Oscar had never been up this late before. London didn’t seem to have a bedtime, but the Museum was quiet and dark. The sounds of the nighttime city grew gradually more distant as they passed through the great gates and crossed the courtyard to the pale, dreaming columns of the Museum. Ridley had assembled quite a force, a squad of Knights Errant, trusted Knights Watchmen and Wish Hounds, and Oscar and Maggs, of course, but they made little noise as they climbed the steps to the doors.

Ridley gestured and the doors creaked open slowly, echoing in the hall beyond. They filed in, the claws of the Wish Hounds clicking on the tiled floor.

Ridley held up her hand and they all stopped, straining for a sound in the silence of the empty museum. Oscar could hear a whimpering coming from somewhere close by. Ridley muttered something and the silver tip of her staff started to glow dimly. She swung it and it cast out a beam of blue light, like a torch, shining into a corner of the entrance hall.

There was a man there in an ill-fitting blue security guard’s uniform. He was curled up into a little ball in the corner and when the light hit him he flinched away and moaned under his breath.

“He’s here alright,” Ridley’s voice was low and confidential, “We split into three groups, but we stay in sight of each other, understood? Harker, take the left, Murray, the right, the rest of you with me.”

Murray and Harker, the Knight Watchman from the White Tower, each took three Watchmen and moved away into the shadows. Ridley motioned to Maggs and Oscar to stay close to her as they crossed out of the entrance into the Great Court beyond.

Oscar had been in the museum in daylight but nothing could have prepared him for this scene. The Great Court is an enormous open space in the middle of the museum with a huge round library in the centre of it. It has a curving roof of many panes of glass over it and in the moonlight this cast a net of shadow over the space below.

Ridley moved forward cautiously, going round to the left of the rotunda in front of them. Out of the corner of his eye Oscar could see Murray’s group moving to the right.

Ridley stopped suddenly and pointed. Ahead of them was a doorway in the wall of the Great Court leading into the museum galleries beyond. There was a dim light glowing from the entrance, flickering and changing as if something was moving about in the space beyond.

Ridley made a signal to Harker, who was behind them, and then went forward, towards the door. Oscar had a terrible feeling that he remembered vaguely from nightmares: the sense that there was something horrible ahead that he really didn’t want to see, but knowing that he was going to look anyway. And they were through the doorway and into the gallery.

The shadows were thicker here and it was hard to make out details. Shapes loomed out of the darkness, massive and indistinct. The glow flickered again and brightened and Oscar found himself gazing into the impassive stare of an Egyptian Pharaoh, a granite stare thousands of years away from caring about a small boy in the dark.

And then a shadow fell over them and Oscar looked up to find himself looking at… for a moment he could make no sense of it, a great knot of thicker shadow, a beak, a hand, and then it turned and it almost had a shape, a giant with the head of a bird, stooping through the gloom towards them.

There was a rustle of feathers and cloth and a smell of dust and dry bones and then it was past and Oscar could see it pass on in the moonlight, only half there, the dream of something great and endless.

“Mighty Thoth,” Maggs’ voice trembled in his ear, “The ibis-headed, father of magic…”

Then something else came gliding down between them and Oscar felt something brush his cheek. The scale of it confused him for a moment until he realised that it was a giant hand, reaching down through the darkness.

Then a flesh and blood hand grabbed by the shoulder, pulling him out of the way, and he found himself pulled up against Ridley, her other hand extended, pointing away in the darkness.

“Look! There!”

Even before he looked, Oscar felt the first cold nausea of fear in his stomach and knew that there were Darklings nearby. Ahead of them, in the gloom, was the monumental torso and head of an Egyptian pharaoh, but it wasn’t his wrinkled sneer that rooted Oscar to the spot, it was the tall, thin dark figure perched on the top of his head.

The figure unfolded itself - long and dark in a shapeless black cloak like a swirl of night - and then it turned and leapt away, and, as it went, it split into two, three - shadows that flapped down towards them between the statues, bumping into the stones, fumbling their way towards them, bat-things that seemed not quite to remember their own shapes.

Then there was a flash of silver in the darkness and sharp clang as Ridley swung her sword out sweeping first one, then the other flying thing back into the darkness and the great, dark form of hawk-headed Horus passed over them and hid them from sight.

“Come on! After them! Move!”

She still had hold of Oscar and she dragged him after her as she sprang forward after the Darklings, rebounding off statues and stones as they went, dodging between the ghosts of the ancient gods and the remains of their monuments, the rest of the Magi staggering in their wake.

And they were out of the gallery and bouncing up a flight of stairs into the darkness above.

