Finally Ned’s parents had been knocked back to their senses, as had Benissimo.
“Mr Fox, what are Ned and Lucy doing here?” said his mum as she pulled herself off the ground.
“I should think that’s obvious, madam.”
“Don’t you madam me, young man!”
But the Ringmaster, as always, had other things on his mind. “The stone, man – do you have the stone?”
Mr Fox did not answer, as his eyes were fully focused on the gap beyond both Benissimo and Olivia Armstrong. Ned and his allies had kicked a hornets’ nest. To one side of them was a growing throng of bloodthirsty fairies; to the other a mass of now thorny glade, rising and closing by the second.
The wounded ligron turned its massive bulk and limped in front of them.
“Lucy, Ned, I thought Lemnus said that the glade wasn’t under the Fey’s control?”
“Lemnus Gemfeather?!” stammered Benissimo. “He’s been helping you?”
“Apparently by order of his king,” replied Mr Fox, drawing his gun.
“Lucy, Ned, get behind us,” ordered Ned’s dad.
A suddenly alert Terry Armstrong blinked and a throng of stone projectiles hung in the air in front of him.
Benissimo unfurled his whip and Olivia had picked up a thick branch from the ground that she was stripping for use as a club. The ligron stooped its head low – wounded or not, it had at least one last charge to give them.
“Mum, Dad, don’t hurt them! None of this is their fault. They just want their stone back.”
“Yes, dear, and I am quite certain they will tear us limb from limb to get it.”
Lucy stood by Ned and raised a hand to his cheek, and in a burning second the gash the hummingbird had made left him.
“Thanks. You may have to do quite a bit of that in a minute.”
Almost on cue, Ned’s familiar slipped out of his pocket and slithered to the ground. Gorrn was clearly terrified but would not let his master face the Fey or glade without at least a little fighting and biting of his own.
Lucy smiled at the creature then her eyes locked to Ned’s, clear and bright.
“Now would be a good time to fire up your ring.”
“Right,” said Ned.
“Right,” repeated Lucy and her face hardened.
Ned Armstrong, last in a long line of Engineers, stood by his friend and Medic, and turned to face the Fey. He could hear the yawn of the glade’s stretching thorns behind them, and in front of them was a now slowing army of vengeful fairies, glowing with magic and menace as they prepared to charge. There would be no running.
Ned shut his eyes. He dug deeper than he’d ever had to. He thought of his parents, of Lucy, of everyone he’d ever loved or cared about, and deep in his chest something stirred. Defiance, bravery or sheer unbridled love – it moved in him like a tidal wave, and his ring finger burned … then suddenly fizzled to nothing.
The Fey charged and the ground shook. Ned looked to Lucy in staggered disbelief, then to his dear mum and dad, his friend the Ringmaster. He could do nothing to save them, nothing but stand there and watch.
Closer and closer they came. Ned’s parents looked back to their son. It was a look only a parent can make, a look that says, “Be brave – we have you,” knowing full well that they would be the first to fall.
At the final moment, when the reds, greens and violets of the fairies’ eyes were on them, Lemnus Gemfeather, protector and betrayer of the Heart Stone, pulled himself out of the ground and placed himself between them all.
As he did so, a great voice boomed through the air speaking in words that neither Ned nor his companions understood. Outraged and utterly perplexed, the fairies lowered their weapons in silent fury. Behind Ned, the glade withdrew till the door they had first walked through revealed itself once more.
Lemnus calmly walked up to Ned and his party, and bowed. “Go on – now, quickly. Through the door.”
“Gemfeather,” said Benissimo, giving Lemnus a reverent bow, “what in Zeus’s name was that voice?”
“Zeus? No, no, Your Ringship – it was Oberon. In our realm a fairy king’s bargain, no matter its edge, cannot be refused.”
“What did he offer in return?”
“His life,” said Lemnus sadly. “Do not waste it, Benissimo – defeat the Demon, and destroy the stone.”
