بخش 47

CHAPTER 92

NOT MUCH TIME

“STONEHENGE,” SAID GEORGE.

Peter frowned; Molly gasped.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s right near Salisbury, isn’t it?”

“It’s quite close,” said George. “I’ve been there a half dozen times, at least. I doubt it’s five miles from this house.”

“Stonehenge?” said Peter. “The rock pile?”

“It’s not a pile,” said George. “It’s a man-made circular arrangement of huge stones. Some say it was built thousands of years ago—before the Romans.”

“But what do giant stones have to do with the Return?” said Peter.

“Nobody knows for certain why it was built,” said George. “But it has something to do with the heavens. The main axis of the circle lines up almost perfectly with the midsummer sunrise and the midwinter sunset. Some say Stonehenge also was used to predict lunar eclipses.”

“Like the one tonight,” said Molly.

“Exactly,” said George. “So if this Return of yours has to happen during the eclipse, Stonehenge would seem to be the place for it.”

“All right,” said Molly. “We must go there now.”

“Urn,” said George, looking out the window. “Have you forgotten the wolves?”

“No,” said Molly. She turned to Peter, pointing to the chain around his neck, and said, “How much have you got?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter. “I used some in London.”

“Well, let’s hope you have enough,” said Molly. “Enough for two, actually.”

“Two?” said Peter. “He’s going?”

“Yes,” said Molly. “We need him to show us where Stonehenge is. George, can you find Stonehenge? From here?”

“I suppose I could,” George said. “But how—”

“We need to find an upstairs window,” said Molly, walking toward the staircase at the end of the big room.

“But,” said George, “what about the—”

“You’ll see,” said Molly, over her shoulder. “Come on.”

Upstairs they found a window that, with a bit of effort, the three of them were able to open. As chilly air flooded the room, they leaned out over the broad sill and looked down. On the ground, fifteen feet below them, they saw three pairs of glowing yellow eyes looking back.

“There had better be enough,” Peter said. “This wouldn’t be a good time to fall.”

“No,” said Molly, eyeing the wolves.

“I don’t understand,” said George. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re going to fly to Stonehenge,” said Molly.

“So you’re both mad,” said George.

“You’re going to fly with us,” said Molly.

“Oh, of course I am,” said George. “I’m going to just flap my wings and fly over those wolves!”

Molly and Peter looked at him.

“What?” he said.

Peter said, “There’s no need to flap.”

“Peter,” said Molly, “may I have your locket?”

Peter removed it and put it in Molly’s hand. She held up the small golden sphere, showing it to George, who eyed it with open skepticism.

“George,” she said. “I’m going to put some starstuff on myself, then on you. It’s going to feel strange, but in a pleasant way.”

“What about Peter?” said George, smirking. “Doesn’t he get any of this magical starstuff?”

“He doesn’t need it,” said Molly. “He can already fly.”

George laughed out loud. “Ah!” he said. “How lovely for young Peter!”

“George,” said Molly. “This isn’t a joke.” She put her thumb on the locket clasp.

“Isn’t it?” said George. “Because it certainly—”

George stopped in midsentence, mouth gaping, as Molly opened the locket. Instantly her hand was enveloped in a warm golden glow. She tilted the locket slightly, and the glow flowed down her arm, gently surrounding her, being absorbed into her, as she emitted a soft, barely audible Ahhhh.

“Give me your hand, George,” she said.

Cautiously, he held out his right hand. Molly tilted the locket over it, and the glow swirled and cascaded along George’s arm.

“Oh, my,” he said. “This is…it’s…Ahhhhhhh.”

“Yes,” said Molly. She closed the locket and handed it back to Peter.

Can I come out now? chimed Tink.

“I hear bells!” said George. “They’re quite lovely.”

“Tink wants out,” Peter said to Molly.

Looking at George, Molly said, “Why not? I don’t suppose it makes any difference now.”

Peter opened his shirt, and Tink emerged, blinking. She hovered for a second, then landed in the tousled red mass of Peter’s hair, where she sat, stretching.

George stared at her.

“Molly,” he said. “There’s a pixie sitting in Peter’s hair.”

“Yes,” said Molly.

Tink chimed.

“She prefers to be called a birdgirl,” said Peter.

“I see,” said George, still staring at her.

“Listen, George,” said Molly. “…George? George?”

Reluctantly, George looked away from Tink. “Yes?”

“We’re going out the window now,” she said. “We’re going to fly.”

“Capital!” said George.

“The trick is to lean forward,” said Molly. “You lean forward, then you swoop, then you soar.”

“Lean, swoop, and soar,” said George. “Got it.”

“Here we go, then,” said Molly. “Peter, perhaps you should go first.”

Peter, with Tink still in his hair, climbed onto the windowsill, then slid off, hovering in midair.

“Look at that!” said George, smiling hugely. “Brilliant!”

Below Peter, the wolves growled.

“What was that?” said George.

“The wolves,” said Peter.

“Ah,” said George, his smile dimming. “I’d forgotten about the wolves.”

“Don’t worry about them,” said Molly, guiding George up onto the sill. “Just remember: lean, swoop, soar.”

“Lean, swoop, soar,” said George. He sat on the sill, legs dangling out.

The wolves were growling louder now.

“Are you quite sure,” he said, “that they…WOOOOOOO!”

Aided by a hard shove from Molly, George slipped off the windowsill. For a moment, he hung motionless in the air, his eyes and mouth wide open in wonderment. Ever so slowly, he began to drift downward. The wolves moved into position directly beneath him.

“Lean,” said Peter.

The wolves rose on their hind legs, jaws snapping. George was now staring at them, as if hypnotized.