Ridley stopped at the top of the stairs and finally let go of Oscar. Maggs came panting up behind them, but Ridley gestured to her to be quiet and crept forward. Ahead of her was a dark opening and she stopped on the threshold, listening.

Oscar stood still for a moment, listening himself - there was a sound, somewhere in the gallery beyond, a kind of muffled thudding and thumping.

Ridley gestured and the other Magi moved forward silently to join her, as they padded through the doorway and into the thicker darkness beyond.

The Magi moved so quietly that Oscar soon lost track of where they were around him, concentrating as he was on making as little noise as possible and stopping his borrowed sneakers from squeaking on the tiled floor.

He could hear, however, that the thumping was getting louder and more insistent as they approached. He could hear it clearly now: it was the sound of someone banging against glass. Banging with something soft and padded, he thought. And then he thought: ’someone’ or… ’something’. And then he wished he hadn’t thought that at all, because the noise was now right there: right in front of them: thump, thump. Thump.

And then Ridley’s staff blazed into bright light again and with a thump it was right there: a bundle of dirty brown rags and wrinkled black leather.

Thump: No! A face! Ancient, cured skin pulled tight across crumbling grey bones, a hand wrapped in tattered cloths banging against the glass of a display case, sightless dark eye sockets looming forward out of the shadows.

Thump! And Oscar suddenly realised what he was looking at: an Ancient Egyptian mummy, hurling itself out of the shadows at the glass of the case it found itself shut up in!

Thump! A creaking and a crash and the glass splintered, there was a cloud of choking grey dust and that terrible face came smashing through the case, it’s jaw falling loose in a horrible silent shout, its stiff arms flailing out at them as it lurched forward.

There was a ringing, bright flash and Ridley’s sword arced forwards in the bright light. The mummy’s head suddenly leapt upwards and backwards, cut off from the body, bouncing off the display case and landing at Oscar’s feet. He jumped back instinctively, straight into Maggs, who pulled him away from it as the mummy’s body came fumbling forward, trying to find its missing part.

And then all around them came the scraping and creaking of sarcophagi lids and a louder and louder thumping and cracking of glass as the Mummies of the British Museum came shambling back to life.

“Fall back! All of you, fall back!” Ridley held her staff high above her head, walking carefully backwards back towards the door. Shuffling backwards before her, Oscar could see that the whole room was alive with shadows in the wan light.

Mouldering, leathery faces, ghostly grey, came lurching between the display cases, reaching blindly for the Magi and at their feet, tottering along, came the Canopic jars, containing the inner organs of the mummies, their animal heads snapping as they bounced.

Then something musty and suffocating was clasped over Oscar’s mouth and he was pulled sideways almost off his feet, and, all of a sudden, the room twisted and changed. The light became redder, flickering, hieroglyphics scattered up the walls like insects and a murmuring of some whispered incantation filled his ears.

Then there was a shout and hiss of steel and he was back in the museum, a mummy’s arm lying at his feet and Sir Edward Harker hacking its owner into pieces at his side. Then Maggs hustled him back through the door onto the landing into the safety of the waiting Magi.

Ridley came through after them, now frantically slashing at the ancient bones reaching out for her from the darkness beyond.

“Harker - you and your men try and hold them off: we can’t let ourselves be distracted. Lattimer, take that door, this way, you lot.”

Oscar had been aware of someone chanting in the darkness and now there came the clank of armour and the sound of sandals on stone. He turned to look in time to see the crested helmet of a Greek hoplite come bobbing though the doorway. Below it, somewhere, a bronze breastplate glinted and a short sword swung. Behind it another followed, and another, marching to the call of the Magi.

In the dim light Oscar could almost see a shadowy form under the armour, the vague outline of a face, of a body, the memory of some fallen Greek warrior, thousands of years gone, striding back from the past into battle against the shambling hordes of dead kings.

But Oscar didn’t have a chance to see this mighty clash: Ridley grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him after her into a different gallery.

“Come on, after me!” Ridley was walking as quickly as she could, trying to give Oscar a chance to keep up with her, “They’re trying to distract us, slow us down, throw us off the scent, we can’t let them get away from us this time…”

Someone was panting in Oscar’s ear and he looked round to find Maggs jogging up behind them, trying to keep pace, “Don’t worry about them getting away from us, worry about us getting away from that sphinx…”

Ridley turned on her, “What sphinx?”

Something roared in answer and then there was a deafening crash as a huge, bearded stone head swung in through the door lintel in a cloud of dust and flying splinters and roared at them again.

“Murray!” Ridley shouted over her shoulders, “Hold this gallery!”

