Hercufleas (7 page)

Were they…?

Did they mean…?

Surely they couldn't be…

Hercufleas felt Greta tremble. He watched the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and rise. He began to whisper
The Plea of the Flea
under his breath.

Greta backed away. ‘You're scaring me.'

‘Of course we're scaring you.' Prince Xin sighed theatrically. ‘Isn't that what villains are supposed to do?'

Greta went pale as the mist. ‘Villains? But I need a Happily Ever After—'

‘Did you think only
good
people want Happily Ever Afters?' said Prince Xin. ‘There are plenty of ambitious princes who want their fathers to vacate the throne. Wicked alchemists needing children to practise their potions upon. People like that don't need a hero to do good – they need a villain to do evil. That's why Mr Stickler keeps us. We make him a fortune.' He frowned. ‘But you know all this, surely. Unless Stickler gave us to you by mistake.'

‘No, he picked you out for me especially, after I threatened to —' Greta began, and then stopped. Suddenly it all fell into place. Prince Xin and Ugor weren't going to help Greta take care of Yuk, they were going to help Mr Stickler take care of Greta…

‘Ah,' said Prince Xin softly. ‘Now I understand. You threatened Mr Stickler? He doesn't like that. He's very proud of his reputation. He'll do dreadful things to protect it. Or, rather, he'll get us to do the dreadful things for him.'

‘Oh run, Greta,' Hercufleas urged, his voice growing from a whisper to a shout. ‘Run, run, run, you have to RUN!'

G
reta whirled round and pelted away from the villains, tripping and skidding across the shingle. A panic-stricken Hercufleas held on to her collar as she ran.

There was a whistling sound, something fluttered through the mist overhead and Prince Xin floated down in front of her, light as a feather, blocking her escape. It wasn't a sword in his hand, Hercufleas realised, but a silver fluted tube – a flyte. Flytes were rare instruments that he'd heard his fleamily talk about. They gave heroes skilled enough to play them the power to glide through the air like a bird.

‘It really is nothing personal,' said Prince Xin. ‘A job is a job, and we pride ourselves on always completing our contract.'

‘Get away from me!' Greta yelled, reaching for the axe slung across her back. ‘Help! Somebody help me!'

She aimed a chop at Prince Xin, who piped a melody and soared up out of reach. Behind Greta, Ugor nudged Onk-Onk left and right, aiming the barrels of his snout.

‘Behind you!' Hercufleas yelled in Greta's ear.

There was a loud booming roar, a flash of powder. He heard the bullets zip over him as Greta ducked. She rolled left, and Prince Xin trilled a frantic high note to get out of the way, just in time – he glared down at the two smouldering holes in the end of his blue cloak.

‘That was midnight velvet!' Prince Xin snarled, perfect face twisted with rage. Because he stopped playing the flyte to speak, he dropped to the ground. Greta swung her axe again, but he caught the handle and wrenched it from her grasp.

‘Now you will see why they call Ugor the Ballistic Barbarian,' Ugor grinned, reaching for his gun on Onk-Onk's saddle.

‘No, no, no!' said Prince Xin crossly. ‘Don't
shoot
her! Then it will be obvious she has been murdered. Stickler won't want the rest of Avalon to find out about this! No, I have a
much
better idea. Watch!'

He sprang forward, dodging Greta's wild punches. He snatched her up, kicking and screaming, with one hand. With the other he began to play his flyte.

They rose up into the fog. Hercufleas's stomach lurched. Higher, higher, higher they went, until the ground below disappeared and there was nothing but whiteness all around. Then they burst out above the mist. The cold stars shone like blue diamonds beside a sliver of moon.

Far below, Ugor was shouting. ‘Where you go, Xin? What you do?'

Hercufleas knew. Once he got high enough, Prince Xin would simply let Greta go. All they had to do was lay her body at the bottom of the island's cliffs. It would look as if she had lost her footing in the mist. A tragic accident.

