‘He’s going to do it now,’ said Hamish, pushing through what was left of the crowd.
‘RIGHT!’ shouted the King. ‘STAY WHERE YOU ARE! WE’LL DO THE CROWNING NOW! COME BACK, ALL OF YOU!’
And he gestured at one of his royal sidekicks, who stepped forward with the new crown resting on a giant purple cushion.
‘KING LES!’ shouted Hamish, trying desperately to get closer. ‘DON’T TAKE YOUR CROWN OFF!’
‘HAHA!’ replied King Les, straining to see who’d shouted this. ‘VERY FUNNY, BUT IT’S A CROWNING CEREMONY, SO I HAVE TO!’
He sat down on a special golden throne, ready to replace his crown.
‘QUICKLY!’ shouted the King, waving one imperious hand. ‘LET’S DO THIS!’
Hamish was now just metres away. He reached the stage and tried to clamber up. A sidekick kneeled down, offering the King his new crown.
‘BY THE POWERS INVESTED IN ME AS ME!’ yelled Les, as the cameras found him again. ‘I HEREBY AWARD MYSELF THIS NEW CROWN!’
He reached up to take his old crown off . . . when . . .
A huge zap shot out of the Tower like a sonic wave. It tore up the air behind it, making the clouds in the sky look all wobbly from the sheer power.
The air sparked with electricity.
Everyone’s hair rose from their heads.
A bright white light fizzed and sparked around the grand old Tower of London as the zap shot through the air.
Hamish leapt towards the stage . . .
Save the King!
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU MASSIVE NUMPTY!?!’ screamed King Les the Second, after realising a ten-year-old boy in a ‘borrowed’ suit of armour had sent him tumbling to the floor.
As the crowds ran around and slapped into each other in blind panic, Hamish had taken the full force of Scarmarsh’s extra-powerful ZAP.
His whole body was vibrating in his suit of armour, which was making a very high-pitched whine – the same sort of noise that happens when you rub the top of a thin glass. Hamish’s teeth chattered and his fingers tingled – but he hadn’t been blanked. The suit of armour had deflected the evil beam.
The King had been mere microseconds away from taking his crown off when Hamish had leapt. He’d shoved it straight back on the King’s head. But he’d done it with such force that it had gone right over his ears and was now hanging round his neck like a fancy dog collar.
Alarms in the Tower of London were going off. Beefeaters ran for the King and surrounded him, poking their pikes up in the air, not sure where this invisible attack was coming from.
‘Your Majesty!’ said Hamish, his ears still ringing. ‘You need to get out of here! A man named Scarmarsh is trying to turn you into a halfwit!’
‘Oh, no!’ said a Beefeater. ‘He must have succeeded!’
Another Beefeater slapped her forehead. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Years ago! When he was a baby!’
The King looked at them and raised his eyebrows.
‘He may be a little slow,’ said Hamish, ‘but the King still has both his wits about him. But Scarmarsh will keep trying. He’s got terrifying Hypnobots watching our every move and shooting rays from the Post Office Tower. Your neck-crown should protect you for now, King Les, but I’ve got a feeling that he’s going to make his rays even more powerful!’
The King looked at the Post Office Tower. It was now really shaking, like an angry fist!
‘Well, how do we get out of here?’ he said, nervously. ‘And where do we go?!’
‘Hamish!’ shouted Grenville, panting as he arrived, even though he’d only run about ten metres. ‘I think the Terribles are coming!’
In the distance, they could hear screaming. Half a mile away, an empty car was suddenly flipped into the air, high above the buildings. Who could do that but Terribles? They were more furious than ever. Particularly because it was rush hour, and you know what that’s like.
How could they get the King out of here?
‘Yo-YO!’ came a cry from the gates. It was Leona Bannister! She was standing in front of a huge, long line of very colourful London taxis. ‘Anyone need a lift?’
Leona had made good on her word and brought as many taxi drivers as she could. The other cabbies had taken a bit of convincing, but she’d done it. She’d found her gift of the gab! And Scarmarsh would never suspect a thing. London taxis, thought Hamish, can hide in plain sight!
