Read Online Peter and the Sword of Mercy by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson - Free Book Online
Authors: Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson
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candles. He returned to the priest, wax droplets spattering the stone floor. He looked up at the ceiling.
“How well do you think those cross ties and braces would burn?” he asked. “And if they did, how long do you think the walls would last?”
The priest only shook his head.
“Coben,” rasped the Skeleton.
One of the two large men, the more wiry of the two, stepped forward quickly. The Skeleton handed him the candle. Coben took it and disappeared through an arch, his footfalls echoing.
“Please,” said the priest, softly. “This chapel has stood for more than a thousand years.”
‘“To everything there is a season,’” the Skeleton said. “Perhaps the chapel has outlived its purpose.”
Coben reappeared at the second level of the chapel. He had shed his robe. Placing the burning candle between his teeth, he jumped for the chapel’s central chandelier, a magnificent ring of gleaming, golden metal fifteen feet across. He caught it, barely, and managed to hang on as the chandelier swung on its chain. Somehow he also managed to keep the candle burning.
The priest gasped as the man, with amazing agility for his size, began climbing the chain.
“Please,” the priest said. “It is a house of God.”
“It is a means to an end,” rasped the Skeleton.
The priest watched, horrified, as Coben reached the timbers supporting the chains. He looked down, holding the candle near the wood, waiting for orders.
“You can’t,” the priest whispered.
“I will,” said the Skeleton, “unless you tell me where the tip is.”
He gestured to Coben, who moved the candle so that the flame licked the wood.
“No!” shouted the priest. With a groan, he bowed his head and whispered, “I’ll tell you.”
The Skeleton, gesturing at Coben to pull the candle away, leaned close to the kneeling priest. The priest looked up. “The bishop’s miter,” he whispered, crossing himself.
“Riddles?” the Skeleton said. “You dare to speak in riddles?” He looked up at Coben. “Burn it!”
“No!” said the priest. “It is not a riddle.” Struggling to his feet, he pointed toward the stained glass. “The bishop’s miter,” he repeated.
“What is he talking about?” rasped the Skeleton.
Scarlet walked quickly toward the window indicated by the priest. The sun’s light was almost gone, but she could still clearly see the scene depicted in the window—a bishop wearing his vestments, including a miter, the tall pointed hat.
“Look at the miter,” she said, as the Skeleton came alongside her. “It’s opaque. It’s not glass.”
“Not glass,” the Skeleton rasped. “It looks like …”
“Metal,” said Scarlet. “It’s metal.”
And it was shaped like the tip of a sword.
CHAPTER 10
T HE C AB
M OLLY STOOD ON HER FRONT PORCH , umbrella in hand, frowning at the driving rain. She had planned to walk to her father’s house in Kensington Park Gardens, but that was now out of the question: her umbrella would be useless in the gusting wind. There was a District Line station not far from her father’s house, but after her disturbing experience, she had no intention of taking the Underground.
That left her with one choice: a hackney carriage. Molly sighed. It wouldn’t be easy to find a cab in this weather, when everyone else wanted one, too. She stepped to the edge of the porch and, squinting against the rain, peered down the street. To her surprise, she saw a carriage coming her way. She started to raise her arm, but the driver, his face obscured by a heavy scarf, was already guiding his horse to the curb in front of her.
Molly quickly descended the porch steps and gave the address to the driver, who nodded wordlessly. She climbed into the carriage. The driver twitched the reins, and as the soggy, steaming horse began trudging forward, Molly turned to look back through the cab’s rear window at her house. She caught sight of a face pressed against a third-floor window, and realized
“How well do you think those cross ties and braces would burn?” he asked. “And if they did, how long do you think the walls would last?”
The priest only shook his head.
“Coben,” rasped the Skeleton.
One of the two large men, the more wiry of the two, stepped forward quickly. The Skeleton handed him the candle. Coben took it and disappeared through an arch, his footfalls echoing.
“Please,” said the priest, softly. “This chapel has stood for more than a thousand years.”
‘“To everything there is a season,’” the Skeleton said. “Perhaps the chapel has outlived its purpose.”
Coben reappeared at the second level of the chapel. He had shed his robe. Placing the burning candle between his teeth, he jumped for the chapel’s central chandelier, a magnificent ring of gleaming, golden metal fifteen feet across. He caught it, barely, and managed to hang on as the chandelier swung on its chain. Somehow he also managed to keep the candle burning.
The priest gasped as the man, with amazing agility for his size, began climbing the chain.
“Please,” the priest said. “It is a house of God.”
“It is a means to an end,” rasped the Skeleton.
The priest watched, horrified, as Coben reached the timbers supporting the chains. He looked down, holding the candle near the wood, waiting for orders.
“You can’t,” the priest whispered.
“I will,” said the Skeleton, “unless you tell me where the tip is.”
He gestured to Coben, who moved the candle so that the flame licked the wood.
“No!” shouted the priest. With a groan, he bowed his head and whispered, “I’ll tell you.”
The Skeleton, gesturing at Coben to pull the candle away, leaned close to the kneeling priest. The priest looked up. “The bishop’s miter,” he whispered, crossing himself.
“Riddles?” the Skeleton said. “You dare to speak in riddles?” He looked up at Coben. “Burn it!”
“No!” said the priest. “It is not a riddle.” Struggling to his feet, he pointed toward the stained glass. “The bishop’s miter,” he repeated.
“What is he talking about?” rasped the Skeleton.
Scarlet walked quickly toward the window indicated by the priest. The sun’s light was almost gone, but she could still clearly see the scene depicted in the window—a bishop wearing his vestments, including a miter, the tall pointed hat.
“Look at the miter,” she said, as the Skeleton came alongside her. “It’s opaque. It’s not glass.”
“Not glass,” the Skeleton rasped. “It looks like …”
“Metal,” said Scarlet. “It’s metal.”
And it was shaped like the tip of a sword.
CHAPTER 10
T HE C AB
M OLLY STOOD ON HER FRONT PORCH , umbrella in hand, frowning at the driving rain. She had planned to walk to her father’s house in Kensington Park Gardens, but that was now out of the question: her umbrella would be useless in the gusting wind. There was a District Line station not far from her father’s house, but after her disturbing experience, she had no intention of taking the Underground.
That left her with one choice: a hackney carriage. Molly sighed. It wouldn’t be easy to find a cab in this weather, when everyone else wanted one, too. She stepped to the edge of the porch and, squinting against the rain, peered down the street. To her surprise, she saw a carriage coming her way. She started to raise her arm, but the driver, his face obscured by a heavy scarf, was already guiding his horse to the curb in front of her.
Molly quickly descended the porch steps and gave the address to the driver, who nodded wordlessly. She climbed into the carriage. The driver twitched the reins, and as the soggy, steaming horse began trudging forward, Molly turned to look back through the cab’s rear window at her house. She caught sight of a face pressed against a third-floor window, and realized
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