Peter and the Shadow Thieves

by Ridley Pearson Dave Barry

“Sorry,” said Peavey, flicking the reins. “I said I’d take you here. Didn’t say I’d stay.”

  “But—” said George.

  “Sorry!” called Peavey as the carriage rumbled away, quickly disappearing around a curve, leaving the trio standing in the dark road.

  “Well,” said George, after a moment’s silence. “As he said: ‘Here we are.’”

  “Yes, we are,” said Peter, looking at the dark woods across the road.

  Molly was studying the house. “This is it,” she said. “I’m sure.”

  George tried the gate. “It’s locked,” he said.

  “Perhaps there’s a bell,” said Molly.

  The three of them looked around for a minute, but found neither a bell nor any other means to signal the house that visitors were at the gate.

  “I could climb over,” said George. He jumped up and grabbed the top of the stone wall with his fingertips, but was unable to hold on. “Here, Peter,” he said, “give me a hand.”

  Peter smirked.

  “What’s so funny?” said George.

  “Look over there,” said Peter, pointing across the road.

  George turned and looked. “I don’t see anything,” he said, and turned back.

  Peter was gone.

  “What?” said George. “Where—”

  “Over here,” said Peter, now standing inside the gate.

  “But, but…” sputtered George. “How did—”

  “Peter,” Molly scolded.

  “What?” answered Peter innocently. He tried to lift the massive iron latch, but it was locked. “I suppose I’ll have to—”

  He was cut off midsentence by a sharp warning sound from Tink.

  Behind you!

  But before Peter could turn around, he was encircled by two huge, hairy arms, one around his chest, and the other around his neck. He was lifted high off the ground, unable to make a sound, the breath squeezed from his lungs by the frightening strength of the arms. Molly screamed, then rushed to the gate and grabbed the bars, a look of horror on her face.

  “Peter!” she cried. “Don’t move!”

  Peter, his lungs burning, fought the urge to thrash and twist. He felt Tink struggle from inside his coat, held shut by the massive, gripping arms.

  A voice spoke from behind Peter, from the shadows of the trees lining the driveway. It was definitely a man’s voice, but it spoke in grunts and low, guttural sounds.

  As soon as the voice stopped, the hairy arms released Peter. He fell to his knees, gulping cold air. He turned and saw his assailant’s massive, hairy body, topped by an equally massive head, with a long, dark snout tipped with a wet, black nose.

  A bear. And quite a large bear at that.

  Peter blinked and, still on his knees, edged away from it.

  “Now then,” said the voice from the shadows. “Who are you, and why are you trespassing on this property?”

  Peter tried to answer, but his mind was too busy thinking about the bear. It was Molly who spoke.

  “My name is Molly Aster,” she said. “I’m looking for my father, Leonard Aster. It’s urgent that I find him.”

  A short pause, and then the voice said, “Who are the others?”

  “This is George Darling,” said Molly, pointing to George. “And that’s Peter, from the island. My father knows them both.”

  Another pause. Then a man stepped out of the shadows. He was a large man—nearly as tall as the bear, wide as a bull. He wore a broad-brimmed hat. Most of his face was covered with a thick, wild tangle of beard. He held a shotgun in the crook of his right arm.

  “You stay where you are,” he said. “All three of you. You are not to move.”

  The man spoke again, but this time in those same low, guttural tones, clearly addressing the bear. To Peter’s surprise, the bear appeared to be listening, then responded with similar-sounding noises. The man then raised his head and made a series of strange barking sounds. Finally he switched back to English, addressing Peter, Molly, and George.

  “Karl here,” he said, gesturing toward the bear, “will be watching the young man inside the gate. The two of you,” he said pointing to Molly and George, “are also being watched.” The man turned and walked toward the house, boots crunching on gravel. “Remember: you’re not to move.”

  Outside the gate, George slowly swiveled his head, surveying the area. He gasped as his eyes reached the woods across the road.

  “Molly,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Over there,” he said, nodding.

