Perched there now in the mist, like an oversized gargoyle, the Black Dragon gazed down. He could just see the top of Alfie’s head as his brother leaned out of the window. How easy it would be to take him by surprise, to finish it here and now. Lock would be angry, but so what? He wasn’t the one who had been humiliated at the coronation. He hadn’t lived in someone else’s shadow his entire life, the way Richard had. His thoughts were different when he was the Dragon – less human and more primal, devoid of conscience or empathy for anyone else. The Dragon’s mind was that of a predator. He felt his claws release themselves from the roof and, before he knew it, he was diving down head first towards Alfie. The Black Dragon’s mouth opened, fire gathering in his throat. Fire that would extinguish his brother and give him the revenge he craved.
Alfie felt himself being grabbed from behind and pulled back into the room. Outside, the Black Dragon saw his brother disappear from the window. It jolted him back to his senses for a moment. What was he doing? If he killed Alfie now their plan would be ruined. He banked away from the building, swooping back up to the cover of the roof before anyone could see him.
For a second, Alfie thought Mortimer had hunted him down again. But then he saw who it was. “Tony! Where did you come from?”
Alfie’s friend gave him a tight hug, beaming with excitement. “I spotted you from art. So I told Mrs Fry I was going to be sick and ran out to see you!”
Tony’s real name was Hong-xian but like most of the Chinese boys at the school he had adopted a Western name when he arrived in England. He was the only one of Alfie’s fellow pupils who had never seemed to care that Alfie was a member of the royal family. Everyone else had either been nasty, or too nice, or just didn’t know what to say to him. Tony, however, seemed to like Alfie just because he was Alfie. Tony never failed to make him laugh, usually because he was on another planet and would say random things like:
“I found a dead owl behind the science block last night. I put a hat on it. Want to see?”
“Wouldn’t want to miss that,” said Alfie. “Hey, have you seen my brother today?”
“Richaramus?” said Tony – he liked to add bits to people’s names, Alfie had no idea why. “Nah, I keep out of his way these days. He’s been a grumpy-pants since he came back. He’s not still mad at you, is he?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I just wanted to see him,” said Alfie.
He thought about leaving a note for his brother, but then he’d have to explain how he’d got into his locked room. Besides, Tony was pulling him out, chattering away. Alfie laughed as, behind his back, he swiftly passed his ring finger over the lock, commanding it to slide shut.
“This place has been so boring without you, Alfie-bet. Are you back for good?”
“Afraid not, Tony. I’m kind of busy these days, remember?”
“Whatevs. So, this owl, I’m thinking of calling it Hootenanny. Either that or Monsieur Midnight.”
Two minutes later, Richard pulled on a fresh shirt and watched from his window as Alfie and Tony crossed the quadrangle below, laughing together. He has no idea of what’s coming, thought Richard. No idea at all.
The drawbridge over the moat had been the Tower of London’s main entrance for over seven hundred years. But it wasn’t the only way in and out of the ancient fortress. By Hayley’s reckoning, there were at least another three secret entrances that she’d heard about from Brenda. Yeoman Brenda Box had been one of the first-ever female beefeaters, and it had taken a while for some of the older, stuffier Yeomen to accept her. But she had served her time in the army, just like them, and she was tough too – they soon learned not to say anything sexist about women not being suited to some jobs if they didn’t want a kick up the backside from Brenda. Her two grown-up daughters had both joined the army too, so when Hayley arrived in the Keep, Brenda couldn’t help but act like a mum to her. Usually Hayley hated being treated like a kid by anyone, but with Brenda it was different. She missed her mum and her gran, and although Alfie was her best friend now, it was nice to have a woman to talk to sometimes.
It was Brenda who told Hayley about the secret “sally port”, which sounded nice but was in fact a cold, damp, pitch-black tunnel that led from the Keep, all the way under the moat and out of the Tower grounds. While the Lord Chamberlain had said to Hayley that, of course, she was not a prisoner in the Keep, he had made it clear that any unnecessary outings put them all at risk. The government agents who suspected that she knew the Defender’s true identity and who had tried to snatch her before the coronation were no doubt still hunting for her. Fortunately Brenda had agreed with Hayley that never seeing her gran again was not an option – she just needed to be careful.
