The bus began to move again—then, less than five feet on, the driver slammed on the brakes again. I practically felt the bus shudder.
The doors opened, and the driver stepped out. “Now what in the ruddy blazes is this?”
“Calm yourself, good sir,” Burnton cried to him as he slipped past, tipping a nod. “Nothing to see here! Kindly return to your land vehicle and continue your passage!”
“What in the name of—what are ruddy pirates doing in the middle of ruddy London? Is this some kind of bloody pantomime?”
Cries of “This city has gone to the dogs!“ faded behind me, replaced by new shouts as I ducked and weaved my way to Trafalgar Square, while Burnton and his men kept pace.
Up ahead: a road, surging with tourists. And beyond, rising to the sky: Nelson’s Column.
Almost there …!
I dug deep for a fresh burst of speed, almost to the crossing—
And then a bright red bus thundered past, whipping my hair.
I staggered to a panicked stop—
So much traffic!
I twisted, pivoting for an opening I could break through, dodging between taxis to get to safety—
Then a hand grasped my wrist, and I was jerked around—to come face to face with Tyran Burnton.
“Got you,” he said.
17
“No you don’t!” I shouted back, and thrust my hand free—
Then, not caring about traffic, I blundered blindly over the road.
Stupid choice. A taxi slammed on his brakes, the driver swearing bloody murder behind the windshield.
Another car, coming in the opposite direction, swerved as he slammed on his brakes. It put him in my path, so I vaulted over the hood, and across—
He flung open his door. “You little—!”
He was drowned by the fury of Burnton and his pirates flooding out after me.
“Sorry if I scratched it!”
“Get back here and fight like a pirate, knave!”
“I’m not one, so I don’t think so!”
I sprinted into the square itself, round the fountain. Nelson’s Column towered over me, bronze lions staring. I dodged between bollards, and made for the National Gallery, hoping that it would offer an opportunity at escape. Maybe Burnton would like the artwork there and make this a cultural visit instead of, you know, a drive for revenge?
Up the stairs … past Grecian pillars …
“The key is mine!” Burnton roared. “Come back here with it and hand it over, or I’ll have no choice but to cut you down!”
Yes, I thought. Shout some more about whipping your sword out in a bustling city. Threaten me all you like, if it’ll get the police out here en mass to shut this down.
Still, that was a hopeful plan B. Plan A was still this getaway. So I dodged into the gallery—
The kiosk was helmed by two people, a man and a woman. A small queue of tourists, mostly Asian, waited to be served. A chubby little girl near the back was being mothered. Maybe four or five, she had on an oversized set of wacky sunglasses, plastic frames yellow on one side and red on the other. She cast me a pouty look.
I could push past, into the gallery itself …
But the gallery had security guards; I could see one now, just beyond the gate inside. He’d snatch me up the moment I was through. And though he could offer some sort of protection from Burnton’s men, it was the meat shield variety, and I wasn’t in the habit of drawing unwitting strangers into my battles.
Besides, men with slashy swords in a building full of fine art and glass cabinets … not a good combination.
I had just seconds to think.
I had to blend in.
Or, failing that, hide.
Panicked hands gripped at my belt, finding—
The umbrella!
Quickly, I snapped it off. And instead of swinging it out into Decidian’s Spear, I extended the handle and opened the canopy.
Red and yellow stripes bloomed—and, clutched out in front of me, blocked me from view of anyone entering.
“Mummy, what’s that girl doing?” asked the chubby Asian girl.
“Ooh,” said an old man ahead of her. “Seven years’ bad luck for that.”
Yeah, well, seven years of bad luck was perfectly acceptable if it meant dodging the immediate bad luck of Tyran Burnton finding me.
The pirates flooded in, Burnton first.
“Where is she?” he demanded in a boom.
In typical British fashion, no one answered him. Gawking did ensue, however.
Pirates followed. I couldn’t see them, with Decidian’s Spear in umbrella form blocking them from view … but I could hear—no, wait, scratch that; I could see. They filled the gallery’s entrance, pushing for the queue, the kiosk. Their legs moved back and forth around me.
“Where is the girl?” Burnton asked.
“Mummy, is that man a pirate?” asked the chubby girl.
“What’s all this?” asked one of the cashiers, rising.
Burnton must’ve drawn his sword, because all of a sudden the room was filled with screams. The queue dispersed, fighting to get away—into the gallery itself, over the desk where the staff served entry passes—
“HE’S GOT A KNIFE!” someone shrieked—
“I want the girl who came running in here just now!” Burnton roared. “She is a cheat and a thief, and I want what’s mine! Now HAND HER OVER!”
“Sir, if you’ll just—”
He must’ve done one of those elaborate swish and flick moves. For the first time since it had happened in my presence, it had the desired effect: more panicked cries were rousted.
I’d been edging around, slow, hoping to get for the door. It was close, but not close enough.
Maybe if Burnton were distracted long enough, I could just—
My umbrella was forcibly tugged aside.
Barnes. Or one of the clone brothers, at least.
“She’s here, Mr. Burnton!”
Crap!
