The Comeback of the King

by Ben Jeapes

  “Whoever he’s talking about.”

  “See anyone?”

  Salisbury was fast disappearing into the gloom of heavy clouds, but that was all. Ted turned round and sat down again.

  “No.”

  Look again, the Knowledge advised. That wasn’t just for show.

  So Ted twisted round again, and recoiled. The dark clouds over Salisbury were suddenly much closer, visibly moving towards the rear window.

  “Hang on–”

  Over the inspector’s shouted protest he pressed the button to lower the window and stuck his head out into the slipstream, The thudding of the racing air buffeted the inside of the car and the freezing blast tore at his ears and hair, but he got a clear view of the presence that was riding towards them on the storm.

  Tell her to drive, the Knowledge advised. Tell her to drive very fast.

  Ted didn’t need to be told.

  “Drive!” he screamed into the wind. He pulled himself back into the car and screamed again. “Drive!”

  The engine howled in protest as the car pressed forward just that little bit faster. She peered into the driver’s mirror.

  “What the hell is that?”

  I think you’ll find it’s the King’s Hunter.

  “The what?”

  It’s what was looking for you in your dream last night. It’s what the King embedded in your friend here until your sister knocked it out of her again. It has a quarry.

  Quarry?

  Ted didn’t pass the answer on and the inspector didn’t press for it.

  The storm stretched from horizon to horizon and towered above the car like a mountain; and at the front of it the Hunter bore down on them with a purpose and malice that could not be disguised. Like in a dream, Ted could never have described what he was seeing, just that he knew he was seeing it. A wild man clad in helmet and leathers, embodied and embedded within the storm: laughing, grinning with glee. Sometimes the clouds seemed to pick out his form, sometimes he just hung in front of Ted’s eyes and sometimes he wasn’t there at all, just aspects of him flitting in the wind against Ted’s awareness, but all of him out to avenge his master.

  “But we’re outside the King’s power,” Ted shouted. “How does it keep going?”

  Your ancestors hunted for longer than they had the King. The spirit of the hunt was already with them. The King gave it form to serve him here but the spirit isn’t geographically confined.

  “Ted,” the inspector said grimly, “we can’t go much faster–”

  The car was already shaking with the force of the wind that chased it, and then with a final lurch the Hunter fell upon them in all his strength. Dark swirling wind surrounded the car and buffeted it across the road. It lurched from one side to the other while the inspector wrestled with the wheel for control, the road blanked out by a darkness that even the headlights couldn’t penetrate. Ted gritted his teeth against what had to come: the impact of a ton of metal at 80mph with another vehicle, a lamppost, the crash barrier, anything.

  But somehow the car came to a halt on its own. The inspector slowly unpeeled her hands from the wheel and there was just time for their eyes to meet, a silent acknowledgement that this was it, and then the doors were torn off and the two of them were dragged from their seats. The dark storm raged around them and somehow the Hunter was everywhere within it. He was holding Ted in a grip of iron. He was the other side of the car, grappling with the inspector. He flitted in the wind around them, his grinning features fleetingly revealed before the storm whipped them away again.

  “So do something!” the inspector yelled as they were marched round to the front of the car. Ted was trying. Back in the market place it had felt so easy, just manipulating the environment with a series of commands fed to him by the Knowledge. This time there was no environment. The storm was a manifestation of primal power, not something the Knowledge could get a grip on.

  “Any ideas?” he shouted inwardly.

  This situation is well outside my experience. I’m pretty sure I can preserve your life.

  “Right–”

  They were forced to their knees, side by side in front of the car. The cold, rough surface of the road bit into Ted’s knees.

  I doubt I can preserve hers.

  “Eh? No!”

