Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper

by Alan Early

  ‘Arthur–’ Ash gasped as soon as they were out of earshot.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Arthur, the gaol.’

  ‘Come on then,’ he said, trying to sound braver than he felt and helping her out of the bushes. ‘The only way to help them now is to stop Loki once and for all.’

  They stepped out from behind the bushes and resumed their journey in the direction of the Áras, keeping close to the tree cover all the while.

  Ash walked a few steps ahead of Arthur, her arms wrapped around her comfortingly with her stick clenched tightly in one hand. She hadn’t said anything since they had left the guards behind. Neither had Arthur. He felt bad for the people at the gaol, he really did. But he knew that they didn’t have time to mourn. The element of surprise was key. They’d lost enough time dealing with the Jormungand and in order to have any chance of saving everyone they had to keep going. He looked at her shoulders, hunched over as she stared at the grass, walking quietly forward.

  Arthur glanced behind and in front of them. There was no one in view. Taking a chance, he caught up to her, grabbed her by the arm, turned her around and pulled her against him, closing his arms around her tenderly. She rested her visor on his shoulder and he felt the convulsions shudder through her as the tears poured out.

  ‘We have to keep going,’ he said in a gentle tone. ‘You know this. We can’t stop.’

  ‘Mm-hmm,’ she said, snuffling and pulling back from him. He gripped her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

  ‘We can do this, Ash.’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘We can.’

  ‘I know.’

  Arthur nodded, then let go of her and they resumed their journey. Soon the great structure of the Áras appeared between the trees on their left.

  Arthur had seen pictures of the president’s home and had a clear vision of how it should look. He imagined the long central building and the main entrance flanked by four columns beneath a central pediment. The walls would be painted a pristine white, the surrounding gardens and lawns would be neatly trimmed and impeccably kept, and the Irish tricolour would flap proudly in the wind over the entrance. But this wasn’t what met them as they reached the avenue leading up to the front door. The Áras itself had been painted a lurid neon green. The paintwork was uneven and the shade shifted all over where layers had been poorly applied. Words as high as Arthur were scrawled in red across the left-hand side of the building: ‘Long Live Loki’. A mural as tall as the structure itself balanced it out on the other side. It depicted a grinning Loki in crimson washes, wearing a crown and giving two cheesy thumbs-up like a gameshow host. Stone steps led up to the front door but were partly covered by a temporary wooden ramp. The lawn in front of the Áras was a mess. All the flowers and plants had been ripped out by the roots and were strewn about the place, shredded to bits and ground into the muddy earth. The fountain in the centre of the lawn was spitting out green sludge and the flag over the pediment was also green, with one word inked onto it in bold red letters: ‘Loki’.

  ‘Oh–’ Ash began.

  ‘Look!’ Arthur cut her off.

  The tarmac driveway in front of the Áras was occupied by somewhere between fifty and a hundred members of the Wolfsguard. They were lined up in three straight rows facing the building and standing to attention, with feet and arms by their sides and batons or crossbows slung over their shoulders. From their stance, they were obviously waiting for something or someone.

  Arthur and Ash were right at the edge of the tree cover now. There was nothing between them and the Áras but the lines of the Wolfsguard. They hunched down behind one of two thick trees that flanked the entrance to the gardens, peering cautiously around it to see what was happening.

  ‘What do you think’s going on?’ Arthur whispered.

  ‘Shh,’ said Ash, nodding forward. ‘The door.’

  He turned in time to see the front door of the Áras swing open. The guards all clicked their boots at the sound, standing even straighter as somebody stepped out.

  ‘Hail, General!’ the guards barked as one.

  Arthur couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Not only was the general Drysi, but she was walking!

  She was wearing a black uniform similar to that of the guards. Her flak jacket was trimmed with bright-green edging and she wore crimson high-heeled boots that thunked against the wooden ramp as she made her way down to the drive. A sword in a scabbard was strapped to her waist and hanging down by her legs. She stopped in the middle of the tarmac, facing them all.

  ‘At ease!’ she said in a booming, stern voice. ‘Now listen well. We have intruders!’

