Gerald spluttered again. “Something … I …” he said, struggling to get the words out.
“Yes?” said Hugo, reassuring him, calming him.
“… always … wanted …”
Gerald coughed again, dark flecks jumping from his throat, coating his lips. His eyes darted from Finn to Hugo, back again. The urgency of a dying man’s last words. His last will and testament. Finn felt that grip dig into his arm, even through the fighting suit.
“Build a statue …” he pulled Finn so close he could smell the burning of his skin, “… of … me.”
Gerald flopped back, his final words carried on his last breath. “Big statue …”
And, with that, he was dead. This time, there was no coming back.
Hugo placed Gerald’s head gently on the ground.
“Unbelievable,” he said, letting out a semi-stunned laugh. “Actually, come to think of it, it’s not unbelievable at all. It’s exactly what I should have expected of him. Finn, if I’m like that on my deathbed, and even if that deathbed has been shot out of a cannon or something, just tell me to zip it.”
Finn stood over the lifeless Gerald, tendrils of smoke still rising from his electrocuted fighting suit. Hugo rose too and squared up to Finn, placing his hands on either shoulder. “For someone who never wanted any of this,” he said, “you’ve become a magnet for trouble.”
He squeezed Finn’s shoulders and it felt to Finn like his collarbone might pop with the strength of it. But it was a squeeze of appreciation and respect and relief, and a heap of other things.
There was such a creak and groan from the collapsed stage, it felt like a settling butterfly could tip the rest of it over. Beyond the buildings was the glow of a couple of fires in Darkmouth. The aftermath of battle.
“Happy birthday, Finn,” Hugo remembered.
“Yeah,” said Finn. “Suppose.”
He looked around. At the devastation. At the death. At Emmie with her father. At Kenzo and Douglas back from their half-death. At the reddened sky. At Darkmouth. A thought occurred to him. And he spoke before he had a chance to push it away.
“Is it too late?” he asked his father.
“Too late for what?” Hugo replied.
“For a Completion Ceremony. Or just to be made Complete. Maybe not even a ceremony. Just something that gets it done.”
“Really?” Hugo asked.
“You sure you want to do that?” asked Emmie, overhearing. This was not what anyone would have expected from Finn. It wasn’t what Finn would have expected from himself a few weeks ago. Or even a few hours ago.
“Yeah,” said Finn. He meant it. Right now anyway.
He felt so pummelled and weary from everything that had happened, he didn’t have the energy to fight this realisation. He had come so close to losing Darkmouth, to losing everything, to earning nothing for those journeys to the Infested Side. He had faced up to so much he never wanted to have to face. He had survived so much he never thought he could. And, besides, he had been through all this with his father. If he didn’t do this now, they would both lose a great deal.
“I suppose we don’t need a stage …” said Hugo, thoughtful. “We could do it here tonight,” he said, growing more enthusiastic. “Maybe in the morning at the latest.”
“OK,” said Finn.
“You don’t need to worry about the state of your fighting suit.” Hugo was almost giddy now.
“But he’ll have to get new boots,” said Emmie.
“Right. Boots,” said Finn, wiggling his toes.
The last of the dust settled. They heard a commotion arriving from Darkmouth’s streets. Pouring from alleyways, they could see figures taking shape. Finn began to pick them out. Clara. Estravon. Assistants. Most of the population of Darkmouth too, it seemed.
“Thankfully, Stumm survived the battle, so, as long as we have a member of the Council of Twelve present, it’ll be official,” said Hugo.
“Great,” said Finn, not sure if it was actually great, but ready to see it through anyway.
At the head of the approaching crowd was someone Finn didn’t recognise. He was an assistant perhaps, but his suit was cleaner than anyone else’s, as if he had just stepped into the town. He was a man with very large glasses that he appeared to have difficulty keeping on his very small nose.
He was the first to arrive.
“Hello, Hugo,” he said. “My name is Lucien. We should talk.”
“Quick,” Lucien said, motioning to a couple of the assistants. “Give those people medical help.”
