The Feast of Ravens

by Andrew Beasley

  Ruby screamed and shrank behind Ben for protection. Thinking on his feet, Ben snatched up the shovel where the poor fireman had dropped it, but he didn’t repeat the stoker’s mistake. Instead he shoved it deep into the firebox and pulled out a heap of burning coals, which he threw at the Feathered Man. The air was filled with the acrid stench of burning feathers and for a horrible second they watched the creature fighting to quench the flames on its wings before it too fell onto the track and disappeared.

  Hugging each other for comfort, Ben and Ruby slumped to the floor. They could hear thuds and scratching as more clawed feet advanced towards them along the roof of the train.

  In panic, Ben’s thoughts turned to the Judas Coin. It’s now or never. He had to be rid of the Coin before the Feathered Men got their clutches on it.

  For a second he considered simply throwing the Coin out into the tunnel, but how much time would that win for the Watchers? A day? A week? A year? No time at all if a Feathered Man spotted him throwing it. No. Ben knew that would not stop the Legion from getting their most sought-after prize.

  It was like an oven inside the cab and a bead of sweat made the journey down Ben’s forehead and slipped, stinging, into his eye. Yes, he thought as he blinked away the pain. That just might work, if I’m quick about it.

  Ben reached into his pocket for the Coin. It’s hot where you’re going, he thought as he aimed it at the waiting mouth of the firebox… But he was stopped by the long thin arms that wrapped around him and the rasping voice that gurgled in his ear.

  “Claw Carter is disappointed in you,” hissed the Feathered Man.

  “Well, you can tell him that the feeling is mutual,” Ben replied.

  Without a driver to apply the brakes, the train was hurtling through the darkness at a reckless pace and as they swung into a bend, the whole engine lurched over at an alarming angle. Ben doubted whether it would stay on the tracks if it hit another steep curve.

  The train momentarily righted itself as they hit a straight length and Ben took his chance.

  He flicked his wrist and sent the Judas Coin spinning in a neat arc.

  All three sets of eyes followed its path, captivated.

  A small spinning disc of silver…

  An object of unimaginable evil and power…

  Destined for oblivion in the flames…

  And it would have been destroyed, if Ruby hadn’t intercepted it.

  Behind him the Feathered Man screamed in recognition and began to squeeze the life out of Ben’s body.

  Ruby looked down at the Coin in her hand, and Ben felt something break inside him as he saw the emotions written on her face.

  Those beautiful emerald eyes grew wide at first and then narrowed into tiny slits.

  “It’s mine,” she breathed.

  Then a Feathered Man reached in and plucked her away, leaving Ben with the memory of the friend he had lost.

  She was gone for ever.

  The train was out of control.

  It was careening along the tracks at a bone-rattling speed, tilting more dangerously with every bend.

  They were going to crash and everyone would die if Ben didn’t do something to stop it.

  Ben and the Feathered Man were sent staggering as they hit another corner. As the fallen angel loosened its grip, Ben seized his chance. He dived forward, grabbed the shovel and then spun, hammering it against the creature’s wing, feeling the snap of bone. The Feathered Man issued a hideous scream of pain. He hit it again and again, aiming at its legs, until it slumped in the corner, cradling its broken limbs.

  Ben didn’t know how to drive a train. He had only ridden in one once before in his life and although he had hung around the freight yards with the other boys from Old Gravel Lane, their main interest had been how much coal they could nick without getting caught, rather than learning the finer details of how to work a steam engine. He scanned the array of dials and gauges and quickly found a circle of brass with a protruding handle, helpfully labelled brake, and with two positions marked ON and OFF.

  Ben pushed the handle from OFF to ON. Nothing happened.

  The fallen angel slumped in the corner started to make an ugly croaking sound.

  “Think it’s funny, do you?” said Ben through gritted teeth. He looked around for an alternative option and settled on a large lever rising up out of the floor of the cab. It was angled forward. Ben took it in both hands, released the catch and pulled back hard, hoping for the best.

