King's Army Read online

  “Where am I?” asked the cab driver.

  “Alsea…” said the cashier.

  “This sort of thing normal round here?”

  The cashier shook his head slowly.

  “What’s got into Holgatroll?” Alfie shouted, still deafened by the gunshot.

  “Colonel Blood!” Brian yelled. “And he’s supposed to be in the Tower’s dungeons!”

  Hearing the name, the possessed Holgatroll snapped her head back to Brian. “Indeed, my good man, out here in this fresh air I feel positively liberated!”

  Brian rolled out of the way just in time as Holgatroll leapt towards him. Qilin joined the fight, zipping around the enormous troll, ducking under the concrete-shattering punches, appearing and disappearing so fast he was a blur.

  “GO!” Brian shouted from the middle of the fray.

  Tamara took Alfie’s hand again and pulled him along. He felt terrible; he was no use to anyone without his armour, a total sitting duck. They turned off the road and in a couple of minutes they were creeping down an alley between the houses of Alsea.

  Some way behind them, the gas station exploded, sending a bright orange mini mushroom cloud into the sky. Alfie stared at it and wondered how it could be that his invasion of the UK seemed to be over before it had even begun.

  “The sub. We’ve got to get you to the sub. That’s all that matters,” Tamara said, catching her breath.

  Across the alleyway and at the end of a rickety-looking wooden dock, the mini submarine surfaced between two medium-sized yachts. With its blue metallic sheen, its chimney-pot periscope and assortment of ornate golden ridges and portholes, it looked more like some overgrown tropical fish than a submarine. But right now it just meant safety – if they could reach it. Alfie and his mother bolted along the dock, but suddenly a barn ahead of them was reduced to driftwood as Holgatroll smashed out of it and stood in their path.

  “Sorry, Majesty, your voyage is to be a short one, alas.”

  Alfie thought how funny the airy voice sounded coming from the drooling cavern of Holgatroll’s mouth – or rather how funny it would have been if he were not about to be killed. The troll bent her knees, preparing to leap on to them.

  Groooonk! In a swirl of black feathers, Gwenn dived out of the sky on to Holgatroll, pecking at her face.

  “Away with you!” Blood yelled angrily.

  The troll waved her mighty arms only to find more ravens dropping out of the night sky and attacking her.

  “FOUL BIRDS!” cried Blood’s voice.

  Alfie and Tamara hit the deck as the troll spun out of control through walls and houses in her desperate attempt to escape the whirlwind of stabbing beaks and scratching claws as the frenzied ravens protected their king. Gwenn burrowed her beak into one of the troll’s ears and with a sickening pop, plucked out the red mist of Colonel Blood, freeing Holgatroll of his possession. She shook her head and rubbed her face like a dog coming round from an anaesthetic.

  The red mist shrieked in anger and shot towards Alfie and his mum – but the ravens weren’t done with Blood yet. They circled him, pecking at the crimson particles.

  “No! Vile creatures! Stop!” the disembodied Colonel Blood cried.

  But his voice was weakening as the ravens split his foggy form into smaller and smaller clouds and harried them into the sky and far away out of sight. Alfie remembered the Ravenmaster once telling him that a flock of ravens was known as an “unkindness”, and seeing them go after Colonel Blood, that seemed like an understatement.

  “Everyone all right?” Brian said as he and Tony ran up behind them.

  Holgatroll had transformed back into Freya. She was rubbing her sore ear, confused.

  “What on earth happened?”

  “You all saved me, that’s what happened. Look, I just want to say thanks—” said Alfie.

  “Save the speeches for later. Everybody onboard,” Brian ordered and led them down the wooden dock to the submarine.

  The ravens had returned and were perched proudly on the small communication mast, preening themselves. Gwenn gronked and demanded a pat for her night’s work.

  “Thanks, Gwenn. How about we head home?” Alfie said and clambered on board.

  A few minutes later, on a hill overlooking the town, the mist that was Colonel Blood reformed and watched the submarine sail silently out of the harbour then disappear beneath the waves.

  “Fare thee well, young Alfred. We shall meet again.”

