by Scott Monk
‘Wark! Wark! Wark! My, isn’t Prime Minister Pasquale quite happy tonight, children. I think he’s eaten more food than even his big belly can store. Then again, politicians never go to bed feeling empty – only the taxpayers who voted them in.’
A drum ba-boomed in the background and the audience laughed. Before the Prime Minister could challenge the Vulture, six marines streamed onstage and starred in a comedy routine of their own making. They chased Pasquale round the plaza until he tripped over his orange robes and crashed – bells and all – next to the popcorn seller. Finally, he was hauled to his feet and escorted away, much to everyone’s relief. Beside him, Michael felt Oriana sigh.
He asked her if she was okay when a clap of thunder struck. He cringed, worried about a repeat of the mega-storm, but, bizarrely, found the skies clear. Other onlookers shared his nervousness – then lightning flashed. It blazed bright blue from one rooftop to the next before two bolts collided and showered everyone with sparks. Fear turned to celebration as everyone looked up at an electric sign throbbing with the number 300. Another massive lightning bolt exploded in the middle of the plaza. When the smoke cleared, a tall man in a cloak strolled forward with a tap, tap, tap.
‘The black harlequin!’ a young girl in a cat mask whispered fifty metres away.
He swivelled upon hearing his name, pointed his ebony cane at her, raised his other hand and snapped his fingers. In a blink, the central plaza fell dark. Seconds later, more lightning flashed and he materialised right in front of the same girl!
‘Bravo!’ the crowd shouted. ‘Encore!’
The black harlequin had one more trick. Spying to the left, then to the right, he twirled his cane, tapped it on the flagstones once –
Twice –
Three times before –
Fwooosh!
– he vanished in a puff of smoke. Stunned, the crowd searched for him across the plaza until a spotlight powered up and traced the length of the clock tower. At its top stood the black harlequin, waving his three-cornered hat and throwing down handfuls of candy.
‘C’mon, Lancelot,’ Samantha said above the cheers, tugging on Michael’s cloak. ‘Show’s over. Say good-night to your girlfriend. We’ve got to find Luke.’
‘Trouble?’ Oriana called out as they parted.
‘It’s what we’re good at,’ he yelled back.
22
Now that looked suspicious. It wasn’t Mr Goode Deed but someone just as evasive. Luke scrambled along the rooftop of the palace and shadowed a thief sneaking among the rose bushes of the royal grounds. The man wore a hooded cloak stitched from animal skins, shouldered a heavy sack and moved as if sporting a sprained ankle. Spooked by the sudden applause drifting from the main plaza where the harlequins held court, the thief hurried to a sea wall, double-checked he hadn’t been spotted then dropped into a waiting boat. With the marines busy policing the tricentennial celebrations, it was an easy getaway.
Luke trained his night vision on the man, who rowed to a small outlying island that harboured a mix of middle-class homes and light industry. The thief grabbed the sack, covered his boat with a tarpaulin then broke into a dilapidated shipbuilding yard by scrambling an electronic lock. Within seconds, Luke touched down a safe distance away and followed him inside.
Despite its appearance, the warehouse was still operational. Giant mining trucks and drilling equipment were parked next to a dividing wall of wooden crates stacked to the roof. Maps were unfurled on a wide desk, pinned down by speakers covered in tropical mud and kapok leaves. And most importantly, on a computer keyboard, he spotted another dead man’s ring.
Luke crept between shelves of spare parts, oil and tools, before hiding behind a bulldozer. In front of him, the unsuspecting thief lit a lantern and scoured the crates until he discovered the encircled symbol of a howling wild dog. Unable to prise one open, he disappeared to the rear of the warehouse to search for a crowbar. Luke was ready to scurry across the room and follow him, when his visor fizzled. Glancing round, he discovered the source of the interference: pebbles stuck like warts to the scoop of the bulldozer, which had been pummelled and smashed. He tried picking off one, only to have it snap back with a metal ping. He shone his flashlight closer and reeled. Magnetic rock. Specifically, widow rock. The same stuff found at the Broken Isles.