“The Keep is like Swiss cheese,” Brenda had said. “I don’t think anyone knows how many secret passageways there actually are.”
Hayley shivered as she found the torch app on her phone and shone it into the gloom of the tunnel. She would never admit it to Brenda, but this place gave her the serious creeps. The stones themselves seemed to radiate a nasty chill, the way it felt when you walked down the freezer aisle at the supermarket. It wasn’t just the cold down here that got to you; it was the sounds as well. The dull rattle of a distant Underground train shook the tunnel, an old sewer pipe dripped and a rat’s squeak echoed. Rodents and dodgy plumbing she could deal with, just as long as she didn’t hear—
Werughhhhhhh!
Yep, something like that. Heart thumping, Hayley stopped in her tracks and shone the phone-torch around, but it barely cut a sliver in the blackness. She could not tell whether the ghostly moan had come from behind or in front of her, or somewhere below. She knew, of course, that the Tower was haunted. Not that she’d seen anything herself yet, but the longer-serving beefeaters talked about it in such a matter-of-fact way that she had come to believe it must be true. Whether it was the Grey Lady – the headless spirit of Anne Boleyn, the “disloyal” wife beheaded by Henry the Eighth; or the crying figures of two young boys – the Princes in the Tower, believed to have been murdered by their own uncle; or even the spectre of a bear, once a resident of the Tower’s private zoo, one thing was clear: sooner or later, Hayley was going to run into a ghost. Just not tonight, please not tonight! she thought.
Hayley hurried along the tunnel, humming a cheery tune as loud as she could, and trying to not think about the fact that she’d have to come back this way later after she had seen her gran.
She emerged through a secret door on the Merchant Navy Memorial opposite the Tower of London and took in a grateful gulp of hot, polluted air. As she waited for her heart rate to return to normal, she looked around, squinting in the daylight. It was just as Brenda had said it would be; the old war memorial was at the side of the busy Tower Hill Road and there were a few tourists milling around taking pictures, but they didn’t see her. Whoever had designed this secret entrance had concealed it brilliantly. If anyone had by chance seen her emerge, it would have looked like she was just stepping out from behind a stone column. The other awesome thing about this sally port (nope, that still sounded silly) was that it was right by the bus stop she needed.
Hayley did her best to look like just another bored teenager hunkered down on the back seat listening to music as she secretly checked out her fellow passengers. None of them looked like a government agent, and the one guy in a suit, who she was slightly worried about, got off at a stop without giving her a second glance.
You’re a wanted girl, Hayley, she laughed to herself. Who’d have thought it?
But at least Hayley knew what she was up against. Sure, Fulcher was a great beast of a woman, but she looked like she might forget to breathe if someone didn’t remind her to. And Agent Turpin was all front; no way was he as smart as he looked. As far as Hayley could tell, their entire plan to catch her was to stake out the old folks’ home where her gran lived and wait for her to show up. But today Hayley wasn’t going there. Today she was playing bingo.
Max’s Mega Bingo Hall was a giant, gaud
y temple of greasy food, noisy slot machines and of course, the main event: bingo, played in a vast hall that could fit hundreds of players. The road outside had been turned into a car park of minivans and coaches from all the local old folks’ homes, and Hayley easily slipped past the bored-looking security man on the door. Skirting the back of the hall, she bought two cups of tea from the cafe and then found an angle on the massed ranks of grey heads all intently marking their cards.
“Unlucky for some, thirteen!” The bingo caller yawned into the microphone that he was holding far too close to his mouth. “Winnie The Pooh, forty-two.”
