by Holly Race
Rachel’s voice crackles into life in my left ear.
‘Head to your patrol route for now, Bedevere. I’ll let you know if we spot any trouble. Your nearest apothecary base is in Harrods.’
‘Heard,’ Samson replies.
As Samson had planned, we take the most efficient road to the royal circuit patrol route, passing south of Soho’s narrow streets. This patrol covers the poshest parts of London – Buckingham Palace, Westminster, the expensive shopping streets of Belgravia and Kensington, and up to Hyde Park. We won’t be far from Bosco. I wonder if I’ll spot any of my classmates.
‘Couldn’t have asked for a better patrol on our first night, could we?’ Ramesh says. He’s riding next to me, Ollie and Phoebe in front of us. ‘When I was little my mum used to take me and my sisters to Hyde Park for picnics. “Let’s have a sneak at the prigs in crowns, eh?” she used to say. I thought she meant the tourists in their baseball caps. Course she meant the royals.’
‘She wouldn’t like my dad then. He’s a sucker for the queen. Listens to her speech at Christmas and everything.’
We smile at each other. I wonder if he’s also thinking about that night. It feels like an age ago, even though it’s actually only been a few weeks since he caught me torturing Jenny. This time I only have the painful shame of what I did. Gone is the fear that Ramesh is going to snitch.
Ahead of us Gawain veers off right to their patrol in the northern hills with silent waves.
Rachel’s voice appears again in my ear. ‘Bedevere, we’ve got reports of nightmares coming down Constitution Hill.’
‘What kind, harker?’ Samson asks.
‘A swarm. We think insects – it’s hard to tell.’
‘On our way.’
The laughs and conversations dissipate like popped bubbles. My first proper mission. Samson spurs his horse to a gallop, and the rest of the regiment follows suit. I glance over and see that Ramesh’s jaw is as clenched as mine. This is what we’ve been training for, but all our previous outings feel inadequate now. Then we’d had time to explore the side streets, to ask questions, to play games. There’s no room for any of that now as we careen down the Mall. St James’s’ Park seems wrongly serene on my left – why is it so quiet when I am such a confusion of responsibility and fear?
I rack my memory for my notes on swarms. Method of tackling depends on size. Can be deadly if small – e.g. poisonous spiders, locusts, etc. Clear area of dreamers a.s.a.p.; remain mounted at all times.
The only noise is the sound of hooves on tarmac, the occasional swear word from Rafe as we detour to avoid packs of dreamers, and a few words of encouragement from Rachel through our helmets.
Finally, Samson says, ‘Weapons,’ and I draw my scimitar. In front of me Ollie clutches one of his chakrams. Samson is holding his bow aloft in one hand and looping his reins around his arms so he can get to his arrows.
‘Ready?’ he asks over the helmets.
‘Ready,’ we all whisper back. I can’t breathe and I’m breathing too fast all at once. Any moment now we’re going to see the swarm. Just one more road to go. The scimitar gives me courage; its solid handle, its reassuring weight. This is the last corner, then we’ll meet our first mark.
We skid round. Phoebe shouts out, her voice half fear, half adrenalin.
The road is clear. A couple of dreamers wander aimlessly.
‘How small is this swarm, exactly?’ Ramesh asks. ‘I mean, are we talking parasitic small or …?’
‘Harker,’ Samson says into his helmet, ‘there’s nothing here. Any update?’
Rachel swears. ‘Sorry, Bedevere, looks like it’s gone.’
‘Be clearer. Gone moved or gone dissolved?’
‘Sorry, sorry – dissolved. We can’t see them anywhere nearby.’
I’m strangely disappointed. It’s good, I suppose, that no one’s in danger any more.
‘Okay, heard,’ Samson replies. One of the other knights, someone a few years older than me, says, ‘This happens all the time. You get used to the anticlimax.’
‘Dreams are fickle creatures,’ Rafe adds.
‘At least it wasn’t a swarm of rabid corgis,’ Amina jokes from the back. ‘Remember that? They came running out of Buckingham Palace like a load of furry beetles. I haven’t been able to look at a dog the same way since.’
‘Let’s get back to our route.’ We follow Samson as he urges his horse down the road and out of the park.
