The Claws of Evil

by Andrew Beasley

  He could see her skulking behind Bedlam; there was no light in her eyes. “I thought you were my friend,” he added, but not loud enough for anyone except Jago Moon to hear.

  At that moment, the first of the rats found him in the waist-deep water, and began to clamber up his torso, punching small holes in his shirt and chest as it scrabbled for a grip. More rats climbed out of the water onto his arms, his back, his hat; it was as if they had been shipwrecked and he was an island. Every part of Ben’s brain was in revolt; he would have screamed except he was afraid that a rat would take refuge in the cave of his mouth.

  Ben thrust the torch into the mass of rats, not caring if he burned himself in the process. The stench of scorching fur met his nostrils, but it was hopeless: for every rat that fell away, two more took its place. The Feathered Man would be upon him in seconds too; the black plumage of its head loomed at him like an executioner’s cowl.

  So much for the promise of power, thought Ben.

  Then a desperate idea struck him and while he continued to fend off the rats with his flailing torch, Ben reached inside into his pocket with his free hand.

  “Don’t do it, boy,” said Moon, when he heard the rasp of the fuse being lit and realized what Ben was planning. “You’ll bring the roof down on us!”

  “Too late,” said Ben as he jabbed the second pen-bomb into the soft mortar between the bricks in the tunnel wall.

  Perhaps it was his proximity to death, but a strange urge took over Ben at that moment and he reached into his pocket to draw out the Coin that had been slumbering there. He held it aloft between his finger and thumb and twisted it so that it caught the torchlight. Even the Feathered Man halted, recognizing the significance of the small piece of silver.

  “I’m joining the Watchers,” Ben shouted, “and I’m taking your precious Coin with me!”

  Moon stepped in then and took control. He grabbed hold of Ben with surprising strength, manhandling him up the tunnel and out of the immediate line of the explosive that was about to go off in his face.

  “For the Hand of Heaven,” said Moon with despair, “you ain’t too bright, are you?”

  Ben didn’t have time to respond, because at that instant Moon shifted his weight and threw them both down beneath the surface of the water, while above them the tunnel blossomed with flame.

  Jago Moon held Ben beneath the water while the world turned white. Eventually they both broke the surface, coughing and gasping, their heads emerging through a bobbing layer of rat corpses.

  In the last flickering flames of the explosion, Ben surveyed the scene. The blast hadn’t been enough to bring the River Thames flooding down on their heads, thank goodness. The thick London clay continued to hold back the waters, but for how much longer he couldn’t be sure. However, a huge chunk of the tunnel wall had collapsed, blocking the passage completely, with the Feathered Man and the Legion trapped on one side, and Ben and Moon on the other.

  There wasn’t time to think about who the blast might have killed.

  Ben could hear someone or something clawing against the rubble on the far side, so he knew that not everyone was dead. Had Ruby escaped? Did he care?

  With a hiss, the flame of Ben’s torch gave up the ghost and the darkness around them became absolute.

  “Come on,” he said to Moon affectionately. “Take me home.” He picked up his battered hat and, even though it was dripping wet shoved it on his head. Then he let the blind man lead him along the tunnel, the scraping of talons on stone echoing in their minds.

  Sniffing and listening all the way, Moon eventually brought them to the foot of a rusted ladder. With every step, he longed to tell Ben about the Coin that he was carrying but he remembered Mother Shepherd’s warning. She felt that the safest course of action was to allow Ben to be blissfully ignorant. She was afraid that Ben would do something rash if he knew what the Coin really was. Moon raised an eyebrow; she wasn’t wrong on that score, and besides, he reasoned, they would soon be back amongst the Watchers and Josiah could take possession of the damned thing and destroy it once and for all.

  “I smell clean air,” he said.

  Ben went first and heaved open a trapdoor. He had never been more delighted to breathe in the stink of the Thames. Cleanish air, anyway, thought Ben.

