The Claws of Evil

“Hello, sleepyhead,” said a gentle voice.

Ben opened one eye, unsure of where he was. Then he felt the raw throbbing of his left hand and it all came rushing back.

“You,” said Ben, as he saw Ruby Johnson leaning over him. “I don’t need your help.” And to prove his point, he swung himself out of the bunk and promptly fell over.

“Take it easy,” said Ruby softly, bending down to help him back up. “Nobody gets up quickly after they have taken the Mark.”

Ben drew away from her touch as if she were a leper and struggled back onto the bed under his own steam.

They sat for a while in awkward silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were following Carter’s orders when you brought me here?” asked Ben. “Why couldn’t you have been honest with me instead of going through that whole ridiculous charade of being my friend?”

“I am your friend,” she replied.

Ben winced as the pain in his palm really began to kick in.

“Here,” she said, “let me take a look at that. I’ve got some salve here that will help the stinging.”

Ben examined his hand for the first time. Burned into the skin was the image of a gauntlet, an armoured left fist. It hurt like anything, but it was a strong emblem, Ben thought. He took Ruby’s pot of greasy ointment and tentatively began to rub it in, doing his best not to wince.

“We all have one,” said Ruby, drawing off her glove to show her own hand. “It stands for strength and power,” she explained. “It reminds us that wherever we are, we will always be part of the Legion.” She trailed off slightly as she said it, making Ben wonder whether Ruby thought that was a good or bad thing.

Ben looked at the mark burned indelibly into his flesh. Despite the pain, he liked it. It reminded him of the tattoos that soldiers brought home from the wars; a sign of their brotherhood and adversities overcome.

“It shows that we belong,” said Ben.

“And that we can never leave.” There was definitely a sombre note in Ruby’s voice now, but Ben didn’t have time to question her because the barracks door opened and Mickelwhite strode in.

“Finally come back to the land of the living, have you?” said Mickelwhite.

“How long have I been asleep?” Ben asked Ruby.

“Hours,” she said. “You’ve missed a whole day. It’s getting dark outside again now.”

Ben shook off his fatigue and forced himself to stand.

“Report to the armoury in ten minutes,” snapped Mickelwhite. “Miss Johnson can fill you in on the way.”

“Where are we going?” Ben asked, still disorientated.

“To rescue your brother,” Mickelwhite answered, “and make the Watchers regret the day they ever heard the name ‘Kingdom’.”

Nathaniel Kingdom was standing on the roof of the Royal Albert Hall. A small pennant snapped in the wind, bearing the symbol of an open right hand; the sign of the Watchers.

There were lookouts high up on the dome itself, but Nathaniel was with the rest of the encampment, safely on the lower tier below. The Watchers had made him welcome, and yet he was still a stranger in their strange land. He wandered around, trying to make sense of everything that the Watchers had told him. He still couldn’t quite believe that the Watchers thought Ben was some sort of leader-in-waiting; if only they knew how often Ben was in trouble they would soon change their tune. What Nathaniel had no difficulty accepting was that Ben was in great danger if he was in the hands of the Legion. If even half of what the Watchers had explained to him about the Legion was true, then Ben was literally in the jaws of wickedness.

And then there was the Coin; a Judas Coin, Mr. Moon had thought. A Coin that had been steeped in blood down the ages and had the power to lead even the strongest will down the path to wickedness. If Ben was carrying the Coin, Nathaniel couldn’t imagine the mental torture he must be going through.

Nathaniel’s own head began to spin uncomfortably, and he didn’t know whether it was shock or vertigo; either way he decided to stay well away from the edge. He had begun to pace restlessly again, when to his delight his eyes picked out a familiar face.

“Molly Marbank!” he shouted with delight, and went to join the girl in her sheltered spot, in the lee of a wall.

Molly smiled at him. She was bundled up in a blanket to keep her warm and was slurping happily on a bowl of hot soup.

For a while they just sat. It was Molly who broke the silence.

“Why do you look so sad?” she asked sweetly. “Everyone is so kind here.”

“I miss my family,” he said. “My brother is lost and my pa has gone looking for him. I’m afraid that...” His voice cracked and hot tears welled in his eyes. “I’m afraid that Ben might die without knowing how much we love him. I know that I don’t always treat Ben the way I should, I know that sometimes Pa can hardly bring himself to look at him...” Nathaniel couldn’t have stopped the stream of words even if he’d wanted to. “It’s Ben’s hair,” he continued, sniffing, “and his face and his uneven smile that me and Pa find so hard to cope with.”