But how? Wasn’t travel to the Western Seas banned?
The question almost cost him his life. Suddenly, an engine rumbled from the rear of the warehouse and a long-necked excavator ploughed through the crates. Luke leapt to safety as several almost crushed him. He quickly regained his feet, only to have the heavy bucket swing straight at him! Urgently, he hit his thrusters and blasted out of reach of the excavator, which missed and slammed into the wall, shattering the windows.
The thief jumped from the cabin and hobbled through the front door. Luke landed and pursued him, leaving behind scattered boots, toys and clothes.
Bright beams of light flashed about them as they raced through the streets. The lone marine guarding the nearest watchtower had heard the noise and swivelled his searchlight. With a star ranger and a soldier now chasing him, the lame thief had no option but to abandon his boat. Panicking, he threw aside a grate and plunged into a dark hole.
Luke hesitated on the top rung. In the open, his flying gave him an advantage over the thief. But in these old service tunnels, he’d be vulnerable. This was confirmed twelve metres underground in the dankness when his radar showed no readings. He switched to night vision again and chased after the ringing footfalls.
He was quickly rewarded. Weighed down by his loot, the thief dropped his sack and kept running. Luke opened it, expecting to find money, silver or even jewellery. Instead, to his surprise, he recovered flour, jam, seeds, matches, blankets, books and smashed eggs. He opened a book, searching for clues, only to find it full of arithmetic. Who would steal that?
He resumed the hunt, zigzagging right then left then right again, bouncing off concrete walls and ducking under pipes. The tunnel straightened and the floor dipped. Droplets falling from the ceiling tasted of saltwater, and for the first time he realised he was running under the harbour. Spurred on by images of billions of litres caving on top of him, he zoomed his visor on the thief struggling to run at any great speed. This should be easy, Luke thought. He aimed at the man and fired his thrusters, only to lift too high and slam into the roof! He crash-landed into the water, grazing both hands and cheeks. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! There’s not enough room to fly! Use your feet!
The tunnel sloped upwards again and connected to the capital island. The overhead pipes widened and slithered down dozens of new passageways, which the thief clearly knew. He disappeared into one and Luke kept pace, fighting off a stitch. Bang! He ran into a chain-link gate. Argh! He backtracked but lost valuable time.
Electric bulbs flashed by and Luke turned off his visor. Ahead of them, an open metal door reverberated with pipes, pistons, shouting – and thunder? A roaring crowd answered his question. The central plaza! It was right above them.
The thief barged into an underground chamber hot with steam. Mechanics turned round as Luke continued his chase, jumping over cables and dodging generators. From above, a trapdoor collapsed and the black harlequin almost fell on top of him. Twenty metres away, a lever was thumped, and, dressed identically in black, a stunt double rocketed up a platform to the top of the clock tower. ‘You there!’ a mechanic shouted. ‘This is a restricted area!’
Luke didn’t have time for explanations. He charged out the opposite door and – too late! – the thief was gone.
Beaten, Luke collapsed against a wall and sighed. The tunnel split in five directions and, with no clues or energy left, he accepted defeat. As more cheering echoed from above, he rewound his visor’s recording and searched for a glimpse of the man’s face. Waitaminute. It couldn’t be! What was he doing stealing from the palace?
Marching boots caught him off guard and he hurriedly merged into the shadows. Luckily, they turned
west, unaware of his presence.
‘Don’t you know who I am?’ an older man’s voice demanded in an excited ramble. ‘You will lose your hides for this! I’ll personally tell the Queen herself!’
‘Pasquale?’ Luke whispered.
The protests trailed off as the trio marched deeper into the tunnels. Luke followed them until they knocked on then entered a heavy metal door with a peephole. Now that was weird. Why would anyone build a security room down here? He had one chance to find out.
Soon, three marines returned to the door – two stepping into the tunnel, while the last remained behind as a sentry.
‘What are our orders?’ the first asked.
‘Return to the celebrations and be on alert for the Heroes from the Hall,’ the third answered. ‘The monster hunts them tonight.’
The men laughed before carrying out their duties.
