by Robin Jarvis
“Paul?” an uncertain voice addressed him from the pitch-dark. “Paul, is that you?”
22
ON THE WALLS, the three royals processed in single file, bearing their caskets before them.
The Ismus tapped his nose at the camera and stepped behind the Bakelite console.
Leading the way, the Jill of Hearts saw that the wall walk was incomplete and the planking that bridged the gap had been removed.
“We can go no further,” she informed the others.
The Jill of Spades looked round sharply.
“Guard!” she called in irritation. “Guard!”
“Here, Your Highnesses!” a squawky voice shouted up at them.
Gazing below, they saw Bezuel on the ground, holding a lantern aloft and beckoning keenly.
“There is a narrow stair here!” he declared. “Have a care. Come down. I will lead you to the main gatehouse.”
As they descended, the Ismus adjusted the controls and studied the dials on the master console, playing like a virtuoso over the knobs and switches.
Bezuel bowed and tugged at his eyebrows in humble respect as he guided the three royals through an arched opening in the twelve-metre-thick stone wall.
Beyond was a cobbled area leading to the expansive castle tilt yard. It was steeped in shadow.
“This is not the way to the main gate,” the Jill of Spades said tersely. “What Jockey-coined trick are you ha—”
She stopped speaking when she saw the vague shapes of three strange animals lying on piles of straw at the edge of the jousting area.
“What sorry beasts are they?” Jack asked, striding over. “They do not seem…”
He gave a shout and laughed merrily when he realised they were not real, but camel costumes.
“Why, they are part of this curious pageant here!” he declared. “They are mere comic masquerades.”
Bezuel nipped forward and took out his lash. He cracked it across a camel’s hindquarters and one of the aberrants within cried out. They had been waiting there for hours and had found it impossible to remain standing in the suffocating, uncomfortable costume.
“Don’t!” Drew pleaded through the faux fur. “Please!”
“Yarr!” Bezuel shouted, kicking the one the voice came from. “On your lazy feet, you mangy, humped nags. Don’t you know there’s royalty ’ere?”
The Jill of Spades enjoyed watching him whip the foolish thing, but she had no time for the mummery of peasants.
“Let us be on our way,” she ordered. “We must go to the gatehouse.”
“Take these ’ere no-good camels, Your Highness,” Bezuel suggested. “Ismus wants to see they as well – most muchly.”
“I am the daughter of an Under King!” she replied, grossly insulted. “I am not one to be seen with such vulgar oafery!”
“It was Ismus’s especial command,” the guard warned and she glowered at him for the implied threat.
Jack came to her rescue. “I shall take the reins of two of these noble mounts,” he chuckled. “Will my Lady of the House of Hearts take the third?”
The Jill of Hearts smiled at him. He could make her do anything.
“You look absurd!” the Jill of Spades told them. “A pair of clods! You debase your high-born blood acting thus. How can you shame your noble houses in such a way?”
She turned back to the guard to demand he cease this tomfoolery, but the Punchinello had covered his lantern and retreated into the shadow of a deep alcove in the stonework. The alcove revolved silently and he was conveyed to a passage that ran clean through the centre of the wall – protected from the imminent danger.
“I will thread his eyes as beads upon my purse string,” she cursed. “Where is the insolent—”
Suddenly there was a crackle of light, high overhead. Hanging from the tallest crane, a large neon shape shone above the castle.
“What is that?” the Jill of Hearts wondered aloud.
“’Tis fashioned like a star!” Jack declared.
On the gatehouse, the Ismus rubbed his hands together.
“And so three kings came from the East, following a bright star,” he said. “All right, all right, we don’t have three kings down there; the Under Kings are too dull and slow for what I have planned. You don’t need my puppet to tell you the wise men weren’t really kings anyway. They were astrologers. We don’t even know how many there were.”
A smirk like that of a schoolboy appeared on his face.
“Christmas is a time for games and surprises,” he said. “Now watch, very – very closely…”
In one smooth motion, he slid a control all the way down to the end stop and four indicator lights went out.