Molly looked confused.

“Ben looks just like our mother,” Nathaniel explained. “Every time Ben smiles at Pa, it breaks his heart again.”

Across the city of London, several Kingdoms had already been hastened to their deaths.

Grey Wing gave the tally, while Carter listened impassively.

Tobias Kingdom, a wig-maker, fell to his death from his upstairs window; Jonathan Kingdom, bookkeeper, drowned in his shaving bowl; Emma Kingdom, match-seller, died in flames. Samuel Kingdom, barrister-at-law, was stabbed in the back, before being dropped into the silent waters of St Katharine Docks.

“And you didn’t eat them this time?” asked Carter.

Grey Wing made a shrugging motion with his vast shoulders. “Only the hearts,” he said, “and some of the eyes.”

“How positively restrained of you.”

Carter had to admit that the Feathered Men had been busy. It was just a shame that all their interrogations had failed to provide so much as a single clue that would lead him closer to the Coin. He was convinced that if Ben had hidden the Coin, he would have let something slip by now; for all his qualities, the boy didn’t seem to have a very tight rein on his tongue. That meant that either the Watchers did have the Coin, which Ben had maintained all along, or that Ben’s father, possibly even his brother, was still in possession of that benighted piece of silver. However, in spite of the Feathered Men’s efforts, Jonas and Nathaniel Kingdom seemed to have slipped off the face of the map.

The one consolation as far as he was concerned was that Benjamin Kingdom had taken the Mark. His left hand belonged to the Legion now. All that Carter needed to do to complete the boy’s transformation was to ensure that his soul belonged to the Legion too.

Ben had so many questions that Ruby could hardly keep up with them.

He seemed to have forgiven her entirely for bringing him into the Under on false pretences and, for reasons that Ruby couldn’t explain, that meant a lot to her.

“Can you tell me more about the Legion?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure where to start. “I suppose the first thing you should understand is that not everyone in the Under is part of the Legion.”

Ben showed his surprise. “So why do you let them live here?”

“When Alasdair Valentine began work on these tunnels, he saw a use for them straight away, making them far more valuable than the simple bolt-hole the King intended. Valentine imagined a place of sanctuary,” she continued, “a place of refuge for all those who couldn’t go running to the Crown or the Church. That principle holds true to this day.”

“And so all the families down here, they’re just refugees?”

Ruby nodded. “And escapees, or runaways or throwaways. All welcome. If someone wants to live among us, all they have to do is look after themselves and accept Legion rule.”

Ben listened with rapt attention.

“Probably only a third of the denizens of the Under are Legionnaires. Of those who have taken the Mark, the bottom rank are serfs; that’s what you are.”

“Thanks,” said Ben. “It’s always nice to hear that you are the lowest of the low.”

“Most of the young ragamuffins you see running around the place fall into that category too,” Ruby went on. “Above them come certain young ladies and gentlemen such as Munro and Jimmy Dips who have shown themselves worthy and willing to work hard; they become squires. A squire will serve under a knight or a captain for a time, possibly years, learning more about the ways of our Order. Then come the knights, such as yours truly, organized into small brigades. There are reconnaissance brigades like ours, skirmish brigades and heavy-battle brigades. Each brigade is led by a captain – you’ve already met Captain Mickelwhite.”

Ruby could see from his face exactly what Ben thought of Captain Mickelwhite, as he marched along in front of them, leading the way to the armoury.

“Yes, well,” said Ruby. She didn’t always see eye to eye with Mickelwhite herself. “Be careful, Ben,” she warned under her breath. “He’s been watching you.”

“Yes, I know,” said Ben.

“No, you don’t, Ben,” she corrected him. She took his arm and allowed Mickelwhite’s long stride to lengthen the distance between them. When the gap was wide enough, she spoke low and quickly. “None of us have ever known Professor Carter to initiate someone into the Legion so quickly. It’s obvious that he thinks highly of you and Mickelwhite is jealous. You must be careful not to antagonize him.”

She had meant it as a warning, but Ruby could see that it had had the opposite effect.

It won’t be long before I’m Captain and he’ll have to be careful of me,” said Ben, his eyes agleam.





