The Claws of Evil

Ben felt exhilarated although he didn’t quite know why. He expected that a lot of it had to do with the gloved hand that was holding his own, and the girl the hand belonged to. They were running for their lives in the midnight snow and all Ben could do was smile.

“Where are we going?” he asked as she pulled him through the backstreets, turning left, then right, then left again, ducking and weaving as they went.

“Hush,” she said, but there was no anger in her voice.

Ben clasped her hand tighter and let her lead him on. High over their heads, they could hear voices and the rattle of boots on roof tiles, as each twist and turn they made on the ground was matched by their pursuers above. The street started to widen out, and as the girl dragged Ben onwards, he looked up to see the Weeping Man take a running leap from one side to the other.

He’s never gonna make it, Ben thought...and then was proved wrong by the rattle of feet on the far side and a fine rain of tile fragments falling on his head.

“Who are those people?” he asked, impressed in spite of himself.

“Hush,” she said again, her eyes sparkling like emeralds in the moonlight. She hauled him left and right through the maze of backstreets and then stopped at a wooden trapdoor.

“What’s down there? Are we going to hide in a cellar?” Ben guessed.

The girl pushed him up against the wall then and pressed her finger to his lips. “Hush,” she said. “Don’t you ever stop asking questions?”

Ben felt very warm and he wasn’t sure if it was because he had been running hell-for-leather or because he had never met anyone like this girl before. It took him a moment to realize that in fact the air itself was noticeably warmer here, and as he looked down he saw steam rising from the cellar door, carrying with it the harsh tang of carbolic.

Ben watched as the girl crouched and rapped on the hatch with her knuckles: two short knocks, then three long, then two short. Some sort of code, he supposed, and he was proved right when, after the rattling of bolts being drawn, an oriental face appeared from beneath the hatch.

With a furtive look left, right and skyward, the Chinese man beckoned them both into his underground lair. Ben clambered down the wooden steps behind the girl, while the man waited to bolt and lock the hatch behind them. No escape that way, thought Ben, and it occurred to him for the first time that he had put his life in the hands of this mysterious girl, based on her dazzling eyes and her smile alone.

Lucy Lambert scanned the streets below her in vain. The Kingdom boy was even more stupid than she had feared. One glimpse of a pretty face and he had run off with the Legion, hand in hand. Damn him!

She saw the Weeping Man walking towards her across the rooftop; they had split up in an effort to double their chances of getting to Ben. He still appeared to be at total peace, but Lucy couldn’t stop the awful despondency that crashed down on her. She wandered to the edge of the roof and sat down heavily, her feet dangling in the empty air.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at the Weeping Man’s face as he sat down beside her. “I’m so very sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” said the Weeping Man.

“But I do, don’t I?” Lucy protested. “I was sent to guard him and I lost him. You know what the Legion is like; you know how twisted their ideas are. If Kingdom is taken in by their lies, you know what he will become.”

The Weeping Man nodded but said nothing.

“He’ll become the Hand of Hell!” Lucy was almost shouting with frustration. “He’ll lead the Legion to victory and all this –” she flung out her own hands for emphasis – “this city, these people, will be destroyed.” Tears brimmed in her one eye but she refused to let them fall. “Why didn’t you stop him?” she challenged. “You could make him join us.”

“Because it doesn’t work that way,” the Weeping Man replied gently. “We can never force anyone to join us; everyone has to choose for themselves.”

“But Ben Kingdom is such an idiot!” Lucy protested.

“Have faith,” said the Weeping Man. “He’ll do the right thing.”

The Chinese man stood impassively before Benjamin and the girl, his expression unreadable. Although he was quite short, he made an impressive figure, Ben thought. He might be dressed in some sort of blue silk frock, but there was definitely no messing with him.

The man bowed low, his hands clasped together in front of him, palms together. “Honourable Sister,” he said. His movements were slow and precise, in stark contrast to the hectic activity behind him. Ben had heard of these Chinese laundries before, but they were such a tight-knit lot he never thought that he would see inside one.

