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Fighting Pax
Robin Jarvis
The concluding volume in an epic and terrifying trilogy for teen readersThroughout the world, Dancing Jax reigns supreme. The Ismus and his court are celebrated and adored, and the Ismus is writing the much-awaited sequel to Dancing Jax. But when someone accidentally reads the manuscript, the true, evil purpose of Austerly Fellows is finally revealed. Can the resistance halt the publication of Fighting Pax? Or is humanity doomed and will the Dawn Prince arise at last?
Table of Contents
Cover (#u6e77dad6-66b4-5d98-bf49-f660213951f2)
Title Page (#u3051384a-4801-5d4f-83ab-e3fde96f65b1)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Copyright
About the Publisher
“All this – this insanity, the terror and the hellish creatures everywhere – it’s all because of a book, a kids’ book, called Dancing Jax. It was written back in 1936 by… I don’t know what you’d call him there, but I’d say ‘occultist’. Do you know what that is? But he was and is much more than that: Austerly Fellows – the most dangerous and evil man to have ever lived – and he’s still very much alive. The book wasn’t published until late last year, by a man who Austerly Fellows has completely taken over. The guy was just some layabout chancer who broke into the wrong place and that was the end of him. He goes by the name of the Ismus now, after the main character in the story, and the world hangs on his every word.
“So many people have died, so many lives torn apart, so many more are suffering right now, but what really scares me, what keeps me wide awake, well into the night, is not the fear of him and his foul creatures finding me: it’s wondering what he’s got planned. What next? This isn’t it – this won’t be enough. Austerly Fellows is working to a plan, something even more terrible than what we’ve already seen. No, I have no idea what it is. How could I?
“Look, I’m nothing, a nobody – this isn’t political. That – all that – is history now; it doesn’t exist any more. I’m just a maths teacher from a tiny place in England called Felixstowe, and I’m tired and desperate. Why else would I be here, begging for your help? You’ve got to believe me, Dancing Jax is coming – and not even you can shut it out. You’ve been cut off from the rest of the world for a long time, but that won’t help you now. Nothing can stop it! Nothing… except just maybe… one of those kids back in the UK. He just might be the answer to our prayers and that’s why you have to help. It’s the only hope we have.”
The video message ended and the TV screen went blank. The Marshals turned to the figure in black seated between them.
“Do what he asks,” their Supreme Leader said quietly. “Instigate the rescue – immediately.”
1 (#ufac9b690-059d-5bdc-8313-e27322575ac9)
ACROSS LONDON, COLUMNS of dark, oily smoke rose high in the still air. There were always fires now: cars, homes, people. There was always something to burn. The mirrored towers of Canary Wharf flashed with the apricot light of an evening in late summer. Although many of those windows were now shattered or smeared with the filthy trails of bloated creatures that crawled down at night, there were enough panes left for the setting sun to dazzle and flare in.
The Thames was high. Its surface was unmarred by river traffic, but fouled by scum, creeping weeds and long waving chains of jelly-like spawn. The water moved thickly around half-submerged wrecks of lorries and buses. They had been torn from the bridges by things that made their nests in the shadowy arches beneath, where great clusters of leathery eggs hung in webbed nets.
A teenage couple strolled along the deserted South Bank, heedless of the ruined city, eyes only for each other and the occupant of the buggy pushed by the boy. It was one of those overdesigned three-wheelers that looked like it should be roving the surface of Mars. But garlands of fluffy pink feathers had been twined about the handles to soften and personalise it and a foil Garfield balloon bobbed above.
Lee Charles smiled down at the infant secured safely in the seat. A knitted hat, shaped like a cupcake, with pink woolly icing and a glittery cherry on top, sat lightly on her small sleeping head. The biggest grin in the world lit up Lee’s face whenever he looked at her. She was the most precious and beautiful baby he had ever seen. He lived for her smiles, and her innocence lapped around her like a flame. He would surrender his life to keep it burning. By his side, arm linked through his, the girl called Charm rested her chin on his shoulder.
“Aww,” she said. “What is you like? What a softy. Some gangsta you is.”
Lee planted a chuckling kiss on her lips.
“You two’s my gang now, Sweets,” he told her, his nose pressing against hers.
The girl kissed him back then glanced across the river at the once grand buildings, now derelict and unsafe.
“Were it worth it though?” she murmured. “I mean… all that. All what went on. Were it worth what you did?”
Lee pushed his fingers through her long hair and guided her lovely face back to him.
“For you to be here with me, right now? For our little angel? You messin’ with me? It were worth it all. I’d do it again a million times over, babes. Don’t you never think otherwise. You hear?”
Charm lowered her gaze and nodded.
Lee gripped the handles of the buggy once more.
“Time we got back,” he announced. “Be gettin’ dark soon. We don’t wanna be out when the big things start movin’ and the sky gets busy.”
“Where we goin’?”
“Back to our place, babes. You know.”
“Our place?”
“Yeah, the rad warehouse makeover, with steel shutters, gun emplacements and trick flame-throwers – all that good stuff.”
The girl’s forehead puckered slightly as she struggled to remember.
“I don’t… is me ma there?”
“Let’s get goin’,” Lee urged softly.
“Well, is she or what?”
“She ain’t there.”
“Where then?”
“I told you, babes.”
