The Feast of Ravens

by Andrew Beasley

  “Quick!” Jago Moon whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “You two head for the rooftops, I’ll tidy up here.”

  Lucy tutted loudly in response; he could almost hear her eyebrows rising in indignation.

  “Alright,” Moon muttered, “forget I even suggested it.”

  Raising his voice again he addressed the soldiers, while his hand moved slowly towards his cane and the sword which lay hidden within.

  “There’s been some sort of mistake, sir,” said Moon, “we don’t mean any harm.”

  “We shoot anarchists,” the officer replied. “Orders are orders.”

  “Think for yourself, man!” Moon snapped back, his fingers now resting on the handle of his hidden blade. “I’m blind, and my associates are children. How much of a threat do you think we are?”

  “You can take your hand off that swordstick for starters!” the officer shouted. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” Moon could tell from the anxiety in the man’s voice that they were probably less than five seconds away from bullets being fired.

  Moon sensed Lucy and Ghost readying themselves for his signal. He would have been altogether happier if they were up against Legion scum, rather than these strung-out soldiers. Obediently, he let his cane clatter to the ground.

  “The Watchers aren’t troublemakers,” Moon explained in measured tones as he lifted his hands gently upwards, as if in surrender. “We don’t have any fight with you.”

  “That’s not what Mr. Sweet says,” the soldier retorted.

  “Oh,” said Moon, fiddling absently with his scarf. “We do have a fight with him.”

  Without warning, Moon flicked out with the weapon concealed beneath his scarf. The bolas was a length of twisted wire, weighted by a heavy ball at each end. One fist-like weight whipped the cord around the barrel of the rifle that was aimed at Moon’s chest, allowing the old man to wrench the gun from the surprised soldier’s grasp. Lucy and Ghost leaped into action alongside him. Moon heard Lucy take a dozen graceful running steps and then extend her quarterstaff. She planted it squarely in the ground and vaulted neatly up and over another soldier’s head, before he could bring his rifle to bear on her. With one of her favourite moves, she flicked out a roundhouse kick which sent the startled man flying. Ghost, meanwhile, had taken a running leap and grabbed hold of the arm of a gas lamp. Then, like some gymnast in the circus, he swung himself by both arms and kicked the remaining soldier over; the man’s rifle discharged into the sky as he staggered to the cobblestones.

  “Now,” said Lucy breathlessly, “we can all run.”

  Ben walked beside Claw Carter. They were going to the Dark Library – the Legion’s book repository, buried deep in the lowest levels of the Under.

  “I have found something that will be of great interest to you, my boy,” said Carter with an enthusiasm that Ben couldn’t share. With every step Ben took down the cold stone stairs, he could feel his trepidation growing. Carter had told him that there was no such thing as evil – and Ben was certain that Carter himself believed that to be true – but Ben was not so sure. What he did know was that he had to play along with Carter for a while, at least. Carter was willing to be his ally and could be the only way he had of reaching Nathaniel. This was such a dangerous game and Ben knew that he couldn’t put a foot wrong.

  He hadn’t forgotten the Coin lurking in his pocket either. Ben didn’t dare touch it, though. Not so long ago, all he wanted to do was to hold it in his hand, but it scared the life out of him now. He was terrified that it would fill him with its evil again. He was equally afraid that the Legion might find it on him. Yet something told him to hang on to it for a while. It might still prove to be his final bargaining chip to save his brother from becoming the sacrifice at the Feast.

  At the bottom of the stairs they were greeted by a Feathered Man, crouching on its haunches in the torchlight. It was an especially ugly specimen, Ben thought. Its feathers were a dirty black and its beak was criss-crossed with battle scars. It rose up to its full height as they approached and hissed furiously.

  “Down!” ordered Carter, and the foul creature stepped aside.

  Carter opened the door with a flourish. “All of the hidden wisdom of the world,” he said, “at our disposal.”

  To Ben’s eyes it looked more like a crypt than a library. There were bookshelves, true enough, probably half a mile or more of them in the low vaulted room. But Ben couldn’t take his gaze from the tombs that lay alongside them.

