Dark Age

by Mark Huckerby

  Thorn sighed inwardly. These newsroom vultures were probably right; the chances were the Defender wasn’t a threat. But since when did telling the truth get her anywhere? What she did know for sure was that if anyone was going to get the credit for solving this crisis it was HER, not some jumped-up vigilante in a silly costume. Fighting the Vikings head-on, however, was a non-starter. A war was only good for prime ministerial popularity ratings if it was a war you knew you would win. An enemy which was immune to bullets and which could turn itself into devil dogs and giants was not what she had in mind.

  The prime minister held up her hands and hushed the journalists.

  “After much consideration and due consultation with my cabinet, it has been decided that the best way to safeguard the British people is to reach a peaceful truce with these Vikings. A little gold is a small price to pay to guarantee our security and the safety of our children.”

  A cacophony of questions exploded from the press once more, but the prime minister merely smiled, waved and went inside. She had regained the spotlight. No one would be talking about the Defender on the news tonight.

  “WHAT UTTER TOSH!” LC shouted as he thumped the off switch on the Map Room television. Or tried to. In fact he only managed to turn the sound up, then accidentally turn it to MTV at high volume. “Oh for goodness’ sake. HAYLEY!”

  Hayley smirked and flipped the TV off with the remote. “Red button, LC – remember?”

  But the Lord Chamberlain was in no laughing mood. He was fuming, pacing up and down in front of her, Alfie and Brian. “The problem with these politicians is that none of them paid close enough attention in their history lessons. The Vikings will keep raiding and ransacking until they’ve plundered the entire country if we don’t find a way to stop them for good.”

  The old man slumped down at a desk, exasperated. All eyes in the Map Room turned to Alfie. He sensed they wanted him to say something, to give them a rousing “fight them on the beaches” type speech, but he felt pretty defeated himself.

  “Maybe the prime minister is right. If we pay them they’ll go away.” Alfie shrugged.

  “There’s a word for that, Majesty. Appeasement,” LC barked, going red in the face. “And when it comes to dealing with pure evil, appeasement never works. Alfred the Great himself tried to pay off the Vikings with something called the ‘danegeld’. But where did that get him? Hiding in a Somerset swamp getting bitten to death by midges!”

  “Well, I don’t know what else I can do,” Alfie said, frustrated. He couldn’t stand it when LC flipped into full-on lecture mode. “You’re not the one going out there putting your butt on the line fighting smelly zombies every other day. And by the way, no one in here or outside has even said a word of thanks. If people don’t want me to help, then why should I?”

  “Because you are Defender of the Realm!” LC shouted, for once forgetting to add Your Majesty. “You should not expect fan mail just for doing your job. Loyalty from your subjects is something you earn. Furthermore—”

  “SHHH!” Hayley said and stood bolt upright.

  “I beg your pardon?” LC spluttered. “The Keeper of the King’s Arrows will remember her place—”

  “Just zip it!” Hayley shouted. “LISTEN!”

  Everyone did as they were told. A grating, staccato screech was heading towards them down one of the Keep’s passageways, getting louder by the second.

  “BEHIND ME!” Brian yelled, throwing himself in front of Alfie just as six kraa-ing ravens burst into the Map Room, flapping around their heads in a mass of black feathers and noisy beaks, knocking books and pens off the beefeaters’ desks.

  “Look out!” hollered Yeoman Eshelby the Ravenmaster, too late, as he huffed after his birds, waving his arms. “Edgar! Gwenn! Stop it! No, bad birds, bad! I don’t know what’s got into them, sir!”

  The ravens flocked around Alfie, their raw-throated croaks ringing in his ears.

  “Get them off me! Hey!” Alfie yelled as the frenzied ravens forced him to retreat across the Map Room.

  Brian punched at thin air, while Herne snarled and snapped, but even he wasn’t quick enough to catch a raven in full flight.

  Alfie was obscured from view by a cloud of black wings until suddenly he was gone! Dumbfounded silence descended over the others, broken only by Herne’s whining. “Majesty?” gasped LC, gazing around in vain.

