The City of Fear

by Andrew Beasley

“Come and sit down,” said Valentine. “He’s obviously gone through the mill to get here, poor chap.”

  The Watchers gathered round their comrade. Moon thrust a tin mug of tea into his hands, straight from the small stove. “This’ll warm you up, son.”

  Hans held the mug and stared at it, uncomprehending. The boy was a shadow of what he once was. His cheeks were gaunt, his expression pained.

  “I have found the Queen…” Hans began the speech which Sweet had scratched onto his brain. “She is in a dungeon beneath the Tower of London…”

  “Her Majesty!” Lucy gasped. “How is she?”

  Hans ignored her question and continued. “I have a map that will take you to her, Ben Kingdom. And here…” Hans opened his hand to show the key clenched between his fingers. “This is the key to her cell.”

  “How did you manage it, son?” asked Moon, thumping Hans affectionately on the back.

  Ben dragged Hans to his feet and threw his arms around him. “You’ve done it! You’re gonna be the most popular German since Prince Albert!”

  Ben felt Hans go stiff, and then, with a sudden jerk, the German lad promptly fell back down, his head lolling on his neck. A puppet with its strings cut.

  “He’s out cold,” said Lucy. “The pressure must have been too much.” She went to rouse him but Carter stopped her.

  “You won’t wake him,” he said. “I’ve seen this before on expeditions. Extreme exhaustion resulting in a state close to coma. Best to leave him.”

  “You rest, Hans,” said Ben. “You’ve earned it.” He smiled broadly. “We can save Queen Victoria,” he went on, his head spinning with joy. “Hans has given us the key to victory. When all of London hears this…well, let’s just say, if I was in the Legion, I’d start running now.”

  Lucy made a pillow of her jacket and tried to settle Hans in a more comfortable position. She brushed the boy’s forehead. It was cold with sickly sweat.

  His heart still racing with excitement, Ben’s mind went into overdrive as he worked out who could save Victoria. “Lucy, Mr. Moon, I want you to rescue Her Majesty. Hans is in no state to lead you, but we’ve got his map.”

  Carter ran his eye over the crumpled piece of paper and then handed it to Valentine for his opinion.

  “I never even knew that these tunnels existed,” said Carter.

  Valentine shook his head too. “These are new.”

  “No matter what happens to the rest of us, Lucy,” said Ben, “you have to get Queen Victoria to safety.” He placed the stolen key in Lucy’s hand. “Take this,” he said. “If anyone can get her out, it’s you.

  “Valentine, can you stay and watch over Hans, just until he wakes up? We can’t have any Legionnaires finding him here and attacking him. Pa, Nathaniel, Ghost, you’re my generals. When the army blast through those tunnels they’ll have plans of their own, but the free Londoners will need leadership. Be on the lookout for signal lights – three flashes means a friend. Everyone who is coming to join us should shine a signal light at two this morning. You all have your streets and lists of targets; gather your troops into a unit, and then set to work. Guard towers have to be put out of action, street patrols have to be stopped. Every Legionnaire has to be incapacitated or distracted for long enough for me to complete the most vital part of the operation…” Ben spoke with an authority beyond his years; he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. This was his destiny, he understood, this was him being the Hand of Heaven. It was never about power for him, it was simply about finding the truth and standing up to defend it. Sweet was evil, pure and undiluted. Evil had to be resisted, so this was Ben resisting.

  “Professor Carter, you’re with me. I need you to get me to Sweet and keep him occupied while I put the Hand on his head and destroy the Crown of Corruption.”

  Ben knew full well that his part in the mission was the most dangerous. He might not get out of this alive. However he was equally certain that he wouldn’t want to live the rest of his life in the knowledge that he hadn’t tried.

  “This is war,” Ben went on, “but we are still Watchers. The Legion symbol is the gauntleted fist, ours is the open hand. If the Watchers win today—”

  “When we win,” Lucy encouraged.