  There wasn’t as much as a murmur of surprise among the well-trained soldiers.

  ‘And I don’t just mean the intruders who caused that stampede,’ Drysi went on. ‘The Jormungand has fallen and the culprits are somewhere in the park. Most likely they are on their way here.’

  Drysi swivelled and marched to one end of the first row. She turned and strode along the line.

  ‘We are the Wolfsguard, sole defenders of the mayhem and destruction that Emperor Loki creates.’

  She trailed a finger along each guard’s chest as she passed, straightening flashlights on flak jackets or wiping smears off visors.

  ‘Our single purpose in life is to serve him. To do what he needs us to do. And what he needs us to do is ensure we are strong enough, powerful enough, organised enough and ordered enough. Order. That is the motto of the Wolfsguard. Order within Chaos.’

  She reached the second row and moved through the ranks, continuing her inspection, her movement crunching the gravel.

  ‘We must be Order so that Loki can be Chaos. If we are chaotic and fail in our responsibilities, do you have any idea what will happen?’

  She stopped then, halfway through the second row and right in the middle of them all.

  ‘Do you know?’ She paused, waiting for an answer, but the Wolfsguard remained silent, as if they knew better than to interrupt her. ‘Well, allow me to educate you. If we weren’t ordered, humans would become ordered. They would rise. They would be the ones causing the mayhem. They would attempt to stop our great leader.’

  She walked through the ranks again, her voice softening.

  ‘Of course, they could never stop him. But they would try. They would think themselves brave and strong. When they’re not. They’re weak. And we need order to keep them weak.

  ‘Look what happened today. Order fell. Some lazy guards allowed a few children to cause all that chaos. But we regained order and then look what happened. The animals are locked up securely, as are the children. All the children. That victory came from …’

  She came to the edge of the line and clacked her heels together defiantly.

  ‘… order.’

  Drysi strode quickly around in front of the troops once more.

  ‘So you will ensure that order is maintained. Go out and find these new intruders. Find them for your fallen brother, the World Serpent. Find them for the chaos they have caused. Find them for Wolf-father Loki. And when you find them, bring them directly to me.’ She smiled to herself, an expression that sent shivers down Arthur’s spine. ‘I want to deal with them myself.’ Her eyes flickered towards the end of the avenue and, for a brief moment, Ash was certain they had fallen on her. ‘Dismissed!’

  The rows of guards turned as one to the right and marched off while Drysi strode quickly back up the ramp towards the Áras. Once the sound of the soldiers had receded into the distance, Arthur and Ash crept out from their hiding place.

  No one was left in front of the Áras now.

  ‘There are no wolves guarding the front entrance,’ mumbled Ash. ‘That’s a little strange. Surely Loki would have someone on guard at the front of his palace, especially if he knows we’re here. My spidey-senses are tingling. It looks like a trap.’

  ‘Probably is,’ agreed Arthur.

  ‘So we go around the back? Find another way in?’
>
  ‘No. We go through the front door.’

  ‘But didn’t you see the way she looked right at us? Like she knew we were here?’

  ‘Of course I did. It’s possible she could sense us.’

  ‘And despite that you still want to go through the front door?’

  ‘If we’ve lost the element of surprise it doesn’t matter any more. We’re here. I came here to see Loki – and to defeat Loki – and that’s what I’m going to do.’

  ‘What about her, though? The lovely general? She could be waiting for us inside with a bunch of guards.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten something, Ash. They’ve lost the element of surprise too. We know there’s a trap. We know she’s waiting for us just beyond that door. Anyway, Drysi’s a puppy-dog. We can take her and any guards she has with her. Don’t forget we have this.’ He pulled the hammer out of his bag and dropped the backpack on the ground. ‘It’s more than a match for a few of Loki’s wolves.’

  He offered a hand to Ash. ‘You coming?’

  ‘I guess so,’ she said, taking his hand, squeezing it once and dropping it again.