  “The Archives!” Hayley shouted, pointing.

  The great wooden hatch in the stone floor had somehow been wrenched opened by the birds in all the excitement, and Alfie must have fallen down it. Gwenn stood proudly by the bolt she had managed to slide open with her beak, and gronked at them, defiant.

  “Gwenn! You naughty old girl!” said Yeoman Eshelby.

  “Never mind that – the king, the king!” LC yelled, pushing past the Ravenmaster and peering into the chasm-like library below. “Majesty! Are you down there?”

  A cough rose out of the darkness. “Yes! Do you want to give me a hand?” Alfie called from far below, his voice echoing around.

  “Let’s get some lights in there!” ordered Brian and several lanterns on ropes were lowered down to Alfie.

  He was hanging from one of the old wooden ladders that extended right down into the inky blackness of the Archives. Around him, the ravens circled, calling madly.

  LC watched them, intrigued. “Hold still, Your Majesty, and let’s see what they’re up to.”

  “What?! Oh sure, don’t mind me!” Alfie said and sneezed in the dusty air.

  He hoped the rickety ladder wouldn’t suddenly snap in half. He didn’t dare look down. In the soft glow of the lantern light, the ravens alighted on a shelf near Alfie and began pecking at one of the old books, pulling it out.

  “What is that, Majesty? Can you read the title?” LC called down.

  Alfie clung on to the ladder (which creaked alarmingly) and leant across, straining to read the Gothic-style font on the old book. “Prose… Edda?” he said and the ravens kraa-ed as one, making everyone jump. Alfie almost lost his grip again. “Can I come up now? Please!”

  “Yes, of course, Majesty,” LC said. “But I think you’d better bring that book with you.”

  A few minutes later, everyone was crowded around LC, who was studying the old book, making lots of happy-sounding sighs. Hayley thought if he was a cat, he’d be purring.

  “Of course!” LC declared. “Prose Edda! Thirteenth century! Old Norse history written by Snorri Sturluson! Don’t you see?”

  “Not really,” Alfie said, straining to see over LC’s shoulder as he tried to find the page he was looking for.

  “The Raven Banner!” LC shouted, triumphantly holding the book open at a page showing a medieval woodcut of a triangular flag with tassels depicting two ravens in flight. “The magical flag of the Norse god Odin himself. Flown by the first Vikings on their longships and said to be able to command all those of Norse blood. This could be the key to defeating Guthrum!”

  “Who’s a clever girl then?” said the Ravenmaster, tickling Gwenn under her beak.

  The raven croaked proudly and preened her glossy wings. Alfie could feel hope rising in the room; everyone was looking at each other and smiling. Everyone that is, except Hayley.

  “So, what … we wave this old book in front of Guthrum and his dead mates and hope he goes home?” she said, puzzled. “It’s not much of a plan, is it?”

  “No, Miss Hicks. We find the flag and bring it back here!” LC said, his eyes blazing. “The Raven Banner is said to be one of the crown jewels of the Norwegian royal family!”

  “And what… They’ll just give it to us?” Alfie asked.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Brian, we need a jet. ASAP,” LC commanded, before turning to Alfie. “It’s time for your first state visit. I suggest you wash your hair.” Alfie ran his fingers through his hair and found that he was covered in black raven feathers … and not a small amount of bird poo.

  “I think I read somewhere that it’s good
luck,” Hayley said, grinning.

  “Excellent,” replied Alfie. “I have a funny feeling I might need it.”

  “I would like my hand back now, if you don’t mind, Majesty.”

  Queen Freya of Norway was the most beautiful young woman Alfie had ever seen. She was taller than him, with skin like fresh mountain snow and green eyes that were as dazzling as they were large. Her intricately plaited hair was so fair it was almost white. She wore an elegant silver satin gown, and he suspected that she did not need the diamond tiara, exquisite emerald earrings and necklace to look regal. She was royalty itself, and Alfie couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Are you feeling all right?” she added, arching an eyebrow.

