There was a moment of horrific overlap, as reality and fantasy merged. In the dream world she saw a man’s mouth, each one of his white teeth filed to a spiteful point. She knew his name, she knew that she had to get away from him, but he was getting nearer and nearer… In the real world she saw men dressed in ravens’ feathers, looming at her, twisting and spinning insanely to the rhythmic beating of a drum…
Out of the corner of her eye she thought she could see Jago Moon, clasping his gnarled hands over his ears as he tried to shut out the Nightmare Child’s whispers. Then Lucy’s legs buckled and she tumbled to the ground, as all the phantoms of her past came to gloat.
You killed your mother, Ben. It’s your fault she’s dead.
All Ben’s life there had been a wound inside him which had never fully healed, an old scab which bled every time he went back to pick at the memory. For a long time he had seen accusation on his father’s face. For a long time Ben had been wrong.
But since Tower Bridge, Ben had no doubt that his father loved him – had always loved him. Jonas Kingdom didn’t resent his son, he cherished him. You’re all I’ve got. You and your brother.
So while the vision of his mother screamed abuse at him, Ben listened to his father’s voice instead.
He was Ben Kingdom. He was the Hand of Heaven.
And he wasn’t in the mood to listen to a pack of lies.
Ben looked at the Nightmare Child – not at any apparition that it had conjured up or at an image that it had sown in Ben’s mind – but straight at it.
Ben’s eyes actively sought the fallen angel’s gaze and once he found it, he held it, unblinking. With quiet confidence Ben smiled at it – his biggest, brashest, cockiest grin – and in that fleeting instant he saw the Nightmare Child’s pupils dilate with shock.
Its power was broken.
“Oi, sailor boy,” Ben shouted at the Nightmare Child. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
It was like waking up. One moment Lucy was reliving the darkest day of her life, and the next she suddenly found herself lying on the damp grass, curled up like an infant.
The clammy fingers that had crawled inside her head had weakened. Something – someone – had broken the connection. It had to be Ben, she realized, as she saw him facing down the eerie child.
Lucy shook her head violently as if she could somehow dislodge the last of the thoughts that had invaded her mind. She slapped herself hard across the cheek. The grip was loosening, she realized. She struck herself again, even harder this time. And then Lucy was back.
Fully awake. Fully aware.
And really, really angry.
Drunken Legionnaires had began to gather around her. She nimbly flipped up from the floor and onto her feet in a graceful move. “Back off!” she roared in their faces, emphasizing her point by jabbing her staff deep into one man’s belly. Most of them obliged, but one young Legionnaire stepped even closer.
“You want to dance, Scarface?” Bedlam leered.
“No,” said Lucy, and without waiting for him to make his move she cracked him round the side of the skull with her staff. It made a very satisfying thwack. Maybe it’s because his head is hollow, she thought with some satisfaction as she watched him slide unconscious to the ground.
The others quickly decided that she wasn’t the sort of girl to mess with and they backed away. Turning, Lucy saw that Ben was engaged in some sort of stand-off with the Nightmare Child. She was only a few yards away from the platform now and she sprinted towards it, using her quarterstaff to vault up beside Ben. She was so relieved that he was still alive that Lucy surprised herself, and him, by planting a small hot kiss on his cheek. Then she drew her knife and slashed through Ben’s bonds, sending him tumbling to the deck.
Lucy unclipped a spare quarterstaff from her belt. “You’re going to need this,” she said.
Ben’s eyes held hers for a moment.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she prompted.
Ben looked at the Nightmare Child and wondered what he had been afraid of. Now that the power of the fallen angel’s lies had been broken, what was left for Ben to face? A small boy, dressed in a sailor’s suit – with the sort of smug expression that was begging for a punch.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” said Ben, walking purposefully towards it, flexing some feeling back into his hands. “My name is Ben Kingdom.” His voice began to swell inside him. “I’m a Watcher! I’m the Hand of Heaven! And it’s your turn to feel afraid!”
