بخش 44

CHAPTER 86

AN OFFER OF HELP

BY THE TIME Molly and Peter made it back to George’s house, the eastern sky was showing the first dull-gray streaks of dawn. Molly and Peter were cold and exhausted. After fleeing from the White Tower, they had hid in a dark alley for the better part of an anxious hour until they were sure they were safe from their pursuers. Then, lacking the money for a cab, they had walked all the way back to George’s house, taking a roundabout route so as not to expose themselves on the busier streets.

Now, at long last, they were in the tree outside George’s bedroom window. As Molly tapped on the glass, Peter tucked the complaining Tinker Bell back into his shirt.

In a moment George’s sleepy face appeared. He opened the window; Molly and Peter climbed into the room.

“Thank you,” said Molly.

George, wearing his nightcap and nightshirt, merely nodded, watching Molly, obviously waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he spoke, his voice low but angry.

“Listen,” he said. “This won’t do.”

“What won’t?” said Molly.

“This business of you and,” George said, gesturing at Peter, “your friend here staying in my room and traipsing in and out my window at all hours. I can’t keep hiding you here, Molly. You come here in the middle of the night and tell me your mother’s been kidnapped and there are men in your house, and yet you don’t let me tell Father, you don’t let me help you, and you won’t tell me what’s happening, and—”

George paused, his face reddening, then went on: “Molly, I want to help you. But I can’t help if you won’t let me.”

Molly sighed. “You’re right, George,” she said. “You’ve been very gracious, and I’ve been horribly rude. But this is something very, very dangerous. I don’t want to involve you or your family.”

“Molly,” said George. “You and I—that is, my family and yours—are already involved. We have been for years. If I were in trouble, you’d help me, wouldn’t you?”

Slowly, Molly nodded.

“Well,” said George, “that’s how I feel. About you.” His face was now the color of a beet. “About helping you, I mean.”

The room fell silent. Peter, though standing just two feet from Molly, felt as if he were a thousand miles away. He hated the way she was looking at George.

“You’re right,” she said finally.

“Molly,” Peter cautioned. She waved him off.

“No, Peter, George is right,” she said. “We’ve nowhere else to turn at this point.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to sulk, but Molly ignored him.

“I need to find Father,” she said. “He’s the only person who can deal with the Oth…with the kidnappers. But he’s gone from London on a…a confidential business trip, and I don’t know where he is. Tonight Peter and I went to a place where we thought we might get some information about where he’s gone, but we found nothing. No, wait, that’s not quite true. We found this.”

Molly reached into her pocket and pulled out the wine merchant invoice she’d found in the Starcatchers’ Keep. She handed it to George, who looked at it and frowned.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Neither do I,” said Molly. “But I know that’s my father’s handwriting, in the blue ink. And I know he must have written it just before he left London.”

“S,” George read, “ten thirty, two forty-six.”

“I thought perhaps it was an address,” said Molly. “But I can’t make anything of it.”

“You say he wrote this just before he left London?” said George.

“Yes,” said Molly.

“Hang on,” said George, striding from the room. He was back in ten minutes, this time holding a sheaf of papers.

“What’re those?” said Molly.

“Train timetables,” said George.

Molly’s face lit up.

“George!” she said in a voice that stabbed Peter’s heart. “That’s brilliant!”

George blushed as he dumped the timetables onto the bed.

“Give a hand, then,” he said, his attempt to sound gruff undermined by his obvious pleasure.

“Come on, Peter!” said Molly.

“What are we doing?” said Peter, feeling like an idiot.

“We’re looking for a train that leaves at ten thirty and arrives at two forty-six,” said George, with more than a hint of condescension in his voice.

“And that somehow involves the letter S,” added Molly, grabbing a timetable and settling on the floor to study it.

