The Gold Thief

“And you need to work on your smoke screens,” warned Terrence as he set the table for dinner. “Very effective, but too much power—”

“—brings attention, I know, I know, but what’s the point in learning how to evade danger if all we do is hide away from it?”

Olivia pretended not to hear and busied herself with preparing their supper, whilst humming to an awful version of “White Christmas” on the radio.

“Don’t you miss it, Dad, the Hidden, the Circus – our friends?”

“Course I do, Ned, but not nearly as much as I missed or worried about your mum. Or you, whilst we’re on the subject, after you crossed the Veil. I will never let us be apart again, Ned, not now, not ever.”

“But Barbarossa’s dead, Dad, all that’s behind us.”

His dad shook his head. “Do you know what they call you behind the Veil? ‘The hero of Annapurna.’ Everyone knows what you did, what you’re capable of, but you’re still just a boy, my boy – and there are plenty of creatures on the other side as bad as he was and with as much to gain by getting their hands on you.” His dad paused. “Nowhere is as safe as you think, Ned, not for people like us.”

“Oh, Dad, really? We used to live in the dullest suburb in England, and now we live next door to it. Nothing happens here.”

“Which is precisely why our powers need to stay a secret. If jossers found out about us, we’d have to move, and quickly. Besides which, ‘nothing’ much was happening before Mo and his cronies came looking for me in Grittlesby. Trouble could just as easily come looking for us here.”

“Then teach me how to fight, really fight, not hide.”

His dad’s face darkened. The truth was that Ned could do any number of the training exercises asked of him, with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back. Ned knew it and so did his dad. What he was really asking was for permission to work outside the limitations of the Engineer’s Manual.

“You know I can’t do that, son.”

“I’d be careful, Dad.”

“It’s not about that. What you did at St Clotilde’s, that level of power, it’s simply never been done. Not by a single Engineer before you. We have no idea of the dangers.”

“What if it has, though? The missing pages from the Manual, maybe that’s what they’re about? You could help me, we could work it out together.”

His dad’s expression looked somewhere between anger and concern, before finally settling on kind.

“The pages are gone and there’s no way of knowing what was on them. Ned, any Engineer could have made a smoke screen without choking themselves half to death and you’re better than all of the ones that came before you, better than me. Remember last week, when you got angry? The power grid for half the suburb went out and not for the first time. We’ve gone through three blown microwaves in less than a month and every time you do homework, car alarms start sounding off all over Clucton. I can’t do that, son, none of it.”

“Then help me control it, Dad, please?”

And this was where the conversation always wound up.

“Your powers have changed since Annapurna, since you connected to the Source, that much we know. But there’s something else, something troubling you that you’re not telling us. I can’t help you if you don’t let me know what it is.”

For a glimmer of a moment, Ned looked into his father’s kindly eyes and prepared himself to say something. About what happened at night, when he let himself fall asleep.

About the voice.

But this time – like all the others – he found that he couldn’t do it. Because if he talked about it now … it would live outside his dreams and nightmares. It would become … real.

“Tomorrow, Dad, I’ll tell you both. I promise.” And a part of him believed that he actually might.

Suddenly there was a shriek from the kitchen, followed by an unusually panicked Olivia Armstrong, flapping her arms.

“Oh dear Lord, it’s ruined!” she gasped. “And the Johnstons will be here any minute! Will you two stop dribbling on about ‘Amplification’ and set the table. Terry, I need a spatula, and fast!”

Sometimes, Ned found it hard to believe this was the same woman who, mere months ago, had fought off countless gor-balin assassins, to protect her “wards” at the battle of St Clotilde’s. Ned’s mum could happily face off against a mountain troll if the mood took her, but the mystery of weighed ingredients and a timed oven were not a warrior’s domain.

As the aroma of burnt “something” hit their noses, the kitchen radio blared.

“The third kidnapping from the capital in less than a week—”

Terrence’s face whitened and his eyes flitted to Olivia for a moment, before he started rifling through a kitchen drawer for implements. But Ned had seen it.

All his dad’s talk of dark forces that might be interested in Ned. All the training he was making him do. There was something he was worried about – something specific – and it had to do with the kidnappings on the news.

“TheeRe yoU arRe.”

ater that night, when the Johnstons had gone and the last of his mum’s burnt offerings had been cleared away, Ned went to bed. It was his least favourite part to any day. Not because he wanted to stay up, but because of what happened when he didn’t.

Sleep.

For weeks now he had been plagued by the same horrifying nightmare. The hot metal walls. The sense of being trapped, and then the walls blowing open and …

Just thinking about it made him shudder.

But it was not the nightmare itself or the part Ned’s ring always played in it that he could not tell his parents about. It was the voice that lay waiting whenever it began. A voice both familiar and ancient – like a call of trumpets over the grinding of rock.

