“Jump out!” he shouted, grabbing one of the freed prisoners and pulling him to his feet.
“What are you doing?” asked Patrick.
“It’s the starstuff they’re after,” said Peter. “Not these people.”
Patrick and Magill, understanding instantly, started grabbing the weakened prisoners and shoving them out the door as the train reached the platform. Some went willingly, some less so. They all stumbled and fell, but in a few seconds they were all safely off the train. The last to go was James, too weak to resist.
“Peter, help me!”
Peter spun and saw Wendy dragging her parents toward the door. They were resisting, but they, too, were very weak. Peter rushed over, and together he and Wendy managed to get them out the door just before the train reached the tunnel. Wendy caught a last glimpse of them rolling on the platform, holding on to each other. Then the train was in the tunnel.
“Thank you,” she said to Peter.
“Why didn’t you jump off?” he said.
“Why didn’t you?”
Before Peter could answer there was a crash at the end of the car. The guards had broken through the gate. One of them started to enter the car, then immediately retreated in the face of a roar and a swipe of the massive paw of Karl, who stood blocking the passageway.
The train was picking up speed.
“What do we do now?” said Ted, over the rumble of the wheels.
“For now,” said Patrick, “Karl seems to have them bottled up.”
“That won’t work for long,” said Magill. “He can hold back the guards. But not that thing he was fighting back there. In close quarters like these, it will have its way with Karl. And once that thing is in here with us …”
“Both of those things,” said Peter.
The train was now traveling at its top speed, slightly above sixty miles per hour. It rocketed through another station.
“Could we push the chest out the door?” suggested Ted.
“No,” said Wendy. “If it breaks open, it could kill people. Many people. And if doesn’t break open, they’ll just get it back, and everything we’ve done is wasted.”
They shot through another station.
Tink chimed.
“He’s coming,” said Peter.
The Skeleton appeared in the passageway between the cars. Karl roared and lunged forward, then jerked violently backward. The Skeleton advanced another step.
“Give me the sword,” said Magill.
Peter handed it to him, and Magill rushed toward Karl, trying to help, but there was not enough room to maneuver. The Skeleton’s claw lashed out; Karl staggered and fell backward. As the bear gamely struggled to rise again, Magill lunged at the Skeleton, thrusting the sword. This time he miscalculated. The Skeleton, with snakelike quickness, grabbed Magill’s wrist. Magill screamed and jerked away. The sword clattered across the floor of the car. Magill stumbled back to the others, his now useless right arm dangling, his face a mask of agony.
Another station flashed past.
Karl was back on his feet, again blocking the Skeleton’s path. But he was losing ground an inch at a time, and Magill could no longer fight with him. There was no doubt now: the Skeleton was going to win this fight.
Peter picked up the sword.
“Get into the front car,” he said. “Everybody.”
“What are you going to do?” said Wendy.
“The only thing that will stop them,” he said, looking at the chest.
“Peter,” said Wendy, “you can’t…”
“Please,” said Peter. “I’ll be all right. This is our only chance. They’ll have us in another minute.”
There was no argument to that.
“Go to the front, and stay away from the passageway,” said Peter. “Mr. Magill, when I tell you, call Karl.”
Reluctantly, the others went into the front car. Peter, holding the sword, positioned himself next to the chest. Karl, still snarling, had been backed up halfway through the car. The Skeleton came relentlessly forward, followed by the guards and Ombra. Peter tried not to look at the glowing eyes. He knew they were looking at him.
Another station flashed past.
Peter took a breath, then turned to Magill.
“Now!” he shouted.
Magill growled something. With a roar, Karl reared up on his hind legs, took a massive swipe at the Skeleton, then spun and ran past Peter into the forward car.
Now Peter stood alone next to the chest. He tapped the lock with the sword.
“If you come any closer,” he said, “I’ll break it open.”
The Skeleton hesitated.
Ombra spoke, his groan coming through the charred hole that had once been von Schatten’s mouth: “You don’t know that the sword will break the lock.”
“You don’t know that it won’t,” said Peter.
A moment of silence. Another station flashed past. The train rocked violently as it rounded a curve it was not meant to take at such high speed. Peter staggered sideways, then caught himself.
Ombra moved forward, toward the Skeleton. The guards spread to the sides of the car. Ombra groaned something, too low for Peter to hear. Peter gripped the sword tightly and drew it back.
There was an urgent sound from Tink, and at the same instant the two creatures moved toward Peter, the Skeleton to his right and Ombra to his left. With all his strength, Peter swung the sword at the lock. The two pieces of metal clashed together in a brilliant cascade of sparks; there was a clattering sound as the tip broke off and fell to the floor. A light whiter than white filled the car. The guards screamed and covered their eyes. The Skeleton staggered backward. A hideous groan escaped Ombra.
The chest, its lock broken, started to open, the lid lifting by some unseen mechanism. It moved very slowly and had opened perhaps an inch, but the light filling the car had become, impossibly, even more intense. The Skeleton and Ombra turned away, driven back, bent over like trees in a storm. At the back of the car the guards, covering their eyes, crawled toward the rear car.
