‘I will go, Majesty,’ E-147 said to his king. Minotus clasped E-147’s hand and shook it.
Jack said, ‘Sorry to interrupt, but we kinda have an escape to make. We need to grab a chopper and get out of here.’
Now escorted by the Minotaur King and with Scarecrow assisted by Mother and Astro, Jack led the group away from the ruins of the ancient guardhouse and up the path to the helipad-fortress.
They rounded a final bend and saw the helipad in front of them.
‘Good God . . .’ Jack gasped.
He got there in time to see two royal helicopters—both expensive Sikorskys, their rotors blurring, seconds from take-off—get overwhelmed by a mass of minotaurs that had got there by some other route.
The minotaurs tossed a steel cable into the tail rotor of the first helicopter, causing the rotor to shriek and clank and . . . stop.
Then, working as a mob, they pushed the disabled chopper, with its cargo of screaming royal passengers inside it, off the edge of the helipad and the nine-million-dollar helicopter plummeted to the ground hundreds of feet below.
The second Sikorsky’s doors were open, so the horde of minotaurs yanked its royal passengers and pilots from it and hacked them to death with their swords. Blood sprayed. The royals screamed. Then the minotaurs began to shove this chopper—its rotor blades still spinning—toward the edge of the helipad.
With the helipad overrun and helicopters dropping off the edge, it looked like the Fall of Saigon.
The Minotaur King stepped in front of Jack.
‘I shall get you a helicopter,’ he said.
Minotus strode across the helipad and commanded the minotaurs pushing the second Sikorsky toward the edge to desist.
They had just managed to shove the chopper’s front wheels off the edge when he called for them to stop. They obeyed his command instantly and the chopper remained tilted forward, its nose dangling over the edge of the high helipad.
Minotus waved Jack’s group over. ‘Get in!’
Jack jumped into the pilot’s seat. The others piled in the back.
Scarecrow sat next to Jack. ‘Can you fly a helicopter?’
‘Sky Monster’s given me a few lessons.’
‘Here. Shove over,’ Scarecrow said. ‘I was in the Air Wing of the Marine Corps before I became a line animal. I didn’t survive all those challenges to crash in a chopper flown by a rookie.’
Jack scooted over and let Scarecrow take the controls.
Scarecrow powered the Sikorsky up and the big chopper rose off the elevated helipad.
It hovered for a moment in front of the massive black mountain, looking like an insect in front of the towering peak.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Jack said. ‘Punch it.’
Scarecrow hit the thrusters and the chopper peeled away from the helipad-fortress. It made a quick stop at the base of the mountain to pick up Mae, Tomahawk and the dogs, before it leapt skyward and powered away into the night.
Sky Monster’s Alligator gunship immediately swept into position beside it and, flying in tandem, the two helicopters swept away from the overrun mountain-palace.
Within thirty seconds, they had risen high into the star-filled sky.
Far beneath them lay the flat desert plain with the wide circular crater cut into it. The tapering mountain-palace of Hades that rose up from the crater’s core looked tiny from up here, like a model.
Fires raged in various places on the mountain. The great black stone obelisk that spiked upward from the temple on the mountain’s summit looked small, insignificant.
Lit by starlight, the desert stretched away, relentlessly flat and bare, with not a structure or settlement in sight. On the distant western horizon were the waters of the Arabian Sea.
‘Go east,’ Hades said to Scarecrow. ‘Inland. We will eventually come to one of my mines. There’s an airstrip there with all the royal planes. Captain West’s plane is parked there, too.’
The Sikorsky flew low over the night-time desert.
The group sat in silence in the luxurious rear cabin of the helicopter.
Lily sat curled in Alby’s arms. E-147 sat beside them.
Iolanthe stared out the window, contemplating an unknown future.
Hades did the same.
In the cockpit, Scarecrow flew, gazing ahead at the landscape sweeping by below the chopper’s nose. Jack sat at his side, saying nothing because there was really nothing to say.
After about thirty minutes, an open-cut mine came into view, a vast hole in the desert floor.
