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Ned felt the hairs on his skin stand on end. His mum and dad had been kidnapped, that much the nit inspector had made quite clear. What Ned didn’t know yet was what the creature intended to do with them. He saw Lucy grabbing on to George’s fur so hard that the ape gave a genuine flinch, and even Benissimo was on the edge of his seat, whilst also clearly annoyed that there was intel he had not been told about.
“Well, go on, man, spit it out!” said the Ringmaster.
“Well, the link, sir, is in the liquid itself, or rather its presence at the scene of the crimes. Several months ago, we caught wind of some abnormal robberies. Abnormal because of the techniques employed, and the target: always gold, never cash or other valuables. At first we thought little of it, till the larger banks started to report similar incidents. Things came to a head when entire national gold reserves went missing. We are talking about thousands of metric tonnes of gold here, disappearing in mere minutes. The last robbery took place in Fort Knox, America. Gentlemen, ladies, erm, George, all of the world’s gold reserves – and I do mean all of them – have been … stolen.”
As shocking as the news was, Ned still didn’t understand how it had anything to do with the disappearance of his parents.
“Naturally the media have kept very quiet,” said Mr Cook, taking over. “If this news were to become public, the effect on the world’s stock markets would be disastrous. It is the motive that concerns us more.”
There was a long pause.
“Which is …?” asked Benissimo.
A pause, as Mr Cook blinked. “Oh,” he said. “You misunderstand. We have no idea what the motive could possibly be. That is what bothers us.”
“And now the same liquid we found at Fort Knox, and all the other gold robberies, has been found at Master Ned’s house,” said Mr Smalls. “Presumably, the culprit is the same. Just as with the other kidnappings.”
“The other kidnappings,” said Ned. “You mean the ones on the news?”
“Oui,” said Madame Oublier. “It is not only gold zat is missing but people, very particular kinds of people, who have been taken from their homes and always in their wake a trail of zis liquid metal. Ned, your father is ze last in a long line of scientists, engineers and construction workers who have been taken from their homes. As soon as we saw ze connection in disappearances we sent word for your parents to come into our care. Zey would not budge.”
Ned thought back to all the reports on the telly. Even as he faced the bargeist at home, the radio had been doing a piece on kidnapping. And all the while his parents had known.
“They knew they were in danger?!”
“Oui.”
Ned’s rising concern over his parents’ safety started to shift into something else. Why make him train night after night and then, when they knew trouble was near their door, say nothing?
He felt the ring at his finger crackle and to his left a cup rose from its saucer without him trying to lift it. Madame Oublier’s eyes sharpened.
She turned to Mr Cook and Mr Smalls.
“Sank you, gentlemen, you may leave.” She motioned for her bodyguards to follow and waited till the tent’s opening was properly closed before turning back to Ned with a kindly expression.
“Monsieur Ned! Remain calm. Have you asked yourself why your parents did not seek shelter with the Hidden?”
The cup clattered back down to its saucer.
“No, no, I haven’t.”
“For you, Ned. Zey wanted more zan anything to give you a normal life, despite knowing ze grave danger zey were in. Ze heart makes a fool of us all, Ned, do not judge zem unkindly.”
The tingling at his finger and arm subsided, and his anger gave way to guilt. Yet despite his change of heart, his spike in powers had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the gathering, particularly Lucy.
“Do we know anything about what the villains want?” said Benissimo.
“Nothing,” said Madame Oublier. “But zere is great cause for concern. You are aware we have lost contact with Gearnish?”
“Yes.”
“What you may not know is zat this happened at ze same time zat the major gold reserves went missing. Gearnish is of great tactical importance. Its factories are ze very heart of the Hidden’s industry, capable of building anything and in any number. Ze minutians have always sided with us, always. I fear ze city has come under ze control of darker forces, as do our allies. As we speak, ze Hidden are talking of war. You of all people, Bene, know the seriousness of zis – you fought with my grandmother against ze demons, did you not?”
For a brief moment Ned was reminded of the enigma that was Benissimo’s age.
“Were it not for St Albertsburg’s lancers and the machines of Gearnish we would surely have lost, Madame.”
“Precisely why the Iron City’s lack of communication has us all so worried.”
“So … a load of gold has gone missing. Lots of people have been kidnapped, including my parents. And you’ve lost the city where most of your weapons are made. Did I miss anything?” said Ned.
“Non.”
“But … what does it all mean?”
“Nothing good,” said Madame Oublier. “Luckily, we are not alone in our search for answers. London’s own Scotland Yard have been tracking ze thief’s movements and are also aware of ze liquid, and how it links both robberies and abductions. ‘Project Mercury’ is a surveillance operation zey are running tomorrow night at ze British Museum, where zey apparently believe ze next break-in will take place. How zey have this information before it has come to us I don’t know, and it is frankly embarrassing, but it is our one and only lead.”
Benissimo, Ned noticed, had visibly stiffened. “Did you say the British Museum?” he asked.
“Oui.”
“Vault X, Madame?”
