Ned didn’t answer.
“Help me tomorrow. Pretend to fall, and walk away. In return, I will let those that you love live. The Circus of Marvels, your parents, dear old George, I will spare them all.”
And almost on cue there was an oafish rustling outside the tent.
“Your stoopid nanas,” said the voice of Rocky. “You need meat before fight, monkey.”
“Keep your voice down – they’re trying to sleep. And anyway, meat dulls the mind, old bean. You of all people are a prime example of a fruit-deficient diet.”
Rocky laughed and thumped the great ape on the arm. “Da, George. You know, if I die tomorrow, I will miss your ugly mug.”
Barbarossa looked at Ned with almost genuine pity.
“How sweet, your two protectors, enjoying a little banter. I don’t need to kill them, Ned. I need to rule – and we both know I will, whether you pretend to fall or not.”
“Never.”
“Think on it, boy. Why waste the lives of the people you love, if the outcome is the same?”
Ned couldn’t read him. If the butcher was right and they were going to lose either way, then he might as well stop him here and now, before the beast rose.
“I’ll fight you now!” he said. “I could shred this tent with a blink – George and Rocky would see! They’d be on you in a second.”
“My Demons have them surrounded. They would be crushed. If you care about your friends at all, you’ll do nothing.”
Ned’s blood boiled. Barba had him right where he wanted him and he knew it.
As the butcher went to the tear in the tent that he and the Demon had made, he looked to Ned one last time and smiled. It was ugly and gloating, and it made Ned’s stomach turn.
“Sar-adin, our friend needs rest,” he said and promptly disappeared out of the back of the tent.
Sar-adin was close behind him and Ned could feel his breath at his back.
“Eastern tower,” whispered the Demon, barely loud enough for Ned to hear, then his cudgel fell hard on the back of Ned’s skull.
Ned’s eyes filled with stars and the tent spun into darkness.
“Good Luck”
ed woke with a fresh bruise throbbing on the back of his head and his mother shaking his arm. Outside their tent he heard shouts and orders as the Hidden army readied for battle.
“Ned? NED?”
“Hi, Mum.”
“Never mind that, what happened?”
Lucy was standing next to his dad and had clearly told them everything up to the point where she’d been bludgeoned by the Demon. Ned cast his mind back to Barbarossa’s gloating face and shuddered.
“We talked. H-he asked me to walk away. He said that if I did, if I let everyone think I’d fallen, that he’d spare you and Dad, the circus, all of them.”
His mum looked furious and spotted Gorrn skulking under his bed.
“And where were you in all this, blob?”
“Roo?”
His mother tutted.
“And what about Sar-adin, hitting Lucy like that? To think we believed him!”
“He had to do it, and he lied to Barba about the clowns and what happened to them. Barba doesn’t know what Sar-adin said to us, I’m sure of it, and the Demon passed on another message – he just whispered, ‘eastern tower’.”
Ned’s mum frowned, seemingly unsure as to whether they could trust the Demon, but Lucy was adamant.
“It was only a second, but even in that time I could sense that Sar-adin was worried, not about being caught by George and the others, but about Barba finding out.”
Ned’s parents looked at each other, and nodded.
“Good. Well, I hope you told Barbarossa where to go!”
“Of course I did,” said Ned. “He’s adamant that we can’t win. But we can – we can win, right?”
He was asking all of them, Lucy included, but her eyes dropped to the ground. Even as a Farseer she had no answer.
His mum sat down on the edge of his bed, her face lined with worry, and just then he noticed that Whiskers was perched on her shoulder. The Debussy Mark Twelve looked at him intently, its tail wagging gently at its back. At least Faisal had been decent enough to let him have one last moment with his old pet before the coming battle. The newly acquired scientist part of Whiskers was nowhere to be seen.
“Hello, boy.”
Whiskers blinked.
“What are you doing with him, Mum? I thought he was heading for Gearnish?”
Ned’s parents shot each other a look.
“He is, darling, and me and your dad – well, we’re going with him.”
