Peter and the Sword of Mercy

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  “How?” said Peter.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Neville. “I’m just looking for areas of weakness that might be attacked. It would help if we knew something about the tip and how it would be reattached. Would it be a job for a blacksmith?”

  “I don’t know,” said Wendy, frowning, “but I know somebody who might: Uncle Ted.”

  “Ted?” said Peter.

  “His colleague, actually,” said Wendy. “A fellow at Cambridge. Uncle Ted said he was an expert on the Sword of Mercy, and knew about the missing tip.”

  “It sounds as if it might be a good idea to get in touch with that fellow,” said Neville.

  “We could call Uncle Ted on the telephone,” said Wendy, “if we had a telephone.”

  “There’s a telephone here,” said Magill.

  “Here?” said Wendy.

  “In the parlor,” said Magill. “Lord Aster had it installed. ‘Just in case,’he said. Never used it myself. Don’t know how.”

  “What’s a telephone?” said Peter.

  “Marvelous device,” said Neville. “Sound causes a metal diaphragm to vibrate; this in turn causes fluctuations in an electrical current passing through carbon granules. Clever, eh?”

  Peter turned to Wendy. “What’s a telephone?” he said.

  “I’ll show you,” said Wendy. She and Peter, followed by Uncle Neville, headed for the parlor, leaving Mrs. Bumbrake, John, and Michael nervously watching the still-dozing Karl.

  After a minute of silence, John asked Magill, “What does he eat?”

  “He used to eat mostly berries, nuts, insects, the occasional small animal,” said Magill. “But since we moved to London, he’s become quite fond of fish and chips.”

  “How does he get them?” said John.

  “I buy them from a local chippy,” said Magill. “Karl can eat a dozen orders at a time and still want more. In fact, one night I left the door unlocked and he went out looking for more. Good thing I found him before he found the chippy.” Magill laughed heartily. Seeing the non-amused expression on Mrs. Bumbrake’s face, he stopped abruptly, then said, “It seems you’ll be staying here at the Scotland Landing. What sort of room do you prefer?”

  “I prefer a room,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, “that is as far as possible from the bear.”

  CHAPTER 49

  THE MISSION

  “ESCAPED?”

  The word hissed like steam from von Schatten’s bloodless lips. His anger further revealed itself in the dull redness that seeped from the edges of his dark eyeglass lenses, forming two glowing circles in the darkened palace chamber.

  Simon Revile took an involuntary step backward on fear-weakened legs.

  “I’m afraid so, Baron,” he said.

  “How? Did you not send the Skeleton?”

  “Yes, Baron. And he had the boy. But Leonard Aster—”

  “Aster? I was told he was seriously ill.”

  “He was, sir. Apparently he used starstuff. He flew over the house. He attacked the Skeleton, and during the fight, the boy and the others escaped.”

  “Why did the police not stop them?”

  “From what I gather, they were also, ah, thwarted by Lord Aster.”

  “Incompetent fools,” hissed von Schatten. “Did Aster also escape?”

  “No. The Skeleton prevailed.”

  “But the boy is gone.”

  “Yes, Baron. But Chief Superintendent Blake says his men are scouring the city. He assures me that the boy and the others will be caught.”

  The redness around von Schatten’s eyeglasses glowed more brightly. “Tell Blake,” he said, “that if they are not caught, he will answer to me personally.”

  “Yes, Baron,” said Revile, turning for the door, eager to leave.

  “Wait.”

  Reluctantly, Revile turned back. “Yes, Baron?”

  “I want none of this to distract the Skeleton from tomorrow night’s mission.”

  “Yes, Baron.”

  “The escape of the boy irritates me greatly. But it does not affect our plans. Tomorrow night is crucial. You will stress this to the Skeleton. He must not fail me.”

  “Yes, Baron.”

  “Go.”

  Revile scurried from the room.

