Peter and the Shadow Thieves (42 page)

But something was drawing him back. He was certain the children were stil in the tower. He didn’t know where they were hiding. But now, as he slithered down the staircase, he had a plan for drawing them out.

P
ETER AND MOLLY peered through the suits of armor, their eyes straining to see across the vast darkness of the lower room.

“I think they’re gone,” Peter whispered.

“From this floor, yes,” whispered Mol y. “But they’re stil in the tower.” Her words were confirmed by the distant echoing sounds of searchers cal ing to each other.

“Do you think we could make it to the front door?” said Peter.

“I doubt it,” said Mol y. “They’l have it guarded.”

“Is there another way out?”

Mol y frowned, remembering her visits to the tower. “I don’t know,” she said. “If there is, it would be upstairs.” She thought about the front staircase and shuddered, thinking of the fal en form of McGuinn lying there in the darkness. Unable to bear the thought of stepping over his body, she pointed toward the rear staircase. “Let’s go this way,” she said.

Cautiously, they crept out from among the suits of armor and crossed the floor to the archway leading to the rear stairs. Inside the spiral staircase it was blacker than black.

“Should I have Tink light the way?” whispered Peter.

“We’d better not,” said Mol y. “They might see.”

Slowly, feeling their way with their feet, they began to make their way up the stairs. They had gone four or five steps when Mol y stopped, putting her hand on Peter’s arm.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“What?” whispered Peter.

“Shh. Listen.”

They listened, and after a moment’s silence they both heard it.

A woman’s voice echoing plaintively across the room they had just left.

“Mol y!” said the voice.

Mol y’s grip tightened on Peter’s arm, so hard that he winced in pain.

“
Mother,
” she whispered. “Peter, that’s my mother!”

“Mol y,” cal ed the voice, closer now. “Please, help me!”

Mol y started down the stairs. Peter grabbed her.

“Wait,” he whispered.

She jerked her arm free. “That’s my
mother,
Peter.”

“Mol y!” the voice cal ed again, closer stil .

Mol y was about to cal out when Peter clamped his hand over her lips. They struggled silently on the dark staircase, Peter whispering harshly in Mol y’s ear.

“
Think
, Mol y,” he said. “It could be a trick.”

He felt her hesitate, then stop struggling. She nodded her head. He removed his hand from her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” she answered. “You’re right.”

“Mol y!” cal ed the voice. “Please come out! I need you, Mol y!”

Together, Mol y and Peter crept to the bottom of the staircase. Mol y peered through the archway and gasped. Coming toward her, along the lower room’s long side wal , was a woman’s shadow cast by the wavering light of a lantern. Its source was invisible, blocked by the armor display. Mol y saw the shadow raise its hands in a pleading gesture, and again heard her mother’s voice:

“Mol y! Please!”

“It’s her,” Mol y whispered. “Peter, it’s
her
.”

Tink made a soft warning sound.

“No,” said Peter. “Look.”

Lady Aster’s shadow had moved closer along the wal , and now they could see where, at its base, it tapered into a long, dark teardrop shape that stretched across the floor.

The teardrop shadow connected to Ombra.

He glided toward them, his black hood swiveling left and right, hunting; its movement independent of those of the shadow.

“Mol y!” The shadow’s plaintive voice pierced Mol y’s heart. “Please!”

Mol y stared at the oncoming shapes, frozen. Peter grabbed her by the arm, pul ed her back into the archway.

“It’s not her, Mol y,” he whispered. “It’s not.”

Mol y al owed herself, reluctantly, to be pul ed back, her eyes refusing to leave the shadow.

“Come
on,
” whispered Peter, pul ing her to the stairs.

Final y Mol y turned and fol owed. She put her hands to her ears to stop the pitiful sound coming from below.

“Mol y…
please.
”

With Peter leading, they quickly ascended the steps to the middle floor, the one where McGuinn had let them in to the White Tower. Across the cavernous dark room they saw the flickering of a lantern and the shadows of men searching; clearly they would not be able to get to the door through which they had entered. There was no sign of a door on the side of the room where they now stood.

Tink made the warning sound again.

Peter and Mol y looked back and saw the reason: lantern light now shone from below on the stairway behind them. Then the beseeching voice came again….

“
Molly!
”

Ombra, having crossed the lower room, was now ascending on their side. The searchers on the middle floor were coming closer. Peter and Mol y saw they had no choice now but to take the stairs to the upper floor. Without speaking, they tiptoed quickly up the staircase. The upper room Was very dark; they could just make out the shapes of several columns toward the middle. Peter and Mol y listened for a moment, hearing nothing. Peter broke the silence.

“Now what?” he whispered.

“Let’s see if there’s a window,” answered Mol y.

Cautiously they moved along the back wal . They came to an opening in the wal ; the darkness there was just slightly less black. Peter reached into the opening, feeling with his hands.

“It’s a window,” he whispered. “But it has bars on it.”

Mol y was about to answer, when a deep voice thundered at them.

“WHO’S THAT!” it shouted.

Peter and Mol y froze, neither one breathing. The voice was coming from the shadows near a column no more than twenty-five feet away.

“I SAID, WHO’S THAT?” the voice repeated.

Silence.

“BLACKIE!” the voice boomed. “BRING THE LANTERN! THERE’S SOMEBODY UP HERE!”

Instantly there was shouting from below, the pounding of heavy-booted feet on stone, light coming up the stairs.