The was the sound of something breaking and Murray yelled something out in reply that Oscar couldn’t understand and was in turn replied by a shout and a clash of arms. Oscar turned to see him standing, grinning, as a crowd of Roman legionaries sprang from the display cases around him, rattling their short swords on their shields. In the darkness Oscar could almost see their faces, but where the moonlight fell on them, they were just ghosts and he could see straight through them to the display cases on the far side of the room.

Murray shouted orders in Latin and the legionaries replied, their voices distant and tinny like the echoes from the bottom of a well. The sphinx roared again, shaking itself, trying to fit its ponderous stone bulk through the doorway as the Romans closed in and Ridley dragged Oscar out of the gallery to the sound of sword on granite.

The sounds of fighting faded behind them as they ran on through the dark and solemn galleries, until they came to a corner room where the quiet shadows were thick and Oscar could hear water somewhere, splashing gently.

Ridley made for the far door but was stopped by a Magi who came staggering through it, waving her back.

“Vikings,” he wheezed and stopped, leaning against the doorjamb to get his breath back, “Vikings, Saxons, Knights, Romano-Celtic Cavalry: it’s chaos down there - we’re holding the head of the stairs but it’s pretty hairy. Literally hairy, actually, with those Vikings.”

Ridley went to push past him.

“They’re trying to hold us back: we have to push through…”

“No!” Maggs had grabbed hold of her sleeve and was holding her back, “You can’t take the boy down there, it’s too parlour… pearly… dangerous!”

“Look, Maggs, they’re obviously trying to delay us…”

“Well, it’s working. I’m not taking Oscar down there. Not until its safe.”

“Alright - you stay here with the boy: we’ll try and find a way…”

“You can’t leave us on our own here, what if they come back?”

“Wait a minute, that’s it!” Oscar grabbed hold of Ridley’s other sleeve, “If we can’t get to the Darklings, why not get them to come to us?”

“Oscar!” Maggs was shocked, “Even if we could do such a thing, why would we want to?”

“Because it’s an excellent idea,” said Ridley, firmly, “What’s the plan, Oscar?”

They had come up to a room that Maggs called The Charter Chamber, although Oscar couldn’t see quite why they had come up there at all. There seemed to be just as many Magi here as there had been in the Great Hall, only now packed into a space ten times smaller. There were three rows of benches along three walls of the room and each row was packed with Magi, with some of them even climbing higher up the walls to perch precariously on the wood panelling.

Oscar and Maggs were sat at a large round table that took up the centre of the room. Cuddy was at the head, with the old Lord Chancellor and the small woman who had been on stage earlier seated on his right. The rest of the table was crammed full of a variety of Magi, some of whom Oscar recognised from the raid on the White Tower, including Murray, who waved at him, cheerfully flapping a piece of blood-soaked bandage where his hand had been hastily bound up.

There were also some older men and women who all shared a look of confusion and surprise. Oscar suspected that they had, up till Thursby and Cuddy had taken over, been important Magi, who were now somewhat taken aback to find themselves not so important as before. Cuddy was trying to control the meeting, but everyone else seemed to determined to have their say and not let anyone else stop them.

Ridley was crammed into a corner behind Cuddy and she smiled at him and then turned her attention to the debate around her.

The fourth wall of the Chamber was almost entirely glass: it was, in fact, the back of the stained glass windows that looked down over the stage of the Great Hall. Seen from behind the images were oddly flat and confusing, but you could see a lot more of the detail.

Oscar could now clearly see the huge, wingless, white dragon that coiled up the centre of the windows, its yellow eyes staring down at them all, blindly. Next to it was a man in what Oscar took to be some sort of toga, holding an apple in one hand and a black staff in the other, like the one the Knights Watchmen carried. There was a scrolling piece of paper by his head with something that looked like a name written on it, only it was meant to be read from the other side and was all the wrong way round.

‘NOTWEN’

Oscar tilted his head on one side trying to figure out what it said.

“Maggs!” he jabbed her with his elbow and whispered under the talk around them, “Why is that man labelled ‘Newton’?”

“Because that’s his name,” she hissed back, “Isaac Newton, he foundered the Royal Order.”

“Newton? The man who invented gravity?”

“He didn’t invent it, dear, he discovered it,” Maggs was trying to follow all the arguments going on around them and wasn’t giving him her full attention, “Just like he discovered the Magi.”

“So he didn’t invent the Magi? They were already there?”

“Goodness, no, there have always been Magi, he just helped get them organasised… he helped get us our Charter - that’s it there - in that case on the table,” Maggs was pointing at a wooden box in the middle of the table. It had a glass lid and Oscar could see inside something that looked like a piece of paper.

