The City of Fear

by Andrew Beasley

  Ben began to move backwards, using his staff to keep the thug at a safe distance.

  “I’m gonna snap that stick,” the brute said. “Then I’m gonna snap you.”

  What the Legionnaire didn’t expect was for three of the men from the shed to sneak up behind him. Ben watched as they crept up – and then hit the Legionnaire with pickaxe handles. The big brute groaned as they hit him again and again, striking his shoulders, his arms, his legs. A normal man would have gone down instantly, but it took a concerted effort by all three until the giant wobbled and then fell face down in the mud.

  One of the young men went to follow up with a blow to the Legionnaire’s exposed head, but Ben stopped him.

  “No,” said Ben.

  “They took my father to the camp, they whipped him, humiliated him.” All the pent-up anger came churning out. “Why shouldn’t I pay one of them back?”

  “Because we are better men than they are,” said Ben.

  The lad looked as if he was about to argue, but a noisemaker rattle cut him off. The time for talking was done.

  Ben searched the Wall and spotted a solitary Legionnaire spinning the rattle furiously, like a football fan on the terraces, the loud clicking of the ratchet calling out to other Legion patrols. Ben saw a padded crossbow bolt take the Legionnaire clean between the eyes, knocking him out cold, but it was too late. Other rattles were sounding out, and whistles too. The Legion had been roused.

  Ben signalled to Lucy to start her diversion as he began to sprint across the open ground of the yard. His pa was going to need all the help he could get.

  Three more Legionnaires came running along the top of the Wall. They were all felled by Carter, Valentine and Nathaniel, firing padded bolts with the precision of expert snipers.

  The Liberator was airborne but still flying low, barely ten feet from the ground. It needed to gain more height or it would never clear the Wall…

  Then there was an almighty whump! and the ground actually shook as Lucy pushed down on her first detonator. The explosives that Moon and Ghost had planted ripped through the oil tanks, sending a mushroom cloud of flames into the air. The heat was enough to wash over Ben, even through the rain, and he threw himself face down in the mud as shrapnel began to fall around him. Ben dared a glance at the Liberator and saw that the hot wind had actually worked in the airship’s favour, helping to lift it higher into the air, although the gondola swayed alarmingly in the shock waves.

  The Legionnaires were thrown into disarray, uncertain of what they were up against. Then Lucy pushed down on the second detonator and a row of explosives went off along the foot of the Wall itself, blowing out chunks of masonry. Ben stumbled back to his feet against the force of the blast. The Liberator was climbing steeply now, thank God, out of reach of the explosions. But the engines were making a high-pitched whine, straining with the effort. This was not the swift getaway that Ben had promised.

  The confusion of the explosions had bought them precious time, but still Ben kept running towards the Liberator. They had badly underestimated how soon the Legion would arrive. Carter was a crack marksman, and Valentine and Nathaniel were both good enough shots, but it wouldn’t be enough to hold back the tide.

  So much for this being a weak spot, Ben thought, as an entire brigade of Legionnaires came running along the battlements of the Wall, Carter’s crossbow bolts whistling around them.

  The Liberator had reached the Wall but was still barely high enough to scrape over it. The first Legionnaires to arrive threw themselves at the airship, and scrambled on board like bloodthirsty pirates. The sound of the frightened children on the ship sent a tremor down Ben’s spine. But the next noise to meet Ben’s ears was equally chilling; it was the ferocity that only a mother protecting her children can possess. Ben saw the Legionnaires tossed back over the side and fall helplessly to the ground. Then there was a terrible rasping sound as the hull of the Liberator dragged itself over the ragged stonework of the Wall. Ben couldn’t imagine how much of this punishment the airship could take.

  He reached the foot of the Wall and drew a grappling hook from his pack. With an expert swing, he flung it up high and it landed with a clunk. Ben tugged on the rope to ensure that it was holding fast, and then shimmied up the Wall, putting all of his Watcher training to the test, grunting as he reached the top.

