The Feast of Ravens

by Andrew Beasley

  Sweet took another slow step back, reaching for a fallen sword. The planks beneath them shuddered as the posts which supported them began to give way to the inferno. Ben could feel the soles of his skyboots beginning to burn as the fire ate away at the platform itself.

  “I’ve never run from anything in my life,” said Mr. Sweet, “and I’m not going to start today.”

  In the same instant, one side of the platform collapsed, sending Mr. Sweet staggering. Sweet muttered a foul oath as he stumbled. Then he swore again, louder and uglier, when he saw that he had strayed too near the flames.

  It happened too quickly for either him or Ben to react.

  The hem of Sweet’s magnificent feathered cloak brushed against the flames and there followed a long agonizing second when Sweet knew what was coming and understood that he was powerless to prevent it. The flames soared up his body, claiming him from head to foot. Ben could do nothing, except pity the man’s agony, as Mr. Sweet lurched away, to be instantly swallowed by the thick fog of the black smoke, leaving only his screams and the stench of burning feathers to remember him by.

  “Now,” said Ben, standing over the helpless form of Claw Carter. “Let’s finish this.”

  Claw Carter, enemy of the Watchers, looked up at Ben. A long string of drool escaped from the corner of the professor’s mouth.

  Ben placed the Hand of Heaven on the professor’s head and felt its energy flow from him. They were surrounded by fire, but none of it burned as brightly as the fire which passed through Ben now.

  “Come back,” said Ben with quiet authority. “Come back, Professor James Carter.”

  Carter began to shudder. Violent convulsions sent his arms and legs into spasm. Still Ben spoke over him, not relinquishing his grip. “This isn’t how it ends for you,” said Ben.

  With that, Claw Carter went limp and collapsed. For a second, Ben wondered whether the power of the Hand had destroyed Carter completely. He gazed down at Carter’s face, looking for signs of life.

  Carter’s eyes opened with a start, as if he had woken from a deep and terrible sleep and no longer understood the world around him.

  “Do you know who I am?” said Ben, crouching down and searching his eyes for a flicker of recognition.

  “Yes, I know you,” said Carter, raising his claw. “You’re Ben Kingdom.”

  “That I am,” said Ben, with a touch to his billycock. “And do you know what my most powerful weapon is?”

  Carter hesitated.

  “Forgiveness,” said Ben.

  Carter froze, then lowered his claw and put his human hand on Ben’s shoulder in the affectionate way he used to do, way back before Ben knew anything of the Legion or the Watchers. Back when Ben was just a mudlark, bringing his treasures to the brilliant professor who lived in the basement of the British Museum.

  “I don’t understand what you’ve done to me,” said Carter. “Or why—”

  “You’re a clever bloke,” said Ben. “You’ll work it out.”

  Claw Carter rose unsteadily to his feet, surveying the scene of desolation around them. The fire was drawing closer. Ben spun, searching for a way through the inferno but even as he did so the flames leaped higher, driven by the draught of giant wings. Talons pierced Ben’s shoulders and he was plucked off the ground. Three Fingers had returned.

  Ben’s legs flailed as Three Fingers drew him higher. Ben had lost his quarterstaff, leaving him with nothing but his bare hands to try to defeat the creature. It was never going to be enough.

  “Carter!” Ben cried out, searching for the professor even as the Feathered Man dragged him into the air. Smoke stung Ben’s eyes and he lost sight of Carter in the flames; surely it couldn’t finish like this?

  The Liberator was hovering, but Ben could see the Watchers had their own fight on their hands, trying to keep the airship steady in the updraught from the flames and simultaneously repel the Feathered Men that were circling around it.

  Then came the flash of white, and the sound of mighty wings, as Josiah swooped in. Ben’s heart soared as the Weeping Man flew towards him, sword in hand. Above him, Three Fingers hissed in anger and alarm.

  “Release him,” Josiah demanded, “and I can let you depart in peace.”

  Three Fingers shrieked and snapped his beak in defiance, holding Ben with one hand so that he could slash out with the other. Josiah dodged the blow and came in beneath it, pushing his sword into the Feathered Man’s side. With a gurgle, Three Fingers went limp and began to fall, releasing his grasp on Ben. Ben was left hanging in empty space, but before he could tumble to his death, Josiah caught him in both arms.

