The Gold Thief
Page 28
One thing was clear, though: Ned and Lucy were inextricably linked to the Darkening King’s return and, though they had yet to tell anyone other than the sin-eater, the creature had spoken to both of them. Their gifts could still play a vital role in the events to come and anyone connected to them could now face terrible danger.
Ned and his family had decided to go off the radar. No one, not even their remaining friends amongst the Hidden, would have any contact with the Armstrongs. But before doing so, there were two last bits of business that needed to be taken care of: Gummy and Arch.
***
Three days later, it took a particularly powerful glamour conjured by the Viceroy’s most gifted magician to hide George from prying eyes.
What the world at large would have seen on the streets of Grittlesby was an aged and rather tubby-looking postman. Next to him was Lucy, pretending to be a lost girl looking for directions.
Ned nodded to them both as he walked slowly up the hill to the common, with Whiskers perched quietly on his shoulder and his mum and dad to the left and right of him.
“Are you sure you want to do this, son?”
“Barba has put a contract on our heads. They might not know me now but they will remember, in time. It’s the only way.”
Of the three of them, no one knew he was more right than Olivia Armstrong.
“He’s right, Terry – if anything, all our years of hiding are proof.”
And that’s when Ned let them fall behind and walked up to Gummy and Arch. It was Saturday morning and they’d been playing football in their usual spot. They were sitting on a bench and gorging themselves on Mrs Johnston’s home-made brownies.
“Hello,” started Ned.
“Err, hello?” said Gummy, who raised an eyebrow and looked over to Arch.
It was a strange thing to be so utterly forgotten. Even though Ned had known they wouldn’t recognise him, and had prepared himself over and over, the reality of it hurt even more than he’d been expecting, especially in view of what he was about to do.
“You guys go to St Cuthbert’s?”
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“I’m from Broadly, in Clucton. I think we played each other last term?”
His two best friends (from the josser side of the Veil) peered at him suspiciously and then their faces went blank.
“I don’t remember you,” said Arch.
“Me neither,” agreed Gummy.
And there it was: as far as they were concerned, he did not and had never existed. At least for now. With a lump in his throat, Ned pulled the metal tube from his jacket pocket and turned the dial on its side to “10”.
“Well, the thing is, I wasn’t in the match, I was on the sidelines waiting to go on. But I had this flute and I was practising a tune on it. Why don’t I play it for you?”
Which was when the conversation became distinctly awkward.
“You want to play us a song?” sniggered Arch. “Err, OK, if it makes you happy?”
At which point Gummy elbowed him in the ribs.
“You’ll love it, Arch, it’s magic,” said Ned.
“Hey, how do you know my name?”
Ned answered by getting down on his knees and blowing through the de-rememberer. The music, which had no notes at all, was all the sadder for it.
A minute later a shaken Ned joined his parents for the walk back to George the Mighty and Lucy, who to all the world still looked like a postman and a teenage girl, which at least in Lucy’s case was the truth.
“You’re a good friend, Ned. To all of us,” rumbled George.
“That was a lot harder than I was expecting.”
At this, George produced what looked like a small compass.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a new invention, the Tinker thought it might come in handy. Works on a particularly high frequency, picks up the kind of stuff a dog or cat might sense. He calls it a ‘perometer’.”
It still looked very much to Ned like a compass, although it was missing the symbols showing north, south, east and west. Instead it had a single silver arrow, which was currently turning languidly and in no particular direction.
“From periculum; Latin for ‘danger’. If it points solidly in one direction, you go the other way.”
“What if I want to seek out danger, George, what happens then?”
“Well, I suppose you ignore it, old bean.”
Ned looked up at his friend and hugged his arm.
“I’m not happy about this, not in the slightest bit,” continued the ape.
“I know, George, but you’re too – well, you’re just too big to come with us. Those men in grey suits are still looking for us and Atticus is still sending out the pinstripes that have sided with him. If we want to stay off the radar, a giant gorilla is not the way to do it. Besides, you still have some healing to do and the Viceroy will need your brains and your arms. I’ll be in touch soon, I promise.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“Nothing’s the same, George, not any more.”
Despite his wounded shoulder, George gave Ned the kind of hug that isn’t easily forgotten.
“Oww!”
“Sorry, old chap, for everything,” and with that a portly-looking postman stopped following his ward and turned away so that Ned wouldn’t see his tears.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,” said Lucy, who had just said her farewells to Ned’s mum and dad. “And you watch out for Whiskers, OK?”
“He still hasn’t forgiven me, you know,” said Ned.
The Debussy Mark Twelve looked up from his shoulder and stuck out its tongue. By Ned’s feet came the familiar oozing of Gorrn.
“Gorrn, you know familiars can be fired, right?”
“Arr?” mumbled the shadow hopefully.
“Take Whiskers and go help Mum and Dad with the bags, will you? You never know, I might even consider ‘letting you go’.”
A somewhat more buoyant Gorrn waited for the scampering mouse, then did as he was told. Prying ears taken care of, Ned turned back to Lucy. “I can still hear it sometimes, you know, but it’s different. Like it’s there but waiting for something.”
