Peter and the Sword of Mercy (13 page)

A
LONE

W
ENDY
D
ARLING
! What a fine surprise! Come in and let me give you a hug!”

Wendy stepped into the Aster mansion and was squeezed to breathlessness inside the ample embrace of Mrs. Bumbrake, in her late seventies but still formidable. Mrs. Bumbrake had been employed by the Asters for decades, having originally been hired as governess for Leonard and Louise Aster’s only daughter, Molly.

When Molly had married and left home, Mrs. Bumbrake had remained with the Asters. Following the death of Louise, Mrs. Bumbrake had taken over the management of the household, and heaven help any staff member who failed to live up to her high standards. But for the Aster family, she was soft as pudding.

Having finally finished her hug, she stepped back and said, “I thought you were staying with your uncle in Cambridgeshire.”

“I’m just in London for the day,” said Wendy, hoping this vague answer would be enough. Fortunately, Mrs. Bumbrake’s mind was on other things.

“Is there any word of your mother?” she said.

“I’m afraid not,” said Wendy. “But Father is doing all he can, and the police …” Wendy trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“It’s a terrible thing,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, shaking her head. “Your father and I agreed not to tell Lord Aster. Weak as he is, I don’t know that he could take the news.”

Wendy hoped Mrs. Bumbrake was wrong about that. “I wondered if I could see him,” she said.

“I suppose so,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “It would do him some good to see a pretty face! He gets so few visitors these days.”

She led Wendy upstairs to the room where Leonard Aster lay in bed. Wendy gasped when she saw her grandfather—his face, once so handsome and alert, now gaunt and deathly pale, his skin like old parchment, his mouth open, his eyes closed.

“Lord Aster,” said Mrs. Bumbrake softly. “You’ve a visitor.”

The eyelids fluttered open, and Leonard’s eyes fell on Wendy.

“Molly,” he said.

Mrs. Bumbrake turned away, hiding her tears.

“No, Grandfather,” said Wendy. “It’s me, Wendy.”

Leonard blinked. “Ah, so it is,” he said. “You look more like your mother every day.”

“Thank you,” said Wendy.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” said Leonard. His voice quavered, but he still spoke with the authority of a man who had been a leader for most of his life.

“I…I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yes…I see,” said Leonard, giving Wendy an odd look. He turned his head toward Mrs. Bumbrake and said, “If you will please excuse us, Mrs. Bumbrake.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, reluctantly. With a stern look, she said to Wendy, “Now, don’t you go getting him excited.”

Wendy only nodded; she could make no such promise.

Mrs. Bumbrake left, and Wendy closed the door. She returned to her grandfather’s bedside. The old man was watching her intently.

“Something’s happened to your mother,” he said.

Wendy gasped. “But how did you know that?”

Aster raised a bony finger and pointed it at her throat. “You’re wearing her locket,” he said. “She would not have given it to you unless something was wrong. What is it?”

“Grandfather, I’m so worried about mother. She…she …” Suddenly Wendy was sobbing, her face pressed into her hands, tears pouring through them. “I’m sorry,” she said, finally.

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “Sit on the bed. Now take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”

And so she did. She told him about James’s visit to her house, and what he had told Molly about Baron von Schatten and the king. Leonard stopped her repeatedly to ask questions. He was particularly interested in the conversation James had overheard between von Schatten and Simon Revile in the king’s chambers.

Wendy then told of James’s disappearance, and her mother’s futile trip to Scotland Yard. She told how her mother had revealed to her the existence of the Starcatchers, and the centuries of struggle against the Others for control of starstuff, culminating in the cataclysmic explosion in the Rundoon desert. Then, fighting back tears, she told of the morning her mother had given her the locket, then had left to go see Leonard, and also disappeared. She told of the hackney driver’s nod to the bobby, and of the bobby’s reappearance with the two Scotland Yard detectives. Leonard asked her more questions, some of which she could answer, some of which she couldn’t. Finally he fell back on his pillow, his face slack with exhaustion.

“I was afraid of this,” he said. “We were too confident. We let our guard down. Now they’ve come back. And they’re after the Cache.”

“The what?”

“The Cache,” said Leonard. “A large quantity of starstuff, hidden here in London centuries ago.”

“Hidden by whom?”

“By the original Starcatchers,” said Leonard.

“But I thought…Mother told me that the Starcatchers returned the starstuff to the heavens,” said Wendy. “So the Others wouldn’t get it.”

“We returned most of it,” said Leonard. “But in those early days the Others were much more powerful. The Starcatchers worried constantly that if the Others managed to get their hands on a major starstuff fall, they would have an insurmountable advantage. They decided to create the Cache as a reserve, so that they could defend themselves. They put a large quantity of starstuff into a gold-lined chest, and they hid it in a vault, deep underground, here in London. The vault is protected by a very special lock, made from a metal that has been infused with starstuff. The only way to open that lock is to insert a sword—a very special sword, also infused with starstuff. It is called Curtana.”

“Curtana?”

“Yes. It is also known as the Sword of Mercy,” said Leonard. “In any event, it was never needed. Eventually it changed hands, more than once. It was used in an attempt on the life of Charlemagne, during which the tip was broken off—by an angel, according to legend. When it broke, it was like the key to the vault breaking. The starstuff was sealed forever. I’ve no doubt that tip of the sword is the ‘missing piece’ James overheard von Schatten talking about in the palace. It has been lost for centuries, somewhere in Belgium or Germany. I have a hard time believing …” His voice trailed off.

“What about the rest of the sword?” asked Wendy.

Grunting with effort, Leonard raised himself up and looked at Wendy, his gaze intense. “It is now part of the Crown Jewels,” he said. “And that is what worries me.”