  “God save the King!” the beefeaters bellowed as Alfie entered the bustling Keep.

  It felt like a long time since he’d seen them all, but nothing seemed to have changed. Old-fashioned telephones jangled above the low murmur of conversation and LC leaned over the huge ops table map, keeping a check on the country’s defences.

  “All is well, sir. Perhaps you’d care for a cup of tea?” LC said, idly stirring sugar into his cup without looking up.

  “Awesome,” Alfie replied.

  Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen LC in a while either, and it felt so good to be with him again. Resisting the weird urge to give the old man a hug, Alfie joined him at the map.

  “And a slice of cake, if there’s any going.”

  “Oh, I should think so, Your Maj—” LC froze, as if someone had just hit pause on a remote control.

  “LC? You all right?” Alfie said.

  The Keep suddenly felt very cold. Alfie spun around and saw that all the Yeoman Warders were also rooted to the spot in eerie silence. It was like being in the middle of a bunch of dead-eyed shop mannequins. Was it a spell? An attack? Alfie sprinted to the Arena, weaving his way through his frozen friends. He had to find the regalia and transform into the Defender, but as he threw back the heavy curtain, he found to his horror that the old display case was broken and empty. And somewhere, at the very edge of his hearing, a horse was whinnying. Wyvern! Her snorts and neighs were lonely, desperate, unbearable to hear—

  Alfie woke from the nightmare, sat up and cracked his skull against one of the submarine’s iron bulkheads. Somehow he didn’t shout out. Probably because over the past few days of living below the waves, he’d got used to knocking his head, tripping over and stubbing his toes. The small submarine’s interior might have looked luxurious at first glance, like a Victorian wooden yacht, but really it was all for show. The wood panels didn’t quite conceal the brass dials and awkward old levers that were just at the right height to give you a dead leg when you walked by.

  Alfie rubbed his forehead and stared at the rivets above his old rope hammock. He’d been having these dreams ever since they left America, and the closer they got to Britain, the weirder and more intense they’d become. Ellie. Hayley. Herne. LC. Where were they? Would he see ever them again? Had they survived?

  “Owl pellets are actually quite delicious,” Tony announced confidently.

  But he was only sleep talking, tucked away in his own hammock strung between two banks of dials. Nearby, Tamara was also asleep and the sound of Freya’s thunderous snores came from the submarine’s only cabin. Its door had a small gold crown attached to it indicating it was meant for the King or Queen of Great Britain, but that hadn’t stopped Freya commandeering it for herself.

  “You want my help getting rid of your country’s Viking problem? Then I need my beauty sleep,” she’d announced pretty much as soon as they’d boarded. They hadn’t seen much of her since, except for dinner time, when she’d eaten not only her portion but everyone’s leftovers as well. Probably a good thing she has her own cabin come to think of it, thought Alfie.

  Alfie shivered. A chilly breeze swept through the submarine, which could only mean one thing. They’d surfaced to recharge the batteries and the top hatch was open. Alfie swung his legs off his hammock and promptly whacked his foot on the Scout Orb, which sat on the floor beneath his bunk. Stifling a yell of pain, he tiptoed past his sleeping companions and squeezed down a narrow corridor, being sure to mind his step this time. On the bridge, he ducked under the periscop
e and climbed the ladder up to the conning tower, where Brian stood, gazing out across the sea. The submarine was sailing slowly between the huge steel towers of a silent, offshore wind farm. High above them, Gwenn and the rest of the ravens settled on the idle turbine blades and preened their feathers. Appearing whenever the submarine surfaced, they never seemed to get tired.

  “Any idea where we are?” asked Alfie.

  “This is the Beatrice Wind Farm,” replied Brian. “We’re fourteen miles off the coast of Scotland. Welcome home, Your Majesty.”

  Overhead, clouds swept across a bright half moon, periodically illuminating the sea in every direction, except one.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Alfie asked.

  A few miles to the south, a sick-looking, green fog churned, reaching hundreds of feet into the air, obscuring any sight of land. A breeze brought with it a familiar, foul reek of rotten fish and spoiled milk. Alfie shuddered as his memories of fighting the undead Vikings came flooding back.

