The Black Dragon stumbled to his feet, grunting with the effort, talons slipping on the stone floor as he tried to stand. Lock turned around, eyeing the pitiful creature with irritation.
“Put that wretched thing out of its misery!” yelled Lock, signalling to the Viking guards, who charged at the Dragon swinging their axes into his hide.
The Dragon screeched in pain and fell back. But as the Vikings closed in for the kill, he suddenly swiped his tail, cutting them in half. Lock watched in growing horror, as the Black Dragon opened his wings and flew up with some effort, crashing off the walls, blood draining from the gash in his belly.
“STOP!” yelled Lock, ducking as the Dragon flew over him and dived talons first at Hel. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
The plague goddess shrieked and grabbed the Dragon’s throat, pulling him off her, diverting the jet of fire meant for her to wash over the arena’s ceiling. But the Dragon fought back, thrashing her with his wings and sending them both down into the pool with an immense splash. The effect was instantaneous. The pool turned from blue back to a viscous black as the Dragon’s blood gushed out. Hel released her grip on the Dragon and tried to heave herself from the pool once more. But black oily tendrils of liquid shot after her, latching on and pulling her down.
“What’s happening?” shouted Hayley, who was pinned to the floor amid the animal bones.
“It’s the Dragon’s blood – it’s poisoning the ritual,” the Lord Chamberlain called back.
Lock crawled to the edge of the pool, watching in horror. Suddenly one of Hel’s thrashing arms caught his legs and he toppled into the pool too, emerging after a moment, coughing and spluttering at the surface, a tiny figure next to the colossal, desperate goddess, trying to keep his head above the churning slime.
“Help me!” he pleaded.
But Hel’s bony hands lost their grip on the Arena walls and smashed down on top of him.
At the edge of the Arena, everyone watched as the black pool receded, like the tide racing out, travelling back towards the frame of the seeing mirror. In a bubbling rush of black goo and with a final, earsplitting scream, Hel disappeared into the mirror’s surface like a spider being sucked down a plughole. Lock was next, flailing around like a swimmer caught in a rip tide.
Holgatroll tapped Qilin on the shoulder.
“Sorry, but this is going to hurt,” she said, took a mighty roundhouse swing and punched him square in the mouth. Colonel Blood’s red mist shot out of Qilin’s ears and with a splat, landed on the receding water’s surface.
“Eww, what is this vile liquid? Nooooooo—” Colonel Blood’s disembodied voice screamed.
But it was cut short as he too was sucked back into the mirror. All was suddenly still. The mirror, its glass intact once more, lay in the middle of the Arena. Nearby, the bodies of Alfie, Ellie and the Black Dragon lay next to each other, still covered in black slime.
“Alfie!” Hayley yelled and ran over to him.
He was still in his armour, but the normal brilliant white shine was gone, replaced with a coat of black slime and mud.
“Ged de gunk oud of der mouds!” Tony said. He had taken off his mask and was rubbing his jaw.
“He said ‘get the gunk out of their mouths’,” Freya translated as she transformed back to her human form.
Hayley did just that, scooping out the oily black substance from Alfie’s helmet’s eye slits, mouth and nose guard, while Tamara did the same for Ellie. Alfie suddenly sat up, removed his armour and sucked in a deep lungful of air. He blinked in the light.
“Ellie?” he coughed.
She sat up next to him and spat the last of the black gunk from her mouth. “Here,” she said.
They looked at each other, surprised for a second, then fell into a group hug with their mum and Hayley. A sudden heaving sound drew their attention to the Black Dragon. The battered, broken creature was sprawled on the stone floor, its breaths coming in short, jagged intervals.
“He’s still alive,” gasped Ellie.
Tamara cradled his head. “Richard, can you hear me?”
Slowly the Dragon’s eyes blinked open – they were human again, not the red and yellow of the creature.
