“Jonny, are you all right?”
“A world better than I was, but a street or two away from perfik.”
Lucy shot Ned a look. The sin-eater wasn’t even on the map, let alone anywhere near a street.
“Jonny, you should be resting. My powers can only do so much,” urged Lucy.
“Your gifts worked just fine, child, it’s the inks and the nightmares they hold that’s troublin’ me. Anyways, if I were laid up in my bunk, I’d be missing all the fun.”
Ned couldn’t help but stare. As always, the kindly sin-eater tried to hide behind his smile. But there was no hiding from the truth. The things he’d seen and done in the service of the Circus of Marvels, the aid he’d given Lucy and Ned – they had proved too much.
In the room next door a gong sounded. “The Circus of Marvels, to present their plan!” announced a voice.
“I say, old bean, I think we’re on, but where’s Benissimo?” rumbled George.
The Ringmaster had still not returned.
“Ahem, gentlemen, lady. We are about to begin – please come through,” said a polite steward at the door.
“I’m terribly sorry, old chum, but, you see, we’re rather down on numbers. Our Ringmaster—”
“Will have to join us when he arrives.” This time the steward’s tone was one that would clearly brook no further argument.
Ned froze. The Viceroy had been quite clear: both Benissimo and Madame Oublier were going to be vital if they were to convince the Hidden leaders of their plan.
Jonny managed a pained smile, though Ned sensed that in this particular instant, it was one born out of pity.
“Ned, Lucy. Beyond those doors are the gathered representatives of most every faction of de fair-folk and its beasts – those that have made it here, that is.” Jonny paused to catch his breath. “Based on what you tell them, they will decide whether to follow our plan – to mount an attack and distract Barba while you teleport to the weapon – or whether to sit aside and hide. Just tell them what you know. Bene and the Prime will join us soon enough.”
Ned looked to Lucy, who was turning a very faint shade of green.
“What is it about this side of the Veil and everything always being up to us?” she fumed.
“It’s always the best that get tested, dear, on either side of anywhere,” answered George with a grin, before clapping his spade-like hands across both of his young wards’ backs. “I’m afraid that whether you like it or not, you two are the best there is of all of us.”
The gong sounded again.
Breathe, thought Ned. And he would have loved to, though in that precise moment he couldn’t for the life of him remember how.
Friendly Talks?
hat struck Ned most about the room was not the vast oil paintings depicting the city’s glorious roots, or the sheer size of the marble war table at its centre. It was the abundant number of empty seats and the look of complete unease on those that were actually present. His hopes of the Hidden’s full support in rescuing his dad and stopping the Darkening King abruptly faltered.
“Is this it?” he whispered.
“It will have to do,” said Jonny Magik softly.
The sin-eater knew better than to show his disappointment to an already tense room and set about explaining to Ned in a hushed tone who the attendees actually were. Even sitting as he did so, the poor man looked close to passing out.
At the far end of the table – though you wouldn’t have known it from his pungent odour – was Ursus, king of the Bear-clan. Three of his chieftains towered over his seated and hunched back. They were great hulking brutes of fur, belly and muscle. Opposite them were the Wolf-pack and their leader – a white-haired alpha named Klur. He was pulling the meat off a haunch of deer noisily and eyed the rest of the room with almost as much disdain as his bear-born cousins. Between them the antlered chair of the herd remained empty.
“King Antlor’s absence is a blow to our cause, he’s always bin more agreeable than the rest of his kin.”
The representatives of Gearnish were notably absent, though to no one’s surprise. High-Elf Willo’wood was being chaperoned by a party of bowmen and eyed the gathering of dwarves beside her mistrustfully.
The Shar of Shalazaar had been a suspected ally of Barbarossa ever since Ned had seen his coat of arms on the butcher’s ship. Nothing as yet had been proved, though. Feigning some sort of illness, the Shar had sent one of his “purses”, a high office amongst the banking kind that saw to the Hidden’s economy. Delphin Obrek was covered from head to toe in gold make-up and jewellery, as was the custom with his rank. He was an obese, clean-shaven man, who looked irritatingly bored by his surroundings, and busied himself with a constant stream of orders so that he might be made more comfortable.