“George!” shouted Molly, climbing onto the sill. “Lean!”

George remained motionless as he drifted down, his dangling feet now only a few feet above the wolves’ jaws.

He’s not very bright, is he? observed Tink.

Peter darted to George and grabbed his arm; Molly slid off the sill and grabbed his other arm. Together they swooped him away, then up, the snapping jaws just missing his shoes. As howls of frustration echoed behind them, the trio, with Tink flitting ahead, soared into the moonlit sky, chill night air rushing past their faces.

“George,” said Molly. “Are you all right?”

George, having torn his eyes away from the rapidly receding wolves, was now looking up, gazing with wonder at the clear night sky, at the moon and the stars he had studied for so many hours, squinting into the eyepiece of the telescope in his room in London. Now, as he rose above the trees, with the open sky spreading to the horizon all around him, he felt as though he were part of the heavens, as though if he reached his hand out he could touch the moon itself.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m…it’s wonderful, Molly. Wonderful.”

“Good,” said Molly. “Now which way is Stonehenge?”

“Stonehenge?” said George.

Not very bright at all, said Tink.

“Yes,” said Molly, struggling to be patient. “We’re going to Stonehenge, remember?”

“Ah,” said George. “Right. Stonehenge. Let’s see. The river’s over there.” He looked around the sky. “And there’s Ursa Major, so Polaris would be…Ah, there it is. So we want to go…that way. How does one turn?”

“One leans,” said Molly. “Like this.” She leaned and swooped left, followed by Peter and Tink.

George gave it a try and, after wobbling a bit, executed a passable left turn. “Brilliant!” he said.

“Now what?” said Molly.

“Up ahead there,” said George, pointing, “will be a village.”

“I think I see the lights,” said Peter, squinting toward the horizon.

“That will be Amesbury,” said George. “From there we can follow the road. It’s only about two miles from the village to Stonehenge.”

“Let’s go, then,” said Molly, leaning forward. “We need to get there before the starstuff wears off.”

“It wears off?” said George.

“Oh, yes,” Molly called back. Even as she spoke, she was aware of a slight weakening of the starstuff’s power. “Lean, George!” she shouted.

Then, more to herself than anyone else, she added, “We haven’t much time.” CHAPTER 93

A RAVEN’S EYE

THE RAVENS STOOPED atop the ancient weather-scoured gray stones, their gleaming, beady eyes darting in every direction. Every few seconds the largest of the birds fixed his sight on two distant pinpricks of yellow—the windows of the cottage where Ombra waited.

For hours the ravens, restless yet infinitely patient, had watched the empty grassland. Then one of them saw it—a faraway movement no human eye would have detected.

Caw! came the alert. Then again, Caw! Caw!

The others saw it now: tiny shapes, a rider and a wagon approaching on the road from the village.

The large raven flapped his wings, roiling the still air with a shudder of feathers, and lifted into the sky. It grew smaller, an occasional caw marking its progress toward the dim lights of the distant cottage.

Nerezza, dozing in a chair, sat up with a start, awakened by scratching at the cottage window. Carrying a dripping candle, he walked stiffly toward the sound, his back sore from the long carriage ride.

He pulled back the curtain and jumped: there stood a large raven, head sideways, big black eye pressed toward the glass. Nerezza, furious at himself for being scared by a bird, raised his fist to bang the glass.

Then he felt the chill just behind him.

“Let him in,” groaned Ombra.

Without turning around, Nerezza fumbled with the latch and got the window open. His candle’s flame danced as the bird hobbled inside and ruffled its feathers. It faced Ombra, suddenly still as death.

“The candle,” said Ombra.

Nerezza breathed heavily, his nose whistling, as he brought the candle close to the bird’s left side, so its shadow was cast on the windowsill. The raven made no effort to avoid the flame. Ombra raised his right arm and touched the shadow.

“Two men,” Ombra groaned. “One on horseback, one driving a wagon. On the village road.”

Ombra withdrew his hand. The raven, with a loud Caw! flapped off.

“Just two of them?” said Nerezza. He immediately regretted speaking, as Ombra turned to face him, his empty hood gaping.

“If that is Aster,” Ombra said, “as I believe it is, it makes no difference whether he has one man with him or a hundred. He is in possession of immense power, Captain; far more than we have. We have the element of surprise, and we have his wife. But we must not underestimate the power he has. Is that clear, Captain?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Summon the men, and have Slank bring Mrs. Aster. We leave immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

In a minute’s time they gathered in front of the cottage: Ombra, Nerezza, and Slank holding the limp arm of the vacant-eyed Louise Aster. They were joined seconds later by a half dozen men, two of whom carried rifles. They set out across the grassland, Ombra gliding effortlessly ahead. The men had to trot to keep up with him; Slank was practically carrying the passive Louise Aster.

They approached Stonehenge from the southwest, directly opposite the entrance from the village road. Ombra chose a path that took them past several ancient burial mounds, keeping them out of sight of the road.

Twice the large raven fluttered to a landing on Ombra’s shoulder, then took off again. The second time, Ombra turned and gathered the others around. Speaking in a barely audible moan, he said: “They will arrive soon on the far side of the stones. Just ahead is a ditch. You will conceal yourselves in it and await my orders.” He pointed to the two men with rifles. “You will position yourselves on either side of me. Mister Slank, you will keep Mrs. Aster close at hand.”

The men, ghostly silhouettes in the moonlight, moved forward into the shallow ditch that surrounded Stonehenge. The large raven fluttered forward and joined the other sentries atop the ancient stones.

For a moment, the night fell silent.

And then, from the distance, came the gentle clippity-clop of approaching horses.