Jack Staples and the City of Shadows Read online

  He’s a madman! Alexia’s mind spun as she tried to make sense of it.

  “Perhaps I will serve in Thaltorose itself!” the man said. “Tell me the truth, girl; are you the prophesied one? Are you the child we’ve been waiting for?”

  “Please let me go. Please!” She trembled. “I didn’t do anything!” Alexia closed her eyes and squeezed her fists tight. “Please!” Suddenly a strong wind ripped at her clothes as the wagon jerked forward, and the man wailed and loosened his grip. Alexia opened her eyes to see the farmer fall off the side. She was barely able to keep her footing as the wagon lurched to a stop.

  For a moment, she didn’t move. What just happened? The farmer lay on the ground with one leg bent at an impossible angle. His horse had collapsed to the ground as if dead.

  Alexia looked around. Everyone on the street had stopped to watch. She turned and jumped from the side and darted away. As she ran, she noticed two more horses and a goat that also lay, unmoving, on the ground.

  Chapter 5

  A SHABBY PEN

  Present day

  The Drogule roared and leaped upward in an attempt to reach Elion. Yet the Sephari hovered just out of reach, taunting the monster with her otherworldly song. Jack let out a relieved breath. Had Elion not arrived, the Drogule would have smashed him to a pulp. There had been no more pillars to hide behind.

  Jack darted beneath the Drogule and raced to a wooden door in the side of the palace. Locked! What now? Then he froze. An Oriax with the body of a tiger and the head and shoulders of a bear was directly in front of him. Jack jumped away as the beast bounced off the locked door and turned, growling. Jack scrambled back and threw a rock at its head, but the Oriax didn’t even blink as the stone bounced away. As it stalked closer, Jack had nowhere left to run. He threw another rock, then swung his satchel. The Oriax snatched the leather bag out of the air with its teeth.

  Jack glanced up at Elion in desperation. The Sephari still hovered above the square. Her hair glowed like the sun as stone, earth, and carriage spun round her in a tempest. She met Jack’s eyes and offered a tight smile. As the Oriax leaped, Elion dropped her arms, and the spinning bricks and stones crashed into the dark army below.

  Every Oriax near Jack was slammed aside by paving stone and brick, and throughout the square the beasts howled. The Drogule raged as the carriage collided with it, knocking the monster to its knees. Before it could rise, something exploded across the courtyard.

  Boom!

  The wall opposite Jack burst apart; a cannonball shot through the square and crashed into the Drogule. The monster let out a colossal roar as it shattered into a thousand stony pieces. Even as the Drogule died, the cannonball continued its flight and shattered the door Jack had just tried to open.

  Jack shivered. Had he been standing one pace to the left, the cannonball would have removed his head from his shoulders. His legs felt like water as he stepped into the palace and ran down a dark corridor.

  Five minutes later, Jack had not stopped running. He stormed through a passageway filled with elaborate tapestries and life-size statues. He’d passed three palace servants and one old woman who wore pajamas and shrieked, “Good heavens, child, slow down!”

  When he finally stopped, Jack gasped for breath. He had no idea where he was or what he would do next. Stop running like a madman! he thought as he slowed his breathing. Try to blend in!

  He pulled his cloak over the pommel of his sword to hide it, and stopped. The Atherial Cloak! It was in the satchel he’d hurled at the Oriax. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid. If I had it now, I could use it to … Jack stood perfectly still, holding his breath. He was standing directly in front of two guards. Both men were seated, with their heads leaning heavily against the wall.

  Jack stepped closer and saw that both guards were sleeping. Unable to believe his luck, he tiptoed down the corridor until he heard voices coming from somewhere up ahead. He circled back the way he had come and saw the silhouettes of three sword-bearing men walking toward him. Jack was trapped as sure as a rabbit in a snare.