  With a combination of harpoons, crossbows and sheer determination, the Watchers had managed to fend off the Feathered Men, but their victory would be short-lived if they didn’t make good their escape soon. As Josiah reached the side of the Liberator, three pairs of hands stretched out to haul Ben over the side: Jonas, Lucy and Ghost. Ben could see Jago Moon tending to Nathaniel.

  They had made it.

  Ben turned to smile at Josiah. Then the expression on the Weeping Man’s face changed, suddenly and terribly.

  A spot of crimson emerged in the centre of his white shirt. Followed by the tip of a sword, which had pierced his body.

  Wounded and bloody, Three Fingers had flown up behind them and, in a single move, snatched Josiah’s sword from its sheath and plunged it into the Weeping Man’s back.

  “Noooo!” shouted Ben. Lucy whipped up her crossbow pistol and fired at the leering Feathered Man. Then came a frozen moment: something exploded in the Tower beneath them, sending up a huge blossom of fire, which rocked the Liberator from prow to stern. Three Fingers and Josiah were suspended in the air. And then they both fell down into the flames.

  Ben grasped at empty air as his friend disappeared into the smoke. Simultaneously a black cloud began to rise in the distance: a fresh swarm of Feathered Men emerging from the Under.

  “Ben! We have to go,” said Jonas Kingdom, taking the wheel and opening the Liberator up to full throttle.

  Ben slumped to the deck, more exhausted than he had ever been, while the airship lifted them higher and higher into the bruised and angry sky.

  Night gave way to a cold, crisp day. The fog had departed with the Nightmare Child, but the London it left behind was tattered and torn. Ben stood with a small band of Watchers on the roof of Lancaster House, looking out on Buckingham Palace. Jago Moon had led them there. Ghost was there too, with his leg bandaged, and Valentine and Jonas Kingdom and Nathaniel. Lucy was standing beside Ben and he reached for her hand as they waited for the dawn, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

  The sun when it came was weak and feeble, yet they all bathed in its glow, relieved that they could feel its embrace again. Ben felt his hopes rise with the sun.

  None of them had spoken much since the battle of the Bloody Tower.

  Mother Shepherd was gone.

  Josiah was gone.

  But the Watchers would live on.

  Ben realized that he was still wearing the silk scarf that Ruby Johnson had given him and he tugged it loose. After staring at it for a second, he pitched it over the side of the building and it fluttered to the ground.

  “Why did you do that?” asked Lucy.

  “It didn’t suit me,” said Ben, adjusting his billycock.

  Lucy looked as if she was about to say something but a disturbance at the palace drew their eyes. A swarm of figures surged into the courtyard, but they weren’t dressed in the brilliant red of the Household Guards. They wore the black feathers of the Legion.

  The Legionnaires fell silent as the doors opened on the palace balcony and a figure strode into view. His hands were bandaged and half of his face was livid red from the kiss of the flames. But on his head was a crown, made from thirty silver coins.

  Ben felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Sweet was alive and the Crown of Corruption was his.

  “Uncreated One, have mercy,” Lucy breathed.
/>   Mr. Sweet waited for silence and then clenched his fist to his chest in the Legion salute. “All hail your new King!” Mr. Sweet commanded.

  Moon grimaced as he heard Sweet’s voice and the rapturous cheers of the crowd.

  The red, white and blue of the Union flag was lowered and in its place a new standard was hoisted: the clenched fist of the Legion.

  “This is a new day!” shouted Mr. Sweet, as first one, then a dozen Feathered Men began to lift themselves into the air from their roost on the roof of Buckingham Palace.

  “Yes,” said Ben, turning his back on Mr. Sweet and facing the Watchers. “It is a new day, for the Watchers too. Mother Shepherd isn’t with us, Josiah isn’t with us, but I stand here as your leader, if you’ll have me.”

  “We trust you, Ben,” said Lucy.

  “Thank you,” said Ben, from his heart. “Trust me on this then… I’d like you to meet my first recruit.”

