Peter and the Sword of Mercy

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  “It’s under here!” she said. “I can almost feel the locket pulling my hand downward.”

  “Fascinating,” said Patrick.

  “What is?” said Ted.

  “This is the shrine to Edward the Confessor, containing his remains,” said Patrick. “Stands to reason it would be located over the Confessor’s original tomb.”

  Ted was studying the area around the shrine. “I see no evidence that this floor has been tampered with, do you?” he said.

  The others looked, and agreed that the area appeared undisturbed.

  “So if the Cache is, in fact, buried beneath this,” said Ted, “it’s obvious that von Schatten hasn’t tried to get at it from here. It would be an awfully messy job, impossible to do unnoticed.”

  The others nodded.

  “So,” said Patrick, “if they’re not getting to it from here in the abbey …”

  “They must be getting to it from underneath,” said Ted.

  “A tunnel,” said Neville. “Clever!”

  “But wouldn’t that also be a massive undertaking?” said Patrick. “To tunnel beneath the abbey?”

  “Indeed it would,” said Neville. “It would require a great deal of time and manpower.”

  “The missing Londoners!” exclaimed Ted.

  “What?” said Neville.

  “It’s been going on for months,” said Ted. “People missing from the Underground. All from the District Line.”

  “Are you suggesting,” said Patrick, “that von Schatten is using these missing people to dig a tunnel?”

  “I am,” answered Ted. “The Westminster Bridge station is a stone’s throw from here. And it’s on the District Line.”

  There were a few seconds of silence, as everyone stared at the abbey’s stone floor.

  “So,” said Patrick, “let’s have a look ’round the Underground, shall we?”

  CHAPTER 68

  TONIGHT

  SILENT AS A SHADOW, von Schatten glided down the tunnel, followed by the plodding Revile. Molly, gaunt and haggard, watched him through the barred window of her cell. For hours, she and George—they’d gotten very good at Morse code—had been tapping hasty messages to each other when they thought it was safe, discussing the unusual level of activity in the tunnel. Some of it was quite puzzling—especially the men who had passed through an hour earlier, unspooling the two fat black cables that now snaked along the tunnel floor. And now von Schatten had come. Something was up.

  As von Schatten reached Molly’s cell, he stopped and looked in. Molly stared into his dark lenses, willing herself not to back away.

  “Tonight, Starcatcher,” von Schatten groaned. “Tonight the struggle finally ends, both here and on your flying friend’s precious little island. And when it ends, your pathetic life will no longer be of any use to me. Perhaps you will see the Skeleton later. He has been asking after you.”

  Molly said nothing, fearing her voice would display the terror she felt. Von Schatten looked at her for a moment longer. At that instant, Molly thought she heard something—a faint sound, like a muffled bell. She thought perhaps she’d heard it before, but couldn’t quite place it.

  Then it was gone, and von Schatten was moving on, followed by Revile. They passed George’s cell without a glance.

  When they had passed by, Molly took a rock from her pocket and began tapping.

  t-o-n-i-g-h-t she tapped

  A pause, and then George tapped: a-r-e y-o-u r-e-a-d-y

  Molly’s eyes went to the floor plank, then the tunnel support outside her cell, the one she had so painstakingly undermined.

  y-e-s she tapped, a-r-e y-o-u

  y-e-s

  A pause, then George resumed tapping.

  l-o-v-e y-o-u a-l-w-a-y-s

  Molly, her eyes burning, began tapping back.

  L-o-v…

  CHAPTER 69

  THE FOUR

  THE CELL DOOR BANGED OPEN. James, lying huddled on the dirt floor with the other ten prisoners, sat up, squinting as the light of an electric torch flashed across his face.

  “I need four,” said a distorted, rasping voice. James, realizing that it was the Skeleton, turned away to hide his face, wanting nothing to do with this hideous creature.

  Too late.

  “That one,” the Skeleton said, pointing his claw of a hand at James. A guard yanked James roughly to his feet. The Skeleton selected three more men. The four of them were herded out into the tunnel, where six guards surrounded them. The cell door clanged shut. Skeleton stepped close to the four men, his yellow eye peering out from his hood, inspecting them by the light of a bare electric bulb.

