The Enemy Books 4-6

Charlie Higson isn’t only the writer of the critically acclaimed The Enemy series, or the creator of Young Bond, which has been translated into twenty-five languages. He’s also an actor, scriptwriter, director, producer and former singer. He has written four crime books for adults, presented a film series for Channel 4 (Kiss Kiss Bang Bang) and appeared as himself in many TV panel shows, including QI, Have I Got News for You and Never Mind the Buzzcocks.

On leaving university he formed an indie band, The Higsons, before giving it up to become a painter and decorator (the pay was better). It was around this time that he started writing for television on Saturday Night Live, and he went on to create the hugely successful comedy series The Fast Show, in which he also appeared. Other TV works include Harry Enfield’s Television Programme, Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased) and the sitcom Swiss Toni.

His work for radio includes the award-winning spoof phone-in programme Down the Line (BBC Radio 4), which became the television comedy series Bellamy’s People (BBC 2).

Praise for Charlie Higson’s writing:

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Other titles by Charlie Higson

The Young Bond series

SILVERFIN

BLOOD FEVER

DOUBLE OR DIE

HURRICANE GOLD

BY ROYAL COMMAND

DANGER SOCIETY: YOUNG BOND DOSSIER

SILVERFIN: THE GRAPHIC NOVEL

The Enemy series

THE ENEMY

THE DEAD

THE FEAR

THE SACRIFICE

THE FALLEN

THE HUNTED

THE END

MONSTROSO (POCKET MONEY PUFFINS)

Charlie Higson

I would like to thank David Cooper for showing me behind the scenes at the Tower of London, the place I would definitely run to at the first signs of a zombie uprising.

I am grateful for the use of lines from ‘The Waste Land’ © Estate of T. S. Eliot and reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd.

The Green Man

Come closer. Don’t make me shout. It hurts me just to talk. Don’t get to talk much. Don’t get many visitors. Come and sit with me. Come on. I’m not going to eat you …

Sorry about that. Just my little joke. A typical Dad joke. Why not? I am a father. I had two boys and a little girl. She came out wrong. My girl. Please. Don’t hide over there in the darkness.

I am a fallen angel. Wormwood. I came down to earth with a bump. A bump so big the whole earth shook. Lay there for a long while, just dreaming. Not alone. Not then. Other angels had fallen from the stars with me. Some died – millions upon millions – never got to make friends with anyone. But enough of us lived.

Our first friends, they weren’t much: small fry, hardly VIPs, just germs and microbes really. We lived among them. Long time ago that was. Back when everything was all just swamp and bog and butterflies. Then the crawling things made friends with us, took us in. That was swell. It was a bug’s life. We could get about more, see something of the world, riding with the insects, praying with the mantises, battling with the beetles, eating crap with the flies. You know the sort of thing.

Where was I? Oh yes, back in the jungle – the big green. We were happy living inside the bugs, but we wanted more. We knew we were destined for greater things. It was the mosquitoes showed us how, the fleas and the ticks, the little blood-sucking vampires. They showed us how to move up in the world. How to make friends and influence people. As the blood-suckers sucked, we moved on to bigger things. I did a bit of social climbing after that. Made friends with rats and bats and monkeys. But our best friends, the ones we really loved to get inside, were the human beans. Walking around on their two legs. Couldn’t get enough of them. We got on like a house on fire. Though back then there weren’t any houses, of course, not yet. Just trees and leaves and dirt and the big, big green.

Oh that green. How I miss it. We lived in a green world, my people and me. You should have heard the monkeys sing as they scratched their fleas …

I guess I look like one. I guess a part of me is human. I’m a whole lot more than that, though, so stop interrupting and let me tell you my story. Because when I finish we’re going to eat.

Things went well. Year upon year. I couldn’t have wished for more. I thought we were kings of the world. And the walking men did whatever we wanted. Still works. Haven’t lost it. Even here the human beans bring me things. Mostly it’s junk food. Rats and mice and cats and dead birds. When they get fired up, though, and the song is in them, when I sing to them so sweetly, they bring me what I really want.