  “Somewhere beyond all that filthy cloud is your kingdom … not to mention about a couple of million brainwashed berserkers,” Brian said and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Even in the dim moonlight, the bodyguard could see Alfie clench his jaw and turn white. It had been a long, tiring voyage from the Pacific Ocean, across the icy Northwest Passage and down to the coast of Britain, with cramped, slow days spent under the waves. When they weren’t sleeping, they were huddled around maps of the UK, busy planning how to win back the kingdom. An approach up the River Thames from the English Channel seemed to be the best idea, followed by a smash-and-grab raid for Alfie’s Crown Jewels at the Tower of London and then an attempt to retrieve the Raven Banner from Parliament and put an end to the berserker curse and the magical miasma that lay across Britain. That was the theory at least; in truth there were a thousand ifs and buts. They didn’t know if they could slip in undetected past the Viking longships, they didn’t even know if Lock had moved the Crown Jewels from the Keep. The closer they got to the UK, the quieter Alfie had become.

  Brian patted him on the shoulder. “Courage, lad.”

  “I’m not ready,” Alfie murmured.

  “Rubbish. I’ve seen you in action against those monsters. You get your armour back and you can take them on, no worries.”

  “The armour’s not enough. I need Wyvern.”

  “Batteries are fully charged. We should dive,” Brian said, ignoring him.

  They’d been through this. The plan to take back Britain did not involve searching for Alfie’s ghost horse. The precious magical spurs that housed her were lost under the sea months ago during Alfie’s oil rig battle with the Black Dragon, and who knew where the current had taken them? They could be anywhere, buried under several tons of North Sea mud by now. It was hard, but Alfie would have to get used to not having Wyvern any more.

  “You don’t understand,” Alfie pleaded, as Brian ushered him down the ladder and pulled the hatch shut.

  “Try me.”

  “I don’t like being this useless.”

  “Never bothered you before, boss,” Brian said with a wink.

  “I’m serious. Back there when Blood attacked, all I could do was run away.”

  “Sometimes running away is the smart move,” Brian said and pulled the lever that flooded the ballast tanks.

  Alfie did his best to ignore the lurch in his stomach as the submarine dived. “Yeah, but not for the Defender. I’m meant to be a leader, aren’t I? How am I supposed to win back the kingdom without all my powers?”

  “We don’t have time to wait for you to feel ready,” said Brian, impatient. “The longer we dawdle here, the greater the chance we’re spotted. We have to get ashore pronto.”

  “But we’re going to sail right past where I lost her, aren’t we?” Alfie said, tracing his finger down one of the maps, along the coast of Scotland to London and the mouth of the Thames. “I know she’s still out there, Brian. I can hear her, she’s calling for me.”

  “Maybe horse whispering runs in the family,” said Tamara, joining them on the bridge.

  “And Alfie is king,” Tony added, with a yawn, close behind her. “Which means you have to do what he says.”

  Alfie stepped between Tony and Brian. “Listen, you’re in charge, Brian. If you say it’s impossible, I’ll accept that. But if there’s even the slightest chance we could find Wyvern… I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t at least try.”

  Brian furrowed his brow, sighed and studied the charts on the map table. “I can plot a course that goes via the rig site, in theory. I still say it’s a waste of time, but… Very well, Your Majesty.” Brian said with a mock bow. “Full steam ahead.”

  A few hours later and Alfie was squeezing into a bulky, rigid outfit that looked like a cross between a suit of armour and an old-fashioned robot. Brian said it was made from magnesium alloy and was actually called an “atmospheric diving suit”.

  “I don’t want to worry you, Alfie-betti-spaghetti, but it says ‘made in 1931’ on here,” said Tony as he examined the huge helmet with its thick, porthole visor.

  “It’s old tech, but it’s functional,” Brian said. “I hope.”

  “Oh, very funny,” Alfie replied.