  It was the early hours of Christmas morning and the sky above was the indigo blue of ink on water. It took Ben a couple of seconds to gain his bearings. They were on the south side of the Thames, close to the riverbank. Old Father Thames had sheeted over completely, squeezing the hulls of ships in its frozen grip. St Katharine Docks sat opposite, beside the Tower of London itself. Almost home soil, Ben realized with relief. They were in Pickle Herring Street, and above them was the new bridge that daily continued to push its head above the London skyline.

  “Tower Bridge,” said Moon when Ben told him where they were. “The Uncreated One be praised.”

  “It’s only a bridge,” said Ben.

  “Wrong again,” said Moon, and he tousled the hair of the Hand of Heaven while he still had the chance.

  Mickelwhite and Bedlam had almost ruined it all. They had raised the alarm too soon, and then gone rampaging on their own personal vendetta.

  If you were tracking a beast to its lair, it was vital that the creature didn’t know it was being stalked. If Ben Kingdom hadn’t brought the roof down on their stupid heads, Carter would have done it himself.

  As it was, the explosion had worked in Carter’s favour.

  No doubt Ben and Moon thought that they escaped. What they didn’t realize was that they had not only sealed their own doom but they had condemned the Watchers too. The ageing tunnel, which they had so clearly signposted as their route, only had one exit.

  Carter smiled with sadistic glee; he knew exactly where they were headed and, if he responded quickly enough, he had time to prepare a welcoming party for them.

  Jimmy Dips was hovering nearby, trying to ingratiate himself as usual, and Carter summoned him with a click of his fingers.

  “Call out the heavy-battle brigades immediately,” Carter ordered.

  “What shall I tell them, sir?”

  “Tell them to prepare for war!”

  Ben had never felt so tired. All the emotion of the last few days had finally caught up with him and, far from Moon leaning on him for strength, it was Ben who found himself grateful for the old man’s arm as they walked the last few steps to stand on the bridge.

  Ben looked up at the two great towers. The bridge would be incredible when it was finished, Ben thought. For now it was a work in progress, scaffolding poles and girders surrounding the unfinished buildings and canvas tents crowning the towers, protecting the building work from the worst of the winter weather.

  Wearily they started to cross, Ben concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. To Ben’s surprise, when they were almost halfway over Moon lifted his hand and waved. It was still the dark before the dawn and Ben had no idea who the old man was signalling to, until he saw the canvas lifting on the North Tower to reveal the glow of a lamp and a friendly face, followed by a rope ladder that rattled down to the ground.

  Jago Moon smiled at Ben. “Home at last,” he said.

  Ben headed towards it, his spirits lifting with each step. It felt right to be joining the Watchers. He would see Nathaniel again! And together they could search for Pa and—

  Then the screaming started.

  Looking over his shoulder, Ben saw the Feathered Men as they exploded from the ground. They emerged from the Under like bats from a cave and shrieked as they took to the air. Ben counted three secret exits from the Under and watched in horror as the filthy creatures continued to swarm into the sky; carrion crows circling around a carcass.

  They had been followed, Ben realized. He had led the Legion here.

  From above his
head came sounds of panic. The Feathered Men were ripping at the tent on the tower, tearing it away with their claws, leaving the Watchers exposed and vulnerable. A dozen more ladders unfurled, and Ben could see the adults helping the children over the side. A crossbow bolt whistled through the air and sank deeply into the surface of the bridge. Ben noticed that a thin rope was attached to it and more Watchers came whistling down, using it as a slip wire, hitting the ground running and ushering the young ones to safety north of the river in Tower Wharf and beyond.

  It was not enough though. Ben could see Watchers, like knights on the battlements, striking at the fallen angels with quarterstaffs and swords, trying to fend them off.

  And losing.

  The Feathered Men were ferocious in their attack. They slashed at the Watchers with their talons, broke bones with their snapping beaks. A body fell past Ben, so close that he could see the horror in the man’s eyes. Two Feathered Men squabbled over another unfortunate Watcher, pulling him back and forth between them. Ben saw men being carried away into the air, hung beneath Feathered Men as helpless as rabbits in the claws of an eagle.

