“Does anyone object?” asked Cedric.
Stumm mumbled something that made his eyebrows dance.
“You’re right,” said Aurora, “Hugo won’t be happy.”
“Hugo had his chance,” said Cedric and cleared his throat.
The room fell silent.
“It seems clear,” said Aurora, her words heavy with regret. “We have no choice. We must detonate the weapon. Now.”
Something very strange was now going on at the hotel. There was a hum of anticipation among those in the room, where the ten current members of the Twelve sat in a circle around the dark-wood, long-quiet dance floor in the hotel’s function room, their various robes hanging over the back of chairs, or draped on the carpet.
Cedric the Ninth and Aurora the Third were a little further forward than the others. Near them, even Stumm the Eleventh was making a valiant effort to stay awake.
His bald-headed assistant was the only one missing – and his briefcase too. Behind every other member of the Twelve, the assistants stood, their suits not seeming so bland any more in a room of deep brown walls and mustard-yellow carpet. Each was poised, attentive. Meanwhile, Estravon moved between them, engaging in quick, whispered conversations while ticking things off a checklist.
“I should have told my dad,” Finn muttered from where they hid behind the rows of stacked chairs.
Emmie didn’t answer. She was still blank, muted. Her father was gone. Finn hadn’t seen her like this before.
“I have to let him know,” Finn said to her, pulling out his phone and hurriedly typing a message.
WEAPON! HOTEL! HURRAY!
He realised his jaunty spelling mistake too late.
At the dance floor, Cedric the Ninth scraped back a chair, stood. His blond assistant made to help, but Cedric waved him away. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
All present fell quiet. Even Estravon let his clipboard drop by his side. There was a sense of something solemn about to take place.
Cedric cleared his throat, phlegm catching in his first words. “Mass forces are darkening,” he said. His assistant leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Yes, yes, I mean, dark forces are massing. Great events are taking shape. We must again rise as warriors.”
He broke into a violent coughing fit, requiring him to sit for a few moments to get his breath back and take a sip of water.
Aurora took over from Cedric, a ripple running through her robes, shaking the scales at her collar, as she lifted her chin and stroked her scar. “It is time to take our most desperate step.”
“Can you see the weapon?” Finn asked Emmie, his face pressed against the back of a chair, watching through its slats.
Emmie simply shook her head, as if hardly hearing the question at all.
Finn sent his father another message.
HOTEL! NOW!
“Bring in the briefcase,” Cedric said, in a loud voice.
A door at the rear of the large room opened and Stumm’s assistant emerged, briefcase in hand, chain still attached to his wrist. Daylight pierced a hole in the curtains, bouncing off his shiny head.
The assistant walked forward, not too fast, not too slow, until he reached the dead centre of the dance floor and lifted the briefcase above his head to display it.
Finn looked anxiously back at the door, hoping his father would burst in at any moment.
Cedric’s blond assistant then stepped forward. Using a small key, he released the cuffs from the bald assistant’s wrists. He in turn placed the briefcase carefully on the floor, front side up.
“Thank you,” Aurora said to the bald assistant. “You have borne that burden for many years. You have slept with this briefcase on your wrist. You have eaten with it by your side. Exercised with it. Bathed. You have carried it in every activity of your life, for every moment of every day for many years. You are now free.”
Rubbing his raw wrist, the bald-headed assistant merely nodded and took his place behind Stumm’s chair.
Finn sent another message to Hugo.
DAD! HURRY!
Cedric the Ninth leaned forward in his chair, assessed the space. “We must avoid the sunlight, for fear of blindness. Pull the curtains tight. Turn off the lights.”
What is this thing? thought Finn, truly nervous now.
Two assistants stepped back to close gaps in the curtains, where the eyes of several curious Half-Hunters were pressed against the window. The last slice of daylight, along with their view of the room, was shut out.
Another assistant left her place and started towards the heaped chairs behind which Finn and Emmie were hiding. It seemed to jolt Emmie, and along with Finn she curled up tight in an attempt to remain unseen. The assistant came close enough that Finn could have pulled the leg of her suit, but she was interested only in the light switches on the wall, her head turned over her shoulder away from them as she watched the bulbs overhead.
She stood on her toes, reached up and pressed a switch.
Disco lights burst into the room. The glitter ball over the dance floor began to twirl. The whole room was briefly a riot of bright flashing colours and sparkles, while the assistant searched desperately for the right switch to kill the lights.
“Sorry,” she said, just as she managed to turn them off, followed by every bulb in the room, so only the muted sunlight of the world outside brightened the shabby walls.
Cedric the Ninth stood shakily, and with the assistance of Aurora the Eleventh walked slowly forward. Reaching the briefcase, each gave the other a look and, duly synchronised, creaked their way into a kneeling position, waving away the twitching anticipation of their assistants.
Together, they placed a thumb on each of the briefcase clasps and, following a last glance to acknowledge the apparent magnitude of what they were about to do, flipped open the locks.
Thunk.
They opened the briefcase and stood up once again.
From inside the case emanated a dull golden glow, filtered through a thin film of blue smoke.
