Martin King and the Space Angels (Martin King Series)

by James McGovern

  He loved her. And he would not let the universe be destroyed—for the sole reason that the end of the universe would also mean the end of Darcy.

  ‘Harvey Longfellow,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry about this, but there’s going to be a break-in.’

  Chapter 6: The Effects of Axis Dust

  Martin heard something smash and turned on his lamp. He glanced at the dusty clock on his bedside table. It was 3:12 AM. Martin took a sip of water to moisten his cracked mouth and climbed out of bed.

  His dad was slumped on the floor, snoring; a bottle of vodka had fallen from the table and cracked. Martin wiped up the spill and picked away the large pieces of glass.

  When he had finished, he sat in one of the patio chairs and watched his dad sleep. Martin could no longer hold back the tears—besides, there was nobody there to see him cry. He cried until his head ached, and then carried on crying.

  As he wept, he thought about all of his problems. He thought about his claustrophobia, his awkwardness, his shyness, his inability to ask out the girl he loved. And he also thought about XO5. How could someone as useless as him stand a chance against such a powerful entity—a creature that devoured planets? It was as stupid as an ant trying to fight God.

  Martin looked down at his father again.

  ‘I hate you,’ he said. ‘I really do hate you.’

  Martin thought about his mum, back when she was alive. Martin was only six when she had died in a car crash, but he could still remember her face.

  ‘I miss you, mum,’ he muttered. ‘Things would have been so different if you had stayed alive.’

  Suddenly, a strange feeling shot through him. It was as if some sort of heat was growing inside him. Martin tried to get up out of his chair, but he collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily.

  And then it stopped. The heat disappeared and Martin felt normal again. Except… something was different. Slowly, Martin realised what it was that had changed… and he smiled.

  *

  It was late at night. It was raining, and the sky was still racked with lightning. Darcy was tucked up in bed, breathing lightly. She heard three taps at her window, and sat up.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s me,’ said Martin.

  Darcy got out of bed and pulled open her curtains; Martin was standing on her balcony, dressed in his grey overcoat and jeans.

  ‘How did you get up there?’ said Darcy, opening the window and glancing down at the three-storey drop.

  Martin smiled at her. ‘Come out onto the balcony and I’ll show you.’

  Darcy looked uncertain.

  ‘Come on, trust me.’

  ‘OK… let me get my dressing gown.’

  Darcy slipped on her dressing gown and climbed out onto the balcony, shivering in her pyjamas, and they stood, side-by-side, looking out over the London lights.

  It was freezing, and Darcy hugged Martin for warmth. As soon as she did so, Martin began to rise into the air, holding Darcy tightly against himself. Darcy looked amazed as they climbed higher into the sky.

  ‘So… it worked… your power came to you!’ she said.

  Martin nodded, grinning. Darcy clutched Martin tightly as they picked up speed. Martin hugged her back. She was not difficult to carry; his power made her feel somehow weightless in his arms.

  All the colours and sounds of London merged into one huge, vibrant scene. The entire city seemed as tiny as a model, the red buses nothing but tourist shop souvenirs.

  They glided over the Thames; Darcy’s hair billowed like golden smoke. As they neared the Houses of Parliament, they slowed down and hovered in the air. The face of Big Ben loomed brightly in front of them. Darcy’s eyes sparkled. They stared at each other for a long time, until Darcy spoke.

  ‘Did you know that the bumblebee’s wings are supposedly too weak for it to fly?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, I think I knew that.’

  ‘According the laws of aerodynamics, a bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly, it just shouldn’t. But the bumblebee flies anyway.’

  Martin gazed into her electric blue eyes. The clock face glowed brilliantly, bathing Darcy in golden light. Martin wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her and tell her how much he loved her. He imagined his future life with Darcy—a life of glorious summers and strawberry picnics. He thought of sipping cool lemonade on the garden of their cosy home. And flying. Flying anywhere. Both of them completely, utterly, perfectly free.