Peter and Mol y, having nowhere else to go, ran along the rear wal , away from the stairs, toward the corner of the room. In the darkness, Peter nearly slammed face-first into the side wal . With Mol y behind him, he felt along the wal and came to an opening.

“In here!” he whispered.

They ducked into the opening and found themselves in a pitch-black space, so narrow they could touch the wal s on either side. Behind them the shouting was louder. Ahead of them was…

A hole,
Tink said.

“What?” whispered Peter.

There’s a hole,
she said.

“Where?” said Peter.

“What?” said Mol y.

Right in front of you,
said Tink. She flitted forward and, for just a second, glowed softly, il uminating a low wooden platform set into the rough tower stone. In the center of the platform was a hole, a bit more than a foot in diameter.

Mol y recognized it instantly, it being one of the more popular attractions on the tower tour.

“The garderobe,” she whispered.

“What’s that mean?” whispered Peter.

“It’s a toilet,” whispered Mol y, blushing.

“Where’s it go?”

“Outside.”

“You mean, just…outside?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, then,” whispered Peter. “Tink, give us a little light.”

By Tink’s soft glow, Peter climbed onto the platform, sat, and stuck his feet into the hole. He slid forward into it, then raised his hands over his head as he went through. It was a tight fit, but he made it. He disappeared for a moment, then his head popped back up through the hole.

“Come on!” he urged Mol y. “It’s a bit of a drop, but I’l hold you.”

Mol y looked doubtful.

She thinks she’s too good to go down a toilet,
observed Tink.

The searchers’ shouts were quite loud now. One came from just outside the narrow opening leading to the garderobe.

“Come
on,
” repeated Peter.

Gingerly, Mol y stepped up onto the wooden platform. Peter ducked out of the way, and she put her legs through, being careful to tuck her dress. She began to slide forward, and raised her arms. She slid halfway through…

And got stuck. Her hips were just a bit too large for the opening. She began kicking her feet, trying to wiggle through, but she didn’t budge.

“I’m stuck,” she whispered.

Peter, hovering in the darkness on the underside of the hole, couldn’t hear her, but he saw what was happening. He wrapped his arms around her legs and tugged downward.

Stil , she did not move.

A voice boomed from right outside the garderobe.

“BRING THE LIGHT OVER HERE.” Boots clomped closer. Mol y saw the light coming now. She wiggled and kicked furiously, one of her shoes catching Peter in the ribs, sending him tumbling away into the night.

A man entered the garderobe, lantern in hand. He saw Mol y and let out a yel of triumph.

“IN HERE!” he shouted. “SHE’S IN HERE!” Other men piled into the space behind him, the wal s too close set to let them pass the man with the lantern.

“GRAB HER!” shouted a voice.

The man with the lantern reached forward to grab Mol y by the arm, then immediately jerked backward, roaring in pain as he felt Tinker Bel , moving almost too swiftly to see, punch a tiny but hard fist into his right eye. The man staggered backward, knocking down the man behind him, who knocked down the man behind him. As they fel , yel ing, the lantern went out, and at the same moment Mol y felt Peter’s arms around her legs once again. She raised her arms again, and, as Peter yanked from below, she wiggled with al her strength; this time she felt herself sliding, one agonizing inch, then another. The fal en men were clambering to their feet. Mol y felt a hand grope for her, grabbing at her face. She opened her mouth and bit down on it with al her strength. The hand was yanked away as the owner screamed in pain, and Mol y, with a last, desperate wiggle, fel through the hole.

“Hang on!” shouted Peter, fighting desperately to slow her descent. Mol y clung to his neck, feeling him strain against her weight, not sure how far they had to…

THUMP
.

They hit the ground quite hard, but fortunately feet-first. They fel and rol ed, tangled up in each other’s arms. From above them—quite far above, Mol y could now see—a light appeared in the garderobe hole, and there was a great deal of angry and confused shouting.

A sudden silence, and then, drifting down through the night, a horrid groaning voice, indistinct but clearly enraged.

Quickly, Mol y and Peter disentangled themselves, rose to their feet and, with Tink flitting behind them, began to run.

T
wo CARRIAGES, each drawn by four horses, waited on the quay near a gaslight at the bottom of
Le Fantome’
s gangplank. The horses were unusualy restless, their hooves shifting on the stones, their breath steaming.

The cause of their restlessness glided silently up to the rear carriage, keeping to the shadow side, unseen by the driver until he heard a strange, wheezing voice next to him.

“Driver.”

“Eh, Guv’nor?” The driver turned and leaned down, then gasped as he found himself looking into an empty hood. Before he could speak again, Ombra slid onto the driver’s shadow, cast by the gaslight onto the quay. The driver’s head sagged. He now cast no shadow at al .

Ombra’s voice rasped into the chil y air: “Sit up.”

“Yes, my lord.” The driver lifted his head and stiffened his back.

Ombra glided swiftly up to the front carriage. The driver glanced back and saw a dark shape approaching: a shadow moving within a shadow.

“You move smooth as water,” said the driver jovial y. “Don’t even look like you’re walking!”

“I’m not.”

A moment later Ombra’s sack was a little fatter, and the second driver was as stil and obedient as the first.

Ombra turned and signaled Slank, who stood waiting on the deck of
Le Fantome,
holding the arm of a smal er figure draped in a plaid blanket. Slank strong-armed the figure down the gangplank, and as he did, the blanket slipped, revealing the ashen face and matted, oily hair of Lady Louise Aster. She descended the gangplank woodenly, like a child learning her first steps. When they reached the quay, Slank pushed her into the first carriage, then climbed in after her.