  Then came the beating of another pair of wings, stronger and whiter than those of the Feathered Men. Ben’s hopes rose as the Weeping Man launched himself into the air, his sword singing.

  “Turn back, my brothers,” the Weeping Man urged as the fallen angels flocked around him. “Go on in peace,” he said, as his sword struck home. A severed wing spiralled to the ground, followed by a Feathered Man, plummeting until the ice of the Thames broke its fall. And its neck.

  Ben realized that Jago Moon was no longer at his side. He could see him at the far side of the bridge already, shepherding the children to safety. But human Legionnaires had arrived now too and were closing the gap. Ben only hoped the Watchers had enough of a head start.

  “Ben Kingdom!”

  A voice rang out above the mayhem. Ben turned.

  Claw Carter had found him and was calling him out.

  He was standing on the low wall at the edge of the bridge below the North Tower. Carter was not alone, Ben could tell. He was holding another man prisoner, his hand clamped across the man’s mouth and his claw hovering over the soft flesh of his oesophagus.

  “Pa!” shouted Ben.

  Claw Carter smiled maliciously. “A family reunion, how very touching.”

  “Don’t you dare hurt him,” challenged Ben.

  “Or what?” said Carter.

  Ben had no reply. He had never seen his father looking so battered and bruised. One eye was closed beneath a swelling the colour of old meat. His lip was fat and bloody, his clothes torn, his body limp.

  “Hello, son,” said Jonas Kingdom, his good eye winking.

  “So,” said Carter. “It’s time for you to choose, Benjamin Kingdom. What’s it to be? Join me in the Legion and become the Left Hand, the Son of the Sinister. Or follow poor, pathetic blind-eyed Moon, and become the Right Hand: the limp, weak leader of the losing side.”

  Carter ran his claw in a sawing motion across Jonas Kingdom’s neck. “Don’t let me influence you at all, Ben. You must do what your heart says. And if you choose the right-hand path and join the Watchers...well, you can always see your father again in Heaven.”

  Ben reached into his pocket.

  “Let him go,” he said.

  He watched with satisfaction as Carter’s eyes fixed on the small circle of metal he now held in his hand. “It’s not really me you want, is it? It’s this!”

  “Give it to me!” Carter shouted.

  “My Coin, my terms,” said Ben. “I’ll throw the Coin onto the ice where you can get your claw on it, and you let my father come to me.”

  Ben didn’t have to wait for an answer, the expression of desperate need on Carter’s face told him everything he needed to know. Coldly and casually Ben tossed the tiny disc over the side, to land on the frozen surface of the Thames.

  But just at that instant, another of the Feathered Men dropped from the sky, its head hanging loose where the Weeping Man’s sword had bitten deep. It hit the ice with a bone-shattering crunch. For a second nothing happened; then a spider’s web of cracks splintered around it. The ice gave a mighty groan and split wide, as if the river had opened its mouth, sucking the Feathered Man and the Judas Coin down to the bottom of the Thames.

  “You never do make the right choice, do you, boy?” snarled Carter, as he let his claw do its work, tracing a red line across Jonas Kingdom’s throat.

  Ben could only watch as his father’s limp body followed the Coin over the edge and into the water.

  Ben didn’t hesitate.

  He jumped over the edge and followed his father.

  He knew that the Thames could kill on the best of days. It was not the sort of water that you could drink. Every stinking slaughterhouse, every tannery, every factory on the banks of the river deposited their filth here. It was a toilet that ran through the heart of London; a place where rats swam and stray dogs went to die.

  Ben held his breath tight inside his chest as he plunged beneath the surface of the freezing river. Would his first mouthful of the Thames be his last? Would it drag him to the bottom, never to return?

  As soon as he was in the icy water, his body started to go into shock. The cold was so heavy that it was as if he was being squeezed in a vice. The blood in his ears was as loud as thunder.