Lucy grimaced.
“Me too. When you broke the weapon, you wounded it, but I don’t think we’ve heard the last. I think it’s going to come looking for us.”
“Not if I find it first.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can say to talk you out of this?”
“Carrion told me that the Armstrongs are good at hiding from the Hidden. The truth is, we’re the best. Barba’s got his creature, and I freed the thing, it was my ring that provided the spark.”
“I helped you get there, Ned, and it wasn’t your fault.”
“Either way, I’m going to finish what I started.”
“You just need to find out where it is, Ned. As soon as you do, send word and we’ll come. We’re not what we were, but the Hidden still have the Viceroy to lead them.”
Lucy kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Stay safe.”
“You too, Lucy.”
“And remember—”
“I know, I know, I’ve got you and you’ve got me – I’m not sure which is worse,” grinned Ned.
And with that Ned Armstrong, his mother, father, familiar and mouse walked away in search of a butcher and a King.
The Voice
he Central Intelligence looked to Barbarossa with eyes that weren’t eyes. Its brain clattered noisily with anticipation. So many furnaces had raged, so many factories been built, and the machine that would raise the Darkening King lay broken. Until the final moment, all had gone to plan. Atticus had brought the mirror to St Albertsburg just as promised, and the Armstrong boy released the spark of power that they’d needed to fire up the weapon’s great engines. The Central Intelligence had run his code a thousand times, the probabilities had always been calculated as certain, and yet the two Engineers breaking At-lan had not been fores
een.
Now only one thing remained: when would the Darkening King rise? And how badly had the boy and his father hurt the Demon?
“Tell me, tzk, are you – bzzt, there?”
Barbarossa sat immobile in his chair, his great arms flat on the top of the metal table. His mouth was slack and his eyes filled with an inky black till their whites were completely gone. It was always the same when the old one came to him. At last Barbarossa spoke, not with his own voice but with the voice inside his head. It came like a call of trumpets and the grinding of rocks.
“I aM WeEAKEnED. THe BOyy ANd hiSs FAthERr hAVvE hArmMED MeE.”
“What, t’ching, do you – dzzt, need?”
“CoMmE tO mE iN THe OLd pLAaCE. BuilLD meE a fORTREssS AnD WAiitT tiLL I aM wHOole.”
Oil oozed noisily from the machine-mind’s jaws and the eyes that weren’t eyes brightened.
“You – dzt – shall have it, t’ching.”
“ThEre iS MOrRrE.”
“Bzzdt?”
“KillL ThEmM, KilLL tHe ARMSTRoNGS. KIiLL AalLL oF ThEM.”
EPILOGUE
he man being questioned was not sure which city the bunker was housed in. He was not even sure what country they had taken him to. In the corner of the room was a small camera set to record every word. Mr Fox and Mr Badger needed to gather information, that much had been made clear to them. What had not been made clear was that, despite their training, what they were about to learn would frighten them, would make them scared to turn out the lights. That was the nature of monsters and magic, and of the Veil behind which they hid.
The man paused.
He had forgotten how many lifetimes he’d spent avoiding this day. How hard he’d fought to keep the Hidden a secret from the outside world. But needs must, and he needed very dearly. The truth was, they all did, on either side of the Veil.
“Well, Mr Fox, are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes, I think we are all ready,” said Mr Fox politely, nodding very briefly to the camera on the wall. “January 16th. Subject: B – Marvel. 6.55 am.”
Benissimo suspected that though Mr Fox and the heads of state he represented were not in fact at all ready, it didn’t really matter.
Ready or not, he feared, the Darkening King was coming.
“Then I’ll begin.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are too many people at HarperCollins to thank here properly. As a new author it is all an enormous learning curve and I couldn’t be in better hands. I would like to thank Nick Lake, who has managed to make my mad ramblings a little less mad, whilst always somehow managing to make me smile. Apart from taking on the challenge of this book, he’s also just a disarmingly nice man. Lily Morgan has been instrumental in beating the earlier version of these pages into shape and her ability to argue over whether cities should or shouldn’t float is as astounding as it is brilliant.
I don’t need to acknowledge my wife because that’s just ridiculous. This book simply wouldn’t exist without everything that she does and continues to do. I would, however, like to thank just about everyone I know, from my family, both by blood and by marriage, to my friends. The depth of their encouragement and kindness has done nothing but startle me from beginning to end.
Last and by no means least, I would like to thank my children. The light that they shine without ever being asked knows no bounds and these pages would be empty without them.
About the Author
JUSTIN FISHER has been a designer, illustrator and animator for both film and television. He has designed title sequences for several Hollywood films, branded music TV channels and has worked extensively in advertising. But after many years of helping to tell other people’s stories, he is now following a lifelong passion and writing his own. Justin lives with his wife and three young children in London. He has never worked in a circus but he can juggle. Sort of.
Books by Justin Fisher
NED’S CIRCUS OF MARVELS
NED’S CIRCUS OF MARVELS: THE GOLD THIEF
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