  A grinding sound rose up from beneath them. At least the lever did something, Ben thought. As they shuddered over a set of points, the whole train vibrated with such violence that Ben was amazed it didn’t jump the tracks. He pulled back even harder, making the sinews stand proud on his arms.

  It wasn’t going to be enough.

  Ben could hear the terrified cries of the passengers behind him in the carriages and he redoubled his efforts. Screwing up his face against the pain, he strained on the handle and felt it ease back a fraction of an inch more…

  I’m doing it, thought Ben. Then they hit another set of points and, just as he had feared, he felt the train tremble as one set of wheels was thrown off.

  The noise was incredible as the train shook itself free from the rails. Metal raged against metal. Sparks flew. Waves of gravel began to fly up as the engine ploughed on.

  Ben wasn’t trying to stop the train now. He was just trying to stay alive.

  The engine car was scraping along the tunnel wall, sending up clouds of masonry dust and a steady rain of bricks. Pipes started to explode somewhere inside the great engine and filled the air with a hissing, like the final breath of some huge beast. The Feathered Man had stopped its croaking laughter and sheltered itself beneath its unbroken wing.

  Incredibly, the train staggered to a halt. Shaking with emotion, Ben put his head out of the cab and looked back up the tunnel. Although the carriages were balanced at precarious angles, not one of them had toppled over.

  The Feathered Man struggled to its feet and regarded Ben with its cold bird-eyes. For the first time ever, Ben saw one of the creatures blink.

  “Yeah,” said Ben. “You and me both.”

  It was then that Three Fingers emerged from the darkness with a hiss, blocking the cab door and his means of escape. Behind him, Broken Wing covered the other exit. Ben was trapped. He raised the shovel to defend himself, but Three Fingers swept it from his grasp and flung itself upon him. Ben struggled in vain as he was swept up into the fallen angel’s arms and carried away past the wreckage. There was no escape for him today.

  Claw Carter looked down at the small piece of silver sitting in the palm of his hand. Was it worth it? he wondered. All the years of scheming, all the crimes committed? Yes! came the resounding reply. He would do it all again, and more!

  The last Coin of Judas was his.

  “So Ruby Johnson gave this to you of her own free will?” he asked Grey Wing sceptically.

  “More or less,” Grey Wing replied.

  “And where is Ruby now?” He had always had a fondness for the girl.

  “Contemplating her loss.”

  “And the hunchback, what’s his name?”

  “Mourning Miss Johnson’s predicament.”

  Carter nodded, losing interest. Absolutely enthralled by the glint of silver. He could feel the Coin pulling at him already, whispering to the deepest parts of his mind. The fact that Grey Wing could give it up without a second thought highlighted once again the difference between men and fallen angels; only men think metal is worth fighting over, the fallen angel had once told him.

  “And Sweet knows nothing of it, you’re certain?” Carter asked.

  “I do not answer to any man unless I choose to,” said Grey Wing. “And my feathered brothers follow my lead.”

  Carter nodded again, pleased that their alliance was holding strong, for now.

  “And Ben Kingdom?”

  “It was not possible to keep his arrival in the Under a secret. He kept shout
ing that he was the Hand of Heaven.”

  What else should he have expected? Ben always did have a loud mouth.

  “And so Sweet has him?”

  “He has been taken to the Tower. Sweet will execute him at the Feast,” said Grey Wing.

  Carter felt an unexpected stab inside his own heart. He remembered that he had once promised Ben Kingdom the chance to travel with him and see the world. At the time Carter had been lying, naturally; merely flattering the boy to make him easier to manipulate, but now…the prospect was actually an appealing one. There were so many more treasures that he still wanted to search for, after he had resolved his differences with Mr. Sweet, of course. All the books he had read, all the wisdom he had accumulated…he had dared to imagine that he might have an heir to pass them down to at last.

  “So,” he declared, after a moment of reflection. “You know what comes next, don’t you?”

