A hood was pulled over Alfred’s head, so he couldn’t see a thing.

Next, the condemned boy was marched along the corridors of Buckingham Palace by two royal guards, and down flights and flights of stairs. The Lord Protector led the way as the All-Seeing Eye hovered close behind. The guards held the boy’s arms tight.

It was painful, and the prince could feel bruises blackening on his arms.

“Can I at least say goodbye to Nanny?” he pleaded, his voice muffled by the hood.

Maybe he could deliver a secret message to her.

Maybe she could save him.

“I am afraid not. Nanny is in the interrogation room as we speak. I expect her to be there for a long, long time.”

The prince felt a pain in his heart. He desperately hoped he hadn’t brought some terrible fate on the kind old lady.

“She is innocent!” protested the boy.

“We shall see. The interrogation is very –” the Lord Protector chose his words carefully – “persuasive.”

“Torture!” exclaimed the boy.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.”

Alfred began trembling so much he felt as if his legs were going to collapse beneath him. The guards took his weight, and began dragging him along.

A door opened and closed behind them. From the unfamiliar sounds echoing around, Alfred guessed they were no longer in the palace.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

“Where are we?” he asked.

“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret.”

It sounded like they were in some kind of narrow passageway.

“Where are you taking me?” demanded the boy.

“Be patient, young prince. All will be revealed!”

They walked some more before there was the sound of a very heavy door, or even wall, sliding to one side.

WHIRR!

Then there was the sound of it closing.

WHIRR!

The group took a few more steps forward, then finally came to a halt.

The guards held the boy still for a moment, before his hood was whipped off.

He blinked.

Prince Alfred was in the outside world for the very first time in his life.

Black water lapped at his feet and, looking up, he saw some stone arches. Instantly, he realised he was underneath a bridge.

Westminster Bridge, to be precise.

From his books on London, Alfred had learned that this bridge used to be one of the busiest in the city, with people and traffic continuously crossing the River Thames. Now Alfred could see that people had set up home all along the bridge in cardboard boxes and wooden crates. His heart ached for them as he noticed all they had over their heads to keep the rain out were old bits of tarpaulin.

Alfred looked behind him, but there was no entrance visible back into Buckingham Palace, just a stone wall. There must be some secret way in and out, but the Lord Protector was not sharing it.

“Your royal barge, sir,” announced the man as the All-Seeing Eye hovered behind him.

Right on cue, a long wooden rowing boat, decorated with ornate carvings, painted mostly in gold, drifted into view. It was manned by at least a dozen royal guards, who lifted their oars as they reached the riverbank.

“Your Royal Highness, this is where I bid you farewell,” purred the Lord Protector. “For the very last time.”

“You can’t do this to me!” protested Alfred, struggling with the guards. “I’m a prince! I’m the heir to the throne!”

“You are nothing but a traitor. Guards! Take him to the Tower!”

As Alfred struggled…

“Get your hands off me! You are controlling my father, but you can’t control me!”

…the guards gripped harder. Now they were squeezing his arms so tightly he was in agony.

“ARGH!”

“Is that so?” purred the Lord Protector. “Put him in chains.”

Roughly, they led the boy down the slippery stone steps to the barge.

One metal chain went round the boy’s feet, another round his hands, which were tied behind his back, and another acted as a collar round his neck. Then he was shackled to the flagpole at the front of the barge.

“I know what you’re doing!” called out Alfred. “Creating some kind of monster!”

“It seems you are having visions, just like your father. The Tower should cure you of those.”

The Lord Protector nodded, and the guards began rowing the prince away. The wooden oars sliced through the water in perfect time.

Swish! Swash! Swish! Swash! Swish! Swash!

On the riverbank, the Lord Protector, flanked by the All-Seeing Eye, gave the boy one final wave as the barge moved off.

“Goodbye! Forever,” he said.

Alfred turned his head away so the man wouldn’t see his tears.

There was a thick fog over the River Thames, and the city seemed eerily quiet. Shapes and shadows unravelled themselves around the barge. Debris bobbed in the black water. Upturned boats, shoes, hats, books, suitcases, an umbrella, even a child’s doll.

Each item told a story.

A horror story.

The boat swept along the Thames almost without a sound. The oars made much less noise than a motor, so the barge was perfect for transporting prisoners to the Tower of London. Alfred’s thoughts turned to his mother.

This was the exact same journey she must have made.

From the bow of the barge, the boy could make out the shapes of London landmarks through the thick fog.

The London Eye, a huge wheel for people to travel on to see the sights, was now lying on its side. The Globe, a recreation of Shakespeare’s theatre, lay in ruins. Southwark Cathedral, which had been without a roof since a fire had all but destroyed it, was now a blackened ruin.

As the barge approached London Bridge, Alfred could make out some figures standing amongst boxes and tents. The bridge, like the others along the Thames, was home to these poor souls. As the boat passed underneath, there were shouts and a barrage of sticks and stones hit the vessel.

BANG! BASH! BONK!

“we need FOOD!”

“help us!”

“we are starving!”

In desperation, some of the people leaped down from the bridge. A few missed the barge and fell into the water.

SPLASH!

When they tried to scramble aboard the boat, the guards whacked them away with their wooden oars.

THWACK!

They fell back into the river.

“DON’T!” screamed Alfred.

SPLOSH!

Two of them actually landed on the barge.

THUD!

THUD!

They came down at the stern and were immediately taken out with laser guns.

ZAP!

ZAP!

Their bodies plunged into the Thames.

SPLASH!

SPLOSH!

“MURDERERS!” shouted Alfred at the royal guards, helpless to stop the horror.

The barge continued its journey along the Thames.

Slowly, out of the fog, an ancient building loomed into view.

The Tower of London.

At the base was its famous entrance from the river.

Traitors’ Gate.

The prince closed his eyes. He was about to meet his fate.