“Master Cho Jee,” Ruby replied, matching his bow with one of her own.

He continued to eye Ben coldly though, leaving him in no doubt that his presence was not welcome.

“He’s with me,” she said, and that was apparently sufficient to appease Cho Jee, because he immediately gave another gracious bow and indicated a low table with a sweep of his hand.

“Please,” he said crisply, “avail yourself of my humble hospitality.” He bowed again as he retreated and left them alone. This time his robe parted slightly to reveal a meat cleaver strung to his belt. Ben had no doubt that the display was for his benefit and, as he settled himself cross-legged on a cushion, he wondered whether he had exchanged one set of troubles for another.

“Who’s he?” Ben asked in a low whisper.

This time the girl with the emerald eyes did condescend to answer him. “A friend,” she replied.

“And more to the point, who are you?”

“I’m a friend too,” the girl replied. “That’s all you need to know.”

She might have had a gorgeous smile but her tongue was a little on the sharp side, Ben decided.

A moment later, Cho Jee appeared again, bringing them a pot of steaming hot chrysanthemum tea, before slipping back into the shadows. They sipped at it from tiny cups without handles, Ben keeping his thoughts to himself now.

He stirred his tea slowly with his left hand and, when he was sure that no one was looking, he slipped the spoon into his pocket. Might be silver, he thought.

As the silence stretched between them, Ben took in his surroundings. They were sat in a small corner of calm in an underground world of industry. Ben watched as Chinese men, women and children busied themselves at vast copper pots full of scalding hot water. Some scrubbed at dirty washing with waxy bars of carbolic soap, others worked it against washboards, their hands red from the boiling water. Men hauled the sheets from the cauldrons and then fed them through giant mangles, squeezing them dry. Then the clean sheets were strung from heavy lines across the ceiling, row upon row, like some huge armada setting out to sea.

Now that he had stopped running, Ben allowed himself to enjoy the softness of the cushion he sat on, the clean smell of the soap and the sweet comfort of the tea. He took a sideways glance at the girl and, in spite of the way that she spoke to him, he realized he was enjoying her company too.

“I’m Benjamin,” he said with a grin. “Ben Kingdom.”

“I know,” the girl replied and, taking off her glove, she held out her hand. “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said with a flourish. “I am Ruby Johnson.”

He had no idea how she knew his name but he didn’t think twice about taking her hand again. Her skin was warm and her grip was as firm as a man’s. “Pleased to meet you, Ruby Johnson,” he said.

“Likewise, Benjamin Kingdom,” she replied.

It was Ruby who let go first. Ben took another sip of his tea. “So who were those roof-runners? Are you going to tell me now?”

“They were Watchers,” said Ruby, no humour in her voice, her green eyes narrowing. She didn’t elaborate further.

“And you’re not a Watcher?”

“Definitely not,” said Ruby. “I am...something else entirely.”

Well, thank you, Miss Johnson, Ben thought sarcastically. You are really making everything so much clearer.

“So,” she said abruptly. “Down to business.”

“What?” said Ben.

“Business,” said Ruby. “I find so much of life comes down to business, don’t you? All you and I need do is settle on the amount for my reward and then let me bid you ‘goodnight’.”

“Your reward?”

“Of course,” said Ruby. “You don’t imagine that I go around rescuing people for free, do you?”

Ben hadn’t been thinking along those lines at all. Suddenly it was not peaceful at all to be locked underground in a Chinese laundry with a girl that he didn’t know and didn’t understand, watched over by a mysterious man who gave every impression that his cleaver was not for show.

“What sort of reward did you have in mind?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she said, almost casually. “A small silver coin should do it.” She examined his face, looking for a reaction. “A Roman coin,” she continued. “You do have one of those, don’t you, Benjamin Kingdom?”





“And you believe that Benjamin Kingdom is the one our prophets foresaw?” The old woman’s voice cracked like lightning striking home. When she spoke, both angels and demons sat up and listened.