An airstrip lay beside it.
Three private jets sat parked beside the runway: Gulfstreams and Bombardiers. The crème de la crème of private aircraft.
A short distance from them sat Jack’s plane: the black-painted Concorde lookalike that he had christened the Sky Warrior.
‘Commencing our descent,’ Scarecrow said as he brought the chopper in toward the airstrip.
As he did so, Jack stepped into the rear cabin and sat down beside Hades.
‘So. The Mysteries weren’t revealed to us. Which means now we have to find them. How long have we got?’
‘We have time,’ Hades said. ‘Not a lot, but we have time. The Mysteries—the knowledge that is required to stop the Omega Event—are kept in vaults in the three secret cities: Thule, Atlas and Ra. We must now find those cities—and the Trismagi who guard them—and unlock those vaults before the universe ends.’
They arrived at the airstrip.
Apart from two late-night security guards, it was silent, empty.
Already agitated by the arrival of one helicopter carrying a load of dishevelled and angry rich people, the two security guards seemed positively shocked to see their boss, Mr Anthony DeSaxe, emerge from this chopper and stride over to them.
‘Who else has come through here in the last hour?’ Hades demanded.
The senior guard said, ‘Mr Compton-Jones, sir, and three of his people, including the Catholic Cardinal.’
Hades turned to Jack. ‘Orlando and Cardinal Mendoza. They’ll also go after the three cities.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Forget that for now. That’s a race that we’ll have to run another day. Right now, I just want to go home.’
Jack West stood facing Shane Schofield on the empty airstrip.
Behind Scarecrow, the other three Marines—Mother, Astro and Tomahawk—were prepping one of the royal jets for departure.
‘I’m really sorry I had to kill you,’ Jack said.
‘It had to be done,’ Scarecrow said.
He clasped Jack’s hand. ‘It’s been an honour to meet you, Jack West Jr. Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you from here. If you ever need a hand, give me a call.’
‘I will. And thanks. Thanks for being the only other honourable guy in those Games.’
‘My pleasure,’ Scarecrow said.
‘Yo, Scarecrow!’ Mother called from the plane. ‘Enough with the bromance, already! We gotta hit the road. Later, Huntsman.’
Scarecrow gave Jack a final nod. ‘Good luck.’
‘You, too,’ Jack said.
And with those words, the two heroes parted, heading for their respective planes.
As Jack arrived at the Sky Warrior, he found his diminutive mother, Mae, waiting for him at the airstairs. Stretch and Pooh Bear stood with her.
‘Hi, Mum,’ Jack said. ‘Didn’t get a proper chance to say hello. Hey, fellas.’
‘How are you, Jack?’ Mae said warmly. ‘Got yourself into quite the pickle these last few days, didn’t you?’
‘You could say that. I can’t tell you how glad I was to see you guys. I don’t know how you tracked us down, but I’m thrilled you did. Thanks.’
Pooh Bear smiled. ‘Anytime.’
‘You’d do the same for us,’ Stretch said. ‘Hey, you did do it on
ce for us.’
‘I guess I did,’ Jack said, but then he remembered something. ‘Oh, God, Horus. She was at Pine Gap—’
‘It’s okay,’ Pooh Bear said. ‘We got her. She was a little beat up on account of getting shot and all. We dropped her off at a vet in Broome before we left for Karachi. Explained the gunshot wound as a hunting accident. She’s fine. We can collect her on the way back.’
‘Then let’s get out of here.’ Jack ascended the airstairs.
‘Honestly,’ Mae said, following him. ‘I’m always saying I want to see more of you and Lily, that you should call me more often. I can’t believe it took something like this to get us together.’
‘Don’t speak too soon, Mum. Given your areas of expertise, I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other over the coming months and years,’ Jack said as he stepped inside the plane.
Airspace over the Indian Ocean
Four hours later
The Sky Warrior soared over the Indian Ocean, shooting through the night-time sky.
In his private cabin in the rear of the plane, Jack slept. A quick operation by Stretch with some local anaesthetic had seen the extraction of both the ancient yellow quartz gemstone seared into the back of his neck and the modern small explosive charge that had been implanted underneath it.