Snatching it back from him, I sprinted out the doors the way I’d come, and back down the steps.
The umbrella caught the air, slowing me down—
“Damn it,” I muttered, and swung—
The glamour dissipated, Decidian’s Spear swinging to full length.
At the same moment, Burnton and his crew fell out of the gallery after me, swords held high.
“GET HER!”
The sight of me running with a spear, followed by a horde of robed men wielding swords, had … about the effect on Trafalgar Square you would expect. Screams rent the air. People who had, moments before, been calmly strolling by, taking selfies by the lions under Nelson’s Column, running some sort of bike game for money, or perched on the sides of the fountains, were suddenly on their feet. They fled in a mad stampede in all directions, spilling out into the road—
Well, that was good; at least the innocent bystanders were clear.
Downside: I had nowhere to blend in to dodge Burnton.
Well, we were all in now, weren’t we? Might as well show all of London what I could do.
I tugged my compass of my belt, looking into its face to see what world lay beyond, any place I might cut through—
Then I hit a misaligned paving slab—and tripped. The compass flew out of my hand.
“No!” I cried as it bounced down the steps, past the posts framing Nelson’s Column.
I followed, madly—
You’re boxing yourself in! warned one part of my mind.
Another part: Who cares if I can cut a gate through? Not like Burnton’s men can follow, with their Harsterran talismans.
I thundered to a stop under the column, snatching up my compass again.
Void.
Triple crap!
“Come on, Nelson,” I pleaded. “Give me a hand here.”
No such luck.
I spun to see pirates closing, Burnton leading the charges.
Swords were drawn.
Well, might as well
meet them now.
I gritted my teeth, spear extended, and
stepped forward, ready for the first one—
They all surged.
I yelped, danced backward.
“Aren’t you going to fight me one on one?” I cried as men swung.
“You’ve exhausted that honor,” said Burnton.
“But before you said—”
“You’ve given up the right to a fair fight,” he said.
I danced through a gap in the posts where I could, swiping with the spear—
“Please, let’s just talk about this!” My voice was rising in pitch. Panic had well and truly set in, and there was—there was—
No way out.
I was trapped.
I had a wild feeling, to just bolt, hightail it out of here in any direction, forgetting all sense—
But I turned, and pirates were everywhere—
I spun on my foot, Decidian’s Spear waving wildly—
Then there was Burnton. Face grimly set, he strode forward. His sword raised over his head, he closed the gap, and swung down—
I lifted Decidian’s Spear. Not fast enough to bring the tip around, I had to face the strike with its haft—
The blade careened into it—and the violent force knocked it free of my hands.
It clattered to the floor, and Burnton kicked it aside.
Pirates closed in, swords drawn.
“Oh, dear,” said Burnton. “It looks as though someone’s poor life choices have finally caught up with her. I think we call that … justice.” And he extended his blade, pointing the sword—right at my neck.
18
Burnton brandished his sword at me.
I held up my hands, swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. Cornered from all sides, I was dead to rights.
My one hope was that some screaming onlooker who’d fled Trafalgar Square would call the police fast enough for them to get here.
Unfortunately, looking down Burnton’s steeled blade … I didn’t think they’d be fast enough.
“No one crosses the King of the Skies and gets away with it,” Burnton growled, all traces of his smugness gone. “I was more than fair. But now …” The silver edge of his sword pressed closer. “Now I have no choice but to—”
“Release my sister!”
I spun around, eyes wide.
Burnton and his crew jerked about too—
And in charged Emmanuel Brand, wielding a machete the likes of which would have been right at home on Indiana Jones’s belt. Like the action hero come to life, only with a milk chocolate cast instead of white skin, he flung himself into the fray like a cannonball.
Burnton barely had time to bring his sword about—
Emmanuel slammed his blade against Burnton’s. The impact sent the pirate staggering backward.
“Manny,” I breathed.
“And friends,” he said, not looking back. Already, he swept in toward Burnton, swinging high again.
Better prepared this time, Burnton set his jaw and met Emmanuel’s strike.
True to his word, Emmanuel had indeed brought friends. Seekers the likes of whom I’d never seen, at least twenty of them flooded the square, surging in toward the surrounding pirate force. Young and old, the band drew weapons of their own, meeting blade after blade as they fought the pirates—with swords, or a pair of jagged daggers with pronged tips, or an orcish weapon with a crescent blade. Two among their number were orcs, or at least distant relatives, slighter in build and height. They took on two pirates at once, trading alternating blows that shook their adversaries, sent them stumbling backward.
I stared in open-mouthed awe, unable to move as the battle unfolded around me.
From the back of my head came a voice, You have a spear!
Right. I darted for it, through a gap between a blonde-haired kid who looked barely past fourteen, deftly parrying a grunting pirate.
Snatching it up, I held it port arms—
There was no one to fight. Manny’s crew had Burnton’s outnumbered, and, it looked like, outmatched. The tight circle that had formed around me was breaking.
Emmanuel pushed Burnton back with another strike. Tyran met it—but Emmanuel was already swinging, and Burnton had no chance to pull off one of his theatrical little swings of his blade, arcing his arm out lightning fast to clang steel against steel again.