  CHAPTER 50

  THE THIRD ELEMENT

  HAVING RECEIVED A TELEPHONE CALL from Wendy and Peter, Ted was on the first morning train from Cambridge to London. With him was his colleague, the historian Patrick Hunt, a smiling, perpetually enthusiastic man with long blond hair. When they arrived at the Scotland Landing Hotel, they were met at the door by Magill, who looked around to see if they’d been followed, then quickly brought them inside, where Peter, Wendy, and Uncle Neville were waiting.

  “Peter!” cried Ted, quickly crossing the room to embrace the friend he had not seen for twenty years. Peter hugged him somewhat awkwardly; he barely recognized this portly man as the sidekick who had joined him on so many long-ago adventures. There was a muffled chime of protest from Peter’s shirt. Peter pulled back, and Tink—still resting from her efforts of the previous night—stuck her head out.

  “Tinker Bell!” exclaimed Ted. “How delightful to see you!”

  You’re still fat, chimed Tink.

  “She’s delighted to see you, too,” said Peter.

  “My word,” said Patrick, staring at Tink. He looked at Ted and said, “I had honestly wondered if you made all this up.”

  “None of it,” said Ted. He quickly introduced Patrick to the others. “When I told Patrick this was a matter involving the Sword of Mercy,” he said, “he insisted on coming.”

  “I’ve long been fascinated with the sword,” explained Patrick. “To think that, after all these years, the missing tip may have been found! Although I understand that this could be a very big problem.”

  Wendy gave Ted a sharp look. “How much have you told Mr. Hunt?” she said.

  Ted looked sheepish. “Everything,” he said. “He kept asking questions, and one thing led to another. …”

  Seeing Wendy’s doubtful look, Patrick said, “You have my word that I will keep this matter in the strictest confidence. I’m here only to help you, Wendy. And from what Ted has told me, you need as much help as you can get.”

  “He’s right, Wendy,” said Peter.

  “I suppose he is,” sighed Wendy. “And if Uncle Ted vouches for you …”

  “So that’s settled,” said Ted. “Now, where shall we start?”

  “If I may,” said Neville. “Since the Cache cannot be opened without the sword, it would appear that our best hope is to prevent von Schatten from reattaching the tip to the sword. The question is, how might we do that?”

  All eyes turned to Patrick.

  “I’ve an idea about that,” he said, “although it may take a bit of explaining.”

  “By all means,” said Neville.

  Patrick cleared his throat. “Nobody,” he said, “at least nobody that I’m aware of, really knows how the Sword of Mercy, or Curtana, came to be. Its origins, as the expression goes, are shrouded in mystery. But there are legends, and one of the more prevalent ones holds that the sword was made from a very unusual metal.”

  “Unusual in what way?” said Neville.

  “It came from space,” said Patrick.

  Neville frowned. “Wait just a moment,” he said. He went to the stairway and called up: “Mrs. Bumbrake, could you please come down for a moment?”

  A minute later Mrs. Bumbrake had joined the others. Neville introduced her to Patrick, then said, “Could you please repeat for Mr. Hunt what you told me the other night, about what Lord Aster talked about in his delirium?”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, “he kept mumbling something about a sword.”

  “And wasn’t there something else?” prodded Neville.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “Sometimes he talked about a meteorite.”

  “What did he say about it?” Patrick asked eagerly.

  “Nothing that I under
stood,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need,” said Neville. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  As Mrs. Bumbrake climbed back up the stairs, Patrick said, “Lord Aster’s words support the legend—that the sword was made from a strange metal rock that fell from the sky.”

  “Strange in what way?” said Neville.

  “For one thing, it sometimes glows,” said Patrick.

  “It’s starstuff!” said Peter.

  “Not exactly,” said Wendy. “A large lump of pure starstuff would kill whoever came near it. Grandfather Aster said the sword was made from metal that was infused with starstuff.”

  “What does that mean?” said Peter.

  “It means the metal has some starstuff in it,” said Wendy. “Grandfather said the vault that contains the Cache is made from the same metal.”

  “In the legend, this particular metal is called ‘heaven-stone,’” said Patrick. “It has some unusual properties, among them great strength. Not even diamond can cut it; only another piece of heavenstone will do.”