‘Damn,’ Ramesh says, ‘I got all dressed up and now I’ve got nowhere to go.’
I turn to him, smile, open my mouth to say something clever. There he is, grinning at me. Then there’s just the stone building, behind where his head should be.
39
Something warm splashes across my face. My first impulse isn’t to run, or scream, or fight. It’s to look for Ramesh’s head. It’s important to find it and put it back on his neck. His torso is still perfectly balanced on its saddle. Then his horse rears and it topples backwards, and I am in hell.
‘Get back, Fern!’ someone shouts. I’m too slow to draw up my reins. Luckily Lamb is listening. She bolts forward, swinging around as she reaches the other knights to face Ramesh’s killer. I have seen it once before. Back then it was far away, at the end of a vast underground hall. It is even more beautiful up close. Skin like molten gold and a long, elegant body that towers over us. Its hands have no palms, only claws – each one as long as my arm – that extend straight from the wrist. Its tail tapers to a spear-like point. Eyes like black marbles watch us, calculating who to take next. The treitre that has lurked in the corners of my thoughts for months. The treitre that I think killed my mother.
It advances on us slowly. It has no mouth, no facial features at all apart from those jet black eyes. It kicks something out of its path. There’s something unsettlingly human about its movement, despite the tail and the featureless face. Or maybe I only think that because I know there’s a human beneath the metal hide.
‘Everyone in formation. Single attacker. Ollie take Ramesh’s place,’ Samson orders, only a slight quake in his voice.
The months of training have paid off. I nudge Lamb to one side, slotting into the left flank, trying not to fixate on Ramesh’s still-smiling face. I blink tears from my eyes. I cannot cry right now; I need sharp vision if I’m going to survive this. Phoebe’s lion pads behind us, its steady growl like a distant engine. I glance over at Ollie, now next to me. His normally tanned face is snowdrop white. His eyes, too, flicker towards Ramesh.
‘Hold steady,’ Samson says. ‘It’s only one treitre.’
Only one. I almost laugh.
Rachel’s voice comes through. ‘Lancelot and Gawain are on their way to you.’
From the nearby streets emerge two more treitres. One copper coloured, one mottled silver. The silver one has a back covered in spines like razors. The other has an unnaturally long neck that snaps, snakelike, from side to side.
Before we can move into a different formation, the golden treitre springs forward in a leap big enough to clear a house. It’s amongst us, its claws slicing this way and that, its tail lashing out. Two knights go down quickly, deep gouges across their chests and necks. Phoebe’s lion roars. Then the other treitres pounce as well and I’m not registering anything that’s happening to anyone else. All I can do is focus on me and Lamb. Wheeling her round the back of the golden treitre I carve at its skin with my scimitar, but it barely makes a dent.
Samson flies overhead, unleashing arrows at the silver treitre’s spines. A few pierce its skin but do little more than irritate it. Another knight works with him, sliding beneath it and stabbing at its belly. Amina and Phoebe leap from their horses to land on the copper monster’s back, using Amina’s wire to try to strangle it.
Rachel’s saying something in my ear but I can’t hear her properly. Ollie’s horse jitters past us, riderless. I can’t see him. Where is he where is he? There, crawling along the ground, towards the monster.
Rachel’s voice
is in my ear again. ‘Lancelot are being attacked too! And Gawain. Every regiment. They’re everywhere. No one’s coming to help you. Fall back! Get back to the castle!’
Amidst the pandemonium I guide Lamb towards the golden treitre.
‘Here!’ I shout. The monster twists around and every sinew in its metallic skin seems to quiver with concentration as it focuses on me. ‘You’re short staffed. Three of you aren’t enough to take on an Immral.’ Them’s fightin’ talk, Fern, I think, delirious with fear. Now how are you going to back it up?
I reach out with my mind to the ground beneath the treitre, commanding the tarmac to rise up. The familiar crackle in my skull builds as the tarmac bubbles and melts, falling inwards so that the treitre has to scrabble to find its footing. It’s enough for Ollie to reach the monster, grab onto it tightly and smash one of his chakrams down on its tail. His face contorts with pain and something else – shock, I think – before the treitre flicks its broken tail, throwing my brother across the street. He hits the building on the other side and slides to the ground, motionless. The silver monster thrashes once, twice, and Phoebe and Amina are thrown against the opposite wall with a sickening crunch. Donald leaps to protect his mistress but two treitres jump on his back and claw at him like rabid dogs. His roars of pain and confusion tear at my heart.