  Grey Wing nodded once and his eyes grew wide with anticipation.

  “It is time for you and I to make our move,” said Carter.

  Unseen and unmissed, Munro sat in the barracks in the Under. He cradled Buster in his arms, the three-legged dog breaking wind softly.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Ruby,” he mumbled, hugging Buster closer. “I only wanted you to stay with me. I didn’t know they would do that to you… I never meant…” Munro’s words dissolved into sobbing.

  No one heard him. No one cared.

  “He’s late,” said Lucy.

  “Very late,” Moon agreed.

  Their journey to the rendezvous had been slow and dangerous. Feathered Men circled the sky, armed soldiers patrolled the streets. On the rooftops the Watchers were open and exposed, on the ground they were target practice. Exhausted, they managed to grab an hour’s sleep in a Watcher safe house on Coldbath Square, and now they were holed up in a damp cellar that smelled of rotting potatoes and despair.

  Lucy was cold. She found some old canvas sacking and draped it round her shoulders like a blanket. Ghost paced restlessly back and forth, like a caged panther. Moon positioned himself in a battered armchair.

  “But we wait,” said Moon, tapping the wooden lid with his cane. “Our agent inside the Legion has never let us down before.”

  Providing his cover hasn’t been blown, he thought bleakly.

  Moon’s body felt stiff and he shifted in his chair, trying and failing to make himself more comfortable. The war was taking its toll on them and they would need all their strength before the day was won or lost. They had been living on adrenaline and prayers, and they were running short of both.

  At last Moon heard the sound that he had been listening for: the subtle groan of wooden rungs as they took the weight of a climber, followed by the whisper of the trapdoor lifting.

  “Mr. Moon!” said the boy with obvious relief. “I hope I have not kept you waiting long.”

  “Only as long as necessary, lad,” said Moon warmly. He liked this Watcher, and admired him too. There was great courage in the Watcher life; to put self last and live for others, to make your home among the chimneys and steeples. There was even greater bravery though, in his opinion, to live the Watcher life in the company of the Legion.

  Lucy and Ghost woke as they heard the voices. “Hans!” said Lucy as she recognized him. “Are you all right? You look tired.”

  Hans Schulman pushed his long fair hair away from his face and rubbed his scalp vigorously. “These days are not so good for any of us, I think.”

  “So,” said Moon, getting straight to the point. “Have you got news of Ben?”

  “He is not dead yet,” Hans replied.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Lucy.

  “He has been most very brave,” said Hans, his German mother tongue showing. “He tried to escape but he was caught, and Mr. Sweet brought him before the ranks of the Legion. Mr. Sweet tried to make Ben abandon the Watchers, but Ben defied him…” Schulman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Mr. Sweet made many firm efforts to persuade him, but Ben only shouted louder ‘I am the Hand of Heaven!’”

  Lucy could only imagine what Ben must have been through. She pictured his defiance and she fought back a tear of pride.

  Hans paused, a cloud passing over his face. “They are saying things in the Under. Things about Ben and the Great Mother. Are they more Legion lies?”

  “No,” said Moon, “Mother Shepherd is dead. But, and I want you to be clear on this, Mother Shepherd took the blame for everything that happened. With her dying breath she asked for Ben’s forgiveness.”

  “Well,” said Hans, nodding in understanding, “that is good enough for me.”

  “So,” said Moon. “Do you know where Ben and Nathaniel are being held? Is there any chance that we could get them out?”

  Hans shook his head. “Mr. Sweet keeps moving them, only he knows where they are.”

  “But we know where they will be soon,” said Lucy.

  “At the Tower of London,” Hans confirmed. “Sweet intends to execute Ben and Nathaniel at the Feast of Ravens. Will the Liberator be ready in time?”

  Moon sucked in his breath between brown and crooked teeth. “It’s not finished yet,” he admitted. “There have been some setbacks. One of the engines blew when Jonas was testing it; some of the hull got shattered into the bargain.”

  “Then we persevere in faith,” said Hans with determination.

