Peter and the Sword of Mercy

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  The stream swung to the right. O’Neal felt his way around the bend. Suddenly the darkness gave way to a luminescence; the air was no longer ink black. O’Neal shuffled forward twenty feet. Another bend. He rounded it.

  And then, in the distance, he saw it.

  A constant, golden glow. Like sunshine. But warmer than sunshine. And coming from somewhere—it seemed from the air itself—he heard…music.

  O’Neal smiled.

  CHAPTER 13

  UNCLE NEVILLE

  ORDINARILLY, WENDY WOULD HAVE BEEN thrilled to visit her uncle Neville, a magistrate with a large estate in Cambridgeshire. He was often described as an eccentric, but to Wendy and her two brothers he was the only grown-up they knew who acted more like them than like a grown-up.

  Uncle Neville, whose full name was Neville Plonk-Fenster, considered himself an amateur scientist. He was always conducting experiments, some of which blew up buildings. Fortunately he was rich and had plenty of buildings.

  He also had a passion for aviation, and had built many flying machines, although so far none had actually flown. His latest effort was an ornithopter, which was a strange contraption consisting of a wooden frame some ten feet tall, on which was mounted a pair of huge wings made from silk and feathers.

  The pilot stood on a small platform behind the wings, which were connected to a small gasoline-powered engine. The engine caused the wings to flap up and down rapidly; this, in turn, was supposed to cause the ornithopter to take gracefully to the air. So far, all it had done was fall over and flop around like a fish out of water. But Uncle Neville was sure that, with a few minor adjustments, it would soar like an eagle. Or at least a pigeon.

  John and Michael worshipped Uncle Neville, and were thrilled when their father told them they would be going to visit him for a while. Of course, John and Michael didn’t know that their mother had disappeared; they’d been told she was visiting an ailing great-aunt in Scotland. Wendy knew better, and despite the many diverting activities to be found at Uncle Neville’s estate, she couldn’t stop worrying about her mother.

  Her father had promised to let her know as soon as he heard anything, good or bad. But the hours had stretched into days, and there was still no word from London. Wendy could picture her father, frantic, making every effort to find his wife, but she also knew he would not mention anything to anyone about the Starcatchers. She was convinced mother’s disappearance had to do with her past; with her old friend James, who had visited their home; with the Starcatchers. And the one person who knew the most about the Starcatchers was the man her mother had been going to see that miserable day: her father, Wendy’s grandfather, Leonard Aster.

  After a near-sleepless night, Wendy could stand it no longer. She came down to breakfast, which Uncle Neville had already started. He was sitting at the head of the table, with John and Michael on either side. In the middle of the table was an odd-looking contraption, with many gears and pulleys. It was connected to a wire, which ran to the wall.

  “What on earth is that!” said Wendy.

  “That,” said Uncle Neville, “is an automatic toast-butterer.”

  “It runs on ’tricity,” said Michael.

  “Electricity, you ninny,” said John.

  “That’s what I said,” said Michael.

  “But,” said Wendy, “why do you need a machine to—”

  “It saves labor!” said Uncle Neville. “Do you have any idea how many hours the British public spends every year buttering its toast?”

  “No,” said Wendy. “How many?”

  “I have no idea,” said Uncle Neville. “But I suspect it’s a lot.”

  “Ah,” said Wendy. “Well, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Uncle Neville. “Would you like to see how it works?”

  “I, ah, certainly,” said Wendy. “What I wondered was—”

  “The butter goes here,” said Uncle Neville, dumping the butter dish into a hole at the top of the machine. “And then the toast goes here.” He put a slice of bread into a slot on the side. “Then you turn it on with this switch.” He flipped a switch. The machine started to clank and whirr, its gears and pulleys turning.

  “I was wondering if I could take the train to London today,” said Wendy.

  “What’s that?” said Uncle Neville, eyeing the machine, which was clanking louder now and starting to smoke.