So sit still now while I tell you my story. There’s no point running around like that, in the dark, you’ll only hurt yourself. There is no way out. Don’t you think I haven’t looked?

You probably can’t see me too well; they keep it dark in here. They know the light hurts my eyes. But they must have told you all about me? Yes? I am Wormwood, the fallen star. Grew up in the green and the green got into me. Maybe you can see me glowing just a bit. My green skin. Wormwood, the star, the angel, the Green Man.

Now I was telling you about way back when we were kings of the jungle, me and the other fallen angels. Well, pretty soon. After only a few years, a few thousand years, maybe a few million, who’s counting? But as I say, pretty soon – when you measure it against the stars up there, twinkling away like it was just a bit of fun – pretty soon there weren’t any walking men left, only us angels. Making ready to birth our children into the green world.

What fools we were. Thinking we were kings. We weren’t kings of nothing. We were just dirt-eating monkeys. No better than the bats and rats and beetles who’d been our friends over time.

I was just a flea. That’s all. A fallen flea. An angel, was I? Maybe once, too long ago to mean much. We’d been living inside the creatures too long. The walking men had been the best fit, but we were as foolish as they were. We’d spent too long with them. Their thoughts seeped into ours. We got muddled. Shouldn’t never have listened to them. Anyway, we asked them, ‘Is this the world?’ And they answered us, ‘Yes. Yes, it is. It is all of it, the green, the muddy river, the trees, the dirt, the rats, the bats and the monkeys.’

And then one day we realized we’d been living in a cupboard. Ha, ha, ha, good one! Stuck there in the dark, thinking that the cupboard was the whole house. Because, you see, if you’d lived your whole life in a cupboard that would be all you knew. You’d think there wasn’t anything else.

Sometimes I think we should have stayed there, dreaming that our little huts under the trees were the whole world. But one day, not so long ago, we opened the cupboard door and out we went, blinking into the sunlight. Too bright for us, got us all turned around at first, muddled and befuddled. There was a lot to take in. Found we weren’t alone and we weren’t kings at all. Soon saw there was a whole lot more to the world than green. There was blue and red, bright yellow, black and white, and grey.

So much grey where the walking men had made their homes, chewing up the green. I do still miss the green that was my home for so long. Here it’s grey and black and dust and ashes.

Here? Where is here? Seems I’ve forgotten. I can remember the long ago better than the yesterday.

I’m hungry now. Been waiting a long time for them to bring me someone like you. You see, sometimes it feels like I’m the boss and they work for me, and sometimes it feels like they’re in charge and I’m their slave.

Are you a boy or a girl? Not that I’m fussy. Your meat all tastes the same. Oh, come along now, don’t be scared. I don’t like that. Why do you think I’m talking to you? I want to be your friend. All I ever wanted was to make friends, just like I did with the germs and the fleas and the bats and the rats and the monkeys and the men and …

You know, sometimes I wonder if I remember any of it right. If I’m even who I think I am. Am I an angel or a flea or a walking man? That is the question. No, don’t talk, don’t make a sound, just listen, will you?

We’d made friends with walking men, you see, so that we could learn their language, walk in their shoes, think inside their boxes. And we grew to talk like them, and walk like them, and think like them. Maybe some of us even became men, no longer angels. As if the sucking flea could gulp down so much blood it might turn into the beast it was feeding on.

When the fear comes on me, when my memories flicker and die, I am scared that I am becoming just a man, just another walking man.

Not Wormwood at all. Not an angel. Won’t ever return home to the heavens where I was born.

Look at me. I was once the Starchild, the exterminating angel, the great flea, king of the world, the mighty Wormwood. I was born in the heavens, I fell to earth, I grew up in the great green and then I crossed the blue and something went wrong.

