“Is it done?” asked Lock.
Richard stepped out wearing the trousers and shirt the professor has left for him. His face was pale, hair slick, eyes tinged red. His voice was hoarse, his throat still hot from breathing fire. “Yes. He’s gone.”
Richard held out the regalia to show the professor – the soaking wet Shroud Tunic, the Orb and Great Sword of State. He was already wearing the Ring of Command. Guthrum and his Viking raiders marched from the White Tower to join them as Lock bowed to Richard.
“Then congratulations, Your Majesty.”
Lock kneeled and after some prompting, Guthrum and his men reluctantly did the same. Behind them, the new berserker army bowed their heads in respect.
“My sister?” asked Richard.
Guthrum growled a curt reply.
“Her Royal Highness is comfortable,” Lock translated.
Richard smiled, satisfied, and looked over the Tower. His tower. His kingdom.
“We should have a great victory feast tonight, don’t you think?” Richard said. “Just like in the good old days.”
A deep GRONK! drew their eyes to the top of the White Tower. A raven was flying out from the battlements, flapping in a circle before gliding away, high into the distance.
“NO!” shouted Lock, running for the tower steps, as two more ravens launched themselves into the air.
On the tower roof, Yeoman Eshelby was shooing his great birds away, encouraging them to fly. Only Gwenn, his favourite, remained. He had left her for last, as he knew she would take some coaxing to leave him. And if he was being honest, he didn’t want to say goodbye either.
“Now come on, Gwenny,” he whispered, tickling her under the beak. “We’ve all got to do our duty, you included.”
The door flew open and Professor Lock burst on to the roof. “What are you doing? Who are you?!” he shouted at the beefeater.
Yeoman Eshelby released Gwenn and she spread her wings, rising high above the tower. Issuing a throaty call, she glided over the outer wall and disappeared into the distance.
“I’m the Ravenmaster,” he said, finally turning to Lock with a look of sheer contempt. “And if I were you, mate, I’d hold on to something.”
Lock felt the roof shudder beneath his feet. Alarmed, he looked out over the towers and turrets of the ancient fortress. A gargoyle crumbled and fell from the top of the Beauchamp Tower. Far below, the Viking undead roared and covered their heads as chunks of stone and masonry cascaded towards them. The battlements all around Lock and the Ravenmaster disintegrated and tumbled away. At the last moment, the Black Dragon dived past, plucking Lock from the roof as the entire White Tower collapsed in a billowing plume of dust.
Moments later, Professor Lock, his battered, undead Vikings and the new King Richard surveyed the fresh ruins from the safety of the road. Richard seethed with rage. The flight of the ravens had turned the taste of victory bitter in his mouth. He might be king, but the Tower and the kingdom had fallen.
“Don’t be concerned with a few dusty old rocks, Your Majesty.” Lock smiled, reassuring. “Such things can be rebuilt. Britain is yours.”
I’m drowning, thought Alfie.
He had held his breath for as long as he could, but now his every inhalation was seawater. He didn’t know if he was freezing cold or burning hot, and he had no idea which way was up or down. Everything was black. Besides, he did not have enough strength left to swim to the surface. The oil rig was still collapsing, sending pounding shockwaves through the water with every girder that fell. But there was something else, a familiar sound at the very edge of his mind. Somewhere, Wyvern was calling for him, a desperate, whinnying cry. The last thing Alfie saw before he passed out were the spurs, glinting as they sank towards the seabed.
Alfred the Second, King of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Defender of the Realm, slipped into unconsciousness, his body shutting down sense by sense.
His last thought was of his brother.
Alfie didn’t see the red-robed figure of Qilin materalize next to him in the churning, rust-stained water. He didn’t feel him grab his arm. He didn’t see the dark shadow of the mini submarine passing by below them, nor feel the rush of air as Qilin teleported them inside it.
“Come on, breathe!” Brian shouted at Alfie as he pumped his chest.
“Is he dead?” a sopping wet Tony asked as Brian pinched Alfie’s nose and blew air into his mouth. “Is he?”
Brian didn’t answer, but continued to work on Alfie as water ran off him on to the floor of the submarine. Suddenly Alfie coughed up a fountain of seawater and took a long, ragged breath.
