Arthur and the Fenris Wolf (12 page)

‘Welcome,' Cousin Maggie said, stretching her arms wide, ‘to the National Museum.'

‘Wow! It's amazing!' Arthur said.

‘You think this is impressive? We're just in the souvenir shop now!' She turned on her heel and marched off once more. ‘Follow me.'

They emerged into an even greater hall. The entrance had been a sight to behold, but this room took Arthur's breath away. The ceiling was higher in here, with glass panels running along its length. The floor below him was covered in a series of mosaic patterns running the length of the hall and huge, timeworn portraits hung on the walls themselves. There were exhibits everywhere he looked – bowls and chalices from the Bronze Age gleaming in glass enclosures, mannequins wearing the remains of costumes and jewellery from the Iron Age, jars and pottery and early examples of writing all out for display. And this was only on the ground floor. He could see a balcony running the entire way around the hall, with people examining other exhibits on the second storey.

‘Let's explore,' suggested Cousin Maggie.

Max didn't need any prompting and ran off to look at a selection of Iron Age weapons. They were housed in a glass cabinet, with a little thermometer inside keeping track of the temperature in case it got too hot or too cold – the wrong temperature would damage the fragile artefacts.

‘Look at that one!' he cried, pointing to a rusty Celtic dagger, complete with a shining bronze hilt inlaid with gold filigree and bright-blue detailing. The colours in some of the Celtic jewellery really surprised Arthur. He couldn't imagine how the ancient craftsmen could have created such lively and vivid shades of green, red and blue.

They found a room filled with Celtic high crosses. These stone monuments towered above them, with images of saints or demons carved into their surfaces. Some of the images were still as intricate as when they'd first been carved, while others hadn't stood the test of time as well and had eroded to faint shadows of their former glories. Another room housed the famous Ardagh Chalice, a silver cup decorated with Celtic knots and spirals and insets of coloured enamel. It wasn't as large as Arthur had thought it would be from pictures in history books, but it was no less impressive. He remembered seeing the world-renowned
Mona Lisa
in the Louvre in Paris a couple of years ago on holiday and expecting it to take up half the wall, but he'd been surprised to find that it was barely larger than a standard comic book.

They wandered upstairs where it was much quieter, and into the Egyptian Room. There was sand under the glass floor with pink neon lighting to give it a mystical feel and there was a sarcophagus in the centre of the room. The great coffin had an Egyptian prince painted on the lid, his arms crossed and his eyes wide open.

‘Do you think there's a mummy in there?' asked Max.

‘Probably,' Cousin Maggie said. ‘Let's hope it doesn't get you, Maxie!'

They continued out of the Egyptian Room. Arthur was about to follow them until he noticed a sign on the wall, with an arrow pointing in the opposite direction, which said Viking Room. He looked at the others: they were intently studying a medieval gown so he didn't disturb them. He walked towards the Viking Room.

‘Can I come?'

He turned back to find Ellie behind him.

‘Sure,' he said and went on.

‘Arthur, can I ask you something?' she said as they walked along the balcony overlooking the main exhibit hall.

‘Go ahead.'

‘Ash doesn't like me, does she?'

Arthur stopped and looked at her. She seemed so small and fragile right then that he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. ‘Uh … she just doesn't know you yet.'

‘No, it's not that. She doesn't trust me. I can tell.'

‘Don't be daft, Ellie. Of course she d–'

‘Do you trust me?'

‘Ellie, I barely know you.'

‘But do you trust me?'

He considered for a second. Despite all the weird tricks and showing off, despite the jokey, playful confidence she seemed to exude, Arthur could see her underlying insecurity. She just really wanted to be liked, to have a friend.

‘Yeah,' he said eventually. ‘I guess I do. You're my friend, after all.'

‘Great!' she said, a smile breaking out on her face once more as she strode towards the Viking Room.

The room was long, with exhibits arranged along either side. Thanks to low-wattage ceiling lighting and dark red walls, the room was very atmospheric.

A Viking longboat stood against one wall. The timber was black and smooth, worn by time but preserved in a peat bog, according to the little sign next to it. They walked past cabinets with leather helmets, boots and tunics, with longswords and bows and arrowheads, all rusted and falling apart. One glass case was full of Viking pendants. They were all much smaller and flimsier-looking than Arthur's. Some were shaped like the hammer, others showed the symbol of the Jormungand to ward off evil spirits, while some even featured Loki's face with the intelligent eyes and sneaky grin.