You see, the walking man, the human bean, Mark Wormold, was stronger than me. We fight over this castle, this body, every day, fight for the best seat in the house. And sometimes he wins and sometimes I win, but each fight makes me weaker, so that I fear that one day the walking man will kick me out or make me his slave.

Come over here, child. Sit a little closer. Soon neither of us will be hungry any more …

Unreal City,

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,

I had not thought death had undone so many.

– ‘The Waste Land’, T. S. Eliot

Small Sam wasn’t dead. His sister and his friends all thought that he’d been killed, that the grown-ups who’d snatched him from the car park behind Waitrose had eaten him, but right now he was walking across the grounds of the Tower of London with The Kid and a load of other children. They were heading for the White Tower, a big square lump with smaller towers at each corner that sat bang in the middle of the castle on a small hill. Sam, who was something of an expert on castles, knew all about the White Tower. It was the keep, the first part of the castle to be built here. William the Conqueror had started the building work in the eleventh century, with stone specially brought over from France, and his son, William the Second, had finished it.

Sam felt like he was living in a dream. He’d always been obsessed with knights and castles and fantasy. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d seen the Lord of the Rings films. And now here he was, actually living in a real-life castle. Some of the other kids even wore armour and carried medieval weapons. Though they had to leave them at the door as they filed inside.

The boy in charge, General Jordan Hordern, had called a council of war and everybody in the castle was expected to attend, even newcomers like Sam and The Kid.

Once inside they climbed to an upper floor, where there was a big room with windows on all sides. They found places to sit on the wooden benches that were arranged round the edges. Sam, who had visited the Tower several times, tried to remember what this room used to look like. He couldn’t picture it. The local kids had removed the exhibits and returned it to how it must have looked in the Middle Ages. There were banners and pennants hanging on the bare stone walls, and candles lit the dark interior. A long table had been set up across one end and behind it stood four guards with halberds, double-handed weapons that looked like a cross between an axe and a spear. There was a smaller table to one side where two girls and a boy sat, writing on loose sheets of paper.

Ed came over to Sam and The Kid. It was Ed who’d found the two of them a few days ago, wandering, tired and wet, along the road that led to the Tower, and he’d taken it on himself to look after them. He still couldn’t quite get his head round the fact that they’d survived for so long out there by themselves and had made it here alive. It was up to him now to make sure they stayed that way. By finding them, they had become his responsibility.

He glanced at The Kid. He was an odd boy, odd and unpredictable, and had his own way of talking. He was prone to speaking out and Ed didn’t want him to pipe up during the council.

‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,’ Ed replied. ‘But I have to be over at the council table with the other captains. I’ll explain anything you don’t understand afterwards.’

‘I’m as much in the dark as you are,’ Ed went on. ‘General Hordern called a special meeting of the council, so I guess he’ll tell us what this is all about.’

‘That’s him there, isn’t it?’ said Sam, and Ed turned to see a boy with thick glasses come into the room flanked by two more guards.

Sam watched Ed go and take his place with several other kids who were settling down at the long table. Sam suddenly felt nervous. Apart from Ed, he didn’t really know anyone else here. He felt like a new boy starting in big school. Other kids were always whispering about him and pointing. He felt safe with Ed. He’d been a bit scared of him at first. Ed had an ugly scar down one side of his face that pulled it out of shape, but Sam had soon learnt that he was kind and friendly and not frightening at all. Sometimes, though, Ed would go quiet and stare into the distance. Sam didn’t say anything, but he knew that Ed was sad about something. He didn’t need to ask what. They were all sad in their own ways. They’d all lost family and friends.

Sam and The Kid had been left alone for their first couple of days at the Tower. They’d been given food and allowed to sleep for most of the time. Now they were feeling more normal and Ed had offered to show them around properly. They’d just been getting ready when they’d been told to come to the meeting.

Jordan Hordern sat down, flanked by four boys and three girls. He waited, blank-faced and unreadable behind his glasses that were held together by sticking plasters round the bridge of the nose and one arm.

He waited for the room to fall silent. Didn’t have to say anything. It was understood.

