‘You want to try and take us on?’ Maxie shouted. ‘Come and get it, you sad old losers!’

The grown-ups took one look at each other, then turned and bolted, leaving their dinner behind.

Maxie laughed, Achilleus joined her. Blue put his arm round her waist. The other kids joined in and soon their laughter was bouncing round the square and echoing off the empty houses, filling the night, chasing away the demons.

Everything was going to be all right.

70

The fog inside his head was strong tonight. There was a red sheet in front of his eyes. And the pain was worse than ever. It was a living thing in his veins, like battery acid running through him, making him itchy and scratchy. His whole head throbbed. With the red mist and the hurting and the voices screaming in his skull it was hard to think straight. He had to try to sneak up on his thoughts, take them by surprise before they slipped away from him. Like rats.

Or kids.

The kids were fast; you had to be clever to catch ’em. But he was clever. Somewhere inside his seething brain he knew that. He was learning that if he snatched hold of one of his thoughts he had to act fast before it slipped away again and he was lost in the fog of confusion and pain.

He looked over at the buildings and saw someone looking back at him. Cheeky. Wrong. No. Anger rose inside him, more powerful than the pain.

Who are you looking at?

A man in a white vest with a red cross on it.

He closed his eyes and clamped his hands over his mouth and rocked backwards on his aching feet as a fresh agony clawed at him. Needles were sprouting from his brain and piercing outwards, breaking the skin of his face. He growled in his throat and was comforted by the sound, the feel of the vibrations in his neck. He growled again. Enjoying it. It took his mind off everything else.

He opened his eyes.

He was surrounded by people. Why were they looking at him? All their bloody eyes on him. He snarled at them and some of them backed away. God, that was good. He had power over them.

Yes.

It came back to him now. He was their boss. They were his army.

He’d been doing something.

What was it?

He shook his head. Growled again. Spat on to the floor and looked at his spit. Maybe the shape of it would give him a clue. The spit was thick and yellow, flecked with red. He was momentarily hypnotized by it.

A thought was there. Circling. He pounced.

The car.

That was it. He turned round and clambered on to the boot. Then up on to the roof. He could see all the people now. Spread out around him, filling the road.

What was this road? He’d known its name once. He’d known the names of everything around here. It had been his manor. All gone now. All the words. All the difficult ones. Only a few remained.

Car. Road. Shop. Kid. Blood. Eat.

Look at them. His people. They worshipped him.

Scum. Boss. Kill…

Those sneaky kids. They tried to run. They tried to hide. Like words. Like thoughts. They were clever. But he was strong. And strong beat clever. He would kill them, every one of them. He would eat them. Like the one what had been in the shop.

He remembered that. Him sitting there. The kid. That boy.

They had his head. On a pole. It was their battle standard.

He roared. He was a lion. The top lion. He could choose the best bits from a kill. He looked over at what had once been the shop.

Fire.

That was another good word. Well, there it was. All on fire. He would move on now, take his army with him. Find every kid. Burn them, eat them, smash them. All the clever ones.

A memory came back to him. Clever kids at that place. With all the other kids. Laughing at him.

What was that word? A powerful one. One he didn’t like.

School.

All the other kids laughing.

Well, look at me now. Boss. King. Lion. Killer…

He spread his arms wide, opened his mouth for a shout of triumph, but as usual nothing came out, just a low strangled growl.

They understood, though. His army. They raised their arms, shook their fists. The smarter ones, they shook weapons.

He looked over and saw that same man again, looking back at him. He hadn’t moved.

Fat man. Bald. White vest with a red cross on it. He knew the words.

St George.

Then he smiled. The man was him. It was a… What was it? A mirror? A window? A flexion? Yes. He was St George. A crusader. That made him happy. To remember hard words like that.

You see. If he was sneaky… If he come round the side. The words were there, just hiding.

He had a plan. Crusade. He would go into the lands of the enemy and burn and kill and break. And his people would follow him.

He began to stamp up and down on the roof of the car, hammering out a rhythm with his big feet. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang, one two, one two… Strictly come dancing.

Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang, one two, one two…

His people joined in. Stamping up and down in the road. Their feet hammering the tarmac. Thud-thud-thud-thud…

The sound of an army marching. And that was what they were. They would march and they would kill and they would smash everything in their path.

He climbed down off the car and broke all its windows with his club. All the while stamping, one-two-one-two… And the more he stamped, the more he smashed, the more words came back to him, the more thoughts he could hold on to.

Everything he broke made him stronger.

He went into a frenzy, attacking every car in the road. Still stamping. It was the comforting sound of a machine.

Then he led them on. Back towards the battleground. The battle they had lost against the kids. They wouldn’t lose any more battles. They were too many now. They were too strong.

He was St George.

This city belonged to him.