Taking a deep breath, Peter began walking toward the man, but stopped and quickly retreated as he heard the clopping of hooves coming up the street toward him.
A cab rumbled out of the darkness into the glow of the streetlamp. It stopped across from the Aster house. The cab’s door opened, and a man stepped out.
Peter gasped.
It was Slank.
CHAPTER 58
VISITORS
MOLLY SAT AT HER writing table, which was illuminated by a single oil lamp sitting next to her open diary. She dipped her pen into the ink bottle and stared at the blank page, but found herself unable to form a meaningful sentence from the bits and pieces of random thoughts and vague fears swirling around her mind.
She and her mother, weary after a day of worry and suspicion, had retired early—Molly to her bedroom in the south tower, Louise to her room on the third floor. They had agreed that each would waken the other if she heard anything odd in the night—although Molly doubted that she would sleep any time soon.
She jumped as a sharp knock shattered the silence. Composing herself, she put down her pen, rose, and went to the door and opened it. She expected to see the familiar face of Sarah, who came around each evening to tend Molly’s fireplace. Instead, she found herself looking into the intense, narrow-set eyes of Jenna.
“What is it?” Molly said coldly.
“I’m here to fix the young lady’s fire for the night,” replied Jenna, with an equal lack of warmth.
“Where is Sarah?”
“She’s not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Oh, she’ll be fine; the young lady needn’t worry about her,” said Jenna, in a tone that, to Molly’s ears, sounded oddly amused.
“I see,” said Molly uncertainly. She stood aside and watched as Jenna went to the fireplace, removed some ashes, then scooped a few coal lumps from the scuttle and added them to the glowing pile in the fireplace. When she was done, Jenna turned to Molly and said, “Will there be anything else, m’lady?”
“No, thank you,” said Molly.
Jenna crossed the room and paused, her hand on the doorknob. She stared at Molly with an intensity that made Molly quite uncomfortable.
“Yes?” said Molly.
“Nothing, m’lady,” said Jenna.
“Then good night,” said Molly.
“And a very pleasant night to you, m’lady,” said Jenna, with a smile so unpleasant, so openly hostile, that Molly took an involuntary step back. Then Jenna swung the door shut so hard that the breeze made the lamp flame flicker in its glass chimney.
Molly stood there for a moment staring at the door, her breath coming in shallow gasps, trying to calm herself. Should she tell her mother what had happened? But what actually had happened? What was there to tell? That she didn’t like the way Jenna had smiled at her?
Chastising herself for being such a ninny, Molly went back to staring at her diary. It was useless; she was too upset to write. She rose and went to her window, pushing the curtain aside and looking down at the street.
She tensed: there was a cab outside, and men were getting out. Given the darkness and the distance, their features were indistinct: one…two…three men. They alit from the cab not twenty feet from the stout form of Mr. Jarvis, who stood beneath the streetlight. But rather than approach the men, Jarvis remained at his post, motionless. If he saw them, he gave no indication of it.
Odd.
Molly knew she must tell her mother about the visitors. She was about to turn away from the window when one of the men moved closer to the streetlight. Just for an instant, Molly caught a partial glimpse of this man’s face. Her heart froze; her mind raced back to a rowboat off Mollusk Island and the brutal man who had taken her captive, only to be outwitted by Peter. Was this the same man? The man she’d last seen being pushed out to sea by mermaids, his face contorted by rage and hatred?
Was this Slank? Could it possibly be?
Molly pressed her face to the cold windowpane, trying to get a better look. Four men had now emerged from the cab. A fifth was descending from the doorway. Like the others, he offered little more than a featureless silhouette, yet he appeared somehow darker, and he moved differently—a floating, graceful motion. Molly recognized him as the strange figure she had seen the night before.
The dark figure—he looked as if he were wearing some kind of robe—raised his right arm and gestured toward Mr. Jarvis, summoning him. To Molly’s surprise, Jarvis walked over, though slowly, and stood in front of the dark figure, his head bent submissively, apparently listening. After a moment, he nodded. He unlocked and opened the gate for the others, then trudged toward the side of the house.
