Peter and the Sword of Mercy (27 page)

Mrs. Bumbrake looked up. “He’s…dying,” she said.

“Oh dear,” said Neville. “Is there anything—”

“Dr. Sable said at this point it’s no use taking him to the hospital. He doesn’t want to go anyway.”

“How much time?”

“Days. Maybe hours.” Mrs. Bumbrake sobbed again. “I fear he’s going to die without ever seeing his family again. And the worst of it is, he keeps calling for Molly…actually, sometimes Molly, sometimes Wendy. Whichever it is, he wants to tell her something. He seems obsessed with it.”

“Tell her what?”

“I honestly don’t know. He’s delirious, and he’s very weak, so his words are unclear. But he keeps saying something about a sword.”

“A sword? Does he own a sword? Perhaps something he wants to bequeath to his heirs?”

“Not that I know of. And there’s one other thing.”

“What?”

“Something about a meteorite.”

“A meteorite? Are you quite certain?”

“Yes. He’s said it quite clearly several times.”

“What about a meteorite?”

“I don’t know. As I say, he’s delirious. He just keeps repeating Molly’s name, or sometimes Wendy’s, then something about a sword, and a meteorite. When I ask him what he means, he becomes agitated, and then I lose him.”

“Odd,” said Neville.

“Whatever it is,” said Mrs. Bumbrake, “I think it’s connected with the Starcatchers.”

“But you can’t possibly—”

“Yes, I can. I know what I know. It has to do with the Starcatchers I tell you, and Wendy’s visit, and Molly’s disappearance, and now George’s. The evil is back, Mr. Plonk-Fenster. It’s here.” She glanced toward the parlor window, then added, “It’s around this very house.”

“What’s
around this house?” said Neville.

“I think we’re being watched,” she said. “I’ve seen men outside.”

“It’s London. There are lots of—”

“No, these men are watching us. Bobbies, some of them. Watching at all hours.”

Neville nodded, but he was unconvinced. He was about to say something when John burst into the parlor, followed by Michael, who had his hand over his face.

“Michael put a soldier in his nose,” announced John.

“Only his head,” protested Michael.

“More like his whole body,” said John. “And it’s stuck.”

“Is not!” said Michael.

“Then pull it out if it’s not stuck,” said John.

“I don’t
want
to pull it out,” said Michael.

Neville and Mrs. Bumbrake exchanged a look. He lowered his voice and said, “We can discuss this later. For now, the question is, what do we do with the boys, until we find Geo—until matters are straightened out?”

“The boys will stay here,” said Mrs. Bumbrake firmly. “And so will you.”

“But I had planned to—”

“Mr. Plonk-Fenster,” said Mrs. Bumbrake,
“surely
you do not intend to leave me in this house with these two children and Lord Aster in his current condition.”

Neville blinked. “Of course not,” he said.

“Good,” said Mrs. Bumbrake. “Now let me see about the soldier in Michael’s nose.” She rose from the table and headed toward the boys. Neville also rose. He went to the window, parted the curtains, and peered out into the London night. The fog had crept in as usual, obscuring most of the street. The lone illumination came from a gas streetlight, casting a ghostly pale cone of light down to the sidewalk.

In the cone, facing the Aster house, was a bobby.

D
EASY’S
T
ALE

C
APTAIN
H
OOK STOOD AT
the starboard rail of the
Jolly Roger,
a happy man. At last—at
last
—he was where a pirate belonged, at sea, in command of a ship. Granted, the ship had pink sails; Hook could barely bring himself to look at them. But he intended to fix that problem by stealing the sails of the first ship he encountered, along with anything else of value. Why, he’d take the whole ship if he liked it better than the one he commanded now.

Hook spat into the dark blue water. He smiled, imagining the terrified looks on the faces of those aboard the first ship he attacked. The word would spread quickly, he was sure of it. Hook
was back.
The world would quiver in fear.

“Cap’n!” shouted the helmsman.

Hook turned and said, “What is it?”

The helmsman pointed to port.

“Smoke,” he said.

Hook quickly crossed the deck and squinted into the distance. It took him a moment, but then he saw it: a black smudge on the horizon.

“Steamer,” he said.