  The Hunter walked behind them so that Ted had to twist his head round to see what was happening. The Hunter’s hands still pressed down on his shoulders but at the same time the Hunter was over by the car. He pulled the back door off the car and threw it into the storm, and then, with the help of yet another copy of himself, he slowly, tenderly drew out the still form of the King and laid him down on the road. Now just one Hunter knelt on one knee with his head deeply bowed over his master’s body. Then he rose with the grace and strength of a steel spring uncoiling and came back to face his two prisoners, and as he walked he drew the sword that hung by his side. It was two feet of iron, crudely wrought but cruelly sharp, and suddenly Ted’s entire vision seemed to narrow down to that dully gleaming blade. It was snug in the Hunter’s hand, as much a part of him as his fingers and just as totally under his control.

  “So, what’s the plan, Ted?” the inspector murmured. Ted just stared at the sword.

  “Uh–”

  Words thundered in their ears in a tone of rage and loss.

  My master dies. You die.

  In a swift movement the Hunter thrust the iron sword into Ted’s chest.

  For a moment there was the most extreme agony Ted had ever known. He just had time to look down at the blade jutting obscenely from his sternum before the Hunter pulled it out again, metal grating against bone and cartilage, and he felt himself topple limply to one side. His head hit the road with a thud that he barely noticed. There was a blazing heat in his chest but it was a pleasant heat, like ointment on a pulled muscle. With what was left of his consciousness he became aware that the Knowledge was talking.

  … massive trauma to the central nervous system coupled with sharp drop of blood pressure, leading to immediate loss of consciousness and death within seconds. Classic stab wound symptoms. He thinks you’re dead. As long as you don’t do anything silly like move then we’ve got away with it.

  “Huh?”

  Ted lay on the ground, his eyes open and gazing dully into the distance, road grit pressing into his face. It was dawning on him with an indignation he felt too tired to take in that he had just been executed. This was extremely uncomfortable but also surprisingly easy. Dimly he realised that the Knowledge had taken over. Its control lay on top of him like a thin blanket, one he could throw off any moment if he wanted to but which for the time being it was easier to keep.

  I’m patching the physical damage, I’m making sure you don’t lose any blood and I’ve told your nervous system it was being lied to. Told you I could do it.

  “And the inspector?”

  Toast. I can only do this because I’m in your head.

  “Gee, that’s too bad–” For just a moment Ted was happy to lie still under the Knowledge’s control and let it happen. The Hunter would go away and he would be alive. Too bad about the inspector but …

  No!

  “No!”

  Thought and mindless shout came at the same time, and he pushed himself up to his feet just in time to see the Hunter ram the sword into the inspector’s chest. She fell over backwards, and then in one movement pushed herself back up. It took everyone – Ted, Hunter and the Knowledge – a couple of seconds to realise the sword had only gone in about half an inch, and by then both the inspector and the Hunter were staring at Ted with shock at his sudden resurrection.

  “You’re wearing a stab vest!” Ted wanted to burst out laughing at the delighted realisation, in the half second before the Hunter raised his sword and slashed it down at him with a howl of anger. Sheer reflex made Ted stagger back out of range.

  Careful, I can’t reattach your head and by the way just what the hell are you doing? You could have got away with it!

&nb
sp; “Just unmake the sword already?”

  Difficult, as it doesn’t technically exist in the first place …

  It existed enough to make Ted retreat as the Hunter advanced. He slashed his sword again with a grunt of anger. And again, and again, and every time Ted took another step back. Grunt, slash, grunt, slash … Ted met his eyes, saw the mirth and realised the Hunter was playing with him.

  Nicely done. Enjoy the afterlife. I’ll just look forward to a quiet extinction. No worries.

  “We couldn’t just leave her!”

  Why not?

  “Because!”

  But you were safe, you were–

  Ted finally worked out what it was.

  “You were just interested in saving yourself, weren’t you? It’s not my life that worries you, it’s yours!”

  Well, duh and yes and what of it? And I think he’s about to attack for good …

  Ted tensed for what was to come, not knowing if he should fling himself away or just run or throw himself at the Hunter.

  “You’re the Knowledge, you work it out.”

