Shane Hegarty - Chaos Descends

Further along the row of the Twelve, another member stood, a very tall man in a black robe with light blue leather edges, and a medallion bearing the number 2. The skin sagged on his face and on the finger he raised.

“Lazlo the Second,” announced Estravon, realising he needed to introduce him as was the way of things.

The rest of the room hushed. Lazlo inhaled, working himself up to what was obviously going to be a very important intervention.

“In my blighted village we have a saying,” he said. “Hairy feet are no substitute for comfortable shoes.”

Lazlo sat again, with the aid of his assistant who draped his black robe over the back of a floral kitchen chair.

No one seemed to know quite how to respond.

“I’m going to have to find a way to break up this meeting,” Hugo mumbled to Finn as the thrum of elders and assistants rose again.

Finn had a moment of inspiration, words so powerful that for a long time after he would be shocked by their impact. “Who needs to use the toilet?”

There was quite a rush for the door.

They hurried the ten members of the Twelve and their assistants from the house without wanting to give the impression they were pushing them out.

They jumped in the car without wanting to give the impression they were hurrying anywhere in particular.

They tracked Broonie through Darkmouth without wanting to look like they were tracking anything at all.

Blip went the scanner.

“ I can’t believe he escaped,” went Hugo.

“Sorry,” said Finn.

“Just as the Council of Twelve turns up.”

“I know.”

“While Half-Hunters are being vaporised by Mr Glad.”

“That bit’s hardly my fault,” said Finn. He wasn’t so sure, though.

The scanner told them the Hogboon was scampering around the centre of the town, apparently in some kind of panic judging by the pattern. In and out of alleyways, trying to find ways into backyards, hugging the edges of every wall. But one thing was clear. He was heading towards Broken Road, and the calm of the unsuspecting people of Darkmouth was about to be shattered.

“There’s to be no screwing up this time,” said Hugo, with such a grip on the steering wheel that his knuckles were white.

“You’re the one who left me alone with a choking Hogboon,” replied Finn. “Anyway, you’re just taking all this out on me because the Council of Twelve has shown up and you’re trying to pretend we’re in control of things.”

“Hold that Desiccator,” said Hugo sternly. “We’re about to turn sharply.”

He swung the car round a corner while Finn held the Desiccator on his lap, praying it wouldn’t accidentally discharge and shrink the car door. Or the entire car.

It wouldn’t be the first time Finn had accidentally shrunk something. Almost a year ago, when Mr Glad first turned on them, Finn had desiccated half a fishing boat in the harbour. Still, compared to some unfortunate Legend Hunters of the past, he wasn’t doing too badly. Most famous was André the Clumsy, who had inadvertently desiccated his mother-in-law during their very first meeting – which wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been on a bicycle at the time. It is said to have taken him four weeks to properly separate the woman from the bike, and even then a bell rang every time she hiccuped.

“What’s in the briefcase, Dad?” Finn asked.

“Briefcase?”

“The one that assistant had chained to his wrist.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I know you’d tell me if you needed to,” responded Finn.

“It’s the worst thing I can imagine,” said Hugo. “So we’re going to make sure they don’t need to open it. Now tell me where Broonie is on that scanner.”

“He’s gone into Scraper’s Lane,” said Finn, watching their target move on the map. “Hold on, he’s back out on Broken Road now.”

At that moment, his father pressed on the accelerator in order to dash through the lights just as they went from orange to red, a short scream of the tyres giving an indication of his urgency. Hugo almost clipped the front edge of a small oncoming car, and gave the driver a wave of forced jolliness that was supposed to make up for the fact he had almost crushed him pancake-flat.

They arrived at the top end of Broken Road.

“There!” shouted Finn, pointing towards a spot further down the road, where the scanner said Broonie should be. The place was obscured by parked cars and the usual mix of Darkmouth locals and Half-Hunter tourists. None seemed as yet to have noticed the rogue Legend.

“Let’s draw up slowly beside him,” said Hugo, keeping his speed steady. “Get good and close for a shot.”

They moved on, the blue dot on the scanner getting very near.

Blip . Blip . Blipblipblip .

Still Broonie was obscured. Finn saw a low figure flit between a gap in some parked cars, hugging the ground. “There!”

In just a few more metres, Hugo would get a clean shot through a space between cars. He took the Desiccator from Finn’s lap, kept his other hand on the wheel. Nerveless. Steady. He pulled in to the kerb, waited for Broonie to emerge. “Ready,” he said. “Three. Two. One …”

“Hey, Hugo!” Nils, the Norwegian Half-Hunter stuck his head right in the window. “And it’s the boy Finn. What a hero! Oh wow, yes.”

“Listen,” said Hugo, trying to look over his shoulder, “we’re in the middle of something here so—”

“Great car,” said Nils, oblivious to the urgency. “Does it have an ejector seat?”

Finn watched the scanner as the dot approached the street side of their car.

Blipblipblip .

“No ejector seats either,” replied Hugo. “Look, we’ll have plenty of time to—”

“But it has Desiccators in the bumper, right?” asked Nils, undeterred. He pushed his arm into the car. “I love gadgets. Have I shown you my souvenir cufflinks? I wanted something really explosive for my trip and—”

“Dad,” said Finn as the dot passed right by them, hidden by parked cars and Nils’s big head. Hugo pushed open the door, practically shoving Nils out of the way. Finn got out of his side of the car, the scanner held low under his hooded jacket. Blipblipblip . Blip . Blip .

“He’s gone down the alleyway to our one o’clock,” said Hugo.

“What’s at one o’clock?” asked Nils, standing in his way. “Can I come?”

“Nils,” said Hugo. “Do you want to know a Darkmouth secret?”

Nils nodded with the enthusiasm of a toddler.

“That postbox over there is a spring-loaded Legend trap. You should go and have a look. But only look. One touch and you might lose a foot.”

“Oh wow.” Nils bounded away.

Hugo grabbed the Desiccator, tucked it tight under his armpit. “I’ll take this alleyway, you take that one just behind us. They meet at a dead end. There’s nowhere for him to go.”

Finn jogged back to the alley known as the Gutted Narrows, eye on the scanner, watching the Hogboon move along the curve between them, just ahead out of sight. Each time he thought he might glimpse Broonie, the creature scuttled on a little further, before stopping at the very corner where the two laneways met.

Finn rejoined his father there, at a fruit and veg shop at the elbow of the two paths. On one side of the door was a tall rack of potatoes and onions. On the other, boxes of apples and melons. And, in the middle, the door inside which they knew would be a cowering Hogboon.

“It’s quiet,” whispered Finn.

“Not for much longer,” replied his father.

They burst in, Desiccators high, ready to fire, Hugo shouting, “Right, you little scut, it’s bedtime!”