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There was another momentary burst of light.
Finn placed his hand on the bark of the tree to keep his balance as he leaned over the hole in the cliff, but its sap’s stickiness was enough to pull at his skin. The birds were making a lot of noise too, above them and across the trees scattered over the crumbled cliffs.
He stood to gather his thoughts, trying to pick the drying sap off his hands while figuring out exactly what to do now. “What do you think, Emmie?”
“I think there’s something very weird going on with that little bird over your head,” she said.
He looked up. A tiny finch was hanging upside down from a leaf, desperately pecking at the branch and beating its wings, unable to pull itself free.
Finn reached up to the branch and felt the sap covering the bird, and he realised it was seeping from every part of the tree. As gently as he could, he helped free the small bird. It did not fight him, its exhaustion overpowering its fear. He felt its heart beat at a panicked pulse, held it out delicately to show Emmie.
She took a bottle from her bag and gently squeezed water over the bird’s back and wings while he massaged it as carefully as he could, until the sap gradually eased out and, with a shake, the bird found freedom again in its wings.
Finn held the bird out on the palm of his hand, where it stayed for a little while longer, regaining its energy. Eventually, it spread its wings and flew, dropping low along the grass before picking up and rising higher as it disappeared across the hill towards the town. They followed its flight, Finn feeling pleased that they had freed it, saved it from certain death.
Until he realised that in every tree in sight there were birds fighting, struggling, failing to free themselves from the sap that oozed from the leaves and bark. He nudged Emmie and showed her.
“That’s weird,” said Emmie.
“Are you spying on us?” asked Scarlett, her head popping up through the hole in the ground.
“I think they were spying on you,” said Estravon, appearing behind them, flanked by two assistants, stocky men who filled their suits, thick necks spilling out over their collars. “And I’ve had to ruin a good pair of shoes spying on them. Come with me, you two. Lucien will not be happy.”
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Lucien was annoyed with his kids. Lucien was always annoyed with his kids.
“Put down that head, Elektra,” Lucien ordered his daughter, an eight-year-old girl with seemingly inexhaustible batteries. She had an eye for trouble. And another eye for mayhem. Right now she was wandering around the wide, circular library of Finn’s house with a 250-year-old stuffed Minotaur head on her thin shoulders, wobbling and giggling, while her six-year-old brother Tiberius hit her with a large spear.
Finn and Emmie watched from where they stood in the long corridor, right beside the bare spot on the wall where Finn’s portrait was supposed to be hanging. Beside it was the square in which his father’s portrait was meant to be, and alongside it the dark rectangle from where his grandfather Niall Blacktongue had once gazed. He was gone too, considered the first bad apple in what Lucien had decided was a rotten crop.
“Put down that spear, Tiberius,” Lucien ordered his son.
Tiberius brought it swinging down on his sister’s head, and she staggered backwards into a shelf of ancient desiccated Legends.
From the hallway to the library, Lucien strode angrily to the door, gripped it with knuckle-whitening frustration, considered saying something, but reconsidered before slamming it shut just as Elektra hit the floor and Tiberius leaped on her tummy.
“They’ll get tired eventually,” he said.
From the other side of the door they heard the sound of a spear hitting a stuffed Minotaur head, followed by a muffled sound of pain.
Lucien drew a long, steadying breath and turned his attention to the other problematic young people in his life.
“You know the writer for The Most Great Lives is due to visit?” he said to Finn. The Most Great Lives of the Legend Hunters, from Ancient Times to the Modern Day was the most prestigious, popular and long encyclopaedia. Its publishers had waited years for Finn to become a proper Legend Hunter so they could print, and sell, a new version.
Unfortunately, The Most Great Lives had a section on traitors.
“They want to write an entry even though you are not yet a proper Legend Hunter,” continued Lucien, unblinking. “There is such demand for your story. Everyone wants to hear it. But the rumour is they have not yet decided if you should be among the heroes at the front, or the traitors hidden under black pages at the back of the book.”
Lucien rubbed a palm over his few wisps of hair. “So I wonder, young man, why you look so satisfied for somebody on the verge of destroying his family’s legacy?”
Letting that thought sit, Lucien set off down the corridor so that he and Emmie were forced to walk alongside him.
“How many times do you have to be told to stay out of things in Darkmouth?”
“Dunno,” Finn answered, as insolent as he could manage. “How many times has it been so far, Emmie?”
“Quite a lot,” she said.
Lucien stopped, and even though he was neither tall nor imposing, he radiated a menace that made Finn bristle all the same. He felt the hair prickle on his neck, hoped it hadn’t been noticed.