“It’s the Charter that makes us a Royal Order, you see,” added Maggs, but she was distracted by Cuddy leaning over the Charter and jabbing at the glass himself.

“The Wise Lords have been deposed, we have Darklings rampaging around, the Knights Watchmen are not to be trusted, the whole Order is in an uproar, what else would you call this but an emergency?”

“Cuddy,” Maggs’ voice cut through the hubbub, “You can’t just declare emerginancy powers like that. You can’t just throw out everything.”

“Clive and I were elected to our positions completely legally according to the Charter,” Cuddy banged on the glass again, “And also according to that Charter, I am enabled to declare a state…”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Maggs was standing up now and leaning over the table, not that it made much difference to her height compared to when she was sitting down, “It’s exactly what Skelton did when he became Lord Protector and institutitoo… started The Veil: you’re turning into Skelton, Cuddy.” The noise dropped at this and all eyes turned on Cuddy, “I thought that that was what you were replacing…”

“She’s right, Cuddy,” Murray spoke up, “We do things differently.”

The assembled Magi murmured their agreement.

Cuddy held out his hands, pleading, “But we need change, you all know, you’ve all shown your readiness, you all took the vote in the Great Hall, a vote for change…”

“Yes, Cuddy, for change, not for destruction,” protested Maggs.

“Maggs is right,” said the man who had been Lord Chancellor when the evening began, “If the Magi want change, it’s reform, not revolution.”

“We all know what you want,” interrupted Murray, “And that’s no change at all.” The old Lord Chancellor blanched and drew back in his seat.

“You said it yourself, Cuddy,” Ridley leaned into the table, “The whole Order is in uproar, we can’t go around making things worse - we need calm and stability, not more chaos.”

“Ridley is right,” agreed Maggs, “You and Clive have been elected, that’s two out of the Three Lords, we need that leadership.”

“Maybe we do,” Cuddy was reluctant, “But what do you propose to do about the third Lord, the Lord Protector? We can’t trust the Watchmen, not now, and we certainly don’t want to create another Skelton.”

“The Knights Errant,” said Murray, and there was a gasp round the table, “Lift the ban and you’ve got a replacement for the Watchmen right there.”

“That’s ridiculous,” cried the old Lord Chancellor.

“That’s reform,” retorted Cuddy and there was a ripple of applause that spread out from the back of the room, “Andrew’s right, it’s a perfect solution…”

“But what about the Lord Protector?” Ridley leant forward again, “It’s not just the title, you know, it’s concentrating all that power in one person’s hands…”

“I have an idea,” said Maggs, and Oscar noticed that she was smiling to herself, “I think what we need is a Lord Protector as a figurehat, someone who can representatate the new Wise Lords and the Council, who can samba… simba… be young and new and trustworthy…”

“Ha!” Ridley laughed with delight and clapped her hands. Everyone turned to look at her, “Sorry,” she was still laughing, “I just figured out where Maggs was heading… you’re going to love this…” and she grinned at Oscar again, a wide, delighted grin.

“Who better,” continued Maggs, “Than someone who has played a key role in today’s events, who has faced down Darklings, Watchmen, even the old Lord Protector…”

“Someone,” said Ridley, “We can all trust…”

“I give you the new Lord Protector, Defender of the Magi and Commander of the Temple,” said Maggs, grandly and suddenly put her arm round Oscar’s shoulders, “Lord Oscar.”

All Oscar really got from the rest of the meeting was a sore back, since everyone in the room seemed determined to clap him on the shoulders in congratulations at least twice. It was soon evident that everyone else thought Maggs’ idea was the solution they all needed - even if Oscar had his doubts, not least because then all started trying to explain his new job to him all at once, which was loud, confusing and, frankly, irritating.

Maggs, however, soon realised that what the new Lord Protector chiefly needed was not a discussion of the transfer of power to the Knights Errant, or a guided tour of his new offices in the Temple, or even another a round of hearty cheers, but actually something more like supper and bed, before he dropped where he stood. So, eventually, Oscar found himself sitting at a large, rough table in a vast, echoey kitchen somewhere deep under the Temple.

They were surrounded by all kinds of mysterious looking pieces of equipment, but couldn’t find anyone who knew how to use any of it, so Maggs was making do with toasting cheese under a grill.

The black cat had reappeared and was sitting as close as it could to the heat, watching the cheese bubbling underneath.

“But that’s not real, is it, Maggs?” Oscar could quite take it all in, “I’m not really Lord Protector, am I? I mean, that’s an adult’s job, isn’t it?”