Hayley’s heart leapt – there was Gran, sitting with her back to her, scribbling on her card with a big pen. Her hair had been freshly permed. One of the nurses at the home must have done it specially and something about that made Hayley’s heart ache – she used to be the one who would help her gran do that before they went out. There was something else bothering her, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Besides, she couldn’t hold back any longer. Checking that everyone was still engrossed in the game, Hayley squeezed between the tables and slid into a free seat beside her gran.
“Two fat ladies, eighty-eight.” Hayley whispered into Gran’s ear.
Gran looked up at her, but frowned, confused. “Have we met before?” she asked.
Tears sprung up in Hayley’s eyes. “It’s me, Gran.”
The old lady’s expression suddenly cleared. “Hayley!” Gran beamed, hugging her tight and kissing her cheek. “But what are you doing, child? Do you work here now?”
“No, Gran. Just thought I’d come and check you weren’t cheating!” Hayley said, laughing with relief.
As the bingo caller droned on and Hayley’s gran marked her card, they spoke non-stop about what she’d been up to: Jackie from across the hall kept borrowing Gran’s kettle and forgetting to bring it back. They’d all watched a film together the previous night, or was it last week? But anyway, the sound was too low. Friday they always had fish and chips and it was the best Gran had ever tasted.
“Well, it sounds great. And you’re looking amazing,” Hayley said. It was true. If anything she’d put on a bit of weight. “Maybe lay off those fish and chip suppers once in a while, though, yeah?”
“Child, when you get to my age, you can eat and drink whatever you bloomin’ well please.” Gran laughed, and Hayley joined in.
It was just like being back at the flat. But as Gran dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, it struck Hayley what it was that had been bothering her. Gran was wearing a baggy orange dress that she had always wanted to throw away.
“I thought you hated this old thing?” Hayley laughed. “You said it made you look like a pumpkin?”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Lawrence. You only got it for me yesterday,” grumbled Gran.
“Gran, it’s me,” said Hayley, a bolt of fear lancing across her stomach. Lawrence was Gran’s husband, and had been dead for twenty years.
“Lawrence, hush now!” Gran said and smiled. But there was no recognition in her eyes; they’d clouded over again. “Hang on a tickety-tick, I think I’ve got bingo! BINGO!”
There were some excited shouts from the crowd as Gran raised her hand. Hayley looked at the card and her heart fell. It was like a child had scrawled all over it with their crayons. All the time they’d been talking, Gran hadn’t been playing properly at all. A lank-haired employee in a stained Mega Bingo polo shirt sloped over, took the card from Gran with a cursory glance and gave her a new one.
“Yeah, yeah, well done, love. Now you can sail away on that yacht you’ve always dreamt of,” he said, smirking at Hayley like she was in on the joke. It took every ounce of her self-control not to leap up and punch him in the mouth.
Gran was completely lost in the past now, rambling about holidays from years ago as if she had just come home, pets she needed to feed that had long since died, and how she was looking forward to going back to her job as a Tube driver on Monday even though she had long-since retired. After a while, Hayley didn’t have the heart to correct her any more. I’ve left it too long, she thought. I should have been there for her, not hiding out in some medieval castle. And now my gran is gone. She wiped her eyes dry and looked up to see a figure in a suit heading straight towards her.
“How lovely to see you again, Miss Hicks.” Agent Turpin smiled, flashing his sharp-looking teeth.
Hayley sprang from her chair and backed away – straight into the meaty arms of Agent Fulcher. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Get off me!”
Hayley dropped into a crouch and spun a leg against the back of Fulcher’s knees, knocking her off balance and forcing her to let go. She reminded herself to thank Brenda later – she’d been giving Hayley self-defence classes once a week and some of it must have stuck. Hayley leapt on to a chair and sprinted over the tops of the tables, scattering bingo cards, snapping pencils and spilling cups of tea. People shouted at her, but she wasn’t stopping. Ahead, the exit Hayley was aiming for was suddenly blocked by a security guard. She changed direction and made for the stage. Maybe there was a fire exit or—
“Just remain calm, everyone!” The bingo caller squealed, sounding anything but.
