The Darkening King

“Where is he?” asked Ned’s mum, who, unlike her two “boys”, found the gadgets on display extraordinarily dull.

A contained explosion in a room off to the far corner was to be her clue. The closer they got, the less josser and more “Tinker” their surroundings became – reams of paper and blueprints stuck to the walls, shelves weighed down to breaking point, and a trail of spinning, whirring and bubbling devices on every single surface. Through a door they came to a great sprawling mess and at its centre was the genius who had made it.

“Well, bless my toolbox, if it isn’t the Armstrongs!”

Tinks

e had the same unkempt whiskers, the same old lab coat heaving with screwdrivers, and he was the same old Tinker, though as far as Ned could tell he was in unusually high spirits, despite the burning something he was putting out on his desk.

“Hello, Tinks. Nice little set-up,” started Ned’s dad.

“Oh, indeed, Mr Armstrong, indeed. You never told me the jossers had such fantastic tech!”

“They’re a clever bunch, once you get used to them,” grinned Ned’s dad.

A now teary-eyed Tinker proceeded to shake Ned’s hand heartily and then gave his mum a rather elegant bow.

“The Armstrongs together – and here in our little home from home! You wait till the others hear about this. On second thoughts, I think I’ll tell them.”

Mr Fox patiently raised his eyes to the ceiling as the Tinker spoke into a watch on his wrist.

“Channel Alpha-niner, this is the big boff, over!” The little scientist was beaming now, though Ned sensed it had more to do with his watch than their arrival. “This thing is brilliant – so much quicker than a wind-modulator!”

“Big boff, over, this is the Beard. Can you please stop using this channel, Tinks. It’s for mission-only comms and Scraggs is fed up with being asked to bring you biscuits – OVER.”

Ned’s ears pricked excitedly. “The Beard” had to be Abigail, surely – the wonderful bearded lady of the old Circus of Marvels troupe. And if she was there, then her lump of a troll husband, Rocky, couldn’t be far away. How he’d missed them!

“This is a channel-wide announcement, over. That means you too, Tusky. The Arm—”

Before he could get to “strongs”, Benissimo clamped a hand over his mouth and brought down the full weight of a moustachioed twitch.

“Later, Tinks! They need to be brought up to speed.”

“Ah, right you are, boss.” Undeterred, the little man broke into another enthusiastic grin. “We’ll be wanting to fire up ‘Big Brother’ then.”

“Yes, gnome. Now get on with it.”

“‘Blinking Incredible Gateway’, or ‘BIG’ brother (named it myself, as it happens), was devised to replace the Twelve’s ticker network that Barba stole.” Tinks was relishing the chance to show off to Ned and his dad, and pressed a button on his desk. A large monitor came down from the ceiling. “Live satellite feeds courtesy of Mr Fox here, and more than a hundred Farseers keep round-the-clock surveillance on just about everything. They’re neurologically, metaphysically and outright magically connected, through a network that spans the globe. We use ‘satter-light’ and the ‘interweb’ – josser tech, you know – to send and receive the data. It really is clever stuff. In some ways it’s an even better system, though I do miss the—”

“Hell’s teeth, Tinks! Just show them Russia, would you?”

A second later and they were greeted by a satellite image of Siberia in Russia, which was when Mr Fox took over.

“Our eyes in the sky monitor everything, and had been doing so for a good while before the Tinker’s ‘Hidden’ enhancements. We immediately noticed a sharp spike in activity around the same time your tickers went missing. Though of course back then we didn’t know what it was. The truth is …” At this Mr Fox paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to admit. “Well, the truth is, back then we didn’t really know anything.”

A few button presses later and they saw countless orange lines leading to Siberia with a web of dots at its centre that covered hundreds of miles.

“The Darklings – they’re converging in the Siberian reserve,” breathed Ned’s mum.

“Indeed, ma’am. But why? You have other reserves – in the Americas, Asia and as far off as Australia – so why here? Why this one place?”

At the centre of the map, deep in the Siberian forest, was a large circular spot in black.

“This one area, large as it is, is also completely impenetrable to both our cameras and your Farseers. Apparently the tickers that Barbarossa has obtained not only keep a watchful eye but also scramble our signals. Benissimo and I – well, all of us – believe that that is where the creature is gathering himself. We have you and Ned to thank for that.”

“Excuse me?” said Ned’s dad defensively.

“You hurt the Darkening King, Terry, you and your son – when you broke Barba’s machine,” rumbled Benissimo.

Ned had dared to believe, in all their months of searching, that the Darkening King was wounded, that in some way when they’d set it free they’d also managed to hurt it. If Benissimo and Mr Fox were right, maybe there was still a chance, still a way to undo what Ned and his dad had put into motion.