Once it was out, Jack peered closely at the yellow gemstone. It looked sleek, old and oddly powerful. He kept it for later examination.
After that, Stretch stitched him up and, exhausted beyond belief, Jack fell into a deep sleep.
Mae, Lily, Alby, E-147 and the dogs were all in the next cabin, in various bunks, also fast asleep. Pooh Bear, Stretch, Hades and Iolanthe dozed in some chairs in the main cabin.
Only Sky Monster was awake, flying his beloved plane by the light of the instrument panel.
Jack dreamed.
Of the Underworld and of its deadly challenges. Of its helmeted warriors: Fear, Chaos, the Hydra and Cerberus. Of men drowning and dying, of combat stages and of an army of minotaurs going on a rampage.
And in that strange way dreams operate, he found himself dreaming of Mephisto. In his dream, he began to wonder: where did Mephisto go in all that chaos?
His brain tried to recall where he had last seen the murderous jester. Was it on the second combat stage? He wasn’t sure.
The thought of Mephisto brought the image of the jester’s face right in front of his eyes. He saw the vicious little fiend grinning, showing his sharpened teeth and holding up a wicked knife and saying in his twee voice, ‘You wouldn’t forget me, would you? I told you I wouldn’t forget you.’
Jack’s eyes flashed open.
Mephisto was crouched over him, his evil red face pressed close to Jack’s own, holding a knife right in front of Jack’s nose!
Jack hadn’t dreamed that voice or those words. Mephisto had said it for real.
His mind raced.
Mephisto must have got out of the Underworld on the first chopper and stowed away on the Sky Warrior before they got to it.
The jester slashed at Jack’s face with his knife, but Jack caught his wrist and hurled him off him.
Jack snatched up the Desert Eagle pistol he kept beside his bed, chambered a round—
—but Mephisto leapt at him again, hissing through his bared teeth, and pushed Jack’s gun-hand back against the small window behind him.
Jack struggled as Mephisto knelt astride him. The little jester used his right foot to pin Jack’s gun-hand to the window while he raised his deadly knife again.
Jack was screwed.
After all the challenges, all the fights and chases, he was going to have his throat cut by this little rat bastard.
‘Bye-bye!’ Mephisto squealed as he raised his knife for the final blow.
‘That’s right,’ Jack said . . .
. . . as he pulled the trigger of his pinned gun.
The gun went off, the blast deafening in the enclosed space, firing right through the window behind Jack’s head.
The effect was instantaneous.
Cabin pressure was lost and a gale of rushing air went whooshing out the window. Anything not tied down flew out through it: loose paper, blankets, clothing.
In the sudden maelstrom, Jack shifted his weight and yanked Mephisto over him, shoving the jester’s head through the blasted-open window!
The evil little man shrieked as his body jammed momentarily in the small aperture before—whoosh—he was sucked out completely, his body scraping horribly against the jagged edges of the broken window on the way through, never to be seen again.
Gasping for breath, Jack staggered out of the room to find Lily, Alby, Mae, Iolanthe and Hades rushing up to him, woken by the gunshot and the ensuing wail of alarms.
Sky Monster’s voice came over the intercom: ‘Jack! What’s going on? We just lost cabin pressure in your room.’
Jack keyed a switch. ‘I’ve closed it off, Monster. Restore pressure to the rest of the plane.’
‘What happened?’
‘We had a stowaway,’ Jack said. ‘The jester. Never mind. He won’t be coming back.’
Jack’s farm
Somewhere in Australia
Nine hours later, the Sky Warrior touched down on another isolated airstrip in another isolated desert: the runway at Jack’s farm in the vast Australian outback.
The sleek black plane taxied to a halt beside a small shack on the runway.
Waiting beside the shack was Zoe, Jack’s wife. She herself had only just arrived back from the Mariana Trench a few hours ago.