  A man climbed up the rope ladder and joined them on the roof. A tall man with a weather-beaten face and a claw for a hand.

  For an empty second no one said a word.

  “I know those footsteps,” growled Jago Moon.

  “Claw Carter,” Lucy gasped.

  “No need for introductions then,” said Ben. “Come on,” he said, leading the Watchers away. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “So you think this will work?” whispered Ben, his back pressed against the wall, the rain making rivers down his face. Claw Carter ran his hand across his unshaven chin thoughtfully. The professor was tired, Ben thought, worn down to the bone; Mr. Sweet’s reign of terror was taking a heavy toll on them all.

  “It might, Ben,” said Carter. “It just might.” There was a distant expression in Carter’s eyes as he spoke and once again, Ben realized quite how little he really knew about the man he had put his trust in.

  “Then we have to do it,” said Ben. “What other choice do we have?”

  A fork of lightning rent the sky and for a brief moment Carter’s wolfish face was illuminated. Ben was shocked by what he saw – the raw hunger of a predator. For all his words, Carter was still a dangerous man.

  The stamp of heavy boots alerted them both to the brigade of Legionnaires approaching, hunting for curfew breakers – like them. Ben pushed himself into the shadows of the side alley, Carter beside him. Keep your head down, Benny boy. If they escaped the patrol there was still a chance that they could get to the palace…where their troubles would really begin.

  Ben felt Carter’s hand land firmly on his shoulder and give a squeeze of reassurance. A cannonade of thunder rolled across the city, shaking windows in its fury. The Legionnaires were level with the alleyway now, their own heads tucked against their chests as the rain lashed down.

  They aren’t going to spot us, thought Ben with relief.

  “Here!” shouted Carter, leaping to his feet. “Over here!”

  “What are you doing?” gasped Ben as the Legionnaires swivelled, their rifles raised.

  Carter kept his grip on Ben and shoved him into the open, his claw now resting on Ben’s throat.

  “Claw Carter!” snarled the captain, not lowering his gun.

  “The very same.”

  “You know what we do to traitors.”

  “I do, but I’m no traitor,” Carter smiled. “I’m the man who brings Ben Kingdom’s head on a plate.”

  Every coin has two faces.

  Every war has two sides.

  One boy has to make the right choice.

  The year is 1891, and LONDON is at war. High up on the rooftops lives a ragtag band of orphans and spies – the WATCHERS – PROTECTORS of the city. But below the cobbled streets lurks the LEGION, a ruthless gang of CUT-THROATS and thieves, plotting to unleash the darkest forces of HELL.

  When a MYSTERIOUS coin falls into his hands, cocky street urchin, BEN KINGDOM, is flung into the midst of this ancient BATTLE. The fate of the world rests with Ben, but which side will he choose? An army of angels…or THE CLAWS OF EVIL.

  ISBN: 9781409544005

  Epub: 9781409557258

  An unorthodox glossary for some of the more unusual words, weapons and phrases to be found in this book.

  ballyhoo: uproar, noise, an ear-splitting racket. A most common sound to be heard on the streets of London now the Legion are at large.

  billycock: a felt hat with a low, rounded crown, like a bowler. The best sort of hat there is, and I’m so pleased I’ve got another one!

  billystick: a short club, made of wood or metal, used in the fight against Sweet and his minions. Also comes in handy when rescuing people trapped in fires, fogs and other predicaments if you need to smash a window or break down a door. Sometimes know as a cosh.

  bolas: a throwing weapon made of weights placed at the end of interconnected lengths of cord. Favoured by Jago Moon, this is particularly excellent for sweeping those rotten Legionnaires off their feet.

  brainpan: the skull-shaped bone what holds your head (or bonce) in. Worth looking after, if I were you.

  brass it out: what you say to yourself when faced with a task that appears frightening, unpleasant or difficult. Take a deep breath, be brave, and brass it out!

  chandler: a dealer in supplies for all things nautical. As ships and boats are always in need of rope, these places are an excellent Watcher resource.

  costermonger: a noisy street trader of fruit, veg, fish or other goods who sells straight from a handcart.

  cut up rusty: to flex your muscles and start a fight. What you do when faced with the likes of Grey Wing, Mickelwhite, Bedlam and Dips.

  every man Jack: you, me, the bloke next door, the Watcher on the roof and the Legion in the gutter – basically every single person you can think of.

  eyrie: the nest of a hawk, eagle or other bird of prey, as well as the camp and lookout of a Watcher.

  garibaldi biscuit: a specialty of Peek, Frean and Co biscuit manufacturers, consisting of two thin crispy biscuits with currants jammed between them so it looks like a squashed-fly sandwich. Named after Italian general, Giuseppe Garibaldi, who visited the north of England in 1861.

