Peter and the Shadow Thieves (23 page)

With agonizing effort, Peter staggered to his feet and again lunged forward, this time managing to reach the cage. He took hold of it just as the wiry man grabbed him, pul ing back his fist to deliver another blow to Peter’s face.

“Here now!” boomed a new, deeply authoritative voice. “What’s this al about?”

The wiry man dropped his fist. He and Peter turned to find themselves facing a police officer, a large man sporting a luxuriant walrus moustache.

“He’s a thief,” said the wiry man, pointing to Peter holding the cage. “Tried to steal me best canaries, he did.” The wiry man appealed to the other pet sel ers, who nodded in sober confirmation.

“A thief, is it?” said the bobby, grabbing Peter by his shirt col ar. “Hand it over, then,” he said.

“But she’s
mine
!” said Peter. “I…
OW
!”

He was silenced by a sharp poke in the ribs from the bobby’s stick.

“You save your talk for the magistrate,” said the bobby sternly. “Not that he’l want to hear it neither.” This witticism drew a hearty laugh from the pet sel ers.

“Come along, then,” said the bobby. He yanked the birdcage away from Peter and handed it back to the sel er.

Peter
? In the noise of the market, only Peter heard the muffled bel s. He stepped toward the cage again, only to be jerked violently away by the bobby, who began dragging him down the street, away from the market. Peter tried to jump—hoping, in desperation, to fly his way free of this predicament—but the bobby’s massive hand held his arm in an iron grip.

As they reached the end of Brick Lane, Peter took a last glance back at the pet sel er, who was watching him and smiling, as he tied a second rope around his now-precious canary cage. The last thing Peter heard, as he lost sight of the market, was the distant, muffled, desperate sound of bel s.

M
OLLY AWOKE TO A tapping on her door. She had finaly falen asleep just before dawn, and wanted nothing more than to snuggle deeper beneath her warm comforter. But the tapping persisted.

“Miss Aster!” cal ed an unwelcome voice. “Miss Aster!”

Mol y groaned and, throwing off the comforter, rose from her bed and padded in bare feet across the cold floor. She opened the door to find herself looking into the piercing eyes of Jenna.

“Lady Aster says she wants you down to breakfast,” said Jenna.

Mol y stared back for a moment, remembering Jenna’s odd visit to her room just a few hours earlier. She wondered if Jenna—who looked wide awake—had slept at al .

“Tel her I’l be right down,” Mol y said curtly, closing the door.

She dressed quickly and went downstairs to the breakfast room, where she found her mother seated at the table, a half-finished breakfast in front of her, a reproving look on her face.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Mol y said, sitting down. “I couldn’t get to sleep last night. There was the strangest…” She stopped in midsentence as Jenna entered the room, carrying a plate of eggs, which she set in front of Mol y. Mol y remained silent as Jenna bowed slightly and left the room. Louise Aster looked at her daughter expectantly.

“Yes?” she prompted. “The strangest what?”

Mol y looked toward the doorway through which Jenna had just departed. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, “Last night—” She was interrupted by an outburst of furious barking from the rear of the house, soon joined by loud shouts. Mol y and her mother looked at each other, then jumped up and hurried out of the breakfast room and down the hal . Fol owing the noise, they passed by the kitchen and into the staff dining room.

Inside they found a frantic scene:

Homblower, normal y a placid dog, was in a raging fury, his huge teeth bared in a fierce snarl as he barked furiously and lunged at Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Cadigan. The two men stood near the far wal , eyeing the dog, their faces pale in the bright gaslight; Mol y thought their expressions were oddly impassive, almost vacant, considering how close they were to the snapping jaws. The third guard, Mr. Hodge, was desperately trying to hold Homblower back, gripping his col ar with both hands. Hodge was a large man, but Homblower was a large dog, and Hodge was just barely able to restrain him.

Final y, with great effort, Hodge was able to get a leash on Homblower and drag him outside, where he tied the leash to a tree. He returned to the dining room, red-faced and panting, and sat at the table. Jarvis and Cadigan remained standing by the wal , neither having moved. Several servants, including Jenna, had come to see what the fuss was about.

Louise Aster addressed the three guards. “What on earth was that about?” she said.

Hodge shot a look at the other two men—an odd look, Mol y thought—then spoke.

“I don’t know, ma’am,” he said. “I had Homblower in the room with me last night—it was my night off—and when we came downstairs, as soon as he saw Mister Jarvis and Mister Cadigan, why, he just went mad. I don’t understand it.” Again, he looked at Jarvis and Cadigan. “He’s never done anything like that before. He knows them wel as he knows me.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Aster. “Mister Jarvis? Mister Cadigan? Have you an idea what’s gotten into the dog?” The two men shook their heads, but neither spoke. This was odd, Mol y thought: both Jarvis and Cadigan were usual y talkative.