  Molly looked, and also gasped. Not thirty feet away, staring at them with eyes that glowed a luminous yellow in the moonlight, were three enormous wolves.

  “Are they…guarding us?” whispered George.

  “I believe so,” said Molly.

  “But how can they…I mean, wolves, Molly. And a bear. How can—”

  “Be quiet, George,” said Molly.

  The silence stretched over several long, tense minutes, with Peter kneeling, still as a stone, three feet from the giant bear, while George and Molly stared at the wolves, and the wolves stared back.

  Finally came the crunch of gravel again, and the large man reappeared on the driveway, still carrying the shotgun. He walked past Peter, took a key ring from his belt, and opened the gate.

  “Come in,” he said to Molly and George. As they passed through the gate, George looked back over his shoulder. The wolves were gone.

  “You can get up,” the man said to Peter as he locked the gate.

  Peter stood, keeping his distance from the bear.

  The man grunted something to the bear. The bear grunted back and lumbered off into the shadows.

  George gaped at the departing figure. “Molly,” he whispered, “that man was talking to the bear.”

  “Be quiet, George,” said Molly.

  “This way,” said the big man, starting down the driveway, followed by Molly, then Peter, then George, who was still glancing back toward the receding form of Karl the bear.

  Peter moved next to George and said, “You should meet her porpoises sometime.”

  The mansion was even larger than it appeared from the road, a sprawling structure built of stone in a checkerboard pattern, alternating light gray and dark gray squares. Its windows—eight panes each, four on top and four below—were dark; the only light visible was a lantern burning over the front door.

  The large man stopped a few yards from the house and gestured toward the door.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Molly, Peter, and George walked past the man. Molly opened the door and, followed by the boys, stepped inside. They found themselves in a large room, rustically furnished, with massive oak ceiling beams and a huge fireplace blazing brightly. Molly’s eyes went instantly to the tall figure in the center of the room.

  “Father!” she said, and she ran to his arms.

  For several long moments they hugged tightly, Molly’s face buried in her father’s shoulder. Finally they separated. Tears slid down Molly’s face as she looked up into her father’s eyes, where she saw tenderness losing ground to anger.

  “Molly,” he said, “you should not have come here.”

  “I know, Father, but—”

  “Do you understand how—” He caught himself and shot a glance at Peter and George, both listening intently. “But I’m being rude.” Aster walked over to the boys, his face softening just a bit as he shook hands with Peter.

  “Peter,” he said. “This is a bit of a surprise. How are you?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  “And what on earth are you doing in England?”

  “It’s a long story, sir.”

  “I’ve no doubt that it is. You can tell me later. George, how are you?”

  “Fine, sir. A bit surprised by the bear. That man outside appeared to be talking to it. And there were wolves.”

  Aster sent a baleful look in Molly’s direction.

  “Yes, well, animals can be trained to do amazi
ng things, now can’t they?” he said.

  “But—”

  “Yes, yes, amazing things,” said Aster. “You and Peter must be very hungry.”

  “Well,” said George, “I—”

  “Good, good,” said Aster. “Down that hallway to the right is the pantry. Plenty of food. Please help yourselves.”

  “But—”

  “I insist,” said Aster, pushing Peter and George toward the hallway. “Molly and I have some matters to discuss.”

  When they were gone, Aster turned to Molly. He kept his voice calm, but his tone was deeply displeased.

  “I know you’re an intelligent person,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “So I cannot for the life of me imagine what possessed you to come here—”

  “Father, I—”

  “Let me finish. To come here, jeopardizing the Return, and to bring those boys, including George Darling, for heaven’s sake, who has no business getting involved in this. Do you realize the danger you’ve put yourself, and them, in?”

  “Father, they’ve got Mother.”

  Aster’s eyes widened. “What? Who?”

  “The Others. They came to the house and took her.”

  “Took her where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But what about the guards?”

  “They’re working with the Others.”

  “What?”

  “The Others are controlling them,” said Molly.

  “But…how?”