  Somehow the Liberator had managed to get clear of the Wall and was heading out over Dead Man’s Land – Mr. Sweet’s death zone. But it was moving far too slowly. And in spite of Carter’s marksmanship there were still five Legionnaires standing on the Wall, with several who had been felled initially starting to come round. Looking along the length of the Wall, Ben could see Moon, Ghost and Lucy thundering towards him. Most of the family men had stayed to give their all so that their loved ones could escape, but for the moment, Ben was the only one near enough to make a difference.

  “Oi, maggot pies!” Ben shouted. “Over ’ere!”

  The Legionnaires took their eyes, and their crossbows, off the Liberator and turned to Ben.

  “Don’t you recognize your arch-enemy when you see him, then?”

  Ben didn’t give the Legionnaires so much as a second to react. Josiah the angel had taught him how to fight and Ben spun into action on the Wall battlements. He ran in close to the first stunned Legionnaire and elbowed him sharply across the chin, knocking him down in one. Then, taking advantage of the rain-slick stone, Ben threw himself into a low skid, feet-first, cannoning another Legionnaire onto his back. The others recognized that Ben was trouble and backed off, bringing their crossbows to bear, only for one to be knocked out by another shot from Carter.

  Ben moved as if his body was no longer his own, all his training taking over. A sweep of his arm knocked a crossbow out of the way at the last instant, his other hand following through with a chop to the Legionnaire’s neck which made the man crumple. This was fighting Watcher-style. No death, but some bloody good bruises. Extending his quarterstaff again, Ben spun it from hand to hand before jabbing it into one Legionnaire’s stomach, bending him double, then lashed out in the opposite direction, whipping the crossbow from another Legionnaire’s grip.

  I’m winning!

  It was Ben’s last clear thought before the cosh struck him on the back of the head and sent him reeling. He turned to see the cruel leer of Captain Mickelwhite looming over him. Looking past Mickelwhite, Ben saw that Lucy, Ghost and Moon now had problems of their own. More Legionnaires had arrived, bringing with them a pack of Feathered Men. Even in his woozy condition, Ben could see that these Feathered Men had been worked up into a state of frenzy, drool dripping from their gaping beaks as they strained against their leashes, dragging their handlers along in their wake.

  The Legionnaires let the foul creatures off their chains and Ben watched in horror as the Feathered Men pounced on his three friends. They disappeared from view, lost beneath a maelstrom of claws and talons.

  As dazed as he was, Ben was aware that Mickelwhite was laughing. He took a swing at the Legionnaire captain, hoping to knock the smile off his face. But Mickelwhite dodged the blow, then planted his own punch in the pit of Ben’s stomach, forcing the air from his lungs in a rush.

  Twisting his head to look out over Dead Man’s Land, Ben could see that the Liberator was not faring much better. Even though it was nearing the far reaches of the danger zone, it was under ferocious attack. The gunners on board were doing their best to stop Feathered Men from snatching the refugees out of the gondola, but they couldn’t prevent them from slashing the balloon itself. Having managed to struggle up to a height of about thirty feet, the Liberator was dropping too quickly, nose first. The plan had been for the Liberator to make it over the houses and then land safely in Finsbury Park, but it was clear that it was never going to make it.

  Still groggy from his beating and distracted by the Liberator’s fate, Ben barely reacted as Bedlam grabbed him and forced him to his knees in front of Mickelwhite.

  “Mr. Sweet is gonn
a make us princes for this,” the thug said.

  “It is finished, Kingdom,” said Mickelwhite, drawing his sword. “Wave goodbye to your friends, then say goodbye to your head.”

  Through a haze of pain, Ben realized what he needed to do. He turned his back on Dead Man’s Land and the Liberator and kneeled on the battlements, his head bowed, but his legs braced like a runner on the starting blocks. Triumphantly Mickelwhite raised his sword, ready to deliver a two-handed blow.

  “Do it!” urged Bedlam.

  “With pleasure,” said Ben. Releasing all the energy coiled in his legs, he barrelled into Mickelwhite’s solar plexus head first, folding the Legionnaire in two. Ben didn’t stop when he came to the edge of the Wall and, before Bedlam or the others could react, Ben was diving through the open air and back into the depot yard. He hit the release toggle on his backpack and the glider wings snapped out, just in time to prevent him from doing himself serious injury.