***
Perched on a windowsill above a dark alley sat a grey and white pigeon. It did not coo, nor did it fawn with any other of its kind, because under its feathers and beak beat a clockwork heart made up entirely of brass. The Turing Mark Three had sat on the exact same spot for more than two days. Occasionally its ticker mind would remember to do something “pigeony” and it would coo, or ruffle its wings, but its gaze had not left the Fey’s secret doorway in the alley for even a second.
Its lenses clicked in quick succession as the door opened and four adults with two children walked through it, then refocused and clicked again at the silk-wrapped object in the boy’s hand.
A ruffle of feathers later and the Turing Mark Three took to the sky. It would be a long flight back to the taiga and Barbarossa was waiting.
The Fallen
ed had his parents and the Heart Stone, but there would be no cheering, no hugging or joy. As Mr Badger started to speak, Lucy’s eyes were already filling with tears, such was the power of her gift. The news could not have been more grave – St Albertsburg had fallen.
Back at the Nest it became clear that the BBB’s secret base was no longer a secret, at least not to the Hidden. As they came in to land they passed over countless supply lorries and the skies across the cliffs of Dover were thick with unmarked grey helicopters, like a swarm of bees protecting their nest.
Ned and his family alighted from their transport in staggered silence as Lucy rushed ahead to help care for the wounded. If ever her powers were needed as a Medic, it was now. Everywhere they looked they saw haggard faces and hollow eyes that had seen too much. Barbarossa had done more than send a message – he had crushed their forces before the battle had even begun and its effect could not have been more plainly written than on the Viceroy’s face. He had a thick bandage over his head, a swollen bruise on one eye and his nose was bleeding and cut.
“We weren’t ready for them, Bene.”
The Ringmaster looked aghast at what remained of his allies. “Odin’s beard, Tom. What of the city?”
“Bloodstained rubble and shattered glass. The bombs came first and then the Demons with their metal men. I’ve never seen such violence, such unrelenting cruelty …” His voice trailed off. “My city, Bene, the city I swore to protect – it’s gone.”
All around them were the same ghostly expressions of shock and defeat. Men, women and children from all over the Hidden’s domain had gathered at St Albertsburg because they believed in the Viceroy and because despite everything, they had hope. Those lucky enough to escape with their lives had had all the hope kicked out of them. Listless and broken, they were tended to by the BBB’s grey-suited agents.
As the great lift descended, Ned could see that each and every floor had been turned into makeshift hospital wards. Abigail and her husband Rocky carried the wounded, two at a time under their great arms. Scraggs the cook and his army of kitchen gnomes brought soothing broths and bread and even the three emperors, Nero, Caligula and Julius, were for once not causing mischief but delivering bandages and medicine to those most in need.
Ned had never seen anything like it and neither had his parents. The three of them stood and stared, just as wide-eyed and horrified as the victims. But like Benissimo, the Viceroy and Mr Fox, their role in all this was different. They had to dig deep, to lead, to find a way through, no matter what.
“It’s started, son,” said Terry.
“Looks more like an end to me, Dad.”
“Only the end is the end, and we’ve a few more forks in the road till we get there.”
“But St Albertsburg, our allies … how can we still win?”<
br />
Ned’s dad took his hand in his own and stooped down so that their eyes were level.
“Are you the same boy that only yesterday told us we had no choice? The same boy who has twice brought down the Darkness with little more than a ring and a chest full of hope?”
Ned looked away. “I don’t feel like him any more.”
“It’s not about how you feel, Ned. It’s about who you are – who we all are – and, like it or not, we have to fight for what we believe in, all of us, to the last man, or woman – or boy.”
Ned’s dad took his mum’s hand in his other, and gave it a squeeze as she wiped the tears from her face.