  “There’s a shadow man,” said Molly. “I don’t know how he does it, but somehow he takes people’s shadows, and then he controls them.”

  “Shadows,” said Leonard, frowning. “We received an odd report from—”

  “Egypt,” said Molly. “Mother told me. ‘Beware the shadows.’ That’s what happened to the guards. This hideous creature came to our house. He calls himself Lord Ombra. He took Mother, and he tried to take my shadow. If not for Peter, he’d have gotten it.”

  “Lord Ombra,” said Aster.

  “He gave me this,” said Molly, pulling Ombra’s note from her pocket. “He told me to give it to you.”

  She handed the note to her father. He read it, then read it again.

  “Oh, dear,” he said softly.

  “That’s why I had to find you,” she said.

  “But how on earth did you find me?”

  For the next ten minutes, Molly told her father what had happened since he left London—the strange comings and goings outside the Aster mansion; the odd behavior of the maid Jenna; the arrival of Slank, Ombra, and the others, and the kidnapping of Louise Aster; Molly’s and Peter’s flight from the house, and their decision to take refuge in George’s room; their visit to the Tower; McGuinn’s death; their discovery of the Keep; the eerie, horrifying appearance of Louise Aster’s shadow speaking in Louise Aster’s voice but attached to Ombra; their desperate escape from the White Tower through the garderobe; the decoding of the numbers scribbled on the invoice they’d found; the train trip to Salisbury; the cathedral spire that jogged Molly’s memory; and the coach driver’s recognition of the name Gecierran.

  Aster reacted only twice: he buried his face in his hands for a moment at the news of the death of his old friend McGuinn, and he managed a wan smile at the garderobe escape. Other than that, he listened intently to Molly’s account. When she was done, he began asking her questions, most of them about the strange being named Ombra. He made her go over each memory several times, pressing for more and more detail.

  Finally, he said: “So, from what you know, this Ombra came into contact with—took the shadows of—Cadigan, Hodge, and Jarvis.”

  “Yes.”

  “And possibly the household staff.”

  “Yes. Certainly Jenna, but perhaps all of them.”

  “And…your mother.”

  “I fear so, yes.”

  “All right,” Aster said softly, more to himself than to Molly. “All right.”

  “What do you mean?” said Molly. “What’s all right?”

  “I mean that none of those people knows where the Return is,” said Aster. “Not even your mother knows that. She and I agreed that I would not tell her, in case something like this ever happened. She doesn’t know, so she can’t tell anyone. This Lord Ombra doesn’t know where we’ve taken the starstuff. The Return is safe.”

  Molly stared at her father.

  “The Return is safe,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “But what about Mother?” said Molly. “What about that?” She pointed to Ombra’s letter, still in her father’s hand. “He says Mother will come to the gravest harm if you don’t give him the starstuff. The gravest harm, Father. He’s going to kill her.”

  Aster looked down, ran his hand through his hair, and looked up. Molly saw anguish in his eyes.

  “Molly,” he said softly. “You must understand what’s at stake here.”

  “I do understand,” she said. “What’s at stake is Mother’s life.”

  Aster flinched, then went on: “I will do everything in my power to save Louise. But the one thing I cannot do—the thing your mother would not want me to do—is allow the starstuff to fall into the hands of the Others.”

  “But—”

  “Molly, listen. This is an enormous amount of starstuff, the most we’ve ever recovered. If the Others get hold of it, a thousand years of work and sacrifice by the Starcatchers before us will be for nothing. Nothing, Molly. The world will become a terrible place. All of humanity will suffer. The plague, Molly. The Dark Ages. This would be worse than those. We must not allow it. We cannot.”

  “But if you return it,” said Molly, “Mother will die.”

  “If the Others get it,” said Aster, his voice grim, “I fear she will die anyway. Do you think they would let any Starcatchers live?”

  “I don’t know what they would do,” said Molly. “But I do know that if you return it, Ombra will kill Mother. Isn’t that right?”