“If what we believe to be the case is true,” continued Mr Fox, “Barbarossa won’t need an army when the creature rises. And yet huge quantities of metal and machinery have been flooding into the area from Gearnish. A great part of those consignments has been the ticker soldiers we’ve heard reports of. Which means that we will be facing not one army but two.”

Mr Fox paused for effect and the Tinker’s face turned red. His people had unwittingly created a machine in the Central Intelligence that had not just strengthened Barbarossa and his Demons’ forces but also doubled their ranks. Ned had only had to face one at the circus encampment and he shuddered at the memory of it.

“In any case, the Darklings that have managed to break free from their own reservations have for the first time let the world sleep soundly. Sticking to the shadows and dark places, they’ve quietly, slowly made their way to Siberia and the dark zone you see now.”

“But why? Why any army at all? Surely Barba and that creature don’t need them?” puzzled Ned.

Benissimo’s face lit up.

“And that is exactly the point, pup! Why? Because they do need those armies, desperately – isn’t it obvious? Until the Darkening King is fully restored there is still a weakness, a chink, a nook, a cranny that we can use to burrow through and defeat him!”

“Well then, what are you waiting for?!” said Ned’s dad. “If he’s weak and you know where he is, why wait? Why give him the chance?”

“Tinks, dig up the reports,” ordered Benissimo.

The screen filled with a stream of photos – by the looks of it, of mostly military personnel.

“Andrei Galkin, thirty-two. Spetsnaz and best in class, only survivor of a mission into the Siberian taiga. Currently on leave due to emotional trauma,” explained Mr Fox. “When we questioned him, all he could mutter was ‘magic and monsters’. The poor man was scared out of his wits. Not long after, we sent in a team of our greys. This time there were no survivors, though one of our operative’s bodies was discovered some weeks later on the outskirts of the forest. This footage was retrieved from his headcam.”

Ned and his family watched in ashen-faced silence. Even in low light, the video was shocking. At the centre of a clearing and towering over the forest’s canopy was a fortress. At its foot and along its parapets and walkways were hundreds, if not thousands, of Darklings. As poor as the picture was, the multitude of creatures made the metal structure look as if it was alive, a living breathing “thing”, and when its main gate opened, they saw them, bright and shimmering with reflections – an army of metallic tickers, man-sized and cold, pouring out and into the forest.

“I could go on, but I think the images are clear enough. Barbarossa has built his creature a castle and surrounded himself with an army to protect it while it grows strong. There is no clear way in, not without incurring extreme casualties.”

“Bene, if there’s a battle to be fought, surely we must fight it?” urged Ned’s dad.

As horrific as the idea was, Ned couldn’t help but agree. Surely any price was worth paying if it could stop the creature from rising.

“The battle will be fought, Terry, but we aren’t ready,” explained Benissimo. “At-lan was originally devised to rid us of the Darkening King and, as involved as you were in the latter part of its construction, Terry, we haven’t the resources or time to rebuild it. Barba had been making its components in secret for months before he took you. We believe there are but weeks now till he rises.”

“H-how do you know?!” stammered Ned.

“Sur-jan, the Demon you went to see – he’s one of several. There are those amongst them that fear the creature’s return as much as we do, maybe more. After all, they know what he’s actually capable of.”

And at this Ned’s dad became visibly ruffled.

“Well, if your new pals here hadn’t stormed in when they did, we’d know a lot more than we do now!”

“Calm yourself, Terry. Another Demon of his kind has made contact with us. About two months ago messages started to arrive, though the informant won’t give us his name. We don’t know who he is or where he’s hiding, but he claims to be a Demon at any rate. If what he’s told us is true, there is a way to destroy the Darkening King but it must be done at the precise moment he forms.”

Mr Fox turned to the Armstrongs.

“The BBB represent just about every government body there is, whether said body knows it or not. We are preparing to launch a full-scale attack, with Benissimo and his allies’ help of course, but an outright assault is pointless unless we can actually destroy the creature once we get past its defences.”

“And how exactly, Mr Fox, do we do that?” asked Olivia Armstrong.

Mr Fox looked to the Tinker and then to Benissimo. Benissimo nodded.

“We have no idea, though if this informant is to be trusted, there is someone who might.”

Who? What? Why?

ell?” urged Ned’s mum.

“Yes, who? Who knows?” reiterated his dad.

Mr Fox looked rather awkward. It was clearly a state which he was not unaccustomed to being in.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

At this point both of Ned’s parents, and in truth Ned himself, became more than a little irate.

“You don’t trust us?!” said Olivia Armstrong in a dangerously quiet voice. “Well, of all the … First of all, you blow our mission moments before it comes good, then you kidnap us, then you lead us round your base and show us all this intel and now – if I’m hearing you right – you aren’t going to actually tell us anything USEFUL!”

Olivia Armstrong was seething and Ned had no doubt that she was about to fly into another arm-bashing tirade.