  They walked up the deserted avenue, eyes darting left and right searching for any signs of movement, and took the steps up to the front door. Arthur tried the handle. It clicked open without a problem. He nodded to Ash, who grasped her stick protectively in front of her. Raising his hammer, Arthur pushed the door slowly inwards.

  The corridor they were faced with was painted white, with thick Celtic-knot carpeting on the ground. Huge modern paintings hung on either side of the long corridor, with real crystal chandeliers hanging from the plasterwork ceiling. The corridor was empty, except for Drysi, who was striding towards the far end of the hallway, her back to them.

  Arthur and Ash stepped inside and quietly pushed the door shut behind them.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Drysi at the click of the door, stopping but not turning. ‘Arthur Quinn and Ash Barry. I thought that was you.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Drysi turned to face them, a broad smile pasted across her face. She was alone – no guards in sight.

  Arthur and Ash twisted the helmets off and let them fall from their hands. They flumped onto the soft rug and rolled away silently before landing on the surrounding wooden floor with a hollow noise. Arthur was glad to be out of the constricting headgear: he wiped the sweat from his brow while Ash pulled some loose strands of hair out of her eyes.

  ‘How did you know it was us?’ Arthur asked, trying to appear as unperturbed as Drysi seemed.

  ‘I was expecting you. And us wolves have a very good sense of smell, you know,’ said Drysi. ‘Even under all that dreadful stench, I still recognised your scents. Arthur, you smell of boy and cheese pizzas and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s anger, maybe it’s fear. It could just be sadness and longing. And Ash, you smell like your mother’s baking, although I know it’s been a long time since you’ve had that. Yes, your mother’s baking. And there’s something else there too. Something I don’t recognise. An urge to fight, perhaps. Yes, you smell of fight.’

  ‘You think you know me,’ said Ash, still bristling at the mention of her mother.

  ‘I do know you. I lived with you. I was your pet puppy.’ Drysi’s nose turned up at the memory. ‘But that was in another time, another world. Which makes me wonder, how can you be here, Arthur?’

  If Drysi remembers my reality, Arthur wondered, does that mean Loki and Hel do too?

  ‘I have a few tricks up my sleeve,’ Arthur told her, smiling. Literally, he thought, feeling the ribbon tucked under his right cuff. He moved forward and Drysi stepped back.

  ‘I’m here to see Loki.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, that’s not going to happen, Arthur.’ Drysi turned suddenly and walked away from them, moving out of sight down a perpendicular corridor.

  ‘Wait! Come back!’ Arthur called after her, but she gave no response. They could hear her steps drawing further away. They looked at each other, confused by the girl’s actions.

  ‘Should we follow her?’ whispered Ash.

  ‘I guess so. She might lead us to Loki. Let’s go.’

  They walked forward, cautiously turning the corner that Drysi had disappeared around, and found themselves in another hallway. It was almost identical to the first corridor but, instead of paintings on the walls, moulded stucco plasterworks portrayed scenes from Greek mythology. Half-naked men and women watched silently from panels along the wall. Marble plinths stood all along the left side of the hallway, with brass busts of past Irish presidents fixed to each one. Arthur recognised the more famous heads of state. Drysi had stopped further down the corridor and was facing them again. She was holding the most recent bust in her arms, along with its marble plinth, cradled like a baby, as if it weighed almost nothing.

  ‘I don’t know how you survived, Arthur, but I’m going to do something Wolf-father Loki has never managed,’ she said. ‘I’m going to kill you, once and for all.’ In a sudden blur of movement she launched her weapon at Arthur. He barely had time to register the last president’s calmly smiling face soaring towards his head before the plinth smashed into him and blackness took hold.

  Ash dropped to Arthur’s side. The bust had hit his head, knocking him out cold, and the plinth had fallen on top of him, trapping him underneath. A trickle of sticky blood oozed from a gash over his eye-patch. She strained to lift the plinth but was only able to raise it a few millimetres off his ribs before she heard footsteps running down the hallway.

  Drysi was racing towards her, sword drawn, the blade glinting sharply in the chandelier light. Ash didn’t have time to free Arthur so she laid the plinth carefully back down on him. Then, in one swift and practised motion, she picked up her staff and propelled herself up and forward, right at Drysi.