“And yet not everyone who has been one has been very adult about it,” Mags chuckled to herself, “Does that look done to you?” She poked a bit of cheese suspiciously, “Perhaps not…” She slid it back under the grill, “But you really are Lord Protectoror, Oscar, I’m afraid that bit’s true, yes - I thought it was a good idea to have someone that everyone could trust, but now I’m worriting about what I might have got you into…”

“But how can I be?” Oscar protested, “I mean, I don’t know any magic, I know anything about Darklings or anything - it should be someone like Ridley or Murray, they’d be much better at it…”

“That, I’m afraid, is rather the point - we’ve had someone who was good at the job and look where that got us - I rather think we want someone who’s just good, for the moment…”

“Which would be fine, if everyone else were good,” said a voice, and Oscar turned to find Ridley standing in the doorway, ” but sadly Oscar’s quite right, these are dangerous times and… oh, is that cheese on toast?” and she jumped up to sit on the table and stole a slice from Oscar’s plate, “Case in point,” she continued through a mouthful of hot cheese, “The wards have been breached in the Museum - the spirits are moving: there are Darklings abroad tonight.”

“Oh no,” Maggs turned from slicing bread, “No, you don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Oscar was confused.

“This is it,” Ridley was gleeful, “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for, our chance to confront the Wild Ride, to stop hiding and skulking behind the Veil and start taking charge, to take the fight to them…”

“You’re going to fight the Darklings?” Oscar was finding Ridley’s excitement infectious.

“And we can’t do that without our Lord Protector, can we?”

“Ridley!” Maggs waved the breadknife at her, “He’s a child!”

“And he’s faced Darklings before and seen them off…”

“Maggs…” Oscar started to protest.

“I said, no,” Maggs was firm, “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Then you’re coming too? Excellent,” Ridley grabbed hold of Oscar hand and whirled him out of his seat, “Come on, then, there’s no time to lose…” and she hurried out of the door with Maggs scurrying to catch up.

Lord Skelton walked slowly down the passageway and out into the centre of the hall, lazily swinging his umbrella with every step. As he moved forward, Oscar moved back, anxious not to be seen by his godfather just yet, especially now that he knew that his godfather was the dreaded Lord Protector.

“What do you have to do, Mr Cuddy?” Skelton’s voice was quiet but carried to every corner of the hall in the silence.

“Lo… Lord Cuddy… I’m Lord Cuddy now”

“What was that Mr Cuddy?” Skelton had reached the steps and was now climbing slowly onto the stage. The whole hall was watching him, frozen to the spot - even Cuddy seemed unable to take his hands off the lectern. There was something so quietly dangerous about his casual advance into the room, like some awful creature stalking through the crowd, “Do you have to endanger every Magi in this room? Do you have to undo the safety of two decades? Do you have to destroy the Temple?”

He didn’t bluster and threaten like the captured Knight Watchman or shout and jeer like Thursby, he just spoke clearly and simply and let every word sink in, like a bell tolling somewhere, warning of danger, danger, danger…

“I bring news my lords,” he was talking to the assembled crowd, but he didn’t raise his voice to do so, relying instead on their hush for his voice to carry, “I have pursued the Wild Ride across three continents and two oceans and I have discovered their schemes. Their lord and master, the one who calls himself the Erl King, plots against the Temple itself - this very building, the heart of the Royal Order, against all of you…

“Do you trust Mr Cuddy and his young friends to protect you? Can your promise them that, Mr Cuddy? When the Erl King comes looking for you, when the Darklings stalk the corridors and the Wild Ride scours the Temple, will you be ready for them? Or should you stop this charade before someone else gets hurt, before everyone else gets hurt?”

A more menacing note had entered his voice as he crossed the stage and with each swing the silver tip of his umbrella pointed directly at Cuddy, flashing a glinting threat in time to his steps. Cuddy took his hands from the lectern and fell back a single step.

“What should you do, Mr Cuddy? What should you do?”

Skelton stepped forward again, swinging up his umbrella. Cuddy stepped back once more and then…

“Stop it!” Oscar hadn’t meant to say anything, but he simply couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

Skelton turned at the sound of a new voice and then his jaw dropped: “Oscar?” he gasped and the change in his voice suddenly changed everything in the room. He stared at Oscar, astonished.

“What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Ridley stepped forward and laid a protective hand on Oscar’s shoulder, “You have no power here, anymore, Mr Skelton. The Magi have spoken - we have a new Lord Chancellor now, a new Lord Lector, we will have a new Lord Protector.”

“Ridley?” Skelton’s voice was still surprised.

“Oscar is right,” said Ridley, carefully, “This has to stop, now.”

“You are a Knight Watchman, Mistress Ridley.” His voice was flat, “This is treachery.”