A loud SCREECH filled the Arena as the mirror suddenly burst back into life and Hel’s long, bony arm shot out and grabbed the Dragon. Tamara screamed as Hel pulled the dragon towards the churning black waters of the mirror. Alfie whipped his armour back on and dived at the Dragon, grabbing his arm.
“He’s … not … yours!” he shouted, heaving with all his strength.
The others rushed to help, each grabbing hold of the Dragon and pulling with all their might. Hel’s fingers scrabbled to keep their grip. His scales were coming off like dead leaves from a tree. The Dragon’s whole body was cracking apart like a shell, revealing the limp figure of a young man beneath – Richard. Hel’s hand came away with nothing but the shredded carapace of the Dragon; she screamed with rage as she was sucked back into the mirror. LC threw the velvet cloth over the mirror and all was quiet once more.
The Defender collapsed to the floor, holding his brother. There was a long gash across Richard’s chest. His naked, scarred body was deathly pale.
“Bring me the Sword of Mercy! Hurry!” called Alfie.
Brian ran to the regalia case and pulled out the blunt-ended sword. He handed it to the Defender and the sword glowed gold.
“Only drawn in mercy, never in vengeance,” Alfie whispered as he gently laid the blade across Richard’s chest.
All was silent in the Arena as they watched and waited.
“Britain is back to the way it was. But we as a people have changed.”
Prime Minister Vanessa Thorn was addressing the cameras outside Number Ten, Downing Street. It was two months since the battle at Tower Bridge, and much of what had been destroyed had already been rebuilt. Shops, offices and schools were all up and running again. The borders had reopened and people travelled around just as they had before the Viking invasion. Best of all, the weather had improved, and what had felt like an endless winter was now turning into a bright spring. Although everyone was still talking about what had happened, there was a feeling that life was getting back to normal at last. Alfie was watching a re-run of the speech on a large TV inside a palace drawing room. He noticed that Thorn’s voice had changed, the sharp edges softened. There was also a streak of white in her hair that hadn’t been there before: a remnant, he figured, from her time as a berserker.
“The things we used to take for granted – our homes, our families, our freedoms – we now cherish more than ever. Our eyes have been opened to a world beyond our imaginations, a world of fresh possibilities and, yes, grave dangers. But let us not give in to fear or turn in on ourselves. Let us instead work harder to strengthen existing alliances and to forge new ones. Above all let us show gratitude – for what we have and for those who gave it back to us. Not just the Defender – wherever he is – but to the many who stood with him in our hour of need, both those with special powers and those with none. Britain has always shown its best self when tested. Today we can proudly say we have passed that test once more. Let us never forget the sacrifice and the courage that won us this victory.”
“What do you think?”
Alfie was surprised to see the prime minister standing in the doorway behind him, in the same pale yellow outfit she’d been wearing on TV.
“Bit too Churchill? Or just enough? I wasn’t sure,” she said.
“You’re really asking what I think?” said Alfie, fumbling to turn off the screen.
“Call it the new humble me. It’s funny how living as a slobbering monster for a few months can change your outlook.”
Alfie laughed, then stopped, unsure whether it was a joke or not. He was relieved to see her smile. He couldn’t remember seeing her do that before.
“Sorry, Prime Minister, I didn’t think our weekly audience was till tomorrow.”
“It’s not, Majesty. Forgive me, but I wanted
you to be the first to know. I’m going to resign.”
“What? Why?”
“Like I said, people change. And when I came back from my little … break, I realized something. I couldn’t remember why it was I’d wanted to be PM in the first place. I think if you’re given power it helps to know what you want to do with it.”
“I know what you mean,” said Alfie.
Thorn frowned, intrigued. “Is that why you decided not to abdicate after all? What was it that made you come back?”
Alfie felt himself turning red. He hadn’t meant to get into this. “I suppose I just realized I had more idea about what to do with the job than I’d thought.”
The prime minister gave a slight bow and went to leave. But she paused and turned back.
“One other thing I’ve been wondering, Majesty. There are still so many conflicting reports about what really happened around the time the Defender returned, but I heard that you were seen with him at Stonehenge. Did you get any clue as to who he might be? I’d love to know.”
