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.
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.
Stop.
Somewhere a small girl was crying in fear. She reminded him of Molly.
Stop.
The Feathered Men caught hold of another Watcher and tore at him with their beaks. Ben had to turn his eyes away from the hurting, the fighting, the blood.
Please make it stop!
His right hand began to tremble again, as if the pricking of his conscience were somehow linked to the needle-jab sensation. Hesitantly, he rolled his fingers into a ball and lifted his arm above his head once more. This time the power did not fade.
And the clouds responded.
Ben held his right fist aloft and felt the awesome power throbbing with renewed force. The great and powerful Right Hand of Heaven, that was what Moon had said Ben could be. But Moon had it wrong, Ben realized; this force wasn’t his own to wield. The Hand was just a channel. He was a conduit for something much greater than he or Jago Moon could ever imagine; the raw energy at the heart of the universe. Ben didn’t know what that source was and he certainly didn’t understand how it could work through him, but one thing he did know: it was time for the fighting to end.
Ben extended a finger and the clouds blossomed in submission.
Ben saw Carter.
I choose not to hate you.
The clouds grew as dark and deep as the ocean and then began to fill with other-wordly fire; flames that swirled and danced in the sky.
Ben swept his right hand upwards, and the clouds became a pillar, stretching up further than the eye could see. He saw his father’s prone body.
I choose not to be filled with bitterness.
Slowly Ben lowered his hand, allowing his actions to be guided by intuition, not his own thoughts. In a final graceful gesture, he closed his fingers slowly and pulled his right hand in towards his chest.
And in answer, the clouds gave up their load.
The first hailstone hit the ground two inches from Carter’s foot. It was the size of a musket ball and twice as hard. The second one struck Carter on the shoulder. The third on his head.
Carter screamed in pain, trying to shield himself from the torrent of ice.
In the skies, the hailstones whistled as they sought out their targets. Ben saw wings pierced and the Feathered Men spinning helplessly as the power of flight was taken from them. They fell onto the bridge, onto the groaning ice, staggering in confusion and distress as the missiles shattered all around them. Not dead, but defeated, Ben understood. Overwhelmed by the white rain that sought out the Legion but left the Watchers untouched.
Ben’s ears were filled with the hammering of falling hail and the moaning of the Legion as they ran away, escaping into the Under.
When Ben looked again, Carter had gone too. Another rat scurrying back into his hole.
I really hate rats, Ben thought.
The clouds lifted. The onslaught ceased.
On the bridge, the Watchers were cheering as they continued to evacuate the last of the stragglers. Scattered all around, the wounded were groaning and the Watchers were tending to all of them, friend and foe alike. Life would go on.
But not for everyone.
Ben let his own eyes drop to his feet, to rest on Jonas Kingdom, motionless on the ice. He collapsed to his knees beside his father’s body. Blue with cold. Red with blood.
It was Christmas Day, Ben thought; the same day that he had lost his mother.
Ben didn’t know how long he sat there on the frozen Thames. He was shivering uncontrollably in his sodden clothes, but he couldn’t find the strength to move.
Jonas Kingdom hadn’t moved either since Ben had pulled him from the water.
Ben was vaguely aware that he was not alone on the ice and he looked up to see Nathaniel and the Weeping Man standing beside him. They both looked drained to their very core. Tears painted all their faces.
“It’s not over, Benjamin Kingdom,” said the Weeping Man.
“Haven’t I done enough for the Watchers today?” spat Ben. “What more do you want from me?”
“Place your right hand on your father’s chest.”
“And then what?”
Ben placed his right hand on his father’s chest and let the power flow from his fingers.
Jonas Kingdom remained colder than a stone.
Please, thought Ben, urging his father to respond.
Ben repositioned his hand, feeling the throbbing inside his own skin, but seeing no response from Jonas.
Please.
His father’s lips were the grey of dead fish.
Ben looked pleadingly at the Weeping Man and the angel gently placed his own hand on top of Ben’s.
Please!
His father’s eyes held no spark of life.
His father’s chest was still. His skin was cold.
His father’s heart was...stirring faintly inside his ribcage, as frail as a newborn bird.
The merest hint of pink touched his father’s cheeks. His eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice.
Bracing himself for the worst, Ben ripped open what remained of his father’s shirt collar to see the jagged tear left by Carter’s claw and saw the wound knit itself together, the flesh made whole again. The chest below the scar began to rise. The heart within beat stronger.
Then, with a start, Jonas sat up and looked around him, dazed, like a man who had been asleep a thousand years and didn’t recognize the world.
“Hello, Pa,” said Ben, as their eyes met.
Jonas embraced him then as he had never done before, fiercely and tightly. Ben felt that his own bones might break, but that was fine by him. At least he would die happy.
“I was so worried about you, Ben,” said Jonas, blinking back tears. “I thought I’d lost you, son.” Jonas held Ben’s face in both hands so that he could drink him in more deeply.
“I love you, Benjamin,” said Jonas Kingdom at last.
“I know, Pa,” said Ben.
And with nothing else to be said, they picked themselves up off the ice and set off to find the other Watchers. The three Kingdom men and their friend, the Weeping Man.
As they slowly walked away, Ben noticed that his head felt naked and he realized that he had lost his billycock somewhere. I really loved that hat, he thought wistfully.
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