  “This is all quite interesting,” said Neville. “But I fail to see how it helps us stop von Schatten.”

  “I’m getting to that,” said Patrick. “Let’s assume that von Schatten has gotten hold of the tip to Curtana. On Coronation Day he’ll be able, through his control over the king, to obtain the sword itself. So he’ll have both the tip and the sword. But I believe that to put them together, he must have a third element.”

  “What?” said Wendy.

  “More heavenstone,” said Patrick. “Essentially, he has to weld the tip to the sword at high temperature. But to do that, he needs a filler material, to fuse the two pieces. He cannot use ordinary metal. I believe he must use heavenstone.”

  “With all due respect,” said Neville, “I still fail to see why this is relevant.”

  “It’s relevant,” said Patrick, “because other than the tip and the sword, there is only one known piece of alleged heavenstone on earth. I say ‘alleged’ because there are reputable scientists who scoff at the legend.”

  “What do you think?” said Wendy.

  “I believe it’s heavenstone,” said Patrick. “It’s almost certainly of extraterrestrial origin, and it exhibits unusual properties. All attempts to analyze it have failed. It was found by a British archaeologist named Mansfield in a cave in the Aquitaine region of France, where Charlemagne rose to power, and where the Sword of Mercy was made. The age of other artifacts Mansfield found in the cave suggests that the stone—which is known as the Mansfield Stone—was placed there at around the time of the sword’s creation. Perhaps it was excess heavenstone, not needed for the sword and therefore placed in the cave for safekeeping. In any event, if my theory is correct, von Schatten cannot repair Curtana without the Mansfield Stone. At some point, he will have to try to acquire it.”

  “Where is it now?” said Peter.

  Patrick smiled and said, “Less than a mile from here.”

  For a moment there was a shocked silence. Then Peter, Wendy, and Neville simultaneously exclaimed “What?”

  “The Mansfield Stone,” said Patrick, “currently belongs to the Natural History Museum, right here in London. The stone is not on exhibit; as I say, some authorities believe it’s a fraud, and the museum has chosen to keep it out of public view until its experts can agree on what, exactly, it is. It’s stored in a specimen room, under lock and key.”

  “If what you say is correct,” said Neville, “we need to appropriate this stone as soon as possible.”

  “Appropriate?” said Peter.

  “Steal,” said Wendy.

  Peter nodded.

  “For the greater good,” said Neville.

  “I was thinking,” said Patrick, “that we might steal…I mean appropriate it tonight.”

  “We?” said Wendy.

  “I can get us into the museum,” said Patrick.

  “Then ‘we’it is,” said Wendy. “Tonight.”

  CHAPTER 51

  ONLY DARKNESS

  THEY LEFT THE SCOTLAND LANDING HOTEL at 7 p.m., when the dark, fog-filled streets were virtually empty of homebound pedestrians.

  Peter, with Tink tucked into his coat, led the way. The chilly air made him grateful for the warm clothes and shoes he was wearing, courtesy of Patrick, who’d gone shopping for Peter and Wendy that afternoon. He’d also picked up some special materials Neville had requested.

  Peter kept to the shadows and peered around each corner, scouting for bobbies or anyone else of concern. Following a half-block behind were Wendy, Ted, and Neville, who was carrying a small satchel. Wendy had initially suggested that her uncle not accompany them, but he would not hear of it.

  “I believe my expertise may prove useful,” he said. “And I do not fear danger. I have faced danger many times.”

  Most of it caused by your own experiments, thought Wendy. But she didn’t argue.

  The little party avoided the main roads, working its way through the maze of streets and alleys east of Sloane Square, Peter relying on Tink’s flawless sense of direction. Just after 7:30, Peter cautiously emerged from Queensberry Place onto Cromwell Road. Looming out of the fog across the street was the Natural History Museum, a massive, ornate brick structure.

  Peter watched the street and sidewalk for several minutes, keeping an eye on the occasional pedestrian and the dwindling Cromwell Road traffic. When he was convinced that there was no trap awaiting them, he turned and opened his coat. Tink emitted three brief flashes of light. A minute later, the other three joined them.