Mickelwhite brought them to a halt outside an impressive bronze door, inlaid with images of strange creatures: lions with wings, humans with the faces of animals, snakes that coiled round each other so that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Say nothing and follow my lead,” Mickelwhite said curtly. “We are about to meet the Egyptian.”

“And who’s he when he’s at home?” said Ben.

“He’s the Legion quartermaster,” Mickelwhite explained. “Before any brigade is sent out they have to report here to be equipped, and then return it all afterwards.”

“So why mustn’t I speak?” asked Ben.

“Because the last mouthy street boy who spoke out of turn to the Egyptian didn’t come out alive,” Mickelwhite replied.

The door opened with a sigh and the Egyptian appeared. He was a tall man, made taller by his blood-red hat, which Ben had heard called a “fez”. He literally loomed over them, his head almost reaching the top of the door frame, his neck bent to observe them, like a heron watching fish. Widthways, the Egyptian was almost too narrow, and yet Benjamin suspected that he had a strong wiry build hidden beneath the folds of his purple silk robe, which was drawn at the waist with a tasselled belt.

It was impossible to guess the man’s age but his skin was the brown of dead leaves and covered with a map of fine lines, especially around the eyes and across his broad, high forehead. The cheekbones were high as well, as if his skull was too close to the surface, leaving deep hollows in his cheeks and pits for his eyes.

Those eyes scared Ben more than anything. The coldest December night was not as cold as those two black pearls.

The Egyptian made a beckoning gesture and, without a word, the three young Legionnaires followed him into his domain. He led them down a flight of stone stairs into a cathedral-like chamber that two days ago Ben wouldn’t have believed could exist beneath the pavements of London. The stonework was the most elaborate that he had seen so far on his journey into the Under. The pillars that held up the vaulted roof took the form of enormous figures, supporting the ceiling on their broad shoulders. Ben had seen similar columns on the front of the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly, but that façade couldn’t hold a candle to this.

The bodies were clearly human, both male and female, with loincloths and robes covering muscles and sinews of carved stone. But the heads were the heads of animals. Ben could make out a crocodile and a lion and other animals that he didn’t have a name for; animals that hunted and killed. He looked at Ruby for explanation but all he received was a look that told him to hold his tongue.

As Ben went further into the chamber, a deep feeling stirred inside him. I was born for this, he thought.

Everywhere he looked his eyes fell on a new treasure. Not treasure in the way that some might think of it – not gold necklaces or caskets overflowing with jewels; those were treasures for old men or girls with heads full of silly dreams. The treasures that he saw here were for men of adventure. Men like Claw Carter. Men like him.

The walls were hung with an amazing array of equipment, some of which Ben recognized and some of which were as mysterious as its strange keeper. Instantly familiar were sturdy boots, cloaks, capes and trousers in every size, leather belts and harnesses, backpacks and coils of rope like long snakes waiting for the charmer’s flute. On wooden mannequins hung breastplates, wrist cuffs, shin protectors: boys’ stories of knights in armour come to life. Arranged neatly on tables and chests were bullseye lanterns with metal shutters, which could focus the light in a single beam; the burglars’ favourite, thought Ben with a grin. Next to them sat chisels, files, hammers, pliers, crowbars and skeleton keys, designed to pick any lock in the right hands.

Then came some devices that were beyond Ben’s understanding. Some were clockwork, with intricate cogs and wheels designed to roll with precision. Others were steam-powered, with copper boilers, valves and tubes, and gauges to measure the pressure. There were workbenches all around the chamber, strewn with the tools of a skilled man, and since the Egyptian appeared to be the only person permitted there, he had to be the craftsman who made all these implements as well as the quartermaster who accounted for them. Ben’s mind reeled; this was incredible.

Then he saw the wall of weapons and his left hand throbbed with inner fire. Yes, he thought, I’d like to have a go with those.

There were crossbows on a rack – small powerful weapons that could be used with a single hand, like a pistol – and beside them a huge supply of crossbow bolts, some with sharp tips and others with fat weighted heads that Benjamin supposed could be used to knock someone out if fired with accuracy. He imagined himself with one of those pistols and made a mime of shooting...then he caught sight of Mickelwhite drawing a single finger across his throat and he let his imaginary crossbow fall to the floor.