“Madam, first of all I would like to remind you that, though Benissimo is indeed in charge of this operation, you are standing in the base that I built, and I am not one for emotional outbursts, unless coming directly from my superiors in the BBB, of which there are only two. More importantly, however, I am unable to tell you who holds the knowledge, because your unkillable friend here has not actually told me.”

Ned’s mum quietened. “Oh.”

Benissimo signalled to Tinks and the network’s screen turned black.

“It’s not ideal, but the more people that are kept in the dark, the wider the chink in my brother’s armour. Atticus is still trying to manipulate the Twelve and its pinstripes, though they’re beginning to see through his lies, and the Hidden are more vulnerable than ever. We are on a knife edge – everything, and I do mean everything, depends on the secrecy of our operation. Barbarossa’s arrogance is our best weapon, and the weaker he believes us to be, the better our chances. The Hidden have split into untrusting pockets, barely threaded together by their leaders. I’ve spent months reaching out to them in secret and few of them know what the plan of attack will be once they’re called.”

“Then who actually does know?” asked Ned.

“Me,” said Benissimo.

At that Mr Fox looked slightly, if not openly, irritated.

Benissimo continued, “I leave tonight, and if this informant of ours is right, we will have ourselves a route to victory.”

“And what are we supposed to do till you come back?” asked Ned’s dad.

“Nothing, old friend, for now. When I return, if I return, I will – and not for the first time – be asking you all for everything.”

Little to Do about Nothing

s a young man Terrence Armstrong had dedicated his life to fighting evil, always by Benissimo’s side and always in the thick of the fight. And though fatherhood changes a man and Terry’s one true focus was now the safety of his family, the bond between him and the ancient Ringmaster was still as strong as it was deep. His wife had proved to be an equally capable fighter and the consummate spy. She had managed over the course of nearly all of Ned’s life to remain completely hidden from the “Hidden” and to outwit both Barbarossa and every friendly operative working for the Twelve that had been tasked with finding her.

It was fitting then that Benissimo should need to talk to them. He did not, however, appear to want or need to talk to Ned, which as it turned out made Ned feel both furious and useless in equal measure.

He sat alone in a stark room; it had a bed and a sidelight, a sink at one end and no windows. It was far more like a cell than anything else. The Tinker had returned Whiskers to him, with a small but extremely useful upgrade. A tracking device had been welded into his casing. From now on, no matter where Ned was, as long as his trusty mouse was with him, the Tinker could use his network’s “eyes in the sky” to locate him, which had the dual effect of making Ned feel both safe and irritated. What if he didn’t want to be found?

Whiskers was staring up at him from the palm of his hand. Gorrn meanwhile was busying himself with Ned’s sheets. Ned could only put his new-found helpfulness down to their change in surroundings; the odd creature was folding away his covers and stuffing them into a small drawer.

“Gorrn, they were fine where they were.”

“Gru?”

“The sheets, Gorrn … Oh, never mind, I’ll deal with them later. And, err, thank you.”

“Arr.”

Whiskers was still staring.

“Just like old times, eh? You, me and the shadow.”

The Debussy Mark Twelve bobbed its head in a “yes”.

Only it wasn’t anything like old times, not really. He had his mum and dad, and nothing was more important than knowing they were safe. But for how much longer would any of them stay safe? They’d searched for answers for months, and now this informant had seemingly given Benissimo a route, however slim, of undoing Barbarossa’s beast. Ned should have felt happy about it, but how did the Ringmaster even know the informant could be trusted? What if it was just a trick? A trap?

The Darkening King would be rising soon. George and Lucy were on some mission and Ned had been relegated to … well, sitting. And that was when he admitted what was really eating away at him. He placed Whiskers on the bare mattress and looked at his ring. No matter how many times he’d tried, it remained dormant, and for all Ned knew it would stay that way forever. Ned had gone back to being the boy he was before he’d found the Hidden.

Completely and utterly average.

If only he could talk to Lucy. She was bound to have some idea of what was ailing him. Maybe she was even suffering from the same problem? He sat with his two mute sidekicks, feeling in nearly every possible way both powerless and pointless.

But that was the thing about the Hidden, and most particularly about his friends at the Circus of Marvels: they didn’t care what Ned could do – they just cared that he was there.

It came as a pounding of feet, a gabbling of whispers and excitable banter. By the time they’d reached Ned’s door, they were in such a frenzy that Rocky, the Russian mountain troll, put his fist straight through it.

“NIED! Why for you hide in here?!”

They burst into his room in an avalanche of colour and noise.

“Ned, love, it’s you! All this drab grey we’ve bin putting up with … Just this mornin’ I was sayin’ to Rocky how we needed a bit of colour, and here you are!” warbled Abi the Beard, and proceeded to hug him so hard he thought his eyes might burst.

