A Hero at the End of the World (23 page)

The Home Office’s reception was a room designed to intimidate. The high ceiling was held up by large columns. Orange lights made to look like burning torches lined the walls, growing dimmer as they moved to the back so that it was impossible to see beyond the first quarter of the room. A narrow red carpet led to a desk that was easily six feet tall and constructed out of the same black metal as the building. Even from the floor, Oliver could see that a thick book rested on it.

The receptionist peered down at them from above a long, pointed nose. “Name?” he asked. His snooty voice echoed throughout the chamber.

Oliver raised his picture ID, bracing himself for trouble. “Oliver Abrams.”

“Archibald Gardener Hobbes,” Archie added, holding his passport in the air.

A highly secretive security spell swept over their IDs, verifying their authenticity. The receptionist made a thoughtful noise and entered something in his book. “Agent Stuart, they’re to remain with you for the entire time they’re in the facility. Visitor’s badges must be worn at all times. Failure to do so will result in immediate removal, and, potentially, legal action.”

“I understand,” Sophie replied, as the tension in Oliver’s shoulders lessened. “Thank you.”

A door to the right of the right of the desk opened.

“Enter,” said the receptionist without emotion. He had gone back to his tome, having lost interest in them.

Once the door had swung shut behind them, leaving them alone in a long corridor, Oliver tucked his visitor’s badge into his pocket.

“Don’t we need these?” Archie asked, but he unclipped his as well.

“Visitors aren’t allowed where we need to go,” Oliver told him. His gaze darted between the two of them. “Act like you know what you’re doing.”

“I
do
know what I’m doing,” Sophie pointed out.

Without speaking, they took the lift up to the fifty-ninth floor. Oliver kept his head down, hoping that they didn’t run into anyone from their department; he gave them two hours before it got back to the Disciplinary Board that he had entered the building. By that time, they needed to have located Ewan and the mechanism, or else he had risked his job for naught.

The lift pinged. Archie visibly jumped.

The corridor outside the Department of Unusuals was empty. Above their heads, a light flickered, and it was so cold that they could see their breaths.

Oliver stopped outside a door with bold lettering:

Department of Unusuals. No visitors allowed.

“We need to find a First or Second Class agent,” he said quietly.

“Why?” Archie asked, looking shaky.

“Neither of our ID cards give us access to the CCH,” Sophie replied.

“So we’re going to swipe their ID card from them when they’re not looking?” Archie demanded. “These are some of the best-trained agents in the world.”

The air was pierced by a cheerful whistle, growing louder as it headed in their direction. It was followed by heavy footfalls. Oliver grabbed Archie by the collar and yanked him around the corner, back in the direction of the lifts, trusting that Sophie would follow.

Archie’s eyes rounded and he opened his mouth to say something, but Sophie clamped a hand over it, glaring at him. “
Quiet
,” she mouthed.

The whistling was close now, but there was no telltale change in the tune to indicate that whoever it was had seen them. Cautiously, Oliver peeked around the corner.

Agent Kaur was sauntering down the corridor, his focus on the mobile phone in his hand.

“Well, that’s fortunate,” Oliver mumbled.

“You want to get an ID from
Kaur
?” Sophie hissed.

“He has access, remember.”

“So does Rice,” Sophie whispered. “I’m more inclined to try to get an ID from someone who won’t want a dodgy favor in return.”

“I don’t feel comfortable doing this to a First Class agent,” said Oliver, scratching the back of his neck. “At least Kaur is an arsehole. Look, I’ll do it; you don’t have to owe him anything.”

She sent him a disgruntled look before, without so much as a warning, walking around the corner. In shock, Oliver reached for her—but she moved too quickly, batting away his hand. He pulled Archie by the collar and drew him back before Kaur could notice either of them. The light above their heads flickered and died.

“Agent Kaur,” he heard Sophie say.

“Why, Agent Stuart,” Kaur practically purred. He sounded delighted to see her. “What’s a lovely lady like yourself doing here at the weekend?”