Whoever this dark man was, he was clearly giving orders to Mr. Jarvis, who had now left the front of the house unguarded. Molly had to warn her mother immediately. She turned from the window, strode quickly across the room, and opened the door.
And screamed.
Jenna stood in the doorway. It was as if she hadn’t moved.
But she must have moved.
Because now she was holding a knife.
CHAPTER 59
SOMETHING ODD
JARVIS WALKED STIFFLY, like a soldier marching to a drum only he could hear, along the carriageway on the north side of the Aster mansion. A few yards behind him glided the dark form of Ombra.
The other men—Slank, Nerezza, Gerch, and Hampton—remained by the front gate with the cab. The cab driver sat still, staring straight ahead; his shadow had encountered Ombra an hour earlier.
Jarvis reached the far corner of the house and turned left, toward the back door. The only sounds were the occasional whinny of a distant horse and the cold wind rustling the tree branches.
“Cadigan,” Jarvis called softly.
Cadigan’s hulking form emerged from the shadows. He drew on his pipe, his expressionless face illuminated for a moment by the red glow of the tobacco, then faded back into the darkness.
“Has she taken care of the staff?” Jarvis said, his voice low.
“Sleeping like babies.”
“What about the lady and the girl?”
“In their chambers.”
“He wants you to call Hodge outside.”
“Aye.”
“You’re to lead him here, where we’re standing,” Jarvis said. “Make sure you leave the door open. And make sure your shadow ain’t touching his.”
“Aye.”
“Do it, then.”
Jarvis melted into the darkness. Cadigan opened the door and called for Hodge, who appeared half a minute later. He was a big man, even bigger than Cadigan, with shoulders that filled the doorway.
“What is it?” Hodge said.
“Something out here I want you to see,” said Cadigan.
Hodge stepped out, followed by Hornblower the dog, who growled at Cadigan. Hodge started to pull the door closed behind him; as he did, Cadigan, sidestepping Hornblower, stepped forward and blocked the door, pushing it back open and sticking his head into the kitchen as if looking for someone. “Any of the staff around?” he said.
“I told you earlier: they all went to sleep early tonight,” said Hodge, annoyed at having to repeat himself.
“All right, then,” said Cadigan, coming back out, but leaving the door open.
Hodge was about to say something when Hornblower began barking and ran toward the corner of the house.
“Hornblower!” shouted Hodge. “Come back here!”
The dog ignored him, barking furiously as it rounded the corner.
Suddenly the barking stopped.
“Hornblower!” shouted Hodge.
A few moments later, Hornblower reappeared, walking slowly, stiffly. The dog passed Cadigan, but did not growl, or even appear to notice him. It also ignored Hodge, who frowned as the dog walked past him and into the house. Hodge then turned to Cadigan and said, with more than a little irritation in his voice, “What do you want?”
“I was wondering,�
�� said Cadigan, moving around to Hodge’s right, so that Hodge had to turn to keep facing him, “if you noticed anything odd about Jarvis.”
“What do you mean?” said Hodge, who in fact thought that both Jarvis and Cadigan had recently been acting odd. The door was now to Hodge’s left; his back was toward the corner of the house, and thus he did not see the dark figure rounding the corner, coming toward him.
“What I mean,” said Cadigan, “is that I’m a bit troubled by his general lack of comportment.”
Hodge scowled. “What are you talking about?” he said.
“What I mean to say,” said Cadigan, “and I don’t in no way mean to imply this for certain, but, judging from my own reconnaissance, if you will, it seems to me that Jarvis has been displaying a certain lack of procedural rectitude, if you follow me.”
“No,” said Hodge. “I don’t follow you. Not at all. And I don’t think I should be out here, neither.” He started to turn toward the door.
“Wait,” said Cadigan, putting a hand on Hodge’s thick right forearm.
Hodge, irritated, turned back and started to say something, but stopped when he felt the air suddenly grow colder.
Out of the corner of his left eye, Cadigan saw Hodge’s shadow moving, stretching back….