  But his words were lost as Brian screwed the helmet in place. Inside the musty suit, it was exactly the opposite of being in the Defender armour. That was like wearing your favourite old T-shirt, whereas this felt like he had a dishwasher strapped to his back. Every movement was a monumental struggle.

  “You’ll move easier when you’re outside of the sub,” Brian said, his voice coming in tinny over a communication link. “Now step into the escape trunk. And good luck.”

  Tamara watched nervously as Alfie lumbered into the small airlock and the door was clamped shut behind him. In front of him another door unscrewed itself and, with a whoosh, everything went black and Alfie was floating down towards the sea floor. Even though the sub was pretty close to the bottom already, the drop felt like it took for ever.

  Alfie’s breathing came in small gasps as he prayed the old suit wouldn’t spring a leak. It was so dark down here, he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed.

  “Um, guys, I think I should have brought a torch!” Alfie said.

  “On it,” Brian said over the comms and a powerful headlamp on the top of the suit blinked on, casting a beam of light across the ocean floor.

  “Oh wow,” said Alfie.

  “Have you found the spurs?!” Tony said, his voice filling the inside of Alfie’s helmet. “I knew you would. You have, haven’t you?”

  “No, I mean ‘oh wow’, as in there’s literally nothing here.”

  Everywhere Alfie looked was just a murky desolation of mud and rocks. It was like being on another planet and a grim and intensely cold one at that. A large crab scuttled for cover as Alfie stamped past.

  “Keep heading out. You’re now right under the rig site,” Brian said.

  Sure enough, the further Alfie waded from the sub, the more debris he found. Steel girders were jumbled together in rusting piles. He dug down in the mud and found old plastic safety hats, lengths of pipe and miles of twisted wiring tangled together. Alfie burrowed his gloves into the mud and pulled out clumps of jagged metal, torn lengths of canvas, all of it blackened by fire. Dragon’s fire. Alfie shuddered as despair rose up inside him. Brian was right; this was hopeless. There was no way he could find the spurs down here, even if he searched for a year or two or three—

  “Call for her, Alfie.” It was his mother on the comms now. “Call for Wyvern.”

  “Honestly, Mum. There’s nothing out here.”

  “You said yourself, you can hear her. Just try it.”

  In the atmospheric suit, Alfie sighed. What did he have to lose?

  “Wyvern?!” Alfie shouted. “WYVERN?”

  A curious black fish swam into the beam of the headlamp and darted away.

  “Really? That’s how you spoke to her?” Tamara asked.

/>   “When she was trying to throw me off her back, yeah, pretty much.”

  “Don’t talk at her, talk with her. Like she’s there. Remember what that was like. How she felt. Crouch down, keep your voice soft and slow.”

  Feeling a little silly, Alfie crouched down like he’d seen his mum do at the ranch and closed his eyes.

  “Wyvern … come on, girl,” Alfie murmured and made a clicking noise with his cheek and tongue. But there was nothing out there, just the slosh of water around the heavy diving suit and a weird clomping sound, probably old girders clunking together in the current.

  “Sorry, Alfie, I’m calling it. Head back to the sub,” Brian said after a while.

  “Wait!” Alfie said. The clomping sound was louder and it wasn’t girders; it sounded like hooves. And there was something else: a distant whinny and a snort. Alfie spun around, trying to shine the headlamp in every direction at once.

  “Wyvern?”

  There! Something was burrowing towards him through the mud, churning up sediment, the sound of hooves now unmistakable even through the water. A crab scurried out of the way as a flash of silver broke the surface of the sea floor, exploded out and arrowed through the air straight towards Alfie. He reached out on instinct and something sharp and hard smacked into his hand. The spurs!

  “Wyvern!” Alfie shouted with delight as the sound of whinnying and contented snorts filled the suit. He turned the spurs over in his hands; they were as pristine and clean as if he’d plucked them out of the regalia cabinet in the Tower.

  Back on the sub, a whooping Tony jumped up and down and Tamara shook her head in wonder. Even Brian was smiling. He was about to order Alfie back to the sub when a loud PING rattled one of the dials. Brian leapt over to the brass console and studied it. A large green blob had appeared on the radar and it was heading straight towards them.