“I fear so. George, I hear it told zat you are something of an encyclopaedia on ze Hidden and its treasures. Why don’t you tell ze children what you know about Vault X?”
“Yes, Madame, and thank you,” began the ape, who clearly enjoyed being referred to as an encyclopaedia on anything. “Society at large believes that there are seven wonders of the ancient world. Were they to travel beyond the Veil, they would know that there are in fact eleven, and that the remaining four are still intact. The British Museum concerns itself with wonders of every kind, a staggering construction of some nine hundred and ninety thousand square feet, its marbled corridors—”
“Ze Vault, monkey.”
“Ahem, indeed. Of its staggering thirteen million objects, there are some that originate from the Hidden side of the Veil. This is not known even by the people who procured them, though they do know that these objects are peculiar, and they treat them as such. They abstain from any categorisation, or even rudimentary analysis by the museum’s learned custodians. Instead, they lock them away. On a secret floor of the building’s never-ending underground storage, in vault ‘X’. It was decided that the items in question would pose less of an academic problem if nobody knew they existed.”
“But ze Twelve are not ‘nobody’,” cut in Oublier again. “We have always monitored ze museum. Some of its artefacts are extremely powerful and I have no doubt zat zis mercurial thief is after one or more of its treasures.”
“Let us deal with it, the museum is not far from here,” offered Benissimo.
“I am not here to ask or to allow, Bene, I am here to order. The sum of gold taken could build a hundred armies with which to wage war, yet combined with such ‘particular’ kidnappings I fear a more obscure purpose.”
“Indeed,” said Bene.
“So,” said Madame Oublier. “Your mission is simple. Find zis thief, find out who he is working for and report only to me. Until I know what is happening, I do not know who is on our side, or who has been compromised.”
“Well,” began Bene. “You can trust us to—”
“Yes, yes,” Madame Oublier said with a dismissive wave. “I know. But I trust nothing to chance. I shall have my men unload an item for you before we leave. To watch over Ned. For … protection.”
“What is it?”
“Oh,” she said. “A little extra insurance.”
With that, she stood and swept out of the tent.
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Under the Same Sky (#ulink_df0d6338-9da7-5950-818c-b4222ef443e6)
ater, when Madame Oublier had left on her airship, Ned sat on the edge of his makeshift bunk in George’s trailer. The rest of the troupe had turned in hours ago and George was sound asleep.
Though the great ape had lost much of his beloved library to a fire, the comforting wall-shake of his snore was at least familiar. Less so were the howls of anguish and what sounded like sobbing, coming from a trailer nearby. George’s trailer was always placed next to the Darklings and their cages. More as a deterrent for any would-be escapees than anything else. Jonny Magik’s trailer was right beside it, in a similarly distant plot to the rest of the troupe, and Ned was starting to see – or at least hear – why. Whatever the man was suffering from, it didn’t sound like indigestion, and his howling formed a constant and unpleasant serenade.
What with that, the snoring, the loss of his parents, and his fear of the voice that awaited him in his nightmares, Ned wasn’t hopeful of getting much sleep at all.
At least he was back at the circus. George had endearingly and exhaustingly kept him company after their meeting with Madame Oublier. He’d brought him food, offered to bend bars for his entertainment and even tried to impress him with banana-induced flatulence.
Ned opened up his backpack, lifted out the carefully wrapped Christmas presents he’d taken from his home and placed them under his bunk.
To Ned they were more than presents, they were a doorway to his mum and dad, a promise – a false one perhaps – of a normal life. A life where the ones you loved weren’t taken from you, where Christmas was still Christmas no matter who you were.
Now, in a single day, he’d lost his parents and said goodbye to two of his closest friends. It was as if his entire life on the josser side of the Veil had been erased and all because of the thief at his letterbox.
Ned sighed, and lay down on the bunk. He closed his eyes for a moment.
His mum had told him that in their long years of separation, the one thing that had consoled her was the sky at night. Hidden away at the convent of St Clotilde’s, she had watched it every evening, knowing that Ned and his dad were under the very same sky and that, even unwittingly, they would from time to time look at the stars with her.
Ned smiled. He wondered if the stars were out tonight. He could go and see but it was warm and comfortable on the bunk. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow, he thought.
It was a nice thought, a lulling thought, and Ned felt his mind begin to drift …
… and then his dream took him into its arms, the very same dream that always turned to a nightmare.
Ned’s hand was trailing along hot metal walls, as it had a hundred times before. He was lost, frightened and completely alone but for the urgency of his mission. Then, as always, the walls buckled and ripped as he found himself looking at the blackness of space. The world before him was broken and burnt and his ears rang with the sound of trumpets and grinding rock.
“YesSs,” said the voice.
And as always, he whimpered back, “No.”
But it was no good. The dream had him. The voice had him. And once it had him, it never let go.
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The Guardian (#ulink_c8f8507d-8d6d-5418-95d4-506fd27bf62c)
hen Ned woke, it was to the excitable blinking of Whiskers, who was sitting on his chest. The same Whiskers who had slept in Lucy’s bunk and not his own. Sunlight flooded the trailer – he’d slept a long time, it seemed, though it had felt like only a moment.