  Huzzah!: What toffs say when there’s something worth celebrating.

  iron maiden: a most gruesome and cruel instrument of torture, this coffin-shaped box is littered with iron spikes, designed to hurt the miserable wretch imprisoned inside should they fidget.

  Knightsbridge: a very fashionable and well-to-do area of West London, and therefore a prime location for stopping no-good Legionnaire cutpurses and pickpockets.

  knuckleduster: a metal guard worn over the knuckles to increase the impact of a punch when engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a Legionnaire. Nasty, but effective.

  lucifer: a match (but also one of the many names that old beast, the Devil, goes by).

  Metropolitan line: the world’s first underground railway service, and a fast-track exit out of the Under. Carriage-riding not for the faint-hearted.

  mudlark: someone, usually an underappreciated boy, who makes a living scavenging in river mud for items of value. It does mean you get to keep the richest pickings for yourself though.

  mutton-chop whiskers: great big bushy hair on a fellow’s cheek which resembles a juicy meat chop, being narrow at the top and rounded at the bottom. Perhaps I’ll grow my own one day…

  old Nichol: London’s most notorious slum. Situated in the East End, it’s a miserable place – filthy, overcrowded and desperately poor. Many young Watchers began life here before being brought to the rooftops.

  ormolu: a very expensive way of making things look posh, which involves applying finely ground gold onto a bronze object using mercury. Although it looks nice, mercury don’t half give off some evil fumes, so most ormolu gilders kick the bucket by the time they’re forty. Still, makes a nice clock.

  quarterstaff: a shaft of hardwood measuring several feet used for fighting and defence against the Legion. Collapsible variations are preferable, as these can be shortened, both to conceal the weapon, and to increa
se Watchers’ speed and dexterity when running across rooftops.

  swordstick: a hollow walking stalk, concealing a blade which can be used as a sword in the event of enemy attack.

  Yeoman Warders: guardians of the Tower of London, tasked with the job of keeping an eye on the prisoners to ensure they don’t escape, and the Crown Jewels to ensure nobody walks off with them.

  Acknowledgements

  A lot of midnight oil has gone into this book, and I never would have been able to write it without the encouragement, support and love of some incredible people.

  I couldn’t ask for a more caring or wise agent than the wonderful Anne Finnis. Thank you, Anne, for everything that you do – you’re stuck with me for the long haul! Special thanks to the dynamic Caroline Hill-Trevor; I know that Ben Kingdom couldn’t be in better hands. I also want to thank my friend Libby Allman and the team at Waterstones, Plymouth, for my amazing launch – I will treasure those memories for ever.

  I want to thank the Federation of Children’s Book Groups, especially the Plymouth gang, for their support, and the children and staff at Stoke Damerel Primary for sharing in my excitement. Special mention also has to go to Helen Greathead, whose talent and kindness opened the door for me in the first place.

  I couldn’t have found a better publisher than Usborne, and my list of lovely Usborne people is growing every day! Thanks, first of all, to Rebecca Hill, for her unstinting support and enthusiasm for these books. Thanks to Amy Dobson for organizing my incredible tour, and to Anna Howorth and Carolyn Koussa for making it such a joyful experience. I’m thrilled every time I go into a bookshop and find my book, and I know that it is you guys I have to thank for getting it there.

  The Ben Kingdom books have an established style now and it still takes my breath away. Thanks to Hannah Cobley for her incredible, eye-catching design and Ian McNee for the dramatic map. Each time the book jumps off the shelf, you can take the credit. Special thanks belong to David Wyatt. I didn’t know how he would ever top the cover to book one, until I saw the cover of book two.