He hovered over Gerald. “He died gloriously? There is no need to answer that. Of course he did. We must do something to remember him. A statue perhaps.”
“Who are you?” Hugo asked him.
“I have been tracking the events at Darkmouth for some time,” said Lucien as Gerald’s body was covered respectfully. “Investigating you, reporting on you—”
“Did you just get here?” Finn asked.
“—and assessing you,” Lucien concluded, polite but determined not to be interrupted. “How is everyone over there?” he said to those who’d been Trapped. Steve was waving away the medical attention. Emmie was still with him, but looked uncertain as to what was happening. “Not good, I’m sure. You’ve all been through a lot. There will need to be some kind of compensation. Medals or something. Everyone likes medals.”
Lucien glanced behind at Estravon, who made a note. It was the first time that Finn realised Estravon had yet to say anything at all, to even make an observation or quote a rule.
“We stopped him,” said Finn, stepping forward. “We stopped Mr Glad. The Fomorian is there, in the box. Well, he is the box. And we got the Trapped back. Except for Mr Glad.”
“Except Mr Glad,” Lucien echoed. It was not a question, but a statement. As if confirming something. That struck Finn as odd and worrying.
Hugo hadn’t said anything either. No one else had. It was as if they were trying to work out just what was going on.
“You’re also forgetting the Twelve,” Lucien said, and bowed his head momentarily. “Apart from our esteemed Stumm the Eleventh, they have been taken from us. I suggested they take Stumm away for a rest. The shock has left him quite tired.”
“Sorry,” said Finn, “I didn’t mean to …”
Clara arrived with a couple of dozen townspeople to see what the fuss was about. She pushed through the crowd, running through the dust to get straight to Finn. “This is getting ridiculous,” she said, checking him over. “This is getting out of control. This has to stop, Hugo. He’s too young for this.”
“Technically, he’s exactly the right age now,” said Hugo.
“I’m fine, Mam,” Finn said, unhappy at being shown up like this. “I’m fine. We sorted it.”
“You sorted it?” Clara responded, looking at the catastrophe surrounding them. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t as straightforward as that.”
“Listen to your mother, Finn,” said Lucien. “Her instincts are correct.”
“You’re from the Liechtenstein HQ, right?” Hugo guessed.
“Yes, as it happens,” said Lucien, and smiled. “You probably think we’re a little soft-edged? Too many biscuits and breaks. Well, perhaps. But I can assure you, while my main weapon has been my desk, trust me when I say it gives me power greater than anyone else’s here.”
Lucien’s face straightened at that, the smile put away like it had been only used as a prop. To Finn, this was all building up to something. He could almost hear it, like a distant onrushing train. He felt a little like he was tied to the tracks.
“What happened to the Twelve?” asked Steve.
“Desiccated at the battle on that hill, most of them,” Lucien informed him. “Smothered by a Desiccation bomb. Nine Council members. One big mess. Quite impossible to reanimate them, of course, even briefly.” He was trying to make his voice sound sad, Finn thought, but his eyes didn’t look sad at all.
“A hill …” said Steve, searching for the memory. “T
he battle …”
“Quite a glorious end, at least it would seem,” said Lucien. “You were there, though, I believe. In a manner of speaking. Can you remember much?”
Steve shook his head.
“Why are you here?” Hugo asked Lucien.
“For the Completion Ceremony,” Lucien explained. “Quite a moment in our history. I was concerned I would miss it.”
“It’s not happening now surely,” Clara exclaimed. That was met by a silence from Finn and Hugo that translated as only one thing. “Oh, come on. You’re not really thinking of going through with it?”
“We need to,” Hugo told her, a little sheepishly.
“I want to,” said Finn. “If it doesn’t happen now, it’ll be another year at least.”
“It’s true,” said Lucien. “What rule is that, Estravon?”
Estravon jerked forward. “Section 6b of the Protocols Tradition, governing the exact age at which—”
“You see,” said Lucien, cutting him off. “Anyway, I would have given you warning of my arrival, but you were a little distracted, Hugo. What with the Completion, the disappearing Half-Hunters, the …” he paused, “… the everything. We felt it best to conduct our work quietly. Especially given the sensitivity of my investigation. And its conclusions.”
