say I’m fairly skilled at picking locks. And late one night, through some luck and some lying, I managed to get to the hallway outside the king’s bedchamber. The door was open and the hallway was dim; if I stood in the right place, I was able, without being seen myself, to observe the king, von Schatten, and Revile, and to overhear some of their conversation. Von Schatten did most of the talking, and he seemed to be talking to Revile—almost as if the king weren’t there.”

“Talking about what?”

“The king’s coronation,” said James. “Von Schatten was very concerned about the date. He stressed several times that they needed to have something ready for the coronation. Then he talked about something else, and I didn’t follow most of it, but it had something to do with Belgium, and the missing piece.”

“The missing piece of what?”

“I don’t know—only that von Schatten wants it found soon. He was speaking softly, and I was missing some of the words, so I decided to try to move a little closer. And that was when it happened.”

“What happened?”

“He
felt
me, Molly.”

“What?”

“He felt my presence. And…and I felt his. It was Ombra.”

“But how can you be certain?”

“Molly, Ombra took my shadow once; he controlled me. I shall never, as long as I live, forget that horrible feeling, the cold filling my body, and this…this unspeakable
evil
filling my mind. This was the same sensation, Molly. And the worst of it was that as I sensed him, he sensed
me.
He knew exactly who I was. I’m sure of it. He stopped talking immediately and walked quickly toward the doorway.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran. I admit it, Molly: I was terrified. I ran down the hallway and kept running until I was out of the palace. I felt such a coward. But I couldn’t help myself.…It was as if I were a boy again, a frightened little boy.”

“I don’t blame you at all,” said Molly, remembering her own experiences fleeing from the dark shape. “But what did you do then?”

“I went back to the Yard, first thing the next day,” said James. “My intention was to report to my superiors.” He smiled ruefully. “That did not go at all well.”

“What happened?”

“Molly, think about it. They’re police officers; they live in the world of crime and criminals. Of fact, and evidence. They know nothing about starstuff, or the Starcatchers, or the Others, or Ombra. When I tried to suggest to them that von Schatten was no ordinary man, that he was influenced by something evil, something inhuman, they looked at me as if I were a madman, or a child telling ghost stories. They don’t believe me, Molly. They would never believe me. I’m facing disciplinary action simply for having brought this up.”

“Oh dear,” said Molly. “How awful.”

James waved his hand. “My career at Scotland Yard doesn’t matter. This is far more important than that. Whatever von Schatten—or Ombra—intends to do, he must be stopped, Molly. And only the Starcatchers can stop him.”

“James, the few Starcatchers who are left are old and feeble.”

“But your father …”

“My father is very ill, James. He is in no condition, mentally or physically, to cope with something like this.”

“But there must be
somebody,”
said James.

Molly shook her head. “When the starstuff falls stopped, the group you knew as the Starcatchers gradually ceased to exist. Essentially there
are
no Starcatchers anymore, James.”

James studied her for a moment, then softly said, “There’s you, Molly.”

Molly shook her head. “I’m not a Starcatcher anymore, James. I’m a mother of three and the wife of a prominent barrister who does not approve of talk of starstuff and evil creatures and the like. Childhood fantasies, he calls them.”

“But they were
real,
Molly. Surely George knows that. He was
there,
at Stonehenge, in Rundoon. …”

“Yes,” said Molly. “He was there. But he is determined that we put that part of our lives behind us.”

“We can’t, Molly. It has come back. We must confront it.”

Again, Molly shook her head.

“I don’t think so, James,” she said. “I know you believe you felt something in the palace, but what if you were mistaken? I can’t just give up the life I’ve been leading all these years to chase after something you might have imagined.”

“I didn’t imagine it, Molly.”

Molly looked down. “I’m sorry, James,” she said. “I can’t.”

James stared at her for a moment, then said, “I can’t believe that Molly Aster would say such a thing.”

Molly looked up and met James’s gaze. “I’m not Molly Aster anymore,” she said. “I’m Mrs. George Darling.”

James looked at her for a few moments, then nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Then I’ll ask a favor of you.”

“Of course.”

“Just think about what I’ve told you tonight. Perhaps something will occur to you—someone else I could go to, someone who might be able to help.”

“But I don’t—”

“Please, Molly. I’ve nobody else to turn to. The coronation date is approaching. And I fear that von Schatten, now that he knows who I am, will use his position against me. Just give it one day of thought, Molly.”

“All right,” said Molly reluctantly. “I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” said James, rising. “I’ll come back tomorrow evening for your answer, if that would be all right.”

“All right,” said Molly, remembering that her husband had yet another social function the next evening. As she walked James to the door, she said, “Do you need a taxicab?”

“No,” said James, “I’ll take the Underground.”

“Do be careful, then,” she said. “Those awful disappearances …”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” said James.

He turned and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s good to see you again, Molly.”

“And you, James. Do you ever see the others? Prentiss? Thomas? Ted?”

“We get together from time to time,” said James.

“They’re all doing quite well. Ted, if you can believe it, is a fellow at Cambridge. Dr. Theodore Pratt.”

“Good for Ted,” she said. “Give them all my best.”

“I will,” said James. He hesitated, then said, “Do you ever think about…Peter?”

Molly blushed. “Sometimes,” she said. “And you?”

“Quite often,” he said. “I find myself wondering if I’ll ever see him again.”

“I don’t know,” said Molly slowly, “if that would be such a good thing, after all these years.”

James looked at her for a moment, then said, “Well, good night, then, Molly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” said Molly. “Tomorrow.”

James opened the door and stepped out into the fog-darkened London night; in a moment he was gone. Molly closed the door and stood looking at it, her mind swirling with troubled thoughts. She jumped at the sound of a footstep behind her.

“Wendy!” she said, turning to see her daughter at the base of the stairs. “What are you doing down here? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Wendy responded with questions of her own.

“Mother,” she said, “what is a Starcatcher?” She stepped forward, her green-eyed gaze fixed on her mother’s face.

“And who is Peter?”

T
HE
R
ESCUE

T
HREE MEN SPRAWLED
in a small white boat, adrift under a glaring sun. Only one of the three, a huge black man, was awake, his eyes scanning the vast empty sea. The other two were slumped over, dozing, the noon heat raising blisters on their already red backs. A fourth man was in the water behind the boat, clinging to the transom, seeking relief from the heat in the tepid tropical water.

The boat bore the name
Inganno.
Its sail, sewn of red-and-white-striped canvas, was meant to both move the boat and be visible to distant rescuers. But now it hung in tatters from a broken mast, useless. There were no oars; the boat bobbed in the gentle swells, carried by the current.

Suddenly the huge man, whose name was Cheeky O’Neal, sat up and pointed.

“What’s that?” he said.

One of the dozing men, whose name was Frederick DeWulf, raised himself up and squinted through a salt-crusted right eye. “Don’t see nothing,” he said.

“There!” said O’Neal, pointing toward a dark speck on the horizon. “That’s land!”

“Are we there yet?” said the other dozing man, Rufus Kelly, waking up from his nap.

“Paddle!” shouted O’Neal. DeWulf and Kelly leaned over the sides and started paddling with their bare hands. O’Neal turned to the man in the water, whose name was Angus McPherson, and said, “And you: kick!”

Propelled by the men, the boat began advancing, very slowly, toward the island. O’Neal’s gaze was riveted on the distant speck. Then he saw something else—something moving. He shaded his eyes for a better look.