Chaos Descends

The bell rang again, urgent now. Bing bong. Bing bong.

“OK!” Finn shouted at the door. “I’m coming. Stay here, Broonie. There’s no point in trying to wriggle anywhere.”

Pressing the tape across Broonie’s mouth again, he ran from the kitchen, opened the door.

Emmie stood on the doorstep.

“They’re coming,” she announced urgently, pushing past Finn.

“Who’s coming?” asked Finn.

“What’s going on?” enquired Hugo, appearing in the hall with a Desiccator barrel in one hand, its canister in the other. A breeze tickled each of them, air whooshing through the house as if a door or window was open elsewhere. Hugo looked at the open door of the kitchen. “Where’s Broonie?” he asked, walking towards it.

Finn tensed immediately, and followed Emmie to the kitchen. They each peered under one of Hugo’s armpits as he stood, shaking his head, the restrained fury clear in every hard breath through his nostrils.

On the floor was a pair of scissors and shorn electrical tape. But no Broonie. Over the sink, a small window was open to the yard out the back, and the walled alleyways leading into Darkmouth.

“Fantastic,” said Hugo.

“He was choking, Dad,” explained Finn, feeling the world sink away beneath him.

“I presume he went through a whole routine, did he?” said Hugo, and began to imitate a choking Hogboon. “Kkkgggggggggurrrrrrrkkk. Help me. Kkkgggggurrrrkk.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” said Finn, even though it had been exactly like that.

Hugo turned, pushed past Finn and Emmie to get to the Long Hall, quickly returning with a scanner: a chubby box with a screen that winked into view, displaying a hand-drawn map of Darkmouth. A blue dot appeared. This was the tracking device in Broonie’s locket. He was already moving at pace from the house.

Hugo clicked the Desiccator, arming it. There was a meek wheeze from its canister, the sound of its fluid engaging for action.

“This is getting serious,” said Hugo. “Mr Glad has killed two Half-Hunters. More may die. He’s up to something, even if we don’t know what it is yet. So we’ll go and bring Broonie back, but this time we’ll do it without any messing around, without playing nice. We’ll track him like we would any Legend. Hunt him down. Shrink him. Bring him back. Then we’ll start dealing with this situation properly.”

“Are we going to tell the Twelve he’s loose?” asked Finn.

“I’ll think about it,” answered Hugo.

“Oh yeah,” said Emmie, “that’s what I came to tell you.”

“Hello,” said a voice. “Anyone home?” Steve stuck his head round the door. “Hey, Hugo. You’d better have the kettle on.”

“Ah, it’s just you,” said Hugo.

“And me too, delighted to finally be back in Darkmouth,” said Estravon the Assessor, appearing from behind Steve, his hair black, slick and combed so neatly it looked like he may have measured each individual strand to make sure they were all the same length. He stepped into the house, his long legs encased in a blue suit with a velvety sheen. He wore a bright red tie.

“Good morning, Hugo, Finn, Emmie. Doing some training already?” Estravon asked, spotting the Desiccator. He looked at his watch. “Anyway, that’s all the time allocated for small talk; we must get on with business.”

He stood aside to reveal a group of people behind him. They were ancient men and women in colourful robes and heavy chains, and each had their own drably suited assistant just a step behind their right shoulder.

Hugo’s face fell.

Estravon thrust his chin out, and announced proudly, “Allow me to introduce the Council of Twelve.”

“What a day this is,” exclaimed Estravon, running a hand down his fine suit, and unable to restrain his enthusiasm as the Council of Twelve and their assistants settled in the library. Surrounded by the armour and relics of generations of Legend Hunters, and by shelves filled with the desiccated remains of countless Legends, the new arrivals sat and slumped on the various kitchen chairs and even a sofa that had been dragged down the Long Hall to the library.

Hugo and Finn sat behind the main desk. Emmie was half sunk into a beanbag to their right. There had been no seats left.

Finn’s father was distracted by the scanner tucked away between their feet and the blue blob that was Broonie skipping through Darkmouth in a somewhat haphazard pattern. And a conspiratorial glance between them back in the main house had been all that was needed for the three of them to agree that they were better off not mentioning this small but important detail right now.

“Yes, what a day,” repeated Estravon, looking towards Finn and Hugo. “The Completion of a new Legend Hunter. After which, Hugo shall become a member of the Council of Twelve. And here they all are in Darkmouth for this historic occasion.”

However, Estravon dropped his voice and grew sombre at this moment. “Actually, not all of the Twelve are here. As everyone will be aware, Zero the First has been unable to attend due to a long-standing appointment with his doctor which, unfortunately, turned into a more permanent appointment with a cemetery.”