  Holding his breath again, he tiptoed between the two guards and pushed on the door. When it swung soundlessly inward, Jack crept inside and closed it. From the snare straight into the pot! he thought. The chamber was enormous and lit by dozens of torches and three fire pits. At its center, a number of men in full military uniform were leaning over a table, studying a map.

  A younger man, with black hair and three stripes on the arm of his uniform, spotted Jack. “Who are you, boy, and how did you get past the guards?”

  Jack jumped. He opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Speak, or I’ll have your hide,” the man threatened.

  “T-the palace is u-under attack,” Jack stammered. He was far too flustered to think of a good enough lie, so he decided it might be best to tell the truth. “I was trying to hide. But I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just leave now. So sorry!”

  “My boy,” an older, gray-haired gentleman said. “There’s no need to be afraid. We are not under attack. My lieutenant has been planning a surprise training exercise for the King’s Guard. I am sure this is what you saw. But I do need you to answer truthfully—how did you get past the guards and into my war chamber?”

  Jack looked at the older man and made a decision. “Sir, there is something evil in the courtyard … It’s chasing me and my friends, and it’s not a training exercise. Even now, some of the palace is being destroyed.” The older man’s eyes widened.

  “Preposterous!” A sandy-haired man stepped forward and offered Jack a scornful look. “Will someone get this boy out of our sight? He has wasted enough of our time.” The man turned to the older gentleman. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. But this boy is clearly delusional. I will question him myself when we are through here.”

  It’s the king! Jack was suddenly breathless. It’s King Edward!

  “Lieutenant Greyfield,” the older man said, “unless I am mistaken, I am the one who gives commands here. And sometimes it is the delusional who see most clearly.” He gave Jack a grandfatherly smile. “My dear boy, have no fear. So long as you speak the truth, no harm will come to you. Now, come here so I can get a better look at you.”

  The raven-haired man who’d first spotted Jack stepped forward. “My king, may I suggest you don’t allow the child to come too close? He may be a boy, but he is hiding a sword beneath that cloak.”

  “General Blair.” The king offered a tired sigh. “I am surrounded by the best soldiers in all of Britain. And you may remember I also am none too shabby with a blade.” He looked at Jack and narrowed his eyes. “Child, I am not used to asking the same question more than once.”

  Jack let out a long breath. Every eye was on him as he approached the king, and Jack abruptly realized he should probably bow or something. He dropped to his knees awkwardly as he realized he had no idea how to bow.

  “Your Majesty, please, I’m not lying! There are monsters in the courtyard and even now they may be stalking the halls of your palace.”

  The king stepped closer and knelt before Jack, lifting his face to the light. As he did, Jack saw the tiniest smile creep onto the king’s lips. The king turned to his men. “The palace is under attack. Go now and rally the men.”

  “Your Majesty, you can’t be serious!” Lieutenant Greyfield erupted. “You would take the word of a child?”

  “And take Lieutenant Greyfield to the dungeons,” the king said. “He has betrayed the crown.”

  Without warning, Lieutenant Greyfield drew his sword and lunged at Jack. Yet King Edward moved like a viper, drawing his own sword and deflecting Greyfield’s away. Greyfield fell at Jack’s feet.

  The king placed the tip of his sword against the lieutenant’s back so he couldn’t move. It all happened so quickly that none of the other men had so much as reached for their swords. All were shocked
as they looked from the king to Greyfield.

  “We have been betrayed, gentlemen.” The king spoke in a commanding voice. “Hear me! This attack does not come from normal men. All of you know of the dark happenings this past month, man and animal going insane and people disappearing by the thousands.” King Edward glared at Lieutenant Greyfield, who didn’t dare move for fear of being run through.

  “Tonight’s attack comes from the same darkness that’s been spreading throughout our land. Do not trust your eyes; trust your instincts. Even a mangy dog may be deadly. Now go; rally the King’s Guard and defend the palace!”

  Two men began dragging Greyfield out of the war chamber. “You won’t escape, boy! The Shadow Lord demands your death for what you did! No matter where you run, we will find you! We are in every city and every kingdom. The end is near and the darkness is coming, night without end, Quagmire’s—” The doors to the war chamber closed, and Greyfield was silenced at last.