Peeking between the piled-up chairs, Finn couldn’t see what was inside, couldn’t yet make out what it was that was so awesome about its contents. But he could sense everyone in the room exhaling, as if they had only that moment remembered to breathe.
“Sceptre,” said Aurora, like a doctor asking for a scalpel. She held out her hand and waited as her own assistant produced a long rod. Finn couldn’t be sure from where, or whether he had been holding it all along. But at the end of it was a bulbous container, a sphere coated in glimmering jade.
Finn had seen similar things lying around the library. They were not decorated like this, and not handled with such ceremony. This was a Reanimator, used to bring back desiccated creatures – and he began to guess that what might be inside the briefcase was stranger than any weapon he had imagined.
Aurora held the sceptre high so that its point almost pierced the disco ball above her head. Then she spoke, her voice harsh and challenging.
“I must ask the three questions,” she announced.
“Yes,” said every voice in the room. The Twelve, their assistants, Estravon too.
“Are we ready to bring into this world one who long ago left it?” asked Aurora.
“Yes!”
“Are we prepared to condemn to death one who is long dead?”
“Yes!”
“Does anyone in this room object to the action we are about to take?”
“Yes!” shouted Hugo.
He stood at the door to the function room, a dark figure against the blur of daylight behind him. He was heaving for breath, blood smeared on his forehead and a deep bruise rising on his neck from the earlier encounter with Mr Glad. “Darkmouth is my Blighted Village. This is my battle,” he told them. “You cannot do this.”
“It is not your decision to make,” said Aurora, sceptre gripped tight.
Clara arrived in the room behind Hugo, clearly unsure what was going on, but realising it wasn’t going to be good. At that, Finn stood, revealing him
self. Every eye in the room flicked to him, then back to his father. Emmie stood too.
“This can’t happen,” insisted Hugo.
“We gave you a chance,” said Aurora. “But things have gone too far for you. Too far for any of us. Mr Glad will be back, there is no doubt about that, and so there is only one answer to this problem now.”
“You can’t do this,” Hugo said again, but Finn heard the hollowness in his voice. He had never seen his father look so powerless in his own Blighted Village. “Please don’t do this,” he begged.
“We have no choice,” said Aurora.
She lowered the tip of her sceptre, touched the sphere and activated the weapon.
The light was phosphorous-bright, a spitting thunderstorm in the room that Finn had to shelter his eyes from.
It burned out quickly, but the sound did not. It was the cry of someone being dragged from the deepest of sleeps. The noise filled the room. Filled their ears. Haunted them. And just at the point when no one in the room felt they could take it any more …
… it stopped.
As it faded – the light, the noise, the shock – Finn’s eyes took a few moments to adjust, for the flares and after-images to clear and for him to be able to see properly in the dimmed light. Gradually, a figure became apparent. Tall. Broad. As if carved from stone. Standing ready.
Hugo wasn’t looking, though. He had his head down. Shaking it slowly.
This was the weapon. And it was a person.
“Is that …?” Finn heard his mother say.
Finn peered at the figure, silhouetted against the rectangular smudge of light from the curtained window. He began to recognise the features, to figure out who this was—
Someone flipped a switch. The disco lights came on again. The glitter ball began to rotate, throwing diamond shards of brightness around the room.
“What on earth is going on in here?” asked Mrs Cross, incredulous.
No one answered. No one was interested in her.
“Somebody turn those stupid lights off,” spluttered Aurora.
The figure in the middle of the room winced at the sudden intrusion of roving, blinding rainbows. An assistant smacked at the wall and the disco lights wound to a halt, then two spotlights converged to light up a face long gone from this world, a man so terrifying his name had only been spoken in whispers.
Gerald the Disappointed.
“How …?” started Finn, but couldn’t quite get his question out.
Gerald the Disappointed. His great-grandfather. A figure so forceful and fearsome and, well, so thoroughly disappointed that his portrait sent a shudder through you even if you just passed it in the Long Hall.
“Why …?” Finn tried again.
“I don’t believe you brought him back,” Clara said. “Actually, on second thoughts …”
Hugo had simply begun rubbing his stubble with his knuckles – this time hard enough that he was in danger of wearing a path right down to the skin.
Gerald appeared to be adjusting to the light, the air, his very presence in the world.
“The boy didn’t know?” asked Aurora.
Hugo shook his head.
Estravon clearly saw this as an opportunity to show off his knowledge to the gathered crowd of elders and assistants. “Years ago, when the gateways began to close,” he said, “and the Legend Hunters were not needed like before, it became clear that we were facing a crisis unlike any other.”
“We became weak,” said Aurora, “ill-prepared, inexperienced. So many Half-Hunters had to get jobs.”
“It was obvious that, should there ever be an invasion, we would be woefully underprepared for anything other than counting the dead,” said Estravon. “So, an operation was put in place, a secret weapon devised, something that could be used in case of emergency. It was called Operation Hardball.”
Hugo stepped in, perhaps in an effort to show he still had some control. “They desiccated the Legend Hunters of various Blighted Villages, Finn,” he said. “Including here in Darkmouth.”
Only now beginning to understand what was going on, Finn’s eyes moved from his father, to Gerald, and back again.