“TheeRe yoU arRe,” said the voice, when Ned finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

Deeply asleep and trapped in his dream, Ned shuddered.

Downstairs, the TV blew its fuse. A light bulb in the kitchen popped. And all down the street, car alarms began to wail.

Holiday

hen Ned woke up, the awful dream and the voice that lurked in its shadow hung over him like a great dark blanket. He was used to the feeling by now and had worked out a series of tricks to get away from its greedy clutches. But today was different: by the time he’d brushed his teeth and made his way downstairs, help was already on offer in the guise of two lovebirds and a Christmassy jingle on the radio. Terry and Olivia Armstrong were dancing very slowly together under a sprig of mistletoe in their kitchen.

“Err, guys, do you have to do that? It’s going to put me off my toast.”

Terry Armstrong continued without flinching. It was his mum who answered.

“Ned, your father and I have waited twelve years to celebrate Christmas together and this is only our second. No amount of teenage grumpiness is going to stop us dancing, cooing, hugging or anything else for the rest of our days.”

And as Ned smiled in blissful defeat, his dad finally spoke without taking his chin from the top of his mum’s shoulder.

“You know what they say, son? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

“Don’t be daft!” wailed Ned.

But his dad’s ring finger crackled wildly and Ned found himself being pushed by its invisible power to the arms of his mum and dad.

Ned’s hair was ruffled, his cheeks pinched and what followed was the most clumsy six-legged waltz the small suburb of Clucton had ever seen, except of course that they couldn’t actually see it. In that moment Ned forgot that he was fourteen years old, and a teenager who from time to time tried to let the rest of the world think he might be cool – because he wasn’t, but mostly because, just like his parents, he’d waited and hoped and dreamed for twelve long years that he could celebrate Christmas with his mum and dad. Now that he actually could, a six-legged waltz in the family kitchen felt like just the right thing to do.

***

Hours later, Carrion Slight sat in his Silver Shadow Rolls-Royce and tended to his bag of tricks, a bag containing two special items. This job had been awkward even for a thief with his unique set of skills. His targets had covered their tracks well and their scent had eluded him for an unusually long time.

“I really don’t get the point of children. They always smell rather off to me, especially the boys. Still, a contract is a contract and my nose never lies, does it, Mange?” said Carrion.

There was no answer.

“It reminds me of that job in Prague, her perfume was so sickly sweet – yet another aroma I wish I could forget. I don’t expect you’ve ever been to Prague, have you?” continued Carrion.

From the outside of the car it looked very much as though he was talking to himself.

“Nothing smells worse than bad perfume – nothing, that is, except for boys. Her necklace, on the other hand: so shiny, and such perfectly cut diamonds.” For a moment Carrion shut his eyes, lost now in the shimmer of “jobs” gone by. “It broke my greedy heart to sell it.” Still no answer. Carrion started to fume. “You’re never actually going to talk, are you, Mange? What I wouldn’t do for some intelligent conversation. Instead I have a bargeist; a demon-hearted, Darkling mutt with only one impulse.”

Carrion unwrapped a full leg of lamb and threw it into the back of his car. The invisible creature behind him snarled loudly, before opening its gullet wide. The car shook just once and the lamb was gone.

“Ungrateful hound.”

Yesterday Carrion had pretended to be a health inspector from the school board; today he’d be a door-to-door salesman. One way or another he always found a way in. His little box took care of the rest and if that didn’t work, he always had Mange.

“Come, we’ve work to do. Do not make yourself known unless they resist. You’re not allowed to kill these ones; though, to be fair, they said nothing about the causing of pain.”

Sliding from the car, Carrion opened its rear door and the invisible creature stepped on to the pavement, with its heavy padded feet. A grinning Carrion approached the house and rang the doorbell. He did so love his job.

Olivia Armstrong opened the door, her expression one of mild irritation at being disturbed by a cold-caller.

“Good morning, madam,” said Carrion. “Is the family at home; I do hope so? I’m selling trinkets, music boxes to be precise, and this one is almost free.”

Blinking Mice

ed sat in a half-broken deck chair in Mr Johnston’s shed. It was the perfect place to hang out and, as George’s dad never did any actual gardening, it was always free of grown-up ears. Term had ended and his two pals, George Johnston and Archie Hinks, were in high spirits. Ever since his time at the circus Ned had developed a problem with calling his friend “George” – it just reminded him too much of the lovable ape he’d left behind – and had forced him to go by “Gummy” on account of his large teeth, though he’d never, obviously, told him the real reason for the nickname. Either way, both his friends loved teasing Ned about his parents and “Gummy Johnston” was busy describing his evening at Ned’s house and the frightening mess that was Olivia’s cooking.