  But it was so hard. Martin was terrified of being rejected. What would he do then? He knew he would never stop loving Darcy—never. How could he spend a lifetime without her?

  ‘Do you remember when we were kids,’ said Martin, ‘and we went on that holiday to Italy?’

  Darcy smiled. ‘We were the only people for miles around and every day we just explored the woods, the cornfields—’

  ‘—and rode our bikes for miles and miles every day.’

  ‘That was still the best holiday I’ve ever been on,’ said Darcy.

  ‘We could do it again,’ said Martin. ‘After we’ve saved the world, I mean, obviously. We could go to Italy, or France, or somewhere else, and just wander.’

  Darcy smiled. ‘I’d like that.’

  They fell silent, hovering in front of Big Ben.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ said Martin suddenly. ‘I reckon we should be getting back.’

  ‘Oh,’ moaned Darcy, ‘do we have to?’

  Martin smiled. ‘What if your mum notices you’ve gone? We don’t want her getting into a panic.’

  She sighed. ‘I guess you’re right.’

  They changed direction and began to head back towards Darcy’s house. A couple of minutes later, they landed in Darcy’s garden, next to a small vegetable patch.

  ‘Thank you, Martin. It’s been a… great evening.’

  Ask her, Martin told himself. Ask her now.

  Would it really take much for him to ask her out? No, he knew that he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. What would he even say to her? Anything he thought of sounded clichéd and cheesy. Instead, he gave her a gentle hug.

  ‘See you later, Darcy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, her blonde hair still radiant in the moonlight, ‘see you.’ And she slipped through the back door.

  *

  The three friends sat in a corner of the library. They fell silent as the old, nosy librarian walked past, and then carried on talking. The photograph of Harvey Longfellow lay in the centre of the table.

  ‘I’ve done some reading,’ said Darcy. She picked up the dossier and began to flick through it again. ‘Harvey Longfellow is an American businessman who lives in the UK. He seems to have his fingers in more pies than Richard Branson, but most of his money is from oil. Every year he donates a million pounds to Cancer Research UK and another million pounds to the British Heart Foundation. Besides that he also gets involved with several other philanthropic ventures.’

  ‘Anything else?’ said Tommy.

  ‘Yes,’ said Darcy. ‘He’s a criminal. Well, there have been no successful convictions, but it seems obvious he’s been involved with some fairly shady deals. He has been put on trial three times—each time for fraud—but every time he’s walked away free.’

  ‘We might be able to use that…’ said Tommy.

  ‘And Mr Slater said that he was a collector,’ said Martin. ‘Maybe we could trade something for the Monograph.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Darcy. ‘But what?’

  ‘Don’t know, something alien?’ Martin took out the Truthful Eye and looked at it. But he shook his head. ‘No, we can’t give him the monocle. We might need it.’

  Darcy stood up. ‘Sorry, I’ve just remembered that I was supposed to go to see Miss Ford over lunch. See you guys later—sorry!’

  Martin watched Darcy as she gathered her things together. She was wearing a black skirt and blazer, and her blouse was buttoned down. She said goodbye again and walked out of the library, carrying the red folder with her.


  Martin and Tommy sat in silence for a while.

  ‘How’s the band?’ said Martin.

  ‘Good, good,’ said Tommy absently. He paused. ‘We’re really going to do this, aren’t we? We’re really going to save the planet.’

  ‘Yes. We are.’ Martin paused. ‘I hope.’

  ‘When are you going to tell her?’ said Tommy.

  ‘W-what?’

  ‘Come on, Martin! I mean Darcy. When are you going to tell Darcy how you feel about her?’

  ‘We’re just friends,’ lied Martin, his face reddening.

  ‘You’ve never been a very good liar,’ said Tommy, smiling. ‘I see the way you look at her. For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good couple.’

  Martin stared at the table.