Everyone in the room bowed their heads for a moment in memory of the recently departed Zero the First. While they did this, Finn took his chance to examine the Council of Twelve.

They were about as old as any people Finn had ever seen. They wore robes, every one a different colour, but all heavy enough that they appeared almost weighed down by them. One woman wore a yellow garment that, on second glance, might actually have been a very old, grimy white. On her shoulders was a scaly green trim. A man sported a faded red robe with spiked epaulettes, another a deep purple one with an orange fur collar.

Around their necks were chains festooned with medallions – the very bottom of these engraved with a number. One of the great privileges of becoming a member of the Council of Twelve was that, having worked for so long to earn their Legend Hunter name, they then traded it in for a mere number between 1 and 12. Hugo the Great would become Hugo the Twelfth, but only once Finn became Complete.

Every other medallion on the chain was decorated with carvings of their families’ triumphs or their own personal battles. Because while they were slow now, and obviously reliant on the assistants who stood attentive behind each of them, with their grey suits and empty expressions, the Twelve were old enough to have known a time when Blighted Villages were invaded regularly, when the world was in constant need of protection. As very much younger men and women, they had fought those battles themselves, felled Legends.

Now one elder in a silver robe was battling sleep. And losing.

The moment of silence was over and Estravon waved his hand in the direction of one of the Twelve. “Allow me first to present the most noble Cedric the Ninth.” With that simple introduction, Estravon sat.

Cedric rose. The medallions resting on his red robes bore images of serpents and sea creatures, and one panel showed what must have been a younger version of him striking down a giant.

Now the thin skin of his neck just about held up his large tottering head. And he coughed, like an engine trying to start. His assistant, blond and tall with a blank face, moved to help him, but Cedric waved him away as if he did not want to be seen to be weak. Finally, after one last hack and a thump to his chest, he got the words out.

“Is it true you saw Mr Glad?”

Finn looked to his father, whose nod told him he could answer freely.

“I saw him,” confirmed Finn. “But not him. He was there, but kind of wasn’t, if you know what I mean.”

He could see that they didn’t know what he meant at all.

“Did he run away?” asked Cedric.

“No,” said Finn. “He just sort of vanished. Or drifted away.”

“And the marks in the air,” interjected the yellow-robed woman, grey hair piled on her head like rocks and a great scar running from the centre of her forehead around her eye and ending at the cleft of her chin. “What did they look like?”

Estravon stood. “Allow me to introduce Aurora the Third.” He sat down again.

Finn grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from his father’s desk, and walked round to the front of it.

He sketched the marks from the hotel room and the beach, then held them up.

“Claw marks?” said Aurora, running a finger along her scar.

“Possibly,” Hugo answered. “Or the victims may have torn the air themselves in some last act before death.”

Aurora noticed Finn’s feet. “Are you wearing those claws to your Completion Ceremony?”

So cosy were they, Finn had completely forgotten he was wearing the giant slippers. His face reddening, he opened his mouth to answer only to be distracted by a giggle from Emmie.

This was followed by a loud snort from the sleeping member of the Twelve. “Three!” he announced.

“Does Stumm the Eleventh wish to contribute?” asked Estravon.

Stumm the Eleventh belched in his sleep slowly, as part of his natural exhalation at that moment. Hugo’s impatience practically radiated from him as he took the chance to glance again at the scanner. Returning to his seat, Finn looked too, and could see that Broonie was moving deeper into Darkmouth.

“Or they may be the marks from whatever Glad uses to snatch his victims, or vaporise them, or whatever he’s doing,” Hugo continued, his focus back on the room.

“Two!” blabbed Stumm the Eleventh, sitting up sharply from his apparent slumber. His eyes were wide open, pushing up his pile of eyebrows. Every member of the Twelve and their assistants looked at him. Apparently satisfied with his contribution, Stumm the Eleventh nodded off again while the fur of his robes rose and fell to his snores.

“He’s telling us it’s a countdown,” said Steve, from where he leaned against a curved shelf at the back of the room. “That’s what Stumm is saying. Three. Two. And presumably—”

“One!” shouted Stumm, not even opening his eyes.

“There you go,” said Steve.

Aurora looked at Finn. “And Mr Glad said, ‘Tick, tock’?”

“Yes.”

“Then it would certainly appear to be a countdown,” she said. “He’s planning something. Building up to something. And he wants us to know it.”

