erry and Olivia Armstrong could not be a more formidable force, especially when combined with the enigma that was Benissimo. There was very little that Terrence, with the help of his ring, could not “amplify” into existence, and in turn, there was very little that his wife did not know about how to fight, what tools to use, what strategies to employ and with what mindset to do the fighting. Before Ned’s birth, Terry and Olivia Armstrong had followed the Ringmaster into the fray countless times and the “old-goat”, impervious to harm as he was, had never let them down.
Today, though, was not that kind of day.
“I thought you said the Seelie Court were friendly?!” roared a red-faced Terry Armstrong.
“King Oberon was – his son’s another matter!” panted back Benissimo.
Their party of three had been running now for more than thirty minutes. The streets of Dublin had a turning, twisting way to them that seemed to go on endlessly and the screaming Fey behind them did not know the meaning of tiredness. An angry fairy could chase its target indefinitely. Sweat pouring, chests beating and tempers flaring, Benissimo and the two Armstrongs stopped to look back down the street at the approaching throng of crazed magic. It was three in the afternoon and the busy shoppers going about their business couldn’t see through the Fey’s glamours. Had they been able to, they would have screamed at the tree-men, twenty feet high, with jagged branchy spears; they might have marvelled at Oberon’s Nightwatch, a magical battalion of inch-high knights riding on the back of hummingbirds; or perhaps been petrified by the sight of magic-wielding spell-casters with the body armour of insects, barrelling between the tree-men’s legs in blurs of green, lilac and blue. Luckily for the innocent shoppers of Dublin, all they saw was an eccentric-looking man in a top hat and an out-of-shape Englishman with his increasingly hot-tempered wife tearing down the street.
Just a normal day then.
“We’ve got about thirty seconds before that mob catches up with us. Ideas?!” snarled Olivia.
Benissimo’s eyes scoured the street ahead till they finally rested on the pub coming up on the right. It was old with something of a bell tower at its roof.
“I say we make a stand and pray that Mr Fox ignored my order to have no back-up at the ready!”
A second later, Benissimo kicked the door of Flannigan’s Sports Bar and Brewery clear off its hinges. The barman was alone and eating a bacon sandwich, or at least would have been had his mouth not fallen open at the sight of the wild-eyed Ringmaster and a broken door lying limply on the floor.
“Excuse me, barkeeper, how exactly does one gain access to your roof?!”
A hummingbird came careering in from outside, and was promptly flattened by Olivia Armstrong and a well-aimed bar stool.
“Well done, Livvy,” smiled Terry.
“You’re welcome, darling.”
The bartender, however, was far from impressed. “M-my door …”
As the buzz of thrumming wings grew louder, Benissimo’s whip tore across the bar area, vaporising the man’s sandwich into a cloud of bready bacon.
“APOLLO’S FLAMING CHARIOT, MAN – THE ROOF?”