General Hordern couldn’t tell anyone, but the truth was that he could hardly see anything at all any more. It wasn’t just that the lenses in his glasses were scratched and old. His eyesight was steadily getting worse. There were dark patches in the centre of his vision. It was still clear round the edges, so he had to look sideways at things to see them properly. He’d never liked to look people in the eye before and now it was nearly impossible.

He wouldn’t let the idea enter his thoughts, but it was there, lurking in the back of his mind. He was going blind. What use would he be then? How could he keep his position in charge here at the Tower if he couldn’t see anything?

It was important that nobody knew. For now he had unquestioned power over everyone at the Tower.

The kids sat in absolute silence. He was pleased. He’d known teachers at school who could never get a class to shut up. Jordan had given them hell and now here he was, just a boy, able to control more than a hundred kids.

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the general. Jordan scared him. There was a stillness and a coldness about him. He was like a statue or a big old crocodile at the zoo. Sitting there without moving. Who knew what weird thoughts were going on behind that calm exterior?

Sam could feel the tension in the room. As Ed had explained to them, nobody knew what this meeting was about, but by the look of Jordan it was something serious.

Sam had been expecting something medieval, full of verilys and thees and thous and aye instead of yes. It was a surprise to hear Jordan talking so normally. But why not? They weren’t really in the Middle Ages, were they? They were in the middle of London in the twenty-first century.

‘This is a special meeting of the war council. In fact it’s a military tribunal. Which means it’s a trial.’

The kids on the side table started writing furiously. A hum and murmur went round the room, but it was quickly silenced when Jordan raised his hand. Everyone was looking around, though, trying to work out who wasn’t there. Who might have been arrested.

‘A boy has been caught trying to steal food from the storerooms. As you know, when I took control, I wrote up a list of rules and stealing is one of the worst crimes on it, especially stealing food. You all know the rules. So there’s no excuse for breaking them. Having said that, I want this trial to be fair. So I will give the suspect a fair hearing. Bring him in.’

All heads twisted round now towards the doors as a boy was shoved through them, his hands tied behind his back, an armed guard on either side of him. He was tall and fair-haired and had a bruise on one cheek. His shirt was slightly torn. He looked like he’d been crying, his eyes all red and swollen. Mixed emotions – fear, anger, defiance, hatred and embarrassment – flickered across his features.

The boy was made to stand in front of the big table and his hands were untied. Everyone in the room was staring at him.

‘You know my name, Jordan, you arsehole,’ said the boy and a couple of the kids giggled. Jordan didn’t react; his expression didn’t change; he didn’t even blink. He remained cold, blank, patient.

Jordan raised his head now and stared at the boy. He so rarely looked directly at anyone that the effect was quite powerful. The boy dropped his own gaze.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, this is stupid. This isn’t a proper court. We’re all just kids. I know I did wrong. So give me a slap and let’s get on with our lives.’

‘Stealing! You know it’s stealing, OK? I stole some tinned fruit. Big deal, boohoo. Naughty me.’

Jordan paused for a few seconds before going on. ‘Without food we die,’ he said.

Jordan ignored him. ‘Stealing from other kids is one of the worst things you can do,’ he said. ‘If we don’t look out for each other we’re all going to die. Therefore, Brendan, I reckon stealing food is as bad a crime as murder.’

‘I’m going to call Captain Ford for evidence,’ said Jordan and he nodded to the boy sitting on his right, who had long straight black hair and Japanese features. The boy stood up.

‘For the record, can you state your full name and occupation, rank and regiment?’ said Jordan.

‘Alleged thief,’ said Bren. ‘If we’re going to have a proper trial then I’m innocent until proven guilty, aren’t I?’

‘We don’t bother with that. You already said you stole the cans of fruit.’

‘OK,’ said Tomoki. ‘About ten days ago Captain Reynolds of the Service Corps came to see me. He told me that he thought someone was stealing from the Tower stores. He’d noticed some small things had gone missing, and when he checked he found out that other stuff had gone as well.’

