Peter and the Shadow Thieves (36 page)

“And the food they give us is
awful,
” said Tubby Ted.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” James said in a whisper.

“How?” said Prentiss. “They have this cage”—he pushed at a bamboo pole—“tied tight with knots that we can’t reach.”

“And there’s guards al day and night,” said Ted.

“And,” said Prentiss, “they told us that if we try to escape, they’l kil us.”

“Right,” said James, peering between poles at the pirates. “But if we don’t escape, Hook wil use us as bait to catch Peter.” He looked at the other boys. “And once he has Peter, he’l kil us al anyway.”

M
OLLY AND PETER, with Tink sitting on Peter’s head, made their way out of Kensington Gardens, into Hyde Park. The fog had turned the night nearly pitch black; Peter had no idea where they were or in which direction they were headed. But Mol y, who’d spent much of her childhood roaming these grounds, forged ahead confidently, with Peter stumbling behind. This troubled Peter just a bit—having gone so quickly from heroic rescuer to passive fol ower.

What troubled him more was Mol y’s height. When last he’d seen her, back on Mol usk Island, they were the same height; if Peter stood up straight—as he tended to do when he was around Mol y—he could even make himself a bit tal er.

But when they’d climbed down from the tree and, for a moment, stood next to each other, Peter noticed that Mol y was now tal er—not by much, but tal er nonetheless.

He thought Mol y noticed it, too, though she said nothing.

Now, as he trotted along behind her in the darkness, a part of Peter’s mind strayed from their current predicament to the troublesome fact that she was growing older and he was not. How much had she changed? What would this mean for their friendship? Would they—

“
Oof,
” he said, running into Mol y’s back, nearly knocking her over and getting a mocking chime from Tink. “Sorry! I…I didn’t see you stop. What is it?”

“That’s Kensington Road,” Mol y whispered. Ahead, Peter saw the dim sphere of a streetlight, with paler echoes on either side. “George’s house is just down there, past Prince’s Gate in Ennismore Gardens.”

They walked forward and crossed Kensington Road, deserted at this late hour. In a moment they were on a grand street lined on both sides with massive mansions standing shoulder to shoulder.

“George’s house is just down here to the left,” said Mol y, setting off briskly. In a minute she stopped in front of a particularly fine home, with marble steps leading up to a front door flanked by massive pil ars.

Mol y stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at the door, frowning.

“Are you going to knock?” said Peter.

Mol y shook her head. “No,” she said. “George’s parents are very…proper. If they see y—”

She looked at Peter in his filthy rags, with Tinker Bel on his head. “If they see
us
at this time of night, they may become quite alarmed. They might even cal the police, and we don’t want that. One of those men back there was a constable, or at least disguised as one. We don’t know who the real police are. And even if we did, how could I explain the situation to them? If I start talking about the Others, and starstuff, and the shadow creature—”

Peter nodded. Having recently escaped from the police, he had his own reasons for not wanting to be seen by them. “So what are we going to do?” he said.

“George’s room is in the back,” she said. “We’l go ’round through the al ey, then see if we can find a way to wake him.” They walked past the mansion and turned left into a lightless al ey. Gingerly, they felt their way to the end and around to the back of the Darling house. Al the windows on this side were dark; what little light there was came from a streetlight on the next street over.

“George’s room is on the third floor, on this corner,” said Mol y, pointing. “That window there.” Peter wondered how she knew that.

Mol y was studying a large elm that stood next to the house. “If we could get up to that branch there,” she said, “we could tap on the window.”

“I can fly up there,” Peter said.

Mol y looked doubtful. “But George doesn’t know you,” she said. “He’d probably think you were a burglar and sound the alarm. Can you help me up? If I could just get to that lower branch there—” She pointed to a limb about ten feet away. “I think I could climb the rest of the way.”

“Al right,” said Peter. “Hold on to my neck.”

Mol y stepped close and draped her arms around him. There was an awkward moment as they embraced—awkward, yet strangely pleasant for both—then Peter said, “On three, jump as hard as you can. One…two…
three.
”

They sprang upward together, floating just high enough that Mol y could grab the limb and clamber onto it. From there, with Peter’s help, she was able to climb to the limb at the third-floor level. Then, with Peter crouching behind, she crept out onto the limb to the window.

She took a breath, then made a fist and rapped on the glass three times.

Nothing.

Three more raps, harder this time.

Stil nothing.

Mol y had drawn back her fist to try again, when she gasped; a pale, puzzled face had appeared in the window. Mol y’s fist became a waving hand.

“George!” she whispered. “It’s me! Let me in!”

The look of puzzlement on George’s face turned to recognition. The window slid open.

“Mol y?” George said quite loudly. “What are you doing—”

“
Shhh!
” said Mol y. “Don’t wake your parents! May I come in?”

“But how did you—”

“I’l explain,” said Mol y. “But
may I please come in out of this tree
?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry!” George pushed a large telescope away from the window, then helped Mol y into his room. He was wearing a long nightshirt and a tasseled nightcap, which made his ears seem to protrude even more than usual.

“You must be freezing,” he said, noticing that Mol y wore no coat. He began to close the window.

“No!” whispered Mol y.

George looked back at her.

“There’s someone else in the tree,” she said. “A friend.”