Ben rolled his right hand into a fist and swung a blow at the Nightmare Child’s head, catching it with such force that the creature was lifted from its feet and sent sprawling to the deck. It took a second to recover before it scuttled backwards, crablike, hissing and spitting as it retreated.
Moon chose this moment to charge at Mr. Sweet with a growl. The first slash from his swordstick drew a line down Sweet’s cheek, and the big man staggered back, snatching up a sabre to defend himself. Meanwhile, Ben and Lucy ran over to the cage where Nathaniel was being held and between them managed to wrench open the door. Nathaniel fell out onto the deck and Ben gently cradled his brother’s head with his throbbing right hand.
At first, the eyes that gazed back at Ben were vacant and unknowing. “It’s me,” said Ben. “It’s your brother.” Then recognition dawned.
Nathaniel smiled. “I knew you’d come for me.”
“Don’t talk,” Moon shouted. “Fight!”
Behind them, the Nightmare Child clambered back onto its feet, a thin trickle of blood escaping from the corner of its mouth. It clapped its tiny hands in amusement. “It’s so much fun when you silly humans think there is hope. It makes it all the more delicious when you realize that there is none!”
Lucy and Ben supported Nathaniel’s body between them but they were running out of options.
All around them, the Legion continued to bay and cheer, enjoying the drama unfolding on the stage as if it were all part of the celebration. Meanwhile, the two huge Feathered Men on the platform both spread their black wings and launched a joint attack on Moon.
“This is all very touching,” said Mr. Sweet, reaching inside the folds of his cloak, “but sometimes when you want something doing, you just have to do it yourself.”
With that he pulled out a pistol, straightened his arm and levelled it at Ben.
“Goodnight, Ben Kingdom,” he said with a sneer.
It was then that the crossbow bolt pierced Sweet’s shoulder, sending his bullet high and wide.
Ben turned to see Ghost leaping up onto the platform beside them, another bolt ready, and a look of determination on his face. But this fight was far from over, Ben knew. There was danger on every side. A Feathered Man was screaming down towards Ghost, and the Nightmare Child was charging straight for Ben, its hands outstretched and hunting for his throat.
Ghost reacted with his usual silent proficiency, switching his aim from Sweet’s chest and firing his bolt at the Feathered Man instead. At such close range the bolt went clean through the creature’s head, stopping it dead. But Sweet used the distraction to retreat, reclaiming his fallen pistol and snapping off a shot. The bullet grazed Ghost’s leg and knocked him off his feet.
Meanwhile, Jago Moon had dispatched the first of the Feathered Men but didn’t have a moment to regain his breath before he was rewarded with a ferocious attack from the remaining fallen angel. Moon ducked a slash that would have taken his head off, responded with a straight kick to the creature’s stomach, and then skewered it with his sword cane.
The Nightmare Child cannonballed into Ben with surprising force, knocking Nathaniel from his arms. It slashed at Ben’s face, raking sharp nails down his cheek.
“We can play this game if you prefer,” it squealed.
Lucy swung her quarterstaff round in a strike that should have brought the fallen cherub down, but the creature ducked and turned on her with a snarl.
“Get them!” Sweet shouted to his drunken army as
Moon charged towards him again. Sweet loosed off a shot, which Moon ducked, somehow sensing it coming. Two Legionnaires mounted the stage and Sweet lost no time placing himself safely behind them. “Don’t just stand there, you imbeciles,” he ordered, shoving them in Moon’s direction.
In the crowd another figure responded instantly. Ben spotted Mickelwhite racing towards him, a thin streak of malice, with his sword raised.
“I’m looking forward to this!” Mickelwhite yelled, his blade glinting in the firelight.
He was nearly at the platform when Hans Schulman blundered into him clumsily, knocking them both to the ground in a sprawling heap. “I am so sorry, my Captain,” Schulman spluttered. “Forgive me, I tripped in the dark.”
“Idiot!” said Mickelwhite, looking at the German boy with contempt. “You ham-fisted oaf!”
Hans made to help his captain back onto his feet, but somehow he managed to slam his elbow into the side of Mickelwhite’s head instead. “Whoops,” said Hans with a secret smile, as Mickelwhite slumped unconscious back to the ground.
