Europe.”
“I know how important it is; I'm not an idiot,” the small man said, resentment in his voice. “But why would they post so many Wardens here?”
“Because the dark elves are masters at creating havoc. It wouldn't surprise me if they sent all manner of creatures here to raise hell and distract the Institute.”
“That's true,” the small man conceded. He paused for a moment and then, in a lighter tone of voice, said, “What did you think of United's performance yesterday? I can't believe they shipped two goals right at the end.”
Ben stopped listening and turned to Charlie; his eyes were wide, his sizeable cheeks flushed.
“That was interesting,” Ben said. He gave a quick look round, but could see no sign of anyone who looked like a Warden.
“I wonder if the Wardens are here for another reason,” Charlie said.
“What do you mean?”
Charlie gave a surreptitious look around, before leaning into Ben. “What if they are here to protect you from the dark elves?”
Ben scoffed the idea. “Me? I don't think so. I'm not that important.”
Charlie wagged a chubby finger at him. “No, you're not. But you're the link to your parents, remember? And the dark elves still want them. What's to say they won't make another move for you to try to get to your parents again?”
“Possibly,” Ben said. “I just can't believe the Institute would go through all that trouble to protect me. After all, they don't even know why the dark elves want my parents.”
This time both he and Charlie looked around, to make sure nobody was close by.
“I've been thinking about Elizabeth's Armour,” Charlie said, his voice now a whisper. “How much do the dark elves know? Are they aware that it's split up into different families? If so, are they also hunting the other families?”
Ben had spent countless hours thinking the same thing. “It's impossible to know. But if they are, then it's going to be twice as hard for my parents, trying to avoid the dark elves and get to the other descendants before the dark elves do.”
Charlie tapped his chin thoughtfully, but any reply he might have made was drowned out by a succession of beeping cars. They had entered the heart of the town and the roads were jammed as everyone rushed to work. The pavement was equally busy, with men and women on phones, listening to their iPods or just lost in their own worlds. A few people filtered into coffee shops, but most hurried past the high street, with the single intention of getting to their offices before the clock struck nine.
Ben knew the Institute's Croydon headquarters were difficult to spot, despite knowing the exact location. Sure enough, his eyes wandered past the O2 mobile store to the Starbucks coffee shop several times before he spotted the building in the middle. It was small, squeezed in between the two, and purposefully unassuming. Above the revolving door and frosted windows, inlaid into the brickwork, was the R.I.M. logo, cast in bronze and overlaying a royal coat of arms. In front of the door was the same bulky bodyguard they had encountered when they first entered.
Ben felt a thrill of excitement from his back down to his toes. Just beyond those innocent-looking revolving doors was the start of an adventure that had changed their lives just two weeks ago.
“Look at that guy,” Charlie said. He was pointing to a slim man dressed in casual clothes, standing outside Starbucks, holding a hot drink. Ben noted the way he was looking closely at everyone who entered the Institute.
“You think he's another Warden?” Ben said.
“I think so. I wonder how many more there are around?”
“Several probably,” Ben said. He drew out his brand new ID card. It was made of silver and was heavy enough to feel valuable. Next to the embossed logo on the card the name “Ben Greenwood” was etched.
“Shall we go in?” Ben asked Charlie, with a grin.
— Chapter Three —
Unexpected Trouble
The inside of the headquarters was just as Ben remembered. There was one long room, with a high ceiling and a pristine white marble floor. To the right was a reception desk, with several busy secretaries typing away, dealing with enquiries in person or on the phone. At the back of the room, perfectly camouflaged against the wall, was the lift that had plummeted them deep underground like a roller-coaster a few weeks earlier.
Last time the reception had been almost empty, but now there were plenty of people about, many milling by