  “Fallen heroes of the Legion,” Carter explained, as they went inside. “No church would ever offer a resting place for them.” He smiled. “You and I might find ourselves down here one day.”

  “What a cheery thought,” said Ben.

  The roof was supported by ornate columns, typical of Legion craftsmanship. Ben studied the carving of a fat snake entwined around one pillar. It was incredibly detailed, he thought, as he reached out to touch its diamond-shaped head…only to snatch his hand away again when a black tongue flicked out to taste the air.

  “The snakes keep the rats down,” said Carter. “After all, the knowledge contained in this vault is irreplaceable.”

  “And if I get bitten and lose my arm, I can always get a false one like you.”

  Carter turned on him, but instead of the anger that Ben had expected to see on the professor’s face, there was an expression of amusement. “Come and take a seat beside me,” he said, ushering Ben over to a broad desk strewn with papers.

  Ben picked his way carefully across the flagstones. There was never enough light in the Under, and as much as he hated rats, the idea of stepping on a snake didn’t fill him with joy either. He sat down in the chair next to Carter and drew his legs right up underneath him, just to be on the safe side.

  The table was covered with ancient scrolls and books in languages that Ben could not read. Carter arranged three oil lamps to give them enough light to study by. “My child would have been about the same age as you now,” he said.

  Ben let that comment slide and picked up one of the volumes, intrigued despite himself. It was a heavy book, obviously several hundred years old. Carefully Ben opened it and began to leaf through the pages. He remembered Jago Moon once telling him about monks who spent their whole lifetime writing and decorating sacred books and he guessed that this tome was something similar. The calligraphy was incredibly intricate, but although he didn’t understand the words, Ben could tell that its subject wasn’t anything as peaceful as a book of prayers. The illustrations were a hint: Ben guessed that normal monks rarely drew pictures as horrific as these. He closed the book again quickly, but he knew the images would stay with him.

  “So what did you want to show me?” he asked.

  Claw Carter picked up a scroll and spread it wide, weighing it down with two of the lamps. “It’s written in Sumerian,” said Carter, with a scholar’s enthusiasm. “It was once the possession of a man named Simon Magus, a greatly revered member of the Legion. He was executed for sorcery nearly two thousand years ago. He foresaw that one day a great leader would rise up and strike the decisive blow against the Watchers. I am convinced that the great leader is you, Benjamin Kingdom.”

  Ben leaned forward, his heart hammering. His eyes were fixed on an illustration in the centre of the scroll. It showed a boy with red hair with his left arm raised and what appeared to be lightning bolts emanating from his fingertips. The boy in the picture was surrounded by the bodies of people he had slain, smoking slightly where his power had struck them.

  “The Legion will soon be gathering at the Tower of London for the Feast of Ravens, and it is there, dear Ben, that I want to put my theory to the test. Mr. Sweet intends to crown himself that night, as King of the Legion and then King of the nation. Once, it was my plan to wear that crown myself, but now…” Carter smiled like a wolf in the lamplight. “Now I think that it should be yours. Just imagine it! The Hand of Hell wearing the Crown of Corruption – you would become the most devastating power this world has ever known
!”

  Carter continued to speak but Ben’s ears barely registered what he was saying. Ben’s eyes ran across the scroll from horror to horror, finally stopping on the image of an old woman, lying dead beneath a mound of stones.

  “See anyone you recognize?” asked Carter.

  The woman bore an uncanny likeness to Mother Shepherd.

  “Why would I want to destroy everything?” said Ben, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “For the sake of revenge,” said Carter.

  “Is that enough?”

  “It is for me,” said Carter matter-of-factly. “Don’t you want to punish the One who stole your mother from you?”

  The hole inside Ben contracted painfully. Yes, he missed his mother, with all his heart. But was this what she would have wanted for him? Then he thought of Nathaniel, locked up somewhere, soon to be sacrificed. What if the only way to save him was to do Carter’s bidding?