  The king turned to Jack. “Well now, that was rather unpleasant!” He smiled warmly. “The Author be praised! I am most honored to meet you, my dear boy.”

  The king reached into his jacket pocket and carefully fished out a small leather pouch. He opened it to reveal an ancient-looking feathered pen. “This has been in my family for thousands of years,” the king said solemnly. “We have kept it safe, as we were commanded.” He bowed his head.

  Jack looked from the pen to King Edward, unsure what was happening.

  “Well,” the king said, “aren’t you going to take it?”

  “What is it?” Jack asked, utterly perplexed.

  “It’s a pen, of course! Beyond that, I honestly have no idea. I’d hoped you might be able to tell me.”

  Jack took the pen, shaking his head.

  “I assume it must be important in our war against the Assassin,” the king said. “If it doesn’t mean anything now, I have no doubt it will be of the utmost importance in the future.”

  The feather was worn and shabby, and the quill so dry and cracked that it would make a terrible pen. Besides seeming ancient, it didn’t look any different from other feathered pens Jack had seen. He placed the pen back in the leather pouch, then inside his jacket pocket, wondering if King Edward might not be fully sane.

  The king let out a long breath as he watched it disappear. “All I can tell you is that my family was commanded to keep the pen safe until you came to us. And we have faithfully waited these thousands of years.”

  Jack just stood there, unsure if he should say thanks or something of the sort.

  “Now, we haven’t much time.” The king turned and walked toward a corner of the war chamber. “If the attack has made it into the palace, then I assume someone has betrayed you. Let’s get you to the World Portal before it’s too late, shall we?”

  Chapter 6

  THE GANG OF TERROR

  Alexia had followed the leather-faced captain for almost an hour. After more twists and turns than she could count, she was no closer to rescuing Wild. Wake up, you wool-head! She willed Wild to regain consciousness. You can’t expect me to save you and carry you!

  Every time Alexia looked at the captain, a shiver ran down her spine. She’d tried to forget that morning in Belfast when the farmer had almost kidnapped her. Yet now that she thought about it, it had only been when he’d seen her eyes that he’d changed. He must have known then that Alexia was one of the Children of Prophecy. Somehow that same farmer had become a captain of the King’s Guard.

  With the Atherial Cloak to hide her, Alexia thought she might be able to use her sling to knock out six or seven of the men before they knew what hit them. But she definitely couldn’t take all fifteen. In the meantime, she kept a close eye on Wild. She would need his help if she were going to properly rescue him.

  At any other time, Alexia would have gawked. Buckingham Palace was beyond anything she’d imagined. The corridors went on forever and were filled with elaborate tapestries and impressive statues. But she didn’t care about any of it. All she wanted was to rescue Wild and get safely away. If the boy doesn’t wake up soon, she thought irritably, I’ll punch him in the nose!

  The captain abruptly stopped and turned to his men. “You lot stay here and stop anyone who tries to follow. The two of you”—he motioned to the men dragging Wild—“follow me.” He turned and stalked down a dark stairwell. Even with a limp, he was surprisingly quick.

  This may be my chance! Alexia darted past the guards. She should be able to knock out all three men. She placed a stone in the fold of her sling and readied herself as she followed the captain down a seemingly endless staircase.

  I bet they’re taking Wild to the dungeons! Mrs. Dumphry had brought them here to use something called a World Portal—she’d said it was located just below the dungeons. Alexia decided to hold off. She would allow the men to carry Wild down. If they stopped at the dungeons, she would knock them out and carry him the rest of the way; if they led her to this World Portal, even better.

  The deeper they descended, the rougher the walls became, shifting from brick and mortar to hewn stone. When they finally reached the bottom, the captain knocked loudly on a small metal door. As the door opened, Alexia almost hissed. She knew the young man standing on the other side. His name was Petrus, and he was the cruelest boy she’d ever met.