  ‘It’s just hard. It’s hard knowing what to say. And it’s even harder because we’ve been friends for such a long time.’

  ‘If you asked her out I think she’d say yes,’ said Tommy.

  Martin looked up. ‘Really?’

  ‘I reckon so. But you’ll only find out when you pluck up the courage to ask her.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Martin, ‘but how will I know the right time?’

  ‘Ask her when she’s really happy about something,’ said Tommy, ‘or when you’ve made her laugh. That should improve your chances.’

  Martin was impressed by this piece of information. He had always been slightly jealous of Tommy—he had often wished he was as successful with girls as his cousin. He remembered a tip Tommy had mentioned a few months ago. ‘When you see a hot girl in the street, look at her, look away, and then turn your head to look at her again. Girls are always flattered when you give them a second glance.’

  ‘I have an idea,’ said Tommy. ‘Take some of the money Slater gave us. Take Darcy out tonight and see what happens.’

  ‘I can’t use that,’ said Martin, ‘that’s for expenses.’

  ‘Martin, trust me. If you really like Darcy that much, you owe it to her to tell her how you feel.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Martin. ‘Henry IV is on at the moment actually—we both want to go and see that.’

  ‘Sad,’ said Tommy, grinning. He passed the envelope over to Martin. ‘Try not to use all of it.’

  Martin paused. ‘Have you got any plans for stealing the Monograph yet?’

  Tommy shook his head. ‘Nope. I’ve given it a lot of thought, but—no. Nothing. You and Darcy are the ones with brains—you figure it out.’

  Martin smiled weakly. There was so much going on in his life it was hard to ever concentrate on anything. They did, however, have one fact, one important fact—the fact that Harvey Longfellow was a dishonest man. Surely that fact would help them…

  ‘Hey, Tommy,’ he said. ‘There’s something I still haven’t shown you.’

  Tommy watched as Martin got up from his seat. He glanced around the library; nobody was watching. Slowly, he rose a few inches into the air, and then floated down again.

  ‘That’s amazing! How did you do that?’

  Martin grinned. ‘My power came to me. I was just sitting in the flat last night and it just came to me—I suddenly realised I could fly.’

  ‘What about Darcy—has she got her power now too?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘So far it’s just us.’

  *

  ‘Thank you so much for this!’ said Darcy.

  Martin had decided against using the money Slater had given them. It seemed dishonest, and he had managed to save up a little money over the last few weeks anyway.

  They strolled across the street until they came to the Underground station and climbed down the steps. The trains rattled through the station; Martin and Darcy swiped their Oyster cards and passed through the security barrier.

  ‘We’re running a bit late,’ said Martin, looking at his phone.

  ‘Stop stressing,’ said Darcy, linking her arm around his. ‘Everything will be fine.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see this,’ said Martin.

  ‘I know!’ said Darcy. ‘It’s been ages—the last play we saw was that rubbish one with the Russian bandits!’

  ‘They weren’t Russians,’ said Martin, grinning. ‘They were supposed to be Vikings.’

  ‘Well, whatever they were, it was a terrible play.’

  Martin laughed and his shoulders loosened. For the first time in days, he was starting to feel relaxed. It felt great to have a few hours to just have some fun.

  ‘I love London,’ said Darcy. ‘I’m so glad my parents didn’t move me to Cambridge.’

  When they were both ten years old and attending a local primary school, Darcy’s parents had declared that they planned to send her to a private girls’ school in Cambridge. But Darcy wouldn’t have it (‘There’s no way I’m moving to Cambridge to live with a load of snobby rich girls!’) and her parents soon backed down.

  Martin and Darcy had ended up going to the same secondary school—Gateway School—where they had continued their inseparable friendship.

  They waited for the train in a comfortable silence. Martin looked up and noticed a strange woman. She was wearing loose trousers made of several different colours of fabric, a woollen jumper, and a multi-coloured poncho. And she was staring at Martin.

  ‘Can you see that weird woman?’

