reat-uncle Faisal moved from his chair like a rocket. Hands whirring and eyes flashing, he took to the brass console on his workbench. Whiskers was perched on his shoulder with all the tail-wagging concentration of a robotic dog-mouse. Ned didn’t need his perometer to know – danger had found them. The question was: how much and from where?
“Console – enact safety protocols,” said Faisal.
“SAFETY PROTOCOLS ENACTED.”
And with that the lights stopped flashing red and the museum went eerily quiet.
“Hmm, sensors are picking up multiple signals. Don’t worry, this little home from home of mine has a fairly robust set of tricks up its sleeves.”
An old-fashioned curved telly by the console blinked into life, the image on its black and white screen flitting from room to room. It stopped by Faisal’s storage area, somewhere near the first exhibit.
“Multiple life forms, section 1-A.” This time Faisal’s security announcement spoke in something of a whisper.
The picture was hard to make out, the only source of light being the sliver that was coming in from a newly forced window. Even so, the three silhouettes Ned saw there were unmistakable – a shrunken bowler hat, an oversized shoe. One tall, one small and one impossibly fat.
“Clowns!” spat Ned.
There were few sights Ned hated more than that of Barbarossa’s hideous clowns, Eanie, Meanie and Mo. He could almost smell the reek of them coming through the monitor. Ned had had several run-ins with them before and knew well what they were capable of, how fast they could run and with what cruelty they worked their gifts.
“Faisal, your security ‘tricks’, how good are they exactly?” asked Lucy.
“Oh, quite capable of dealing with clowns, I assure you.”
On cue, Ned watched as Faisal’s clockwork exhibits showed themselves. From under chairs and tabletops, from shelves and storage boxes, his tiny wind-up men sprang to life, an army of angry dolls. And they were fast – but the clowns were faster. As the throng of little mercenaries closed in, Eanie nodded to Meanie and the tallest of the three opened a small box from his pocket. Ned could barely see them, but he could hear them through the speakers well enough.
Bzzzzz …
Ticker flies poured out of the box and on to Faisal’s security detail. One by one the little creatures stopped in their tracks, before turning to the three intruders and standing to attention with a salute. A large plume of noisy, boiling steam erupted from the top of Faisal’s head.
“If they can do that to my wee men, they can do that to the rest of my system!” said Faisal.
“T-that would seem to be the case,” stammered the Tinker, who was watching the three clowns lead the throng of tickers through his great-uncle’s museum towards his living quarters.
On the screen, Mo turned to the little wind-ups. “Quick flick, little soldies, open doorsy. Big bruvvers wants to say helloo.”
They all watched in abject horror as Faisal’s security system turned on itself and opened the locking mechanism to Faisal’s quarters.
A door swung open and through it stepped Eanie, Meanie and Mo, evil smiles on their painted faces.
But it was what stepped through after them that turned Ned’s blood to ice. Great hulking slabs of polished and buffed iron marched through the door till the room was filled with the sound of the clattering, chattering and ticking of at least ten Guardian-class tickers. And unlike in the taiga, there was no fleet of Chinooks flying in to save the day, and there was absolutely nowhere to hide or run to.
Eanie turned away from his metal warriors, both large and small, and stared directly up at the security camera. Cracked make-up and low lighting did little to hide the clown’s excitement as he smiled, displaying a row of stumped teeth.
“Jossy boy come vit cloons noo. Live or deady, it noo matter.”