“Turn him over!” Brian shouted at Tony. “Pat his back. Hard.”
Tony did as he was told, slamming his fists into his friend’s back. Alfie heaved and spluttered like a faulty motor.
“Sorry, Alfa-bet,” said Tony. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Prepare to surface!” Brian said, flipping a switch that filled the little sub’s ballast tanks with air.
Within a minute they were bobbing on the surface of the North Sea and the communication mast was raised. To the west, beyond the wreckage of the burning oil rig, night had fallen over Britain. Brian punched numbers into a console, and picked up an attached phone handset.
“We have him, ma’am,” Brian said. “We’re coming to you. Stand by.”
Queen Tamara’s voice filled the submarine through the tinny speakers. “Thank goodness. I’ll be waiting.”
Hearing her, Alfie rolled over, not sure if he was living or dead. “Mum?” he croaked.
“You just rest up, matey. Get your strength back,” Tony said and patted Alfie on the shoulders. “You’re going to need it.”
Brian charted a course north, keeping a watch through the sub’s conning tower. Outside, a small flock of black birds was approaching from the mainland. It was the Tower’s ravens. They cried out their gronking call and dived out of the sky, flying above the submarine. A loyal escort, following their king into exile.
To every reader who told us they enjoyed the first book, posted a review, or recommended it to a friend or customer, our heartfelt thanks. We hope this sequel lived up to your expectations.
Thank you to everyone at Scholastic, who continue to bring Alfie, Hayley and their adventures out into the world. Especially to Rachel Phillips and Lucy Richardson, who guided us through the whirlwind that was our first publicity tour, and our editors Linas Alsenas and Peter Matthews for their thoughtful and perceptive notes. Huge thanks again to the one and only David Stevens, who may have changed in name, but remains the same in his boundless support and wisdom.
Our immense gratitude, as ever, to our tireless team at Independent Talent Group, Cathy King, Ikenna Obiekwe, Alex Rusher and Sam Kingston-Jones.
Huge thanks to Chris Skaife, the Tower of London’s real Ravenmaster, for generously giving us an unforgettable tour of the ravens’ favourite hangouts, and for introducing us to the wonderful Merlina, who served as inspiration for Gwenn (whose name he also suggested).
Thanks also to Dr Erika Sigurdson of the University of Iceland, who kindly provided the Old Norse dialogue translations for the fearsome Guthrum.
Thanks to our old friend Olivier Hein for taking time out of his busy cider-sampling schedule on holiday to speed-read the early draft and give us his feedback.
Extra special thanks go to our brilliant new events manager, Melanie Ostler.
Above all, we would like to thank the hundreds of amazing teachers, librarians and students from all over the country we have met this year. We are honoured to have been invited into your schools to talk about what we do, and inspired by your dedication and enthusiasm. This is for you.
For details of school visits and author events, go to: www.ostlerandhuckerby.com
Photo courtesy of Sarah Weal.
Nick Ostler and Mark Huckerby are Emmy-winning and BAFTA-nominated screenwriters best known for writing popular TV shows such as Danger Mouse, Thunderbirds Are Go! and Peter Rabbit.
Defender of the Realm is their first novel.
Follow Nick on Twitter @nickostler
Follow Mark on Twitter @Huckywucky
Visit their website
www.ostlerandhuckerby.com
www.instagram.com/defenderoftherealm
Scholastic Children’s Books
An imprint of Scholastic Ltd
Euston House, 24 Eversholt Street,
London, NW1 1DB, UK
Registered office: Westfield Road, Southam, Warwickshire, CV47 0RA
SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2017
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd 2017
Text copyright © Mark Huckerby and Nick Ostler, 2017
The right of Mark Huckerby and Nick Ostler to be identified as the authors of this work have been asserted by them.
eISBN 978 1407 18057 1
A CIP catalogue record for this work is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Scholastic Limited.
Produced in India by Newgen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The references to Harrow School are products of the imagination and are used fictitiously. They are not intended to reflect on any affiliation with or knowledge of that institution or persons associated with that institution.
www.scholastic.co.uk
Dark Age Page 21