  “When we win,” Ben echoed, “this has to be a day that no one is ashamed of. 1st May 1892 will be recorded in history. This is the Watchers’ story for the next generations to read, this is when the world learns who we are. Mother Shepherd taught me the words to the Watcher creed.” Ben coughed to cover the tremor that entered his voice. He began to recite the words which bound them all together. One voice became seven as Carter, Jonas, Nathaniel, Valentine, Lucy and Moon joined Ben; and then forty­-seven as all of the other cell leaders recited the Watcher creed with them.

  “Love makes us wise.

  Tears make us strong.

  Patience makes us steadfast.

  Justice makes us humble.

  Forgiveness will bring us victory.”

  Ghost nodded his silent agreement. Forty-eight.

  There were no more words for any of them to say. And so, instead of “goodbye” and “good luck”, the Watchers hugged each other and shook hands, and enjoyed each others’ company. Even Mr. Moon deigned to clasp Claw Carter by his hand.

  “I hope you live through this,” said Moon.

  “You too,” said Carter.

  Ben held his pa and brother tighter than he had ever held them before. Then he stood awkwardly before Lucy. Lucy made the first move and put her hands on his shoulders.

  “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, Ben.”

  “When have I ever done that?”

  They stayed like that for as long as they could, just looking at each other.

  Big Ben chimed one.

  In sixty minutes, the revolution would begin.

  “Right,” said Ben. “Here we go.”

  Silently the Watchers went their separate ways, taking their packs, freshly stocked with everything they might need: matches, tools, climbing rope. Valentine busied himself making Hans more comfortable, leaving Carter and Ben standing thoughtfully on top of the British Museum, their own packs strung across their bodies.

  “I’m glad I’m not fighting against you,” said Ben.

  “The feeling is mutual,” Carter replied.

  A fork of lightning chose that instant to shatter the night. Ben didn’t know whether it was a good omen or bad. Either way, it was too late to do anything about it.

  In his private rooms, Mr. Sweet stared into the gilt-edged mirror above the fire. He had changed his raven mask again. The new one was made of hand-stitched black leather. The Crown of Corruption still sat on top of course, nestled against a headdress of inky feathers. The beak was not as sharp as the iron mask’s, but the overall effect was more stylish, he thought. Befitting a king. But king of what?

  Two eyes blinked back at him from the eyeholes of the mask and it took him a second to realize that they were his.

  Sweet continued to examine those eyes, looking as deeply into them as he could, searching for evidence of the man he used to be. And all the while he tried and failed to ignore the other figures that he could see stirring in the glass. The distorted faces of his constant companions, laughing and jeering. Taunting him for his failures. The shadows that enticed him into deeper and more desperate wickedness.

  You aren’t real, Sweet assured himself as he spun round to find that he was alone, as always.

  Yes, we are, they hissed when his back was turned.

  Sweet swayed and put his hand on the mantelpiece for support, his signet ring glinting. He had been suffering from these bouts of dizziness with increasing regularity; as if his grip on his body was slipping along with his hold on his sanity. Rage overtook him then, like a volcano erupting. He balled his hand into a fist and smashed the mirror to pieces, his lips beneath his mask twisted into a snarl.

  Ben Kingdom is coming for you, said the voices from the jagged shards of fallen glass.

&nbs
p; He might be struggling to remember other things; even his own name was starting to slip out of reach. But Sweet would not forget the name of Kingdom. Neither forget, nor forgive.

  “You’re going to pay for what you did to me, boy.”

  And he knew how.

  When Sweet had used the Crown of Corruption to invade the German boy’s mind, he had plucked two words from the quivering jelly of his brain.

  “Revolution Day,” said Sweet, rolling the words on his tongue just as he would a fine brandy.

  The words had come with a date. 1st May. Today.

  And a time: two o’clock.

  And a ridiculously flimsy plan.