  However, at the moment he spoke a train shuddered past, and when it had disappeared the woman had also vanished. It didn’t take Martin too long to forget. He was with Darcy.

  *

  They had a great time at the theatre. At the start of Act III, after the intermission, Martin put his arm around Darcy and she hugged herself closer to him.

  When the actors had taken their final bows, they left the theatre, arm in arm. They took the Tube again; Martin got off at the first stop. He hugged Darcy and darted off the train before the doors closed, promising to text her later.

  When he got back to the flat, his dad hit him.

  Chapter 7: The Telescope

  Martin’s dad stood up as Martin entered the room. He was very drunk; his eyes were bleary and he swayed as he walked towards Martin.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘I was with Darcy, dad.’

  Martin watched his dad uneasily. It was rare to see his father with so much energy. He seemed somehow like a live electricity cable that had become untethered and volatile.

  ‘Yeah? Who’s Darcy?’

  ‘Darcy Williams. My best friend, dad. I’ve known her for years.’

  ‘Never heard of her.’

  Martin tried to dodge past his dad but he grabbed him by the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t… don’t walk away from… me when I’m talking.’

  For almost ten years, Martin’s dad had been an alcoholic. It had started when his mum had died; his dad had never fully recovered from the grief. So Martin basically cared for himself, while his dad was very rarely in a state to converse, let alone to offer advice or support.

  Martin kept his dad’s situation quiet. He had tried a couple of times to persuade his dad to seek professional help, but had quickly learned that it was a lost cause. Martin would do the weekly shopping, cook the meals, and clean the house—and attempt to keep up the impression that he was leading a fairly normal life.

  He had even become used to his dad’s alcoholism. They had enough money to get by—his dad claimed benefits and was also given a small weekly allowance by Martin’s aunt (Clara Walker, his dad’s sister and Tommy’s mum).

  He had settled into a routine, and comforted himself with the fact that his dad was rarely abusive. In fact, he had never hit him. Until then.

  ‘I just want to go to my room, dad.’

  Martin tried to shove his dad’s hand off his shoulder; his dad reacted angrily, and lashed out. The back of his hand collided with Martin’s face, and Martin fell backwards onto the floor. He looked up at his dad through tear-filled eyes, hoping to see… what? Remorse?

  But his dad’s eyes were the eyes of an angry drunkard. In tho
se few seconds, Martin had a horrible revelation. He realised that he hadn’t had a dad for nine years.

  He scrambled away from his father, ran into his room and locked the door. Martin had tolerated his dad’s behaviour for so long, but now… this.

  Martin collapsed onto his bed and pulled the itchy pillow over his head. His tears ran into the ill-fitted sheet that was stretched over his mattress.

  *

  Martin didn't go to school the next day. He left the flat very early in the morning and spent the day wandering the streets of London. His phone buzzed continually with messages and calls, but Martin ignored them.

  He caught Tube train after Tube train, allowing himself to be whisked away to stations all over London. A part of him wished Darcy was there, but he hated to show any weakness when Darcy was around. No, he would wander alone until he felt better.

  Martin waited for the next train at the platform of the Angel Tube station, wondering vaguely if the Angel, Islington had been a real angel. Or an Axis Lord, perhaps. But his thoughts kept drifting back to his father.

  How dare he hit me?

  But then Martin saw two policemen standing at the other side of the platform. His anger vanished. The sight of the policemen had given him an idea.

  *

  Martin sat on the worn stone steps of the school; a stream of navy blazers from the reddish brick and glass building surged past. He waited almost fifteen minutes before Darcy walked out into the stormy afternoon.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Darcy, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? I’ve been trying to call you all day! And you just thought you’d ignore me?’

  ‘I really am sorry, Darcy.’

  Martin stared feebly at the cracked concrete, and Darcy’s face softened.

  ‘You know I can never stay mad at you, Martin.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sorry for getting angry. I’ve just… been so worried. I thought something… had…’