Читать книгу Monster War - Dean Lorey, Dean Lorey - Страница 11

Afiery portal snapped open on the red brick in front of Buckingham Palace. Charlie stepped through first, followed by Violet.

“So where do you figure they are exactly?” she asked, glancing around.

“Don’t know,” Theodore replied, stepping through next, followed by Brooke. “But I bet the guys in the hairy hats do.” He pointed to the main entrance of the palace. It was guarded by several bayonet-wielding men wearing red jackets and furry black hats. “Let’s just tell them to bring us to the Headmaster before giant monsters destroy the world.”

Brooke grinned. “We could do that…or we could try it my way.”

“And which way is that?” Violet asked.

“The pretty girl way.”

She walked over towards the nearest royal guard with her thousand-watt smile turned on full blast. “Hey there, soldier! I love your uniform…it makes you look so strong and tall.” She leaned towards him. “So listen, we think a good friend of ours is a guest inside the palace. Can you help us find her?”

The guard stared straight ahead, unblinking, not responding in any way.

Brooke glanced at Charlie, baffled - being ignored was clearly something she didn’t have much experience with. She turned back to the guard with a flip of her pretty blonde hair. “Hey, don’t worry. I get it. You’re just supposed to stand there like a statue. That’s your job, right? Totally cool. You’re rocking that look really well, by the way. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll tell you who I’m looking for and you just whisper where she is - it’ll be our little secret. Her name is Headmaster Brazenhope.”

No reply from the guard.

Charlie could tell from Brooke’s expression that she was getting frustrated and he knew that when she got frustrated, she got angry and when she got angry—

“Look here!” the tall girl snapped. “I don’t like this attitude! Now you better help us out this instant because if we don’t get in there and see the Headmaster right away, giant monsters are going to destroy the world - comprende?”

“Hey, that was my plan…” Theodore mumbled.

“Comprende?” Charlie asked, walking up to her. “He doesn’t speak Spanish, Brooke - he’s British.”

“Actually, I do know a little Spanish,” the guard said defensively. He held his thumb and forefinger a few centimetres apart. “Un poquito.”

“You talked!” Brooke shouted. “I knew you could!”

“Hey, kid!”

Charlie was startled by a man’s voice high above. He looked up to discover Rex Henderson hanging out of a third-storey window, waving cheerily. Against the majesty of Buckingham Palace, the cowboy’s glowing lasso and weathered Stetson made him seem like a page out of ‘What’s Wrong With This Picture’.

“Stop goofing around and get on up here! We got a lot to talk about!”

Charlie and his friends rushed inside, past the palace guard. As soon as they were out of earshot, the man sighed heavily. “Americans…”

Charlie had never seen anything as ornate as the inside of the palace. Elegant statuary and priceless paintings seemed to fill every nook and cranny.

“Hey, is that a Rembrandt?” Theodore said, pointing to a haunting portrait of a dour-looking man. He ran his fingers across it. “Look, you can feel the paint - it’s real!”

“Of course it’s real,” a clipped British voice scolded. “And now it’s ‘real’ dirty.”

They all turned to see a thin, older man walking towards them with a puffy cloud of white hair atop his skeletal head. He was dressed in an extravagant purple suit - velvet by the look of it.

“Sorry about that, sir,” Violet said. “That’s just Theodore.”

“And I am one of Her Majesty’s valets. My name is Oscar.”

“Like the Grouch?” Theodore blurted.

The man turned to him. “What an atrocious little boy you are.”

“Exactly,” Theodore replied, nodding. “Definitely atrocious.”

“Believe it or not,” Charlie said, “he’s actually got a few good qualities.”

“Perhaps we should mount an expedition to find them someday. Until then - follow me, please.”

With that, Oscar strode through the maze of hallways and stairs as the rest of the group struggled to keep up. Before long, they arrived at a heavy, hand-carved door. Oscar opened it and led the group into an elegant parlour filled with antique furniture. Rex was perched casually on the arm of a peacock-blue sofa that Charlie guessed cost more than his father had made in his entire lifetime. Tabitha Greenstreet stood on the other side of the room, her red, bejewelled hair perfectly framed by the pattern on the ivory wallpaper.

“There you are,” Tabitha said, rushing to them. She hugged Charlie tightly. “We’ve been so worried.”

“We’re fine,” Charlie replied. “But the rest of the world isn’t doing too good. Have you seen what’s going on with the Elemental Golems?”

Rex nodded. “Yup. Just when you think you know every Nethercritter out there, them fiends whip up some new ones to throw at ya. It’s…it’s wearying, is what it is.”

“May I get you anything?” Oscar asked. Then, with the slightest of devilish grins, “A selection of cheeses, perhaps?”