  Wendy pointed to the left and said, “That’s Queensgate Mews. Patrick said we go around that way, then knock on the door at the back corner of the museum.”

  “Right,” said Peter. “We’ll wait until the road is clear, then cross.” Ted and Neville nodded. A smile twitched Peter’s lips; Ted was a grown man, but Peter, at least at this moment, was still the leader.

  When they saw a break in traffic, they ran across Cromwell Road, Neville in the rear, puffing to keep up. They went up Queensgate Mews, along the side of the museum. When Peter was sure there were no guards about, he led them onto the museum grounds. As Patrick had told them, there was an unmarked door near the corner in back of the huge main building. Peter rapped on it three times. There was the sound of a deadbolt sliding, and the door opened.

  “Welcome to the museum,” said Patrick, smiling broadly.

  They stepped into a long corridor lit by overhead electric lights. Patrick closed the door. “It went as planned,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I identified myself to the museum staff as a Cambridge fellow, giving a false name, and said I wanted to do some research in one of the restricted areas. They weren’t a bit suspicious, as they get many such requests. Just before closing I made a show of announcing I was leaving. Instead I hid in a storage room until the staff had gone for the day.”

  “Is there anyone else here?” asked Peter.

  “At least one watchman, who is currently snoring loudly at his post in the main hall. There may be one or two others. But I don’t think they’ll be a problem for us. We’re going to a specimen room on the third floor here in the rear of the building. The stairway is this way.”

  He led them up the stairs to a long, dimly lit marble hallway lined on both sides with heavy oak doors. About halfway down he stopped in front of one on the left-hand side with a sign that said MINERALOGY.

  “It’s in here,” said Patrick.

  “All right, then, stand back,” said Neville, starting to open his satchel. Patrick stopped him. “No need for that yet.”

  “Then how are we going to open the door?” said Neville.

  “With this,” said Patrick, pulling a key from his pocket. “The museum staff keeps the specimen-room keys hanging on a board downstairs. I happened to brush against it as I walked past.” He smiled proudly.

  Ted stared in amazement at his light-fingered Cambridge colleague. “You actually enjoy being a criminal,” he s
aid.

  “Immensely!” said Patrick. “I think I’m rather good at it.” He used the key to open the door, and the group entered. Patrick found the light switch and flicked it on, revealing a large, musty room with four massive tables in the center, littered with books, scientific instruments, and mineral specimens. Along the walls were rows of cabinets and display cases filled with more mineral specimens of all shapes and sizes.

  “There’s thousands of rocks here,” said Wendy. “How are we supposed to find the one we’re looking for?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Patrick. “We’ll just have to—”

  He was interrupted by a chime from Tink, who was hovering next to a massive steel cabinet at the far end of the room.

  “She says it’s in that box,” said Peter.

  “But how would she know that?” said Patrick.

  “She knows,” said Peter.

  “All right, then,” said Neville, bustling over with his satchel. He examined the cabinet, then said, “I don’t think I can get enough explosive into the lock mechanism itself. But I can blow the hinges. The door should come right off.” He opened the satchel and set to work.

  The others waited in silence. The minutes crept past.

  Tink emitted a low chime.

  “What?” said Wendy, looking at Peter.

  “She hears somebody downstairs,” said Peter.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” said Patrick.

  “Tink has very good ears,” said Peter.

  “Maybe we ought to leave,” said Ted.

  “Not without the stone,” said Wendy. “We might not have another chance to get it. Uncle Neville, how much more time do you need?”

  “Almost done,” said Neville, working furiously.

  Peter opened the door, stuck his head out and looked both ways. “There’s nobody in the hallway,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “I say we light the fuse, get the stone, and run,” said Wendy.

  Nobody argued.

  “There are two stairways,” said Patrick. “The one we used, and another at the far end of the hall. The explosion will bring them running. Whichever hallway they come up, we’ll go down the other.”