When she saw Jack emerge from the plane—cradling Horus in his arms and preceded by the two bounding dogs, and followed by Lily and Alby—she smiled broadly and said, ‘Wait’ll you hear what I saw—’
Her eyes darted from the wounded Horus to Jack’s shaved head and the cuts and bruises on his face and her smile vanished.
Then she saw Mae, Iolanthe, Hades and E-147 step out of the Sky Warrior.
She gave Jack a look. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I go away for a week and look at you. What happened? You look like you’ve been to Hell and back.’
‘That’s a very interesting choice of words, honey,’ Jack said. ‘Let’s go inside and sit down. I’ve got a lot to tell you, too.’
EPILOGUE
The Great Bend
The Underworld, India
In one of the innermost corners of the Underworld, at the farthest point of the enormous racetrack that had played host to the wild car race of the Fifth Challenge, all was still.
The floodlights that had illuminated the gargantuan cavern during the challenge had been turned off. The only light came from some dim battery-powered worklights spaced along the railless roadway.
The enormous pyramid that sat inside its box-shaped shelf stood sombrely in the semi-darkness.
The wrecked vehicles and dead bodies of the champions who had come to grief near the pyramid during the challenge still lay where they had fallen, to be collected by a crew of minotaurs at some later time.
A smashed Typhoon truck lay on its side at the base of the pyramid.
The dead body of the black Navy SEAL champion, DeShawn Monroe, lay on the ground in front of it.
A crossbow bolt protruded from Monroe’s forehead an inch above his lifeless eyes. They remained wide open, staring at nothing. Near Monroe lay the corpse of his SEAL companion who had also died from a crossbow shot.
Their bodies lay near the summit of the massive upside-down building that hung suspended off the edge of the abyss that formed the core of the Great Bend.
The building loomed in the dim light, as it had done for thousands of years.
Deep shadows cut across the hundreds of rectangular recesses hewn into its flanks in regular rows, veiling the many silver coffins in them in deeper darkness.
Of all the champions who had blasted through here during the Fifth Challenge, only Jack West Jr had seen the silver coffins with their eerie carvings of men with the heads of long-beaked birds.
All was silent.
All was still.
Nothing stirred.
And then, very slowly, from within, one of the silver coffins began to open . . .
THE END
Acknowledgements
When I write a novel, I spend countless hours by myself . . . in a room . . . typing. I immerse myself in history, myth, the plot, future plots, booby traps, mazes, twists, escapes, characters and things like where Jack got his fireman’s helmet (if you want to know, check out the short story, Jack West Jr and the Hero's Helmet, which is available for free online). This is why, with a book like The Four Legendary Kingdoms, I need a second and even a third set of eyes to look over the manuscript, to make sure I haven’t over-explained or under-explained things or just forgotten an entire character. (Yes, it is true that Wendy the cute seal died in the first manuscript of Ice Station; I forgot about her, so in that draft she was left behind in the cavern to be blown up by the nuclear missile. Whoops. Fixed it in the rewrite.)
In other words, it doesn’t happen without help.
I’d like to send out a big thank you to my publisher at Pan Macmillan, Cate Paterson, who is still the first to receive my stuff and who still offers wise and constructive feedback.
To my editor, Alex Lloyd, who helped in the background on The Tournament and The Great Zoo of China but who stepped up into the big leagues for this one and assumed the title ‘Editor’. Editing one of my novels is not your usual editing job: it requires corralling drawings, diagrams, endpapers and enduring all of my patented ‘Matthew Reilly Last-Minute Additions and Comments About the Cover’. Thanks, Alex!
Tracey Cheetham once again handled my publicity with her trademark aplomb and grace, and Zoë Caley helped me navigate social media.
The cover art and the internal images were done by the wonderfully talented Gavin Tyrrell, a superb Australian graphic designer and artist (he also does movie stuff, which is how I met him). Gavin did the awesome cover art for The Great Zoo of China and the Roger Ascham short story, Roger Ascham and the King’s Lost Girl, but I think he outdid himself with the cover art for this. For the internals, he worked from my pretty woeful original sketches, which thankfully you the reader never get to see!
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