The train hit another curve and leaned precariously to the left. A stream of golden brilliance spilled from the still-opening chest, spreading swiftly across the canvas-covered floor, seeping through into the metal beneath, the undercarriage, the wheels, and axles.
Then two things happened almost at once. One was that the train, leaving the curve, righted itself violently, sending Peter stumbling forward.
Watch out! chimed Tink.
Peter blindly raised his hands to catch himself. They struck the lid of the chest, slamming it shut. Instantly the brilliant light was gone. Peter’s momentum carried him over the trunk. He fell sprawling in the center of the car.
The second thing that happened was that the train entered the Whitechapel station, which was in the open air. It was no longer underground.
And then a third thing happened.
“We’re flying!” said Neville, sticking his head out of the cab of the first car.
“What?” said Ted. He was with the others at the back of the car, trying to follow the action behind them. They had seen a blinding light fill the tunnel on both sides. Now, suddenly, it was gone.
“The train!” said Neville, scurrying back. “It’s flying!”
“Good heavens,” said Patrick, staring out the window. “He’s right.”
The train, all three cars of it, was ascending gracefully into the dark London sky.
Wendy ran to the passageway and peered into the next car.
“Oh, no,” she said.
Peter, dazed by the fall, struggled to his feet. He no longer had the sword. And he was no longer next to the chest.
The Skeleton was.
Peter spun around, looking for an escape. The car door still stood open. Peter could see the lights of London, now hundreds of feet below. If he could get to the door …
But in front of the door stood Ombra.
Ombra started toward Peter, a walking corpse, eyes glowing, a charred h
and reaching out. Peter took a step back. He heard a warning chime from Tink, and turned. The Skeleton, leaving the chest, was coming toward him from that direction.
He stepped on something. The sword. He reached down and picked it up. Ombra took another step closer. With all his strength, Peter lunged forward and thrust the sword into Ombra’s body.
It went into his chest, all the way in to the handle. Peter, sickened, let go, stepping back.
Ombra kept coming. The sword impaling him had no effect.
Peter whirled around. The Skeleton was right behind him now, reaching out. The three of them had come together in the center of the car. Peter had nowhere to go. The Skeleton’s claw hand brushed against him. Peter screamed in agony.
“It will be worse,” groaned Ombra. “Much worse, before I let you die.”
The Skeleton raised his hand again. Another horrible jolt of pain. Peter dropped to his knees, whimpering.
“Leave him alone!”
It was Wendy. She had come through the passageway. She was standing by the chest. She put a hand on the lid.
“No,” said Peter. “It’ll kill you.”
“The boy is right,” groaned Ombra. “If you open it, you will die.”
Wendy ignored him, her eyes boring into Peter’s.
“Do you remember,” she said, “how we got off the ship?”
Peter struggled to think.
“I trusted you then,” she said. “I’m going to trust you now.”
Peter frowned, desperately trying to grasp what she meant. Then, suddenly, he understood.
“No,” he said. “You can’t…”
Too late. With a fierce grunt Wendy shoved the chest forward hard, directly at the trio in the center of the car. As it slid across the canvas toward them, the Skeleton and Ombra both started toward her; but the moment they did, Wendy yanked up on the lid. Instantly the brilliant light again filled the car. Wendy, with a desperate lunge, pulled the lid all the way open as she dove sideways, hitting the floor and then hurtling out of the car and into the night, a thousand feet above London.
Peter was a half second behind her, but the starstuff had left him nearly blind. He spun around desperately in the sky, screaming “Wendy!” He heard nothing but the rushing wind around him, and a hideous howl coming from somewhere above.
And then he heard Tink, far below.
You’d better hurry, she chimed. Because I can’t carry her.
Following the sound, Peter dove straight down, flying faster than he ever had despite his near-blindness.
“WHERE?” he shouted. “TELL ME WHERE!”
Over here! came the chimed response.
Peter veered toward the sound, then, at Tink’s direction, veered again, and then again. His eyes were starting to adjust. He could see buildings rushing toward him.
Where was she! Where was …
“HERE!” shouted Wendy, and then he had her in his arms, holding tight, fighting with all his strength to slow their descent. He almost did; as it was, they came down clumsily, but not fatally, tumbling onto the roof of a butcher shop.
“Are you all right?” said Peter.
“I think so,” said Wendy. “Next time, could you catch me a bit sooner?”
“Next time,” said Peter, getting to his feet, “I might just stay on the island.”
They looked up at the sky. The train was now about two thousand feet up, climbing rapidly and glowing brightly, like some strange comet.
“I’d better get up there,” said Peter. “If I don’t close the lid to that chest, they’ll never get down.”
“I suppose so,” said Wendy.
“I’ll be back,” said Peter, launching himself into the sky, with Tink zooming behind.
“I hope so,” said Wendy, to the night.
CHAPTER 74
THE PROMISE
IT TOOK SOME TIME TO GET THE TRAIN BACK down.
Peter caught it quickly enough as it ascended gracefully over the vast city, now invisible beneath the cloud bank below. The brilliant light radiating from the open starstuff chest in the center car forced Peter to close his eyes as he drew near, although he could still tell where it was from the unearthly, yet somehow pleasantly musical, humming sound that filled the air.
