Chapter 42

 

Lieutenant McKenzie ordered several of his men to tend to casualties—three soldiers had gone down with ax and cudgel wounds, another had a concussion from slipping on the cobblestones. Amazingly, no soldiers had been killed. Then the lieutenant led Johnny, Nina, and his remaining troops the two hundred yards to the king’s grand country house.

The fight had indeed come together there. The brigadier and his soldiers were battling to keep a troop of bog zombies from storming the front entrance. Hundreds of men and zombies engaged in desperate hand-to-hand combat.

Helping the soldiers in their efforts were workmen from the estate. Armed with buckets, the workers rushed toward the creatures, dousing them with the remaining liquid.

Up above, Johnny saw that another battle was being fought.

Ghosts on horseback and free-flying wraiths were soaring in and out of the royal mansion—dueling with swords, shooting arrows and guns, and wrestling each other as they tumbled through the air. There were Steppe Warriors and cavaliers battling marines from the Great War and cavalrymen from the Peninsular Campaign. Sergeant Clegg, his sawed-off shotgun in his right hand, had joined the battle, chasing after what looked like a sea raider. And Johnny spotted Colonel MacFarlane high above Castle Henry, crossing swords with his old foe, Burilgi the Steppe Warrior.

Staring skyward at the skirmish through her goggles, Nina whistled in astonishment. “Well, that’s something you don’t see every day.”

“Come on, Sparks. Let’s see if we can get inside. Maybe we can help protect the king.”

They threaded their way up the circular drive in front of Castle Henry, past the grand equestrian statues and fountain, and up the central stairs—dodging soldiers and bog zombies as they went. Inside the royal mansion it was practically a madhouse.

Ghosts were dueling and fighting all over the place. Glorious antique furniture had been upended. Glassware and china smashed to smithereens. Paintings knocked askew on the walls. Priceless sculptures tipped over and broken. Tapestries slashed, crumpled on the marble floors.

Johnny and Nina huddled by a huge, heavy rosewood china cabinet for several long minutes, as a Steppe Warrior dueled a dead army officer—an SGS man whom Johnny had seen on the train north out of Higgsmarket. If he and Nina had tried to move forward, they would have gotten sliced and diced.

“Got any plan in mind?” Nina asked, peering around the corner of the cabinet to see how the duel was going. “How did you figure we could help protect the king?”

Johnny didn’t have a good answer. “I guess I just thought we would wing it.”

All of a sudden there was a terrible crash of breaking glass and porcelain. Johnny and Nina stuck their heads out into the passageway, around the corner of the massive china cabinet. One of the ghosts had missed a strike and instead smashed a glass door in the cabinet—wrecking a number of valuable figurines.

Now the two ghost combatants had moved a few dozen feet away, to the right, toward the end of the hallway. They were still fighting fiercely, sword to sword, but the SGS man seemed to be gaining the advantage.

Nina gestured to the left. “Let’s go this way.”

They tiptoed out and away and were almost back down to the spot where the main floor hallway joined up with the central atrium. Up above hung a huge, golden chandelier. The marble floor had patterns of colorful stone embedded in it, in a large circular design.

“If I were a king, where would I hide out?” Johnny pondered, gazing around.

“If you were a king,” Nina whispered, “I’d want to hide in another country.”

Johnny gave her a mock scowl. “I betcha he’s downstairs in the dungeon,” he speculated, not knowing if all castles came with dungeons.

“No, actually he’s not,” said a papery voice right behind them.

Johnny spun around.

No one was better at sneaking up on a guy than a ghost. And Corporal Marchiano was a particular master of ghostly surprise. The Zenith trooper was always sneaking up on Johnny back home at Birchwood.

The boy and the ghost shook hands and exchanged greetings.

But Corporal Marchiano was not alone. Rex Ward was with him, along with Private Boo and a couple of living people—obviously servants—in tailcoats and white ties. One of them was Oates, the man whom the king called his “ghost eyes.”

“Hey, Rex,” exclaimed Johnny. “You’re okay! It’s so good to see you.”

“And you, too, Master Graphic.” Rex took Johnny’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“Do you know if the king is okay?”

Rex whispered in Johnny’s ear. “Look carefully at the gent there.” He gave a head nod in the direction of the smaller servant in the tails.

Johnny did just that, wondering what the ghost was on about. Then it hit him.

It was the king!

In the guise of a servant.

The king winked at Johnny, as if they were secretly sharing a very good joke.

Johnny winked back, then whispered to Rex. “You’re sneaking him out?”

“Too many blasted hostile ghosts flying through every room,” Rex sniffed. “We have to move him to a safer location.”

“Then let’s get out of here, guys. C’mon, Sparks.”

Rex Ward took the lead, heading for the main door that Johnny and Nina had entered through. The king and Oates came next, with Marchiano and Boo on either side of them. Johnny and Nina brought up the rear.

“You’re awful quiet, Sparks,” said Johnny as they walked out into the night.

“Got a stinking bellyache, too,” she replied, her voice thin and shaky. “A good night’s sleep would do me wonders.”

“Bet it would,” Johnny agreed, figuring his friend was just out of sorts. Who wouldn’t be? “This’ll be over soon, and you can snooze around the clock back at Wickenham.”

From the look of things, the fight outside was as good as done. Bog zombie bodies were sprawled all around, and hundreds of royal soldiers stood guard. Up in the sky, the fighting specters had vanished. Johnny wondered how Colonel MacFarlane and Sergeant Clegg had fared. He sure hoped they were okay.

“Your Majesty!” came a stouthearted shout from out by the grand fountain.

It was Brigadier Stafferton, trotting toward them, with Lieutenant McKenzie right on his heels. Both officers jerked to a halt and snapped off crisp salutes.

“Thank heavens you’re safe,” the brigadier exclaimed. He hastily added, “…Your Majesty.”

“I was exiled in the wine cellar with all my best clarets,” the king said with a wry half-smile.

“We seem to have taken the field,” the brigadier said. “But better safe than sorry. Don’t know if the hostiles will counterattack. We have an armored car and convoy at the ready.”

Johnny was impressed by how unruffled the king seemed. He’d just been through a horrible night and the threat of assassination. But he stood there, gazing around, as if he’d never quite seen Castle Henry before.

Then he regarded his rescuers. “First, I should like to thank Brigadier Stafferton and his fine troops. To my loyal Oates, my ghost eyes, a hearty note of gratitude.” Oates bowed from the waist and shook the king’s hand. “To my ghost friends, whom I can’t see, a tip of the hat.”

The king’s gaze turned toward Johnny and Nina. “And I’m eternally obliged to Master Graphic and Miss Bain.”

Remembering the etiquette, Johnny bowed from the waist and shuffled over to shake the king’s rather limp hand.

After Nina curtsied, she approached the monarch of the Royal Kingdom with an oddly harsh, cold expression.

Johnny spied a glint of something in her left hand. Something metallic and pointed.

Nina had a knife!

With a terrible grunt, she began to jab the blade toward the king’s stomach.

Arms outstretched, Johnny leapt toward her.

“Noooo!” he screamed.