“If you did, I forgot. Why ain’t me ma here to share this? Why ain’t she wiv her granddaughter? She’d go freakin’ mental for her she would.”
“Your mother ain’t around no more,” Lee said, walking off. “She’s gone. I told you.”
Charm hesitated and put a hand to her temple in confusion. “Gone?” she repeated. “Where’d she go? I can’t fink straight. When were this? When did you tell me?”
Lee halted, left the buggy and came back to her. Cupping her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes.
“She’s dead, hun,” he said gently. “When she found out what happened to you, it were too much. She couldn’t face it and had to bail. Man, I almost caved too. Your mother was strong and fierce – you should be proud. She got the rest of us outta that hellhole, but she couldn’t hack it out here without you. She thought you was dead forever. She didn’t know what I had planned, how I was gonna go fetch you from that Mooncaster place. I’m gonna make sure our angel don’t never forget she had a lioness for a grandma.”
Charm blinked her tears away. Lee stroked her cheek. She never remembered. Perhaps it was best that way. Perhaps he should stop reminding her. The horrors of that camp, where children immune to the effects of Dancing Jax had been interned, were best forgotten, especially by her. She moved away, towards the railing, and stared down at the cloudy river. Lee followed, drew the girl close and held her tightly. As long as they were together, nothing else mattered. He would do anything to keep her in his arms forever. Sometimes he couldn’t believe what he had already done.
And then that sudden sense of dread tore at his stomach, as it did every night. Still wrapped in his embrace, Charm raised her eyes and screamed.
Running along the path towards them were a dozen hideous little hunchbacked men, with hooked noses that curved down to meet the upturned tips of equally grotesque chins. They were Punchinello Guards from the pages of that evil children’s book, ugly and brutal creatures that had crossed over into this world. They were dressed in the yellow and crimson livery of Mooncaster, with large velvet bicorn hats on their deformed heads and spears in their fists.
Lee grabbed the girl’s hand and the couple ran back towards the buggy. But the guards were already upon them.
A savage kick knocked Lee’s legs from under him. His knees crashed on to the concrete. Charm’s hand was torn from his fingers and his face slammed against the ground. He roared in pain and rage as a steel-heeled boot stamped on his shoulders. His arms were yanked up over his back until he thought they would snap or be ripped from the sockets. His joints felt on fire. He tried to struggle, but a brass knuckleduster crunched into his ribs and a pinched, nasal voice squawked in his ear.
“Goody goody!” it screeched. “Oh, goody goody! You twitch again, Creeper, and me smash bones. Me likey hear them splintery crack, splintery crack.”
The boy could only stare as three of the Punchinellos bounded after Charm, squealing and quacking with cruel delight.
“Get away from her!” he bawled. “Don’t you touch her!”
Even as he yelled those words, the girl was dragged to the floor by her hair and powerful hands clamped over her mouth, smothering her terrified shrieks.
Then two more guards came waddling up. Between them they carried a large leather suitcase. It was so long it required two handles and, when Lee saw it, his eyes widened in horror. The suitcase was shaped like a coffin.
“No!” he bellowed.
The guards set the macabre case down and skipped around it, flicking the catches open. Then they threw back the lid. Charm was hoisted into the air and flung inside.
“We had a deal!” Lee cried. “I did what your Ismus psycho wanted. We had a deal!”
The Punchinellos ignored him. They hopped and danced about the suitcase, tormenting the petrified girl within, jabbing and prodding her with the tips of their spears.
“You hurt her and I’ll kill you!” Lee thundered.
“Prick the squassage!” they taunted. “Prick it, poke it, make it spit, make it sing and squeal in the pan.”
“Girl no belong here,” the evil voice hissed in the boy’s ear. “You not done what Ismus want.”
“I did!” Lee protested. “I did it and damned myself to Hell. But I didn’t care! Don’t you take her from me now!”
“You liar. You no do it. Girl stay dead till you does.”
Lee watched them reach for the lid of the suitcase and looked on Charm’s stricken face one final time.
“Don’t you be scared now!” he shouted across to her. “I ain’t gonna lose you again! Wherever you is, I’ll find you! I promise! I promise!”
The lid snapped down and quick, dirty fingers locked it. Then the suitcase was snatched up and the two guards went scurrying away with it. Charm’s muffled screams faded in the distance.
The crushing weight of the boot lifted from Lee’s shoulder and the owner of the voice stepped before his eyes. There stood Captain Swazzle, chief warder of the castle guards. He was dressed in the same absurd outfit as the last time the boy had seen him, back at the camp. The pinstriped, 1920s, Al Capone-style suit, complete with pearl-grey spats and white fedora, was still in place and a stream of pale blue smoke curled up from the fat cigar in his mouth.
“You want see girl again?” he snarled, tapping ash down on to the boy’s face. “Do what Ismus say.”
“Big mistake messin’ with me!” Lee thundered back. “You know what I’m capable of. You know why your head guy is so scared o’ me. I am gonna make it my personal business to take you right outta this world and scrub you from that book forever – like you never was – an’ there ain’t nuthin’ could…”
The threat died on his lips. The other Punchinellos had started to squawk.
“Oohhhh, a baby! Look at the baby! Looky – looky!”
They gathered round the buggy and began pawing at the infant inside.