“
What
?” said George, sticking his head out the window. Seeing Peter, he raised up and smacked his head hard on the window frame.

“OW!”

Another idiot,
observed Tinker Bel .

“Quiet,” said Peter, stuffing her into his shirt.

Rubbing his head, George said, “Who on earth are
you
?”

“I’m Peter,” said Peter.

“He’s a friend of mine,” said Mol y. “He’s cold. Please let him in.”

“But…but…” said George, his aching brain in danger of being overwhelmed.

“
Please,
George,” said Mol y.

“Wel , I mean…I suppose if—” said George.

“Oh,
thank
you,” said Mol y, brushing past George and helping Peter through the window. For a moment Peter and George studied each other; neither seemed impressed with what he saw. Peter saw a gawky, stiff, and—unfortunately—tal boy with dark eyes, pink cheeks, and large ears. George saw a compact, wiry boy with an impish face and a tousled nest of reddish hair, barefoot and clad in filthy, torn rags. Under George’s scrutiny, Peter suddenly became acutely aware that he had not bathed in a very long time.

“Wel then!” said Mol y. “George, this is Peter. Peter, George.”

The two boys continued to regard each other doubtful y.

“I suppose I should explain,” Mol y said.

“Yes,” said George, turning to her. “Please do.”

“Al right, then,” she said. “It’s a bit complicated”—she gave Peter a look. “But I’l try.” She took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “Some men came to my house tonight and took my mother.”

“
What
?” said George. “Took her
where
?”

“I don’t know,” said Mol y. “They forced her into a cab and took her away.”

“But…who are these men?”

“They’re evil men, George. They’ve taken my mother because they want something from my father. They’re using her as leverage to get it.”

“So they’re kidnappers!” said George. “But, Mol y, that’s
awful!
Did you tel the police?”

“No,” said Mol y.

“Why on earth not?”

Mol y looked at Peter again, then said, “I can’t, George. I think the police may be involved. And there are”—she glanced at Peter—“other reasons.”

“Wel then, let me tel Father,” said George. “He knows some very important people. He can…”

“
No,
” said Mol y, with an urgency that made George flinch. “You mustn’t tel
anybody.
You could put my mother in even worse danger. Please promise me, George.
You mustn’t
tell anybody.
”

“Al right,” said George reluctantly. “But if you don’t want help, why are you here?” He glanced at Peter as he said this.

“We have nowhere else to go,” said Mol y. “We were getting cold.”

“But what about your own house?”

“We can’t go there,” said Mol y. “The men who…who took my mother are stil there.”

“They’re in your house now?” George threw his hands up, then let them fal at his sides. “Wel , if you’re not going to ask the police for help, what
are
you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Mol y. “I need to think about it. But for now, I was hoping that you could let us stay here, and perhaps lend us some warm clothes.” George eyed Peter’s filthy figure with a look of open distaste. Peter looked back defiantly.

“Please,” said Mol y.

George sighed. “I suppose I could find some old things,” he said, “from when I was smal er.” Peter bristled, standing up straight.

“I don’t need charity,” he said.

Yes you do,
chimed Tink.

“Be quiet,” said Peter.

“What did you say?” said George.

“Nothing,” said Peter.

“Yes, you did,” said George. “I heard you say something.”

The two boys glared at each other until Mol y stepped between them.

“Please,” she said. “Please don’t argue, not now. I’ve got to find my father. I’ve got to help my…my…” Mol y buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

George and Peter both looked down, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” said George.

“Me too,” said Peter.

She even cries like a cow,
said Tinker Bel .

“Be quiet,” said Peter. George heard him, but let it go.

“I’m sorry,” said Mol y, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

Both boys shifted position, as if about to comfort her, but neither moved. For a moment there was no sound except for Mol y sniffling.

“Al right, then,” George said final y. “I’l go get some clothes for…for—”

“Peter,” said Peter.

“Right, Peter,” said George. “And, Mol y—”

“Yes?”

“Whatever help you need,” said George, “I’m…I mean—”

“Thank you, George,” said Mol y. She put her hand on his arm, an act that caused both George and Peter to redden, but for quite different reasons. The boys exchanged a look, and two things were clear to both of them:

One was that they were, for now, al ies.

The other was that they were most definitely not friends.

G
EORGE HAD FINALLY falen asleep. He was snoring on the floor, having insisted that Moly, being a girl, should take his bed. Moly had refused, insisting that Peter, being the most tired, should take the bed. Peter, of course, had refused.

So the bed was empty, and al three young people lay on the floor. George was the only one who’d managed to fal asleep, despite the fact that he was using a cricket bat as a pil ow. Mol y and Peter lay next to each other, both exhausted but too agitated by the night’s events to find the comfort of slumber. Tink—who had been hidden, unhappily, under the bed while George was awake—now sprawled on Peter’s chest.

Peter had cleaned himself up, somewhat, in George’s washbasin and was wearing a pair of George’s old knickers and a white cotton shirt, both finer than any clothing Peter had ever owned himself. George had also given him stockings and a pair of shoes that were a bit too large, but far better than nothing.

For the better part of an hour, the only sound in the room was George’s rhythmic drone of a snore. Then Mol y whispered, “I’m going to open it.”