The Claws of Evil - By Andrew Beasley Page 0,34

hold of Ben’s coat, but not quickly enough to stop the boy from slipping out of it and sprinting towards the door. As a parting gesture, Ben slipped his fingers behind a tall glass display cabinet and, with surprising strength, sent it crashing towards the floor.

“Catch!” shouted Ben Kingdom, and then he was gone.

How dare Carter speak about his father like that?

Leaving the satisfying sound of breaking glass behind him, Ben stormed from the British Museum without once looking back. Outside the cold was waiting to bite at him, worse now that he had lost his coat too, but he welcomed it; the chill matched his mood. For a while he slouched along, kicking snow ahead of him. Then he heard the rapping of horse’s hooves on the cobbles and, spotting a smart four-wheeler, decided that he would rather ride than walk.

He waited for the carriage to pass by and then quickly ran out into the road behind it. The trick here was twofold: to jump onto the footplate at the rear without being spotted by the driver, and then to keep your head down and not let go no matter what. Fortunately Ben was a past master. He leaped on, making it look easy, and was soon being carried down Drury Lane towards the Strand.

It wasn’t long before he started to feel more like himself and he even started to cheekily doff his hat at some of the passers-by who spotted him taking his free ride on the back of the brougham. A woman with the starched collars and funereal expression of a governess appeared especially mortified by his audacity and he treated her to his most impudent grin.

“Well, really!” she exclaimed. Her expression was priceless and as Ben laughed out loud he felt some of his anger washing away.

He thought about Professor Carter’s offer. Part of him was tempted. Who wouldn’t want the opportunity to travel the world with a man of such learning? He imagined the sights that they might see together: pyramids in Egypt, lost tribes in Africa; all the things that he had read about and dreamed of late at night. And then there was the question of joining the Legion and he liked that idea too. Being part of a secret society, working in the shadows to keep London safe. Wouldn’t that be the sort of life that any boy would yearn for?

Unfortunately, Ben couldn’t forget what Carter had said about his family, and he wasn’t sure that he could forgive him either. All this talk about treasure-hunting and ancient wars was all very well, but what about actually helping Ben to find his pa and Nathaniel?

When he considered Carter’s callous words more calmly, Ben supposed that it was a possibility that Nathaniel and his father had stayed on at the docks for some reason and that nothing had happened to them... Yet the more he thought about it, the less likely it felt. Something inside told him that the Coin had brought trouble raining down on their heads too. They might have been hurt; they were certainly in danger. And it was up to him to sort it out.

He had hoped that Carter would help him track down his family, but he could forget about that now. There was no point in going to the police either. They’d never listen to a street urchin like him, especially if Constable Wilde had let slip the small incident of the manure-flavoured Christmas present that Ben had sent him. He was running out of ways to turn.

It seemed obvious that the Watchers had something to do with his father and brother disappearing, and that at least meant that he knew where to start his search. Mind made up, Ben hopped off the back of the carriage and waved at the driver, who, noticing Ben for the first time, returned Ben’s wave with a clenched fist and a cheery line in blasphemy.

Happy to be taking matters into his own hands, Ben headed for home and ran through his three-step plan once more to test it for flaws. Firstly, he was going to borrow his brother’s spare jacket. Secondly, he was going to climb up on the roof. And thirdly, he was going to go looking for trouble.

How can I fail?

“What do you mean, you gave our clothes away?” Ben needed to hear her say it again to make sure that he had got it right.

“I donated them to the Seaman’s Mission,” Mrs. McLennon explained. “It’s a very