  “I have selected you to perform a task,” the Skeleton said. “If you do exactly as I say, you will not suffer. If you disobey me, or even hesitate …” He reached out his claw and touched the shoulder of the man next to James. The man screamed and fell to the floor.

  Without another word the Skeleton turned and started down the hall. The guards yanked the fallen man to his feet and shoved the four prisoners forward. They were shaken, and hunger had weakened their legs, but they did not stumble. They did not dare.

  CHAPTER 70

  THE TUNNEL IN THE TUNNEL

  ONCE AGAIN IT WAS PETER’S JOB to scout ahead. The others remained outside at the rear of the abbey as he took to the air and flew along the river up to Westminster Bridge. He rose several hundred feet, so that he was shrouded by the night fog. Then, following Ted’s directions, he flew along Bridge Street until he figured he was above the Underground entrance. Slowly he descended until he could just make out the stairway leading down to the station.

  He smiled grimly at what he saw. Although the Underground was not running—it was past midnight—there were four policemen around the stairway, clearly standing guard.

  Peter flew quickly back to the others and reported what he’d seen.

  “It would appear you guessed correctly, Wendy,” said Patrick. “Something’s going on down there.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But how do we get past the police?”

  “Karl and I can deal with the bobbies,” said Magill.

  “You don’t plan to harm them, do you?” said Wendy.

  “Of course not,” said Magill, sounding a bit disappointed. He reached into his coat and pulled out a coil of rope. “Give us five minutes.”

  He grunted something to Karl, and the two of them disappeared into the night.

  The others waited, saying little. Finally, Patrick said, “I reckon it’s been five minutes.”

  They walked around to the front of the abbey, then up to Bridge Street, Peter leading the way. They approached the Underground entrance from the opposite side of the street. Where Peter had earlier seen the four bobbies, there was now not a soul.

  They crossed the street and looked down the stairway. It was deserted.

  “Down here!” Magill’s voice came from somewhere below.

  They hurried downstairs. At the bottom was a metal security fence that had been broken open, apparently by Karl. Passing through it, they found themselves in the station’s ticket hall. Magill stood next to the four bobbies, who were seated on the floor, leaning against the ticket booth, bound hand and foot, with their arms behind them. They were looking warily at Karl, who sat next to Magill, looking back at them.

  Patrick approached the bobbies. “Good evening, officers,” he said.

  “You had better untie us right now,” snarled one.

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” said Patrick. “But I’m certain somebody will find you down here once the trains start running. Meanwhile, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell us where we might find the entrance to the tunnel being dug beneath Westminster Abbey?”

  The four bobbies glared silently at Patrick.

  “Apparently not,” he said. “Then we’ll just have to find it on our own.”

  He turned to go, followed by the others.

  “You’ll be sorry!” shouted one of the bobbies, his words echoing off
the concrete walls. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into!”

  The warning stayed in Peter’s mind as he and the others passed through the unmanned ticket turnstiles and out onto the gloomy, deserted platform. Peter had never been in an Underground station. He felt confined down here, with little room to fly; he could almost feel the tons of stone and earth above him. The grimy platform they stood on stretched left and right, each side leading to the gaping black mouth of a tunnel.

  “I’m a bit turned around,” said Ted. “Which way is the Abbey?”

  “That way,” said Magill, pointing to the left-hand tunnel with the certainty of a man who always knew exactly where he was.

  They trooped down to the end of the platform, where a sign informed them that there was NO ADMITTANCE. Magill reached into his coat and pulled out an electric torch. He flicked it on and shone it into the tunnel mouth. There was a narrow ledge leading to an iron staircase, which in turn led down to a footpath alongside the tracks. Ahead, the tracks, lit by dim electric bulbs every few dozen feet, curved gently to the left, then disappeared.