Beautiful, haunting music came from the flyte. The arpeggios rose, higher and higher. Any moment, they would reach a crescendo, and Greta would drop like a stone. She twisted and screamed, trying to get free, but Prince Xin was too strong, and gradually the fight ebbed from her.

With a desperate scream, Hercufleas launched himself from her shoulder.

‘Whatever size his enemies, the winner's always HERCUFLEAS!' he bellowed.

And landing on the flyte, he bit Prince Xin's fingers as hard as he possibly could.

‘OWWW!'

At once the haunting music stopped and they were all tumbling down, head over heels through the air. Hercufleas clung to the flyte for dear life. Prince Xin snatched for the instrument, but Hercufleas gnashed at his fingers again and he jerked his hand away with a howl. Greta lunged for the flyte, brought it to her lips and managed to blow a single high note that pinned her in place in the air.

Prince Xin grabbed at her feet. He pulled off a clog and disappeared with a hideous shriek down into the fog.

Three seconds later, the shriek ended in a sickening thud on the shingle below.

Down on the ground, Ugor roared.

Hercufleas opened his eyes. His arms and legs were wrapped around the end of the flyte. Prince Xin's sickly-sweet blood was still in his mouth, tasting of jasmine and malice. Shakily he pulled himself up and stood on the tip of the instrument. Greta was still playing the high note, like the wail of a boiling kettle, keeping them suspended in the air. Her eyes were wide. Her pupils were almost crossed, staring at Hercufleas on the end of the flyte.

‘Whatever you do,' he shouted, ‘don't stop playing.'

Greta nodded, but now the high note was beginning to wobble. She was running out of breath.

She gasped a lungful of air, but as the note ended, the flyte's magic ceased. They plunged down. Greta sank into the mist up to her knees, then blew the same note and jerked to a stop again.

‘Can you play something higher?' Hercufleas yelled. ‘To take us up?'

Greta screwed her eyes shut, she shook with effort until she was beetroot red, but no matter how hard she blew, she didn't have the breath or skill to make the flyte take them higher.

They fell further down into the mist as she took another breath.

And again: lower.

Lower.

‘You coming back down to me, little Greta,' said Ugor from below. His voice was much closer now. ‘Ugor waiting for you. You die for poor Prince Xin.'

Now they were level with the street lamps lining the shore. The ground was a brown haze beneath them. Hercufleas made out Ugor's enormous dark shape. He heard Artifax clucking softly over the body of Prince Xin.

They only had a few seconds before they hit the ground. Hercufleas scrabbled about in his mind, trying to cobble together a plan. Greta looked at him desperately. She couldn't speak, but he knew what she was asking. She was begging him to save her. To be her hero.

‘Stay as high as you can, for as long as you can,' he said. ‘I'll get help.'

Greta shook her head.
Don't leave me.

‘I have to,' he said. ‘I can't fight Ugor. He's like a giant compared to me.'

Tears leaked from her screwed-up eyes.

‘I'll get help,' he said. ‘Stay here. Don't—'

And then Greta ran out of breath again, and they fell.

U
gor snatched Greta by her brambly hair. She kicked and flailed, trying to put the flyte to her lips again. He tore it from her grasp and crushed it to bits. Hercufleas tumbled off the end of the instrument, an invisible dot in the night. He landed headfirst in Onk-Onk's left nostril. The pig sniffed, and with a yell Hercufleas was sucked up its snout.

There, at the end of a long tunnel packed with gunpowder and bogeys, he had an idea.

Before his brain could tell him what a stupid, reckless and dangerously explosive idea it was, Hercufleas rolled himself into a ball, shut his eyes and bit down as hard as he could.

Onk-Onk sneezed.

With a bright blue flash, a gigantic force shoved Hercufleas in the back. He shot out of Onk-Onk's snout at well over a thousand miles an hour.

Straight into Ugor!

There was a
clang!
like a blacksmith's anvil. The barbarian stumbled backwards, his armoured breastplate dented and cracked. Hercufleas felt as if he'd been hit with a sledgehammer. He fell on the ground, winded and dazed.