Next to the crossbow pistols were other weapons: brass knuckles; knives of every conceivable size and shape; swords, pistols, rifles. And next to those was a collection of glass containers of various sizes – some small enough to fit into the palm of a hand, others that would require two strong men to carry them – all of them fitted with a length of fuse and filled with a grey dust that Ben guessed to be gunpowder. When the war against the Watchers came, the Legion would certainly be ready.

Wordlessly, the Egyptian bade them stand in a circle carved into the floor. Mickelwhite made the Legion salute, left fist on right shoulder, and then bowed, motioning for Ben and Ruby to do likewise. Ben found himself smiling broadly as he lowered his head: What would the boys from Old Gravel Lane say if they could see me now?

“This boy is a serf, My Lord,” said Mickelwhite in his haughty tones. He pronounced the word “serf” in the way other men might refer to the contents of their chamber pot. “His name is Kingdom.”

Ben might have been mistaken but he thought he saw a glimmer of recognition pass across the silent Egyptian’s face and a low gurgle came from his throat. Then, with surprising speed, those long hands reached out and began to prod and pat Ben roughly.

“He’s measuring you up,” whispered Ruby. “Hold your arms out straight and spread your legs slightly.”

Satisfied, the Egyptian moved soundlessly back and forth from his racks. Ben received metal wrist guards which fitted his forearms and could be used, he guessed, for blocking a Watcher attack, and similar shin protectors fitted to his legs, all of which were completely hidden beneath his clothes. He was given a new pair of boots, probably the best he had ever put on his feet, with sturdy ankle support, steel toecaps and solid grip. Then he was given a leather satchel, which he slung across his shoulder, a small canvas rucksack for his back, and a length of tightly coiled rope to be strung to his belt.

Ben could feel the excitement coursing through him. If only he had joined the Legion sooner, how different his life might have been.

The only slight disappointment was when, instead of being laden with bags and backpacks, Mickelwhite received a breastplate to wear beneath his shirt and one of the crossbow pistols, which sat snugly in a hidden holster below his left armpit where he could reach it at a moment’s notice. “Privilege of rank, dear boy,” Mickelwhite explained with a smirk.

Ruby rejected any armour but instead received a satchel which, when she looked inside it made her eyes light up. Knowing her skills as a thief, Ben guessed that it contained the tools of her trade.

Ben’s own abilities in that direction were improving too. While the Egyptian had his back turned, Ben’s nimble left hand sneaked out and claimed a collapsible brass telescope; he had always fancied one of those. He thought of the silver Coin then, still safe in its hiding place in his hatband. It was strange; it was almost as if since he found the Coin stealing had become so much easier.

When the Egyptian had provided them with everything that he was prepared to give, he gave them a small nod to show that they were dismissed. They saluted and made for the stairs. As an afterthought, Ben called over his shoulder: “Thanks, mate!”

The Egyptian made a dark noise, halfway between a bark and a snarl.

“I told you to say nothing!” Mickelwhite snapped when they were back in the corridor, the bronze door firmly shut.

“That noise he made,” said Ben. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Haven’t you got it yet?” Mickelwhite pushed his face up close to Ben’s, his nostrils flaring. “The Legion is made up of people who don’t fit in up there.” He jerked his finger towards the roof and the rest of London beyond. “Everyone in the Under has a history and if someone doesn’t tell you, then it’s not your place to ask.”

“But if he’s ill—”

Mickelwhite cut him off. “He’s not sick.”

“So why can’t he speak then?”

“It’s his punishment for a crime he committed a long time ago,” said Ruby.

“What did he do?”

“Nobody knows,” said Mickelwhite. “But it must have been serious because they cut out his tongue as his just reward.”

Ben went white. Old Gravel Lane was filled with rough sorts and too many scoundrels to count, but the Under was a different world entirely.

Ruby’s words came back to haunt him.

All welcome.





The rescue party was assembled in the tunnel at the foot of an iron ladder.

It was a simple enough plan. They would find a Watcher, track them back to their camp, and spring Nathaniel from captivity. The main difficulty that Mickelwhite had outlined was that the Watchers changed the location of their camp every night, plus they had the advantage of knowing all the secret paths across the roof of the city.

Ben also had his own private concerns. He had not forgotten the Weeping Man, or the sword that hung at his side.

Alexander Valentine would not be joining them; the weakness in his lungs was very bad that night. Squire Munro would not be coming either. His shape, his lack of agility and his general flatulence all limited his ability in the field. He said farewell with a solemn bow and a slight belch. That left six of them: Captain Mickelwhite, Hans Schulman, John Bedlam, Jimmy Dips, Ruby and Ben himself.