“This is loyalty, Mr Skelton, loyalty to the Three Wise Lords and the High Council, loyalty to our traditions and laws, loyalty to the Royal Fraternal Order of the Magi. These are my masters, Mr Skelton,” and she gestured with her hand at the assembled Magi, “Not you.”

Skelton stared at the two of them in silence for a moment and then, somewhere at the back of the hall, someone began to clap, slowly and hesitantly at first and then gaining in confidence as first one person joined in and then another and then another until the whole hall was applauding. And then they were on their feet, clapping and shouting and cheering, not just for Ridley but also for themselves, as they realised what had just happened: the rule of Lord Skelton and his Knights Watchmen was over - the Magi were free once more!

Skelton looked round at the cheering hall. He no longer looked surprised or angry; he just looked tired and sad. He looked back at Oscar and Ridley and he suddenly smiled, a strange confused, amused little smile and he shook his head as if to clear it.

Cuddy stepped back up to the lectern and motioned for silence, but had little luck getting any - everyone was enjoying cheering themselves a little too much. He shouted over the noise.

“Please can some of you help Mistress Ridley and accompany Master Skelton to his chambers, where we will hold him in custody until the council has time to deal with this case.”

Those that heard him cheered even louder and then those that hadn’t cheered louder anyway, so that the noise became quite deafening.

The Magi were all now out of their seats and pushing down towards the stage. Ridley singled a few of them out, including the two Watchmen who had been guarding the door, and they climbed on stage to surround Skelton and shepherd him away.

“Wait!” The Magi fell back from around him, many of them raising their arms in defence, “If I’m going,” he turned and pointed directly at Oscar, “He goes too.”

Oscar’s toes curled up in his shoes - he knew what was coming - but Cuddy just laughed.

“This is the fearsome Lord Skelton, is it? Taking petty revenge on the little boy who has helped destroy his evil regime.”

“What are you talking about?” Skelton looked confused, “No, I’m just worried - he shouldn’t be here - it’s too dangerous - he should be at home with his parents…” Skelton suddenly realised that everyone was staring at him, taken aback by his strange concern for Oscar’s welfare, “Well, shouldn’t I be worried? I am his godfather after all…”

The whole audience froze and, as one, turned and stared at Oscar. This, this little boy who had faced down the Wild Ride, who had stopped the Lord Protector in his tracks, who had helped free the Magi from their own self-imposed exile, this was the godson of the dreadful Lord Skelton? Maggs stepped closer and knelt down beside him.

“Oscar? Is this true?”

“Ye… yes it is.” Oscar suddenly felt something brush against his legs. It was the little black cat, and the warmth of it settling down on his feet suddenly made him feel a little less alone up there on the stage. “He’s my Uncle Rufus - the one who gave me the book - but I didn’t know - not until just now - honest I didn’t.”

“That terrible work the King hath wrought, by the King’s own hand shall be brought to naught,” Maggs spoke softly, with a far away look in her eyes.

“But you can’t send me home!” Oscar blurted out, “I don’t want to… he… he’s not Lord Protector anymore - you don’t have to do what he says!”

The moment he had spoken he was sorry, because he saw the shocked and disappointed look on Uncle Rufus’ face. But then he remembered that this wasn’t just Uncle Rufus, this was the terrible Lord Skelton, who had ruled and oppressed the Magi with an iron hand for so many years. And Cuddy seemed to agree with him:

“Ha ha! No he isn’t! And even his own family stands up to him! Well said, Oscar, well said - take him away…”

And the Magi assembled round him took hold of Rufus Skelton and bundled him off the stage. But all the while he was staring at Oscar, looking sorry and confused and, Oscar thought, just a little bit cross.

They marched through the double doors into an enormous hall that if anything was even more sumptuous and magnificent than the preceding hallway. The hall was semi-circular in shape, with tiers of seats rising to create an amphitheatre around a central, semi-circular stage. They entered through the middle one of three long entrance passages that carved out long valleys in the slope of the rows of seats, and Oscar could see that all the seats on either side of them were packed with people, all talking and shouting between themselves, apparently ignoring whatever was going on on the stage in front of them.

The stage was bare except for a lectern in the shape of a great white stone dragon, with its outstretched wings forming the top of the stand. Behind that were three great golden thrones, two smaller ones - one upholstered in blue velvet and bronze stars, the other in green with silver moons - stood either side of an enormous central throne, covered in coiling wooden dragons, with a cushion of blood red leather dotted with golden flames. Behind the thrones were choir stalls and then a high panelled wall into which had been carved row after row of names. Above them, disappearing into shadow was a set of stained glass windows, dark and indistinct in the night.