  Ghost slapped him heartily on the shoulder and the two Watcher boys exchanged a deep look. “We are in agreement,” said Hans, with a grin. “We are not slaves to fear.”

  “Well said,” Moon agreed.

  “I must return now,” said Hans. “If I am gone too long then the others might get suspicious. But before I go, I must give you these.” He reached inside his backpack and pulled out a bundle of black cloth, which he passed to Lucy. “I am sure that you will be able to put them to good use, yes.”

  “Thank you,” said Lucy, hugging him close. “Stay safe.”

  “And you,” said Hans, and with that he descended into the tunnel and was gone.

  “So,” said Moon as he shut the trapdoor.

  “So,” said Lucy. “It looks like were going to have to rescue our great leader yet again.”

  Claw Carter was a hunter and he knew how to set a trap. It didn’t have to be elaborate; providing you used the right bait, your prey would come to you. He had seen the wiliest Bengal tigers lured to their death by nothing more than a juicy goat staked out and begging to be eaten. Mr. Sweet might think that he was cunning, but he was an animal beneath that veneer. Just like those tigers, Sweet would wander out into the open and – BANG! – Carter would put a bullet between his eyes.

  If Ben had joined him, then this would have been his initiation. As it was the task fell to Carter himself. He would take no special pleasure in the kill. This was not personal; he didn’t need to do the deed up close. Mr. Sweet was merely an obstacle who had stood in his way for too long.

  Carter lay on the deck of the Thames steamboat, peering through the telescopic sight of his rifle. It was a unique weapon, built to his own design. The stock fitted snugly into the pit of his shoulder, as with a normal rifle, but a precision-made niche allowed him to support the weight of the gun with his claw, leaving his human hand to pull the trigger.

  Calmly, Carter observed the elderly woman tied to Cleopatra’s Needle on the Victoria Embankment. It was the perfect location, he thought. Now that the fog had done its wicked work, bringing London under Legion control, its grip on the city was no longer needed. Down along the river’s edge, it was already beginning to thin. That meant that whichever direction Sweet came from to rescue this dear grey-haired lady, cover was virtually non-existent and Sweet would be open and exposed. Lady Honoraria Sweet made for a very juicy goat indeed.

  Surely Mr. Sweet would come running for his own mother?

  In his vantage point on the steam-launch, Carter shifted position slightly, careful not to disturb the grey canvas sheet which covered him completely. He was content
that his knowledge of camouflage was sufficient to render him virtually invisible. That was of the utmost importance because if there was one fact that Carter knew for certain, it was that he would only get one shot. If he missed completely or only wounded Sweet, then the reprisals would be terrible.

  For that same reason it had been important that Carter lay down a false scent to lead the trail of suspicion away from him. He had made the kidnapping look like the work of a professional, leaving the ransom note unsigned but marked with a bloody handprint. Sweet would get the message.

  If you want her back, bring one thousand pounds to the Needle at five p.m. today. Come alone.

  Carter smiled. Here, kitty, kitty.

  It was a disappointment that Ben was not by his side. Carter remembered hunting with his own father, a long time ago now…

  Like every good hunter, Carter was patient when it came to waiting for the kill. Just for a second, he took his finger away from the gun and flexed his hand. He wanted to make sure that he had complete control when the time came. He returned his finger to the trigger and there it sat comfortably, without even the slightest tremor.

  Carter counted down the minutes. The deadline was drawing near and he knew that Sweet would not risk being late.

  Five o’clock.

  Carter squinted down the barrel of his rifle, taking a bead through the telescopic sight. He scanned for movement, any movement, that might give Sweet’s position away. Would he come from the left or the right along the embankment?

  The slightest groaning of a plank on the steamboat’s deck told Carter that he was not alone. Someone was behind him. He had been outmanoeuvred.

  A single shot rang out; a crack which broke the unnatural calm and sent a raven squawking into the air. Lady Honoraria Sweet’s head dropped limply onto her chest.