  “I was wondering if I could take the train to London today, to…to visit someone. I’ll be back this evening, and I promise to—”

  BANG

  The automatic toast-butterer belched a smoke cloud and ejected a piece of toast burned to the consistency of charcoal, which flew straight up with such force that it hit the ceiling and shattered into a small black cloud of particles, which floated gently down onto the table. The machine then emitted a geyser of melted butter, which spurted up, then fell back, causing the machine to emit a shower of sparks, and then, with a loud POP, to stop running altogether. It now sat silent, a smoking ruin.

  “Brilliant!” said John.

  “Is the ’tricity gone?” said Michael.

  “It needs a bit of adjustment,” said Uncle Neville.

  “So,” said Wendy, “is it all right, Uncle Neville?”

  “What?” said Uncle Neville.

  “What I asked. Is it all right?” said Wendy, deciding not to mention the train trip again.

  “I suppose so,” said Uncle Neville, looking at his machine. “Why not?”

  “Thank you,” said Wendy.

  She hurried out of the room before Uncle Neville thought to ask exactly what he’d given her his permission to do.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE PRIZE

  THE SKELETON AND SCARLET JOHNS watched intently as Coben and the other man, whose name was Mauch, worked by the flickering light of the chapel candles. Mauch and Coben had just returned from a foray in to the city of Aachen, where they had broken into several closed stores to gather the materials they needed.

  “How much time?” rasped the Skeleton, his lone eye glowing yellow in the candlelight.

  “Less than an hour,” said Scarlet. “The altar boys replace and relight the candles at nine o’clock.”

  “Faster!” hissed the Skeleton at Mauch and Coben, the word distorted by his lipless mouth.

  “It will be working soon,” came the reply. Mauch was holding a small tin pan over a bundle of lighted candles. The pan held a lump of wax, which shrank as it melted. “A few more minutes is all.”

  “Coben?” said the Skeleton

  “Almost there.” Coben was building a scaffold from tables, chairs, two large wooden crosses, and a long bench that he’d confiscated from the choir. The teetering makeshift structure rose high off the chapel’s marble floor, parallel to and alongside the central stained-glass window.

  Scarlet left the chapel to check on the priest. They had left him tied up and gagged inside a large, cedar-lined closet used to store the vestments worn by the clergy during services. They had propped a chair against the closet door to prevent the priest from opening it if he escaped his bonds. Scarlet removed the chair and opened the door.

  The priest, propped against the wall, squinted at the light. He seemed to be all right, although he was pale and trembling. Scarlet knelt next to him.

  “You have two options,” she said, her voice a soothing whisper.

  He nodded.

  “The first is that my colleague delivers you into heaven perhaps sooner than you would wish.”

  The priest’s eyes widened slightly.

  “That’s right,” said Scarlet. “It would not be a pleasant journey for you, though my colleague would much enjoy it. The second option, and the one I strongly recommend, is that you remain tied up here, that you make no attempt to be found until morning. When you are found, you must make no mention of what happened here tonight. We are not alone, Father. We have eyes and ears here. If you betray us, we will know, and we can be back here from Mun…from
our headquarters in a matter of hours. And if we do come back, we will destroy you and your precious chapel.”

  The priest shook his head.

  “I will do everything in my power,” she continued, “to grant you the second option. But first I need your word, as a priest, that you understand and agree to my conditions. Nod your head if you do.”

  The priest nodded.

  “A wise choice,” said Scarlet. “We have an agreement. I will trust you, and you will trust me to make good on my promises. All of my promises.”

  She closed the door and propped the chair against it. She returned to the chapel, where the Skeleton was still watching Mauch and Coben. He turned to Scarlet and said, “The priest?”

  “He will not be a problem.”

  “A pity,” said the Skeleton. “I would have enjoyed breaking him.”