He had brought his Watcher friends a few seconds, but all around him the crowd was swarming towards the platform with a single purpose – to fight.
Ghost had used his last bolt and was wrestling on the ground with a man twice his size. Lucy was swinging her quarterstaff with amazing dexterity but she couldn’t hold back the tide for ever. Jago Moon battled against a pair of brutish Legionnaires. A straight kick to the stomach folded one of them in half, while the other walked into a punch which flattened his nose.
Using his own men as a human shield, Sweet snapped off another shot but the heaving of fighting bodies threw off his aim.
Overhead the night sky was swollen with clouds. The ravens and the Feathered Men were circling slowly and then Ben saw the flock suddenly shift, as if they had detected some danger in the air. It was probably just the blood throbbing in his ears, but Ben thought that he could hear a droning noise, like a swarm of approaching bees. It grew louder and louder.
Then he understood what it must be.
The humming was very close now but it wasn’t insects, Ben knew. It had a steady whump, whump, whump rhythm which could only be made by an engine.
Ben saw Mr. Sweet’s eyes grow wide with amazement and then shrink to slits of anger as he understood for the first time how badly he had underestimated the Watchers.
As the Liberator broke through the clouds overhead, Ben thought how magnificent it was – a battleship in the sky.
The hull was made of wood and brass. Big enough to hold twenty Watchers, it was carried through the air by a long, sleek bullet of silk, inflated with stolen gas. At the midpoint on each side, where the oars might have been on a conventional boat, there were steam-driven propellers.
The Liberator turned sharply and began a swooping descent. Ben caught a glimpse of his father at the helm, holding the wheel and steering the airship as if he had been born to it. Josiah was there too, standing at the prow; a noble figurehead with sword drawn.
Rope ladders began to clatter down from the airship and Ben saw their chance. With a final desperate shove, he managed to push the Nightmare Child away and ran to his brother’s side.
“Go!” said Ben. “Hurry!” he called to the other Watchers, who had put paid to the Legionnaires on the platform for now. “We won’t get a second shot at this.”
Nathaniel made an attempt to stand, but his legs wouldn’t hold him and he fell to the deck. “Mr. Moon!” Ben called.
“Stop them!” Sweet bellowed.
Another group of Legionnaires started to mount the platform, just as a hail of crossbow bolts from the airship made them think twice. Sweet was quick enough to grab a Legionnaire and save himself from the missile that would have struck him.
“I can’t think of a better cause to die for,” said Sweet as the Legionnaire slumped in his arms.
Jago Moon had reached the foot of one of the rope ladders, with Nathaniel slung effortlessly over his shoulder; Ghost and Lucy weren’t far behind. Ben saw one of the Watchers launch a missile at the Tower wall and it exploded with deafening force. Sweet flung himself to the ground and the Legionnaires cowered as a shower of sparks rained down. A wave of panic spread through the crowd.
Before the Legionnaires could recover from the shock, there was a second explosion, bigger and more destructive than the first.
Bombs!
Ben grinned. Even now, the Watchers stayed true to their Creed. He could see that each bomb was targeted to land on the stonework of the Tower, not on the Legion – they were meant to spread confusion, not cause death. It was an effective tactic, Ben thought, as he watched the Legionnaires begin to stampede for the gates like startled cattle.
One Legionnaire was running in the opposite direction though, heading directly for the rope ladders. Ben barely recognized Alexander Valentine – he looked so full of life since the Hand of Heaven had touched him.
“Take me with you!” he begged. “Please!”
Ben rushed to his side and helped the boy up onto the first rungs, which swayed alarmingly. “You’ll get used to it,” said Ben. “Welcome to the Watchers.”
The Liberator began to lift higher, and Ben clambered onto the ladder behind him.
They were ten feet off the ground, and rising, when Ben felt cold fingers grasp him around the ankles. He looked down into the face of the Nightmare Child. The spiteful creature opened its mouth and sank its teeth into Ben’s leg, making him howl with pain.
Ben did his best to kick the creature off but the fallen cherub was as tenacious as it was vicious – it scratched and clawed and bit at Ben, doing everything that it could to make him fall.