With them were Grandpa Tortellini and a good half or so of his seven grandchildren, all whooping out a “Hey! How-a ya doin’?” and the occasional satyr-horned bleat. Scurrying along the ground were the three emperors, Julius, Nero and Caligula. The thieving pixies were far less jubilant when they realised there was nothing to steal, and decided instead to make up for it by harassing Gorrn, who hid in Ned’s shadow with an “Unt”. Monsieur Couteau managed a less than sneery salute from the doorway before excusing himself, and was barged rather gruffly out of the way by Scraggs the cook, carrying a large tray of doughnuts that he’d baked especially.

“Extra jammy, Ned, just like you like ’em!” rumbled Scraggs, who, to Ned’s wonder and despite their new pristine surroundings, had still not taken the time to wash his chef’s apron.

Finally there was a welcome trumpeting and Ned’s eyes lit up as Alice the elephant, who was too large to get into the room, popped at least part of her loving and leathery face through the doorway.

“Hello, girl!” he grinned and got up to pat her trunk.

“Arrooo!”

Breathlessly they launched a verbal assault of questions, to which Ned really had very few answers – mostly because of the speed at which they came.

“How are your ma and pa?”

“What’s going on, on the outside?”

“You been eatin’ properly, sonny?”

“Nedolino, and de-a training, tell us – how you-a doin’?”

“Once you rested, you come with Rocky, da? I show you base, very big, very interesting.”

It was only when the fourth doughnut was shoved into his face that Ned realised why they were quite so happy to see him. His beloved old troupe, at least the ones that were here, had not been out of the confines of their Nest for months. Keeping the travelling kind cooped up for too long was like trying to bottle frogs and they were positively jumping out of their skins.

“You met the spider yet?” asked Abi.

“Mr Spider? Only briefly.”

“Me no like ‘googly’ eyes. He always stick nose in business and always with de rules, Nied, so many rules.”

“They’re a serious ol’ bunch these greys, Ned. Keen, mind you, keen to learn our ways – but ol’ goggle-eyes is about as much fun as a wet rock.”

Through all the banter and jam, the jeering and grins, Ned saw something else. The fate of the world was hanging in the balance, unimaginable evil poised to spring up from the ground and devour them all, but their eyes had never looked as clear or bright. Whatever the world was about to throw at them, the diminished Circus of Marvels would see it head-on and together.

Ned might well have lost his powers, but he had most certainly found his “point”.

Not Entirely Ideal

ed wasn’t quite sure what time it was when Benissimo woke him, or why the man was whispering. He was, however, quite certain that he was tired.

“Bene?”

“Yes, pup. Rise and shine – we’ve got a mission.”

“What? I thought you said—”

“I have to say a lot of things when it comes to your parents, Ned. Most of all, I have to not tell them when I ask you to do something dangerous.”

Ned rubbed at his eyes. “What kind of dangerous?”

“The informant’s lead I told you about earlier – its location is not entirely ideal.”

Something of an alarm bell sounded between Ned’s still-waking ears. “And by ‘not entirely’ you mean …?”

“Russia, Siberia, Ned. It’s in the reservation.”

There was a low and rumbling “Unt” from beneath Ned’s bed, followed closely by a “Scree” and some incredibly fast blinking from his mouse.

Ned, thankfully, was able to pick his words more eloquently. “Barking dogs, Bene! Have you lost your marbles?!”

“If we intend to beat this creature, it’s the only way.”

Ned would have gone in an instant but for one glaring factor that the Ringmaster had not taken into account. “Bene, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. The Darkening King is rising because of me and Dad. It’s just that I don’t know how much use I’ll be.”

“It’s not because of you, Ned. And by the way, I know about your Engine – your parents told me everything, just before I drugged them.”

Ned’s ring finger buzzed and there was a slight shimmering in the air, before it fizzled away to nothing. Not even real anger could spark the thing, not any more.

“You did what?!”

“They’d never let you go, with or without them, and our best chance is to sneak in unseen. I can’t say that your loss of power isn’t an issue, Ned, but we really don’t have any choice.”

Another bell dinged behind Ned’s eyes. “And why is that?”

“The creature we are going to see will only help you, not me. Word has spread of your deeds, pup – it wants an audience with you specifically.”

Ned wasn’t entirely sure that he liked the sound of that, and he dreaded the answer before he’d even asked the question. “And this creature … is it a Demon?”

“Oh no, Ned. It’s far, far worse than that.”

“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me what, because you aren’t telling anyone anything?”

“That’s the size of it, pup, but know this: if we do this right, if we get in and out of there without getting caught, and get the information we need, we will have ourselves the key to ending, once and for all, my brother and this monster he wants to unleash.”

Ned sighed. “Not much choice then?”

“Is there ever?”

Not Entirely Alone

urriedly and quietly, Benissimo led Ned along the base’s labyrinth of corridors. Apart from the low hum of electric doors and devices, everything was silent.