  And then the inspector stepped forward with a small can in her outstretched hand and sent a jet of pepper spray straight into the Hunter’s eyes. He howled like a wounded animal and convulsed in a fit of coughing, his eyes tight shut and streaming. Snot ran from his nose like a river, and in between coughs and chokes that animal yowling told Ted exactly how much trouble he was in if the Hunter ever recovered and got hold of him again.

  “While he’s out,” the inspector snapped and hurried back to the car. “Come on!”

  “Uh … Ted followed her, but cast a sceptical look at the storm that still raged all around them. It looked solid and he wasn’t sure the car could actually get through it. “Where to?”

  “Anywhere’s better than here–”

  The Hunter’s screams stopped suddenly. The inspector whipped her head around and Ted followed suit very reluctantly. The Hunter was gone. The sound of the storm began to increase.

  “Where’d he go?” The inspector turned in tight little circles, peering out into the storm for an ambush. “How did he move that fast?”

  “He didn’t,” Ted said unhappily. (“I’m right, aren’t I?” he added inwardly, but the Knowledge wasn’t saying anything.) The tempest was getting noticeably louder even as he spoke. “He just chucked in his body. He’s all storm now.”

  It was twice as loud and twice as strong. They were at the centre of a whirlpool of power, older than the King and with no King to control it.

  The inspector grabbed his arm and heaved him towards the car.

  “Then we get going now!”

  But the storm had closed in on the car. In an instant it was whipped away into the dark and the swirling walls of the vortex compressed still further. Even at the centre, wind whipped at Ted’s face. He tried not to think of what a force that could throw a car like that would do to his own soft, pink, fragile human body.

  But he could do this – couldn’t he? It was just air and air obeyed the Knowledge like any other element. He just had to get hold of the molecules, exert a little force …

  But nothing happened and Ted suddenly realised that the Knowledge wasn’t in his head anymore. Its comfortable organic chassis was about to be irreparably damaged and so it had sought a safer haven.

  Ted and the inspector bumped into each other, back to back, as they pressed away from the storm.

  “Your friend’s not helping us?”

  Ted just shook his head. The storm was inches away.

  If you’d just said ‘yes’ to her yesterday then you wouldn’t be about to die a virgin today …

  That wasn’t the Knowledge, that was just Ted, and he blurted out a strangled sob of a laugh because it was such a pathetic dying thought.

  “Enough–”

  It was the faintest whisper of a word behind the storm. The storm paid no notice. It circled so close that Ted had to hold his arms tight against his sides to keep them from being torn away.

  “Enough–”

  The voice was louder. It carried over the storm and reminded Ted of an adult speaking to a child, knowing full well it could enforce the command but giving them the option of obeying of their own free will.

  The storm didn’t get quieter but it didn’t get any louder either.

  “Enough!”

  The voice snapped with command and the storm obeyed. The edges of the maelstrom began to expand, moving away from the trapped pair of humans. As it went, so it faded. Daylight returned, just the dim glow of dusk on a December evening but a bright summer’s day to Ted’s light-starved eyes. He could see road, trees, buildings, the lights of cars backed up on the A36.

  He and the inspector stood in a layby. The police car lay nearby with its front end in a ditch and its back end sticking out into the road. They were still pressed back to back.

  And then figures emerged from the gloom, spaced out in a pattern around them, and Ted’s heart began to pound at sight of the familiar outlines. Elaborate flowing robes with patterns of gold and silver that seemed to bustle and billow with movement even when the owners were standing still. Strange haircuts, heads shaved like the letter V so that one point hung between the eyes and the other two trailed away over the shoulders. After the events of that summer, Ted had very good reason to remember the type.

  He had particular reason to remember their leader, a tall, old woman who stood forward of the rest with her face pinched and stern, not the slightest sign of liking or affection in her thinly pressed lips. If old women were meant to be nice and granny-like then the witch was the anti-gran.

