Peter and the Shadow Thieves (21 page)

T
HE FIVE MEN RODE inside the cab of a black, horse-drawn taxi, Ombra and Nerezza on a bouncy bench facing Gerch, “Constable” Hampton, and Slank, the three crammed shoulder to shoulder, facing backward. The sound of the horse hooves
clippity-clopping
on the cobblestones kept their voices from being overheard by the driver.

Nerezza pul ed back the smal window curtains. They had ordered the cabbie to take the long way around to the Aster house, avoiding the busier Uxbridge Road in favor of Silver Street and Church Lane. But peering out the window, Nerezza had no idea where they were; he saw only darkness. He took a deep breath; his wooden nose whistled.

Gerch and Hampton tried not to stare at Ombra, but they couldn’t help themselves. Ever since the dark shape had appeared on the deck of
Le Fantome,
oozing from below more like a cloud than a man, the two had kept eyes on him, the way the fox never loses track of the hounds.

Both men jumped when the groaning voice spoke, coming from somewhere in the dark-hooded void where Ombra’s face should have been: “Describe the situation at the house.”

Gerch cleared his throat and straightened his posture. His voice cracked as he said, “Hampton?” Hampton, not eager to be the object of attention of the dark thing across from him, spoke nervously in a thick Cockney accent. “One out front, name of Jarvis. ’Nother around back cal ed Cadigan. And a third man, Hodge, inside the house.”

“The location of the man inside?”

“That there varies night to night, sir,” Hampton said. “But we’ve got a housemaid inside, keeping track for when the time comes.”

“The time has come,” Ombra said. “Stop the cab.”

Nerezza banged his fist on the wal . Immediately the
clippity-clop
slowed, then stopped. Nerezza peered through the curtain. Nerezza saw that they were stopped now near the south end of Kensington Palace Gardens, within walking distance of the Aster mansion. He wondered how Ombra had known, with the curtains drawn, where they were, but he did not intend to ask. He opened the cab door and stepped out, fol owed by the others.

Nerezza paid the driver, then pressed an extra coin into his hand and told him to await their return. The cabbie agreed somewhat reluctantly. Something about these passengers made him nervous, and his horse was acting skittish, nearly bolting when the cloaked one had approached the cab.

Church Lane was pitch black and quiet. The chil y air smel ed of smoke. With Ombra gliding ahead, the group moved away from the cab, into the night. They turned left onto a broad street, holding to the side away from the string of gas streetlamps.

Halfway up the street, Ombra stopped; the others caught up.

“Mister Slank,” groaned Ombra, “you wil stay here and keep watch.”

Slank nodded and stepped behind a tree, now invisible from the street.

Ombra resumed gliding up the street, passing several more mansions, then stopped as the light in front of the Aster house loomed in the distance. Barely discernible at the edge of its wan glow was the figure of Jarvis, standing guard.

“Mister Gerch,” Ombra groaned quietly as the others reached him, “you and Captain Nerezza wil remain here, out of sight. I shal signal you when Mister Jarvis is no longer a concern. Constable Hampton, you wil lead the way. We’l cross the street here. Don’t bother about me. You wil walk past and engage Mister Jarvis in conversation. You must make sure that he stands in the light. Do you understand?”

“Yes…Yes, sir…m’lord,” stammered Hampton.

“Not in the shadow, but the light,” repeated Ombra. “And when I approach, you make sure his attention is elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere,” echoed Hampton, twitching his nose like a nervous rat. “Yes, m’lord.”

“Go,” groaned Ombra.

Hampton stepped into the street, crossing toward the mansion. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Ombra was fol owing him. But he saw only Gerch and Nerezza in the distance; there was no sign of Ombra.

“
Go!
”

Hampton jumped at the voice, which came from…
where
?

Quickly he turned back and resumed walking, feeling the unseen presence behind him, looking ahead at the streetlight and the dark figure of Jarvis. Hampton did not know what was about to happen, but he did know this: he was glad he wasn’t Jarvis.

A
HALF HOUR AFTER the troubling visit from Jenna, Moly was stil at her window. On the street below, Mr. Jarvis stood under the lamppost, his thick form casting a thick shadow in the gas streetlight.

It happened in a few seconds, and although Mol y was watching, her mind could not be certain of what her eyes had seen.

First there was movement to the right, a form emerging from the darkness.

The bobby. The same one Mol y had seen twice before, the one with the il -fitting uniform.

But this time the bobby did not walk past. This time he stopped directly in front of Mr. Jarvis and said something to him. Mr. Jarvis said something back. The bobby took another few steps toward Mol y’s left, as though walking away, but then he stopped and said something else.

Mr. Jarvis turned toward the bobby to respond. Thus he didn’t see the other man emerge from the fog to the right.

Mol y didn’t see the man clearly, either: even under the gaslight, he was strangely featureless, dark as the night itself. He moved swiftly, fluidly, to within two feet of Mr. Jarvis, who apparently did not hear anything, his eyes stil on the bobby.