“Look, child, not all is lost,” wheezed the sin-eater. “There’s The Hammer.”
Ned had heard about him. The man’s real name was Atticus Fife. He was always sent by Madame Oublier when events needed a firm hand. A renowned strategist and “tin-skin”, so named for the ability to change his flesh to metal at will, his presence alone gave Ned a small sliver of encouragement.
Sitting directly opposite Ned were the Fey and their yet-to-be King. Prince Aurelin had slanted golden eyes, which he never took off Ned, hair that floated up instead of hanging down, the wings of a silver beetle, and was sitting on a pile of green velvet cushions, useful for a prince roughly the size of a cat.
Not one of the Fey were the same, such was the wonder of their magic. Beside the prince stood a six-foot, slender figure, thighs as slim as Ned’s wrists, part leaf and part woman, with a voice that sounded like windchimes. On the table beside his prince was Aurelin’s bodyguard. The root-haired creature was no larger than Ned’s thumb and rode on the back of a guinea pig. Amongst the Fey, size had little to do with strength, to which the bodyguard’s proud glare was testament.
Amongst the others were trolls from Skurlund, dryads from the Canadian lakes and a contingent of nymphs from the outskirts of Kyoto in Japan. Crow-feathered Native Americans sat beside satyrs, sprites and a single Unicorn from the ancient forests of Poland. Jonny Magik estimated two thirds of the old alliance were present, although of those Ned wondered how many would actually lend their support.
The Viceroy was brimming with bravado as he entered the hall, though Ned was quite sure he must have noticed that both Benissimo and Madame Oublier were missing. He was either impossibly ignorant of the room’s strained atmosphere, or playing the part of politician to a T.
“Is the table ready?” he began.
“Aye,” they rumbled.
“Events can no longer be ignored. The Darkening King is not only real, but as of last night Barbarossa has the means to raise him. If we stand aside, the Hidden and the entire world as we know it will be destroyed. If we pursue war, we will be crushed.” A ripple of dismay in the room. “But there is a third way. Benissimo and the boy here have a plan. We must decide here and now whether to help them. Ned, in Bene’s absence, would you kindly explain your idea?”
All eyes turned to Ned and he felt himself visibly shrink. Atticus Fife cleared his throat and gave him an expectant stare.
“Well, boy, you have the ears of the Hidden, or at least a good many of them. What say you?”
Ned stood up slowly. His shadow uttered no “Unt” and Whiskers on Lucy’s lap not so much as a “scree”. The room was completely silent.
“I … erm.”
Cups and Saucers
adame Oublier had been given an entire wing in the Viceroy’s palace. A summons from her might often be the precursor to a reprimand, but Benissimo knew her better than that. She had always turned to him for counsel, being, despite appearances, many years his junior, and the Ringmaster knew that with the right words he could count on her support.
Fi and Fo, the two dwarves who had escorted Madame Oublier to Hyde Park, stood guard at her door.
“Weapons?” grunted Fo.
“Do I look stupid
enough to visit the Prime with a weapon?”
“What d’you call that, then, eh?” said Fi, pointing suspiciously at Benissimo’s whip.
“Just a prop for my show.”
“A prop, is it? Sorry, but we’ve all heard about your famous whip – as I hear it, it’s alive. Come on, hand it over,” said Fo with an outstretched arm.
“Fine, but if you treat it badly, I’ll have your little hides.”
Benissimo entered Madame Oublier’s rooms, to the smell of roasted chestnuts and the warm glow of a burning fire. She could not have looked more exhausted, and her familiar, a spindly-looking thing with more legs than arms, carried great stacks of paperwork to a writing desk beside her.
“Bene, sank goodness you’re here. I can take a break from all zis confounded scribbling.”
“Your summons gave me little choice, Madame O, though I was making ready to come see you anyway.”