‘Fern.’ Samson’s voice comes through the helmet. ‘We need space to get the injured. Can you do anything to distract them?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got a few ideas that might work,’ I say, steeling myself.
Guiding Lamb to a safe distance, I reach out to the damaged buildings. At first nothing happens. Samson’s voice is shouting too loudly in my ears. ‘Get the injured and fall back, Bedevere. Fall back now.’ He’s ruining my concentration. I pull off the helmet and push all of my focus into the building.The imaginations of thousands of dreamers resist me. They all remember the structure as it should be. The building wants to be whole.
I imagine it as a clay slab and dig my fingers inside it, tearing at the concrete holding each block in place. Gradually, the wall shifts. As the pressure builds in my head, I inch a huge block of aged marble out of its slot. I have to be careful not to collapse the whole structure, or Phoebe and her lion will be crushed. Do as I say. It edges further from the wall.
‘Fern!’ Samson shouts. ‘Get out! Move away!’
As I turn back to the street, ready to hurl the block towards the treitre, I realise why Samson is yelling. Two of the monsters – one gold, one silver – are advancing towards me on all fours, bounding in ugly strides.
‘Steady, girl,’ I tell Lamb. The loyal creature listens, and holds her ground.
They are only a few leaps away now. The whole building is shaking as I fight all those memories. One leap away. It has to be now.
I throw my power towards the stone. It slides out in one smooth movement and I hurl it towards the treitres. There’s no precision, no accuracy, but the block hits true. Both treitres are swiped sideways with a jarring wrench of metal on stone. Further down the street Samson and five other knights are surrounding the copper treitre. Its huge jaws snap this way and that. Two knights fall, but Samson is clinging on. He has snapped his bow, and despite the creature’s efforts to throw him off he is steadily wrapping the bowstring around that snake-like neck. Round and round it goes, tighter and tighter. The treitre makes a horrendous burbling sound, black blood gushing up through its throat to join its victims’. A moment later it gives a great, rasping, final breath and falls to the ground.
I rush to Phoebe’s side and leap off Lamb. Samson is beside me in an instant, dealing with Amina.
‘Well done, Fern,’ he mutters. ‘That’s bought us some time.’
‘Ollie …’
‘Rafe’s getting Ollie.’
Phoebe’s blood-soaked lion stirs feebly a few metres away, and a second later Phoebe opens her eyes. She mumbles something incoherent.
I hear Rachel’s shaken voice crackling through Samson’s helmet. ‘Apothecaries are on their way –’
‘Negative,’ Samson snaps. ‘We can’t guarantee their safety. For God’s sake, tell them to stay back.’ He bends over Amina again. ‘Let’s get them out of here.’
But even as we lift the women, I hear stone shifting. The silver treitre is still buried beneath the block, its spines pushed inside its body, but the golden treitre is getting to its feet. It moves slowly. One of its legs is injured and that pristine golden hide is now dented along one side, although I see no blood.
‘Go!’ Samson urges, and shoves Phoebe onto his horse. Rafe is already halfway up the street, pulling Balius alongside him, my brother’s prone body lashed to the saddle.
‘Donald …’
‘If she lives, her lion lives. Get out of here, Fern – that’s an order.’
With a surge of Immral I fly Amina onto her horse’s back, leap into my own saddle and kick Lamb into a gallop. But I’m not following Samson. There’s something else I need to do first. Ignoring Samson’s shouts, I steer Lamb in a wheel around the treitre. It watches me, its body shifting to keep me in sight. I cast around for what I’m looking for. I can’t fail him.
There’s a clatter of claws, and I look back at the treitre. It’s scratching the ground in an odd way, as though it would be laughing if it had a mouth. It curls its tail around something. Ramesh’s head.
We watch each other, sizing each other up. I am trying, desperately, to fight my migraine. I just need to hold the pain off for long enough to work out how to get Ramesh to safety. The thought of him abandoned in the street like this is inconceivable.