‘Leona!’ said Hamish, quickly coming up with a plan. ‘We need to get the King to Buckingham Palace at once. Scarmarsh will keep trying to zap him, and he’s getting more and more powerful!’
‘Then we need to hide which taxi the King gets in!’ said Leona. ‘That way he won’t know which one to zap!’
But how could they hide the King?
‘Clover – do you have any more disguises?’ asked Hamish.
‘We’ve used them all!’ she replied, shaking her head. Which is when something absolutely amazing happened. As if on cue, and as if they had planned it, the Guardians of the Tower – the six famous ravens – appeared from the Broad Arrow Tower and in the air.
The ravens of the Tower of London flew and swooped and cawed, and soon, from the river, the sky began to fill with ravens . . .
And crows! And blackbirds! And jackdaws! And rooks!
The of their wings was deafening. Litter blew from bins and danced in the air. Dust swirled. The sky darkened under their coal-black feathers, as this cloud of birds blocked the light.
‘They’re hiding us!’ said Hamish. ‘The Hypnobots won’t be able to spot us!’
‘But how did they know what to do?’ said Holly. ‘They’re birds!’
Hamish knew how.
Belasko.
The Basque word for raven.
This was his dad’s work. Somehow, his dad was helping them. They weren’t alone!
‘Get the King in the cab!’ shouted Hamish, and Holly pulled Les from the stage and shoved him into Leona’s taxi. ‘Take him to Buckingham Palace!’
Hamish and Holly watched as the rest of the PDF jumped into the cab with the King. Leona fired up the ignition and then got on the radio.
‘All right, girls!’ she said, as it crackled to life.
‘And boys,’ said a grumpy voice on the radio. ‘It’s Jeff here and it would be nice to feel included sometimes.’
Leona sighed.
‘All right, girls and Jeff,’ she said. ‘You know the plan!’
‘Hang on,’ said the King from the back seat, suddenly realising something. ‘What do you mean, I may be a bit slow?’
‘GO!’ shouted Hamish.
And, under the shifting cover of hundreds of birds, the taxis roared into life, filling the streets and then peeling off, one by one. Down alleys they whizzed, across roads, round and round and round roundabouts. Scarmarsh wouldn’t know which one had the King in it!
But he wasn’t going to let that stop him trying.
Hamish and Holly watched from the turrets of the Tower of London as Scarmarsh sent out ZAPS in ever-wilder directions. He was clearly panicking.
ZAP!
ZAP!
ZAP!
Cars fizzed and glowed as the beams hit, but Leona still shot through, hurtling across Tower Bridge and hitting a sharp right on Druid Street. Her satnav tried to tell her she was crazy and that she should really slow down, so she threw it out of the window. Leo would be proud.
Scarmarsh shot more zaps out all over London.
ZAP!
It missed and hit a cat.
ZAP!
It missed and zapped a pop star.
ZAP!
It missed and blanked a pigeon.
ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!
Faces in the retreating crowds turned blank in an instant as eyes widened and brains went ‘boof!’ People stopped dead in their tracks and just stared.
‘The King will be safe at Buckingham Palace,’ said Hamish, watching in horror as these wild zaps fizzed and sparked in the skies above London.
‘What about us?’ sa
id Holly. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Now?’ said Hamish, looking out over the city, then turning to face his new friend. ‘Now we take the fight to Scarmarsh.’
It’s Him!
Hamish and Holly Ellerby had been extra-specially careful.
They were heading straight into the lion’s den. Right into enemy territory. Straight . . .
To the Post Office Tower.
Hamish knew the only way to stop Scarmarsh was to get close to him. The army should be there by now, and Hamish could fill them in on everything that had been going on.
The streets of London had been trashed by rampaging Terribles on the hunt for the King. Cars had been overturned. Windows smashed. A bin was on fire.