Without speaking, Peter picked up a timetable and joined the other two in their search. It was tedious going, wading through long lists of train numbers, cities, and times. It reminded Peter of school—something he’d had nothing to do with for quite a while. Several times, feeling the effects of another sleepless night, Peter felt his eyes closing. He had in fact dozed off entirely when he was awakened by George’s unwelcome voice.

“Hang on,” said George.

“What?” said Molly.

“Look at this,” he said, thrusting a timetable toward Molly. She looked at the number marked by his finger.

“So it departs at ten thirty from Waterloo Station—” she said. Her eyes scanned across a column of figures. “And it arrives at two forty-six at…Salisbury. That’s it! Father took the train to Salisbury!”

“What’s in Salisbury?” said Peter.

“I don’t know,” said Molly. “But I have to go there.”

“What?” said George. “Now?”

“Yes,” said Molly. “I’ve got time to make the train. Can you lend me the money for a ticket?”

“Well…yes, of course,” said George.

“And Peter as well?” said Molly. “I’ll repay you, I promise.”

“He’s going with you?” said George.

“Yes,” said Molly.

“If he is,” said George, “then I am.”

“No,” said Molly.

“Why not?” said George.

“Because…” said Molly, “because your parents wouldn’t allow it.”

“My parents left yesterday for Paris,” said George. “I’ll tell the housekeeper I’ve gone to spend a few days with a friend. I’ve done that many times.”

“It’s too dangerous,” said Molly.

“You’re going,” retorted George. “He’s going.”

“But he…” Molly searched for words, then gave up. “George, it’s just too complicated.”

“Yes,” said George. “And that’s why you need all the help you can get. You wouldn’t even know to go to Salisbury if not for me.”

Molly had no answer for that.

“If you want me to buy the tickets,” said George, “you have to let me go with you.”

Molly hung her head, thinking.

“All right,” she said.

“Molly!” said Peter.

She looked at him. “He’s right,” she said. “I have to take whatever help I can.”

“But what about the…your family’s business?”

“Right now,” said Molly, her tone grim, “all I care about is getting my mother back. If George can help, then I want him to come with us.”

“All right,” said Peter, though it was clear he did not think it was. Molly and he exchanged a long look, but neither spoke.

“I’ll get dressed,” said George, breaking the silence. “We’ll take a cab to Waterloo Station.” CHAPTER 87

THE GOLDEN WEATHER VANE

AN HOUR INTO THE TRAIN ride from London to Salisbury, Peter announced that he wanted some fresh air and left his seat to stand in the open space between the clattering, jostling train carriages. Here, after making sure nobody was watching, he opened his coat and allowed Tinker Bell out. She perched on his shoulder, looking at the engine smoke billowing overhead, and wrinkled her nose.

Why do we have to stay on this loud, smelly thing? she asked. Why can’t we just fly?

“You know Molly and George can’t fly,” he said.

So? YOU can fly.

“But I’m with them,” he said.

But you’re not one of them.

“What do you mean?”

They live in this awful cold place. They’re stuck on the ground. You live on our island, and you can fly. You’re not like them. Tink put her tiny face close to Peter’s. You’re like me.

Peter looked at her, then stared out at the fields rushing past. He wondered: was Tink right? Had he become more fantastic creature than person? Was there any place in England for someone like him? Could he ever be Molly’s friend, the way George was her friend? If he never grew old, could he be the friend of any normal person?

Standing on the rumbling platform, Peter felt keenly aware of how out of place he was here, how far from home. And for the first time, he understood where his home really was.

“You’re right, Tink,” he said softly. “I am like you.”

At that same moment, back in the train carriage, George turned to Molly and asked, “How did you come to know Peter?”

“I met him on a ship,” Molly answered.

“Really? And how did you become friends?”