There was a man standing at the lectern on the stage - a large, bald man, with a white beard, wearing what looked like a shapeless blue dressing gown, which parted in the middle to reveal an untucked white shirt flapping over a sizable stomach. He had evidently got dressed in a hurry because his hair was still standing on end and he only had one slipper on. He was shouting, trying to make himself heard over the commotion all around him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please, you must all calm down - this is no time for panic. I realise that we all want to get to the bottom of what happened at Hammages this afternoon, but there are far more pressing matters for us to attend to…”

The only person who seemed to be listening to the man in the dressing gown was a small lady who was perched behind him on the green throne, her legs swinging several inches off the ground, chewing her lip and drumming her fingers nervously on the arm of her throne.

“Please, Ladies and Gentlemen - you must listen - I have just been informed of an emergency occurring even now…”

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A new voice, louder than all the others, cut through the hubbub and this new interruption brought a sudden pause in the surrounding noise. It was Thursby - he had jumped up onto the stage next to the man in the dressing gown and was trying himself to get the attention of the crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! You should be listening to what the Lord Chancellor has to say…”

The man in the blue dressing gown looked pleased at this and opened his mouth to say ‘Thanky…” when Thursby cut him off again.

“Because right now we face the most important emergency the Order has ever faced!”

“That’s right, thank you, and now if you’d just listen…”

“The White Tower has been emptied! The prisoners are free!”

For a moment the room sat in stunned silence at Thursby’s outburst and then everyone began shouting again, even louder than before, calling out furious denials, arguing about what he meant, demanding answers to vital questions.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Once again Thursby’s voice rang out over the clamour, “Do you want to know what happened this afternoon in Hammages? Do you want to know what is happening right now at The White Tower?” It seemed that they did. “Then listen to me!

“This afternoon the Wild Ride attacked Hammages! Yes, it’s true!” The revelation had caused another round of shouting, but Thursby just carried on regardless, “And what did the Knights Watchmen do to protect this most secret and safe of places? Did they protect the Magi there and face down the Darklings? No! No, they did not! But someone did! Yes, someone faced down the Rebel Spirits and drove them off! It’s true! And what’s more - it was a child! Come up here, Oscar…” Oscar climbed up the steps onto the stage, aware that all the eyes in the hall were on him, “This boy, this child, faced down the Wild Ride where no other Magi dared, saving many, including dear old Maggs here, and what did the Knights Watchmen do, when they had crawled out of their hiding place? Did they reward him? Did they congratulate him? No! They tried to arrest him! Yes, arrest him!”

The room was in true uproar now, a mixture of outrage and disbelief. Maggs had joined Oscar on stage, along with Cuddy, and he moved as close to them as possible, trying to feel a little less exposed.

“This is the truth of what the Knights Watchmen are!” Thursby was still shouting, “They are not our guardians! They are not our preservers! They are our persecutors! They are our jailers! Hammages Department Store - one of the few places any of us ever felt safe - is attacked by the Wild Ride, our most grievous threat, and what do they do? They hunt down a small boy and a defenceless old lady!”

Oscar felt Maggs stiffen at being called defenceless and old, and he wasn’t that keen on being referred to as a ’small boy’, but there was no stopping Thursby now.

“We stand up for them and they turn on us! We go to the White Tower and what do we find? Do we find murderers and madmen and terrorists? No! We find more defenceless, ordinary Magi - people like you and I - all locked away, all persecuted and driven mad with fear just because they stepped out of line, because they annoyed the Knights Watchmen, because they crossed Lord Skelton. That isn’t justice! I’ll tell you what is justice - even now those prisoners are struggling in the streets against the Knights Watchmen and their servants - they are fighting for freedom - not just for their own freedom, but for yours, too! All of ours! We are prisoners too - prisoners of fear, prisoners of Lord Skelton: Are we going to be prisoners forever?”

“You will be, Thursby!” The crowd were just about to cheer when a new voice cut through. It was a Knight Watchman and Oscar recognised him from Hammages, earlier that afternoon. He now had a cut on one cheek and his clothes were streaked with mud and rain. He strode up the main passageway towards the stage followed by the two Watchmen who had been standing guard outside.

“Arrest these men,” he said, gesturing at Thursby and Cuddy as he strode towards the stage. But before the other two Knights Watchmen could follow him a group of young Magi jumped up from their seats and surrounded them, pulling them back, away from the stage. The leading Watchman rushed towards the steps up to the stage, and he sprang towards the Lord Chancellor, who was still standing at his lectern, dumbstruck.

“Lord Chancellor, you must end this, now!” The Lord Chancellor tried to pull his dressing gown around him along with his last shreds of dignity.