Even though they were sure Scarmarsh was too busy to be on the lookout for them, the two kids used alleyways and back roads to make their way ever closer to their enemy.
Finally, they found themselves at the foot of the great Tower.
There were far fewer Terribles guarding it than there had been before. Hamish had a dreadful feeling they were all heading to Buckingham Palace, furious the kids had given them the runaround. Maybe it had been a mistake to tell the King to go there. Hamish just thought that, like most of us, he’d be safest at home.
And, worse still, the army hadn’t turned up yet. Now would be the ideal time to invade the Tower. Where were the soldiers? Where were the battering rams? Why was no one doing any abseiling or parachuting?
It was just them. Just Hamish and Holly.
Hamish thought sadly of Alice. The time to act was now, but could he do this without her?
As they hid back in the doorway of Really Fried Chicken, Holly counted all the Terribles she could see.
‘There’s one walking round the bottom of the building dressed as a window cleaner,’ she said. ‘There are two dressed as security guards in the lobby. There’s one reeeeally fearsome ugly one pretending to be a traffic warden.’
She looked a bit closer.
‘Actually, I think that’s just a traffic warden. The point is this is going to be tricky. How are we going to get inside and make it to the top?’
Hamish tapped his chin. He wished Buster was here. Buster would come up with something ingenious. He’d rig the lifts to shoot them straight to the top. Or he’d make the automatic doors to the Tower go crazy so that they locked the Terribles out. If they had to get inside, Buster would have known how.
And then Hamish spotted that first Terrible again.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘maybe there’s another way.’
On the outside of the Post Office Tower, if you look really closely, are some very special rails. They were put there when the Tower was first built, even though they were hardly ever used these days.
They were put there for window cleaners.
‘Put these on,’ said Hamish, handing Holly some blue overalls. ‘And this hat!’
They were standing on the tiny outdoor cradle that hoisted window cleaners all the way up the tower. Hamish thought this would be the perfect way to get to the top. You’ve heard of thinking outside the box? This was thinking outside the Tower. And, if they were disguised as window cleaners, maybe the Terribles would just assume they were Terribles too.
Holly looked uncertain. She stared at the buttons marked UP and DOWN.
‘Hamish . . . I’m not great with heights,’ she said.
‘What?’ said Hamish, but of course that made complete sense. Hamish loved heights. He couldn’t get enough of rollercoasters like the Gap-toothed Otter or the SpindleMonkey when the fair came to Starkley. ‘Holly, be brave.’
‘Someone once lifted me on to their shoulders when I was a toddler,’ she said. ‘I hate heights so much I put them straight in the RevengePad.’
‘You had a RevengePad when you were a toddler?’ said Hamish. ‘Holly, you’ve got to learn to let some things go!’
‘If I come up there with you,’ she replied, ignoring this, ‘do you really think we can stop Scarmarsh? Do you think we can find out where your dad is? And . . . and my mum?’
Hamish put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Things only happen if you try,’ he said, wisely. ‘I’d rather try and fail than be too scared to try at all.’
Holly took a deep breath, nodded to herself, then slammed her small fist on the button marked UP.
As the platform shuddered and rose, and Holly grabbed on to the rails for dear life, Hamish pulled his hard hat down low. He tried to whistle because he imagined window cleaners usually whistled, but he couldn’t remember any tunes, so it just sounded weird. Holly and Hamish attempted to act casual as they passed the first long line of windows.
They held their breath.
Inside, they could see dozens of belching, bilious Terribles in what resembled a telephone exchange. They sat at desks in front of what looked like a million wires. Some of them were listening in on telephone calls and making notes with their slippery, slimy fingers. But none of them looked up at the two little window cleaners.
The platform rose higher. This was where the Tower really began. They passed sign after sign on level after level.
HIGH-VELOCITY VENTILATION MACHINES
TRANSMISSION APPARATUS ROOM
Holly’s grip on the rails tightened. This cradle did not seem secure.
Every now and again, they’d see another Terrible, dressed as a security guard or telephone engineer, wandering down a corridor, snuffling and gruntling along.