“Indeed, old friend, a storm has gathered over our flock, and ze wolves are at ze gate.” She turned to her familiar and patted him on the head. “You must leave us now, Irifus, even your beloved lugholes must not hear what I am about to say.”
The familiar’s skin changed to amber and its lengthy ears pinned back to the side of its head.
“You needn’t worry, Benissimo is our most trusted friend.”
The loyal familiar evaporated into thin air.
“Irifus is far too protective, but his coffee is quite sublime,” said Madame O with a smile.
Now they were alone, the Ringmaster took a seat beside her and she began.
“Bene, I heard about the Guardian. I am sorry. I believed it would help; I did not think …”
“Not your fault,” said Bene. “The thief turned it, somehow. Tinks thinks he used a ticker of some kind.”
“Ze same way our eyes were plucked and turned against us?”
“Yes, Madame.”
She sighed. “Ze return of your brother has brave men quaking in their beds. Old allies are hiding in the shadows – too frightened to come forward, and those that have are being murdered for showing their support.”
“Carrion?”
“Too many incidents for one man. Gearnish is lost to us and ze Darkling horde making ready for war. My own council squabbles behind the folds of their tents and the Hidden, the Hidden are frightened. I have seen ze outcome of ze talks here, Bene. There will be no agreement. They will end in utter failure.”
“Then we are lost.”
“Yes, dear Bene, like a soldier who has lost his sword.”
Benissimo’s moustache rippled.
“Madame, I did not come here for words of defeat from you! There is still hope.”
“I see no hope in zis weapon, zis city of gold or ze creature your brother will unleash. I see,” the Farseer shuddered. “I see only darkness.”
“Even without the others behind us, we can still stop it from being launched. The boy managed a teleportation, there’s still time.”
Oublier placed a firm hand on the Ringmaster’s arm.
“Bene, heed my words. My coven of Farseers see great danger in this. The girl child is not yet in control of her sight and like ze boy, the breadth of her power is as yet unknown. We see only chaos, cold and cruel, should poor Master Ned go to his father, and the weapon.”
But Benissimo would not be swayed.
“What choice do we have? What choice does Ned have, besides letting his parents die? With enough airships I could launch a surprise attack before Terrence finishes his work, distract Barba and his forces, maybe even weaken them significantly, while Ned teleports in. We owe them at least that much.’
Oublier loosened her grip and leant back in her chair.
“How many ships?”
“As many as you can spare.”
“The minutian who escaped Gearnish, the one you spoke to – he talked of a great force, an army and a fleet of ships, casualties will be high. Zis is a dangerous gamble, Bene, with your life and ze lives of my men.”
“A surprise attack and the Twelve behind me? I can do it, Madame, if you but let me try.”
The Prime’s exhaustion grew heavy on her face and for a moment the Ringmaster wondered if the support he’d been so sure of would bear him fruit.
“Very well, you shall have your ships, but be careful of ze children, Bene. Where their powers might take them, no one truly knows.”
“You have my word, old friend.”
“And no word has ever been more true. See to it that you come back alive. Should you succeed, your brother will need rooting out, ze head of ze snake cutting. I fear it will fall to you and Atticus to do zat cutting.”
Benissimo’s shoulders dropped and he tipped his hat theatrically. “A stronger ally than your Hammer I could not ask for.”
“Indeed. Atticus is a fine strategist, though his procurement of ze Guardian could not have turned out worse. He had been quite adamant zat it had come from a reliable source.”
“I thought you supplied it, Madame?”
“I brought it on ze Mirabelle, but it was Atticus who first insisted on the need of such a thing. Even before ze boy’s parents were taken.”
Her voice trailed off. It dawned on the Farseer, a woman who could read the future, that her Hammer, her right-hand man, had known about Ned’s impending trouble before the trouble had actually started.
“Dear Lord, Bene, I’ve been so blind!”
But as she said it, the Farseer’s face blanched and the cup of coffee that she had been sipping from dropped to the floor.
“Madame!”
Benissimo watched in horror as the old lady paled. In front of him, his friend and ally was visibly drowning in her chair, as though no air could reach her lungs. Whatever poison had been placed in her drink would not let her go, not until its job was done.