To her followers, she was Mother Shepherd. Her enemies called her by other, less flattering names: the Hag, the Witch Queen of Spies.

Jago Moon straightened his back and stood to attention as best as arthritis and the weight of years would allow. “I think that he might be,” he said. “He definitely has the Touch, Great Mother. I’ve never felt it so strong before.”

“Mmm,” was all Mother Shepherd gave as a reply.

It was the tradition of the Watchers to meet in the high places of the city. That night they had been summoned to the bell tower of St Peter’s, Dock Lane, an isolated and unloved church situated on the notorious Ratcliff Highway, breeding ground for the lawless and the lost. The wind whipped around the tower, making the candles gutter furiously in their sconce.

“And what about you, Lucy Lambert? What do you make of the boy?”

Lucy trembled slightly beneath the intensity of Mother Shepherd’s gaze; her eyes, though old, were as clear and sharp as diamonds.

“Well, he seems...” Nice, she nearly said, and then brought herself up quick. Benjamin Kingdom isn’t “nice”, she thought angrily, he’s a liability. Lucy composed herself. “He seems reckless,” she continued, “unreliable. A bit of an idiot.”

“Mmm,” said Mother Shepherd, then turned to the fourth member of their party; a man dressed all in black. “What are your thoughts, Brother?”

“His destiny is in his own hands,” said the Weeping Man, his deep voice filling the belfry.

“But that’s not good enough!” Lucy burst out, unable to hold the words back. “How can we trust him with the fate of the Watchers? With the fate of London?”

“It’s the greatest mystery in the universe, isn’t it?” said Mother Shepherd. “I have never understood why our God would do something so foolish as to grant mere mortals free will; every single one of us containing the seeds of both our success and failure, each of us capable of great mercy or unspeakable evil.” She allowed the full weight of her words to sink in. “Think of it...we face a thousand choices every day. A thousand opportunities to change the world for good or ill.”

“But how can Ben be the one?” Lucy demanded. “The prophecy is so...”

“Vague?” Mother Shepherd suggested with surprising softness, and then she began to recite:

“One will come to lead the fight,

to defeat the darkness,

bring the triumph of the light.

One will come with fire as his crown,

to bring the Legion tumbling down.

One will come with fire in his eyes,

to pierce through the veil of wicked lies.

One will come with fire in his heart,

to overcome all odds and play his part.

One will come with fire in his hand,

to purge the evil from this land.”

The old woman smiled. “Faith is about trusting in what we cannot see.”

“I know Ben Kingdom,” said Jago Moon. “I know that he’s mouthy, and light-fingered, and cocky with it. But –” and here he lifted a gnarled finger – “were we any better when we were his age? I know I wasn’t.”

Mother Shepherd chuckled. “Well said, Mr. Moon.”

Lucy wasn’t convinced, but this time she managed to bite her tongue.

“What people don’t see about Ben,” Moon continued, “is the goodness in his heart and the struggles that he has overcome already.”

“Well, seeing as how you already know so much about Benjamin Kingdom,” said Mother Shepherd, “I suggest that you take him under your wing, Mr. Moon, and be quick about it.”

“Yes, Great Mother,” said Moon, although he hadn’t the faintest idea of how he might win back the boy’s confidence having scared him away so successfully.

“Benjamin might not seem worthy,” said Mother Shepherd, “but he can change.”

“He’ll have to,” Lucy muttered, not quite under her breath.

Slowly, Mother Shepherd turned and walked over to her side. She placed her gnarled hand on Lucy’s shoulder and Lucy felt such tenderness, such safety, that she allowed the dam to burst within her and let her feelings come spilling out.

“I’ve fought for the Watchers my whole life,” said Lucy, tears stinging her eye now. “You’ve been my mother, ever since...” The tears came more freely, and snot began to stream from her nose. Lucy cuffed it and continued. “I just can’t bear the thought...”

