King's Army

by Mark Huckerby

  Thud, thud, thud, thud.

  The ground shook and pots and pans rattled where they hung. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at each other, confused. Alfie opened his mouth to shout GET DOWN! But before he could form the words, the wall next to him caved in and the troll smashed her way inside.

  A tornado of flying wood and metal erupted around them as the ten-foot-tall, angry green troll bulldozed through the table, chairs and work surfaces. Tamara pulled Alfie to the corner as the ceiling began to fall in chunks, ripped away by the troll’s flailing fists. Brian levelled his gun at the intruder and let off two shots, which merely ricocheted off her tough skin. Holgatroll swatted Brian aside with the back of her hand and bore down on Alfie and his mother.

  “WHERE IS IT?!” she roared through thick ropes of yellow drool.

  Tamara’s scream was interrupted as Tony, who had whipped on his Qilin outfit, popped out of the air next to her. The next thing they knew, Alfie and his mother were lying outside in the dirt next to Qilin, a hundred yards from the ranch. Tamara’s finished her scream and looked bewildered at the boys.

  “What about—?”

  “On it!” shouted Qilin.

  He vanished again and was back two seconds later with a stunned Brian. They watched in shock as tiles rained from the roof of the ranch house and windows shattered.

  “What is that thing?” gasped Tamara.

  “That is Holgatroll,” said Alfie. “She’s a friend. Sort of.”

  Alfie had met Holgatroll, Queen Freya’s nocturnal alter-ego, during his first state visit to Norway before the Viking takeover. She’d been friendly enough to lend him the Raven Banner. But as another wall came down and Holgatroll continued her rampage from room to room, Alfie figured she wasn’t feeling so sociable this time.

  “If she’s your friend, why is she wrecking my ranch?” cried Tamara angrily.

  “She probably wants her Raven Banner,” said Alfie, wincing. “I was going to give it back, honest!”

  “Well you can apologize once she’s calmed down,” said Brian, reloading his gun. “But for now, we could do with putting a little distance between us. Tony?”

  Qilin looked around – it was a cloudy night and there was no moon, nor any other artificial lights to illuminate the landscape around them. He shook his head.

  “Too dark, chief. I could wind up shifting us all into a tree at a thousand miles an hour. Not wise.”

  Another roar shook the house.

  “WHERE IS IT?!”

  The oven flew out through the roof and spiralled past them. Brian pointed at the pick-up truck parked by the stables.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Keys are in the house,” said Tamara.

  Qilin took a breath.

  “On it, AGAIN,” he sighed and blink-shifted back to the house once more.

  The others hurried towards the truck.

  “There’s no point,” said Alfie, “She’ll catch us. You should see her when she jumps.”

  “Driving’s better than running,” replied Brian.

  A crash came from the house and what was left of the roof exploded as Holgatroll leapt out, flew over their heads and landed on the truck, flattening it like it was a tin can.

  “Looks like we’re running,” said Tamara.

  They turned and ran back towards the wreckage of the house, but the enraged troll stamped after them. Suddenly Qilin reappeared and threw a handful of silver balls at her, which erupted into bright purple fire on impact. Holgatroll yelled and stumbled to the side, taking out a water-pump windmill.

  “I didn’t know you had those!” Alfie said to Tony.

  “I’m full of surprises!” Tony replied with glee.

  He blink-shifted from spot to spot all around Holgatroll, dropping more fireballs that blew her back and forth as she snarled and tried in vain to grab him.

  “I’LL BITE YOUR HEAD OFF, YOU LITTLE FIREFLY!” threatened the troll.

  She jumped and stamped on the ground, sending Qilin off-balance as he reappeared, making him drop a silver ball, which erupted next to him. Holgatroll caught Qilin as he flew backwards and covered his eyes with her mighty hand.

  “HA-HA! CAN’T DO YOUR DISAPPEARING TRICK NOW, CAN YOU?” she gloated.

  Alfie pushed past Brian and ran towards them.

  “Don’t!” shouted Brian.