“Search me,” Alfie said with a shrug. “But I did get the feeling it might be better if no one ever found out.”
Thorn held his gaze for a long couple of seconds, as if considering another question. But then she merely smiled, nodded and walked out.
Later that night, it was Alfie’s turn to surprise someone. Queen Tamara, Hayley, Tony and Queen Freya – who was back in the UK under the guise of a royal visit – had all been asked to assemble at Windsor Castle. But they had not been told why.
“Honey!” cried his mum when she saw Alfie walk in, sweeping him into her arms and planting a big kiss on his cheek, much to his embarrassment.
“All right, Mum, take it easy,” he said, glancing over at Hayley, who was looking at him with her arms crossed and a quizzical expression on her face.
“You’re up to something,” said Hayley. “What’s the big secret?”
“Yeah, and is it going to take long?” asked Tony. “’Cos I’ve got a date tonight,” he added, beaming at Freya.
Hayley and Alfie looked at each other, astonished. “You do?” asked Alfie.
Freya rolled her eyes. “Not me! It turns out my little sister, Sølvi, has a thing for geeks. There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose.”
Tony nodded with pride. The others laughed and Alfie beckoned them to follow him.
“OK, OK, no more secrets. This way,” said Alfie.
He was enjoying being the one with the surprise up his sleeve for once. Alfie had given the entire staff the night off, so it was quiet as they processed through the Lower Ward and into St George’s Chapel. High above them on either side of the aisle, the heraldic banners of the members of the Order of the Garter hung in the candlelight. Medieval depictions of lions, falcons and unicorns gazed down on them as they passed beneath. Herne rose from where he had been sleeping by the altar and greeted each of them with a nuzzle and lick of the hand.
“Nearly seven hundred years ago, when the Defender, Edward the Third, was battling Hel the first time round, he made this place his base of operations,” said Alfie. “The Order of St George, later known as the Order of the Garter, was a company of knights – men and women – drawn from every blue bloodline he could find, dedicated to stopping the plague goddess and keeping the world safe.”
“Sorry to interrupt, sweetie,” said Tamara, “but wasn’t it us who told you about all that in the first place?”
“True,” Alfie smiled, “but there’s something else you don’t know …”
He pulled back the altar cloth to reveal a carving of a blue belt, laid in a circle around the red and white cross of St George. On the belt was written an inscription in medieval French – “Honi soit qui mal y pense.” It meant: “Shame be to him who thinks evil of it.”
“… the Order’s still here.”
Alfie placed his hand over the symbol and every candle in the chapel went out, plunging them into darkness. As the others watched in silent awe, the ghostly shapes of priests appeared, carrying a ringed table that was the exact same shape and detailing as the garter belt, complete with St George’s shield at its centre. Two dozen chairs slid from the darkness to surround the table. And as the light slowly returned to the chapel, they could see that the rows of pews had been replaced with tapestries and boards showing maps of the world, the translucent priests monitoring them in much the same way the Yeoman Warders manned their desks in the Keep.
“It’s one of those thingies,” blurted Tony. “Royal particulars.”
“PECULIARS!” said Freya, Hayley and Tamara in unison.
“Whatever,” said Tony. “Anyway, it’s all jolly impressive, Your Majesticals, but why are you showing it to us?”
“Because,” said Alfie, taking his seat at the table, “Hel may be gone, but she’s not the only one out there who would destroy the world if they got the chance. Next time, we need to be ready. So I have decided to reform the Order of St George and you lot are going to be my first knights.”
A ghost priest appeared behind each of them, holding a long, dark blue velvet cloak embossed with the insignia of the Order, which they draped over each of their shoulders. They looked at each other and laughed.
“What’s the catch?” asked Hayley.
Alfie gestured for them to join him at the table.
“There are still a lot of empty seats,” said Freya casting her eye around.