The Half-Hunters were watchful. Estravon remained almost sheepish. The locals who had gathered seemed afraid to make so much as a whimper in case someone shooed them away. They hemmed in Finn, made him feel almost claustrophobic.
“What conclusions?” Finn asked, not sure he wanted the answer.
“Excuse me?” said Lucien.
“You said you’d come to conclusions, but you haven’t told us what they are.”
“Just get to the point,” said Hugo. “We’ve a Completion to get on with.”
“No, Hugo,” complained Clara.
“We’re all here,” said Hugo, waving his hand around. “The invasion is dealt with. We’ll get some kind of stage together from the scraps. There’s no need for the animals or any of that stuff. We’ll keep it simple. Like that Legend Hunter who became Complete in that really bare ceremony. What was his name?” He clicked his fingers, searching for it.
“Jacques the Naked,” said Estravon.
“Him. We don’t need any ceremony or trappings and fuss. We can do this.”
The stage clanked and slumped as he said it, a crunch and a puff of dust rising from its centre.
Lucien coughed. “Actually, I don’t think there’s any need for a Completion Ceremony,” he said, adjusting his spectacles.
Once upon a time, Finn would have punched the air at those words. Not this time. He just wanted a certificate, something that said he’d done it. Then he could get on with the rest of his life as a Legend Hunter. His father could be one of the Twelve. Emmie would get her chance to become Complete next. Everything would fall into place.
“Why?” said Hugo.
“Finn won’t need to bother with a ceremony,” said Lucien, “because he is not going to become a Legend Hunter at all now.”
Finn’s heart dropped through his chest. Even Clara, who didn’t want this to happen anyway, looked taken aback.
“What are you saying?” Hugo said, challenging this upstart arrival.
“Young Finn, how was Mr Glad trapped in the first place?” Lucien asked.
“I pushed him into a gateway in the library,” answered Finn, feeling a growing incredulity.
“Right,” said Lucien.
Estravon made a note. Behind him, the crowd craned to see what he was writing, to get a better look at what was going on.
“But you’ve spoken to Mr Glad since?” continued Lucien.
“Yes,” said Finn, “after he appeared to me.”
“What’s this about?” Hugo asked, increasingly tetchy.
“That seems quite the coincidence,” observed Lucien.
“But I stopped him too,” Finn maintained.
“Have you stopped him, though?” asked Lucien. Estravon made a note. “I don’t see him here. I see these three Half-Hunters, returned to this world. I see Gerald there, returned to the dead. But Mr Glad?” Lucien looked around him, for effect. Shrugged his shoulders. “Nowhere to be seen.”
Estravon made another note. The crowd was almost on top of them at this stage.
“Finn’s done nothing wrong,” said Emmie, moving away from her father. “I’ve been with him all this time. I know that.”
“You were with him when he met the traitor Niall Blacktongue on the Infested Side?” Lucien asked.
“Yes,” said Emmie. “Well, no—”
“You were there for every conversation he had in that world of the Legends?” asked Lucien, moving closer to her. “Every encounter? You were there when he became a human weapon, able to explode at will?”
“No, but—” Emmie began.
“You were there the entire time Hugo was in the mountains with the Legend resistance?”
“Be careful with what you’re saying,” Hugo warned.
Lucien stepped back, beckoned to someone behind. “Bring the Legend to us.”
A wriggling, complaining figure was dragged through the thick crowd by assistants who looked like they had already had enough of the Hogboon they’d been asked to restrain. Broonie’s mouth was taped over and he was once again trying very hard to roar from behind it. The tape was pulled clear and he yelped in pain.
“Mind my warts!” Broonie protested. “I won some of those in a wager.”
“We found this Hogboon wandering around the town with a mouthful of worms,” said Lucien.