  But Alfie was already in front of the troll, waving his arms to get her attention.

  “Stop it! You’ve made your point!”

  Holgatroll snarled at him and prepared to bite Qilin’s head off.

  “YOUR MAJESTY, PLEASE!” Alfie pleaded.

  The troll paused, thinking it over, then tossed Qilin to the ground. He wiped the slimy troll sweat from his face and blink-shifted wearily to the others. Holgatroll towered over Alfie, a huge finger pointing at his face and roared at him in a gale of meaty breath.

  “I WANT WHAT’S MINE, BOY!”

  “And you’ll get it,” said Alfie, soothing. “But can we talk about it like civilized people?”

  Holgatroll snorted with derision, then, looking at the wrecked ranch house and the carnage around it, shrank back into the human form of Queen Freya. The emerald necklace she wore shone brightly for a moment, then dimmed. She looked like she had just come from a state banquet (which she had); there was not a golden hair out of place, not a crease in her flowing green ballgown.

  “Very well, but don’t expect me to apologize,” said Freya in her softly lilting accent.

  Tony’s eyes grew wide as he took in the radiant beauty of the Norwegian monarch.

  “Now that is my kind of troll,” he gushed.

  Tamara clipped him behind the ear. “She’s just totalled my home!”

  While Brian helped Tamara retrieve what she could from the gutted house, Alfie explained to Freya what had happened to the Raven Banner – how his brother had stolen it from him and how Lock had used it to create an army of berserkers and take over the country.

  “I warned you it might not behave the same way on British soil,” snapped Freya, still clearly in no mood to be mollified.

  “I know. I messed everything up and I’m sorry. But what else could I do? We had to try to stop the Vikings somehow,” said Alfie.

  “What good does that do me? Now MY kingdom is under threat. Remember that cave full of Viking draugar you saw beneath Geirangerfjord? Well a few weeks after you failed to return, those lovely boys began to wake up. Now they have overrun half of Norway, and without my banner I have no way to stop them!”

  Tony was watching her rant and rave with a big smile on his face.

  “And if your friend doesn’t stop smiling at me like that I may bite his head off after all,” the queen hissed.

  Tony hurried up to her like an over-excited puppy and extended his hand.

  “I’m Tony, AKA Qilin. I’m royalty too, you know, from China.”

  “This is not a cocktail party,” she sniffed.

  Tony ploughed ahead undeterred, “Sorry, I wouldn’t have thrown all those fireballs at you if I’d known you were, you know…”

  “What, a woman?”

  “So pretty.”

  “Listen, you little squirt, I was going easy on you. You’re lucky you still have a head left to spout nonsense from.”

  “Golly, I love your accent,” said Tony, doe-eyed.

  Alfie winced and beckoned Brian over. “Emergency evac needed. Could you airlift Tony out of this conversation, please?”

  A cold wind whipped down from the hills making the pine trees moan. Freya shivered and rubbed her arms. Tamara came over and offered her a coat.

  “Not sure if this is your style, honey, but the rest are still buried in there, I’m afraid.”

  Freya took the coat, sat down and looked guiltily at the wreck of the ranch house.

  “My temper can be difficult to control when I am … my other self. You don’t happen to have another house somewhere?”

  “Nope, that was it,” said Alfie’s mum
, sitting next to her.

  “How did you find us, if you don’t mind me asking, Your Majesty?” said Brian.

  “I followed your king’s scent,” she answered.

  Alfie blushed as Tony laughed and dug him in the ribs.

  “Stinky Al!”

  “Honestly, where did you pick up this half-wit?” said Freya, much to Alfie’s amusement. “Trolls have a very keen sense of smell. They can track almost anything, given enough time. And if I found you, then others can too. You’re not safe here.”

  “So you do care!” beamed Tony.

  “Won’t your people be missing you back in Washington?” asked Brian.

  “Let them miss me,” Freya scoffed. “I have already been criticized for fleeing the crisis in my homeland. I no longer care what people think of me. But I do care about what happens to them.”

  She got up and dusted herself down.