“Unfriended,” he muttered callously.
At the tilt yard, the effect on the Jacks and Jills was immediate and alarming. They dropped the caskets, clutched their heads and doubled over. The Jill of Hearts screamed and fell on the ground. Jack shuddered and tore his hair. The Jill of Spades shook violently and grasped her stomach. It felt like they were being ripped apart.
The global audience held its breath. What had the Ismus done to them? Was it poison? Why would he do this? Then, amazing sensation! In the blink of an eye, they weren’t there – a miraculous substitution had taken place. The young people calling out in pain were total strangers. Who were they? Where had the celebrated young royals gone? What a marvellous feat of magick by the Holy Enchanter! Hurray!
Conor Westlake coughed and spluttered. He gasped for breath and hunched over until the spasming cramps subsided.
In their camel costume, Drew and Lukas didn’t know what they were supposed to do. Was this part of the performance? They had been told nothing. Lukas looked out through the restricted view afforded by a patch of gauze in the camel’s neck.
“We help them?” he asked.
Behind him, Drew was still smarting from Bezuel’s lash.
“No! Don’t interfere,” he urged. “That might be part of this. Keep well out of it! It’s not you who got whipped and kicked.”
The Germans and Americans in the other camels were also wondering what to do.
“What the ’ell is goin’ on?” Emma Taylor demanded, wiping her sweating face and running her disbelieving eyes over her gown of sable velvet and green taffeta. “What is this mingin’ emo frock? Where the sod am I?”
She stared at the other girl, who was whimpering like a frightened animal.
“Sandra cowing Dixon!” she spat, knowing her from school. “What you done to me? You dropped a tab in my breezer? I’m gonna knock your teeth down your throat, you titless mare!”
“Don’t you touch her!” Conor shouted.
Emma rounded on him. Then everything that had happened since Dancing Jax had stolen her life came slamming back in a car crash of memories and she staggered into one of the camels.
Sandra sobbed in despair; she too remembered. Her mind revolted and her skin crawled at what she had done.
Conor took great lungfuls of the biting winter air as the horror of it all flooded his mind. “What’s going to happen to us now?” he asked.
The picture cut back to the East Tower where their replacements were already sitting at the table, wearing identical garments. The audience instantly recognised them as the Jacks and Jills of Mooncaster. What a fine trick the Ismus had played.
“The wilderness is a dangerous place for three people to be travelling on meaty camels,” he said. “They really aren’t very wise at all. Yes, you’ve guessed it; at any moment they’ll have to Fleeeeeee the Beeeeeeast!”
The computer-generated titles flashed across the screen again. The theme thumped and the image of Mauger came revolving into view. Alongside that rolled a close-up of a bloody claw and the same blue bars as earlier appeared beneath them.
“This time, Mauger is competing for your votes against the ravening jackals of the ancient deserts. Which of them shall win? Only you can decide. Vote now or text ‘Jackal’ or ‘Mauger’ and let’s play!”
As th
e world obeyed and the red levels went shooting up, Emma Taylor was shaking her head in the tilt yard.
“This is mental,” she shouted belligerently. “All of it. Just mental! And what’s them supposed to be? Scooby Doo roadkills?”
She gave the nearest camel a push with her foot and Lukas threw the furry head off.
“Stop that!” he told her angrily.
“Who you talking to, skinny?” she bawled.
Drew lifted the skirt of the camel’s body and peered out. “What’s going on?” he asked nervously. “Is this the thing now? Are the cameras on us? Put the head back on quick!”
“What you doing down there?” Emma cried. “Sniffin’ his bum? You dirty pervs!”
“This is not right,” Lukas said, looking around, afraid. “Is too open here.”
Conor agreed. “We should move; this place is an arena.”
“Bog off, Westlake,” Emma told him. “You ain’t no prince now. Poncin’ about in them tights. You bloody loved it, didn’t yer?”
She was silenced by the frustrated roar of Mauger in his kennel. The world had chosen ‘Jackal’.