“You should not be giving orders to the Lord Chancellor…”

“Now!”

The Lord Chancellor coughed and looked at his feet. “Ladies and Gentlemen…” he mumbled but whatever he had to say was drowned out by the shouts of the crowd. Cuddy elbowed him away from the lectern. Oscar noticed that Ridley edged forward slightly, straining anxiously to see what the Knight Watchman was up to.

“I propose that we remove the Three Wise Lords from office immediately…” began Cuddy, as loudly as he could. The crowd became even louder. Some were arguing, but plenty seem to think Cuddy had the right idea. The Watchman pushed past the Lord Chancellor and grabbed Cuddy by the lapels.

“Traitor! I’m arresting you…” he got no further before Thursby had pulled him away and yanked him towards the edge of the platform.

“Arrest this man!” Thursby crowed and many of the young Magi surged towards the edge of the stage, reaching out for the Watchman. But as he turned, Oscar had seen the thunderous look in his eye and the blood red anger in his face and he shrank back against Maggs as the man reached into his jacket and pulled out something that glinted in the gas lamps.

“No!” shouted Ridley, “Stop him!” Her shout distracted many around the stage so that many of them missed what happened, including Oscar. They all turned to look at her and then turned back in time to see Thursby suddenly sag away and the Watchman turn, a bloody dagger in his hand as he slipped and fell into the waiting arms of the Magi below.

The whole room froze as Thursby staggered backwards clutching his side, then he raised one bloodied hand towards Cuddy and collapsed backwards in a heap. The audience gave a groan, one deep, all encompassing noise, as Cuddy leapt across, just catching Thursby before he hit the stage. Maggs thrust Oscar back and scurried across to join them. Ridley took hold of Oscar, pulling him protectively back.

“The most sacred law of the Magi,” she whispered to Oscar, “We can call spirits against each other, we can curse and cast spells, but no Magi shall ever raise a hand against another. This has gone too far now.”

Cuddy and Maggs and got Thursby to his feet. He was pale, but he raised a bloody hand in defiance as they led him back towards the lectern. The crowd cheered him.

“I propose,” shouted Cuddy over the tumult, “I propose that we name Clive Thursby as Lord Chancellor of a new high council of the Magi!”

The crowd roared in agreement.

“Hands!” shouted Maggs, “We need to see hands, please, everyone, raise your hands! We need a vote!”

Hands shot up all over the hall - many people put up two, Oscar could see, while plenty of others were trying to pull down other people’s raised arms. It was near enough impossible to take a count as everyone jostled and shouted, but it certainly looked like an overwhelming number of people were supporting Thursby.

“This is a new era,” Thursby began, gripping the edge of the lectern, “An era of freedom… freedom from fear… freedom from oppression…” His voice was growing fainter and he was losing his grip, slipping backwards into Maggs’ arms, “Freedom from…” He lost his hold on the dragon’s wings and dropped backwards. Maggs staggered under the sudden weight as Cuddy helped her lower him to the floor. A number of the young Magi rushed up onto the stage to help lift him up. Cuddy returned to the lectern.

“We need any Magi with powerful healing spirits or medical training - please anyone who can help - take him to the Lord Chancellor’s chambers….” The group of young Magi started to carry Thursby from the stage as various Magi, a couple even waving stethoscopes as signals of their abilities, starting elbowing their way down through the crowd to the stage.

“The Lord Chancellor wanted to propose me as Lord Lector,” Cuddy was saying, “I must have your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen - this is a vital moment - we must vote in a new council, we have to…”

Cuddy suddenly realised that he was no longer shouting over the great crowd of Magi and that instead the whole hall had gone deathly silent and that all eyes were turned, not on him, but on a figure standing in the shadows by the main entrance to the hall. A whisper started spreading round the room, a noise like a distant sea or the wind in the treetops. Finally it reached the stage and Oscar could make out the fatal words: “Skelton… Lord Skelton… he’s returned… Skelton’s back…”

“You have to what, Mr Cuddy?” The voice was weary but heavy with disdain as Lord Skelton stepped forward into the light. He was dressed in a Knight Watchman’s coat, wearing high riding boots and white trousers all spattered over with mud and stained by the weather. In one hand he carried not the usual black staff of the Knights Watchmen but instead a tightly furled black umbrella with a plain curved wooden handle tipped in silver. In his other hand he held a broad brimmed hat that dripped rain.

But it was his face that gripped Oscar - not because it especially evil or wonderful, handsome or ugly, but because there, unmistakable with its wild white hair, heavy brows and grizzled moustache and beard, was Oscar’s Uncle Rufus. Lord Skelton was…

…Oscar’s godfather!