There came a loud crack! and Ben felt a bullet sing past his head. Looking down, he saw Mr. Sweet standing in the middle of the chaos, aiming his gun right at Ben, the Crown of Corruption on his head. At his feet was the pathetic figure of Claw Carter, watching forlornly as the airship rose steadily upwards. The Tower of London was ablaze around them, turning the clouds above the colours of blood and fire.
Another crack! Another whisper of death, even closer than the first.
Crossbow bolts hit the platform at Sweet’s feet, but the man didn’t even flinch. The Nightmare Child slackened his grip, only to bite Ben again with renewed ferocity. Ben looped his arm through the rope ladder to get a better grip and did everything he could to shake the beast off. And all the while the heat from the fire beneath them grew in intensity. Sweat rolled from Ben’s brow. Sparks landed on him, filling his nostrils with the tang of singed cloth and burning hair.
Just then the Liberator gave a lurch, obviously struggling to lift higher above the flames. Then Ben realized Sweet hadn’t missed – he’d been aiming for the balloon. Now the Feathered Men, who’d been circling, suddenly shrieked and swooped towards the airship. A volley of crossbow bolts sang out from the Liberator, perforating wings, piercing the enemy. But still the Feathered Men came, screeching all the louder.
Lucy leaned over the side of the ship. “The Hand,” she called down. “Use the Hand.”
And suddenly Ben knew exactly what he should do.
All of his thoughts came together with absolute clarity. He still felt the pain in his skin and the heat of the flames as the Tower of London burned. He still saw the Nightmare Child and Mr. Sweet, both wishing him death. And yet Ben felt only deep calm.
He smiled up at Lucy as he felt the raw energy begin to surge through his right hand. Then he wrapped both arms tightly around the Nightmare Child and together they dropped like a stone.
Ben and the Nightmare Child fell together, turning in the air, until they hit the stage with a bone-rattling crunch. All the air left Ben’s lungs in a sudden rush, leaving him totally winded. It must have been even worse for the Nightmare Child, he imagined; the cherub had broken their fall. Ben climbed off the tiny form, the power continuing to build in his right hand and arm.
Ben rose shakily to his feet just as the Nightmare Child’s eyes snappe
d open again. The foul creature began to hiss and mutter an incantation under its breath. Ben didn’t recognize the angry chattering language, but he could hear the spite behind the words. Unable to accept defeat, its jibbering rose to a crescendo until it seemed fit to explode, the rage inside its miniature frame growing too huge for its body to contain. Before Ben’s eyes, the Nightmare Child dispersed into a cloud of fog. For a second Ben was left with the image of its vengeful lips and the sound of a final curse, and then, they too were gone.
Ben heard the clicking of an empty gun and turned to face Mr. Sweet. All around them the fire raged. Flames licked hungrily at whatever they could find. The heat was incredible, an oppressive wall that hemmed Ben in on all sides. It was always going to come down to this, Ben understood, as he faced Mr. Sweet alone.
Because the Watchers had been so careful with their aim, the wooden stage hadn’t suffered a direct hit by the bombs, but it was burning around the edges and the flames were gaining in strength by the second. Ben, Sweet and Carter were stranded like three castaways on a raft, adrift on the waves of a burning sea. Clouds of embers filled the air around them, and Ben had to push through the wall of heat. He took another pace towards Mr. Sweet…and it was Mr. Sweet who took a step back, kicking Carter out from under his feet.
“Stay where you are, Kingdom!”
Sweet’s voice was loud, but Ben could make out the cracks that were starting to appear in the man’s colossal self-confidence. Ben rolled up his sleeve and pointed his arm like a weapon. “You know what this is, don’t you?” Ben challenged. “This is your chance to run home like a good boy.”
Ben could feel the naked electricity leaping invisibly between the outstretched fingers of his right hand and he stepped forwards again. This was the power that had brought down a storm of hailstones which smashed the Feathered Men from the sky. What would happen if all that force was unleashed against a single man?
The Feast of Ravens Page 17