There was a brief outbreak of whispering and discussions between the members of the Twelve and their assistants. Finn saw his own father silently berate himself. He was so distracted by Broonie’s escape he’d missed this vital deduction.

While this was going on, Finn noticed that the impassive assistant to the sleeping Stumm, light bouncing off his utterly bald head, carried a square briefcase. It was red and weathered, the gold paint of its locks largely peeled away. Spotting Finn eyeing it, the assistant gripped the briefcase just a smidgen tighter.

“I wonder what’s in that case?” Finn whispered to Emmie.

“I don’t know,” she said, leaning forward on her beanbag for a better look. “Their lunch?”

“They handcuff their lunch to an assistant?” He had noticed a chain running from the man’s sleeve to a cuff at the case’s handle.

Cedric cleared his throat. “If it’s a countdown, then what is it counting down to?”

“More victims?” wondered Estravon.

“Or something bigger,” said Steve.

“What of the Hogboon who arrived here from the Infested Side?” asked Aurora. “Were we able to extract information from him?”

Finn hoped they didn’t see his eyes widen at the mention of Broonie.

“He is contained,” said Hugo calmly, even as the scanner at his feet showed Broonie loose about Darkmouth. “Besides, I think he answered all he could. There was a fair amount of prodding.”

“True, there was prodding,” said Cedric. His blond assistant leaned in and whispered something. “And quite a lot of poking,” concluded Cedric.

Finn could see that the blue dot was on the move. Not towards the wormery at the allotments, but further into town. It looked like Broonie was heading for the main street. Hugo was doing well to hide his anxiety, but they both knew that this was about to get very messy indeed.

“About Mr Glad,” said Aurora. “Tell us again how he died. It was, I believe, in this very room.”

Finn and Emmie exchanged a glance. They’d both been there at that terrible moment.

“I pushed him,” Finn answered. “Into a gateway. And he became sort of stuck in it.”

“He wriggled,” said Emmie. “Tried to get out.”

“But it was like he was being bitten, and the jaws were tightening,” said Finn. “Eventually, it became too much and when the gateway closed he just kind of vaporised in a spray of light.”

“Golden light,” said Emmie. “Right over there.” She pointed to the spot where it had happened, now betraying no evidence of the strange events that had taken place there not even a year before.

“If he was caught between gateways, could it be that …?” Aurora asked quietly, addressing the rest of the Twelve.

“Could it be what?” Emmie whispered to Finn, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Such a phenomenon was never proven,” Cedric spluttered. “Rumoured but never proven.”

“Yes,” replied Aurora, “but there is one important place where it was once rumoured to have occurred.”

“What are they talking about?” asked Finn.

“The Trapped,” said his father bluntly, as if it was something he had hoped to avoid saying. “They’re talking about the Trapped.”

“Ahem, if I may,” said Estravon, taking a few steps towards Finn and Emmie. “The Trapped are a myth even among myths, talked of but never seen. They are those souls caught in gateways, between worlds, and said to live in that space thereafter.”

“But they do not come back,” said Aurora with certainty.

“There have been stories,” said Cedric. “At least one Legend Hunter who believed they could.”

“That is for another time,” Hugo said, sounding like he wanted to cut off this discussion before it got any further. “For now, what is the plan? I presume that as Darkmouth’s Legend Hunter I will be expected to deal with this situation?”

“Yes,” said Cedric, glancing at the other members of the Twelve.

“Good,” said Hugo, making to stand up.

“And … no,” said Aurora, leaving Hugo to hover, neither sitting nor standing. “This is a big day for our kind. The biggest in many years. Our greatest triumph in decades. A new Legend Hunter. After which you will join us as a member of the Twelve. Then, perhaps, we can start making plans for Emmie here too.”

Finn blushed. He sensed Emmie sitting a little taller at the compliment.

“We must not hesitate,” said Cedric.

“If necessary,” continued Aurora, looking to the bald assistant attached to the case, “we must take extraordinary measures. You will deal with it for now, Hugo. But if things are not resolved quickly we will intervene.”

Hugo glanced at the case too, sighed. “Fair enough.”

Finn looked down at the scanner. It showed Broonie wandering straight into the centre of Darkmouth. There would be chaos out there. And disgust. Panic. Excitement. Trouble. His dad was obviously thinking the same thing.

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!”

The shopkeeper shrieked and dropped a lettuce.

Kenzo’s rabbit hopped over to where the vegetable lay and nibbled on its leaves. Finn bent down. On the animal’s neck was a locket with a combination lock on it.

Finn remembered loosening it when it was on Broonie’s neck, but now wasn’t entirely sure he’d locked it properly afterwards.