“But why? The Crown Jewels are very well protected, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Locked and guarded in the Tower of London,” said Leonard. “Completely safe. But they are brought out on certain special occasions.”

Wendy gasped. “The coronation,” she said.

“Yes,” said Leonard. “The jewels will be brought out, including Curtana. Von Schatten, or Ombra, or whatever he is, intends to get hold of the sword and reattach the missing tip. Once Curtana is whole again, it can be used to open the Cache. There have been no starstuff falls since Rundoon, Wendy. That means the Cache is one of only two large stores of starstuff left on earth. If von Schatten gets hold of it…”

“Where is the other one?” said Wendy.

“Mollusk Island. Deep inside. It fell into a crevice from the flying ship. I don’t know if von Schatten knows about that one; we must pray that he doesn’t. But somehow he found out about the Cache.”

Leonard gripped Wendy’s arm. His hand was cold. His breath was coming in gasps.

“Wendy,” he said. “They must not get that starstuff. They
must
be stopped.”

“But how?” said Wendy.

“You must be very careful,” gasped Leonard. “They must control at least some of the Metropolitan Police. They captured your mother because she was asking questions. They’ll be holding her somewhere. We cannot risk endangering her further. Or you!” He paused, gasping. “You must
not
go to the police. You must go …” Leonard winced in pain, groaned, and fell back onto the pillow.

“Go
where,
Grandfather?”

Leonard fought for breath. “Peter,” he whispered.

“The flying boy? On the island?”

“Yes.”

“But where is the island? How can I get there?”

Leonard raised a shaking hand and pointed toward the locket.

“It has power,” he said. “Great power.”

Leonard gripped her hand, stopping her. He was trying to say something, but fast losing strength. Wendy leaned close to hear the old man’s whispered words.

“He must come…Tell him …” Leonard’s eyelids fluttered shut.

“Grandfather, what? Tell him
what?”

“Confess,” whispered Leonard.

He groaned again, and his hand went limp, releasing Wendy’s arm. His face was ashen.

“Grandfather!” said Wendy. He did not respond. Wendy ran to the door and yanked it open. “Mrs. Bumbrake! Please come! Hurry!”

Moments later Mrs. Bumbrake bustled in. She felt Leonard’s pulse, then bustled to the doorway and bellowed downstairs, ordering the maid to summon Dr. Sable, the Aster family physician. Then she glared at Wendy and said, “I told you not to get him excited.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bumbrake. I didn’t mean to. But…”

“Sorry doesn’t do any good now,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, turning away. She went to Leonard’s bedside. Wendy, her eyes burning, went downstairs. She sat in the parlor, weeping, refusing the maid’s offer of tea. Twenty minutes later, Dr. Sable arrived; he was in Leonard’s room for the better part of an hour. When he came back down, Wendy was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Will Grandfather be all right?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Sable said softly. “His will is strong, but his heart is weak. Right now he’s stable, and sleeping. He needs rest, and he needs your prayers, Wendy.”

Wendy nodded. Tears streaked her face. Dr. Sable put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, Wendy,” he said. “I’m sure that seeing you did him good.” He turned to Mrs. Bumbrake, at the top of the stairs. “Call me if there’s any change. Otherwise I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Dr. Sable left. Mrs. Bumbrake descended the stairs. Without a word, she pulled Wendy into her arms and gave her a massive hug.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said. “It’s just that, with Mrs. Aster gone, he’s all I have left.” She sobbed into Wendy’s shoulder.

Wendy hugged her back, hard. “I know,” she whispered.

“You’d best go now,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “Catch your train back to Cambridgeshire. Your uncle will be worried.”

“Right,” said Wendy.

“I’ll send word of your grandfather,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, getting Wendy’s coat. “I’m sure his condition will improve with rest.”

“Thank you,” said Wendy.

A minute later she was back outside. She walked north, reaching busy Bayswater Road as the late afternoon deepened into dusk. She considered taking a taxicab to the train station. She saw one clopping her way, and almost raised her hand to signal the driver. But then she glanced behind it and saw, amid some pedestrians, a bobby. He was walking toward her.

She turned around and started walking quickly in the other direction. She came to a busy intersection and turned right. She glanced behind her. She saw a taxicab turning right; was it the same one? She saw the bobby reaching the corner. He seemed to be looking around. Wendy started walking again, even faster, not looking back. She came to an alley and turned into it. Trotting now, she followed the alley to another street, where she turned left, then right into another alley. She kept this up, turning and turning, avoiding main roads, working her way toward the train station, hoping she would get there in time to catch the last train to Cambridgeshire.

And then what? The questions nagged at Wendy as she trotted along. Why had her grandfather said “confess”? And how would she find Peter? She had no idea where this mysterious island was. Even if she did find him, how could a boy—even a flying one—stop von Schatten and the Others from reaching the Cache? For that matter, where
was
the Cache? Wendy realized that her grandfather had told her only that it was in London, somewhere underground.

The more Wendy thought about her situation, the more hopeless it seemed. As far as she knew, only four people understood the danger that faced England, and for that matter the world. Two of them were James and her mother, who had both disappeared, presumably captured by the Others. The third was her grandfather, who lay on his bed with death hovering near.

That left Wendy, an eleven-year-old girl, afraid to trust the police or hardly anyone else. She thought about her mother, who at about Wendy’s age had also found herself alone, trying to protect a trunk of starstuff on a ship far out at sea. She had been strong, Wendy knew. But she had also found allies.

Wendy’s hand went to the locket around her neck. She would try to be strong, too. She owed that to her mother. But where would she find allies?