The aberrants and unfriended royals heard the millions of voices cheering around the castle and their blood ran cold.
“Martin Baxter said we must run…” Lukas said.
“What, boring Baxter our old maths teacher?” the girl sneered.
Within the deep arch of the curtain wall, the sound of an iron grate pulling across stone was almost lost in the uproar. Conor caught it and knew what it meant.
“Get out of those!” he told the camels urgently. “Take them off! Quick!”
Lukas was already unzipping the front of the body that attached him to Drew and was feverishly pulling off the furry legs and floppy feet. The other two camels were wrestling with the zips. The hands of the lads inside were panicky and shaking.
Suddenly, out of the arch, burst a pack of twelve demonic jackals.
They were larger than mastiffs and hairless. Monstrous, with cracked, blotched skin and bunched sinew, unwieldy heads and vicious jaws and their backs were corrugated by bony spines.
Yipping and snarling, they raced out, claws clattering over the cobbles. Their bloodshot eyes were fixed on the aberrants and they charged towards them.
Conor grabbed Sandra’s hand and yanked her to her feet.
“Leg it!” he yelled at the others as he dragged her after him. “Make for that wall over there. Climb the scaffolding!”
The teenagers tore over the tilt yard. The loose soil had a light covering of snow from the industrial blowers and their feet left dark prints as they pelted for safety. The ones still struggling out of their camel suits weren’t quick enough. Three jackals leaped on each costume, then dragged it and shook it in their great jaws. They ripped through the fake fur and did the same to the flesh inside.
Running as hard as he could, Drew was still wearing his furry legs. The outsize feet slapped the snow in an absurd, darkly clownish manner. They were the reason he didn’t make it. Two jackals lunged. One leaped on to his back, the other snapped at his calves and the boy was brought down.
Emma was the first to reach the wall and she was already clambering up the scaffold when she heard his screaming.
Glancing back, she uttered coldly, “Seen it all now – death due to camel toe.”
Conor was shaking Sandra and telling her to snap out of it. He had hauled her this far, but could do no more.
“If you don’t climb,” he yelled in her face, “you’re dead! I can’t pull you up there. You understand?”
The stricken girl’s eyes stared at the carnage behind and saw that the other jackals were almost upon them. Shrieking, she threw herself on the scaffold and began scaling it. Conor was right behind and Lukas was catching up with Emma.
The scaffolding juddered as the fury of the hellish creatures thundered into it. They leaped up, scrabbling furiously at the horizontal and diagonal poles, but they couldn’t get higher and dropped back to the ground. Incensed, they saw their prey escaping out of reach and they prowled between the uprights, baying and bellowing, seeking a way up. An infernal intelligence burned behind those eyes. They were assessing, calculating, deciding.
Some started chewing the metal with their powerful teeth, puncturing and mangling the aluminium. Then two began excavating the earth beneath one of the base plates while others attacked all the joining couplers they could reach, crunching down on the bolts and shearing through them.
The scaffold trembled then buckled. With a thunderous clanging, it sagged and collapsed across the tilt yard. The jackals scampered clear, then sprang back to devour whoever would fall.
Emma and Lukas had already reached the parapet at the top and were breathing hard when the tubes and boards went crashing down. Conor was halfway over the wall and heaved himself up just in time. But where was Sandra?
He turned to see her fingertips clutching at the edge. Before he could rush to help, her grasp slipped and she fell.
“No!” he shouted.
But a pair of hands had flashed out and grabbed one of her wrists. With a face almost as fierce and determined as the jackals, Emma Taylor saved her.
The hellish animals yammered and barked below.
“Don’t just sit there gawping!” Emma ranted at the boys through clenched teeth. “Give me a bloody hand before I drop the slutty munter!”
Moments later, Sandra was hoisted on to the top of the wall and lay there, shivering with terror and panic.
“Th–thank you,” she said.
“Stick it, you dozy bint,” Emma told her. “Didn’t do it for you, did it for me. You wouldn’t understand.”