“What?”
“Now, Ned, before you get fired up, hear us out. We’re the best people for the job and you know it …” started Ned’s dad.
“Hear you out?! I’ve been there – I’ve seen that thing. Lucy, tell them – send someone else! Anyone – please!”
But Lucy said nothing and his father’s face stayed resolute.
“I’m your dad, and an Engineer – it should be up to me to fight what’s coming. But it’s not, and if you and Lucy have to face this monster, we’ll be damned if we don’t do everything we can to give you a fighting chance. Taking down the Central Intelligence, turning Barba’s ticker army against him, is as good as it gets.”
No matter the reason, Ned hated that he was always the last to know.
“When did you decide?”
“At the Nest, the night you got your powers back,” answered his mum.
Terry Armstrong got down on his haunches. “Ned, none of us wants what’s coming, but if we’re going to do this, then we all have to play our part, no matter what we have to face.”
Just then Mr Badger appeared by the entrance to their tent.
“Mr and Mrs Armstrong, I’m sorry, but the Tinker’s ready – we need to leave.”
The grey block that was Mr Badger couldn’t have known how his words sounded. To Ned they were like the ringing of church bells, only sad and heavy and grim. But he held himself together for his parents and Lucy’s sake, and they did so in kind for him.
“You’re going with them, Mr Badger?” asked Ned.
“I’ll be stepping through the mirror but on different business. Mr Fox has a message for his superiors that I need to deliver in person.”
Mr Badger waited outside as the three Armstrongs and Lucy Beaumont said their goodbyes by the tent’s entrance. One by one they whispered, “Good luck,” Gorrn and Whiskers adding an “Arr” and a “Scree” for good measure.
Ned gave his parents one last hug. Had the world not been waiting, he would have stayed in their arms forever.
But the world was waiting, and so was the Darkening King.
Mr Rook
r Rook’s preflight routine was always the same. He would walk the runway long after the Engineers had given the OK and cleared the area. Just Rook and his wings, alone on the tarmac – that was how he liked it. He was afforded this odd luxury because he was the best pilot in the BBB. He was a good ten years older than the next in line and still beat all of them in every flight test and in every plane. No other pilot could claim to have a one hundred per cent success rate on all of their 200 missions because no other pilot was Mr Rook. His training and the consequent wiping of his memories had been so thorough that he did not know who his parents were, where he’d been born or even the country in which he’d taken his first gulps of air. The only thing he knew with absolute certainty, and which had been confirmed by his superiors, was that he was the best pilot in the world.
Mr Rook knew nothing else.
He spent a while admiring the silhouette of his HO-9. Despite its deadly cargo, it was a feat of engineering elegance. Its nose was as sharp as a razor, its body and wings more graceful and lithe than a hawk’s. They needed to be. The HO-9 was the first of its kind, developed by the BBB to be completely undetectable. Radar only reached so far, and the HO-9 flew higher, riding the thermals like a bird of prey at the very edge of the eart
h’s atmosphere. Part glider, part jet, but all stealth.
He climbed the ladder and lowered himself into the cockpit. To any normal man it would have looked like an indecipherable mess of dials, switches and levers, but Rook knew them all so well he could have worked them blindfolded. There was only one light that he needed to see. Currently it was red. Were it to turn green, he would launch the laser-guided bomb and a thirty-mile radius in the wilds of Siberia would be instantly turned to ash. Nothing would survive the blast.
In their wisdom, the highly trained psychologists that advised his higher-ups had decided to have the colour of the light give the command. Were it to come via radio, another HO-9 pilot might ask questions, might even hesitate at the last minute. But Rook knew that Fox, Bear and Owl had to be in agreement for the light to turn green. In any case, it was not his job to ask questions, only to launch the bomb.
Besides, Mr Rook knew nothing else.
