LITMIR.BIZ

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fought, surely we must fight it?” urged Ned’s dad.

      As horrific as the idea was, Ned couldn’t help but agree. Surely any price was worth paying if it could stop the creature from rising.

      “The battle will be fought, Terry, but we aren’t ready,” explained Benissimo. “At-lan was originally devised to rid us of the Darkening King and, as involved as you were in the latter part of its construction, Terry, we haven’t the resources or time to rebuild it. Barba had been making its components in secret for months before he took you. We believe there are but weeks now till he rises.”

      “H-how do you know?!” stammered Ned.

      “Sur-jan, the Demon you went to see – he’s one of several. There are those amongst them that fear the creature’s return as much as we do, maybe more. After all, they know what he’s actually capable of.”

      And at this Ned’s dad became visibly ruffled.

      “Well, if your new pals here hadn’t stormed in when they did, we’d know a lot more than we do now!”

      “Calm yourself, Terry. Another Demon of his kind has made contact with us. About two months ago messages started to arrive, though the informant won’t give us his name. We don’t know who he is or where he’s hiding, but he claims to be a Demon at any rate. If what he’s told us is true, there is a way to destroy the Darkening King but it must be done at the precise moment he forms.”

      Mr Fox turned to the Armstrongs.

      “The BBB represent just about every government body there is, whether said body knows it or not. We are preparing to launch a full-scale attack, with Benissimo and his allies’ help of course, but an outright assault is pointless unless we can actually destroy the creature once we get past its defences.”

      “And how exactly, Mr Fox, do we do that?” asked Olivia Armstrong.

      Mr Fox looked to the Tinker and then to Benissimo. Benissimo nodded.

      “We have no idea, though if this informant is to be trusted, there is someone who might.”

      

       Who? What? Why?

      ell?” urged Ned’s mum.

      “Yes, who? Who knows?” reiterated his dad.

      Mr Fox looked rather awkward. It was clearly a state which he was not unaccustomed to being in.

      “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

      At this point both of Ned’s parents, and in truth Ned himself, became more than a little irate.

      “You don’t trust us?!” said Olivia Armstrong in a dangerously quiet voice. “Well, of all the … First of all, you blow our mission moments before it comes good, then you kidnap us, then you lead us round your base and show us all this intel and now – if I’m hearing you right – you aren’t going to actually tell us anything USEFUL!”

      Olivia Armstrong was seething and Ned had no doubt that she was about to fly into another arm-bashing tirade.

      “Madam, first of all I would like to remind you that, though Benissimo is indeed in charge of this operation, you are standing in the base that I built, and I am not one for emotional outbursts, unless coming directly from my superiors in the BBB, of which there are only two. More importantly, however, I am unable to tell you who holds the knowledge, because your unkillable friend here has not actually told me.”

      Ned’s mum quietened. “Oh.”

      Benissimo signalled to Tinks and the network’s screen turned black.

      “It’s not ideal, but the more people that are kept in the dark, the wider the chink in my brother’s armour. Atticus is still trying to manipulate the Twelve and its pinstripes, though they’re beginning to see through his lies, and the Hidden are more vulnerable than ever. We are on a knife edge – everything, and I do mean everything, depends on the secrecy of our operation. Barbarossa’s arrogance is our best weapon, and the weaker he believes us to be, the better our chances. The Hidden have split into untrusting pockets, barely threaded together by their leaders. I’ve spent months reaching out to them in secret and few of them know what the plan of attack will be once they’re called.”

      “Then who actually does know?” asked Ned.

      “Me,” said Benissimo.

      At that Mr Fox looked slightly, if not openly, irritated.

      Benissimo continued, “I leave tonight, and if this informant of ours is right, we will have ourselves a route to victory.”

      “And what are we supposed to do till you come back?” asked Ned’s dad.

      “Nothing, old friend, for now. When I return, if I return, I will – and not for the first time – be asking you all for everything.”

      

       Little to Do about Nothing

      s a young man Terrence Armstrong had dedicated his life to fighting evil, always by Benissimo’s side and always in the thick of the fight. And though fatherhood changes a man and Terry’s one true focus was now the safety of his family, the bond between him and the ancient Ringmaster was still as strong as it was deep. His wife had proved to be an equally capable fighter and the consummate spy. She had managed over the course of nearly all of Ned’s life to remain completely hidden from the “Hidden” and to outwit both Barbarossa and every friendly operative working for the Twelve that had been tasked with finding her.

      It was fitting then that Benissimo should need to talk to them. He did not, however, appear to want or need to talk to Ned, which as it turned out made Ned feel both furious and useless in equal measure.

      He sat alone in a stark room; it had a bed and a sidelight, a sink at one end and no windows. It was far more like a cell than anything else. The Tinker had returned Whiskers to him, with a small but extremely useful upgrade. A tracking device had been welded into his casing. From now on, no matter where Ned was, as long as his trusty mouse was with him, the Tinker could use his network’s “eyes in the sky” to locate him, which had the dual effect of making Ned feel both safe and irritated. What if he didn’t want to be found?

      Whiskers was staring up at him from the palm of his hand. Gorrn meanwhile was busying himself with Ned’s sheets. Ned could only put his new-found helpfulness down to their change in surroundings; the odd creature was folding away his covers and stuffing them into a small drawer.

      “Gorrn, they were fine where they were.”

      “Gru?”

      “The sheets, Gorrn … Oh, never mind, I’ll deal with them later. And, err, thank you.”

      “Arr.”

      Whiskers was still staring.

      “Just like old times, eh? You, me and the shadow.”

      The Debussy Mark Twelve bobbed its head in a “yes”.

      Only it wasn’t anything like old times, not really. He had his mum and dad, and nothing was more

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