Chaos Descends. Shane Hegarty

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