The Boy with One Name Read online

  This book is for anyone who has ever

  fought a monster, whether lurking inside

  you or beyond, out there in the world.

  ‘Of the many classes of Ogre encountered in the Badlands, the Berserker or Wédorcnéus is considered to be particularly fierce. As with all types of Ogre, together with its appetite for human flesh, it displays acute aggression and great strength.’

  ‘Unlike other types of Ogre, the Berserker is not indigenous to the British Isles. Originally, these creatures were bred in captivity by the Viking tribes of Scandinavia and brought over on sorties to Britain (circa 793 AD onwards) to fight alongside their fiercest warriors who were also the Berserkers’ handlers.’

  EXTRACTS FROM

  The Badlander Bestiary

  Pocket Book Version

  ENGLAND . . .

  . . . at night . . .

  ONE

  Jones stopped. He’d felt safe enough creeping down the path in front of the cottage, in the dark. But now the moon had reappeared from behind the clouds, the world was relit with a soft silver light meaning he was much more likely to be seen.

  He kept trying to focus on what Maitland had promised, that he wouldn’t come to any harm. But that was less easy to believe now they were actually here. Scared to go on, Jones looked behind him, to where his Master was hiding, hoping to be beckoned back.

  Maitland stepped out from the granite porch concealing the front door of the cottage and stood on the path, big as a boulder in his greatcoat. He said nothing. His craggy face remained hidden below the peak of his baseball cap. And Jones knew right away Maitland wanted him to go on, however bright the moon, because this was his big night. This was his big test. Without saying a word, Jones wrapped his overcoat tight around him, and crept on obediently down the path, the flagstones in front of him sparkling in the moonlight.

  A tall wooden fence took over from the whitewashed wall of the cottage. When Jones came to a door, he lifted the latch without a clink and nudged it open far enough to see a lawn ahead of him, a patio to his right. Carefully, he stepped forward and peered round the door. His breath caught in his throat like a fishbone when he saw someone standing away to his left, in the centre of the lawn.

  It was a man, naked from the waist up, with his back to Jones, his shirt and sweater folded in a neat pile beside him on the grass. Maitland was right. Arkell, the man they’d been following, had come to this quiet, secluded garden in the countryside to moon-bathe.

  Jones had observed Arkell for just a few days. It had been quite easy. Jones had gone into Arkell’s corner shop and bought sweets from time to time. He’d dilly-dallied in the street outside, juggling a football between his feet, or kicked it against a wall, counting out the seconds, the minutes, and then the hours. In fact, Jones had done so well at pretending to be an ordinary, lonely boy that Arkell had started taking pity on him, inviting him in to pass the time between customers, offering him free sweets from the big plastic pots that lined the shelves and were frosted white on the inside with sugar.

  Sometimes, Arkell had asked about Jones’s family and he’d enjoyed pretending to have one, inventing a younger sister called Jane with a giggly laugh, and a mother with dark, shoulder-length hair who used lavender soap. His father wore his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and only ever drank strong brown tea from his blue-striped mug.

  But, all the time they were talking, Jones would be taking mental notes of anything that struck him as odd about Arkell, and quickly began to notice the telltale signs Maitland had taught him to recognize: a bulbous tongue and excess spittle. Foul breath. Hair that grew a little too thick around each low-set ear. But it was mostly Arkell’s eyes and the sadness he saw in them that gave the man away. Jones knew the loneliness that came with being different to other people too.

  Maitland listened carefully to everything Jones reported back, deciding it was worth following Arkell one night, when the moon was bright and almost full, to confirm their suspicions. And now here they were.

  Jones stepped back quietly from the door, pulling it to. He was fully aware all types of shapeshifters could change without needing a full moon as long as they kept themselves charged with moonlight.

  Maitland was already standing beside him. Even though Maitland was a big man he moved silently and often reminded Jones it was a trick the boy would have to learn. The stubble on Maitland’s face looked silver in the half-dark. The scar on his left cheek shone red and sore. His grey eyes sparkled as they always did at a time like this.