Alfie bit his lip. “Yeah, that’s the catch. I’m not sure if you’re going to be up for this, but…”
“Spit it out,” said Hayley.
“OK, the thing is my place is here,” said Alfie. “There are still a bunch of escaped prisoners from the Tower dungeons that need rounding up. I can’t risk leaving the country right now.”
“So…?” asked Tony.
“So I’m asking you to help me,” continued Alfie. “Mum, you began the search for the ancient members of the Order of St George. I think we should finish the job.”
“It took us two years just to find Tony,” said Tamara, looking uncertain.
“I know,” said Alfie. “But you were doing it alone. I’ve instructed LC to determine which current monarchs can be relied on to become our allies. And I’ve issued orders to the Yeoman Warders to scour the Archives to find any clue that can help us relocate the bloodlines that are no longer on their thrones. We have to try. But I can’t do it by myself.”
He looked at their startled faces waiting for any hint of enthusiasm to reveal itself. Finally Tony broke the silence and slapped the table, laughing.
“Of course we’re with you, Alfie-bet!”
“Yeah, sounds like more fun than trying to teach the Yeoman Warders how to use computers,” said Hayley.
“Where do we start, Your Majesty?” asked Freya.
Alfie exhaled, relieved. “Thank you. I was thinking you could handle Europe, Freya. That way you wouldn’t be too far from home if there was any Viking outbreak.”
She nodded. He turned to Tony.
“I figured you could handle Asia and the Middle East – it’s a lot of ground to cover, but that should suit you.”
“Sun, sea and sandcastles, here I come!” said Tony. “And, ahem, tough perilous missions and all that.”
“Let me guess,” said Tamara, “I’m heading to Africa?”
“I remembered you went on tour there with Dad when I was little,” said Alfie. “I’m guessing you were already working some leads even back then?”
“Smart boy,” replied Tamara. “I’ll send you a postcard.”
“And Hayley,” began Alfie. But she interrupted him.
“Wait, Alfie. I want to help. But I made a promise to my gran.” She was holding the Zemi pendant that hung around her neck. “I need to take her back to Jamaica.”
“Which is why,” continued Alfie, “I thought that when you’re done, maybe you could fly on to South America?”
Hayley looked relieved. “Sure thing. Wow, I’m going to need a guidebook.”
Alfi
e surveyed his new knights of the Order of St George. “Thanks, guys. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if you said no.”
“Do we have time to hang out a little before we leave?” asked Hayley.
Alfie felt himself going red again. His mum, Tony and Freya all pretended to look around at the chapel so as not to embarrass him any further. He and Hayley hadn’t talked about the kiss at Stonehenge since it happened.
“I’m supposed to head back to the palace tonight,” Alfie stuttered. “Bunch of engagements tomorrow, you know.”
Hayley looked down at the table, “Yeah, of course, no worries.”
Alfie was still thinking about Hayley and their hurried, awkward goodbye the next morning as he stood in the rain outside a new pork-pie factory he was opening in a little market town in the Midlands called Wellingborough. He wished he’d had more time to talk to her, but…
Duty calls, he thought, smiling at the cameras as he snipped the ribbon.
Hours later, back at Buckingham Palace, he padded down a long, dark hallway and stopped outside a bedroom door. Hearing laughter he recognized from inside, he knocked and went in. Richard and Ellie looked up from the bed where they were playing a card game.
“He’s cheating again,” said Ellie.
“I’m still getting better, I’m allowed,” Richard shot back with a friendly nudge.
“You look fine to me, Rich,” said Alfie.
It was true. Richard looked almost back to his old self, though not as muscly and broad as he used to perhaps. Over the last few weeks, Alfie had sometimes caught his brother staring into space with a haunted look in his eyes, but those moments were becoming more fleeting. He was talking about getting back into his studies, maybe even training for the navy again. Ellie kept telling him to take it one day at a time; she had moved back to the palace too and taken charge of Richard’s rehabilitation. Alfie was glad to have them both close by – it had made the place feel like a home again.
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