Molly thought back to the eventful voyage aboard the Never Land—her discovery that the ship carried a trunk filled with starstuff; her desperate decision to enlist Peter as an ally in her effort to get the precious trunk away from the Others; the attack on the ship by the infamous Black Stache; the storm at sea that marooned them on the mysterious Mollusk Island; the struggle there, pitting children and mermaids against murderous pirates, and the even-deadlier Slank, with hostile natives and a giant flying crocodile thrown in for good measure; and, above all, the courage and resourcefulness Peter had shown, risking his life to save Molly’s, and the starstuff.

These images and more ran through Molly’s mind. But all she said to George was: “I needed help. And Peter helped me.”

George nodded. “That’s very admirable,” he said. “But I’m still puzzled by your continued…association with him.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s not exactly your sort of person, is he?”

“What do you mean?” said Molly.

“I mean,” said George. “The way he talks. His level of education. His…his breeding. Is he really a suitable companion for someone of your background? I mean, your family, your father—”

“My father,” interrupted Molly, “considers Peter to be one of the finest young men he has ever met.” She glared at George.

“I see,” he said.

“No,” said Molly, turning away. “You don’t.”

George, realizing he had badly misjudged the situation, spent several minutes trying to think of something diplomatic to say, but could come up with nothing before Peter returned. The three of them rode the rest of the way in silence.

Arriving, at last, in Salisbury, they descended from the carriage and stood on the platform as the train chugged away. The day was chilly, but for once the sky was clear; sunlight bathed the gentle hills of County Wiltshire. Molly, Peter, and George walked through the station, emerging onto a muddy, well-traveled road. Several coaches-for-hire stood waiting, their horses tied to posts, their drivers presumably just across the road, refreshing themselves at the Railway Tavern. In the distance the sky was pierced by the tall, sharp spike of the Salisbury cathedral.

“Now what?” said Peter.

“I imagine we could ask somebody if he has seen Molly’s father,” said George.

“Ask who?” said Peter.

“Well, someone must know,” said George, irritated. “Have you got a better idea?”

“Not yet,” said Peter, looking George straight in the eye. “But I will.”

The two boys glared at each other. Molly was paying no attention to them. She was staring at the cathedral tower.

“I’ve been here,” she said.

George and Peter looked at her.

“Father and Mother brought me here,” she said. “It was years ago—I was small. But I remember that cathedral.”

“What else do you remember?” said Peter.

Molly frowned, thinking back. “It was summer. We stayed at a large house. It was on a winding road, next to a river. There was a wooden bridge nearby. Father took me there and we would try to catch fish.” She paused, then her face lit up. “And I remember something else—Mister McGuinn was there!”

“Are you sure?” said Peter.

“Who’s Mister McGuinn?” said George.

“He’s…that is, he was an…an associate of my father’s,” said Molly. “And I’m sure he was there. And I remember something else: I think the house may have had a weather vane, a golden weather vane.” She looked at Peter. “With a star on the top.”

“That’s it,” said Peter softly.

“That’s what?” said George.

“That’s where Father must be,” said Molly. “That’s why he came to Salisbury. We need to find that house.”

“Do you have any recollection of how you got there?” said Peter.

“No,” said Molly. “But I’m sure we took the train to Salisbury. I remember that cathedral. We started out from here.”

“Then so will we,” said George. Without another word, he strode across the road and into the Railway Tavern.

“What’s he doing?” said Peter.

“I don’t know,” said Molly.

In a minute George emerged from the tavern accompanied by a coach driver, a slight man with the face of a ferret.

“This is Mister Peavey,” said George, when they reached Molly and Peter. “He says he’s very familiar with this area.”

“Lived here all me life,” said Peavey. “I knows every inch of Wiltshire.” He grinned, revealing six teeth, widely spaced. “Every inch.”

“Then perhaps you can help us,” said Molly. “We’re looking for a house, quite a large house, on a winding road, next to a river.”

“Lots of those around here, missy,” said Peavey. “Lots of those.”

“It’s near a bridge,” said Molly.

“Could be any number of houses,” said Peavey. “Any number.”

“And it has a…a golden weather vane,” said Molly. “Shaped like a star.”