“I see,” said Mrs. Aster, and Mol y noticed that she, too, seemed a bit puzzled by the reticence of the two men. “Wel then,” she went on, “I suppose it’s best to keep Hornblower outside until he calms down.”

Hodge nodded. Jarvis and Cadigan remained motionless.

“Wel then,” repeated Mrs. Aster as the silence became awkward. “Mol y, let’s finish our breakfast.” She left the room. Mol y fol owed, feeling Jenna’s eyes on her as she walked past the servants. Mol y felt tired and confused. Everything seemed wrong: Jenna’s behavior; the strange events she’d seen by the gaslight last night; Hornblower’s sudden hostility to Jarvis and Cadigan; and their uncharacteristic passivity. There was something else about them as wel —Mol y frowned, thinking of the two of them against the wal —yes, there had definitely been something strange about the way they looked, though at the moment she couldn’t quite identify it.

Mol y fol owed her mother to the breakfast room, determined to voice her concerns.

“Mother,” she said as they sat down. “There’s something wrong.”

“I know,” said her mother quietly.

“You do?” said Mol y.

“Yes,” said her mother. “But we can’t talk about it now.” She tilted her head slightly toward the doorway; as she did, Jenna glided past.

“Mother,” whispered Mol y, “I’m scared.”

“It’s al right,” her mother said, putting her hand on Mol y’s. “We’l be al right.”

The words were reassuring, but Mol y was not persuaded by them. She heard the strain in her mother’s voice. And she saw the fear in her eyes.

C
APTAIN NEREZZA SIPPED warm tea from a battered mug, staring at Slank over the rising steam. They sat at the large table in the center of the captain’s oversized cabin. The wan light of dawn flowed through the row of windows at the stern. A smal cannon, useful as a stern chaser during combat at sea, was strapped to the wal , its brass gleaming.

Outside on the quay, weary sailors, awakened too early, rol ed barrels, while others cursed and shouted as they struggled to maneuver nets fil ed with heavy cargo. Some sailors, having overdone the grog, slept against the wal of the Jol y Tar; one was passed out in a wheelbarrow. A typical morning on St. Katherine’s dock.

“I don’t like it,” Slank said. “We were so close.”

Nerezza said, “We have two of the three guards now. He knows what he’s doing.”

“We should have finished it,” Slank complained. “We should have charged in there. Who was going to stop us?”

“That’s just it,” said Nerezza. “We don’t know, do we?”

“There were five of us! And with the two guards taken—”

“—and a third guard, we don’t know where,” Nerezza added calmly. “There’re the other servants in the house that need taking care of. Ombra’s got plans for that. And time’s running short, and dawn coming. And that ain’t al .”

“What d’you mean?”

“You’ve had a smal taste of what them Starcatchers can do,” Nerezza said.

Slank winced at the memory of how he had been bested by the flying boy back on the island.

“I shouldn’t have to tel you,” continued Nerezza, “what even a boy can do if he has hold of the starstuff. Now, inside that house you have a mother and daughter, true enough. But not a normal mother and daughter, eh, Mister Slank? Not considering the father. No, them is Starcatchers. Maybe they can fly, like the boy. If they can, what good is storming in on them if they take off out the window like a pair of birds? Maybe they got powers we ain’t seen yet, eh? That’s what Ombra’s thinking, I tel you. He don’t intend to come al this way to lose them by rushing things. No, he wants to deal with that third guard, put the odds in our favor, give us the advantage when we go after Mrs. Aster and the girl, y’see? So I’d be patient if I was you, Mister Slank, unless, of course, you fancy to be the first one he sends through that door and into that house.” Slank nodded, seeing Nerezza’s point. He looked out the window, pondering. Mention of the Starcatchers and the flying boy reminded him of the bone he’d found in the sail, and his suspicions. He wondered if now wasn’t the time to tel Nerezza that there might be stil another Starcatcher in London, maybe inside the Aster house. The thought dangled there on the tip of Slank’s tongue, but he could not spit it out, for fear Nerezza would think him a fool.

Nerezza saw the worry on Slank’s face. “What is it?” he said.

There it was: an invitation for Slank to reveal his suspicions.

But instead, Slank said, “I don’t want to be the first one into that house. You’re right about that.”

“You and me both,” Nerezza said.

“So we wait for tonight,” Slank said.

“Right,” said Nerezza. “We play it safe. And by the time the woman and the girl know we’re there, it’l be too late.” He took another sip of tea, heavily sugared, the way he liked it.

He savored its sweetness as he swal owed.