Hidden inside an adjacent locker room full of marine uniforms, Luke blanched at this news. He frantically whispered into his mouthpiece, desperately hoping to hail help, but heard static. Rather than sneak back out, he wanted to record further proof of this conspiracy. He cracked open the locker room door, clung to the shadows, scurried past the remaining marine, and crept further into the bunker. From what he’d already seen, he shared Pasquale’s fears. Whips hung from hooks. A nest of leg irons lay in a corner, ready to snap. And crude wooden bits used as muffles had fresh sets of teeth marks. Suddenly it occurred to him: this was more than a secret bunker – it was a dungeon!
There were no windows and one door. A path curved down to the left that stank of body odour, sweat and waste. His mind prickled as he heard breathing, sobbing and the rattle of chains. Finally, he entered a square chamber and froze. Dozens of heavy eyes turned to him, swollen with tears and puffy with bruises in the shape of fists. Never in his life!
‘Lady Isabelle?’
Rolling glass startled him. A globe filled with red vapour followed the curve of the path then bounced against his feet.
‘Don’t touch it!’
Too late.
Hissss!
Knock-out gas enveloped him and he fell limply to the flagstones.
‘Tomorrow, we’re buying a leash!’ Samantha fumed as she barrelled through the last of the revellers hurrying home, ripping off her party mask. ‘Luke shouldn’t have run away like that.’
Michael trailed behind her, apologising to each person. ‘He’s probably still mad at you for calling him fat.’
‘At me? He picks on me all the time but can’t handle it when he gets his own back.’
‘You were kinda mean.’
She whirled on him, her cobra flaring. ‘Why do you always take his side, Michael? You never defend me.’
He shrank and didn’t say another word. They pushed past the papier-mâché heads then searched the closing food stalls.
‘Look, I don’t mean to get all huffy, but you boys seem to forget why we’re even in this stupid city,’ she said.
‘To find the monster –’
‘No, to get back to Earth. We’ve been here three weeks now, and we’re no closer to finding another Knock-Knock Door.’
‘Three weeks? Are you kidding?’
‘See? That’s my point. I’m homesick, Michael. I want to curl up on the couch and watch football. I dream about eating burritos. I can’t wait to find out if Carrie-Anne Duncan got glandular fever from kissing Rajan. But most of all, I want to see Mum and Dad.’
‘Maybe we can bring them here,’ he offered weakly.
‘And how would we explain that? These people think we’re from this dumb Hall of Heroes. You heard those nobles tonight. They’re wondering why we haven’t caught this monster yet. It won’t be long before they find out we’re just a bunch of school kids. What will Oriana think of you then?’
She marched ahead, leaving him stinging.
When the clock tower struck twelve, they finally admitted they were lost. They’d never explored this far from the palace and couldn’t see any of the city’s familiar landmarks. They kept close together as they homed in on music coming from a badly tuned piano. It stood in the middle of a street lined with broken lamps and boarded-up terraces. A Scorned woman sang and played it as her laughing family warmed their backsides around a fire.
The Bowmans walked into the light and the piano clunked to a halt. All eyes stared unblinkingly, first at the pirate costume then the gold armour. A boy backed away, but a hand grabbed him and forced him to stand his ground. The rest of the Scorned spread out in a threatening semicircle, forcing Michael and Samantha to retreat. They stopped when, across from them, a grate rattled aside and a tattooed man surfaced from the tunnels. He was panting. He glanced at the Bowmans and immediately paled. It was the lame palace footman.
‘Leave, heroes,’ the pianist said. ‘Traitors aren’t welcome here.’
The pair left. And fast.
‘What was the footman doing underground?’ Michael asked, looking behind them. Some of the Scorned had followed at a distance, making sure neither he nor his sister came back.
‘Nothing that’s any of our business,’ she answered.
They sought safety further away. A horse’s whinny drew them into a small common square, which sprouted with several chestnut trees. On one side was an old-fashioned flour mill, on the second a fire station and on the third a long stable. In the stable they found a young man with cropped blue and lilac hair scrubbing down a white gelding.
