The Darkening King. Justin Fisher

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.

      

       Old Faces

      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.

      “That’s the fifth time they’ve caught up with us now. How are they doing it?”

      Ned had to admit, the BBB had been impressive. He thought back to the way they’d taken out the tea drinkers, how deftly they’d worked their batons and guns.

      “I was there when they raided the circus,” said Ned. “They were a hopeless bunch of jossers! But this time and the last few times they’ve caught up with us, they seemed to know exactly what they were doing. It’s like someone’s been teaching them.”

      Olivia was now wrestling with the door handle to their room and, as she did so often, switched off to her two men’s ramblings.

      “And anyway,” agreed Ned’s dad, “Mavis’s is one of the most closely guarded secrets in the entire Hidden underworld. If the Hidden can barely find it, how does a squad of suited jossers even know it exists in the first place?”

      And then the door opened.

      “With help, of course.”

      Standing in the doorway was the grey-suited, fox-haired man Ned had seen at Mavis’s – the same man he had seen some months previously during the BBB’s raid on the circus. Just behind him was a gaunt, smallish agent who was again wearing a grey suit.

      Ned’s mum was glaring at them angrily, clearly annoyed that they’d removed the one obstacle between her family and the building’s corridor with the simple turn of a handle.

      “My name is Mr Fox. This is Mr Spider, my associate.”

      Mr Spider’s eyes were wide and bulbous and he took in the Armstrongs carefully, eyeing each one with meticulous attention.

      “I am very sorry about the darts but you have proved to be rather hard to talk to in the past.”

      It was only then that Ned realised his backpack was missing, and much more importantly – there was no sign of Whiskers! His heart started to beat violently. Whiskers, his dear old Whiskers, who had seen him through more scrapes than he could count – where was he?

      “What have you done with my mouse?!”

      And as the words burned on his lips, a shadow by Mr Fox’s legs started to move. Mr Fox’s eyes flitted to the floor.

      “Please ask your creature to stand down, Ned. I really am trying to be nice. Your ticker has been taken to our R and D department to check that he’s functioning properly.”

      Ned’s dad formed a compact ball of ice by drawing in the air molecules around the room with an audible fwup. It was about the size of a walnut and Ned had seen the man blow holes through steel doors with far less. A second later and the ice had turned to hardened glass.

      “Do you know, he said this might happen,”