‘OK, so anyway, Captain Reynolds got his team to check much more carefully every morning and evening. It was soon obvious that stuff was being nicked nearly every night. Just small amounts – the thief probably thought that it wouldn’t be noticeable. I told you about it a week ago.’ This was addressed to Jordan, who nodded. ‘And you told me to put a special watch on the stores. We built a hiding place and took it in turns to stake them out. We saw Bren come in just after midnight last night – he had his own key – and we saw him take three cans of peaches away in a backpack. We followed him back to his room in the Casemates and arrested him.’

‘All right, all right. This is boring,’ said Bren. ‘Three cans of peaches. I admit it.’

‘Once we’d locked Bren up we searched his room,’ Tomoki went on. ‘And we found all this.’

Tomoki paused as three kids brought in boxes packed with food. The murmuring started up again. Someone whistled. Bren’s head drooped and he looked ashamed.

‘We don’t think there was anyone else in on it. That’s why we followed him, to make sure.’

‘Do you want to say anything else, Bren?’ asked Jordan. ‘I can’t really see the point, but if you want to.’

‘No. I don’t want to say anything. Just … I’m sorry, I suppose. It was stupid.’

‘Saying you’re sorry won’t change what you done,’ said Jordan. ‘You’re a coward, Brendan. Stealing off of other kids. You’re a traitor. You don’t care about anyone except yourself.’

‘OK,’ said Jordan. ‘So if nobody has any objections then I reckon you’re guilty.’

‘As I said.’ Jordan stared at Brendan. ‘I think stealing food from other kids is as bad as murder. So the sentence is death.’

‘Nooooo!’ Brendan launched himself across the table at Jordan and the whole place went crazy. Kids were jumping up out of their seats, all shouting at once. This had taken them totally by surprise. Brendan, who was screaming a torrent of filthy abuse at Jordan, tried to wrestle him to the ground. He wasn’t getting anywhere. Jordan was immensely strong and managed to throw off his attacker, seemingly without any effort at all. He rolled Brendan on to his front and pinned him to the ground, pulling his arm up behind his back. He held him there, increasing the pressure on his arm until Brendan begged him to stop.

Dusty and bedraggled, with dirt clinging to the tears on his cheeks, Brendan stood up. There was snot streaming from his nose and his eyes were so raw and swollen it looked like they’d been punched.

Jordan headed for the doors and the guards who had brought Brendan in retied his hands and dragged him along behind. The other kids were still in turmoil, milling around, talking excitedly to each other, eyes wide, waving their hands, not quite believing that this was happening.

Sam sat there, a concerned expression on his face, too young to understand his feelings. He didn’t know the boy, Brendan, but he was shocked by what had happened.

‘Don’t ask me,’ said The Kid. ‘I’m a stranger here myself. But strangers have left on longer trains before.’

Ed came over to them; he had a boy with him who Sam recognized. He was called Kyle and rarely left Ed’s side. Kyle was big and loud, always telling dirty jokes, very different to Ed. He acted as a sort of bodyguard for Ed, who it seemed could do nothing to shake the big square-headed boy off.

‘You OK?’ Ed asked, squatting down so that he was at the same level as the younger kids.

‘Never before. A few kids have been punished for things, but never like this. We better go and see what’s happening.’

‘I think it’s well cool,’ said Kyle, grinning like an idiot. ‘This is gonna be good.’

‘Why did you do that?’ Sam asked. ‘I heard someone else make a sheep noise yesterday.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Ed put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you about it some other time.’

Sam wanted to know now, but it was clear that Ed wasn’t going to talk about it. He and Kyle strode on ahead and Sam and The Kid followed them out to where everyone was assembling on Tower Green. Sam was familiar with this corner of the castle. He’d been sleeping in a room in one of the medieval timber-framed houses that lined the green on two sides. If it wasn’t for the fact that most of the grass had been dug up and replaced with vegetables it did very much resemble a traditional village green. As well as the houses, there was a small stone church and you could imagine you were deep in the English countryside rather than in the heart of London.