  “Anyway, I suppose it’s not entirely your fault. I should never have lent you the banner.”

  Alfie stepped forward.

  “Then help us get it back for you.”

  The others looked at him, surprised.

  “Do you mean it, Alfie?” asked his mother.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I’ve been away from home for too long.”

  “It won’t be easy to get past that Viking navy,” said Tony.

  “We’ll find a way,” replied Alfie.

  “And there’s no guarantee we can get the banner back even if we do,” added Brian.

  “I will retrieve the banner of Odin even if I have to slay a thousand Vikings,” declared Freya.

  Brian nodded, “That might do it.”

  Alfie turned to his mother. “I promise I’ll find Ellie, and I’ll do everything I can to save Richard too.”

  “No need to promise,” said Tamara. “Because this time I’ll be right by your side when you do.”

  “You’re coming?” asked Alfie, surprised.

  “Sure,” she replied, “I’ve hidden long enough too. Plus,” she said, looking back at the wreckage, “my house is kind of trashed.”

  Alfie smiled, “That’s settled then. I just hope there’s a country left for us to save when we get there.”

  Hayley rolled her gran’s tiny Zemi figurine between her palms, concentrating on every ridge and point in the hard wood, letting the silver chain run through her fingers. She wanted to focus her mind on something small and easy to handle, not the terrible events of the last twenty-four hours. Herne must have sensed that she needed the company and was curled up asleep on the bed next to her. After they had returned from the hospital, she had gone straight to her gran’s cold bedroom and begun to pack away her things. By first light the bed was stripped, the framed photographs from the bedside table wrapped and placed into boxes. The clothes from the wardrobe that still smelled of her gran were folded and put into bin bags. She dusted every surface and washed the windows, until she was exhausted. She hadn’t noticed that the Lord Chamberlain was watching her from the doorway until he came in and sat with her.

  “I thought if I put all her stuff away then I might not think about her every single second,” said Hayley. “But I can’t get her out of my head. Lying there like that… Anyway, you might want go ’cos there’s going to be more crying.”

  But Hayley was surprised when LC reached over and laid a comforting hand on hers.

  “I know you think I don’t understand all this emotional business – family and loved ones and so forth,” he said. “But you do not reach my age without having experienced certain attachments.”

  “You had a family?”

  LC cast his milky eyes to the window, as the sun struggled to rise above the freezing fog.

  “Yes. Very long ago now. But I can still recall the joy I felt when I was with them, and the sadness afterwards…” He withdrew his hand and composed himself. “I chose to devote what time I had left to king and country. I know that must sound terribly old-fashioned to you, but it is a devotion that has been just as rewarding in its own way.”

  Hayley opened the chain and hung the Zemi around her neck. It felt strange and bulky against her skin.

  “When I knew they were sending Gran to that home, it wasn’t just her I was worried about. It was me too. I’d spent all my life looking after her, then all of a sudden she was gone. But then Alfie turned up and it felt like it was meant to be, know what I mean? I had a purpose again.”

  She stood up and closed the final box, looking round at the bare room. “Alfie’s gone. Now Gran too. What’s the point? Why carry on with any of this?”

  LC stood and straightened his jacket. “The point, I believe, is to honour what they stood for. To honour them.”

  “How?”

  “Before last night I had not realized how truly dire things were out there. Perhaps it is a time to, how did your grandmother put it? To kick some Vikings in their butts?”

  “Close enough, LC,” Hayley said, smiling. She hung the Zemi round her neck, tucking it under her T-shirt. “Gunpowder, treason and plot, eh?”

  “If there is a chance to destroy the banner and loosen Lock’s grip on the country, then we are duty-bound to seize it,” said LC, warming to the idea. But then he frowned. “There is a problem, though. Without access to the Keep Archives, I’m not sure I can remember enough about the layout of the Palace of Westminster. We don’t even have your newfangled internet to look it up…”

  “You know, Watford has some pretty good archives of its own,” replied Hayley.