  They went to the staircase, Magill leading the way. As he started down, Neville said, “Mind you don’t touch that rail running alongside the track. It carries six hundred volts, for the electric locomotives.”

  They descended the stairs and started along the footpath, single file, keeping to the wall and away from the electrified rail. Magill and Karl led the way; Peter was at the end, behind Wendy. Every now and then a low, dark shape scuttled past.

  “Rats,” whispered Wendy. “I hate rats.”

  “Me too,” agreed Peter, again thinking of Tink. She didn’t like them, either.

  They rounded the curve and reached a straightaway. The only sound was the shuffling of their feet. From time to time Peter glanced behind him; he saw nothing but the widely spaced tunnel lights, and the blackness between.

  Suddenly Magill stopped. He flicked off the torch.

  “What is it?” whispered Patrick, second in line.

  “Train,” Magill said, pointing.

  The others inched forward and peered down the tunnel. About fifty yards ahead, silhouetted by a lightbulb, was the boxy shape of an electric Underground car.

  “The Underground’s closed,” whispered Neville. “Why would a train be here, sitting between stations?”

  “If you were secretly digging a tunnel in the Underground,” said Ted, “how would you carry out the dirt?”

  “Ah,” said Neville, nodding. “Clever.”

  “That may not be all they’re using the train to carry out,” said Ted.

  “I don’t understand,” said Neville.

  “The Cache!” said Wendy. “They could carry that out in the train, too.”

  “Exactly,” said Ted.

  “So what do we do?” said Peter, staring at the train.

  “I suggest we have a look,” said Patrick. “But carefully.”

  They crept forward, staying as close as they could to the wall, torch off, all eyes ahead. As they neared the train, Magill held up his hand, and they stopped. He held up two fingers, which they understood to mean he’d seen two people, although none of them saw anything ahead except indistinct shadows. Magill gestured at them to wait, and, dropping into a crouch, moved toward the train, followed by Karl.

  Two minutes passed. From ahead, a short yelp shattered the silence, followed by thuds. A minute later Magill and the bear returned.

  “Two of them,” he said. “And a tunnel.”

  “Capital!” said Patrick.

  They started forward. As they reached the car, they saw it was connected to two others, forming a three-car train. Peering through the windows, they saw that Ted’s theory was correct. The seats had been removed, and the floors had been covered with heavy canvas tarpaulins. The canvas was filthy; clearly the cars had been hauling dirt. But at the moment they stood empty, gates open, as if awaiting passengers.

  The two guards lay on the ground against the wall, helpless. In addition to firmly tying them up, Magill had gagged them with strips of canvas cut from the tarpaulins. He stepped over them and pointed ahead, and to the left.

  “There’s the tunnel,” he said.

  The entrance was rectangular, about seven feet high and half again as wide, chiseled neatly out of the Underground wall. Leaning against the wall next to it was a piece of plywood the precise size and shape of the tunnel entrance, painted the same color as the wall.

  “They use that to cover the entrance when the trains are running,” said Ted. “You’d never see it from a train racing past.”

  There were two thick black rubber cables snaking from the tunnel to the train. Neville, frowning, bent over next to the train to get a closer look.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “What?” said Ted.

  “These are electrical cables,” he said. “They’ve been attached to the power rails. Why do you suppose?”

  “For lights?” suggested Ted.

  “Not with this much voltage,” said Neville. He looked into the tunnel, which had bulbs glowing along the wall. “Besides, they’ve already wired the tunnel for lights.”

  “Then what are they up to?” said Neville.

  “I suggest we find out,” said Patrick.

  “Karl and I’d better go first,” said Magill, peering into the tunnel.

  “Lead on,” said Patrick.

  One by one, they entered the tunnel. As before, Peter went last. He tried to convince himself that he was doing a brave thing, protecting the rear. But he knew better. He wasn’t afraid of what was behind him; he was afraid of who—or what—lay waiting ahead.

  CHAPTER 71

  WHOLE AGAIN

  HERDED BY A HALF-DOZEN GUARDS, James and the other three prisoners followed the Skeleton down the familiar tunnel to the excavation site. James noted the two black cables running along the ground; he had not seen them before.

