Worlds Explode

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Finn sat in school, alongside Emmie, at a desk in a rear corner by a window, but he might as well not have been there.

His eyes and mind weren’t on the whiteboard or his teacher, Mrs McDaid, nor were they on the schoolbooks flapped open in front of him. They were instead concentrating on the slight darkening of the day. Was that rain?

Under the desk, he pulled his bag closer with his feet, feeling the weight of the fighting suit stuffed into it, ready to be worn if necessary.

From the desk beside him, Conn Savage leaned over and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Oh, looks like a couple of drops of rain out there.”

Manus Savage stuck his head out from the far side of the desk, a cruel grin on his face. “Must be time for you to steal our bikes and wreck the town again.”

Since the attack of the Manticores, and the Minotaur’s rampage, the twins had felt a little less deadly to Finn. He had survived something worse than them. A bit worse anyway. But he did still owe them a new bike each, having commandeered theirs for himself and Emmie when being chased by the Minotaur.

He had returned the old ones, even if they were missing a few spokes. And wheels. And most of the other parts that make up a bike.

Still, Finn had prepared a really smart and funny response to the twins’ jibes and was ready to slay them with it. “Well, I—”

“Quiet, Finn!” said Mrs McDaid from the other end of the room. And that was that. His teacher spared him any real anger because of what she occasionally called his “special circumstances”, but Finn’s face flushed nevertheless.

He reverted to staring out of the window until Emmie slid a doodle under his nose. It was of a cross-eyed Minotaur with knotted horns.

“… isn’t that right, Finn?” asked Mrs McDaid.

Finn looked up to see his teacher staring at him from behind her desk, and quickly hid Emmie’s notebook under his textbook as he answered. “Yes, miss.”

The class murmured.

“No, Finn, it is not right. You really need to pay attention, even though we all have great sympathy for your special circumstances …”

This turned out to be one of the better moments of Finn’s day.

Later that afternoon, Finn and Emmie wandered home again under clearing skies, through the sullen Darkmouth streets, past people with their heads down, except for when they gave accusing glances. They walked up Broken Road past its row of dusty shops. The dummies in the fashion store that looked like they’d been dragged from a skip before being dressed. The dusty bookshop with the little gathering of dead flies in the corner of the window.

They passed the damaged dental surgery where Finn’s mam should have been pulling teeth, fitting crowns, removing dead nerves, and all the other things she did that Finn loved to watch.

Except his mother wasn’t there. The rebuilding hadn’t even begun and probably wouldn’t until she had helped find a way to get Finn’s father back.

They stopped for a few moments at Darkmouth’s pet shop – Tails and Snails – where Finn stared wistfully at its window of flapping budgies and curled-up snakes. He felt he was being dragged as far away as possible from whatever hopes he had of being a vet.

They passed the police station with the now-dead flowers left at its entrance for Sergeant Doyle, grievously wounded saving Finn and Emmie, and who now lay in a city hospital, having finally got out of Darkmouth – but not in the way he would have liked.

The town had been sent a replacement, who hid out so effectively that most people were still unsure whether the new sergeant was a man or woman, bearded or clean-shaven, brave or scared.

“I should’ve stopped Mr Glad,” said Finn, idling at the front of the police station.

“You did,” said Emmie.

“Not in time to stop Sergeant Doyle getting badly hurt, though. Or half the town destroyed.”

“Seriously, you fought a Minotaur. You went to the Infested Side. You’ve really got to stop beating yourself up over the whole thing.” She jumped at him and, laughing, gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “That’s my job.”

Emmie ran on ahead and Finn followed, rubbing his arm and wondering how much more it would have stung if it had been an unfriendly punch. When they reached the corner where their streets met, Finn saw that Estravon the Assessor was parked up at the front of his house, talking to his mother.

“Maybe it’s good news,” said Emmie.

“It’s not,” said Finn as they approached slowly.

“How do you know?”

“Because he hasn’t even got out of the car,” said Finn, “and he’s kept his engine running. I think he’s ready to leave here quickly.”

They arrived to hear the Assessor methodically reading the words on a piece of paper stretched across his lap. Even with his face down, his head was crammed up against the roof of the car.

“The Council of Twelve has read the Assessor’s report and met again on this matter,” Finn heard him say as he and Emmie arrived.

“If this was something positive, you’d be inside tucking into the biscuits,” said Clara. “So, just get on with telling us whatever bad news is on that page.”

Estravon cleared his throat and continued, clearly hoping that he’d be allowed to do so without interruption so he could just make his escape. “Before this tragic occurrence in Darkmouth, Hugo the Great was due to become a member of the Twelve, a true reward for a real hero. This is our loss as much as yours.”

“You really think so?” Clara asked.

“The Council of Twelve has accepted that Hugo acted out of the highest bravery, which will be duly noted in a later, official capacity, according to section 19, clause …” The Assessor looked at them out of the corner of his eye, noted the impatience on the faces of his audience and skipped on a little.

“Nevertheless, it is with the deepest regret that we must conclude that Hugo is most likely …” Estravon cleared his throat, “… dead.”

Finn’s mouth flopped open.

Emmie’s head dropped.

Estravon paused, as if expecting a reaction or a follow-up question. All that came was a calm, stern instruction from Finn’s mam.

“Just keep reading,” she said.

“Under rule 123a, paragraph 14, it is required that an appropriate time must pass before a lost Legend Hunter is officially declared dead and a full-time replacement Legend Hunter brought in.”

“And the appropriate time is?” asked Clara.

“Forty-eight hours.”

Finn’s mouth flopped open a little more, so that his jaw felt like it might fall from its hinge.

“Two days?” exclaimed Emmie, but Clara simply put a hand up to quieten her, as if she was keeping her fury snarling behind a locked door for when she really needed it.

“A little less than two days, to be accurate,” said Estravon. “You know, with the gap between the news being passed to me and then me delivering it onwards to yourselves.”

“And what happens to us?” asked Clara.

“Reassignment,” said Estravon.