Instantly, Hodge slumped, the life gone from his face. Gone, too, was his shadow, replaced in a moment by another, thinner one. Now Hodge came back to life, but his expression had changed from suspicion and irritation to passiveness and docility. Cadigan saw Ombra tuck his rough cloth bag into the darkness of his cloak, then turn and glide back toward the corner of the house, where he vanished.
“This way,” said the groaning voice.
“Yes, m’lord,” said Hodge, pivoting and following Ombra. Cadigan followed Hodge, both men moving in the same stiff-legged manner. They rounded the house and rejoined the others near the front gate. Ombra ordered Jarvis, Cadigan, and Hodge to guard the house, then turned to Slank and Nerezza.
“You will bring the lady of the house here. Her room is on the third floor. Do not harm her. Put her in the taxi. Gerch and Hampton will see her back to the ship. You will wait here for me.”
“As you wish,” Nerezza said. He exhaled, the cold air causing a plume of condensation to whistle from his nose-piece.
“What about the girl?” said Slank. He very much wanted to see the girl. He vividly remembered the last time he’d seen her—she and the boy—flying away, leaving him in the rowboat, defeated. Oh, yes, he would like to see that girl again, and the look of fear on her face when she realized that she was not rid of him.
But Slank’s face fell when Ombra answered: “I will deal with the girl.”
Disappointed, but not about to defy Ombra, Slank turned and followed Nerezza up the walkway toward the house. A moment later, Ombra glided after them. Gerch and Hampton watched the dark form disappear silently through the doorway.
“I wonder why he wants to get the girl,” said Hampton.
“I don’t know,” said Gerch. “But I would not want to be the girl.”
CHAPTER 60
OVERHEARD WORDS
PETER, WITH TINK on his shoulder, crouched on a high tree branch directly across the street from Molly’s house. His worst fears had been realized: Slank had arrived here first, along with the others from the ship, including the dark-cloaked man who aroused such fear in Tink.
Not only were they already here ahead of him, but they’d met no resistance. Although the tree branches, the fog, and the cab all conspired to obscure Peter’s vision of the group across the street, he’d seen enough to understand that all of the men outside the house—including those he took to be guards—were taking orders from the dark-cloaked figure. And he had overheard enough of their conversation to catch the words “lady of the house” and “girl.”
Now three of the men—including Slank and the dark-cloaked man—were heading into the house. The other four men remained out front. Peter couldn’t very well use the front door, but he had to get in somehow. He had to warn Molly.
CHAPTER 61
FOOTSTEPS
MOLLY BACKED AWAY FROM the doorway, her eyes on the knife in Jenna’s hand. It was a kitchen knife; Molly had seen Mrs. Conine chop vegetables with its long, gleaming blade, always honed razor sharp.
As Molly stepped back, Jenna moved forward, filling the doorway.
“Was the young lady going out?” she said, with mock servility.
“What are you doing?” said Molly, her eyes still on the knife.
“I’m keeping you in your room, m’lady,” said Jenna, in a tone unlike any she had used with Molly before. Gone was any trace of subservience; in its place was only hard contempt.
“You can’t do this!” said Molly, raising her voice, trying to give it a confidence she didn’t feel.
Jenna wiggled the knife. “Can’t I, m’lady?”
Before Molly could speak again, she heard a dull thumping of footsteps coming upstairs from several floors below. The footfalls were heavy: men, possibly two or three of them. Molly looked past Jenna, through her open doorway.
“Help!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “Help! She has a knife! Please, help me!”
No answer. The thumps stopped, but for only a moment; then they resumed.
“Help!” Molly called again, less hopefully. Jenna smirked, as if to say that whoever was coming up the stairs would be of no help to Molly.
The two young women stared at each other as the footsteps reached the second-floor landing, then the third. Molly waited, expecting to hear the familiar creak of footsteps on the stairway that led up to her room in the south tower. Instead, she heard a door opening on the floor below.
Then she heard her mother scream.