‘Arthur,' Ellie started, gazing at the exhibits, ‘friends confide in each other, right?'

‘Huh?' he said, looking up from the pendant collection.

‘I was saying that friends confide in each other. Tell each other secrets. You know?'

‘Yeah,' he said. ‘Yeah. But, listen, Ellie, can you give me a minute here? I want to have a look around by myself if that's all right.'

She looked confused and disappointed but, without saying anything else, turned and left. Arthur actually did want to be left alone, but he also didn't want to have to field any more questions about secrets and honesty.

He continued on through the Viking Room by himself, taking in the different coins and weapons as he passed. There was nobody else in this gallery and the only sounds were his own footsteps on the parquet floor and the soft ticking of the heaters in the ceiling.

He reached the end of the long hallway and turned a corner into a smaller alcove, where a selection of aged shields and bows hung in tall glass cabinets. As he examined them, comparing them to the ones his own Vikings had, he gradually became aware of footsteps entering the gallery. The steps were light, treading softly and slowly on the floor, and he assumed Ellie must have come back despite what he had said. Yet when he peered around the cabinet to check, the sound stopped and there was no sign of anyone.

Arthur turned back to the bows, leaning in closer to see some intricate carving on a grip. After a moment, the footsteps broke the silence once more.

‘Ellie,' he said, exasperated, stepping out of the alcove. ‘Is that y–'

A Japanese tourist, complete with a ‘Kiss Me, I'm Irish' sweater, a bright-yellow plastic poncho, a green cap emblazoned with shamrocks and a Nikon camera hanging from his neck, was standing in the middle of the gallery, staring right back at Arthur. He smiled pleasantly, then shot off a photograph of the bemused boy. The flash was blinding, sending little blue and red dots spiralling in Arthur's vision. The tourist nodded once then turned back to the nearest display.

Arthur rubbed his eyes and went back to his alcove. But as he did, he became distracted by a strange feeling. He could feel a warmth starting to emanate from a point on his chest. At first he hoped that it might be a blast of heat from a nearby air conditioner. But as it grew hotter, he knew it wasn't that. He put his hand against his sweater and felt his pendant underneath. Without even looking, he knew it was glowing. It usually only did this when he was in danger; his stomach clenched with fear.

‘No …' he whispered to himself just as a third sound broke the peace of the gallery. It was a hollow, rolling sound and it was getting louder. Louder and closer. Whatever it was, whatever was rolling across the wooden floor, bumping on some of the indentations in the parquet, was making its way towards Arthur.

Before he could peer out of his alcove again, the approaching menace arrived. The basketball bounced off the wall at the end of the gallery before coming to a complete stop. Cautiously, as if it actually was a ticking bomb, Arthur picked the ball up. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, except that it was a basketball in the National Museum. But he knew what it meant. And it wasn't good.

Slowly, Arthur turned on the spot. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the sweat on the palms of his hands.

There was no sign of the tourist. In his place was a boy of Arthur's age, wearing a basketball vest, shorts and fresh-out-of-the-box sneakers. The boy had platinum-blond hair, icy blue eyes and a long, stately nose that Arthur was more than familiar with.

‘Hey, Artie,' Will said. ‘Fancy a game?'

For a split second there was silence in the room and all Arthur could hear was his own panicked breathing. Then, suddenly, there was a loud bang and the scream of the museum's security alarm pierced the room.

Max was leaning against the balcony, shuffling his feet anxiously, as Cousin Maggie, Ash and Ex closely studied the stitching on a medieval dress. He'd enjoyed their first few minutes in the museum, but then the sight of all the old costumes and weapons on display brought back terrifying memories to him: the Vikings, the World Serpent and, of course, Loki.

He wondered where Arthur and that other girl had gotten to. No matter how frightened or wary he'd felt over the past months, having Arthur or his sister nearby always put him at ease. He knew he was safe around them. But now Arthur was suddenly missing.

‘Where's Arthur?' he asked out loud, his voice reverberating around the quiet museum.

He looked over the balcony into the main exhibition hall. There were lots of people down there, tourists and families milling around and gazing with fascination at the artefacts. Cousin Maggie and Ash joined him at the rail and peered over. No sign of Arthur or Ellie anywhere.