Brendan had been dragged to a cobbled area in the centre of the green where a chopping block was set up. It was a replica, dragged out of an exhibition in one of the towers, but it was solid enough, and next to it was a large and very real axe. Jordan must have arranged for this to be done while everyone was inside.

‘This is where they used to chop people’s heads off in Henry the Eighth’s time,’ Sam told The Kid. ‘I read about it. Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard were both executed here.’

Ed shook his head at the sight of the block and axe. ‘Jordan’s gone nuts,’ he said. ‘This isn’t right.’

Brendan’s friends were crowding round Jordan, all talking at once, like footballers arguing about a penalty decision with a referee. Jordan ignored them and came over to say a few words to Kyle, who nodded. Then he stood on the block to address the crowd.

‘You may think this is harsh,’ he shouted. ‘But if we don’t take our laws seriously there’s no point in having them. Without laws we’d be just like animals. The punishment for murder is death, we all agreed on that –’

‘Only because we thought it would never happen,’ a girl shouted from the crowd.

‘Who said stealing food was as bad as murder anyway?’ asked another girl. It was clear that Jordan’s decision was not a popular one. The kids were scared and angry.

‘I did,’ said Jordan. ‘And I stick to it. Food is very precious now. As I said, if we don’t have food we die.’

‘Yeah? OK, so who the hell are you going to get to cut his bloody head off, huh? Or are you going to do it yourself?’

‘Me,’ said Kyle stepping forward. ‘I’m going to do it!’ He picked up the axe and took a couple of practice swings, kids jumping out of the way.

Jordan instructed his guards to hold Brendan down on the block, but now even they were having second thoughts. They refused and backed off, hands up in surrender.

Jordan took hold of Brendan himself, ripped the shirt from his back and forced him to kneel over the block, his bare neck on the rough wood.

‘Now be a man, Bren,’ he said, holding him firmly in place. ‘Don’t struggle. Accept your punishment.’

‘He’s right.’ Ed stood between Kyle and Brendan. ‘You’re not going to do this, Jordan. You go on about what would happen if the law breaks down, but as far as I can see, if we start killing each other then law already has broken down. For God’s sake, the world’s dangerous enough as it is without you making it worse. I won’t let this happen. And I reckon most people here will back me up.’

‘So what do we do with him?’ asked Jordan calmly. ‘How do we punish him?’

‘There’s another punishment. We talked about it when we drew up the rules. It’s still pretty heavy, but if you insist on making a point … ’

‘You know what it is. You made it up. If it’s the only way then do it. But it’s still your decision, not mine. I’m just reminding you of the option. Personally I think Bren’s been punished enough.’

‘What is it?’ said one of the girls who had shouted out before. ‘What are you going to do to him?’

Jordan thought for a while, his strong hands gripping Brendan. ‘OK,’ he said at last and let Brendan go. ‘Ed’s asked me to be soft and this time I will be. But I want you all to remember this. The law’s the law. We didn’t make the rules for a joke. If you break them it’s serious.’

Sam, Ed and The Kid were standing on top of Byward Tower, the inner gatehouse at the castle. They were leaning on the battlements, looking down as Brendan was led out of the gates and along the walkway towards the outer gatehouse, Middle Tower, which had been the main visitors’ entrance to the castle. The walkway passed over the flooded moat and, once again, with the traffic of London stilled, the crowds gone and the kids in their shining armour, Sam felt like he had slipped back in time to the Middle Ages.

There was a gang of kids working in the moat, standing up to their thighs in water the colour of coffee. They were covered in mud and were working with shovels and buckets, slopping muck everywhere. They looked up and stared as Brendan went past, then returned to their work.