“Shhh,” said Mother Shepherd, smoothing the hair on the back of Lucy’s head and letting the girl bury her face in her shoulder, snot and all. “I know,” she went on, “and I’ve never doubted your love or your devotion to duty. But, in their own way, the years have taken their toll on both of us, haven’t they?” She held the girl close. “My bones ache, Lucy. I’m tired of all this fighting. Don’t you ever long for the war to be over?”

“With all my heart,” Lucy replied without hesitation. “So long as I am on the winning side.”

Mother Shepherd laughed. “Then you need to start having faith in Benjamin Kingdom,” she said, “because if he is the Hand, then he will be the one to bring this war to an end.”

Quietly, Lucy spoke the last lines of the prophecy:

“One will come to pay the cost; if he fails all is lost.

One will come in suffering and pain,

to know betrayal and be wounded again.

One will come to choose the way;

eternal darkness or the endless day.”

Lucy paused. “Poor boy,” she said. “But I have to ask what would happen if Ben chooses the Legion?” Her tears were replaced by a steely glare. “He’s already more than halfway down that path. What if Ben becomes their leader instead of ours?”

“We have one great advantage,” said Mother Shepherd. “The Legion only know that we are waiting for the arrival of the Hand of Heaven.” She paused. “They don’t know that the chosen one could equally turn out to be the Hand of Hell.”

“But what if they corrupt him? Fill him with their lies?” Lucy asked again.

“If it is his destiny, then Benjamin Kingdom will become the Hand, nothing can stop that,” said Mother Shepherd. “My most fervent prayer is that he joins the Watchers and fulfils his destiny as the Right Hand of Heaven.” Her lips creased into a smile but there was no warmth in it. “However, if Ben turns his back on us and throws in his lot with the Legion, then he will rule them as the Left Hand of Hell.”

“And then we’ll be left to pick up the pieces, I suppose,” said Moon.

“No, Mr. Moon, then we’ll all be dead,” she said flatly. “And I pity those left living.”





In the end, they threw Ben out of the laundry. Literally.

Two of the Chinese men picked him up bodily, bundled him up the ladder and then tossed him out into the street. I’m lucky to escape with me hat, Ben thought, as he brushed himself down and tried to gather what remained of his dignity.

“Thanks for the tea!” he called with deliberate joviality, as the trapdoor was slammed and bolted against him. “Thanks for nothing, Ruby Johnson!”

The Coin, he thought angrily, as he stomped away. This was all about the Coin.

Ruby hadn’t really been interested in helping him at all, he realized; she was just out to line her own pockets. No doubt someone had seen Pa and his strange Egyptian benefactor. The docks weren’t short on spying eyes and blabbing tongues.

Ruby Johnson had really put him on the spot back there. He’d tried to bluff, of course, claiming complete ignorance, but she wasn’t having any of it. She’d actually made him turn out his pockets! And then, when even that didn’t convince her, she had frisked him herself; all under the watchful gaze of Cho Jee and his handy meat cleaver. It had taken all of Ben’s knack with sleight of hand to keep the Coin out of sight and even then it had been a close-run thing. She’d found the farthing but she’d let him keep that. He’d lost the silver spoon though, but since that wasn’t really his, he probably shouldn’t count it.

Still, thought Ben, I didn’t come away entirely empty-handed.

When her search came up with nothing, Ruby had leaned towards him and placed a single, soft kiss on his forehead. “You’ll just have to owe me,” she’d breathed, before abandoning him, and disappearing behind the white sails of the sheets.

Ben didn’t know how he felt about that kiss, and although it had made him feel warm at the time, it wasn’t enough to keep out the savage cold now.

He buried his hands in his pockets and stamped off into the night.

He knew that he was running out of options. He couldn’t go back to his room. He didn’t dare find a quiet corner and doss down in case the Weeping Man came looking for him again. His father and brother were missing, Jago Moon was mixed up in this in ways he couldn’t begin to think about, and Ruby Johnson had dropped him quicker than a hot coal. There was only one place left for him to go, and so he walked on through the night, sticking to the shadows, watching the rooftops, and trying, for once, to stay out of trouble.