‘Thank goodness,’ Michael started. ‘Can you help us? We’re looking for –’
The stable hand turned and scared the remaining words from Michael’s lips. ‘Out fishing again, are we, my liege?’
Cavalli threw his scrubbing brush into a bucket of dirty water and advanced on them, his eyes narrowing. He smelt of straw and manure – and no longer wore cheek gems.
Samantha pushed her brother behind her. ‘We don’t want any trouble, Captain. We just need directions back to the palace.’
‘That’s Private Cavalli now, thanks to you. Our young Queen thought it fitting that because I acted like an animal at the garrison that I should now work with them.’
‘You deserve it,’ Michael said. ‘You tried to kill me!’
‘For what gain? To kill you would have forfeited my own life. No, Sir Knight, I was merely testing you to see if you are who you claim to be. And we both know the answer to that question, don’t we?’
Behind him, the horses started whinnying and pulling on their ropes. The electric bulbs also flickered.
‘I’ve been protecting you children since you arrived,’ he continued, oblivious to the power drain. ‘Whose marines have been guarding you at the palace? Whose marines saved you that night near Father Valentino’s church? Who enlisted Aurelio to keep watch over you and protect you from harm?’
‘Aurelio?’ Michael asked. ‘He’s been spying on us?’
‘Let’s go,’ she growled. ‘You’re only going to get into another fight.’
He stood his ground but she wasn’t having any of his boyish bravado. She frogmarched him past a metal fire cart parked under the chestnut trees until Cavalli yelled out, ‘Beware the streets at this hour, heroes. You are being hunted.’
‘By your pet monster?’ Michael asked, stopping.
‘My pet?’ Cavalli laughed. ‘Foolish boy. Have you not learnt who is behind this conspiracy yet?’
‘Yes – you! You ordered the monster to kidnap Nobleman Guido, afraid he’d tell me about all your enemies you’ve removed during the past four years. You didn’t have much time for a cover story, so you lied that he’d rushed off to meet the Jewellers’ Guild and forged a farewell letter. Only problem was, no ships leave this city at night. When Lady Isabelle didn’t believe you and threatened to expose you, you got the monster to snatch her, too. You sank her boat at the Island of Roses and used the mega-storm as an excuse.’
‘Child, you are delusional. Until you dishonoured me, only I and the few honest men under my command were stopping more people bein
g kidnapped. Now the enemy prowl unchecked and help hide this city’s greatest secret.’
The horses brayed louder.
‘What secret?’
‘Who suffers to let Pacifico live in peace?’
‘Huh?’
‘How can our nobles afford monuments to themselves, yet none labour? How can they live on the fat of the land, yet not plant seed? How can they wear the finest woven cloth, yet not a single dainty finger be pricked by a sewing needle? Stop listening to stories, boy, and discover whose table you’ve really been plundering.’
The horses bucked and kicked in their stalls. Seeing their heightened alarm, Samantha tugged Michael’s cloak. ‘We have to go – now!’
‘Enough riddles!’ he said, shrugging her off. ‘If you know who the monster is, then tell us!’
A blur flashed behind them. Samantha saw it and drew her sword.
‘Too late,’ Cavalli said, retreating. ‘They’re here!’
The stable doors banged open and the horses charged straight at them, released from their stalls. Samantha tackled Michael and threw him under the fire cart for shelter, barely avoiding being skittled. The team swerved around them and clattered away into the empty streets, whinnying into the night.
Once the danger had passed, Michael and Samantha crawled to their feet and raised their swords. Backs together, they circled and searched the courtyard for attackers, only to hear the lonely rolling of a kicked water bucket. Glancing towards it, they realised the horrible truth. It was Cavalli’s.
Now he’d been taken.
23
Pound! Pound! Pound! Samantha’s banging woke the entire palace. Footmen kept a safe distance from her until the head servant arrived wearing a silk gown, matching pyjamas and a none-too-pleasant frown. ‘Sir, may I inquire what you are doing?’
‘Get the Prime Minister – now!’
He pinched a smile and steered her away from the door. ‘Unfortunately, sir, you’ll have to wait until morning. The Honourable –’