“I never really told you what happened to your great-grandfather,” Hugo continued. “You just presumed he died years ago. I didn’t give you any reason to think otherwise. But that’s not what happened at all. Instead—”
“They desiccated him,” concluded Clara.
Face ruddy and cracked, Gerald blinked, trying to get his vision back. Finally, he growled. “This had better be worth it.”
The medical assistant stepped forward, carrying a small torch and a doctor’s bag. She tentatively approached Gerald, who wore old-fashioned armour, spikes at the shoulders, spikes at the knees, a spike on the toe of each boot. The assistant shone the torch first in his ears, then moved to wave the beam at his eyes, but he shot her a look that stopped her dead. She turned to Cedric for some guidance, then, apparently deciding the examination could wait, stepped back again.
“What idiot has allowed Darkmouth to become so threatened as to need me?” asked Gerald, intolerance dripping from every word.
“Well …” said Cedric.
Hugo stood forward, chin up. “I will answer that.”
Gerald peered at him, as if trying to place him, or to recall a face from the distant past. Finally, it dawned on him who this was. “So, it is you, my grandson Hugo. All grown up,” he said, without a trace of sentiment. “I would say it was good to be home, but if you have brought me back the place must be a mess.”
“I’ve protected Darkmouth long enough without you,” said Hugo, refusing to be cowed by him.
“Ah yes, that’s why you reanimated me,” sneered Gerald. “To tell me it’s all just fine and not to worry about a pretty little thing.”
“It was not my idea to bring you back,” said Hugo.
“It was ours,” said Estravon, gulping. “Under the emergency protocols established through section 7G of the …”
“It’s strange,” said Gerald, glaring at Estravon, “but I hear someone talking as if they’re a Legend Hunter, yet they’re wearing a suit that looks like it was designed by hyperactive children.”
Estravon retreated, chastened.
“I didn’t tell you to stop talking,” Gerald barked at him.
Estravon stepped forward again.
“Things have changed since you’ve been gone,” he said in a nervous voice. “Darkmouth is now the last Blighted Village left. We brought you back because we are facing something different from the usual Legends. We seem to be dealing with one of the Trapped. And he, in turn, is making people disappear. He also seems to be counting down to something. Something bad, we assume.”
Gerald didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention to Finn. Immediately, Finn wanted him to switch his attention somewhere else, because it was deeply uncomfortable. “You remind me of someone,” Gerald said. “Someone I never want to see again.”
“That is Finn,” said Hugo. “My son. Your great-grandson, the latest in our long line of Legend Hunters—”
“That would be why he looks like Niall Blacktongue,” said Gerald, unimpressed. “How old are you, boy? You look barely able to dress yourself, let alone fight.”
Finn felt heat rise in his cheeks, but his courage fought through, pushing aside his instinctive need to shrivel up in front of this man. “I’ve been to the Infested Side,” said Finn, just about forcing the words out. “And I survived. Dad too. He was there for over two weeks.”
“What?” said Gerald.
“Finn has already done more than you or I have in our entire lives,” said Hugo, eyes narrow. This was no happy reunion of long-lost relatives.
“What age are you?” demanded Gerald of Finn. “Eight, maybe nine years old?”
“I’ll be thirteen tomorrow,” Finn replied, hurt.
“No, you’re younger than that,” insisted Gerald.
“He’s going to be made Complete tonight,” said Hugo.
“We’ve to see what happens first,” Estravon pointed out.
“That is not your decision to make,” Hugo informed him sharply.
“You fought on the Infested Side?” Gerald asked Finn.
“Yes. Well, I didn’t fight exactly, but we were both there.” Finn jabbed a thumb at Emmie. She pushed her hair back, sadness still hanging from every gesture.
“Yes,” said Gerald, “I can imagine the girl doing it. She’s older. Stronger.”
“We’re the same age!” said Finn.
“But you, boy, I’m not so sure.” Gerald looked around for someone to complain to. “I need some water. Has no one noticed I’ve been a dried husk for decades?”
The blond assistant went to get some water and, as he left, Gerald finally focused on Clara. “Are you Hugo’s wife?” he asked, suspicious.
“I am Clara, yes,” she answered, and Finn could see that she was using the very polite, very cold voice she employed when trying to stop herself from shouting at rude patients. She held out her hand to shake his. He didn’t respond.
Every member of the Twelve and their assistants were watching this unfold, like it was a play on a stage. Estravon was half wincing at the impending clash. Finn just wanted a Legend or something to invade to break the tension.
“What is your Legend Hunter lineage?” demanded Gerald. “How far back does your family go? What Blighted Village? Who have you defeated?”
“Well—” she started.
“When did you become Complete?”
“Actually—”
“What scars do you have?”
“I am not a Legend Hunter,” she finally blurted out.
Gerald snapped his head back at this. “You’re not Complete yet? At your age?”
“Excuse me?” said Clara, insulted.
“What’s the delay?” asked Gerald, taken aback. “Why don’t you just get on with it?”
Clara was clearly deeply offended by this and now in no mood for putting up with such insults, but Hugo interjected on her behalf as she opened her mouth to tell Gerald what to do with his questions.
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