‘Oh, I'm sure they've just gone exploring,' Maggie said, then turned back to the medieval mannequins. ‘Something wrong, Ex?' The boy's eyes were wide, staring straight over their heads at the ceiling. Cousin Maggie, Ash and Max followed his gaze.

Through the glass they could just about make out some shadowy figures moving about. People in black were walking along the roof, stepping over the rafters and supports that held the glass in place, but taking care not to stand on the glass itself. It was difficult to say how many there were, but there were enough to disrupt the faint January light that had been coming through.

‘Who on earth is that?' Cousin Maggie muttered, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, but no one answered her as they all stared upwards. The people around them noticed their staring and looked up. Soon everyone on the balcony and the floor below was watching the glass and exclaiming to each other.

A shiver ran up Max's spine and he had a strong feeling that whatever was going on wasn't good. No, he thought. No, not again. Arthur. Where was Arthur? Max had just made up his mind to go in search of him when one of the figures on the roof placed something the size and shape of a tennis ball on the centre of a pane of glass. Everyone watched as each figure placed their own dark ball on each of the panes.

‘What do you think those are?' Ash managed to ask, the dread in her voice clear to her companions.

‘Get down,' Ex said.

‘What?'

‘I said get down!' With that, he shoved them to the floor. ‘Cover your heads!' This time nobody questioned him and they all did as he ordered, covering themselves with their coats. Ex did likewise, ducking down next to them and wrapping his thick, muscular arms over his head.

And just in time too, as a series of small explosions burst through the ceiling. They heard the sound of glass smashing, disintegrating to smithereens, followed by the security alarms blaring. They could feel shards of glass showering down onto their hunched backs, almost like rain. Cousin Maggie whimpered next to Max, and the shrieks and terrified screams of other visitors filled the air. As the noise subsided, Ash, desperate to see what was happening, took a chance and raised her head, peering over the edge of the balcony.

Slivers of glass coated the lower floor, twinkling where the remaining light reflected off them. It would have been a beautiful sight if not for the sounds that accompanied it: the screeching alarm, the screams and clattering as people ran for the exits, some of them bleeding from cuts caused by the falling shards. She looked up at the ceiling. The glass was totally gone now, blown out by whatever explosives the figures had used. And she could see the dark figures more clearly now. They were all dressed from neck to toe in fitted black Lycra overalls with black gloves on their hands. Motorcycle helmets covered their heads, perfect dome shapes that shone like ebony. As she watched, they each pulled a metallic cord from their belts and attached them to the rafters with a carabiner clip. The other end was still attached to them and, before she knew it, they were dropping into the museum, the cord extending from their belts as they abseiled to the ground with a whoosh. And, Ash saw with alarm, they each had a crossbow strapped to their backs. The figures dropped past the balcony, descending to the floor below.

The others joined Ash at the edge of the balcony now, peeking over carefully. Cousin Maggie gasped as the figures in black – both male and female from their shapes – unhooked the cords from their belts and aimed their crossbows at the people cowering below who hadn't managed to make it out. The attackers didn't shout any commands at the frightened people, probably because they wouldn't be heard through their thick helmets, Ash assumed. Nevertheless, the people understood what they wanted them to do and all moved together in one group to the centre of the hall, shaking with terror. More of the figures came in through the door from the anteroom, leading other terrified visitors and museum workers from the souvenir shop. They shut the huge wooden doors with a bang that echoed throughout the hall.

One of the figures grabbed a security guard by the collar of his jacket. His hat fell off as the black figure shoved him through a side door marked Staff Only. Seconds later, the alarm stopped. The sound continued to ring in their ears for a second, but then all they could hear were the whimpers of the people held captive.

Ash looked around for a way out. At the corner, past the row of medieval mannequins, she spotted an emergency exit. She tapped the others, put her finger to her lips then pointed at the door. They all nodded in agreement, apart from Max. He was shaking, his eyes squeezed shut, and whimpering, ‘No, no, not again' over and over. Ash squeezed his shoulder lightly to get his attention. He looked at her, tears glistening in his eyes, then nodded. With that, they all carefully shuffled across the upper balcony, keeping their heads low in case anyone on the ground floor spotted them.

Ash could feel her heart beating a mile a minute and hear the blood pumping in her ears as she approached the door. Nearly there, she thought. If we get out, we can get help. She put her hand on the aluminium bar and pushed hard. It swung open but, rather than freedom, she found herself facing the pointy end of a crossbow bolt.