This close to the surface, the Legion were always on guard, and Ben could feel the tension that hung around their shoulders, as cold and heavy as damp wool. Mickelwhite waited for absolute silence before he sent Jimmy Dips scampering up the ladder to open the trapdoor in the roof. The whereabouts of the entrances to the Under were among the most fiercely protected secrets of the Legion. Ruby had told Ben that more than once an entrance had had to be sealed up, or even whole sections of tunnel abandoned, just because a Legionnaire had been careless and allowed themselves to be seen. Captain Mickelwhite was taking no chances.

Jimmy climbed carefully, making sure that his boots landed softly on the rungs. Then he lifted the stone slab a tiny fraction and peered out into the night with his rat-pink eyes. Satisfied that no one was about, Jimmy lifted the slab higher and cast around with his bullseye lantern, its tight narrow beam reaching out into the dark.

“All clear,” he whispered and they followed him up the ladder, their lips firmly buttoned shut, until they were all standing in the enclosed darkness of a cellar.

The armour on Ben’s wrists and shins felt heavy, and the pack on his back was even worse. Mickelwhite had taken the opportunity to fill it with a dozen more items, each of which he declared to be invaluable for the mission ahead. Ben was far from convinced, especially when he saw the sly looks that Mickelwhite and his knights exchanged with each additional burden that they insisted he carry for them.

He knew that the captain and Valentine in particular both looked down their noses at him. He was scum to them: some poor boy from the East End, not fit to mix with the likes of them. They’d better watch out, Ben thought with a smile. Scum has a habit of rising to the top of the pond. When he’d been sure no one was looking, he had switched the silver Coin from his hatband to his pocket, and he touched it now for comfort. My time will come.

Carefully, so as not to make a sound, Jimmy Dips lowered the trapdoor back into place, and Ben was surprised to see that an old chair and a square of carpet were fixed to the door so that when it was closed there was no sign that it had even been there. Jimmy opened the shutters on the lantern a little wider to illuminate the room and Ben saw that they were in a basement, filled with old tea chests and junk. There wasn’t even the slightest clue that they were standing at an entrance to an underground world.

No, that wasn’t quite true. Ben looked closer and saw a symbol on the chair, no bigger than a farthing: the sign of the gauntleted fist. Ben smiled to himself; one day all the secrets of the Legion would be his.

“The Hag is the wickedest woman in London,” Mickelwhite explained. “All she wants to do is to ensnare the weak-minded and bind them to her will.”

Ben wasn’t really listening. They had been trawling the snowbound streets for almost two hours without even a sniff of the Watchers. They were never going to find Nathaniel at this rate.

Ben’s backpack felt as if Mickelwhite had slipped an anvil into it while he wasn’t looking; Ben knew that his shoulders were red and raw under the straps. The armour that had been so exciting to put on was nothing more than another deadweight to carry, and with their glorious captain leading them round in circles, the whole expedition was coming to nothing.

If Mickelwhite was the best that the Legion had to offer, then it would take him no time to rise through the ranks, Ben thought. And why stop at captain? Ben would be a knight commander, just like Claw Carter, and then Mickelwhite would be the one doing the saluting and carrying the bags.

On top of that, Ben still had the Roman Coin. He hadn’t forgotten that Ruby had been sniffing for it when they were in the laundry together, and he could tell from Carter’s icy calm when he first mentioned it in his study that the professor was keen to have it for himself. Surreptitiously, Ben’s fingers rubbed its smooth surface where it lay hidden in his pocket and he thrilled to the touch.

“Are you alright?” Ruby asked quietly.

“What’s it to you?” he snapped back.

She was obviously envious of him too, just like Mickelwhite. They all wanted to be Claw Carter’s favourite, they all wanted his Coin. Well, they would have to go on wanting. Ben Kingdom had waited long enough for his chance, and now that it had finally come his way, he wasn’t sharing it with anyone. He would reveal the Coin when he was good and ready, at precisely the right moment for maximum impact and personal glory.

Benjamin Kingdom, the hero of the Legion.

He caught Ruby’s eye to show her how glad he was that she had brought him into the Under. But for some inexplicable reason, the expression she gave him in return was filled with sadness.