AERIAL GALLERIES
MICROWAVE TRANSMITTER ROOMS
They were getting higher and higher. Holly didn’t dare look around. But, if she had, she’d have seen a beautiful sight. All of London beneath her. The British Museum. Westminster Abbey. Battersea Power Station. Everything.
‘Look!’ said Hamish, suddenly, because inside a room, right at the back and completely surrounded by Terribles, were . . .
‘Buster and Bella!’ said Holly, breathlessly. ‘They’re safe!’
Their two friends were sitting on chairs in a room marked ZAP CONTROL with no possible escape. But at least they were there! At least they were okay!
‘Scarmarsh must be trying to get information from them,’ said Hamish.
The cradle kept climbing upwards, every now and again jolting and frightening them.
Now they were more than halfway to the top and it was getting windier. They were at the vast satellite dishes that would turn and target the Neverpeople.
‘Scarmarsh must be at the very tip,’ said Hamish, as the old cradle caught the wind for a second and swayed, turning Holly’s face a bit green. They were nearly 150 metres in the air!
On they went, the cradle creaking as they reached the next set of windows, to reveal . . .
Terribles sitting right at the window, glugging down their dinners . . .
Rotten apples!
Filth stew!
And black milk! (Which was called ‘blilk’ because that’s exactly the noise you make after drinking some.)
Hamish had never seen a Terrible eat close up before. It was the most disgusting, diabolical sight. Food spattered the window as they squelched their bright yellow teeth into it, spraying the room with huge globules of out-of-date food juice. But the Terribles were so engrossed in their grossness that they didn’t look up as the cradle passed by.
‘Check it out,’ said Holly. ‘This bit is rotating!’
It was true. As they approached the next section of the Tower, they could see it slowly revolving.
‘Careful,’ said Hamish. ‘Pretend you’re washing windows . . . because I think this might be . . .’
THE HYPNOBOTS!
There they were, in all their enormous, clanking, camera-eyed glory! Staring soullessly out over the city.
For a moment, the kids were absolutely certain they were done for. How could these Hypnobots fail to see them? They were right there!
But the robots seemed to look past them. They were so used to searching in the distance that they couldn’t see wh
at was right in front of their noses. And of course they were focused on finding the King. Hamish followed their eyeline, and with a sinking heart saw that they were staring at Buckingham Palace. Had they sent their friends straight to the most obvious place possible? Had that been a mistake?
‘Don’t move a muscle,’ said Hamish. ‘We’re still going up!’
Now they were approaching the very peak of the Tower. Can you imagine how high up that was? Can you imagine how Holly’s tummy felt? It was so windy up there, and the cradle creaked and cracked and swayed from left to right.
But they had to keep going. They had to!
And, right at the very top, the cradle jolted to a stop.
‘This is it,’ said Hamish. ‘This is where we get off.’
There was a small, thin walkway for them to balance on, with a safety railing in case they needed it. And, at the end of the walkway, one small window had been left slightly open.
Slowly, very carefully, they stepped on to the walkway.
‘Don’t look down,’ said Hamish, which immediately made Holly look down. She started to shiver and tremble. One wrong move and she was toast!
‘I’m here,’ said Hamish. ‘Remember – you’re half me. And I’m half you. And together we’re whole.’
‘I can’t do it, Hamish,’ she said.
‘If half of you can do it,’ said Hamish, ‘then you’re halfway there!’
Holly nodded, bravely, as Hamish opened the window further. He peeked inside. There were dozens of framed photographs from around the world.
There was the TV tower in Berlin.
The Tokyo Skytree.
The Stratosphere Tower in Las Vegas.
Frankfurt’s Europa Tower.
A tower in Auckland. Moscow. Sydney. Kiev.
‘There are towers everywhere,’ said Hamish, understanding something. ‘All over the world, all of them hiding in plain sight! London is just the start. Scarmarsh’s plans may be bigger and badder than we ever thought.’
Hamish and the Neverpeople Page 14