“What a wanker,” Archie muttered; Oliver couldn’t help but nod in agreement.

He could tell that Sophie wasn’t impressed. “Can I borrow your ID?” she asked.

There was a long pause. “Why?”

“None of your business,” Sophie replied.

“Well, all right,” Kaur said.

Oliver and Archie exchanged a look of disbelief.

“But one day,” said Kaur ominously, “I may ask a favor of—hey, where are you going?”

“Cheers, bye,” Sophie replied, her voice growing louder as she approached the corner.

“Smooth,” Oliver said dryly when she returned.

Smirking at him, she dangled the badge in the air triumphantly. Kaur’s stupid picture peered back at them.

“That what was far less complicated than I’d expected,” said Archie. “I think I’m disappointed, to be honest.”

“I could’ve asked him,” Oliver grumbled unhappily.

Sophie rolled her eyes and passed the ID along to Archie, who held it up in the dim light and squinted at it. “What are we meant to do with this again?” he asked.

“Oh,” he said when they took him up to the Watch Tower. “Suddenly things make a lot more sense.”

He started to follow them up the stairwell to the CCH, but Oliver stopped him with a hand to his chest. “You can’t come in here.”

“What now?” Archie asked, visibly testy.

Sophie groaned. “Oliver—”

“We signed a confidentiality agreement,” he reminded her.

“Out of all the laws that we’ve broken today, the one about confidentiality is the one you should care about the
least
,” she replied. “But if it means so much to you, he can stay out here with me. We’ll keep watch.”

On the surface, that sounded like a brilliant idea. Except Oliver knew that the combination of Sophie’s temper and Archie’s, well, being himself, meant that he’d leave the Watch Tower and come back to find Archie face-down in a puddle of his own blood and Sophie complaining that she was peckish after expending too much magic.

“Right, he’s coming with me,” said Oliver.

Sophie threw her hands up in the air.

“You’re bloody right I’m coming with you,” Archie snapped. The look on his face said that he’d get into the Watch Tower come hell or high water.

At the top of the stairs, Oliver spun around.

“What you’re about to see is one of the Government’s most highly guarded secrets,” Oliver told him gravely.

“Blah, blah, blah,” said Archie, rolling his eyes.

“But I can’t explain to you what it is. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

A knowing look crossed Archie’s face. “They put a spell on it, didn’t they. You can’t tell me or else something horrid will happen to you.”

“That’s confidential,” Oliver said sharply as he wrenched open the door.

Inside, the room was filled was the inky blackness he remembered from the last time he had been inside.

He took a deep breath. “
Ágief mē thæt sihth Wodenes
. Ewan Yun Mao
.
”

There was a flash of light and there Ewan was, unshaven and unkempt and wearing a ratty black hoodie. Oliver was suddenly reminded of the last year of sixth form, around A-levels, when most of their fellow students had stopped bathing and sleeping in favor of revising. By that point, Ewan had been kicked out of school.

Ewan was standing in what seemed to be a cluttered living room. Though the CCH had drained the scene of color, it looked dusty and damp. Long, heavy curtains partially covered the windows, the ends rolling out onto the wooden floor. The bulbous sofa was covered in a large floral print, and an old television was perched on an end table; the rest of the room was filled with tables, chests, wardrobes, and what might have been massive bags of laundry, every bit of surface covered in knickknacks.

“At least we know he’s still alive,” he half-joked, glancing back over his shoulder.

But Archie was standing perfectly still, gazing at the frozen, semi-transparent image of Ewan with a strange look on his face. There was something behind his eyes, something that had been in the tight line of his mouth and in the strain in his voice, that made Oliver feel as though he were missing the critical piece of a puzzle.

“Do you,” he began. He hesitated, not certain of how to phrase the thought that was running through his head. “This is about more than doing the right thing for you, isn’t it? You really care about Ewan.”