  The Londoners were going to rise up apparently. They were going to flash their lanterns and gather in the streets and then Ben Kingdom and his merry band were going to overthrow the Legion. They weren’t even going to use bullets to do it. Such naivety, really, it was so precious. Violence won the day every time in Sweet’s experience and violence was exactly what the Watchers could expect. Massive, overwhelming, soul-destroying violence.

  The one trump card in Ben Kingdom’s plan had been the element of surprise and, by the power of the crown, even that had been denied him.

  “So you think this will work?” whispered Ben, his back pressed against the wall, the rain making streams down his face.

  Ben and Carter had been working their way cautiously through the abandoned streets towards the Tower and Mr. Sweet. Neither of them spoke, both deep in thoughts of their own. They had made it all the way to Lower Thames Street without being spotted. Ben’s right hand was throbbing, the sign that meant that he was about to be used as an instrument of the Uncreated One, the source of good at the centre of the universe.

  Claw Carter ran his hand across his unshaven chin pensively. The professor looked so tired, Ben thought, drawn tight like wire.

  Thunder had been boiling in the clouds and periodically London was brought to vivid life by a flash of lightning.

  “It might work,” said Carter. “It just might.”

  For a brief moment the professor’s wolfish face was lit up by the storm and Ben was shocked by what he saw – the raw hunger of a predator. Carter still had a score to settle with the Legion, and there was no doubt that there was about to be a reckoning.

  “We have to try it,” said Ben, putting from his mind the uneasiness that had begun to nag at him. “We can do it,” he encouraged them both. “What other choice do we have?”

  The stamp of heavy boots advancing from the direction of the Tower alerted them both to a brigade of Legionnaires on the hunt for curfew breakers. Ben pushed himself deeper into the shadows of a side alley, Carter beside him.

  Keep your head down, Benny Boy.

  If they could just make it past this patrol there was a fair chance that they could get to the Tower…where their troubles would really begin. Ben was relying on Carter being able to get them inside, using the professor’s knowledge of the Legion against them. Without that edge, they were probably finished.

  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 down against their chests as the rain lashed down.

  Just a little further…

  They were almost past.

  Made it! thought Ben with relief. They haven’t seen us.

  “Here!” shouted Carter at the top of his lungs. “Over here!”

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

  Carter kept a firm grip on Ben’s shoulder and shoved him out into the open, his claw suddenly resting on Ben’s naked throat.

  “Well, well, well,” snarled Captain Mickelwhite. “If it isn’t Claw Carter?”

  “The very same.”

  Mickelwhite did not lower his gun. There was something different about him; it took Ben a moment to realize that the boy’s long nose had been broken and now twisted to the right. “You know what we do to traitors, Carter,” he said with a cruel smirk.

  “I do,” said Carter. “But I’m not a traitor. I’m the man who brings you Ben Kingdom’s head on a plate.”

  “What are you doing?” Ben said desperately.

  Carter shoved Ben hard in the back and sent him stumbling. The brigade of Legionnaires joined in a chorus of mocking laughter.

  “Oh, Professor,” mimicked Mickelwhite. “Why are you being so mean?”

  Claw Carter roared with approval. “I’m doing it because I want to; because I can.” He turned to Ben. “You thought I was your friend…” He drawled the word, making it sound weak and foolish. “Well, I’m sick of listening to your endless drivel about hope and forgiveness and love. I’ve travelled the world and never found those things.”

  “But you said that you believed in the Watchers, in what we stand for…” protested Ben.

  “Let’s tell him what we believe, shall we, lads?” Carter gestured to the watching Legionnaires. “Perhaps if we shout it loud enough, we might drum it into that thick, ginger head of his?”

  Ben felt sick as they marched him to the Tower, chanting as they went.

  “No weakness in our hearts!

  No mercy for our enemies!

  No law to bind us!

  No prison to hold us!

  No grievance to go unavenged!

  No Watcher to be left alive!”

  Carter brought his face down level with Ben’s while Mickelwhite looked on and smirked.

  “Do you see where you fit in that picture, boy?”

  Big Ben tolled two.

  “It’s time, Pa,” Nathaniel whispered.