  “Who’s this, then?” Petrus growled, looking as if he’d sucked on a lemon.

  “He’s one of them,” the captain said. “Now move aside before I skin your hide for slowing us.”

  Petrus’s grimace deepened, but he stepped back and allowed the men through. Just as he was about to close the door, Alexia loosed her stone so it ricocheted off a nearby wall. As Petrus turned to look, she slipped past him.

  When she saw the group of young men and women waiting on the other side, she almost fainted. Alexia knew all of them. By the looks of it, every last member of the Gang of Terror was here. Alexia was as tense as a bowstring.

  Six years and two months earlier

  Alexia had entered the grand city with excitement welling in her heart, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that Belfast was a dangerous place. It was nothing like her father had explained. Or maybe it was better to say that there were two, very different worlds within the city.

  In one world, everything was bright and clean. The people were well dressed and spoke in a proper-sounding accent. They went about their daily business without seeming to notice the world boiling just beneath.

  Those who lived in the second world were a far more cunning and dangerous lot. They made their homes in the back alleys and sewers of the city. They were purse-snatchers, cutthroats, thieves, and urchins; they were vagrants and vagabonds, and they ruled the night. People from the first world who found themselves on the streets past dark were usually lucky if they still had their smallclothes by morning.

  Stealing and fighting were the only rules that mattered in the second world. The wealthy pretended not to notice the urchins unless they were standing face-to-face. If this happened, they would either toss a few pence or call the police. Yet the police were the cruelest of them all. Those they arrested were usually never seen again.

  In the past weeks Alexia had narrowly escaped being robbed, beaten, and arrested. She spent her nights sleeping on the rooftops, wrapped tightly in a blanket she’d stolen from a washing line. She’d learned quick enough that the higher she went, the safer she was. No one else seemed to want to sleep on the rooftops.

  Alexia knew she couldn’t stay on the roofs forever. Winter had arrived and it was quickly becoming cold. Yet even with the extra danger, she didn’t want to leave Belfast. For the past two years, she’d spent her time in the woods and around small farms. She’d grown tired of stealing eggs from farmers and hunting rabbit and squirrel for dinner.

  In Belfast, if you had quick hands and quicker feet, you could steal almost anything; and Alexia had both. If
her parents were alive, they wouldn’t like the idea of her stealing. But they were not. Besides, she never stole from someone younger than her.

  As she squatted on the peaked roof of a bakery, Alexia inhaled the aroma of fresh bread. She’d been eyeing a particularly large loaf that had disappeared into a wood oven. In a few minutes the baker would pull it out and set it up high to cool. If Alexia were quick about it, the baker would never see her. Yet even if he did, the man was far too large and slow to follow her across the rooftops of Belfast.

  “I’ve been watching you.”

  Alexia started, and almost lost her balance. She turned to see a boy who looked to be two or three years younger, rocking on his heels in the crook of the roof. He had a cheeky grin.

  “What do you want?” Alexia growled. She hated being sneaked up on.

  “I want to be friends,” he said. “I think you need a friend—and I know we do.”

  Alexia glanced around to see if anyone else was with the boy. “What do you mean we?”

  “There are a few of us who’ve decided to stick together,” the boy said. “You know, kids like me and you who don’t have parents.”

  “You don’t know anything about me!” Alexia said. “I don’t need friends!”

  “Everyone needs someone,” the boy said. “Please, just come and meet the others. I know you’ll like us!” He stood and stepped forward, offering a hand. “My name is Josiah, and I want to be your friend.”

  Alexia shifted warily. What does he really want? He’s probably trying to steal my sling.

  “My name is Blade,” Alexia said, “and you had better get away from me. I told you, I don’t need friends. Besides, you’re just a stupid kid. I wouldn’t want to be your friend anyway.” Alexia hadn’t used her real name since her parents died. She’d chosen Blade because it sounded impressive and dangerous.