  Ben hit the ground running and kept going.

  Above his head, he could see his friends’ limp forms being carried away by the Feathered Men. Ghost and Moon were both motionless. Only Lucy showed signs of life, hammering at the Feathered Man holding her in an attempt to break its steel grip.

  Then, from the other side of the Wall, there came the ear-shattering groan of splintering wood on stone – the sound of the Liberator crashing. There was a moment of silence, followed by the roar of an explosion. Ben felt his heart rip in two as flames from the Liberator rose high into the sky.

  “We’re going down!” Jonas yelled.

  They had made it over Mr. Sweet’s death zone but their luck had failed now. The line of gutted houses that marked the end of Dead Man’s Land was looming up in front of the Liberator and Jonas knew that they were going to hit them, hard. Struggling with the wheel and lashed by the rain, Jonas felt as if he was the captain of a sailing ship about to run aground. Along the length of the deck, everyone grabbed hold and did what they could to protect themselves from the inevitable impact. Some of the women and children were screaming, but not Molly, Jonas noticed. She looked on him with absolute trust in her young eyes.

  Hope I don’t let you down, sweetheart.

  They had lost far too much height, and one of the Feathered Men must have been lucky and slashed one of the steering cables. No matter how hard Jonas swung on the wheel, the Liberator was hardly responding, while the engines continued to power them forwards – straight towards the line of roofs.

  The nose of the balloon missed the knife-edge of the tiles, but the wooden gondola underneath was too low. Jonas threw all of his weight at the controls, trying to give the Liberator some uplift.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The gondola struck the roof with a bone-jarring jolt which threw everyone staggering forwards. Then the Liberator ploughed on, sheering up waves of roof tiles on either side, crashing through chimney stacks and sending them tumbling. The gondola itself began to splinter as it smashed against the wooden beams of the roof, threatening to tear the entire house apart beneath them. And still the Liberator would not stop.

  “Brakes!” Jonas yelled, and two lads at the aft of the gondola responded as they had been taught, throwing out the anchors. The anchors did even more damage to the row of roofs, smashing down through the tiles before catching on beams. The chains rattled and then pulled taut.

  The Liberator finally screeched to a stop with a jerk that knocked the passengers to their knees.

  Jonas let out a long breath. “Is everyone alright?”

  But then the Liberator jerked again. Its nose was suspended in mid-air, hanging out into empty space. Only the back half of the airship was settled on what remained of Holloway Road, held up by the anchors.

  The Liberator lurched and began to tip forwards. From the rear, Jonas could hear the anchors straining against the beams that were all that kept it from falling. There was also an ominous hissing that could only mean one thing.

  “Everybody off!” shouted Jonas. “Before the gas catches! Go! Go! Go!”

  Rope ladders rattled down to the safety of the street. The Watchers and the more able-bodied passengers made human chains. Children and infants were passed hand to hand; the older, frailer escapees were lowered over the side in slings. They had to get down to the ground and out of the blast radius. If this much gas caught fire, the explosion would be devastating.

  Soldiers in the street below, awaiting their chance against the Legion, were quick to react. They bundled the escapees away from the danger, passing small children down the line to safety.

  Last to leave the gondola, Jonas slung Molly over his shoulder and headed for the side of the airship. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the propeller still spinning uselessly, its blades striking against the brickwork with each revolution. The world slowed around Jonas. He could see the propeller clearly, saw it chip against the stone, saw the spark as it flew up into the gas cloud…

  Jonas turned his back to the ship, pulling Molly in close to him as he threw himself into a dive, even as the balloon exploded.

  “God help us,” he muttered as a wave of orange flame rolled over them.

  Cradling Molly like an infant, Jonas found himself crashing through a hole in the roof, then tumbling through a second hole in the lath and plaster ceiling. The explosion raged overhead, a molten ball of fire. But its brilliant life was short, dying the moment the gas was all burned up.

