فصل 53

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دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

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CHAPTER 53

UNTIL TONIGHT

PETER SAT SLUMPED IN A CORNER chair in the drawing room of the Scotland Landing Hotel. He had barely spoken a word since the night before, when he and the others had returned from their ill-fated trip to the museum.

Mrs. Bumbrake fixed breakfast for everyone—Peter hadn’t touched his—then retired upstairs with John and Michael. Karl was asleep in front of the fireplace, periodically emitting massive bear snores. Magill was out buying food for his new guests. Wendy, Neville, Ted, and Patrick were seated in the center of the room, discussing what to do next.

“We have no choice now,” Wendy was saying. “If we can’t stop them from fixing the sword, we have to stop them from getting to the Cache.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” said Neville, “without knowing where it is.”

“Then we’re just going to have to find it,” said Wendy.

“Tell me again,” said Patrick, “exactly what your grandfather told you about the Cache.”

“He said it’s in London,” said Wendy. “In a gold-lined chest, in a vault deep underground. But he didn’t tell me where in London. He was very ill.”

“Underground in London,” said Neville. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“No, it doesn’t,” agreed Patrick.

Ted was frowning at Wendy. “Wasn’t there something else?”

“What do you mean?” said Wendy.

“Something else Lord Aster told you about the Cache.”

“I don’t think so,” said Wendy. “He said something odd about ‘confess,’ but…”

“Yes,” said Ted. “You told me he said somebody should confess.”

“He did,” said Wendy, “but I think he meant that for Peter. I don’t think—”

“That’s it!” said Patrick, leaping to his feet.

“I beg your pardon?” said Neville.”

“The Sword of Mercy!” said Patrick. “Do you know what it’s also known as?”

“Curtana,” said Wendy.

“Yes, that,” said Patrick. “But it’s also called Edward the Confessor’s sword.”

“Interesting,” said Neville, “but how does that…”

“Edward the Confessor’s tomb,” said Patrick, “is in Westminster Abbey. In fact, it was he who constructed the original abbey on the site, in the eleventh century.”

“I see,” said Ted. “So you’re suggesting …”

“If Edward the Confessor’s sword opens the Cache,” said Patrick, “it stands to reason that the Cache is in, or near, Edward the Confessor’s tomb. That’s what Lord Aster was trying to tell Wendy!”

“It does seem to make sense,” said Wendy. She looked around. “Does anybody have a better suggestion?” Nobody spoke. “Then we’ll go to Westminster Abbey and have a look at this tomb,” she said.

“Um,” said Patrick, “That’s a bit of a problem.”

“What is?” said Wendy.

“We don’t know where the tomb is.”

“We don’t?” said Ted. “I thought it was a great big thing right there in the middle.”

“Not quite,” said Patrick. “That’s the shrine to the Confessor; his remains were moved there centuries ago from his tomb. But the shrine is above ground, so if the Cache is buried, as Lord Aster said, it can’t be in the shrine. The Confessor’s original tomb is underground, but unfortunately nobody knows precisely where. Over the centuries, the abbey has seen many changes, and records were not always well kept. The location of the Confessor’s tomb is one of the abbey’s enduring mysteries. In fact, it’s believed that there are quite a few lost tombs, chambers, and vaults beneath the abbey.” “So how on earth are we supposed to find it?” said Neville.

“It could be a problem,” admitted Patrick.

“We’ll just have to see when we get there,” said Wendy.

“As good a plan as any,” said Patrick.

The front door of the hotel creaked open; the group listened to the thumping of heavy footsteps in the hall. Magill appeared in the drawing room, his arms laden with packages.

“It’s a good thing the lot of you stayed here,” he said.

“Why?” said Ted.

“Police,” said Magill. “All about. Hundreds, looks like. Going door to door, asking questions. Especially interested in a girl and a boy. An unusual red-haired boy,’is the description they’re using.”

Wendy glanced over at Peter, still slumped in the corner chair. He hadn’t reacted to Magill’s news; hadn’t moved at all. She turned back to Magill.

“Do you think we can get past the police?” she said. “We need to go to Westminster Abbey.”

“We can get past them,” said Magill. “But not in daylight.”

“All right, then,” said Wendy. “Tonight.”

The group dispersed, leaving Wendy and Peter in the drawing room, alone except for the snoring Karl. Wendy took a breath, exhaled, and walked over to Peter’s chair.

“Peter,” she said.

He didn’t move.

“We’re going to need you tonight,” she said.

His head snapped up. His eyes were red, his face tear-streaked.

“Why?” he said. “So I can fail again?”

“Peter, it wasn’t your fault. That man, or that thing, whatever it was, would have been too much for any of us.”

“I ran away, Wendy. I left the stone. And I left Tink. I left Tink. Because I was afraid of him. I am afraid of him.”

“I’m afraid of him, too, Peter,” she said. “But we have to try to stop them. And we need your help. We need your special abilities.”

“I never asked to be special!” shouted Peter. “I don’t want to be special!” He looked away. Wendy reached out and touched his arm. He pulled away from her.

“Peter,” she said, “I never asked to be a Starcatcher. I’d rather be a regular English schoolgirl, sitting in my regular English home having a regular English supper with my regular English family. But come to find out, that’s not what or who I am. I have to accept that. I’m a Starcatcher now, and I don’t know where my parents are, and the police are after me, and somehow I’m supposed to save England from evil with the help of some Oxford fellows and a dotty uncle and an old snoring bear. Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I want it?”

Suddenly, Wendy was sobbing, her face in her hands, her body shaking.

For few moments, Peter stood still, listening to Wendy cry. Then he turned toward her. Slowly he reached out a hand and rested it on her shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “you also have the help of an unusual red-haired boy.”

Wendy turned and flung her arms around him. For a few moments she held him as tightly as she could. Then she let him go, and they both looked away, blushing.

“Well,” said Wendy, “I’d better get some rest. I don’t suppose we’ll get much sleep tonight.”

“I don’t suppose so,” agreed Peter.

“Until tonight, then,” said Wendy, heading for the stairs.

“Until tonight,” said Peter.

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