  Alfie realized he was still holding the hand she had offered him in greeting as he got out of the car at the steps of the Royal Palace in Oslo. How long had he been standing there while the TV cameras recorded him staring at her like an idiot? Alfie let go of her hand and willed his voice to say something, but the noise that came out sounded more like a cat stuck in a drainpipe than one monarch addressing another.

  “Nice you meet to…” his voice crackled. “I mean, nice to meet you.”

  She smiled, though more at the cameras than at Alfie, and ushered the royal party inside. Alfie hoped his face didn’t look as red as it felt. Though seeing how Brian also couldn’t take his eyes off the queen made him feel a little better.

  “Honestly, you two,” muttered LC as they proceeded inside. “One would think you’d never seen a young lady before.”

  Alfie was surprised how similar the palace was in layout to Buckingham Palace, although it was a fraction of the size.

  “I hope you will feel at home while you are here, King Alfred,” said Queen Freya, as if reading his mind.

  “Yes, it’s just like my place,” said Alfie, desperate to sound normal after his shaky start. “Except, you know, smaller.”

  Freya stopped and turned to him, frowning. “We’ll be sure to build a new wing in time for your next visit.”

  “What? No! That’s not what I meant!”

  But Freya had already turned on her heel and continued down the long hallway. Alfie hurried after her, trying (and failing) to look dignified while jogging.

  “I am sorry that we have not had time to organize more interesting events for your stay,” said Queen Freya. “We normally receive more notice for state visits. About six months more.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” winced Alfie. “I’m terrible at planning holidays!”

  Note to self, thought Alfie, STOP TRYING TO MAKE JOKES WHEN YOU’RE NERVOUS.

  “I must say, though, I could never leave my own kingdom unattended when it faced such dire peril,” the queen added.

  Alfie wasn’t sure what to say; he thought talking to the prime minister back home was hard, but with Freya he was completely out of his depth. She was only six years older than him, but he had never felt more intimidated.

  “Our American friends were keen to host the first royal overseas visit, Your Majesty,” said the Lord Chamberlain, coming to his rescue, “but King Alfred was insistent that he wanted to visit the great Kingdom of Norway before any other.”

  Queen Freya nodded her thanks, but Alfie could tell she didn’t believe a word of it. “Won’t you join us in the Bird Room?” she said.

  It was like walking into a forest. A mountain scene stretched across every inch of the walls. Painted trees, vines and birds so realistic that Alfie felt that if he reached out he could touch them. The ceiling was painted like the sky, with a majestic sea eagle hovering above them at its centre. It was like standing inside a fairy tale. The queen seemed amused at Alfie’s wonder.

  “You like it? A reminder of how we used to live,” she said.

  Alfie had no time to ask her what she meant, as they were invited to join other members of the royal family who were already gathered in two neat lines for the official photograph.

  “Well, that was a disaster,” said Alfie a few hours later, collapsing on the grand four-poster bed of the guest suite, while Brian checked the room for bugs. LC looked on, impatient.

  “No matter,” said LC once Brian gave him the “all clear” nod. “We are not here to further diplomatic relations. We must find the banner and return with it to England at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Great, because stealing from the queen is going to make her like me even more, isn’t it?”

  “I hardly think it matters if she likes you, Majesty,” said LC.

  “Bet he wouldn’t mind, though, eh?” Brian chuckled.

  Alfie felt himself going red again. “Fine. Focus on the mission. I get it. I just hope we can find this stupid flag before I make a complete fool of myself.”

  “He’s making a complete fool of himself there, ain’t he?” said one of the beefeaters back at the Keep.

  They were watching the TV news replaying the footage of Alfie’s eighteen-second handshake with the ravishing Queen Freya.

  “Not half. Don’t blame him, though,” smirked another.

  They knew it was eighteen seconds because the reporter had actually used a stopwatch to time King Alfie’s “Handshake Hiccup”.