‘Archimago,’ I say, thinking to buy time. ‘So it was you who sent me the message?’
The treitre tilts its head to one side, listening, understanding, even though it cannot reply.
‘I always wondered who could be that cruel to taunt someone about killing their mother. But now I see you I’m not surprised. You’re made of cruelty, aren’t you? That’s all you are.’
Lamb is shaking. I won’t let it hurt her. It hasn’t shown any interest in the horses, only the knights. Right now it seems to be waiting to hear more from me.
‘I bet your master doesn’t know that you contacted me, does he? Bet he’s going to be pretty mad at you when he finds out, since I’m the one with Immral.’
The treitre looks round, and I realise that it is making sure that its companions are dead. It scrapes the ground again. It’s trying to say something, but I am not inclined to try to understand.
‘I’ll be sure to tell him what you did, the next time I see him.’
The great golden head sways a little, the body tenses, ready to pounce. As it does, I leap off Lamb. ‘Go!’ I tell her, and she bolts. My head pounds even harder as I use all my energy to fly over the treitre’s body and crumple to the ground. The monster turns just as I sweep Ramesh’s head into my tunic. Can’t think about the blood. Can’t think about his body, lying like a doll on the other side of the street. I try to move but the pain in my head is too great. It’s paralysing my limbs.
I look up, trying to focus. The treitre is upon me. I can’t escape.
Something bursts between my eyes, robbing me of my sight, robbing me of any feeling except sheer agony. All I can think is that I won’t see my last moments and how furious that makes me. I didn’t manage to bring Mum’s killer to justice – instead it will kill me too. There’s nothing I can do to stop it now. Just wait for the claw to slice my neck or my chest. The tail to spear my body.
Yet … nothing happens. The pain hasn’t lessened. If anything it’s got worse. But I don’t seem to be dead, or having my arm chopped off. Is the monster playing with me?
Every fibre of my body fights the blindness, urging my sight to return. I remember the times when I’ve had hiccups and worried that they’d never stop. Now, faced with the idea of losing my sight forever – Will I be blind in Ithr too? Please, no, please, no no no – I’d gladly exchange eternal hiccups for functioning eyes.
; When something touches me I can’t help a high-pitched scream. It’s not claws, though. It’s velvet. Lamb is nuzzling me. I reach out and feel for her neck. She’s trembling.
‘Where is it, girl?’ I ask. ‘Is it close by?’
She whinnies, softly enough that I can just hear the footsteps approaching. I thrust out a hand.
‘It’s me, Fern.’ Samson’s voice is barely a whisper.
‘Has it gone? I can’t see –’
‘No. It’s right next to you. It’s not moving.’
‘What do you mean? Get out of here then!’
‘It’s frozen. It hasn’t moved for the last few minutes. I thought you’d done that.’
Maybe I did, instinctively, the same way I raised the Thames to save that man. Perhaps my power acted to save my life. Maybe that’s what’s made me lose my sight – the effort needed to keep this one monster at bay. It shouldn’t be this difficult, or cause this much agony, surely? But then, I’ve never tried to control something with this much rage inside it.
I don’t know why, but I reach out one shaking hand, feeling blindly.
‘Don’t, Fern,’ Samson warns, but I have to.
My fingers touch ice and spring back. Hardly daring to breath, trying to push the throbbing agony from my mind, I reach out again. This time when I touch the cold, smooth metal I don’t flinch. I run my hand up the treitre’s neck and across its frozen head. I cannot read its mind like Ollie, but I sense the edges of its being. I can feel the inspyre that is woven into the fabric of the creature’s human soul. I taste the essence of this treitre, as I did with Jenny. The taste of acid is almost overwhelming, but there are other notes beneath it. The homeliness of treacle. Ash from a fire long burned out. And something else, deeper still. Orchids. I withdraw my hand, unsettled. Orchids were my mother’s favourite flower.
Samson’s arms slide around my waist. Gently, he lifts me onto Lamb’s back. He twines her reins around one of my hands and I snake the other around her neck. I suddenly realise that I’m missing something.
‘Ramesh –’