Archie stiffened. “Don’t be silly.” He barked out an incredibly forced laugh. “Why would I care about that selfish, cynical, backstabbing ogre? Did you know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit? I read that on a cereal box once.”

“I did know that,” said Oliver.

“Anyway, it’s not like he’s fit or anything. Those terrible glasses! That ridiculous haircut! All those hoodies!”

“Maybe you can give him a makeover before we all go to jail for the rest of our lives,” Oliver replied dryly.

“I’m too rich to go to prison, thank goodness,” Archie said. He threw Oliver a sideways glare. “I’d rather fall in love with a brownie than Ewan Mao, so get that out of your head this instant. At least a brownie would bring me shiny things.”

“
In love
with him?” Oliver repeated in confusion. He stopped mid-stride. “I really didn’t mean—oh,” he said as it finally hit him. “
Oh
.”

He looked at Archie for a long moment, thinking about the way he and Ewan had acted around each other, the almost crackling air between them. And also, when Archie had said he’d almost kissed Ewan. He felt like slapping himself. How could he have missed something so blatant?

More importantly, what on the Allfather’s green Earth did Ewan see in Archie?

“I guess stranger things have happened,” he murmured to himself.

“What was that?” asked Archie.

“What’s Mummy going to do when she finds out you’re really trying to rescue Ewan?”

“Honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Archie confessed.

“Right, why would you,” Oliver said flatly.

Archie circled Ewan’s image. “Does this zoom out? How does this work, anyway?”

He raised a hand, palm up, and, before Oliver knew what was happening, mumbled something. The air around them shifted. The same dark force Oliver had felt coming from Louise Gardener Hobbes weeks ago rolled out of Archie—the only difference was that this power wasn’t aimed at him.

Nothing had changed; they were still staring at the motionless figure of Ewan.

Oliver goggled. “Did you just do a spell?”

“Um,” Archie replied, “no?”

Rage fell upon him so swiftly that he started to shake. He advanced forward, and Archie took a few steps back. Even in the silver light, Oliver could tell that the color had drained out of his face.

“Your magic,” he growled, “is going to
destroy the world
. So, if you don’t mind, maybe you could not use it until we have all this sorted out.”

“Fine,” Archie replied, not looking at him.

In all honestly, Oliver had no idea how to zoom out.
Move
, he thought, and with his mind he
pushed
. Suddenly, the image changed so that they were looking down upon a thatched-roof cottage. It wasn’t far from the sea, and wherever it was, it looked cold and damp and gray.

“So he’s still in Britain then,” Oliver said.

He pushed out and out and out, until—

“Wait,” said Archie, “I think I know where that is. Isn’t that the Shetland Islands?” and Oliver, who had never been out of South East England, felt his heart flip over.

¤

There was a particular mechanism that Oliver had been allowed to use once before. Like the Closed Circuit Hlidskjalf, it took massive amounts of a person’s energy to fire up—but unlike the CCH, which most higher-level agents used at least once per case, it was only activated in national emergencies.

In the lift, Oliver swiped Kaur’s ID. Then he hit the button for the lowest level: B6. His stomach plummeted as they dropped hundreds of feet.

“I’m not certain that this is a good idea,” said Sophie.

“Where are we going?” Archie asked. The knuckles of his hands were white as he gripped the lift’s rails.

“I know of a way for us to get to Ewan instantly,” Oliver replied.

“Why am I suddenly filled with terror,” Archie said under his breath.

Oliver glared. “I heard that.”

The lift shuddered to an abrupt halt, sending Oliver’s stomach swinging up to his throat. He swiped Kaur’s card again, and slowly the doors opened onto a long, quiet corridor. At the far end was a pale light.

“This way,” Oliver told them.

The room at the end of the hall was a circular chamber that housed a tree. Its branches and gnarled trunk were shot through with gray, as though it were slowly being overtaken by petrified wood; half of its ashen leaves were on the ground, and the faint light seemed to shine directly out of the cracks in its bark.