Ned looked up at his parents, then beyond them to the mass of wounded and worn. Darklings were terrifying and Demons the stuff of nightmares made real, but the rest of the Hidden, as frightening and changeable as they could be, were also beautiful. Aside from the citizens and soldiers of St Albertsburg, gathered in the Nest were a myriad of the Hidden’s folk, some new to Ned, some familiar. The Circus of Marvels when he’d first found it had taken his breath away, its satyr-horned acrobats and face-slapping Farseers. He’d learnt to love a giant ape that had made him faint with terror and had his heart broken by a man who could turn himself to mist. In front of him now were dryads and dwarves, witches and elves, creatures furred or feathered, on legs or hooves or borne aloft on glorious wings that stretched from their backs. As strange as they were, he loved them all for everything they stood for.
But what he saw right now was a defeated mess.
In that moment something happened in Ned’s head. It was a nudging, nagging feeling and it felt a little like bravery, except that Ned was utterly terrified. What if he couldn’t do it – what if he couldn’t save any of them?
He picked up the case that Mr Badger had used to seal the Heart Stone and marched over to Benissimo, who was still deep in conversation with the Viceroy.
The Viceroy smiled at Ned as he approached and a little of the man Ned knew returned.
“Ned Armstrong? By Albert, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Ned bowed his head politely, then turned to the Ringmaster. “Bene?”
“Not now, pup,” said Benissimo, looking slightly cross at the interruption.
“Bene, I need to talk to you.”
He scowled. “Can’t it wait?”
“I’m sorry, Bene, but it can’t. Look around you – we’re out of time! I have the Heart Stone and I know what everyone needs me to do, but I can’t do it unless I know what this thing actually does and how I’m supposed to use it.”
He shoved the case into Benissimo’s arms.
“So shall we get to work?”
Boffins
hey had stood waiting outside the Tinker’s lab for more than ten minutes. Benissimo had banged on the door hard, and Ned had shouted and shouted, but there had been no answer from the diminutive scientist.
Benissimo reached into his pocket and pulled out a rune.
“What’s that for?”
“This one packs quite the punch. I’m going to blow his ruddy door off.”
Ned had seen Benissimo use runes before. They were in essence like magical hand grenades and not to be used lightly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Ned doubtfully.
Thankfully they were saved by a young lab technician carrying a styrofoam cup.
“Mr B, sir. Might I suggest this?”
Benissimo’s eyes narrowed at the cup in her hands.
“He hasn’t slept, or eaten. The only time he comes out is for coffee. Just tell him you have some.”
And with that she passed them the cup and left them to it.
“Tinks, I know you’re in there,” shouted the Ringmaster, “and I know you know that I know you’re in there, but what you don’t know is that I have a cup of fresh coffee in my hands.” He pretended to smell its aroma. “Nicaraguan blend, if I’m not mistaken.”
There was a loud crash and a muffled yelp from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of tiny footsteps.
“Bene?”
“Tinks?”
“I take it you know how many explosives I usually have to hand?”
“Yes, Tinks, it’s well documented.”
“And the number of experimental weapons I’ve been working on?”
“Oh yes, and we all thank you for it, Tinks.”
“You had better not be lying.”
The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss and a barely recognisable Tinker grabbed at the coffee in Benissimo’s hands.
“Neptune’s trident, man, what on earth have you been doing down here?”
“Working?” offered Tinks.
To say that the Tinker’s lab was in a state of chaos would be like calling water wet. Where his worktops began and his tools ended was anyone’s guess. Reams of schematics covered the floor in ever thickening layers, and all of the mess – the bolts, the screwdrivers and screws, the ratchets, spanners and cutting tools – led to his central worktop, where what was left of his great-uncle Faisal’s head had been disassembled into parts. These, unlike the rest of the lab, had been carefully and precisely laid out. Littered over everything were piles and piles of empty styrofoam cups.
The Tinker was now muttering into his new cup, unshaven, bog-eyed and clearly quite unhinged.
“Tinks, how much coffee have you drunk exactly?”