“You are a cocky young man these days,” Lucien said, his breath as sour as his mood. “You weren’t always like that. I know this from previous reports. From everything Estravon told me.”
“That was before you kicked us out of our home.” It hurt Finn to know he was only visiting his own house. He missed every part of it, and it all seemed so much sharper to his senses now he was hardly in it. The distinctive must of the corridor, of metal and wood and peeling portraits. The vinegary odour of Desiccator fluid that had leaked into the walls over the years.
Lucien’s kids had filled much of this place with their toys and clothes and stench. It made Finn nauseous to even contemplate it. But he needed to keep his mind focused on one job right now. Which was being really obnoxious to Lucien.
“I have been very lenient on you and your family given what you have done,” Lucien told him with a wave of his hand while walking on again.
“We’ve lost everything because of you,” said Finn.
“I have allowed you to stay at home here in Darkmouth.”
“The other house is not my home,” said Finn, unable to stay patient, and stepping in front of Lucien.
There was a thud and a wail from way behind them at the library door, as Elektra or Tiberius succumbed to some inevitable stuffed-Minotaur-related accident.
Lucien did not flinch. “I have allowed you to stay in Darkmouth while we examine exactly what happened, how and – most importantly – who was involved. You forget that I could have sent you and your parents to Liechtenstein HQ to be imprisoned. Or far worse.”
“Like how you sent Steve away,” said Finn.
Emmie’s face tightened at that.
“As someone who was trapped between worlds, he is helping us understand the threat we all face, that is all,” said Lucien.
“Or you’re getting one more problem out of Darkmouth,” said Finn.
“There are many worse things we could have done to your family. Many, many things that are allowed by the Legend Hunter punishment book.” Lucien paused, then called out. “Estravon?”
Estravon stuck his head out of a small training room off the corridor. “In 1867, Jan the Intolerable was made to eat forty rotten boiled eggs in under three minutes as punishment for his cowardice at the Battle of Little Death.” Estravon retreated back into the room to finish whatever he was up to in there.
“Something’s going on,” Finn said. “You’ve sent the Half-Hunters home. You’ve sent Steve to Liechtenstein. It’s almost like you want them all out of the way.”
“That’s clever. Exactly the kind of quick thinking I would want if I was, say, a traitor working for the Legends,” said Lucien, pausing at the top of the corridor at the first, and oldest, portrait of one of Finn’s ancestors. The painting itself was so ancient it was merely a square of varying brown blobs. A worn plaque beside it declared it to be of long-dead Legend Hunter Aodh the Handsome.
“You’re doing something in the cave,” said Emmie.
“It’s a place where incredibly important and dangerous crystals grow,” explained Lucien. “The only place on Earth, in fact. Those crystals have the power to spontaneously open gateways to the Infested Side. Of course we’re doing something. We’re looking into that strange phenomenon.”
Finn felt cornered, trapped by Lucien’s logic.
“You’re looking a little annoyed now,” Lucien said to him. “Be careful. I know you haven’t exploded in a while but I’ve only just had this door painted and I wouldn’t want you ruining it.”
“You can’t keep doing this,” Finn told him.
“This is your final warning,” said Lucien. “The next time you look like you’re spying on behalf of the Legends, your family will have to go. You. Your mother. Your father. All gone. No more Darkmouth. No more home.”
“You’re framing us,” said Finn.
“Emmie will be gone too. And it will be your fault.” Lucien looked at her. “I don’t even have to ask how upset you would be about that.”
Finn retreated into silence.
Lucien eyed him, pushed his glasses up his nose. “It doesn’t need to be this way. Think about that. Think about your future.”
He casually closed the front door after Finn and Emmie.
They walked down the street a bit, quietly furious, until they were at the corner to the house they now shared.
“We’ll go and check out the cave later,” Finn said. “We know how to get into it now. They’re up to something else, for sure.”
“You heard him, right?” Emmie said, sympathetic but reluctant. “We’re in danger of getting into worse trouble than we’re already in.”
“I remember when you were the one pushing me into things,” Finn said to her.
“And I remember when you were the sensible one,” she said, but he was already jogging on down the street.
“Where are you going?” she called after him.
“To see Dad at work,” Finn called back over his shoulder. “He’ll know what to do.”
So it was that, five minutes later, Finn was in the back of a shop called Woofy Wash, looking at a very grumpy Hugo giving a labradoodle a bath.