  “It won’t be necessary,” said Scarlet. “We’ll be miles from here before he’s found. And if he does send anyone looking for us, it will be in the wrong direction. I slipped up and mentioned Munich.”

  “Good,” said the Skeleton. If his face had been willing, he might have smiled. He returned his attention to Mauch and Coben.

  Coben had finished working on his wobbly scaffold, which looked as though it would collapse at any moment. Mauch was pouring melted wax through a piece of silk, allowing the resulting paraffin to drip into the chamber of a small brass blowtorch.

  When he was finished, he screwed the chamber back onto the blowtorch, then held it over two burning candles. When he was satisfied that the paraffin had vaporized, he turned the valve and held a match to the torch tip. A tongue of blue flame shot out. Mauch adjusted the valve, then quickly went to the scaffold and handed it to Coben.

  “The tip?” said Coben.

  Mauch reached into his pocket and pulled out a triangular piece of metal, which he handed to Coben. Mauch had made it from a pewter plate he’d found on the altar, carving the soft metal into the shape of the bishop’s miter.

  Coben stuck the pewter tip in a pocket and, holding the burning blowtorch carefully, climbed the rickety scaffold. The other three watched anxiously as he reached the top and trained the blue flame onto the outline of lead that held the bishop’s miter in the window. For a minute and more the chapel was silent, save for the hissing of the flame.

  “How much time?” asked the Skeleton.

  Scarlet pulled a watch from her pocket. “Less than twenty minutes.”

  “Faster!” the Skeleton rasped up to Coben.

  “The edges are melting,” Coben called down.

  As he spoke, the bishop’s miter separated and sagged forward slightly from the window. Coben, using a cloth to protect his hand from the heat, carefully took hold of the piece and pulled it free. He quickly substituted the pewter piece. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but he melted the lead edging to make up the gaps. From a distance, the window looked barely different from when he’d started.

  Coben climbed down quickly and handed the prize to the Skeleton, who held it up in his clawlike hand.

  “The tip of Curtana,” he rasped. “The Sword of Charlemagne. The Sword of Mercy.”

  Despite the need for haste, the four stood for a few moments, examining the tip. It was made of silver-colored metal that glinted in the candlelight like steel, but to the Skeleton it felt heavier. The tip was pointed at one end; the opposite edge jagged and at an angle, as the tip had not broken from the sword evenly. It was only a few inches long, about the length of his hand.

  The Skeleton tested the edge by gently touching a scarred finger rub to it. He jerked his hand back: it was bleeding.

  “Seven hundred years,” he said. “And still razor sharp.”

  Coben leaned closer, peering at the gleaming tip. “All that effort,” he said, shaking his head. “All that searching, for…that. Nothing but a small piece of metal.”

  The Skeleton looked at Coben, then back at the tip.

  “This small piece of metal,” he rasped, “is about to change the world.”

  CHAPTER 15

  ALONE

  WENDY DARLING! What a fine surprise! Come in and let me give you a hug!”

  Wendy stepped into the Aster mansion and was squeezed to breathlessness inside the ample embrace of Mrs. Bumbrake, in her late seventies but still formidable. Mrs. Bumbrake had been employed by the Asters for decades, having originally been hired as governess for Leonard and Louise Aster’s only daughter, Molly.

  When Molly had married and left home, Mrs. Bumbrake had remained with the Asters. Following the death of Louise, Mrs. Bumbrake had taken over the management of the household, and heaven help any staff member who failed to live up to her high standards. But for the Aster family, she was soft as pudding.

  Having finally finished her hug, she stepped back and said, “I thought you were staying with your uncle in Cambridgeshire.”

  “I’m just in London for the day,” said Wendy, hoping this vague answer would be enough. Fortunately, Mrs. Bumbrake’s mind was on other things.

  “Is there any word of your mother?” she said.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Wendy. “But Father is doing all he can, and the police …” Wendy trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

  “It’s a terrible thing,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, shaking her head. “Your father and I agreed not to tell Lord Aster. Weak as he is, I don’t know that he could take the news.”