“Aye,” said the helmsman at the wheel. “Heading northeast.”

Hook rubbed his chin, careful to use his non-hook hand. He was surprised to see a steamer this far out to sea; in his pirating years, steamers had mainly been slow and fairly small coastal vessels. But no matter. Whatever had brought this ship out to the open sea, it was going to be Hook’s ship soon. Its cargo, his cargo.

He studied the wind a moment, the direction of the smudge on the horizon, noted the position of the sun, then shouted some orders. His men adjusted the sails; the helmsman altered his course a few degrees.

“Smee!” bellowed Hook.

The spherical first mate appeared a minute later, puffing from the exertion of climbing the ladderway.

“Aye, Cap’n?”

Hook pointed at the smudge. “Y’see that ship, Smee?”

Smee squinted. “No, Cap’n,” he said. “But I do see smoke.”

“That’s the ship, you idjit. It’s a steamer. That’s coal smoke you see. I’ve put us on a course that will intercept her after sunset. Cover of darkness, Smee. A sneak attack. They’ll never know what hit them.”

Smee nodded, frowning doubtfully at the smoke.

“Now, listen, Smee, I want you to go below and check them prisoners, make sure they’re secure. Don’t want ’em getting loose in the fray.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“And check that pesky girl, too. Tell her to keep to her cabin until it’s over.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Smee was still frowning at the smoke smudge. There was something troubling about this plan, but he couldn’t quite think of what it might be.

“Don’t stand there gaping like a grouper!” bellowed Hook. “Get below!”

“Aye,” said Smee, waddling away, still frowning.

Hook turned back to look at the smoke smudge once again. It had already grown noticeably larger.

Hook grinned.

“They’ll never know what hit them,” he said.

Peter, hidden high in the sails almost directly over Hook’s head, had seen the steamer and heard the pirate’s plan.

“Tink,” he whispered. “When you go to Wendy’s cabin tonight, I’m going with you.”

Tink had been visiting Wendy after dark to get food and water. Wendy saved it from her rations, and Tink carried it, a bit at a time, up to Peter.

You can’t go,
chimed Tink.
They’ll see you.
She didn’t mention her other reason, which was that she liked having Peter to herself, away from that girl.

“I have to go,” said Peter. “I need to warn Wendy that Hook’s planning to attack that ship.”

Why!
said Tink.

Peter didn’t actually have a good reason. He was bored from being stuck in his cramped hiding place, and he wanted to see Wendy.

“In case something happens,” he said.

Tink made a disgusted face and chimed,
You just want to see that girl.

“Don’t be silly,” said Peter.

I’M
not being silly,
said Tink.
YOU’RE the one who’s going get himself killed by Hook.

Peter smiled and said, “He’s already killed me, Tink. Remember?”

Tink made a disgusted sound, turned her back, and refused to talk to Peter again until nightfall.

Samuel Deasy walked unsteadily to the starboard rail on the main deck of the steamship
Lucy,
a two thousand-ton liner carrying one hundred eighty-five passengers across the ocean in considerable luxury.

Most of the passengers, including Deasy’s wife and her family, were still in the dining hall, finishing a lavish dinner. But Deasy had consumed a bit too much wine—
quite
a bit too much wine—and was feeling queasy. He was also annoyed by the disapproving looks he was getting from his in-laws, particularly his mother-in-law, who was not fond of him. So he had announced that he wanted to get some fresh air, and made his way unsteadily to the main deck.

The sun had set, and the moon had risen full and bright. Deasy leaned heavily on the rail, listening to the deep
thrum-thrum-thrum
of the ship’s engine and watching the water whoosh past far below. He raised his head and looked out at the vast expanse of ocean, utterly empty except for …

A sailing ship.

It was running without lights but was visible in the moonlight, ahead and just a bit to starboard. To Deasy, it appeared to be on something of a collision course. At the least, it would pass very close to the
Lucy.
He was not worried; he assumed that the ships were aware of one another. The helmsmen would adjust their courses accordingly.

What Deasy didn’t know was that the helmsman of the
Lucy
had also had a bit too much to drink this night. He was half asleep at the wheel, unaware of the dark and far smaller sailing ship to starboard, a ship on a heading certain to cross his course.