  Jonas blinked, surprised that he was still able to. He was white with plaster dust, and his nostrils itched with an acrid smell which could only be his own charred hair. Molly was beneath him. And beneath Molly was a musty old mattress. It had saved their lives.

  “Gosh,” said Molly.

  “Quite,” said Jonas.

  They staggered down the stairs of the abandoned house and out into a hive of activity.

  The army had been encamped all around the city for weeks, coming as close as they dared while Sweet still held the threat of the axe over Queen Victoria’s neck. Now Jonas saw tears of relief from the escapees as the soldiers gathered them up, covering their shoulders with blankets, handing them mugs of steaming tea. It was a bittersweet victory; so many families had been separated when the Wall went up. So many loved ones were still trapped on the wrong side.

  Jonas slipped a cartridge into the broad brass muzzle of his flare gun to let his own family know that he was fine. Then he aimed it into the sky, pulling the trigger. The charge sizzled away and then the night blistered red as the signal flare ignited. It was a message to the Watchers: mission accomplished.

  Against the odds, the Liberator had brought them to the real London, beyond Mr. Sweet’s reach. Through a gaping hole in the wreckage of Holloway Road, Jonas looked back across the wasteland of the death zone. It was painful to see the acres of rubble where people’s homes had been demolished to ensure that Legion guards had a clear line of fire.

  As if on cue, first one, then a barrage of bullets zinged through the air. Jonas shielded Molly with his body as the sky whistled with death. The Legion was using snipers to pick off anyone who strayed into their line of fire.

  “Look out,” he said, pulling Molly down behind a mound of broken bricks for cover. Daring a peek over the top, Jonas could see figures on the Wall, outlined by the oil fires still burning behind them. A row of guns flashed and seconds later the bang reached them, along with the deadly cargo.

  Jonas held Molly’s head in his hands, covering her ears. Poor kid, he thought. She had seen so much hardship already in her young life. No mother. A father who died, leaving her alone. Then a new start with the Watchers, beginning as a game of happy families, but ending up as a war. She was frozen cold too, soaked to the skin. He looked at her, seeing the trust in her big blue eyes, and was filled with a flash of longing for his own two boys, Ben and Nathaniel, both still inside the Wall.

  “Ready, aim, FIRE!” barked an officer, and the soldiers unleashed their own volley in retaliation from within their makeshift barricade of half-demol
ished buildings.

  Jonas knew that he had to find a more protected hiding place for both their sakes. Still shielding Molly with his body, they crawled back into the shell of the house they had fallen into and huddled together in the corner behind a mound of broken stone and fallen beams. Jonas was very aware of a ragged hole in the wall, where rain and bullets could reach in and get them. It wasn’t the best defence in the world, but it would have to do.

  They both shut their eyes while gunshots exploded all around them.

  Jonas only opened his eyes when he heard another sound. Scrabbling. Scratching. Nearby, in the wreckage of the house itself. Jonas went rigid. It was the noise of claws against stone. He held Molly tight. Had a Feathered Man survived the destruction of the Liberator?

  Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

  Trying not to alarm Molly, Jonas reached out and clasped a broken brick. He wouldn’t let Molly be taken easily.

  Now there was a second sound. Low. Animal.

  Laboured breathing, punctuated by yelps of pain.

  Come on, show yourself. Let’s get this over with.

  A shape struggled over the debris and Jonas found himself staring into an ugly face. The eyes bulged. The mouth was wet with drool. The breath was repulsive.

  Molly’s face lit up. “Can I keep him?” she asked, scooping the bulldog up. It yelped and then broke wind contentedly as it settled in her arms.

  While the bullets flew outside, the bulldog snuggled into Molly, responding to her petting with enthusiastic licks of her face. The poor creature had only three legs, although the stump had long since healed. How it came to be out in the death zone was anybody’s guess.

  “What will you call him?” Jonas asked.

  “Clover,” she answered with a smile. “Because he’s so lucky.”

  He looked into Molly’s wide doe-eyes. How could he say no?

  Outside, the fighting was intensifying. The whole house was shaking around them as bullet after bullet struck. Then a voice boomed out over the battlefield.