Hayley barged him out of the way and grabbed the microphone. “Hi, everyone! Can I have your attention please?”
Turpin and Fulcher were striding down the main aisle towards her.
“Put that down, Hayley, and come here. Right now.” Turpin ordered, sounding like one of her old teachers.
“Um, these two government agents are here to do a really, really bad thing,” Hayley said, ignoring him. The elderly players were intrigued, staring at her. “They’re here to shut this bingo hall down. For ever! NO MORE BINGO!”
Uproar. A sweet-looking old lady in a headscarf stuck out a walking stick and tripped Turpin. He sprawled on the floor as Fulcher trampled over him, straining to get at Hayley. But the central aisle was now full of irate pensioners surrounding the agents, smacking them with handbags and poking them with pencils.
Hayley dropped the microphone, ran to the back of the stage and crashed through a fire exit out into an alleyway. She didn’t stop running until she had covered the entire five miles back to the Tower of London. It was only when she was safely back in the frigid dark of the secret tunnel that she let herself relax. She was safe. But there it was again, the ache of sadness deep in her tummy; if it had been hard to see her gran before, it would be impossible now. Then again, if Gran didn’t recognize her any more, maybe it didn’t make a difference? She felt guilty for even thinking it. And, suddenly, even though she knew she had made new friends like Alfie and Brenda, she felt more alone than she ever had before.
Footsteps in the tunnel ahead. Seriously? Now is when I have to see my first ghost? I’m trying to have a cry! Hayley pinned herself into an alcove and turned off her phone-torch. Maybe, if she pretended not to be there, the phantom wouldn’t bother her. The footsteps grew closer, followed by a gruff cough. Hayley was just wondering whether ghosts got colds when she peeked out of her hiding place to see Brian hurrying away down the tunnel towards the exit at Tower Hill. Hayley couldn’t think why he would need to use her secret exit, but right now she didn’t care – she was just relieved he wasn’t some headless apparition. She gathered herself and hurried back towards the safety of the Keep.
Meanwhile, sitting in a car opposite the bingo hall, Turpin was peering at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, attempting to rub the imprint of Fulcher’s shoe off his face.
“Do I look like a doormat to you?” he hissed at his colleague.
“Maybe,” said Fulcher, trying not to laugh. “Anyway, don’t worry, we’ll get the little brat next time.”
“There won’t be a next time, numbskull,” snapped Turpin. “She’s wise to us now. Nah, enough with the girl. What we need to do is go after the big fish.”
“What, the Defender? Not likely, mate,” said Fulcher. “And even if we found him, h
ow do you reckon we’d catch him? He has got superpowers, you know.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, thank you. But how about we start spending some of that lovely money her ladyship the PM’s given us? See if we can’t buy ourselves something to catch a superhero…”
“This is freaking me out,” said Alfie, peeking through the curtains at the fields rushing past outside.
“What is?” asked Hayley, sitting opposite him looking glum.
“Never been on a British train that ran on time before.”
Hayley smiled faintly at Alfie’s corny joke. But he’d take it; he had been trying to cheer her up all morning without even the hint of a giggle. Alfie could tell she was feeling down about her gran, but he knew better than to push Hayley. She’d talk about it when she was ready. Brian leaned across and pulled the curtain closed, blocking their view. “Sorry, no sightseeing. You ain’t here, Hayley, remember?”
They were on board the royal train, which was reserved for ferrying senior members of the royal family to the further-flung parts of the kingdom. The smart, claret-coloured locomotive dubbed King’s Messenger pulled six luxuriously appointed carriages as they sped north. There was a sitting room with velvet-cushioned sofas and two ultrahigh-def televisions, a bathroom with full-sized bath and golden taps, and a large dining room where they had already been served a freshly cooked breakfast. Paintings of hunting scenes, chosen by the late King Henry the Ninth, lined the walls. The carriages were so grand that it felt more like staying in some five-star hotel. Indeed, the extra suspension the coaches were fitted with made the ride so smooth it was easy to forget you were moving at all.
Dark Age Page 6