The dark man paused only for an instant before flowing back into the night, but in that instant something happened. Mr. Jarvis’s shoulders slumped—that much Mol y saw clearly. But there was something else, something that she sensed but couldn’t quite see—something about the light, and the night. It wasn’t right, Mol y was certain of that, but she didn’t know exactly why.

A second later it was over: the bobby turned and disappeared into the fog. Now Mr. Jarvis again stood alone in the circle of gaslight. Slowly he raised his head, and in a moment, he—and the scene outside—appeared just as it had before.

But Mol y, watching from her window, felt a deep unease.

Something had happened. Something was wrong.

T
HE ROOM WAS NEARLY dark now, the coal fire casting only a dul reddish glow. Peter stared at the dying embers, trying to think of a plan.

Tink stuck her head out of the top of Peter’s shirt. She looked around, her gaze taking in the sleeping forms of the man and the children. She eased herself out and stood on Peter’s shoulder, close to his right ear. In very soft tones, she said:
We’re going to go now.

Peter looked at the man sleeping in front of the door.

“How?” he whispered.

Listen,
said Tink, and, leaning close to Peter’s ear, she explained her plan. Peter frowned at first, then began to nod. When she was done, he couldn’t help but smile; it amazed him sometimes, the amount of thinking that went on inside Tink’s tiny head.

Ready
? said Tink.

Peter nodded again and stood up quietly. Tinker Bel fluttered to the low ceiling and grabbed a wooden beam just above Peter’s head, pressing herself flat against it. Peter took a deep breath.

Then he began to shout at the top of his lungs.

“OWWWWW!” he yel ed. “MY HAIR IS ON FIRE!”

Immediately the sleeping man was awake.

“What?” he bel owed, getting to his feet. “What is it?”

“MY HAIR!” yel ed Peter. “YOWWW!”

The man blinked, his eyes seeking Peter in the gloom. Now Trotter was on his feet as wel . They began moving toward him. Peter waited until he was sure they were both looking at him, noted their positions, then spun around, facing away from them, and closed his eyes tightly.

“NOW!” he shouted.

Even through his eyelids, Peter saw it, the flash of bril iant white light that fil ed the room for a ful second, like silent lightning.

He felt Turk’s exhausted body drop to his shoulders, her energy, for the moment, spent.

Go,
she chimed weakly.
Go.

Opening his eyes in the once-again dark room, Peter spun and saw the man and Trotter both frozen statue-stil , blinking, stunned, and blinded by the light. Running on tiptoes, Peter shot between them to the door. Their backs were stil to him as he reached the door and found the latch. He lifted it and pushed the door. The latch rattled…but the door did not open.

The man, hearing the rattle, cocked his head.

Hurry,
said Tink, clinging to Peter’s neck.

“He’s at the door!” shouted the man, suddenly turning. Stil blind, waving his arms in front of him, he moved cautiously toward Peter, Trotter right behind him.

Hurry.

Peter yanked hard upward on the latch; this time he felt the door give. He pushed it open and lunged through it just as the man, roaring with rage, reached it.

Peter was in the al ey now. He ran to his right. A second later, he heard footsteps behind him. His advantage was gone now: the al ey was pitch black, so Peter was as blind as his pursuers. But unlike Peter, they were familiar with the al ey.

Peter stumbled on something, sprawling forward on his face. He jumped up. The footsteps were upon him now.

Fly,
said Tink, but Peter had already flung himself desperately upward. He felt his heels brush against something hairy—the man’s beard—and then felt a hand grab his ankle.

He kicked hard and heard a grunt, and then he was free.

“Get him,” roared the man’s voice. “He’s climbing the wal . GET HIM.”

A scuffling noise, then Trotter’s voice. “He ain’t here.”

“I felt him!” shouted the man. “He went up right here.”

“Wel , he ain’t here now,” said Trotter.

Above them, unseen and seeing nothing himself, Peter rose tentatively in the narrow space between two buildings. Final y he cleared the roofs and began drifting away toward the pale sphere of a gaslight in the distance. From behind and below, he heard the man’s enraged bel ow.

“I’l find you!” he yel ed. “You won’t get away from me, not in London. I’l find you!”

H
AMPTON WAS NOT a man who was easily surprised. He’d worked for the Others before; he knew they had unusual powers, and he’d seen some strange things.

But he had never seen anything like what Ombra did to the guard under the streetlight in front of the Aster house. As he fol owed Ombra around to the side of the house, he stil didn’t know exactly
what
he’d seen. He stole a look back over his shoulder at Jarvis, standing beneath the streetlamp, not moving a muscle. Hampton returned his gaze to the dark shape gliding ahead. He wondered who, or what, was under that cloak. He was not at al certain that he wanted to know.

They rounded the corner of the house, and Ombra stopped, nearly invisible in the blackness. He turned to face Hampton, who felt a chil and turned slightly away, unable to look directly at the void under the hood.

“You understand my instructions?” Ombra groaned, barely audibly.