  That night they stood on the snow-covered pavement outside a large, faded red-brick building. LC cast his eyes over the broken lettering above the door.

  “Watford Public Library?” he said, unable to mask his distaste.

  “Give it a chance,” said Hayley, handing Herne’s lead to him and looking for a window she could force open. “Gran brought me here every Saturday when I was little.”

  They had waited till dark and crept out of the flats via the basement. Travelling in a group was risky, as it was more likely to get them spotted by the Viking patrols, but the time for caution was over. Herne strained at his lead, whining, and pulled LC towards the main doors, which suddenly glided open.

  “Did you see that?” said LC, astonished. “The entrance is enchanted!”

  Checking no one on the street had seen them, Hayley took his arm and pulled him inside.

  “Exactly how long is it since you lived in the real world, LC?”

  Inside, candles were burning, making it look more like a church than a library. People huddled in every corner, some reading by candlelight, others sleeping. A young couple soothed a restless baby in a cot in the biography section. A line of stooped figures were handed soup from a large pan that sat amid darkened computers. The whole scene reminded Hayley of the refugee camps she used to see on news reports about wars in far-away places. A small, middle-aged woman pushing a trolley that was stacked half with books and half with brand-new toothbrushes, sponges and nappies, stopped and peered at them over her glasses.

  “You look lost,” she said.

  “Um, no,” said Hayley, “Just surprised you’re open.”

  “Ah yes, we used to shut at six on Wednesdays,” she replied, patting Herne on the head as he sniffed the trolley.

  “I was thinking more of the whole undead Viking invasion thing,” said Hayley, feeling silly.

  “It would take more than a few hairy old bath-dodgers to close the libraries,” she scoffed.

  Hayley noticed a group of people warming themselves by an electric fire.

  “You still have power?” she asked.

  “Yeah, rigged up our own generator. But we keep the lights off at night so as not to attract too much attention,” said the librarian, fishing out a tin of dog food from the bottom of the trolley and handing it to a bemused LC. “So, what are you looking for?”

  “British History, if you would be so kind, madam,” replied LC.

  “Follow me,” she said, abandoning the trolley and marc
hing towards the back of the library.

  An hour later, Hayley was still holding a candle for the Lord Chamberlain as he pored over a table covered with open history books. Some were tattered with yellowing pages: old accounts of the Gunpowder Plot and the tumultuous reign of James the First. Others were newer: guidebooks to London’s top tourist sites, with glossy photographs of the Houses of Parliament. The librarian had brought them some sandwiches and a bowl of water for Herne, who was now asleep under the table. But LC hadn’t touched his food; he was too intent on his research. Hayley swapped the candle to her other hand and flexed her sore wrist.

  “Do try to keep the light steady, Miss Hicks, my eyesight is not what it was,” said LC.

  “I’m trying,” replied Hayley. “Are you getting anywhere, or what?”

  LC opened a page showing a floor plan of the Palace of Westminster, the oblong of huge buildings and towers that housed Parliament.

  “Slowly but surely,” he said. “The cellars where Guy Fawkes planted his gunpowder aren’t there any more. They were destroyed in a fire.”

  “I thought he was caught before he set off his gunpowder?”

  “Yes, yes. This fire was much later. A petulant witch with a penchant for inferno spells, as I recall. Besides, Guy Fawkes was targeting the House of Lords. We need to destroy the Raven Banner, which is located in the House of Commons, here.”

  He pointed at the long chamber in the middle of the map.

  “The beefeaters still check the cellars before each State Opening of Parliament.” LC looked briefly despondent: “That is, they did before they were scattered to goodness knows where…”

  Hayley nudged him, bringing his attention back to the floor plan.

  “So, how do we get down there? Is there a secret tunnel or something?”

  “Oh yes, lots. It’s like a rabbit warren beneath that part of London. The only problem is I don’t know which of the entrances are still in operation. I do know they closed down many of the subterranean routes over the years – too much of a security risk.”

  “Smart, but not much use to us right now.” Hayley put the candle down and flicked through a guidebook. “There must be some way of finding them?”