  “Well, hi.” For all her fierceness, Ted could speak in the full knowledge that she had saved his life once, when she could have just left him to die, so she probably wasn’t going to do anything harsh now. “You’ve got some friends now?”

  Back in the summer she had been very much the lone operator, seeking for the thief on her own through time and space, forced to operate through local agents like Zoe in every century. Now she had a small entourage. Ted counted five, six; men and women, from his sort of age to much older. Maybe the summer’s events had had repercussions back where she came from too.

  She didn’t even blink or wink or crack a smile or just plain nod to show she had heard him. But he was already looking beyond her, scanning the faces of her companions, and then he couldn’t help but grin. The oldest of the men, the one with the least silly haircut and the plainest robes …

  The old man gave an embarrassed half wave.

  “Hi, mate,” said Stephen. But before Ted could take a step forward, he was indicating something behind Ted with his eyes. “You, uh, need to talk to this guy.”

  “Oh. God,” the inspector said flatly. Ted peered round to see what she meant.

  The witch and Stephen were not the only ones who had returned.

  Chapter 21

  The King stood a small distance away, arms folded, an amused half smile on his face. He made no attempt to come closer, or to shout or to threaten. He wore robes of some kind: plain, not the ghostly, flowy type of the witch and her retinue but certainly not the borrowed tweed suit that was all Ted had seen him wear.

  He also looked older. But the witch was finally talking so Ted dragged his attention back to her.

  “I thought I had seen the last of you, boy.”

  “Yeah, well, it was mutual.”

  “And you have something of mine.”

  Ted bit his lip. The witch’s mission in life had been to incarcerate the Knowledge and prevent it being misused by anyone. If she got hold of what had been in Ted’s head she would take it away and imprison it. As far as Ted was concerned, the Knowledge was no friend: utterly self-centred, only out for what it could get out of him, and besides it had called the King up in the first place, even if that had been a side effect of saving Ted from serious injury and possibly even saving his life. But it had also helped them get this far and anyway, the playground instinct was strong in him: you don’
t rat to the grown-ups.

  Her eyes narrowed at his deliberate silence but she came forward and peered closely into his face with an intensity he could not look away from.

  “You had,” she corrected. “It very wisely moved on after calling us.” She looked away, at her acolytes. “Find it,” she snapped. They bowed, and all except Stephen faded away.

  Ted’s certainty about the Knowledge had suddenly been pulled from beneath him.

  “Wait … what … it called you? But … but it was just–”

  He remembered that the Knowledge had emphatically not wanted to return to captivity, which meant taking no risks about revealing itself. It had done that to the point of being happy to play dead, quite literally, and let Inspector Stewart die just to preserve its – Ted’s – own skin. Why the sudden change of heart?

  “You’re the Knowledge, you work it out.” That was what he had told it. Maybe it had.

  “Look, someone, Ted, anyone, I’ve no idea what’s happening but there’s things that need doing.” The inspector had one eye on the backed up queue of traffic.

  Ted and Stephen glanced at the witch, who gave a single, impassive nod.

  “She says, knock yourself out,” Stephen translated.

  “Big of her,” the inspector muttered. She gave Stephen an odd look, but that was all she had time to spare as she strode towards the cars, giving the King a wide, wary berth. He still hadn’t moved, though he watched her go. She held her hands up to guide the vehicles around the wrecked police car and the queue started to move, slowly at first and then with increasing confidence. A red Royal Mail van drove past and the driver didn’t even glance in Ted’s direction. He wondered if he and the inspector were the only ones who could see the witch and her crew.

  And speaking of the inspector …“She’s in such trouble,” he murmured.

  Stephen had come up to stand beside him.

  “Then talk to him.” Stephen nodded towards the King and Ted snorted.

  “Him? He’s the one who caused it all!”

  “Then he should be the one to fix it.”

  Ted glanced over at the waiting King again, then quickly back to Stephen and the witch, suddenly needing reassurance.