CHAPTER 62
ROUGH HANDS
LOUISE ASTER, dressed in a white linen nightgown, stared in horror. Hearing Molly’s cry for help, Louise had run to her bedroom door and flung it open, only to find herself facing two hard-looking men, one with a nose that belonged on a carved wooden mask. She backed away from the doorway, her throat tightening in terror.
Slank and Nerezza stepped toward her. Louise screamed and turned to run. But Slank, moving with the speed of a striking snake, grabbed her arm with thick, calloused fingers and yanked her back toward the door. Louise cried out again, dragging her heels and throwing elbows into Slank’s ribs, struggling desperately to break free. But Slank held her tightly, pulling her roughly into the hallway.
There Lady Aster felt a sudden chill engulf her body, a sensation so startling that she stopped struggling for an instant. And in that instant she caught a glimpse of a dark form moving—flowing—up the stairs to the south tower.
To Molly’s room.
“RUN, MOLLY!” she shouted. “RU—”
A rough hand clamped over her mouth while another took her by the neck, cutting off her anguished voice. Nerezza and Slank both had hold of her now; she struggled, but was powerless to prevent them from dragging her down the stairs. She managed only one glance back, a glance that revealed the dark form sliding up the tower stairwell, silently, smoothly, like a monstrous leech.
CHAPTER 63
THE THING ON THE STAIRS
THE SOUND OF LOUISE ASTER’S SCREAMS echoed horribly up the stairwell to Molly’s room; then—even more horribly—her mother’s voice was choked into silence. Molly took a frantic step toward the doorway, only to be forced back again by a threatening thrust of the blade held in Jenna’s hand.
Molly spun around, looking for another way out, but there was no other way, save for the window. She ran to it and screamed at what she saw below: her mother, struggling furiously but uselessly, was being dragged down the walk by two men, toward a waiting cab.
Molly quickly unlatched the window and yanked it upward with all her strength. The window shot open. Molly reached for the chain around her neck, feeling for her locket.
Too late Jenna had crossed the room, bringing the point of the knife to within inches of
Molly’s face.
“I’ll take the locket, m’lady,” she said.
“No,” said Molly, backing away from the blade. She felt herself bump her writing desk; the impact caused the oil lamp to wobble, sending the shadows of the two young women dancing along the walls.
“If you won’t give it to me,” said Jenna, moving forward, “then I’ll cut it from your neck. I might cut you while I’m at it. Sometimes I’m not too handy with a knife.”
Molly saw the knife coming closer. She reached behind her, frantically feeling for anything to use as a weapon. Her right hand brushed something, and she grabbed it. Jenna flicked the knife forward expertly, catching the locket chain with the blade point, severing it. As chain and locket clattered to the floor, Molly whipped her arm forward, the ink bottle in her hand. She hurled the ink directly into Jenna’s face. Jenna shrieked and brought her left hand to her eyes, but managed to hold on to the knife with her right. She took a vicious crosswise swipe at Molly, a swipe that would have slashed Molly’s throat had Molly not seen it coming and ducked. Molly felt the blade edge just barely brush the top of her hair. Taking advantage of Jenna’s momentary blindness, Molly lunged past her toward the door. Behind her she heard Jenna stumbling around, sightless, screaming in rage.
Molly reached the door and ran through it onto the landing at the top of the stairs. She stopped—and shrieked again.
The dark man was slithering up the stairs toward her. Molly was looking right at him, ten feet away, but could see none of his features; where his face should have been, Molly saw only blackness. But she felt his presence intensely, felt the air grow cold.
Behind her, Molly heard Jenna stumbling toward the doorway, getting close now. But Molly would rather have faced a dozen knife-wielding Jennas than descend the stairway toward that faceless creeping thing.
Molly turned around; Jenna, her face stained a deep indigo, was coming out the door, still clutching the knife in one hand and vigorously rubbing her eyes with the other. Molly hid to the side. As Jenna stepped through the doorway, Molly stuck out her leg. Jenna tripped hard, falling forward onto the landing, the knife clattering across the floor.
Peter and the Shadow Thieves Page 20