The Wall of Wood
ed and Lucy pounded through the mud. A line of armed fair-folk stretched out beyond the horizon. Above them but further back was the Hidden’s great armada of airships, those salvaged from the onslaught at St Albertsburg and those valiant others that had answered Benissimo’s call. Troops in the line that were brave enough to look away from the forest spotted their breathless Engineer and Medic racing to meet Benissimo.
“Good luck, Lady Beaumont.”
“Gods be with you, Master Armstrong!”
On and on, from giant to dwarf, from satyr-horned acrobat to leafy-skinned dryad, the Hidden saluted, with arms, swords and muskets.
“For the Hidden!”
“For us all!”
And the more they cheered, the more they turned, clapped and whistled, the more Ned prayed that Barbarossa was wrong – that they could, and would, win.
At the centre of the line stood Benissimo, Mr Fox and the Viceroy in a last-minute briefing of the Hidden’s generals. The Ringmaster turned to Ned and Lucy. His eyes were lit up like fires and his moustache was in full twitch. Gone was the sodden figure huddled under a blanket. Today Benissimo was the eye of the storm, ready to fight, and most assuredly ready to die.
“Pup, Lady B,” he grinned, with a doff of his beaten old hat. “Today we travel in style!”
And through the crowds, Ned heard a familiar trumpeting. In a burst of leathery grey skin came the Circus of Marvels’ winged elephant.
“Alice!” smiled Ned.
Alice licked him affectionately and pressed her head to his shoulder. The dear old creature was painted from head to toe in red and yellow war paint, and her wings were safely tucked away under a leather harness. As happy as Ned was to see her, he could think of a number of better-suited creatures with which to ride into battle.
“Bene? Isn’t she a bit –” Ned continued in a whisper, ever mindful of the old girl’s feelings – “old?”
Benissimo had to stifle a laugh, but equally mindful of Alice’s feelings, leant in close to Ned and Lucy.
“Alice has seen more fights than our Viceroy and Mr Fox put together. There’s no finer beast to ride in on, of that you can be sure.”
Lucy grinned and patted Alice’s trunk. “It’s an honour, Alice.”
“Besides, if your intel is right and we’re to reach the eastern tower, we’ll be needing wings.” As Bene said it, he lifted a small leather bag up from the ground. “Which one of you wants to carry it?”
They didn’t need to be told what it was.
“I’ll take it,” said Lucy, and she stowed the Heart Stone over her shoulder as though it was a backpack for school.
“Well done, child, that’s the spirit.”
Ned thought back to the dragon, and the stag-men that had led them to him. The sight of King Antlor now would give the troops a wonderful lift, but he hadn’t seen him as yet.
“Bene, where is Antlor and the herd?”
“The fortress lies between us and their mountain, but Fox still has King Antlor’s horn – we just have to pray they hear it when the time comes, and that they can fight their way through that sickened mire in time.”
Ned peered at the wood ahead of them. Its bark was dripping with oily darkness. Antlor and his herd had been its keepers and he had no doubt now that what they had once watched over had turned on them. If any had survived, would they even come?
“Now,” said Benissimo, moving on, “Tom here will attack from a different angle with his owls and airships – that should take their air defence’s eyes off us, so long as they don’t realise Alice is a flyer till the last minute.”
Now Ned understood why Alice’s wings were bound.
The Viceroy saluted an assent. His face was mostly healed now and he looked glorious in his golden armour, beaked helmet under one arm and lance in the other.
“Master Armstrong, Miss Beaumont – let’s give these devils a good kicking, shall we?”
Ned’s chest swelled. Just days ago, the Viceroy had come to the Nest a broken man with a broken people. But today, like Benissimo, he was the man they all needed, and Ned would be the boy.
“I think we’re about ready to try, sir,” smiled back Ned.
Together with Lucy, Ned followed Benissimo’s lead and climbed up aboard Alice’s back, Ned patting her gently as they did so.
“Hello, girl. I’m glad it’s you,” he said as they took their seats across her harness.
There was a faint sound of humming coming from ground level.
“Mr Fox?”