  “But—”

  “Isn’t that right, Father? Answer me.”

  Aster hung his head. “Yes.”

  “Then you can’t do it,” she said. “You can’t.”

  Aster looked at his daughter, and now both of their faces glistened with tears.

  “Molly,” he whispered, “I’m afraid I have no choice.”

  CHAPTER 90

  GEORGE’S THOUGHT

  GEORGE AND PETER sat next to each other at a rough plank table, chewing hard. Neither boy had said a word since they’d entered the pantry and discovered a loaf of fresh-baked brown bread and a hefty block of Wiltshire cheese. They were now consuming these as fast as they could, each wanting to be sure the other boy didn’t get more. Both were good competitive eaters, Peter having trained at St. Norbert’s Home for Wayward Boys, and George at boarding school.

  They were eating ravenously in silence when Molly burst through the pantry door. It hit the wall with a loud thwack. Molly’s eyes were red and swollen, and her face glistened with tears. George and Peter stood, both eyeing what remained of the torn loaf.

  “Molly, what’s wrong?” said Peter, his mouth spewing bread crumbs.

  “We’re leaving,” said Molly.

  “Leaving?” said George, ejecting a chunk of cheese. “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” said Molly. “We must return to London immediately.”

  “But why?” said Peter. “We just got here.”

  “To rescue Mother,” said Molly.

  “But I thought your father—” began Peter.

  “My father,” said Molly, interrupting, “doesn’t care about Mother.”

  Peter swallowed a chunk of bread with some difficulty and was about to speak when Leonard Aster appeared in the doorway behind Molly, his expression stern.

  “Molly,” Aster said, “that’s quite enough.”

  Molly ignored him.

  “I’m leaving,” she said to Peter and George. “You can go with me or stay here, as you choose.”

  “Molly,
” said Aster. “You are not leaving.”

  “Yes, I am,” she said.

  “No,” said Aster. “You are my daughter, and you shall do as I say. I will not have you wandering the countryside at night. Especially not this night.”

  Molly stared at her father, then nodded slowly. “So it’s to be tonight,” she said. “The Return is tonight.”

  “Molly,” said Aster, glancing at George. “You mustn’t—”

  “I don’t care!” shouted Molly. “I don’t care if George finds out about the Return. I don’t care about you and your starstuff and—”

  “Molly!” Aster grabbed his daughter by the arms, pressed his face to hers. “You must not talk about these things.”

  Molly jerked herself free.

  “I don’t care!” she shouted. “All I care about is Mother.”

  “And you think I don’t?” he asked.

  “If you cared,” said Molly, “you’d save her.”

  “And you must believe me,” he said. “I shall do everything in my power to do just that.”

  “Except,” she said, “the one thing that would save her.”

  “Please, Molly,” Aster said. “Please try to understand.”

  He reached out and touched her shoulder gently. She pushed his hand away. Aster stared at his daughter for a few moments, weariness and sorrow furrowing his face. Then he turned his attention to Peter and George, neither of whom had moved a muscle.

  “I’m sorry you had to see this,” he said. “This is a…a very difficult time for us.”

  Neither boy spoke.

  “First thing tomorrow,” said Aster, “I will arrange to send you all back to London. But for tonight you must remain here. I’m going out for several hours with Mister Magill—the man who, ah, greeted you at the gate. The three of you will be safe and comfortable here. You must not, under any circumstances, try to leave.” Aster looked pointedly at Molly. “The house will be watched. If you do try to leave, you will be prevented from doing so in a manner that I regret to say could be quite unpleasant. Do you understand me?”

  Peter and George, remembering the bear and the wolves, nodded. Molly did not react.

  “All right, then,” said Aster. He looked at Molly again, as if about to say something more, shook his head, then left.

  The next half hour passed in unhappy silence. Molly sat at the pantry table, staring straight ahead, resisting Peter’s and George’s awkward attempts to console her. George was clearly eager to ask questions about the confrontation between Molly and her father, but sensing that this was not a good time, he managed to restrain himself.