  Jonas Kingdom nodded. Ghost extended his quarterstaff and held it in a double-handed grip. They were as ready as they would ever be.

  The Watchers were hidden on a roof on Whitechapel High Street. It was a vital strategic point, set at a crossroads, with a clear view up Commercial Street and down Leman Street. London was shrouded in an unnatural darkness. The clouds that had been gathering over the city for days seemed to be alive, stirred by hidden winds until they were circling overhead. The rain fell like a waterfall, not in drops but in continuous streams.

  “It’s gonna be alright, son,” said Jonas, realizing that he was reassuring himself too.

  They waited for the signal lights, the sign that their hope would not be in vain.

  Nathaniel spotted it first.

  “Look, Pa,” he said pointing. “Do you see it?”

  “I see it,” said Jonas; the flicker of light in a window as a lamp was brought close to the glass. The curtain was drawn over it, then back again, three times, to send three brief flashes of light. Further down the street the message was repeated in another window, then another and another. Jonas smiled. Every way he looked he could see a light twinkling in a window.

  “We aren’t going to be alone,” he said. “Londoners believe in the Watchers…and in your brother.”

  “That’s probably because they haven’t had to live with him,” said Nathaniel, although his chest was swelling with pride as he dropped the rope ladder over the side of the building and clambered down to the ground.

  The three Watchers returned the signal and gradually people emerged into the rain-drowned night. Jonas could see the mixture of emotions on their faces. There was fear, but determination too. More and more ordinary Londoners defied Sweet’s curfew and came out into the street, carrying clubs, walking sticks, pickaxe handles, even a frying pan.

  One young man ran up to Nathaniel eagerly and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Are you with us?” the man asked.

  “Damned right,” said Nathaniel.

  “Listen up!” called Jonas, getting the attention of the crowd and holding out his own quarterstaff horizontally, like a shepherd rounding up his flock. “The first thing we need to do is secure these streets, then we can start moving out from here. There’s a Legion guard
post at Aldgate Station, that’s our first target.”

  Abruptly a brilliant light scorched through the black and the revolutionaries were all lit up as bright as day. Jonas listened for the following rumble of thunder, but it didn’t come. It was then that he spotted the source of the illumination – a searchlight at the end of the street, aimed directly at them.

  “RUN!” Jonas shouted, just as the squad of Legionnaires began their charge, guns blazing.

  “Gunfire,” said Lucy, as the sounds of the battle reached them on Lime Street.

  “It’s not good,” said Moon. “The army uses Martini-Enfield rifles and .455 calibre Webley revolvers…” He inclined his head to listen more intently. “Those shots are from Winchester lever-action rifles and a few Smith & Wesson Model 3s – gangster weapons imported from America.”

  “It’ll be a massacre,” Lucy gasped.

  “Keep your mind focused on the mission, Lucy. The night’s not lost yet.”

  Lucy forced all her emotions down and checked the map, sheltering it as best she could to prevent it from disintegrating in the rain. “Right,” she said. “There should be an entrance to the Under right…here.”

  She disturbed some bins behind a fishmonger’s, sending a stinking mess of fish guts and bones spilling across the cobblestones, and together, Lucy and Moon heaved open a metal hatch.

  It opened onto absolute black, ringing with the sounds of running water and the shrill conversation of rats. Lucy checked her pack, making sure that she had matches and that they were wrapped as best as she could manage inside waterproofed cloth. It took courage to descend into the Under at the best of times, but the idea of being stuck down there with no light terrified her.

  And if the uprising failed, then the light of the Watchers would be extinguished for ever.

  Moon patted his trusty swordstick, the walking cane with a sword hidden inside. His battered face filled Lucy with confidence – there was no room for doubts among those strong lines – but Lucy couldn’t stop herself from wishing that Ben was with her instead.

  More shots sounded.

  Lucy was halfway down the iron ladder when a series of enormous booms rumbled right across the city. The ladder shook as the ground around her shuddered with the aftershocks.