The Enemy

They were trying a new direction. Into a very run-down area that had looked too scary before. They trudged towards a railway bridge.

As Sam grew more and more delirious – exhausted, soaked, hungry and thirsty, sucking rainwater from his shirt-sleeves, his head throbbing – he began to see things. Flitting shapes in the corners of his eyes, dancing spots of light, moving shadows. Whenever he turned his head to look, though, there was nothing there. He had a powerful urge to lie down in the street, curl up into a ball and fall asleep. Hardly caring if he woke up again. How nice to just go to sleep forever.

As always, that little voice in the back of his mind told him to keep going. He owed it to Rhia

And what about Ella? His little sister needed him. He had to find her. Help her. Look after her.

It was like the two girls were at his side, urging him on, one foot after the other. Rhia

Without warning, The Kid stopped. Sam tensed.

What was it? What had he seen? More grown-ups? Would they have to fight this time? Sam gripped his butterfly pin. Maybe this night would never end.

‘Look,’ said The Kid, his voice a croak. And he pointed.

Sam squinted into the murky gloom.

‘What is it?’ he said. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘There,’ said The Kid, ‘up ahead. Flames.’

Sam saw them now – a row of what looked like flaming torches along the top of a wall. And he realized, with a little jolt of hope, that he recognized the building. He smiled. He had been here on a school journey in year four.

It was the Tower of London. The castle by the Thames, originally built by the Normans after the Battle of Hastings. How reassuring it was to see something familiar.

And someone must have lit those torches along the outer wall.

‘There are people there,’ he whispered.

‘Adult people?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sam. ‘They don’t usually light fires, do they? But nothing’s normal round here.’

‘We should go careful,’ said The Kid, but almost as he said it a voice called out from the darkness behind them.

‘Stop still. Don’t move.’

A boy’s voice. Not an adult.

‘We’re kids,’ Sam cried. ‘Only kids.’

‘I can see that,’ said the voice. ‘Where have you come from?’

‘Waitrose,’ said Sam.

‘Waitrose?’ There was the hint of a suppressed laugh in the voice.

Sam slowly turned round.

‘In Holloway.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘North London. Past Camden Town.’

‘You’ve come all the way from there?’

‘Yes – I’m trying to get to Buckingham Palace.’

‘Well, you’re more than a little lost.’

‘I know. Please, we’re very tired and hungry. We’ve been ru

‘Is it just the two of you?’

‘Yes.’

Four figures appeared out of the darkness, and Sam felt like he’d somehow slipped back in time hundreds of years. The figures, all boys, were dressed in medieval outfits. Tunics and boots with bits and pieces of armour, swords, shields and helmets. One carried a crossbow.

‘Will you help us?’ said The Kid. ‘We can’t go on. These are our last legs.’

The two tallest of the boys talked quietly to each other before one of them broke away and came over. He took off his helmet. He had a face that would have been handsome if it weren’t for a long scar down one cheek that pulled the skin on that side of his face out of shape. He smiled and the scar twisted his mouth into a grimace. His eyes were kind, though. Soft and brown.

He knelt down in front of Sam and The Kid.

‘How old are you two?’ he said.

‘Nine,’ they both said together.

‘And you’ve made it all the way here from north London?’

‘The shrimp did,’ said The Kid. ‘I been living round about Spitalfields but I got into the tu

‘Whoa, hold on, not so fast,’ said the older boy. ‘So you’ve been in Spitalfields? Who’s been looking after you?’

The Kid shrugged. ‘No one. There was some other muckers with me one time, but they’re all dead now, you can count on it. It was only me. But then I found the hobbit. We been helping each other. We’re mates.’

The boy with the scar shook his head and let out a snort of laughter through his nose.

‘And here we were thinking we were pretty clever living in the Tower, pretty tough. You two kids have shown us up as a right bunch of wimps.’

‘Is it safe there?’ said Sam.

‘In the Tower?’ The boy nodded slowly. ‘Safe enough.’ ‘You sure?’ said Sam.

‘You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?’

Sam nodded.

‘Well, it’s as safe as anywhere, I guess. Safer than out here on the streets. Safer than down in the tube tu

‘Will you take us there?’

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘And we’ll really be safe? It’s just you? Just kids?’

‘There’s sixty-seven of us live there,’ said the older boy. ‘All kids. All ages. It’s not the greatest life in the world. But it’s a life. You’re safe now, mate.’

Sam burst into tears and The Kid joined him. The boy opened his arms and pulled them to his chest, holding them there until they stopped sobbing. Then he picked them up so that they sat against his hips and carried them towards the Tower.

61

Ben and Bernie were eating a late supper in the Dining Room. Most of the other kids had eaten earlier and their food was cold. They’d been out of the way all evening, tinkering with a petrol generator they’d discovered in a storeroom in the utility area of the palace. They hadn’t wanted to watch the fight, and had kept as far away as possible.

Since arriving they’d been spending their time exploring and scavenging. They’d tried to get David interested in engineering plans. A pump and filtration system to get clean water from the lake, a plan to get some heating set up for the winter using the gas bottles they’d found in a shed, even a plan to generate electricity, but David wasn’t interested. His sights were firmly set outside the palace. He even said that it would make the kids tougher if they didn’t have too many luxuries. Ben and Bernie realized that the big welcome of the first-night feast, the show of abundance and opulence, had been just that – a show – to impress the newcomers. Since that night the food had been steadily getting worse. Tonight it was boiled potatoes with cabbage, and ti

They’d had such high hopes when they arrived. A new life with new opportunities. But David had set the palace up to be little more than functional. They could survive here and that was about it. The two of them often talked about how they’d been more appreciated at Waitrose, and how much they’d enjoyed inventing things. They even missed all the stuff they’d left behind. They felt part of things there, an important part. Now what were they? They couldn’t fight and they didn’t look forward to spending the rest of their lives as farmers. But food and fighting was all that David cared about.

They looked up from their plates as Achilleus came in wearing a dressing-gown. He was a mess. Limping. His face and chest bruised and bandaged. A young boy they didn’t recognize was with him, a stocky, bullet-headed kid carrying a shield and a collection of weapons in a golf-bag slung across his back.

‘There you are,’ said Achilleus. ‘Been looking all over for you.’