“Surrounding a disarmed girl, holding her at knifepoint,” Emmanuel chided. “Don’t you have any honor?”
“Don’t you know who you accuse?” Burnton spat. “I am the King of the Skies! I have plenty of honor! Scads of honor! Wads of it! Why, when you look up honor in the dictionary, you will find a beautifully composed portrait of yours truly.”
Emmanuel struck again. “With special attention paid to that chin, I’m sure.”
“It’s your sister who you should be castigating for lack of honor! She launched an attack at me when my back was turned, and stole a relic I had rightful claim over.”
Emmanuel glanced at me momentarily. “Yes, well, I’ll get to her. I’m on your conduct at the moment.”
“My conduct is perfectly acceptable,” Burnton replied.
“Again: not from where I’m standing.”
Emmanuel swung in, high. Burnton met his machete with his sword, then arced low. Manny danced sideways, clashing steel on steel again.
He thrust forward.
Burnton parried, knocking the stabbing blow aside.
I stared, transfixed, at their waltz.
Emmanuel swung for the knee.
Burnton caught it—
But Emmanuel swung overhead, coming down from twelve o’clock, a swift strike that cleaved the air in two—
Burnton blocked just in time—but the impact sent him stumbling backward.
He gritted his teeth.
Emmanuel leered at him. “Why don’t you give up?”
Burnton looked ready to object. He rearranged his grip on his sword, as if to answer with another strike—
But the fracas in the square had gone in one clear direction. Pirates were backed up, disarmed, only a few left fighting. Those who were not cowered, hands held up, between Emmanuel’s friends, who held them hostage by pointing their weapons.
The pirates had been beaten.
“Very well,” said Burnton. “Men! We retire from battle. Return to the ship at once.”
“I hope you haven’t parked it in London,” Emmanuel said. “You’re looking at a hefty fine if you’re parked illegally.”
Burnton sneered at him. Then, over Emmanuel’s shoulder, he looked to me.
“This isn’t over,” he said, and swished his sword again with more flourish than was strictly necessary. “Mark my words. With pen. Because it’s permanent. And make them big: ‘NOT OVER.’ Which it’s not.” With a furious nod, he sheathed his blade and led his men out of Trafalgar Square at a stomp.
I watched them go, breath held, until every last one of them had gone … and it was just me, and Emmanuel … and about twenty of his close friends he’d been able to call on with barely a few minutes’ notice.
He watched Burnton’s departure too, his face serious.
Then, finally, he turned to me.
“All right then, Meer?” He gave me with a lopsided grin. “Been getting in a spot of trouble, have you?”
19
“Manny! Buddy!”
That was Carson’s greeting upon my return to the hideout, Emmanuel leading with one arm over my shoulder, head turning as he kept a constant watch for Burnton or his ragtag crew. They appeared to have vanished, as had Emmanuel’s crew—my stipulation for letting him walk me back to the safety of my library.
Heidi’s greeting was less enthusiastic. She and Carson had perched themselves at the end of opposite bookcases, him reading and her staring through a page, by the looks of her vacant expression. On seeing us, however, her eyes narrowed into a look of wariness.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Pleasure to
see you again, Heidi,” said Emmanuel, flashing her a grin. “You’re looking well.”
She ignored him and spoke directly to me. “What’s he doing here?”
“My brother is here because I called him.”
“Are we all going on a mission together?” Carson asked.
“Booking up a brother-sister confab over rice and beans?” Heidi asked. She had a thorny sort of tone about her. I probably would too, if someone I didn’t particularly like showed up unexpectedly. But this was my hideout, and my brother, and he had just saved my butt, so Heidi could suck it up for the moment.
“Burnton showed up in London,” I said.
The air seemed to be sucked from the room.
Carson’s face grew ashen. “Here? In London? But how?”
“Was in London,” Emmanuel corrected. “He’s gone now.”
“And you saw him where?” Heidi asked me.
“Coming down the Strand while I ate in Tortilla.”
“Practically right to our doorstep then,” she said grimly.
“But how?” Carson asked the room. “How do they know where to find us?”
“Mira’s making waves,” Emmanuel said. “And London is not the most secluded place in the world, particularly the street your hideout exits onto. It’s not impossible that you’ve been seen, and word of your whereabouts has spread.”
That sent a pulse of panic through me. If that was true, just about anyone could show up at any time … in London, or coming through to my library—my home.
I buried it, for now. One problem at a time. “How would Burnton find me though?” I asked. “He doesn’t know who I am.”
“He said that?” Emmanuel asked.
I nodded.
He countered with a shake of his head. “Don’t count on it. Sounds like posturing. I guarantee he has heard of you, Mira.”
Hah! I knew it. I knew I was more famous than some stupid pirate.
Emmanuel was still talking, and I tuned back in. “… not difficult for him to track you down through his web of Seeker contacts.”
“Okay,” I said. “So you’re saying no one …”
“No one what?” Emmanuel prompted when my words died in my throat.
The King of the Skies Page 14