“Run,” she murmured.
With a flash of white light the Farseer, Madame Oublier, Prime of the Twelve and Benissimo’s last great hope, was no more.
“No, dammit, no!” he yelled.
The Ringmaster was not one for the shedding of tears, not even for a friend. He had simply lost too many friends to remember how. As he raised himself up, he was joined by the voices of Fi, Fo and Madame Oublier’s Master-at-Arms.
“Murderer!” shouted the dwarves.
“This wasn’t my doing, you fools!”
But the Master-at-Arms saw no one else in the room – only Benissimo, bent over his lifeless Prime.
“Seize him!”
As the dwarves charged, Benissimo’s whip unravelled itself from Fo’s waist and snapped tightly round both of the dwarves’ feet, sending them to the floor in a crash of floundering bodies. Benissimo held out his arm and his loyal weapon sprang to his hand; with a swipe of his other arm, a smoke rune flew at the Master and Benissimo charged out through the doorway.
A throng of the Viceroy’s knights had heard the cries and were approaching with drawn weapons.
“STOP THAT MAN!” coughed the Master-at-Arms.
And the throng closed in.
Allies and Enemies
rder! Order!” spat the Viceroy, but the ears he’d called to had lost the ability to hear.
Ned watched as the great hall descended into chaos. He and Lucy had told them, with Jonny Magik’s help, everything they knew. Half an hour had passed and still the room squabbled. Some of them still clamoured to wait it out till their armies were ready, others wanted proof that if they launched a diversion, Lucy could use her Sight to find the weapon, and – the part they were most sceptical about – Ned could teleport to the weapon and successfully disable it.
“A demonstration! Show us, boy!” came a roar to their left.
Whiskers promptly disappeared under the great hall’s table and Lucy grabbed Ned’s arm. Her face looked stricken, and in truth, Ned wasn’t ready. He would need to concentrate, to focus, and here and now that would be impossible.
“Sirs,” breathed Jonny, who was now as much weakened by their ranting as the
sickness that crawled on his skin. “The feat itself takes concentration and preparation in equal measure. This is neither the time nor place.”
But he was drowned out by a mistrustful heckling as those either unable or too frightened to believe the Circus’s claims made themselves heard. Ned felt the room shrinking, along with any hope of their desperately needed aid. Where was Benissimo?!
“Order! Order!” urged a now-desperate Viceroy. “We are getting nowhere. I call for a vote. A Yay or Nay, sirs, Yay or Nay.”
High-Elf Willo’wood was the first to speak.
“United, yes, we would offer our bows and the ships to carry them, but like this? Better to go to our forests and quiet places to ride out the storm, at least until we see how hard it blows.”
She was followed up immediately by Prince Aurelin of the Fey.
“We are here to watch the dance, the merriment of words. We have no airships for this plan of yours and if the weapon is readied, it matters not. Fight or not fight, the outcome is the same. We Fey do not need your Veil to stay hidden and we have yet to hear how this Darkening King will harm our realm. We do not say no or yes, not until the song is sung.”
At the top of his seat, a swarm of butterflies clapped their wings in silent applause. With each response the initially buoyant Viceroy looked increasingly forlorn.
“So much for politicking,” breathed Lucy.
Not everyone was against them. The nymphs from Japan nodded in wordless support and a representative of troll mercenaries said that they would help but only after an aerial assault. Of everyone, the most vocal was Atticus Fife.
“The Twelve and its pinstripes are at the room’s disposal. However, we must be sure that the child can carry out the feat. Without proof, I see no course other than to call for a no-vote. And tell me, why is it that Benissimo – the one voice that could lend weight to their claims – is not here?”
There were loud mutterings across the table and all eyes went to Ned and his companions. Ned was flabbergasted. What was Oublier’s Hammer doing?! It looked like Fife was actually working against them! Ned’s parents didn’t have time for this nonsense – and nor did anyone, if the Darkening King came back! How could they not see that?
The Gold Thief Page 21