  Hayley had missed all the coverage as she busied herself with archery practice in the Training Arena. She was trying to pretend that she didn’t care about not being included on the trip, but deep down she felt upset about being left out again. She knew it was silly; sneaking her on-board the royal train was one thing, but an international flight was another matter. And yet every time Alfie, Brian and LC went off without her, the old feelings of being an outsider, of not being wanted, started to dent her confidence all over again. The fact that she had bugged Brian’s phone before he left wasn’t helping her feel much like a team player either.

  Once Hayley had looked into how to do it, she couldn’t believe how easy it was. There were loads of websites offering apps that could secretly record someone’s phone conversations and all you needed was their mobile number. She simply had to call Brian’s phone using the software she had downloaded. The call would never appear at his end, but would plant a remote recording device that would send back any calls he made direct to her phone. And to think, she had actually risked breaking into his room when she could spy on him this easily without being anywhere near him! Hayley knew that Alfie wouldn’t like what she was doing, but she wouldn’t tell him, not unless she found something bad. She really hoped there was an innocent explanation for Brian’s recent behaviour, then no one would have to know what she had done.

  Herne was lounging on the Arena floor watching Hayley fire arrow after arrow into the targets at the far end. It was unusual for him to hang out with her this much. He must be missing Alfie too, she thought. Although her shoulders were aching, she was getting better at using the longbow; her last arrow was only an inch off hitting the bullseye.

  The sound of laughter drew her to the Map Room, where she found the Yeoman Warders gathered round the television. The news was showing pictures of the royal photocall in Norway. Everyone was looking at the camera, apart from Alfie, who seemed unable to take his eyes off his glamorous hostess, Queen Freya.

  “Over here, Your Majesty!” called one of the beefeaters, laughing. “Watch the birdie!”

  “I think that’s what he’s doing!” said another and they all descended into gales of laughter again.

  “Sexist!” Hayley shouted.

  But when the beefeaters turned round she was surprised to see Brenda was there too, laughing alongside the others.

  “Come on, Hales, it’s just a bit of fun,” said Brenda. “No need to be jealous.”

  “I am NOT jealous!” Hayley said, and then she pulled back the bow’s string and shot an arrow clean into the television, exploding it with a dull pop, like a wet firework going off.

  In Oslo the state banquet was not going much better for Alfie. As guest of honour, he had been seated at the head of the hundred-strong table of VIPs, next to Queen Freya. She had changed into
a sleek black evening gown for dinner, but was still wearing the same emerald necklace. Alfie’s first mistake came with the starter, when he failed to recognize the curious, cold, salty white meat presented in a finely arranged salad.

  “Mmm, this is, er, unusual. Is it a local delicacy?” he asked.

  “Klippfisk,” replied Queen Freya, evidently not inclined to give him any more help.

  “Does it have an English name?” Alfie persisted. “Maybe our chef could try to get hold of some.”

  “Why, yes, King Alfred, I believe it is known in your country as cod. You’re probably more used to eating it with chips. Out of a newspaper.”

  His second foul-up came as Alfie tried to compliment the queen when he noticed her wolfing down a third helping of the roasted pork belly main course.

  “I’m surprised you’re not enormous with an appetite like that!”

  After that she turned to talk to the British ambassador who was seated on her other side. Alfie was left for the rest of the meal trying to make conversation with an elderly lady who may or may not have been something to do with shipping, or perhaps shopping, it was hard to tell as she didn’t speak much English. At the end of the evening Alfie managed to make a speech of thanks without messing up too much, until he toasted Queen Freya not with his glass but with the pepper pot sitting next to it. By the time he got back to his room again he was ready to make a run for the airport and never come back. But, as LC reminded him, that was out of the question. His real night’s work was only just beginning.

  Alfie checked that the corridor was empty then slipped past the security desk and into the long gallery where the Norwegian Crown Jewels were on display for the summer. A few minutes earlier Brian had distracted the guard by claiming he had spotted an intruder outside. If the plan worked, it would give Alfie time to find the Raven Banner and take it back to the room before the guard returned. In theory.