“You should have seen it, Arch! Unrecognisable!” exclaimed Gummy, clutching at his throat. “Oh and the smell, like rotting pigeon in old vinegar.”

“A Waddlesworth special?” asked Archie.

“A Waddlesworth super-special, if you ask me,” grinned back his friend.

“She is bad, isn’t she?” Ned said in agreement.

At this point, the walls of Mr Johnston’s garden shed rattled with their combined laughter.

Yet another layer of lies that had become Ned’s life. No one on this side of the Veil knew about Ned’s powers, let alone what his real name was, not even his two best friends. But that was what he really loved about Gummy and Arch. He could be the “Waddlesworth” Ned with them, the old one he had been before the Hidden had come knocking. There were moments, when the three of them were together, when the laughter flowed freely enough, that he let himself forget about Amplification and training. And sometimes, if he really tried, Ned even forgot about the voice.

Whiskers, Ned’s pet mouse, remained perfectly still on his favourite seed bag, knowing full well that Gummy and Arch wouldn’t be nearly as chirpy if they’d seen what Ned’s mum could really do with a carving knife, or sword for that matter.

“All right, Whiskers?” asked Gummy.

But Ned’s mouse remained completely motionless, because unbeknown to Gummy, Whiskers was not really a mouse. At least not a real one.

“Ned?” asked George.

“Yep?”

“You do know Whiskers is a bit weird, right?”

“Yes. Actually, he’s about as weird a mouse as it gets, but he’s my weird mouse and I wouldn’t have him any other way,” replied Ned rather proudly, at which point Whiskers deigned to give him an acknowledging twitch of the nose.

“Talking of weird, did George tell you about the bloke who turned up at our school?” asked Arch.

“No.”

“Well,” started Arch. “So this is even weirder than your mouse and your mum’s cooking. This inspector from the school board comes into class, says he’s there to do a spot inspection, looking for nits. And he has this nose, all long and pointy.”

“Nits?”

“Nits,” agreed Gummy, with a knowing nod.

“Yeah,” said Arch. “Nits on the last day of school, and he said he only needed two candidates, me and Gummy.”

Ned’s ears pricked up, closely followed by the ears of his pet rodent. There were several things that his two pals had in common. They were Ned’s only close friends outside the Circus of Marvels, and they had both lived on the same street as Ned, until the Waddlesworths (or Armstrongs – depending on which side of the Veil you lived) had decided to move to the neighbouring suburb.

“Only you two, out of the whole class?”

“Yup. He kept asking questions about how long we’d lived on our street; he had a really oily voice, sort of creepy. He said there was a very rare type of nit he was trying to track down and that he thought it had come from Oak Tree Lane.”

“That is weird,” said Ned, who did not like where the story was going at all.

“It gets weirder. So Gummy’s waiting outside and I’m sat on a chair in the school’s old meeting room. The inspector guy takes these plugs out of his nose and then shoves said nose right into my hair. Finally he pulls away, staggers backwards and looks like he’s going to be sick.”

“Well, who wouldn’t?” grinned Gummy.

“Then he looks at me and starts blathering on about the awful smell of children and how he finally has a lead. A second later he’s flying out the door past me, then Gummy, and clutching his nose like it’s been stabbed.”

Behind the Veil, there were many creatures, with many “gifts”. Ned had read about Folk with a sense of smell so acute they could follow a target, any target, for miles and once they had a scent, they never forgot it. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“So after that, you went home and you and your mum and dad came over to mine, right?”

“Yeah. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You’ve led him straight to us, Gummy!”

At that moment, something inside Ned changed. The mistletoe and wrapping paper, the thin veneer of an ordinary life with its ordinary joys and its run-up to Christmas, all, suddenly, faded away.

Behind Ned’s friend, the two bulbs in his extraordinary mouse’s eyes started to flash a brilliant white. Cold fear ran up and down Ned’s back. His mouse, a Debussy Mark Twelve, had been top-of-the-range spy gear in its time, a mechanical marvel of spinning cogs and winding gears. It would never blink like that on this side of the Veil, not in front of “jossers” who did not know about the Hidden. Not, of course, unless it was a serious emergency.

The mouse had been adjusted by the Circus of Marvels’ resident boffin and could now communicate with Ned, albeit in simple Morse code. Longer flashes of the eyes were a dash, shorter blinks a dot.

Ned wondered who was sending him a message. Only a few people knew the correct frequency to contact Whiskers: Ned’s parents, the Circus of Marvels and the Olswangs at number 24. His dad had insisted that if they were to return to a “normal” life, they would have to have friendly agents to watch over their son. “Fair-folk” used glamours outside the Hidden’s territory to remain human in appearance, but Mr Olswang clearly had dwarven blood in his veins and “Mrs” had to have been elven to be anywhere near as tall as she was. Either way, neither Ned’s parents nor the Olswangs had ever had cause to use the system until today, in Mr Johnston’s shed.