Will smiled. ‘I thought I saw you coming in here,' he said. ‘Who was that girl I passed a few minutes ago, Arthur? Did you find my replacement so soon?'

A burst of green vapour enveloped him. When it dissipated, he had transformed into Loki. He was wearing a long black coat with black suit legs peering out from underneath and highly polished shoes. The ball that Arthur had been holding disappeared in a puff of smoke. The alarm shut off and the last ring echoed around the exhibits.

‘What are you doing here, Loki?'

‘Oh, Arthur,' he said menacingly, taking a step forward. ‘I can't tell you that. It would spoil the surprise.' Suddenly, he shot his right hand out against the nearest display unit. His fist crashed through the glass. When Loki withdrew it, clutching a longsword tightly, blood was seeping from cuts on his knuckles and shards of glass stuck out of his skin. He looked at his hand, as if surprised to see blood on it. There was a flash of green light. When it cleared, Arthur saw that the hand was completely healed.

Loki turned back to Arthur. The sword was badly rusted but, by the looks of it, it could still do some damage if wielded correctly. He swung it over his head in a fluid demonstration of strength and skill, all the while grinning.

‘I never was much of a swordsman,' he said, examining the blade. ‘But that doesn't mean I don't enjoy using one. Back in Asgard, before Odin banished me, I would amuse myself by skinning cats. I'd disguise myself as a mouse, trick them into chasing me, then lead them right into my trap.' As he spoke, he sauntered towards Arthur, swinging the sword lazily by his side. ‘Then I'd take them back to my hall and hold them down. I'd start by slicing from here …' he pointed the tip of the blade towards Arthur's throat and traced a line down to his waist, ‘to here. Then I'd start to peel away the skin … at this point, the cat would be in unimaginable pain and making a terrible racket, but I'd just keep going … it was fascinating the way the blade slid so easily into the flesh … it would be so tender, so fragile … I'd try to take my time, go verrrry care-
fully …' Watching Loki, Arthur could see the madness in his eyes. ‘But then I'd make a total mess of it! I always did – I was just too impatient. So I'd just start chopping …' he swung the sword down, ‘and chopping …' he swung the blade again frenziedly, ‘and chopping. Until the cat was completely unrecognisable. Just a piece of meat.'

Arthur shivered – he couldn't help it – but he hoped Loki hadn't noticed his apprehension.

‘Now,' Loki went on, ‘I've never tried to skin a boy before. But I'm sure the principle is the same.'

Arthur pulled the pendant from his shirt and let it fall on his chest. Loki recoiled a little at the sight of it.

‘If you try to touch me, I'll use this,' Arthur said. ‘And we both know how much it can hurt you.'

Loki lowered the sword by his side once more and looked down at the floor. He shuffled his feet, turning slowly away from Arthur.

‘You're right,' he admitted eventually, still staring at the ground. ‘But you've forgotten one thing, Arthur.'

‘Oh, yeah? What's that?'

Loki swivelled sharply around on one foot and faced Arthur again, grinning. ‘I'm a god.'

With that, every sword and axe on display crashed through their glass cabinets. They hung in the air momentarily then turned their blades gradually towards Arthur.

Arthur had no time to think, as every weapon in the room flew straight for his forehead, and only a split second to react. He threw himself to the side just in time, feeling a gentle movement in the air next to his ear as a blade flew past, narrowly missing him. He landed on his hip with a painful crash and cried out in agony. He watched as most of the weapons thunked into the wood-panelled wall behind where he'd been standing. The ones that didn't just shattered on impact.

He turned back to see that one of the large glass cabinets just above his head, which was filled with Viking coins and medals, was rocking crazily back and forth. It teetered before the front two legs finally snapped and the cabinet fell slowly forward.

Arthur rolled sideways as fast as he could. The cabinet crashed to the ground. Glass smashed and precious Viking artefacts clattered out. Arthur sat up groggily and pushed himself back against a wall for support, at the same time looking round frantically, trying to locate the god. But as he did so, a Viking shield hanging on the wall above him, which had been set swaying dangerously by the vibrations caused by the impact of the cabinet, fell from its fixing and hit him on the crown of the head, sending him tumbling into unconsciousness.

Ellie turned when she heard the crash of the display unit from the Viking Room behind her. She briefly considered going back to investigate but didn't want to risk getting caught.