Brendan walked with his head and shoulders slumped. He’d been given a pack with some food in it – some of the same food he’d stolen – a sleeping-bag, a bottle of water, a sword and a knife. Four boys with halberds marched beside him. Kyle, Tomoki and Jordan Hordern walked at the head of the little procession; a small group of Brendan’s friends brought up the rear. Nobody else had come to see him leave. It was too unsettling. This was nearly as bad as cutting his head off. Everyone in the Tower feared being alone in the outside world.

Ed sighed. ‘I hope he finds some other kids, another settlement. There must be some out there.’

‘My sister, Ella. She went there with all my friends. Another boy told them it was safe.’

‘I hope he was right, for her sake.’ Ed smiled at Sam, the scar making it look like a snarl.

‘Yeah, I’m sure she is. But it’s hard to get there from here. He’d have to go through the no-go zone.’

‘OK.’ Ed pointed westwards, towards St Paul’s Cathedral, then swung his arm slowly round to the north.

‘We don’t ever go that way,’ he said. ‘It’s the old City of London, the business district. Not many houses or shops, so not much food to be found. Plus, it’s weird in there. The sickos are dangerous and unpredictable. How you two ever made it through alive I will never know.’

‘We was half stupid, a third lucky and three-quarters ferocious,’ said The Kid. Ed nodded his head, frowning slightly. Sam hardly noticed The Kid’s weird way of speaking any more, but Ed was obviously still getting used to it.

‘Well, that’s the no-go zone. From Aldgate in the north, down past the Bank of England to London Bridge. It cuts us off from central London. So, whatever you do, don’t go back into the no-go zone, OK?’

Ed carried on, sweeping his arm round, like the hand of a clock making a full circle.

‘To the east is fine,’ he said. ‘And it’s safe to cross over Tower Bridge. It’s quiet that way.’

Sam looked at the bridge. It was the famous one that could be raised up and down to let ships through, and had tall spiky towers at either end.

There was a shout and they returned their attention to what was happening below. Brendan had made it through Middle Tower and was being taken across the wide open space that lay to the immediate west of the castle where several cars were parked and the kids had collected piles of scrap. Ed watched the sad little group of children, the scarred side of his face twitching.

‘Maybe he’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I mean, you two sprouts made it by yourselves. Brendan’s a pretty big guy, knows how to fight. There haven’t been a lot of sicko sightings lately. Yeah, he’ll be fine.’

Ed laughed bitterly. ‘Not really, no. He hasn’t got a hope in hell unless he finds a safe place before night-time.’

Sam shivered despite himself, felt a wash of prickly goosebumps skitter over his skin. Seeing Brendan kicked out was upsetting him. He remembered how Brendan had looked when he knew he wasn’t going to be killed. How happy he’d been and then how he’d changed when he understood what he’d have to do. What exile meant. He’d pulled himself together and shouted at Jordan.

It had all been really heavy and it had thrown Sam. He’d felt safe here. Something he never thought he’d feel again in the awful hours after being taken from the Waitrose car park. That night had been so extreme, so utterly terrifying, he’d already shut it away in some secret part of his brain. It was a film. It hadn’t really happened. To even touch on those memories would send him crazy.

The Tower had been a magical place. Properly safe. It was a real castle, built to keep out armies of knights. The walls were high and thick, there were always guards patrolling the walls, there was even the moat full of water. Grown-ups didn’t stand a chance of getting in. The thought of living like someone from the Middle Ages had thrilled him at first …

But he’d read enough about the Middle Ages to know that they were a time of violence and uncertainty.

Out there, where Brendan was going, was the real world. The world Sam would have to go back into if he was ever going to see his sister again.

On the other side of the open ground stood the ticket offices. The group of kids stopped and Brendan’s hands were untied. A girl ran up to him and threw her arms round him. Sam remembered what it was like at primary school when all the Year Six kids left, the hugs and tears in the playground, the weeping and wailing.

‘She loves him dearly,’ said The Kid. The girl let go of Brendan and returned to her friends. ‘But she don’t love him enough to go with him. Poor show.’

Contents

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Contents

The Green Man

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