“No more cheese!” Rex roared. “I mean, ya’ll been unbelievably kind to us, but I’m about cheesed out. Everything here is cheese! Cheese selections, cheese sandwiches, cheese on toast. I had a dream last night where I was crushed under a giant wedge of cheddar cheese before being rescued by pirates from a cheese boat that was sailing on an ocean of melted cheese. In other words - no more cheese, ya got that!”

“Am I to understand,” Oscar said mildly, “that you would not care for any more cheese?”

“Let me put it this way - if I ever ask for cheese again, I want you to—”

“Is there any way we could see the Headmaster?” Charlie interrupted. “We really need to talk.”

The Headmaster lay propped up in bed in the room just off the parlour. Her normally brown skin looked waxy and ashen. She listened carefully as Charlie finished his story.

“So basically, we’re exiled and not allowed to do anything or we’ll get Reduced, but we have to do something because the whole planet’s in danger.”

The Headmaster nodded and Charlie detected a wince of pain. The wounds she’d suffered in the icy lair of the Named were grave, and she was still only in the beginning stages of recovery. Watching her now, Charlie flashed back to the last time he had seen her healthy and active - mowing down literally hundreds of Nethercreatures as they swarmed across her like ants on a sugar lump.

“The fate of the planet is in your hands,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “As you witnessed, the Fifth cannot be destroyed by any mortal means. Even weapons with a touch of the Nether on them, like yours—” she gestured to Charlie’s rapier with a trembling hand “—won’t harm her. To destroy her, you need one of the Ancient Weapons, forged in the Nether eons ago. You need the Sword of Sacrifice.”

“Fine. How do we get it?” Violet asked. Her eyes were as flinty as the axe at her side and Charlie was struck once again by how hard she seemed now. The Banisher that stood beside him was a far cry from the gentle, artistic girl he had met just over six months ago.

“You don’t get the sword, Ms Sweet,” the Headmaster said softly. “Only a Double-Threat can wield something so powerful. And since Pinch has betrayed us and I’m clearly in no condition to get out of this bed, let alone fight, the task falls to Mr Benjamin, I’m afraid. But he cannot do it alone.”

Theodore stepped forward. “We’ll protect him - no problemo there. Nobody hurts Charlie Benjamin when Theodore Dagget is around. Nobody.”

The Headmaster shook her head. “It’s not your protection he needs, Mr Dagget. It’s something far more precious. The Smith will explain it to you.”

Charlie shrugged. “Who?”

“The Smith,” Rex said. “As in blacksmith. You can find him in the Netherforge, out there in the mountains of the 3^rd Ring. That’s where Banishers go to make their weapons, and he’s the fella in charge.”

“Is that where you got your short sword?” Violet asked, gesturing to the one that hung from the cowboy’s belt.

Rex nodded. “Yeah. The Smith showed me how to forge it, like he does for everyone - like he’ll do for you someday, if there is a ‘someday’.” He turned to the Headmaster. “I can warn them not to touch him, right?”

The Headmaster smiled dourly. “It seems you just have.”

“We shouldn’t touch the Smith?” Charlie asked. “What will happen if we do?”

Rex sighed. “It would be…bad.”

“Define bad,” Brooke said. “Bad as in…?”

“Bad as in just don’t do it or you’ll hate yourself for the rest of your natural life!”

“Oh,” Brooke replied, startled. “That kind of bad.”

“Will you take us to him?” Charlie asked. “To the Smith, I mean.”

Rex nodded. “Course I will.”

The Headmaster shook her head solemnly. “That’s not possible, Mr Henderson - you know that. They must go without you. The seeker of the blade must bring with him his three closest friends.”

“Rex and I are his friends,” Tabitha replied. “We’re as close to him as anyone.”

“No. You are his mentors - and there are only two of you. I know you don’t wish to see the children suffer…but if they do not, the world will suffer.”

Brooke looked a little queasy. “Excuse me, Headmaster, but exactly in what way will ‘the children’ suffer?”

“Soon you will understand, Ms Brighton.”

Suddenly, the parlour door opened and Oscar rushed in. “I’m terribly sorry for intruding in this manner, but there’s been a rather dramatic development. Something quite horrific is happening.”

He picked up a remote control and turned on the wall-mounted television. As a newscaster babbled hysterically, live pictures from four major cities around the world flashed up on the screen.

In Spain, Air Golems stormed across a large bullring (helpfully identified as the Plaza de la Maestranza). The red dirt in the centre of the arena was funnelled up into the giant, rampaging creatures, turning them a dark, dusky colour. Screaming patrons tried to flee, but soon found themselves hurled miles across the heart of Seville by the tornado-like force of the monsters. Charlie was astonished to see a bull flung into the wall of the stadium, where it hung by its horns like a dart in a dartboard.

On another corner of the screen, Charlie saw Fire Golems smashing through the heavily fortified walls of Red Square in Moscow. The terrible creatures headed for the colourful spires of the Kremlin where they vomited up great geysers of lava. As they went about their destruction, they all but ignored a Russian military brigade that desperately tried to gun them down.