Lukas gulped for breath. He was too frail for this much exertion. He was relieved he hadn’t overeaten earlier, but he was weak and needed rest. Clasping his hands, he gave thanks for being saved, but the prayer went unfinished and he raised his head slowly. The jackals had stopped barking.
Conor noticed it too and they both stared over the edge of the parapet. The ground below was empty. Where were they?
“Oh, that’s brilliant that is,” Emma muttered when she spotted them.
Further along the wall, blocks of unused stone had been stacked in a neat, sloped pile. Six of the jackals were climbing it stealthily.
“Good as a bloody staircase!” she declared.
“We can’t stay here!” Conor said quickly. “Soon as they reach the top they’ll come right for us.”
Emma threw him a disbelieving look. “We know that, you bell end!”
“But where can we go?” Sandra cried. “There’s nowhere! If they don’t get us, the guards or the Ismus will – or them out there. Oh, God, can you hear them? All those mindless people!”
“If we can reach one of the plank bridges,” Lukas suggested, “we might kick the wood clear when they are crossing.”
“Great idea,” Conor said. “There’s plenty of them ahead.”
“Long as I don’t end up as some hell dog’s dinner that’ll do me,” Emma said, running along the high walkway. “Oh, balls!”
Beyond the next drum tower she had seen a second pile of stones. Skidding to a standstill, she watched two jackals come stealing round the tower.
The teenagers were trapped.
Sandra screamed and Emma slapped her. Then she did it again, because at least it made her feel better.
“Don’t just stand there, Westlake!” she raged. “You’ve got a bloody sword! Use it, you moron – or give it here!”
Conor was already reaching for it. Drawing the blade and holding it artlessly in both hands, he realised with a shock that the skills and prowess he had possessed as the Jack of Clubs had deserted him. The sword felt heavy and he couldn’t find the balance. He waved it about gauchely, struck the wall and almost dropped it.
“You don’t have to be flaming Zorro!” Emma yelled. “Just hack the buggers to bits!”
The boy knew she was right. Squaring up to the six that were sneaking up behind them on that
high, narrow way, he hollered at the top of his voice and thrashed the blade in front of him.
The jackals eyed the bright steel dubiously, then growled and came bounding on.
Emma’s features set hard and grim as she faced the other two. Reaching into her sleeves, she pulled out two thin daggers. She was grateful the Jill of Spades never went anywhere unprepared. She wondered whether to give one to the German lad, but he was so flimsy he’d be no use at all.
“Here,” she told Sandra. “Take this and stop being such a liability. Your damsel days is over. You got to toughen up and kick arse right now, girl.”
Sandra received it shakily. She swallowed hard and took control of herself.
“The two Jills together,” she said with a faint and frightened smile.
Emma nodded. “Double trouble.”
The jackals attacked.
Emma was thrown against a stone merlon and the beast lunged for her throat. Sandra lashed out and stabbed it repeatedly in the neck. The hide and muscles were tough. Only when Emma drove her own dagger up through the creature’s jaw did it tear away, yowling – taking Emma’s blade with it. The girls lost no time and kicked it off the wall. Before it hit the ground the second one had already pinned Sandra to the floor and her dagger went clattering out of reach.
Emma would have ripped its ears off, but its bear-trap jaws snapped at her hands and she almost lost them.
“Quick, close your eyes and turn away,” she yelled at Sandra.
The other girl obeyed without hesitation.
“All right, Scrappy!” Emma shouted. “Cop a load of this!”
Flipping back the large emerald on her finger, she threw the powdery contents of the deep setting straight into the jackal’s eyes. At once they started smoking and the brute toppled from the parapet, black fumes pouring from its sockets.
“Don’t you screw with me!” she crowed, dusting her hands. “The Jill of Spades might’ve been sly an’ deadly, but she weren’t no Suffolk girl. We ain’t subtle!”
Helping Sandra up, she looked back to see how Conor was faring. Three severed heads already lay at the boy’s feet and the jackals had learned to fear his sword. Lukas was cheering him on.
“Get on with it,” Emma shouted.