  Drysi swung her blade as she ran, aiming straight for Ash’s face, but blade met stick and was blocked just in time. Splinters flew from the staff, as the sword hacked a chunk out of it. Drysi took a step back and swung the sword lazily by her side, grinning menacingly at Ash.

  ‘You expect to defeat me with a wooden stick?’ She laughed.

  ‘No, I don’t. But a wooden stick with a reinforced steel core maybe.’ She held it up for Drysi to see the undamaged steel pole through the gouge in the staff. The girl snarled viciously before slashing her blade through the air once more.

  Ash met the sword swipe for swipe, keeping her eyes fixed on Drysi. Surprising the wolf-girl with her ability to fight, she drove her back down the corridor, away from Arthur, almost to the far end. She watched for the telltale change in posture that would let her anticipate Drysi’s next move. A shift in her weight to her front foot told Ash that she was going to try an undercut; a slight straightening of her arm revealed that she was going to jab straight forward. Knowing where Drysi was going to attack next wasn’t the problem; the problem lay in the other girl’s unnatural strength and speed. Ash had hoped that she could divert one of Drysi’s attacks long enough to land a blow on her head and knock her out. However, those attacks were coming so thick and fast that she never had a chance and, she realised with horror, she was slowly, inexorably being forced backwards. The power of Drysi’s blows shuddered right up the staff into Ash’s arms, vibrating the joints in her shoulders. The staff itself was a ragged mess. Whole chunks of wood had been sliced away by the sword and even the steel core – which Ash had thought would be unbreakable – was showing signs of wear, with dents appearing all over. Several times she was actually pushed backwards by the weight of the impact. She prayed each time that the unconscious Arthur, or even a ripple in the carpet, wouldn’t catch her feet and trip her up. If she fell, she knew, she’d be done for. Truly and properly done for.

  But still she fought. From the moment she’d found the staff in the attic in Kilmainham, she’d known she could put it to good use. She had practised for hours by herself in her cell, discovering a skill she hadn’t been aware she possessed. She had Donal and some of the
others come at her with their own makeshift swords or broomsticks, several at once, and she was able to fend them all off easily. She didn’t know where this talent had come from, but she was glad she had it regardless. Nonetheless, facing off against a few untrained kids was a lot different to clashing with someone of Drysi’s strength.

  As she battled Drysi, a weird sense of déjà vu came over her. All of a sudden she could remember herself training in what appeared to be a Viking village, and a real Viking was there, instructing her. He looked like he should be dead – his skin was leathery and stretched – but he was still teaching her. She snapped out of the memory just as Drysi’s sword rang off the staff again, pushing her backwards.

  And that was when she tripped.

  His head was throbbing when his eyes fluttered open. A chandelier hung directly above him, spinning rapidly, whirling up and down, side to side. The clang of metal against metal was coming from some place nearby, setting his teeth on edge. He tried to sit up but found he couldn’t move. He reached his hand to his head, hoping to massage away the ache. His fingertips sank into something sticky. Blood, he realised with growing apprehension. Where am I? What’s going on? I remember a head and–

  Drysi! Drysi threw a bust at him. Arthur looked down at his chest, craning his neck to do so. The plinth was still lying on top of him, pushing down hard and, he now realised, making it hard to breathe. His hammer was lying by his right side. Beyond his feet, he could see Ash and Drysi battling near the other end of the corridor. One had an iron sword that looked like it could slice a man in two; the other had a wooden staff, falling to pieces as he watched.

  He placed his palms flat against the plinth and pushed. The marble barely budged. He took a deep breath (or as deep as he could with the marble weighing so heavily on his chest), braced himself and heaved up a second time with all his might. The marble shifted fractionally, just a few millimetres, but enough to allow him to wiggle himself sideways until he managed to slide clear. As soon as he was out from underneath the plinth, he let it drop heavily to the floor. The rug was so thick there was hardly a sound – certainly nothing that could be heard over the ringing of the sword fight.