  They passed the cells that held George and Molly. The Skeleton led them into the last chamber. The prisoners knew it well; they had excavated it themselves, at the cost of much sweat, exhaustion, and pain. The chamber was considerably larger than the rest of the tunnel, its ceiling ten feet high, braced by beams and planks.

  Von Schatten stood with his lackey Revile next to a workbench that had been set up at the center of the room. Next to them was the Skeleton’s assistant, Scarlet Johns; next to her were his henchmen, Coben and Mauch. The two men were kneeling on the ground near the bench, doing something with the ends of the two black cables; both wore rubber gloves. James noted that both also had ugly deep scratches on their faces and arms, as though they had been attacked by an animal.

  At the far end of the chamber was the strange vault that had been the apparent goal of the excavation project. It was a massive thing, its front face eight feet square. It was made of a mysterious metal, smooth and silvery, creating an odd sensation of warmth when touched. Neither rocks nor shovels scratched it. The face of the vault had a seam running around the perimeter a foot from the edge, forming what appeared to be a tight-fitting square door, although there were no visible hinges. In the center of this door was a vertical slot about three inches long.

  When the vault was first uncovered, James and the others had watched as the guards had tried for hours, using crowbars, hammers, chisels, and other tools, to open it. Their efforts had been utterly futile; the vault’s gleaming surface was unmarked, the door still precisely in place.

  Next to the vault stood a sturdy-looking dolly with a flat bed and four thick rubber tires. James assumed this would be used to transport something—presumably something that was now inside the vault. Something heavy. He further assumed that he and the other prisoners had been brought to the chamber to play some role in this process. But how did they intend to open the vault? His eyes went back to the workbench.

  On it lay a sword, its handle golden, its blade shining. The tip was missing.

  Next to the sword, on a blue velvet cushion, was what a
ppeared to be the tip. Next to it, gleaming in the electric light, was a lump of silvery metal.

  Von Schatten was examining these objects when the Skeleton approached. He pointed to the silvery metal and said, “You are certain this will work?”

  “Miss Johns is the authority,” said the Skeleton, gesturing toward Scarlet. Von Schatten turned to her.

  “All my research suggests it is heavenstone,” she said. “It should work.”

  “It had better,” said von Schatten. He turned back to the Skeleton. “And these prisoners?”

  “They will retrieve the chest,” said the Skeleton.

  Von Schatten examined them, his gaze lingering for a moment on James. James felt the familiar, awful coldness creeping into him.

  “Appropriate,” said von Schatten, “that you should be here to witness this.” Then he turned toward the Skeleton and said, “Get on with it.”

  “Are you ready?” the Skeleton rasped to Mauch and Coben.

  “We are,” said Coben. He and Mauch put on leather welding goggles with thick dark lenses. Then they bent and, with rubber-gloved hands, carefully picked up the black cables. The rubber insulation had been peeled back from the ends of the cables, revealing thick copper wires. Affixed to the end of each wire was a metal clamp. Keeping the clamps well apart, Mauch and Coben approached the workbench. Mauch carefully attached his clamp to the middle of the sword blade. When it was in place, he lifted the sword tip from its velvet cushion and positioned it at the end of the blade, fitting the two broken edges together. He stepped back.

  Coben picked up the piece of silvery heavenstone, studied it for a moment, then attached the clamp to one end. Holding the clamp, he announced to the chamber, “If you don’t want to be blinded, you’ll want to look away.”

  Everyone turned away except the two goggled men and von Schatten, who kept his dark lenses fixed on the sword.

  Coben bent over the bench and slowly brought the heavenstone down directly over the crack between sword and tip. With a sharp buzzing sound and a brilliant burst of light, electricity arced across the gap, almost instantly heating both to more than 6,000 degrees. The lower end of the stone melted, and the molten metal flowed down along the arc, fusing sword and tip together. It was done in seconds. Coben pulled the stone away; the arc stopped instantly, leaving an acrid smell in the air.