“I wasn’t finished when you grabbed me,” said Broonie. “Help me, Finn. I thought I had developed a tolerance for every type of torture and forbearance, but I was wrong. I just want some grubs and a sleep. A proper sleep. Not one of those sleeps that follows being frozen in the agony of time. Just a lovely, long, cosy kip.”
“Has Finn helped you before?” Lucien enquired.
“If you can call it help,” answered Broonie, then reconsidered. “He let me escape, didn’t he? He saved me. He was good to me when the rest of you wanted to turn me to stone and stick me in a bottle. I’ve met many humans. He and Emmie are about the best of the lot of you.”
Finn realised immediately that this was not helping.
“Thank you,” said Lucien.
The assistants started to tape up Broonie’s mouth again, and the last words he squeezed out were loud, clear and pierced the night. “You’ve all got ridiculous ears, you know. I hope they drop off!” He was bundled away.
“You’re stitching us up,” said Hugo. “That’s what’s going on, right?”
Lucien displayed shock. “We’re just trying to understand what is going on. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“There’s nothing going on,” said Finn.
“Wrong, Finn. There’s something going on here all right,” said Hugo, eyes narrowing. “I can see it.”
“You want an explanation,” Lucien said. “We all do.”
He half turned to address the crowd behind him as much as Finn and Hugo. “Finn not only rescued Legends, as we have just heard from the mouth of that Hogboon, but he found a way into their world to collaborate with them and help them invade Darkmouth. Explain that.”
“I saved this town,” insisted Finn.
“Hugo, you spent two weeks on the Infested Side,” continued Lucien, “among the Legends, protected by them, just like your father, Niall Blacktongue. Explain that.”
“Those Legends were rebels,” Hugo argued. “They want peace, not war.”
“And Finn did not stop Mr Glad when he had the chance, but instead trapped him so he could become even more powerful. Explain that,” said Lucien.
“No,” said Finn.
“Mr Glad returned, and helped bring the Legend army you betrayed us to.” Lucien took a step forward, determined.
“Not true!” said Emmie.
“Their aim was to kill the Council of Twelve. To
wipe out the Half-Hunters. To conquer Darkmouth.”
“Look around,” said Hugo. “Darkmouth was saved.”
“All we see is destruction, death and a man poised to join the Council of Twelve when almost everyone else has been wiped out,” said Lucien. “And beside him the boy who was meant to become the only new Legend Hunter in years.”
“You are twisting this,” Hugo accused him.
Finn felt like his life was being stolen from him, piece by piece. And he was helpless to stop it.
“Together, you planned to keep Darkmouth at the centre of the world,” said Lucien with unwavering certainty. “To keep us at war. To control the Legend Hunter world.”
“It’s a lie,” Finn said. “All a lie.” The crowd had come right in now, closed the circle, a wave of murmurs and whispers and gasps rising within it.
Lucien gestured to the assembled Half-Hunters and townspeople. “Well then, if you have someone who can back up your version of events, then by all means point them out.”
“Estravon,” suggested Emmie, standing by Finn.
“Yes,” agreed Finn, seeing their chance to be saved. “Estravon will back us up.”
“Tell them,” Emmie said. “You were on the Infested Side with us. Tell them what happened.”
But Estravon remained quiet, pensive.
Hugo shook his head, knuckles once more scraping on stubble, his anger barely suppressed.
Lucien pushed up his glasses, turned to Estravon. “That seems fair.” He beckoned the administrator forward. “You were with Finn on the Infested Side. You saw what happened?”
“Yes, I saw it,” said Estravon.
“Thank you,” said Finn, relieved.
“But not all of it,” added Estravon.
Finn was struggling to breathe. He felt his world closing in on him. So many eyes were on him now. Half-Hunters. Townspeople. Their stares bored into his skin.
“I’m afraid I can’t support everything Finn says,” continued Estravon, turning to him. “Not that I’m accusing you of anything, it’s just, well, it is possible, from a certain angle, that, well, Lucien has a point.”
Finn flicked his gaze from person to person, mouth open in disbelief. It was like being pulled along by a tide, dragged out to sea without anything to cling to.
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