Justin Fisher - The Darkening King

And that was when the lit fuse blew.

Mavis’s gigantic right arm tore across the ground-floor bar. The fox-haired grey-suit and his number two ducked but the two door breakers behind them were not so lucky. Her fist connected with them both and there was a sickening crunch of bone on bone. They were flung to the walls violently before slumping to the floor in unconscious heaps. Their commander remained completely calm and nodded to the brick, who in return whispered something into his sleeve. A second later every window on every floor erupted in a shower of breaking glass and then—

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Smoking canisters were launched into the room, their great clouds of green gas instantly reducing those nearest to slumbering heaps. There were, however, some amongst the Darklings and Hidden who were immune to the effects, and for that lucky handful, the fox-haired man had soldiers. Heavily armoured men of a darker grey attire in riot gear and gas masks burst into the room. In place of sub-machine guns, they all carried long-poled electric batons and high-powered dart guns. This was nothing like the raid Ned had witnessed at the Circus of Marvels – the BBB worked the room with ease. With a jolt of their batons, a blast of their darts, one by one resistance was quashed. All, that was, except for Mavis, who launched blow after blow of her great arms at the mounting assault of grey.

One of the more heavily armoured intruders spotted Ned at the edge of the fighting and began to stride across the room towards him. Ned focused – focused with everything that he had – on the small band of ring at his finger. But just as before, the air shimmered in front of him as he tried to draw it together, then … nothing.

“Dad, over here!” he yelped.

Terry Armstrong, meanwhile, had no such problem when it came to his ring and was about to unleash a shower of hardened projectiles when one of the many Mavii reared up behind the man in grey and proceeded to break a teapot over his helmet. Reinforced alloys are lightweight and durable, the perfect material for special-forces armour. No match, however, for Mavis’s best china, and the man hit the floor hard.

“You lot – with me, before this gas gets the better of us!” she ordered and quickly led Ned and his family back down the corridor. “The door knew who you were the minute you knocked, it always does – the Lady de Laqua indeed!”

“I thought Mavis’s tea shop was neutral? Why are you helping us?” rasped an out-of-breath Ned.

“You have more friends than you know. From what I hear, what’s coming doesn’t care about neutral!”

“Thank you, Mavis – or what do I …?” started Terry.

“I’m Number Six, and you’re welcome.”

Heavy footsteps pounded after them and a quick glimpse over his shoulder had Ned witness the great ooze that was Gorrn surprise two of the dark-grey tanks by dropping on to them with a toothy and painful flup . The men screamed through their masks and the Armstrongs rounded the corner. Just as they did, they came face to face with Sur-jan, but not as they’d seen him before – reformed to his true flame-licked self. Sar-adin was the only Demon Ned had ever seen in his true Demonic form, but Sur-jan was quite different. His size and shape were similar, though his mouth was wider, and from it hung a snake-like tongue that forked at the end. A layer of fire crackled and spat over him like a sheet of armour and what little of the creature’s skin Ned could see through the flames was red and brittle, as though made of rough glass. Only his eyes remained as they were, and they were all the more unsettling for it, as though somehow through all that power and magic a part of him had remained human.

Sur-jan nodded to Number Six, who nodded back, and on the Armstrongs hurtled, down another corridor that ran behind the main tea room, Whiskers scurrying ahead like a wind-up rocket.

There were more screams behind them as the Demon dealt with the few men who had managed to get past Gorrn.

Finally Number Six ushered them into the last room in the corridor, inside which was a tall mirror framed by two high-backed chairs.

“Emergency exit. We’ve never had to use it before today – oh, the shame of it!”

She handed Terry a sliver of glass and the Armstrongs were just readying themselves to walk through when everything went a little bit wrong. From behind the wall they heard:

“YOU BRUTES! I’LL FEED YOU TO MY WYVERN FOR THIS!”

And in a last violent outburst, Mavis – the original and far larger Mavis – struck out at her assailants. Unfortunately for Ned and family, she struck out at the other side of the wall, on which hung the mirror, and instantly both wall and mirror were destroyed.

In a spray of plasterboard, splinters and mirrored glass, their emergency exit was turned to rubble. As the dust cleared, a dumbfounded Ned and family could only blink through the hole in the wall at the once again silent tea room.

Mavis lay sprawled over her counter. She’d been peppered with hundreds of darts and whatever liquid they’d carried to make her slumber had finally taken its hold. Every single one of her tea-drinking customers lay like Mavis, out cold on the floor, or sagging at their seats and tables.

Staring at Ned was the BBB’s fox-haired leader, behind him at least thirty armoured men, each and every one with a dart gun pointed at the Armstrongs. Tears of frustration began to well in Ned’s eyes even as he focused on his ring. Ned had no powers to call on, and his dad had no time as the grey-suits pulled their triggers.

Pfft, pfft, pfft.

A short blow of air, a sting at Ned’s neck and everything turned to black.

ed was barely aware of the jolting motion of the transport, of the blindfold that had been placed over his eyes or of the muffled voices discussing “the boy” and his parents. We’re captives was all his bleary mind could muster, and everything was lost.

After more than an hour of travelling, they were led from the vehicle and into a building, then finally into a room of some sort, though where in the world they were now was anyone’s guess.

“Mr Fox will be with you shortly,” announced the grey-haired wall of an agent they had seen at Mavis’s as he took off the Armstrongs’ blindfolds and left them in what turned out to be a windowless concrete room.

“Ned, Terry, are you OK?” asked his mum just as soon as the door was closed. Red-eyed from the dart’s effects and clearly ruffled, Olivia Armstrong still managed to look beautiful as she ran round the room checking the walls for some hint of a weakness, some way in which they could escape.

“Fine, Mum,” managed Ned. “Still a bit groggy, though.”

His dad, on the other hand, looked beaten. For one thing, the clothes they’d had to buy him after their last run-in weren’t quite big enough and his hair was now completely on end, but it was the look of utter dejection that finished off the picture.

“We were so close!” he howled. “Months, months of looking, of hunting and being hunted – for nothing! Do those fools have any idea what they’ve done?”

“Don’t get worked up, Terry – you’re no use to us when you’re worked up, and I’m going to need your skills to break out of here.”

But Ned’s dad was “worked up” and in no hurry to un-work himself.