“Oh, so you’re back, are you?” he said, feigning a sulk, though in truth more than happy to see the mouse and especially now. The little rodent was uncommonly twitchy, though, Ned now noticed, his fur standing on end and his lit-up eyes blinking furiously.
“What’s got into you?” managed Ned, who was still reeling from the echo of the voice in his nightmare. Somehow it always managed to linger even when it made no sound.
Whiskers nodded his head towards the door of the trailer and Ned heard raised voices from outside. The Tinker and George. It sounded like they were right outside the door to George’s trailer and they were angry about something. Ned dragged himself out of bed, quickly pulled on his clothes and pocketed Whiskers, before stepping outside into the biting December air.
It seemed like half the troupe were out there, and none of them were happy.
“You cannot let this damnable toaster stay with us! They were banned with dashed good reason!” shouted George, who never let his animal side do the talking, unless gearing up for a fight.
What was even more alarming was who he was shouting at. No one ever raised their voice to Benissimo, not if they wanted to keep it.
Next to George, waist height in his lab coat and multi-lensed spectacles, stood the circus’s resident boffin and head of R & D. Minutians are extremely small, gnome-small, but take great offence at being compared to their diminutive cousins, who though similar in stature have none of their aptitude for the sciences. Whatever the Tinker was, though, he was not himself and looked as though he hadn’t eaten in days.
“George is right, boss,” the Tinker said. “The last malfunction ended in a bloody massacre and that was over a hundred years ago. It really has no place here and if you’re expecting me to keep it going, well!”
Which was when Ned turned his head to see the root of the problem. Standing there was a vast and aged ticker, the size of a full-grown man. Ned’s own mouse was a ticker and he’d seen countless others in the hidden city of Shalazaar. Mechanical wonders in the form of eagles, monkeys, dogs, they could be incredibly useful machines … and dangerous ones. A ticker in the form of a tiger had nearly bested George on the snow-swept mountain of Annapurna.
George, it seemed, had not forgotten. He was regarding the man-shaped ticker with an expression of fury, suspicion and disgust. Nor was he alone. A chameleon-skinned girl from the dancing section was rippling her colours uncontrollably, Alice the elephant’s feathers were all over the place and Finn’s lions, Left and Right, were whimpering behind the wax-coated tracker like a pair of wet dogs. Of everyone, no one was more terrified than Ned’s wind-up mouse. The Debussy Mark Twelve sat on his shoulder, looking as though someone had plugged his tail into an electrical socket. His minuscule mouth was now locked in an open stance, as if the mere act of seeing the ticker had somehow overloaded his tiny pistons.
“What … what is it?” said Ned.
George turned to him, and blinked. “Oh, good morning, dear boy,” he said. “It is a gift from Madame Oublier, if you can call it that. Her men delivered it in the night. And it is not staying. These things are dangerous.”
Ned could well believe it. The ticker was hewn from dark iron. Its body was a mass of jagged edges and rusting weaponry. A web of pipes, gears and pistons filled its chest and it looked to Ned like some haunted junkyard come to life.
All, that was, except for its face. It wore a mask of polished white marble. Its features were elegant, like the face of some fallen angel, and all the more disturbing because of it. Beauty and the beast, black and white, heaven and hell.
It was terrifying and also – Ned had to admit to himself – fascinating. As an Engineer, part of him wanted to take it apart and see how it worked. It was the sort of thing he could have spent hours on with his dad.
His dad. He blinked as the pain of his parents’ loss came rushing back in.
“I agree with George,” said the Tinker. “The Guardian goes, or we go.”
The Ringmaster tapped his foot impatiently, before finally erupting with a crack of his whip.
“QUIET! Before I box the ears of the lot of you and stick you all in irons!”
The campsite was suddenly devoid of any noise, apart from the low tick, tick, tick of the Guardian’s metallic heart.
“Have you forgotten what the boy and his family have done for us?” continued Bene. “Are your memories really that short? Need I remind you of their plight?”
The troupe collectively blanched.
“Now, if Madame O says she’ll sleep better for leaving it here, then so will I. It’s been programmed to watch the boy’s back and I suggest you do the same yourselves. None of us would be here were it not for Ned and Lucy, none of us.”
Benissimo glared at them all, his great bushy eyes like the beam of a lighthouse, his troupe the cowering night. George’s mighty shoulders dropped and his fur flattened. The argument was over.
Ned felt himself blush and looked to Lucy, who smiled at him and nodded.
“Now, get your heads straight – we move tonight,” ordered Benissimo, before tipping his hat to Ned and retiring to his trailer.
The Tinker turned to Ned. He had the same unkempt bristles as ever and his lab coat and pockets were even more a forest of screwdrivers than the last time they’d met. He was also rather embarrassed.
“Master Armstrong, sir, I am most sorry that you had to see that. You know I’d do anything to keep you safe, but Guardians are no laughing matter. No matter what Madame what’s-her-name says.”