  Carter was watching him carefully. “Of course,” he said conversationally, “there is only one way of testing whether you are the chosen one.”

  “Go on,” said Ben, hesitantly.

  “I want you to eliminate someone for me, Benjamin,” said Carter. “His name is Mr. Sweet.”

  “If you mean ‘kill’ him, then say so.”

  “Yes, Ben,” said Carter. “You have to kill Mr. Sweet. I have no doubt you can do it. I already have the bait to lure Sweet out into the open; his dear old battleaxe of a mother is trussed and waiting. All you have to do is allow yourself to be a channel for the power of Hell. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.” Carter met his eyes. “Look inside yourself…you know this is who you are.”

  Ben woke with a start, blinking furiously, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He was soaked with sweat, his shirt clinging to his body, his fists knotted tight. It took him a few seconds to make sense of his surroundings. He was in the Under, he realized, in the barracks. And someone was sitting on the edge of his bed.

  “Easy now,” said a soft voice, “you were having a nightmare.”

  It came back to Ben in vivid flashes. Two Ben Kingdoms had haunted his dreams: one who tried to do good, but failed every time, and another who did evil and was horribly successful at it.

  And in both versions, Nathaniel died.

  Ruby handed him a cracked mug of water and Ben drank it gratefully, gulping it down. They were alone in the barracks. Only Alexander Valentine remained, lying stiff in his bed and wheezing like an old man. Ruby went over to him and checked that he was sleeping, pulling his blanket up to protect his weak chest.

  “How long were you sitting there?” Ben asked, mopping his lips with the back of his hand.

  “Only most of the night,” Ruby replied.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to,” said Ruby. “I needed to know if you were still the Ben I used to know.”

  “So much has happened to both of us, Ruby.”

  “You’re the one they’re calling a murderer,” she said flatly.

  “It didn’t happen the way Mickelwhite says,” Ben protested. “It was my fault that Mother Shepherd died, but I didn’t want it to happen.”

  Ruby softened as she heard the truth in his words.

  “Anyway,” said Ben, “you’re in the Legion, I thought you would be glad, like the others.”

  Ruby sighed. Ben watched her fingers trace the Legion Mark branded on her palm. “I’m alone,” said Ruby with a crack in her voice. “I have no family. I steal things to survive, and I hide down here with the Legion because it was here or the workhouse.”

  Ben shuddered; he would rather sleep rough than find himself in the workhouse. He thought too of his own father and the agony he must be going through now that both of his sons were missing. For the first time Ben saw a different side to Ruby Johnson. Gone was the confident young lady that she always showed the world, replaced by a sad and lonely girl.

  “Why not leave?” Ben asked.

  “Easier said than done,” said Ruby. “The Legion doesn’t let you go without a struggle… If I was going to run, I’d need to have a partner, someone to watch my back.” She paused, and glanced around anxiously. “If you wanted to leave, Ben, leave for good this time…I’d go with you.”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know where to go any more, Ruby. If Claw Carter is right, then I’m the Hand of Hell and my place is here with the Legion. If he’s wrong, then I’m a failure as the Hand of Heaven, and I might as well stay in the Under. I lost control, Ruby, and Mother Shepherd paid for it. The Watchers are better off without me.”

  “You said it yourself, Ben. Being the Hand is all about choices. So why don’t you choose not to be the Hand at all? Live your life for yourself? Not worry about the Watchers or the Legion or anyone else… We could leave London completely, you and I, look after ourselves…”

  Ben reacted instinctively. “I’m not going anywhere without Nathaniel.”

  “Alright,” Ruby conceded. “But think about it, Ben—”

  Suddenly, Valentine began to gasp for breath, a terrible deep choking which racked his frail body in waves. Spitting blood, the boy struggled to get himself upright on his bunk, spots of bright red dripping onto the front of his nightshirt. Ben couldn’t stand to hear his suffering. He went over to Valentine, doing his best to get him into a more comfortable position. But no matter which way the boy sat, the cough refused to release its grasp.