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The labradoodle was shiny, its tongue hanging loose, its eyes covered by wringing-wet black curls, while Hugo – still officially the last and greatest Legend Hunter on Earth – cursed as he pulled a large comb through its sopping coat.
“This morning was a real mess,” Finn explained to his dad.
“Stupid, hairy, knotted mutt,” hissed Hugo, the comb tangled in doggy curls. “Why people don’t just shave their dogs bald, I don’t know.”
“Something’s up,” Finn continued, wincing at the sight of his father’s struggles. “And just because I tried to find out what it is, Lucien threatened to kick us out of Darkmouth altogether.”
“You have no idea how long it took to clean this animal’s paws,” Hugo griped without pause. “I think it walked through wet tar to get here, or something. I had to use a toothbrush to get in the gaps.”
He pulled again at the dog’s coat. The labradoodle yelped.
“Brush it first, before washing it,” said Finn.
Hugo stopped – the comb snagged in the dog’s newly shampooed hair – and looked hard at his son in a way that suggested he didn’t want advice but might have to take some anyway.
“You should brush dogs before washing them,” repeated Finn. “It makes it easier to comb them afterwards.”
At another time in his life, Finn had wanted to be a vet instead of a Legend Hunter. It wasn’t that he’d given up on that dream; it was just that for a while now he’d had no choice.
Silently, Hugo seemed to accept the advice and began to calmly untangle the comb from the dog’s coat, as if he’d had his rant and let off the required steam.
Hugo’s boss, Mr Green, passed behind and, without stopping, without even looking at Hugo, said, “You should have had that labradoodle polished up and out by now, Hugo. You’ve two cats to primp and a guinea-pig haircut to do, all before mid-morning break.”
This kicked Hugo back into grumpiness and he pulled a little hard on the comb, causing the poor dog to yelp again.
“And next time you should brush the dog before you wash it,” said Mr Green, disappearing into the front of the shop.
“I was in school with that jumped-up fool,” Hugo murmured so that only Finn could hear. “He never liked me. He’s loving every minute of this. The second I’m done with this job, I’m going to give him a soaking so strong it’ll shrink him to a size no bigger than this dog’s—”
He stopped, glancing at Finn.
“We could have done with you out there this morning,” Finn said. “We could do with you out there every time this happens.”
“I know that,” his father hissed. “I want to be out there, not here, up to my elbows in dog fleas. But without access to our own house, this is the only way we can get enough of the chemicals to make our own Desiccator fluid. Without this, when an invasion happens again – and it will happen – we’ll be fighting off Legends with nothing but guinea-pig hair clips. I just wish the right combination of chemicals could be found in, I don’t know, the ice cream shop or somewhere. Not here, with these poodledors—”
“Labradoodles,” Finn corrected him.
“Whatever they’re called,” said Hugo, pulling at the dog’s coat. “Either way, these things have … Too … Many … Curls.”
The dog whimpered, but was finally free of the combing. Hugo let it down off the table to scamper to a basket and chew on a rubber bone.
Mr Green appeared once more in the washing area, again passing by without stopping. “A rabbit’s done its business on the shop counter,” he said. “Wipe it up before you move on to Killer.”
“Killer?” asked Hugo.
“The guinea pig.”
Hugo looked like he might swing a fist, or maybe an entire labradoodle, at his boss.
“But we had better get Darkmouth back soon,” Hugo said. “If I have to wash another mutt’s you-know-what, I’ll go insane. More insane than I am now anyway.”
Finn knew his father had sacrificed many things over the years in order to fulfil his duty as a Legend Hunter. He’d never holidayed. He’d never been able to relax during a rainstorm. He’d never stopped training, thinking, planning, day and night and next day again. But this seemed to be the greatest sacrifice of all. Swapping his dignity for a couple of bottles of doggy shampoo.
Hugo looked around to make sure Mr Green had gone, then pulled six small plastic bottles from under the table and pressed them into Finn’s schoolbag.
“That’s a couple of litres of Shampoodle,” he said. He then reached across for a box from the shelf. “And one packet of Fabulous Fish Fin Formula. They’ll shrink a jumbo jet when mixed right. Just don’t be seen leaving with them or I’ll lose my job.”
Hugo took a moment to contemplate that possibility, knowing being sacked would be a sweet release from the doggy drudgery.
“No,” he said. “I can’t think about losing my job. I must plough on. It’s the only way for now.”
“You keep saying that, Dad, but what’s changing?” said Finn, grabbing a towel and laying it over the labradoodle’s sodden back. “Nothing. It’s getting worse out there and you’re stuck in here.”