Ned’s friends looked at Whiskers in complete and utter horror.

“What in the name of everything is your mouse doing?” marvelled Archie.

“Shh, it’s blinking,” said Ned.

“DON’T GO, H, O, M,” he translated.

A single dot.

“E.”

There are few things less likely to make a boy stay where he is, than telling him not to go home. Especially when it means that his parents might be in danger.

“Y-y-you need to do some explaining,” stammered Gummy. “I mean, that’s just not right, not a bit! Your … your blinking mouse, Ned, what on earth is it?”

Archie leapt to his feet.

“It’s magic, innit?” said Archie. “You’ve got some weird magical rodent, you’re like blooming Gandalf or something. O,M,G, that is AWESOME!”

But when Ned spoke it was in a whisper. A whisper so cold that it stilled his friends to their cores.

“Say nothing, not to anyone. Promise?”

Whether because of Whiskers’ flashing eyes, or the look on Ned’s face, both of his friends remained silent.

“PROMISE!” forced Ned with a shout.

“Promise,” they murmured back sheepishly.

And with that, Ned was on his bicycle and pedalling away from the Johnstons’ as fast as its wheels would carry him.

“Ned, wait! You forgot your bag,” called Gummy, but Ned was already gone.

Home

he bike’s metal frame rattled noisily as it careered through the streets of Grittlesby and on to neighbouring Clucton. Three thirty and it was already getting dark. Pedestrians yelled at the blur of speeding metal, cars honked their horns and Ned’s mind became a whirlwind of all-encompassing panic.

Where his dad had trained Ned with the ring at his finger, his mum had taught him circus skills. High-wire, tumbling, fencing, juggling (either knives or flames) and all-round acrobatics. Everyone who worked the borders of the Veil had to know them, to be able to fight, or get out of danger, and there was no better teacher than Olivia Armstrong.

She had not taught him how to ride a bike – that much he had already known – but she had honed his reflexes and kept him fit. Even so, he thought his lungs were going to explode by the time he finally made it to his house, though not as surely as his heart. Training only works, no matter how thorough, when you remember it. Ned could barely remember how to breathe.

He didn’t notice the blaring car alarms, or that the lawnmower from number 39 was floating several feet off the ground. His powers were spiking again. He approached the front door and let out a sigh of relief. The lights were on and everything looked quite normal from the outside. He even heard “White Christmas” playing on their kitchen radio again.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas …”

It was only when he pulled out his keys that he noticed the front door hanging very slightly ajar. That, in and of itself, would have been more than enough to make Ned worry, but it was the movement in his own shadow that made his hair stand on end. It spilt out across the ground, oozing with a will of its own. The shadow became a shape and then the shape rose up to greet him. Within it were two minuscule eyes, like a pair of stars on flowing black velvet.

Ned’s undulating familiar, the shadow-dwelling Gorrn, was a difficult creature, prone to taking offence over the smallest issue and also uncommonly lazy. Gorrn usually only came to Ned if he was summoned. The only time he showed himself without being asked was if there was very clear and very present danger nearby.

“Gorrn, is something wrong?”

“Arr,” groaned back the shadow.

Gorrn was a familiar of few words. “Roo” was either a question or a “don’t know”, “Unt” a flat refusal to help, but “Arr”?

“Arr” nearly always meant yes.

Barking Dogs

rmed with nothing more than his mouse and his shadow, Ned stepped through the door of his house.

The inside looked normal enough, at least to begin with. There was no sign of trouble, and Ned could see that one of the gas rings in the kitchen had been lit, though the pan next to it was still waiting to go on. As if someone had been interrupted. Or taken by surprise.

“Mum! Dad?”

There was no answer.

Where were they, and why would they leave the front door open and the gas on?

“Kidnap,” blared the radio suddenly. “Tonight’s story focuses on how people are being taken from their homes, but also asks the big question – why?”

“Taken?” murmured a horrified Ned. “Whiskers – that Morse message, was it from the Olswangs?”

The Debussy Mark Twelve gave an affirmative bob of its head.

Ned peered through the living-room window, out across the street and on to the Olswangs’. Even as the day drew darker, he could see that there was something very wrong with their door. It appeared to have been broken off its hinges. Panic, clear and bright, made its unwelcome return. Surely this couldn’t be happening? The Veil, Barbarossa, it was all behind them but Terrence and Olivia Armstrong were gone – apparently – and the decorated home they’d left in their wake was lifeless and bleak, like a once-busy shop after a sale, when the lights were out and all the people had gone home.

“Protocol,” he breathed. His parents had lain out concise plans should this very situation arise. Search the premises for clues, carefully and methodically. Anything he found would prove vital if he was to get them back. If intruders were still present, he was to leave immediately.