Peter and the Sword of Mercy Read Free Page B

reason he must always wear those dark glasses. Or so he says.”
    “What sort of accident?”
    “Von Schatten is vague about the details,” said James. “But it happened at an archaeological site in the North African desert. Von Schatten was exploring the ruins of a temple—a temple that had stood for thousands of years, only to collapse twenty-three years ago in a mysterious explosion.”
    Molly went pale. “Rundoon,” she whispered.
    “Yes,” said James. “Rundoon. Von Schatten was exploring the Jackal.”
    “But it was destroyed!” said Molly. “The rocket…”
    “The temple was severely damaged, yes,” said James. “Obliterated, in fact, aboveground. But there was a crater, and at the bottom of that crater a hole, a sort of cave in the sand. Von Schatten went down there. He went alone—the guides would not go within a mile of that cursed place. He was gone for several days. When he finally came out, he claimed to have fallen and hit his head and lost consciousness for a time. He had no visible injuries. But he was…changed.”
    “How so?” said Molly.
    “For one thing, he could no longer stand sunlight. That can happen temporarily, of course, after days in total darkness. But the affliction stayed with von Schatten. He is never seen outside, and his eyes are always hidden behind those impenetrably dark glasses. But there was more: his personality had changed. Before, he had been outgoing; now he was reserved, sullen—an utterly different person. His family, his colleagues, said it was as if”—James lowered his voice—“as if someone else were inhabiting his body.”
    For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Then Molly shook her head.
    “It can’t be,” she said, her own voice a whisper. “After all this time…It just can’t be.”
    “I wish you were right,” said James. “But after what I learned at the palace …”
    He leaned forward, his eyes boring into Molly’s.
    “Molly,” he said. “I think it’s him.”

     
    “And that,” said Wendy, “is why the moon changes its shape.”
    “Because an elephant is eating it?” scoffed John. “That’s silly!”
    “I’m sorry, but that’s your bedtime story,” said Wendy, rising from the rocking chair at the end of the boys’ beds.
    “That’s the worst bedtime story ever,” said John.
    “Well, it’s the one you get tonight,” said Wendy. It was true; she usually told a much longer story. But tonight she was more interested in what was going on downstairs.
    “How does the moon come back?” said Michael.
    “I don’t know, said Wendy impatiently. “Perhaps the elephant spits it back out.”
    “But then it wouldn’t be round!” said John. “There would be just pieces of moon, covered with elephant spit.”
    “Good night,” said Wendy, going to the bedroom door.
    “But what does the elephant stand on?” said Michael.
    “I said good night,” said Wendy, closing the door behind her, leaving the two boys to complain to each other about the declining quality of bedtime stories.
    Wendy walked to her own bedroom, paused, then continued down the hallway to the top of the stairs. She listened for a moment, then descended on quiet bare feet to the staircase landing. Now she could hear her mother and Mr. Smith talking. She couldn’t make out the words, but her mother’s tone was clear: she was upset about something.
    Wendy frowned. Her mother was not easily upset. What was this mysterious Mr. Smith telling her? What had brought him here at this hour?
    On tiptoe, Wendy started down the stairs.

     
    Molly was shaking her head. “I thought this was over,” she said.
    “We all did,” said James.
    “After Rundoon,” said Molly, “when years and years passed, and there were no more starstuff falls…Father was convinced— all the Starcatchers were—that the Others had finally been defeated, along with that awful creature …” She stopped, not wanting to say the name.
    “Ombra,” said James.
    Molly