  ‘Is he bathing?’ he whispered. When Jones nodded, Maitland grinned, as if he’d known Arkell’s secret all along. ‘There must be something about this spot. We need to be careful. Whenever there’s one shifter bathing . . .’

  ‘. . . there’s usually others too,’ recited Jones in a tiny voice, and Maitland nodded, pleased. But then his face sharpened again.

  ‘Now remember,’ he whispered, ‘he’s not a man, not any more.’

  Jones nodded and reached a shaking hand into his overcoat pocket for his catapult as Maitland drew out an old-fashioned revolver. Neither of them seemed the slightest bit surprised when the gun spoke quietly too.

  ‘You sure the boy’s ready, Maitland?’

  Maitland just nodded and stared at Jones, jabbing a finger towards the door. ‘We’ll be right behind you. Make your first kill and tomorrow you’ll be ready for your Commencement.’

  A second passed.

  Followed by another.

  And then another.

  Jones didn’t move. He knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Maitland he wasn’t ready for his Commencement because he didn’t want to be a Badlander at all. Ordinary people fascinated him. The way they lived. The things they owned and used. He wanted to be like them. But telling Maitland face to face was difficult, much harder than lying in bed at night and imagining it.

  Maitland’s grey eyes were hardening.

  Jones looked away. All he had to do was push open the door and take one clean shot with his catapult. It would be impossible to be normal after that, though. Jones heard other thoughts inside him too. Arkell had been kind to him in the shop. The man had offered him sweets from the jars. He’d listened to the boy’s every word like a friend.

  The crisp sound of tyres over gravel broke the awful silence. A light swept up from the road, around the bottom of the curving driveway, drawing a bright stripe across the fence beside it.

  Maitland moved quickly, pulling Jones back down the path into the shadows beside the cottage. A succession of thoughts flashed golden inside the boy. The people who lived in the house were returning home . . . Arkell would be disturbed . . . he’d leave . . . because there’d be no sense in revealing himself if the garden was a secret bathing spot. Jones felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he realized there’d be no opportunity to make his first kill tonight. It meant his Commencement wouldn’t happen tomorrow either.

  When Maitland peered round the corner wall of the cottage and began cursing under his breath, Jones took a peek as well. His heart sank. There was no car. It was just a girl, about his age, on a bicycle, cycling awkwardly over the soft, pebbly drive, a single headlamp lighting her way. And then, as if to keep her spirits up, she started to whistle a shaky tune, making Maitland curse more loudly.

  Moments later, the thatch above Jones and Maitland crackled as something landed on it. They heard a low growl. Footsteps pattered along the roof of the cottage.

  Maitland grabbed Jones by the shoulders. ‘What can moon-bathing do?’ Jones blinked. ‘Come on! What?!’

  ‘Hungry,’ whispered the boy. ‘It makes ’em hungry.’

  ‘So what about now?’ asked Maitland. ‘Are you ready now?’ But all Jones could manage was t
o shake his head ‘no’, making his Master mutter something under his breath.

  Arkell dropped from the roof, landing on the driveway in front of the cottage. As he stood up, the man was already changing. There was a crackling in his ribcage as his chest expanded. Black hair was sprouting across his back and shoulders. The tip of a white tusk glinted in the moonlight.

  ‘Maitland,’ hissed the revolver. ‘Forget the boy. Arkell’s an Ogre, a Berserker class. We need to go to work, now. Finish this job ourselves.’ But Maitland just stood there, glaring down at Jones. He didn’t flinch even when he heard the bicycle braking and sliding in the gravel, then clattering onto the driveway.

  ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ growled Maitland as the girl began screaming. And then he ran out of the shadows back down the path while the revolver yelled at him to pull the trigger, announcing it had already selected the right bullet tipped with mistletoe and rowan.