With Tink’s help, he was able to find the chest and shut the lid. Instantly the humming stopped and the car went dark, save for the dim moonlight coming through the windows. Peter, blinking as his eyes adjusted, looked warily around for any sign of Ombra or the Skeleton. But he was alone in the car.
“Hello?” called Peter.
“Hello?” answered a wary voice from the forward car. “Is that you, Peter?”
It was Ted, poking his head through the passageway. He was followed by Patrick and Neville, then Magill and Karl, all looking quite relieved to see him. Peter took a quick look into the rear car. Von Schatten’s four guards were cowering back there, showing no interest in causing any problems for Peter, or getting anywhere near Karl.
“Is Wendy all right?” asked Ted.
“She’s fine,” said Peter. “When she opened the chest, she jumped out of the train, but I caught her …”
Thanks to me, chimed Tink.
“…thanks to Tink,” said Peter, “and we managed to land safely.”
“I hope we can do the same,” said Neville, casting an anxious glance out the door at the clouds below.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Peter. He stepped out the door and flew over the train. Inverting himself, he put his hands on the roof and began to push downward. Slowly, the train responded, descending at a gentle angle. In a few minutes they reached the clouds; the wind picked up a bit. Then they poked through the other side, and below them, only a few hundred feet, were the lights of London.
“Does anybody know where we are?” shouted Peter.
Magill, apparently unconcerned about the height, stood in the doorway, peering down.
“Ealing,” he said.
“Is there anybody right below us?” shouted Peter.
“No,” said Magill. “You’re all right.”
The following morning a man walking his dog discovered a three-car London Underground train sitting on the grass in Walpole Park, Ealing. The man reported this to the police, who assumed he was drunk and were quite surprised to discover he wasn’t. Over the coming weeks and months, many different explanations would be offered for the miraculous appearance of the train, including that it was some kind of prank by university students. But nobody really believed that even university students were capable of such a feat. And so it remained a mystery.
By the time the police arrived, the train’s occupants had been gone for hours. Von Schatten’s men simply fled into the night. Patrick, Neville, and Ted took possession of the sword, the tip, and the chest and managed, after a lot of walking, to get a cab, which took them back to the Scotland Landing Hotel. Magill and Karl made it back on foot.
Peter took off to look for Wendy, whom he found quickly with the unenthusiastic but effective help of Tink. He got her down from the roof of the butcher shop, and they walked to her parents’ home. Peter offered to fly her, but she said she had been in the air quite enough for one night.
The next day everyone except Karl gathered at the Darlings’. George and Molly were looking and feeling much better after eating, bathing, and sleeping. When Mrs. Bumbrake arrived with John and Michael, there was a joyful family reunion, with much hugging and some crying. There was more crying when they paused a moment in memory of Leonard Aster. And then it was down to business as George, who had spent much of the morning telephoning various influential associates, summarized what he had learned.
“There’s been quite a stir of activity at Buckingham Palace,” he began. “The details are being kept secret, but apparently von Schatten has gone missing”—George arched his eyebrows at Wendy and Peter, who smiled—“and stands accused of engaging in a plot against the crown. The king, who seems suddenly to be a different person”—again, George arched
his eyebrows—“has ordered a full investigation, starting with a thorough interrogation of von Schatten’s assistant Simon Revile. Revile has been very cooperative, in hopes of saving his own skin. A Miss Scarlet Johns is also apparently cooperating willingly. The investigation has already produced some surprising results: Chief Superintendent Blake of Scotland Yard, who apparently was involved in a conspiracy with von Schatten, has been relieved of command and placed under arrest, along with several of his top subordinates. Meanwhile the men who went missing in the Underground have all turned up, telling strange tales of being held captive in a tunnel near the Westminster Bridge station. The tunnel has been located, as well as a mysterious vault under Westminster Abbey, but as of yet, nobody has a clue what any of it means.”
“And the coronation?” said Patrick.
“It will proceed on schedule,” said George. He looked around, beaming. “It seems things have gone rather well,” he said.
“What about the Cache?” said Molly.
“What about it?” said George.
“What do we do with it?” said Molly. “What if they come after it again?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said George. “I suppose we need to hide it somewhere.”
“I can hide it,” growled Magill. All eyes turned to him. “In Wiltshire,” he said. “There are caves there nobody knows of but me, Karl, and the wolves. I can hide it there, until you decide what to do with it.”
George looked around the room. “All right, then,” he said.
“I’ll leave tonight,” said Magill.
“What about the sword?” said Patrick.
“What about it?” said George.
“We’ve got the Sword of Mercy,” said Patrick. “It was in the Underground car, with the chest. The tip was nearby; apparently von Schatten managed to weld it to the sword, but it must have broken off again when Peter used it to smash the lock on the chest.”
Peter remembered the sound of the tip clattering on the floor.
“I heard nothing about any of the Crown Jewels being missing,” said George.
“Perhaps they don’t yet know it’s missing,” said Patrick.
Peter and the Sword of Mercy Page 30