  “Quick,” said Ben, filled with pity. “Get me another cup of water.”

  Valentine was in a bad way. Ben could see the blue rivers of his veins through the waxy sheet of his skin. The boy fumbled with the cup, spilling some of the water and lacking the strength to get it to his mouth without Ben’s help. Gratefully Valentine took a feeble sip and then the awful convulsions grabbed him again, shaking him like a child with a rattle. Without thinking, Ben put his right hand on Valentine’s chest and felt the boy’s heart fluttering weakly.

  “Take it easy,” said Ben softly.

  And then Ben’s hand began to throb.

  It started with pins and needles in his fingers, a tingling sensation which grew until his right hand was pulsing with strange power. Ben closed his eyes and let the energy channel through him; he was the pathway, not the source.

  It’s not your day to die, Alexander Valentine, Ben thought, a smile spreading across his face as he felt the release of supernatural electricity from his fingertips.

  The transformation was remarkable.

  For a moment Valentine’s spasms grew more intense, as if he were in the throes of a fit. Then they ceased completely. His lungs began to inflate and deflate normally, his chest rose and fell with increasing vigour. The rattle inside his ribcage was silent. His lips slowly changed from deathly blue to pink.

  “I say,” said Alexander Valentine, sitting up under his own strength for the first time in months. “What did you do to me?”

  “Just giving you a hand, mate.”

  Ben grinned broadly as a revelation struck him with blinding clarity. It was suddenly so obvious. Who he really was. What he was meant to be.

  Surely this was what his life should be about? It was not about being a weapon, Ben realized, not for the Watchers or the Legion. It was about the sort of power that can change the world.

  The Hand, thought Ben. The Right Hand.

  Ruby gazed at Ben with amazement.

  “Come on, Ruby,” said Ben, grabbing his billycock and shoving it onto his head. “Fetch your coat. We’re leaving.”

  “I should have seen it all along,” said Ben, as they sneaked through the Under. “The Hand of Heaven doesn’t work for me, it works through me. Don’t you see what that means?”

  Ruby didn’t.

  “It means that I can never make it work… All the time I thought that I was doing something wrong, or that I wasn’t worthy, but it’s not like that at all.”

  “So, do you think you could do that again? Heal someone else, I mean?”

  “I don’t know
,” said Ben. “I don’t think what I want comes into it.”

  “But think about the possibilities, Ben,” said Ruby, her face lighting up. “We could make some money out of this.”

  Ruby’s words turned Ben’s thoughts back to the Coin, still lurking malevolently in his pocket.

  It was time to get shot of it, once and for all.

  It had been a burden from the very start, he saw that now. It was like a magnifying glass which increased every wrong desire that lurked within him. Keeping hold of it was as dangerous as running around with explosives in his pocket. He hated the way that he acted when the Coin’s rage and greed erupted inside him and he daren’t risk that ever happening again.

  He would give the Coin to the Weeping Man and confess everything, he decided. It was the best idea he had come up with in ages. That didn’t mean that all his problems were over, however. He still had to find Nathaniel. And then they’d have to actually escape from the Under and make it back to the Watchers… Part of him was dreading that. He knew that he’d have to face Jago Moon and Lucy Lambert and tell them the truth about Mother Shepherd. And ask them for forgiveness. After that?

  He knew one thing – Jago Moon had told him often enough – everyone deserves a second chance. Surely, even if they didn’t want him to be their leader, he could still be a Watcher.

  “I think I know which way we should go,” Ruby said, holding out her hand.

  “Will this lead us to Nathaniel?” Ben asked.

  Ruby stopped dead. “I don’t know where your brother is, Ben. No one does. Mr. Sweet keeps moving him.”

  Ben’s heart crashed down from the heights it had reached. “I’m not leaving him,” said Ben flatly, his mind searching for a solution. “I’ll go and see Carter. I’m sure that I can trick him into giving Nathaniel’s location away.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ruby, as gently as she could. “Carter lied to you. Sweet is the only one who knows where your brother is.”