  Jones stood in the dark, cursing himself, wondering what Maitland would say when this was all over. Then his mind unlocked and he ran, following in the footsteps of his Master like a good apprentice should, his catapult in one hand, a silver ball bearing pinched between the fingers of the other.

  TWO

  Ruby was still screaming as she stood up and backed down the drive away from her bicycle, its front wheel ticking round. When her breath finally gave out, she stopped, astonished now by what was happening in front of her.

  Lit by the yellow beam of the headlamp stood a half-naked man, his shadow looming large on the white wall of the cottage behind him. At least, he had been a man because, now, he was changing very quickly into something huge. His lower jaw had already shot out like a drawer, revealing a large U-bend of sharp white teeth, a short tusk protruding on either side. His brown shoes suddenly popped like Christmas crackers as two bulbous, hairy feet appeared with thick nails unfurling into points. The legs of his trousers grinned before splitting across two large grey thighs.

  Ruby could hear one part of her brain yelling: that’sabloomingogretrollmonsterthingy. The other half was shouting that creatures like this only existed in books and films and nightmares. With all the commotion inside her head, she was not sure what to believe. Or think. Or even do. So she was rather glad when a rather more normal-looking man came running down the path beside the cottage, an old baseball cap pulled down over his eyes and his black greatcoat flapping behind him. His arm was raised. And he was holding something in his hand.

  A gunshot rang out and the creatureogretrollthingy howled.

  The noise brought Ruby to her senses, shrinking all the noise in her brain to one quiet and simple idea: slide off your backpack and turn round as quietly as you can. Her second thought was much louder and more to the point: RUUUUUUUU-NNNNNN!

  Maitland swore. He’d misjudged his shot in the dim light of the bicycle’s headlamp and only nicked the Ogre. The gun had been right. Maitland could see from the telltale markings and its size the creature was indeed a Berserker class, a Wédorcnéus, of the type bred centuries ago to fight ferociously in battle and gifted with the special quality of speedy healing too, meaning a clean head shot was required to put it down.

  ‘Gebíed mé glæm,’ muttered Maitland and he conjured out of white sparks in the palm of his hand a ball of bright light, which he flung into the night sky. As it floated above the cottage like a tiny sun, illuminating the driveway below, Maitland could see blood, black as oil, glistening on the Ogre’s thigh, the bullet wound already healing. Maitland took aim again and fired.

  Splinters flashed from the top of the wooden fence on the far side of the driveway. Maitland had missed completely, this time.

  ‘Maitland!’ shouted the revolver. ‘What’s wrong, man?’

  But all Maitland could manage in reply was a long, low gurgle as he dropped to the ground under the weight of a second Wédorcnéus, which had leapt from the roof and landed on top him, one of its tusks impaled through his neck.

  Jones knew instantly that Maitland was going to die and that living to see the morning was now up to him alone. He started running again down the path towards the driveway, raising his catapult and slotting the silver ball bearing into the rubber sling. When he was close enough, he stopped and pulled back the sling until his elbow locked.

  He could see Maitland’s lips moving as the Ogre stood over him, its huge jaws opening to finish him off. But, sensing the boy, the creature suddenly looked up. When it roared at him, the saliva strung between its bloody tusks shimmered like a string of pearls.

  Jones forced himself to look deep into the Ogre’s yellow eyes, then fired.

  The ball bearing arrowed like an icicle and struck the beast in the centre of its large forehead, disappearing into the skull and leaving behind a neat dark hole. The Ogre collapsed instantly onto the driveway beside Maitland, twitched and then lay still.

  Ruby had seen Maitland’s second shot splinter the top of the fence beside the driveway. The bullet had fizzed past her ear and brought her skidding to a stop. Looking round, she saw the man in the greatcoat pinned beneath a second ogreytrollythingy. But, when she realized the first one was striding across the driveway towards her, she willed her legs to turn her back round so she could carry on running.

  It only half worked, because, as her right leg moved, the left one held firm, making her skid round in the gravel. Ruby’s arms windmilled as she tried staying upright. But she failed dismally at that and toppled backwards just as the creature leapt for her. A blast of hot, filthy breath parted Ruby’s long black hair down the centre as the beast soared over her head and crashed into the fence beyond.