  Wendy hoped Mrs. Bumbrake was wrong about that. “I wondered if I could see him,” she said.

  “I suppose so,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “It would do him some good to see a pretty face! He gets so few visitors these days.”

  She led Wendy upstairs to the room where Leonard Aster lay in bed. Wendy gasped when she saw her grandfather—his face, once so handsome and alert, now gaunt and deathly pale, his skin like old parchment, his mouth open, his eyes closed.

  “Lord Aster,” said Mrs. Bumbrake softly. “You’ve a visitor.”

  The eyelids fluttered open, and Leonard’s eyes fell on Wendy.

  “Molly,” he said.

  Mrs. Bumbrake turned away, hiding her tears.

  “No, Grandfather,” said Wendy. “It’s me, Wendy.”

  Leonard blinked. “Ah, so it is,” he said. “You look more like your mother every day.”

  “Thank you,” said Wendy.

  “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” said Leonard. His voice quavered, but he still spoke with the authority of a man who had been a leader for most of his life.

  “I…I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Yes…I see,” said Leonard, giving Wendy an odd look. He turned his head toward Mrs. Bumbrake and said, “If you will please excuse us, Mrs. Bumbrake.”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, reluctantly. With a stern look, she said to Wendy, “Now, don’t you go getting him excited.”

  Wendy only nodded; she could make no such promise.

  Mrs. Bumbrake left, and Wendy closed the door. She returned to her grandfather’s bedside. The old man was watching her intently.

  “Something’s happened to your mother,” he said.

  Wendy gasped. “But how did you know that?”

  Aster raised a bony finger and pointed it at her throat. “You’re wearing her locket,” he said. “She would not have given it to you unless something was wrong. What is it?”

  “Grandfather, I’m so worried about mother. She…she …” Suddenly Wendy was sobbing, her face pressed into her hands, tears pouring through them. “I’m sorry,” she said, finally.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Sit on the bed. Now take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”

  And so she did. She told him about James’s visit to her house, and what he had told Molly about Baron von Schatten and the king. Leonard stopped her repeatedly to ask questions. He was particularly interested in the conversation James had overheard between von Schatten and Simon Revile in the king’s chambers.

  Wendy then t
old of James’s disappearance, and her mother’s futile trip to Scotland Yard. She told how her mother had revealed to her the existence of the Starcatchers, and the centuries of struggle against the Others for control of starstuff, culminating in the cataclysmic explosion in the Rundoon desert. Then, fighting back tears, she told of the morning her mother had given her the locket, then had left to go see Leonard, and also disappeared. She told of the hackney driver’s nod to the bobby, and of the bobby’s reappearance with the two Scotland Yard detectives. Leonard asked her more questions, some of which she could answer, some of which she couldn’t. Finally he fell back on his pillow, his face slack with exhaustion.

  “I was afraid of this,” he said. “We were too confident. We let our guard down. Now they’ve come back. And they’re after the Cache.”

  “The what?”

  “The Cache,” said Leonard. “A large quantity of starstuff, hidden here in London centuries ago.”

  “Hidden by whom?”

  “By the original Starcatchers,” said Leonard.

  “But I thought…Mother told me that the Starcatchers returned the starstuff to the heavens,” said Wendy. “So the Others wouldn’t get it.”

  “We returned most of it,” said Leonard. “But in those early days the Others were much more powerful. The Starcatchers worried constantly that if the Others managed to get their hands on a major starstuff fall, they would have an insurmountable advantage. They decided to create the Cache as a reserve, so that they could defend themselves. They put a large quantity of starstuff into a gold-lined chest, and they hid it in a vault, deep underground, here in London. The vault is protected by a very special lock, made from a metal that has been infused with starstuff. The only way to open that lock is to insert a sword—a very special sword, also infused with starstuff. It is called Curtana.”