Peavey hesitated before he answered. “Well, now,” he said. “That narrows it down a mite, don’t it?”

“So you know the house?” said Molly eagerly.

“Maybe I do,” said Peavey. He stroked his chin. “Of course, maybe I don’t.”

“Look here,” Peter said angrily. “If you know where—”

“Allow me,” interrupted George, putting his hand on Peter’s arm, to Peter’s great annoyance. “I believe what Mister Peavey is saying is that his memory might need some assistance.”

“A smart young lad, this one,” Peavey said.

George pressed something into Peavey’s hand. Peter heard the clink of coins.

Peavey grinned. “Now that you mentions it,” he said, “I believe I might know the very house you’re looking for. Take you there in an hour, I can.”

“Excellent,” said George, winking at Molly, who grinned back at him in a way that made Peter’s stomach clench. George opened the door to the coach and gallantly helped Molly climb inside.

“Thank you, George,” she said. “That was clever of you.”

“Not at all,” said George, climbing in after her. “It’s just a question of knowing how to get things done.” He said this without glancing back at Peter, but he figured Peter’s expression would be quite unhappy.

He was quite correct.

Close to an hour later, with sunset nearing, the coach came to a stop in front of an enormous country house. Its driveway was guarded by a massive iron gate, on which was a sign that read: SE MONA.

George hopped to the ground and helped Molly out of the coach. Peter followed.

“Well?” George asked.

Molly studied the house, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “I don’t think this is it.” Her eyes swept upward. “Wait a minute!” She turned angrily to Peavey and said, “That’s the moon, not a star!”

Peter and George looked up. Sure enough: the weather vane was crescent shaped.

“Same thing,” said Peavey. “One a them planets.”

“It’s not the same,” said Molly.

“Well, missy,” said Peavey, “that there’s the best I can do.”

Peter was looking at the sign. “Maybe the…the Semonas can help us find the house.”

“The who?” said George, with a condescending smile.

Peavey cackled. “Se Mona ain’t the name of the people who lives here,” he said. “That there is the name of the house. It’s Old English, it is. Quite a few of the big houses round here has got Old English names.”

“Se Mona,” said George. “Means ‘the moon.’”

“You speak Old English?” said Molly.

“Well, not fluently,” said George, trying without success to sound modest. “But I’ve studied it enough to get by. The house you stayed at with your father—do you recall if it had a name?”

Molly frowned. “It might’ve,” she said. “But I don’t remember what it was.”

“What’s the Old English word for star?” said Peter.

“I believe it’s steorra,” said George.

Peter looked at Peavey. “Is there a house named Steorra?”

“Never heard of one,” said Peavey.

“What about ‘light’?” said Molly.

George asked Peavey: “Are any of the houses named Leoht?”

“Not so as I know.”

“What about ‘return’?” said Peter, with a glance at Molly.

George shut his eyes, deep in thought. When he opened them, he said to the driver, “Is there a house by the name of…Gecierran?”

At the sound of the name, Peavey flinched.

“You know the name?” said George.

“Yes, I know it,” said Peavey. “But I don’t know that I’d want to go there, if I was you.”

“Why not?” said George.

Peavey hesitated, then said, “There’s talk that strange things happen there. For years and years. People stay away from there.”

“What kinds of strange things?” said George. “Ghosts?” He smirked at Peter and Molly. “Witchcraft?”

“Yes,” Peavey said, in a quiet voice that erased George’s smirk.

Molly and Peter exchanged a look.

“We want to go there,” said Molly.

Peavey nodded slowly. “All right, then,” he said. “But it’ll cost extra.”

“We’ll pay,” said George.

“Get in, then,” said Peavey. “It’s a half hour away.”

But it was sooner than that when the roofline of the grand house came into view. On the highest peak, clearly visible in the last rays of the setting sun, was a weather vane.

And atop it, gleaming gold, was a five-pointed star.