He didn’t spot anyone spying on him but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there. Who were the Watchers? Ruby hadn’t given him any clues.

Ben thought about it all as he made his way along the embankment of the Thames. When he got to the De Keyser’s Royal Hotel, he rummaged in the bins round the back and managed to find a stale roll before one of the kitchen hands saw him and chased him away with the promise of a whipping. The bread was hard and going green around the edges, but Ben chewed it industriously and it kept him going down Chancery Lane and High Holborn. It was the only thing to touch the inside of his belly since Mrs. McLennon’s broth the morning before and his stomach growled in gratitude.

The sun was just scratching the sky when the British Museum finally came into sight: the grand expanse of the façade, two wings on either side; the great colonnade of Ionic columns, tall and proud; the statues in the portico standing guard, so real they could almost be alive. Professor Carter would be inside, he knew. He might even have some answers too.

In spite of the terrible fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him, Ben broke into a run, his aching feet breaking fresh snow until he fell down exhausted on the museum steps.

Even in that desperate state, without the energy left to lift his face up out of the snow, he found his hand irresistibly drawn to his pocket. Although he had only known trouble since it had arrived, his single clear thought before unconsciousness took him was this; keep the Coin hidden, keep it safe.

Instead of returning it to his trousers, he tucked it tight beneath the band of his hat, content that no one would think of looking there.

Sleep took him and held him tightly.

Ben did not see the Watcher with the scarred face, nestled quietly amongst the statues, patiently biding her time.

Ben was woken by the smell of bacon and eggs. He wondered for a moment whether he had died in the snow and this was Heaven, and then he saw the face of Professor Carter looking down at him.

“Eat, boy,” said the professor, his weather-beaten face a map of wrinkles as he smiled. “There’s more where that came from.”

Ben ate with the enthusiasm that only a starving boy can muster.

“I’m the same when I’m on expedition,” said Carter. “When you don’t know where your next meal is coming from, make the most of the one that you’ve got.”

Ben looked from the professor’s strong face to his great bone claw, and smiled. Could there be anyone better to come to your rescue? he wondered.

Carter settled back into the embrace of his leather chair, seeming to take great pleasure in watching Ben polish off a second rasher of greasy bacon and a thick slice of fresh bread.

In the comfort of Carter’s room, surrounded by all the skulls and bones, the ancient objects from countries he had never heard of, Ben always felt absolutely safe and secure. Since that first day when he had brought the professor an arrowhead he had fished from the Thames, Ben felt as if this should be his home.

Even as he thought that, he was filled with guilt for betraying his father. The last piece of bread was dry and difficult to swallow.

“So,” said Carter, as the final mouthful went down, “why have you staggered halfway across London to die on my doorstep?”

Ben began his garbled story while Professor Carter sat and listened. Ben told him everything: about the Weeping Man and Jago Moon, about his room being destroyed, about Ruby and Mr. Smutts. The only thing he left out was the small fact that the Coin hadn’t been stolen when his room was ransacked. It was right there in his hatband. Never out of his thoughts.

He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was keeping the truth from the professor. It was peculiar, he thought, almost as if the Coin itself didn’t want to be shared. When he had taken it from the hiding place in his room, his plan had been simple: to show the professor, get it valued and return it to his father. Now he had other ideas, and chief of those was to hang onto the Coin for a little while longer. It was his, wasn’t it? Why should he share it with anyone?

When Ben was finished talking, Carter sucked the air between his teeth and his expression grew sombre.

“And now the Watchers have the Coin.” Carter spoke quietly, his voice as dry as dust stirring in a crypt.

“I think they must have taken it when my room was destroyed,” Ben lied.

Lucy Lambert stood on the edge and looked down.