“Ha-he! Not enough, never enough.” And as he said it, his eyes grew wild.
Amongst the carefully laid out machine parts, Ned spotted Whiskers. The Debussy Mark Twelve – part ticker and, as Ned had come to discover, part dog – was staring at a print on the table.
“Whiskers?! Hello, boy. How are you?”
Ned’s beloved dog-mouse did not look up. At Ned’s feet there was an almost imperceptible “Unt”. It was the first sound Ned’s familiar had uttered since leaving the Fey’s realm.
Gorrn was rippling very quietly on the floor and something was definitely wrong. Ned turned to the Tinker, who was looking shiftier than ever.
“Tinks, what’s going on?”
“I’ve been working on something. The code Faisal told us about – I’m close, really close.”
Benissimo had yet to be fully debriefed on their mission to Amsterdam. All he knew was that Tinks’s extraordinary great-uncle had told them of a code that could stop the Central Intelligence, shortly before Ned had turned him into a pile of disconnected parts.
“Gnome, sit down and speak clearly. I am in no mood for dithering.”
The Tinker did as he was told, his face calming just enough to get the words out.
“The tickers that laid waste to St Albertsburg –” and for a moment Tinks’s face turned to utter shame – “the tickers that were built in my fair city … there’s a way to stop them, maybe even turn them, the same way the Twelve’s eyes and ears were turned to work for your brother.”
Benissimo’s eyes narrowed and he leant in closer. “Go on.”
“Code. Ones and zeros. That’s what they listen to, besides their own programming. Ned will know from his time with the jossers that computers can be hacked. If we can hack the Central Intelligence, then we can control the orders that it gives.”
Benissimo was a man of swords and muskets, not lines of data.
“And this ‘hacking’ – can you do it?”
“I don’t know. There isn’t a lot of Central Intelligence lying about to try it on. In principle yes, but it … he … isn’t a normal computer. He thinks for himself, and essentially rewrites his code at will. Creating the right code, a code that can adapt to his mind as it changes, well … that’s what all the coffee is for.”
“Well, keep at it,” said the Ringmaster, then he took Ned’s case and handed it to the Tinker. “Tinks, this is the Heart Stone – get it under your lenses, would you.”
The minutian did as he was told, taking the Heart Stone out carefully and placing it under a set of microscopes.
As the Tinker inspe
cted the stone, Benissimo began to pace the room. It was slow and brooding to start with, but grew faster and faster. He circled both the Tinker and Ned, till his feet were wading through paper like a truck through snow. If Ned hadn’t seen him like this a dozen times before, he’d have thought he was beginning to crack.
“Bene? You OK?”
The Ringmaster stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed Ned by the arms.
“My dear boy, our allies are broken in spirit and bone, and until you rudely interrupted me upstairs I thought that all was lost. But your spirit has given me hope, not for the first time, Ned Armstrong, and I’ve no doubt not for the last either.”
“Fascinating, utterly fascinating,” muttered the Tinker, then looked up and blinked at Ned and Benissimo.
“What is it, Tinks? What does it do?” urged Ned.
The Tinker paused, looked back to the Heart Stone, then to Benissimo and Ned. “I haven’t a clue.”
At which point Whiskers turned to them all, his tiny eyes blinking brightly, and said, “If I were you, I would worry less about the stone and more about getting your powers back.”
Ned’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
On the floor Gorrn billowed wildly.
“Tinks,” said Ned finally, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY MOUSE?!”
Whiskers?
ou put your great-uncle Faisal in my mouse?!” seethed Ned.
The Tinker had explained in detail how what was left of his great-uncle was failing; how the only way to keep him alive was to transfer the code of his “soul” into another ticker, and that the perfect conduit was Whiskers, given that he had successfully undergone the procedure before.
“You knew, didn’t you? In Amsterdam, when you asked to take Whiskers with you?”
Poor Tinks looked very close to tears. “Well, I mean, you see … yes.”
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