  Landing on the driveway with a crunch, Ruby lay blinking and frightened. A shooting star skimmed briefly across the night sky. And then a voice inside told her she’d be vanishing too unless she started running again. She sat up just in time to hear a nasty growl as the ogretrollthing pulled itself free from the broken fence.

  ‘The cægggggg,’ whispered Maitland, the words turning to air as he struggled to speak. ‘The keeyyy!’

  Maitland’s neck was hot and slippery with blood, and Jones fumbled with the silver chain around it. Eventually, he found the clasp and opened it. A silver key, hooked through its eye, dangled below the boy’s shaking hand. Maitland had never discussed the key required for Jones’s Commencement. So here was a moment. Here was something that had never happened before.

  Blood clambered up the sides of Maitland’s teeth as he smiled, eyeballing the body of the dead Ogre beside him, and tried to say something. But all he managed was a little nod. Jones laid his hand on Maitland’s arm, gripping tighter as though the world was about to break apart and send them spinning into space.

  A long, slow breath crept out of Maitland’s lungs. The power in his body faded. And the night pressed in around Jones, creeping black fingers into his throat, forcing his eyes to fill up with tears.

  ‘JONES!’ shouted the revolver, lying on the gravel beside the dead man. ‘You need to finish off here. You need to look sharp, boy, just like Maitland would have done. Or else you’re going to be joining him.’

  Jones wiped his eyes and managed a small nod. He became aware of a low growling off to his right and looked up to see Arkell, still in his Ogre form, towering over the girl. She was doing her best to crawl down the driveway towards the road. But, each time she moved a few metres, the creature grabbed her ankle and dragged her backwards, until suddenly it seemed to tire of the game and picked her up by one foot, making her scream.

  Jones slotted another ball bearing into the sling of his catapult and picked out a point on the Ogre’s large head.

  The silver ball disappeared like a tiny shooting star.

  Nothing for a heartbeat . . .

  . . . and then a terrible howl. The Ogre dropped the girl and swung round to face Jones, a red groove shining along the left side of its head, but already healing fast. Jones cursed and fumbled for another ball bearing in his overcoat pocket as the creature that had been Arkell a few minutes ago
thundered towards him.

  Ruby pushed herself up onto her elbows just in time to see the boy fire another ball bearing. The ogretrollthing landed at his feet in a spray of gravel and lay there twitching, and then its body became still. For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Ruby began to hear simple sounds. A breeze rattling the leaves of an old oak tree standing over the road . . . the drumming of her heart telling her she was still alive . . . the boy’s black boots kicking the beast to check it was dead as the catapult wilted in his hand.

  Then Ruby’s eyes clicked shut on their own and the last thing she heard was the back of her head hitting the gravel.

  Jones stood over the unconscious girl, her black hair gathered around her on the gravel, and watched her breathing, knowing he still had work to do. Aiming another ball bearing at her forehead, the catapult began to creak as he pulled back the sling.

  But his arm stopped as she groaned and opened her eyes, and he looked down into them.

  ‘Do it, Jones!’ shouted the revolver, still lying on the gravel. ‘It’s for her own good. She’ll make forhwierfende if she’s been bitten. You know how it works with shifters and the curse they can spread.’

  The girl’s face twisted up, and she tried to shrink away as she realized what was about to happen.

  ‘Please,’ she whimpered. ‘Stop.’

  Different thoughts hurtled through Jones’s brain as he looked down into two blue eyes full of fear.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, his arm trembling with the catapult ready to fire.

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Did it bite you?!’

  ‘Go on,’ shouted the revolver. ‘One little scratch from a shapeshifter, that’s all it takes!’

  Jones studied the girl, deciding she was about his age as he looked for any cuts or bites, warning signs she might be able to make forhwierfende and shapeshift into an Ogre, albeit a small one.