Read Online Peter and the Sword of Mercy by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson
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it was Wendy, watching from her bedroom. Molly waved, but couldn’t tell if Wendy saw her. As the house receded behind her, Molly turned away, her mind on the task ahead.
Wendy thought she saw her mother wave, but she wasn’t sure. Just in case, she waved back. Her hand then returned to fondling the locket her mother had given her that morning. It was a simple golden orb that her mother had worn as long as Wendy could remember.
“But why?” Wendy had asked, when her mother had put it around her neck. It felt oddly warm against her skin.
“I just want you to have it,” said her mother. “In case you ever need it.”
“How do you mean, need it?” said Wendy.
“Just keep it with you,” said her mother.
Wendy held it now, feeling its warmth, as she watched the cab carry her mother away. A few houses down, the cab passed a policeman, who appeared to be watching it intently. He nodded at the driver, who nodded back. Wendy wondered, as the cab disappeared into the rain, if the two men knew each other.
CHAPTER 11
D ARKNESS
W ENDY LOOKED OUT HER WINDOW many times that gloomy day, each time hoping to see her mother returning, each time disappointed.
Over and over Wendy told herself that nothing was wrong, that her mother had simply been delayed. But her worry deepened with each passing hour.
What if something happened to her?
As night fell, Wendy finally saw someone approaching the house—but it was her father. As he trudged up the front steps, Wendy turned away from the window, her knees weakening with dread.
What shall I tell him?
She listened, cowering in her room, as he entered the house and went from room to room downstairs, calling his wife’s name. He came up the stairs, still calling, his tone increasingly irritated. Finally, getting no response, he knocked on Wendy’s door.
“Come in,” she said. The door opened. Wendy was sitting on her bed.
“Where is your mother?” said George Darling.
“I don’t know,” said Wendy.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“She went…out,” said Wendy.
“At this hour?”
“No. This morning.”
“This morning?” George’s tone had changed from irritation to concern. “Did she say where she was going?”
Wendy looked down, saying nothing. Her father strode across the room and stood over her.
“Where did your mother go?” he said sharply.
Wendy put her face in her hands. She didn’t want to betray her mother’s confidence. But she was scared. Her father was leaning over her now.
“ Where did she go?”
Wendy looked up, her face red and tear-streaked. “She went to see Grandfather Aster.”
George straightened, his expression shocked, then guarded. “I see,” he said.
He doesn’t know that I know about the Starcatchers, thought Wendy.
“How did she go there?” said George.
“She took a taxicab,” said Wendy.
Her father turned, headed for the door. “Look after your brothers,” he called over his shoulder. Moments later, Wendy heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs.
Two heads appeared in the doorway, one below the other.
“Where’s Father going?” said John.
“Where’s Mum?” said Michael.
“What’s for supper?” said John.
“I don’t know,” said Wendy.
Hours later, after she had fed her brothers and—finally—put them to bed, Wendy crept down to the staircase landing and listened to her father talking with two Scotland Yard detectives. They were polite but had nothing positive to report. They had checked with the staff at the Aster house; Mrs. Darling had never arrived there. They had interviewed many hackney drivers, looking for one fitting the description provided by Wendy, but they had found nothing. None of the neighbors or nearby shopkeepers recalled having seen Mrs. Darling on the street. Of course, the detectives noted, people didn’t spend much time outside in this weather.
The detectives asked George, several times, why his wife had gone to see her father. Each
Wendy thought she saw her mother wave, but she wasn’t sure. Just in case, she waved back. Her hand then returned to fondling the locket her mother had given her that morning. It was a simple golden orb that her mother had worn as long as Wendy could remember.
“But why?” Wendy had asked, when her mother had put it around her neck. It felt oddly warm against her skin.
“I just want you to have it,” said her mother. “In case you ever need it.”
“How do you mean, need it?” said Wendy.
“Just keep it with you,” said her mother.
Wendy held it now, feeling its warmth, as she watched the cab carry her mother away. A few houses down, the cab passed a policeman, who appeared to be watching it intently. He nodded at the driver, who nodded back. Wendy wondered, as the cab disappeared into the rain, if the two men knew each other.
CHAPTER 11
D ARKNESS
W ENDY LOOKED OUT HER WINDOW many times that gloomy day, each time hoping to see her mother returning, each time disappointed.
Over and over Wendy told herself that nothing was wrong, that her mother had simply been delayed. But her worry deepened with each passing hour.
What if something happened to her?
As night fell, Wendy finally saw someone approaching the house—but it was her father. As he trudged up the front steps, Wendy turned away from the window, her knees weakening with dread.
What shall I tell him?
She listened, cowering in her room, as he entered the house and went from room to room downstairs, calling his wife’s name. He came up the stairs, still calling, his tone increasingly irritated. Finally, getting no response, he knocked on Wendy’s door.
“Come in,” she said. The door opened. Wendy was sitting on her bed.
“Where is your mother?” said George Darling.
“I don’t know,” said Wendy.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“She went…out,” said Wendy.
“At this hour?”
“No. This morning.”
“This morning?” George’s tone had changed from irritation to concern. “Did she say where she was going?”
Wendy looked down, saying nothing. Her father strode across the room and stood over her.
“Where did your mother go?” he said sharply.
Wendy put her face in her hands. She didn’t want to betray her mother’s confidence. But she was scared. Her father was leaning over her now.
“ Where did she go?”
Wendy looked up, her face red and tear-streaked. “She went to see Grandfather Aster.”
George straightened, his expression shocked, then guarded. “I see,” he said.
He doesn’t know that I know about the Starcatchers, thought Wendy.
“How did she go there?” said George.
“She took a taxicab,” said Wendy.
Her father turned, headed for the door. “Look after your brothers,” he called over his shoulder. Moments later, Wendy heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs.
Two heads appeared in the doorway, one below the other.
“Where’s Father going?” said John.
“Where’s Mum?” said Michael.
“What’s for supper?” said John.
“I don’t know,” said Wendy.
Hours later, after she had fed her brothers and—finally—put them to bed, Wendy crept down to the staircase landing and listened to her father talking with two Scotland Yard detectives. They were polite but had nothing positive to report. They had checked with the staff at the Aster house; Mrs. Darling had never arrived there. They had interviewed many hackney drivers, looking for one fitting the description provided by Wendy, but they had found nothing. None of the neighbors or nearby shopkeepers recalled having seen Mrs. Darling on the street. Of course, the detectives noted, people didn’t spend much time outside in this weather.
The detectives asked George, several times, why his wife had gone to see her father. Each
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