  So this is the end, thought Ben.

  It was hard not to panic.

  He looked around frantically, trying to find his father before the river claimed both their lives.

  At first, he thought that Jonas had been swept away by the current, and his eyes searched the black waters with increasing desperation. He could hardly see his hand in front of his face and all the time he was drifting further away from the hole in the ice; further away from hope. Something heavy collided with his back and his heart lifted as he circled in the water, hoping to come face-to-face with his pa. Instead he found himself staring into the open maw of a Feathered Man. Shock surged through Ben’s system and he nearly broke for the surface in fear until he saw the dead mirror of the fallen angel’s eyes and the hideous angle of its broken neck.

  It was another precious second lost. Time his father didn’t have.

  When Ben saw the blood, it was so black that he didn’t recognize it at first. His eyes followed it, down, down. The trail led to the shape of a man, almost invisible in the darkness of the Thames; a motionless man, sinking out of sight.

  Ben had no air left, but no choice either. He kicked down with both legs, pushing himself onwards. Ignoring the pain. Following the blood. After his pa.

  When he finally reached him, there was nothing in his lungs except fire.

  He put his right arm around his father, feeling the same rush of strength he had experienced when he rescued Mr. Smutts. Then he searched for the hole in the ice that was the only way back to the light.

  I won’t let you die, Pa.

  Ben kicked and thrashed and dragged himself through the water.

  I can’t let you leave me.

  Closer towards the jagged window in the ice.

  Please don’t leave me like Mum did.

  Up. Up...

  And out.

  Gasping, exhausted, Ben hauled himself back onto the creaking ice and dragged his father after him.

  Jonas Kingdom wasn’t moving.

  His lips were blue. His chest was motionless. The blood had ceased to pump from his wound.

  Overhead, the Feathered Men were still screaming. In spite of his skill with a sword, the Weeping Man was overwhelmed. They dived at him, ripping at his wings with their talons. Ben saw his feathers torn out in chunks, the stripes of claws on his face, his chest, his arms. Still more Feathered Men swooped in, shrieking with insane pleasure as they pecked and slashed.r />
  Above Ben on the bridge, Claw Carter was laughing.

  Benjamin felt the anger swelling within him. The trembling in his hands. The burning inside. The mounting pressure of unearthly power waiting to be released.

  I’m going to make you pay for this!

  He rolled his left hand into a fist. A tight ball of fury that felt so good. He would smash the smile from Carter’s face. He would kill Mickelwhite. Destroy the Legion. Kill them all. He would make them pay. He would, he would...

  And then he let his fury go, as a supernatural calm fell upon him.

  He studied his right hand as if it was the first time he had ever seen it. Suddenly he knew what he had to do.

  Ben raised his right hand tentatively, elevating his arm until it was high above his head. The stabbing sensation of hot needles had never been more intense and Ben had to clench his teeth against it, but as he rode the wave of agony, it seemed to reach a crescendo at a level he could stand. Just.

  An instinct somewhere deep inside seemed to guide him. He breathed slowly through the pain, calmed his thoughts and responded, letting himself become...whatever it was that Jago Moon had been rambling on about.

  Ben made a mental note to pay more attention the next time Moon was explaining what was happening to his life; of course, that was assuming he even got out of this alive. The flow of energy began to falter as Ben became distracted and inner peace was replaced by panic. I don’t know what to do! Ben screamed inside. He wriggled his fingers, clenched his fist, his movements becoming increasingly frantic.

  Nothing happened.

  The realization hit him like a fist in his gut. All along the length of the bridge, he could hear the shouts and screams of the Watchers; and there wasn’t a damned thing that he could do about it.

  He was helpless, Ben knew that. Everyone was expecting him to be this great leader, but what was he really? A kid from the wrong end of Old Gravel Lane.

  Ben flinched as another scream tore the air.

  All that he wanted was for this to be over. No more Feathered Men, no more Legion. No more street kids getting hurt.