The agent smiled back up at him. He had an assault rifle in his arms, a pistol at his waist and a layer of Kevlar armour adorned with radio, munitions and grenades. At his back, carefully tied down, was the Stag King’s horn.
“Are you nervous for us or them?”
Mr Fox stopped humming and took the safety off his rifle. “Just me, Ned. I hate violence in any form but I appear to want to do some.”
“Good luck, Mr Fox,” said Ned.
Mr Fox looked up to both Ned and Lucy.
“Good luck to you both, and do try to stay alive – the world wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without you two in it.”
There was some shuffling from behind Mr Fox and his men in grey when, pushing through the crowds, came Rocky, his wife Abigail and the Tortellini brothers. Scraggs the cook came next, his gnomes armed with a vicious array of kitchen knives, followed by master swordsman Monsieur Couteau. Man by man, and woman by woman, the Circus of Marvels’ troupe – from the leopard-and feather-skinned dancing girls, to the three emperor monkeys, Julius, Caligula and Nero – formed a party around Alice. Atop her back and to Ned’s rear, Gorrn shuffled with a quiet but resolute “Arr”.
Finally, there was George.
“Geo—” began Lucy.
Benissimo stopped her with a raised palm.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. George is someone else right now.”
And the Ringmaster was right. The great ape’s fur was slick with sweat, every animal instinct fired and ready. He walked on all fours, his great knuckles gouging the mud, and took his place in front of their mount. George would be leading the charge and his two wards – there was no question of it – and pity the devil or tin man that stood in his way.
There was a low grunt and the ape paced forward, Alice following in his wake. As she did so, a deep bass drum sounded out from behind their lines.
Brum, brum, brum.
Behind Benissimo, Lucy put her hand on Ned’s.
“Are you OK, Lucy?” he whispered.
She looked at the forest ahead of them. It stood, dark and brooding, like a wall of wood, and within it an army of Darklings and Demons lay in wait. Beyond them, metal men with gears for hearts were ready to cause harm.
“Not really, but I don’t think it’s me you should be asking.”
Ned looked now at the Ringmaster’s back, quite possibly for the last time. Heart Stone or not, Benissimo would not return and they both knew it.
Brum, brum, brum.
“Bene?”
“I know what you’re going to do, and I …”
But there was nothing he could say. His and Lucy’s welling eyes were already speaking volumes as Benissimo turned to them both.
“Now, now, you two, there’ll be plenty of time for that after.”
Ned pushed away the lump in his throat.
“It’s been an adventure, Benissimo – every bit of it.”
Brum, brum, brum.
George’s pace quickened, and Alice followed in kind, while to their left and right the great line moved with them.
“Indeed it has, pup – and it’s been an honour to walk its path with you both.”
Brum—
The drum silenced.
George suddenly reared up on his hind legs, his back arched and his arms raised high in the air. He roared and bellowed, beating at his chest defiantly, then brought down his fists in a pounding strike that was heard all down the line.
“Go on, George! You show ’em!” yelled Abi the Beard.
The forest had no answer for George’s show of strength, and Ned glowed at the sight of it. George the Mighty broke into a gallop, Alice’s body heaved and Benissimo pulled himself up, eyeing his allies on either side.
“Odin and Zeus protect you all,” he screamed. “CHARGE!”
The earth shook with pounding feet, the air trembled, and the army of fair-folk and grey-suits at their sides and back roared in return.
The Central Intelligence
he Tinker, Whiskers and Ned’s parents used the Glimmerman’s skeleton key to gain access to the city of Gearnish. Like the many glittering rectangles of his mirrored jacket, it could open portals, but with one extraordinary advantage – the skeleton key could open any portal mirror, and they had used it to access the exact same mirror that Ned and Lucy had used to escape the city only months before. Stepping through now, none of their party of four could have been prepared for what they found.
Everywhere they looked, black rubber-encased cables covered walls, filled rooms, at times blocking whole corridors. Some were as thick as a man’s waist, others as thin as a strand of hair. They lay over the once-bustling factory like a nest of snakes, seemingly without end.
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