Before this life, before the Watchers found her, the highest she had ever been was her father’s shoulders. Now she was a denizen of the Above, the secret world of the Watchers. She could see the people walking along Whitechapel Road below, their hats pulled down firmly, their shoulders hunched up against the cold. None of them lifted their eyes towards her. She was as good as invisible on the roof of the London Hospital. She could have called out, but she knew her voice would never reach their ears.

Lucy became aware that she was not alone on the rooftop and turned to see a small girl, standing hand-in-hand with a powerful figure in a long black coat. It was the new girl, Molly Marbank, if she remembered rightly. Lucy smiled, her hand inadvertently rising to her face as she did so, covering the eyepatch and the scar: constant reminders of her own childhood. Molly made a sweet figure, Lucy thought. They had managed to find a Watcher long coat in something like her size; Molly looked as if she was playing dress-up in her father’s clothes.

“It’s time to go,” said the Weeping Man, his deep voice both strong and tender at the same time. He was so full of contradictions, Lucy thought. The rumours were wrong, for one thing; he didn’t cry all the time. Very often he would merely wear a serious expression on his face. Quite frequently he would even smile, and that was such a wonderful thing that the smile would almost take on a life of its own and run through the Watchers’ camp, touching as many lips as it could.

He did cry, but only when something hurt him. And what normally hurt him, Lucy had discovered, was when other people felt pain. He cried for all the things that made Heaven sad. Some people called him the Weeping Man, but his real name was Josiah. Lucy only ever called him “sir”.

She followed obediently and grinned as she saw the excitement on Molly’s face. How many years ago was that me? Lucy asked herself.

“Follow me, little one,” Josiah said to Molly.

Lucy brought up the rear while Molly meekly followed the Weeping Man back across the rooftop, studying where he put his feet and matching his every step across the tiles. Lucy could see Molly’s six-year-old legs almost running in order to keep up with his purposeful strides. She knew that Molly was still learning, but speed was of the essence. It was a busy life being a Watcher, Lucy knew full well. There were plenty of cries for help in a city like London.

“Are you ready?” Josiah asked Molly as they neared the edge of the roof. Molly nodded vigorously. Lucy knew what was coming next; it was the most exhilarating and the most terrifying feeling in the world.

Josiah scooped Molly up and tucked her under one arm, as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. Then the big man took half a dozen steps backwards across the flat roof of the London Hospital, adjusted his balance to account for the small girl he was carrying, and then ran, full pelt, towards the edge and the drop beyond.

Molly clung on with all her might, her tiny knuckles white, but Lucy knew that Josiah would never drop her. Or, at least, he hadn’t dropped anyone before, as far as she knew. It was too late to say anything now though, because they were already in the air.

Lucy wished that she was on the ground at that moment, but only so that she could look up and see them making the jump from one rooftop to another. It was as if they were flying. Josiah’s strong legs ran on nothing, his sure feet landing them safely on the other side. Lucy had lost count of the number of times she had seen Josiah jump, but the thrill had not diminished. If anything it was growing stronger.

Mostly the Watchers crossed the gap between buildings using extendable ladders, or death slides, or sometimes even pole vaults. But the most skilled boys had the gift, and Josiah was the most gifted of them all. Josiah made it look easy. He could leap and bound across rooftops and make seemingly impossible jumps with the grace of a mountain lion.

Sometimes Josiah reminded Lucy of her father. Not so much in the way that he looked – but in the way that he made you feel: safe. Protected. The boys said that the Watchers were an army, but really it was more like a big family, made up of children like her; the ones who had nothing in this world except each other. Boys and girls who tried to be brave, but were bruised inside or out.

Lucy watched as Molly and Josiah landed on the far side with a scrunch. And then she followed. With a small run-up, she threw herself into the arms of the air, trusting to experience that her momentum would carry her in an arc onto the lower roof on the other side of the road. The wind lifted her golden hair around her head and she could feel the smile splitting her face in two. It wasn’t just the Watcher boys that could jump.

Lucy landed like a cat, her legs bent low, one hand touching the roof tiles for balance. Then Molly reached for Josiah’s hand and all three of them ran on across the rooftops together.