Above him, Greta stood blinking in confusion, wondering how she was still alive. Then she spotted a little brown pebble on the beach stagger to its feet.

Her hero.

‘Urggh…' said Ugor. ‘Bad Onk-Onk… Why you break Ugor's best armour?'

Greta had a fraction of a second to escape. She grabbed Hercufleas with one hand and her axe in the other, and ran. Ugor staggered to his feet in a daze.

‘Back to the house-hat!' gasped Hercufleas in her palm. He lay there thinking of his fleamily and how he would never, ever go adventuring again.

But Greta ran to the shore, where a beautiful white bird stood over the body of Prince Xin. Behind her, Ugor jumped on Onk-Onk, who squealed as he charged towards them.

‘Stop!' urged Hercufleas. ‘You're going the wrong way!'

In one leap, Greta was on Artifax's back, nestling between his little wings.

‘Go!' she said. ‘Go!'

Artifax twisted his long neck round to stare at her, head cocked.

‘GO, Artifax!'

Then the bird saw Onk-Onk rushing up from behind, and suddenly they shot forward like an arrow from a bow. Down the shingle they flew, towards the waves. Ugor roared and cursed but Artifax outran his shouts. In a matter of seconds he had reached a jetty. He ran on, right to the very end, right to where there was no more jetty, only waves.

They didn't stop.

Or sink.

Faster than the wind, Artifax splashed across the water like a skipped stone. When Hercufleas looked back towards Avalon, the lights of the island had already vanished into the mist.

It was pitch dark upon the lake. The only sounds were the
splish-splish-splish
of Artifax's feet and the howl of the wind through his feathers. And at that moment it struck Hercufleas – with as much force as he had struck Ugor – that nothing would be the same again.

The house-hat, the exotic blood, the boingy-boing room – all of it would have to end. Mr Stickler hired out villains. He was not an agent just of good, but of evil. And because he was their host, without knowing it the fleamily lived off evil too.

Now Hercufleas knew the truth, they'd have to leave. They would become just like other fleas, scavenging blood wherever they could, always at risk of being squished by thumbs or drowned in hot soapy baths.

His adventure had ruined everything. But if he hadn't left with Greta,
she
would be the dead one now, instead of Prince Xin. Hercufleas might have saved her life… but the life his fleamily had known? The life Hercufleas had lived for one, wonderful day?

That was over.

W
ith a cluck, Artifax emerged from the mist and stepped back onto dry land, feet thudding on soft sand. They had crossed the lake to the far shore. Avalon was behind them. Up ahead were endless hills and forests.

The kingdom of Petrossia.

Artifax slowed to a stop, his sides heaving, and began preening his feathers. Hercufleas lay in Greta's hand, miserable.

In the dark stillness, she leaned into her palm, so close that he felt the warm wind of her breath.

‘Are you alive?'

‘Unfortunately, yes,' said Hercufleas. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Sorry? What for?'

‘It was only supposed to be a little adventure, I promise… But it ended up a huge disaster, didn't it? Now you won't get your Happily Ever After, and my fleamily will be homeless, and I never, ever should have left the house-hat…'

He trailed off. Greta's eyes shone. Her shoulders shook. She was giggling.

‘What's so funny?'

She threw back her head and howled with laughter so hard she fell off Artifax and onto the sand.

‘Oh, Hercufleas!' she cried, tears streaming from her odd-coloured eyes. ‘You're not a disaster, you're incredible! You're unbe
flea
vable! You're
parasitic
ulous! The
best pest
in all the world! You're perfect! What a hero I'm bringing back to Tumber!'

Hercufleas hopped to his feet. ‘Did you just call me a hero?'

Greta grinned, jumping up and dancing around Artifax, who cocked his head and squawked. ‘Not just a hero, but exactly the right type of hero too.'

Hercufleas gawped. ‘I am?'