Chaos Descends. Shane Hegarty
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“The pancakes weren’t even that great, to be truthful,” hissed Broonie. “Not enough eggshell pieces for my liking.”
“Do we have to tie him up?” Finn asked.
“No,” said Hugo, “but only if he’ll … you know what … willingly.”
Broonie’s drooping eyelids opened wide as he understood fully what was going on. “Oh, it’s desiccated I’m to be? Maybe you should try getting shrunk some day!” he screamed at them. “I promise you it’s a treat beyond delight!”
“The Twelve think you’re already desiccated,” said Hugo. “If they see you like this, they’ll make sure to do it themselves, and they won’t be as gentle as us.”
“I was being sarcastic, you do realise that?” said Broonie. “It’s not a treat. Or a delight.”
“Let’s all agree it’s not pleasant,” continued Hugo. “But we have bigger problems at the moment.”
“So I must pay the price for your problems.”
Finn sighed and shrank a little. It was too early in the day for this. It would always be the wrong time of day for it. “We’ll make it quick,” he promised.
“It’ll only be quick for you,” complained Broonie. “For me, it is a slow, cruel trip towards oblivion. After all I’ve done for you.”
“You’re right,” said Hugo. “You helped Finn defeat a rampant Minotaur. But, let’s be honest here, we’ve saved your life too. You could easily be back with the Council of Twelve being questioned and examined—”
“And prodded,” added Broonie. “There was lots of prodding.”
“No one wants to hurt you, Broonie,” said Finn, genuinely upset by all of this.
“Really?” asked Broonie.
“Really,” said Hugo. “I promise we’ll reanimate you when this is over, give you a big chisel and you can go out there and eat all the old, hard chewing gum you can dig off the pavement.” Hugo held out a hand. “So what do you say?”
Broonie eyeballed him in return, assessing the offer for a few seconds before making his decision. “You know,” he said, “you humans really do have the most appalling eyebrows.”
Then he ran.
Four minutes and twenty-six seconds later, and after the loss of a couple of pieces of crockery, Broonie was wrapped in tape and protesting as loudly as his gagged mouth would allow.
“We’ll get him to the library. You’re going to have to grab his feet,” said Hugo.
“Why do I have to grab his feet?” protested Finn. “They’re vile.”
“Hhhggmmm!” Broonie complained. “Hhhhgggmmmmmm!”
They lifted the Hogboon like a roll of carpet to a spot on the kitchen floor between the bin and the washing machine.
“You watch him while I grab a Desiccator and get this thing over and done with,” said Hugo and nipped out of the door towards the Long Hall before Finn could protest.
“Hhhhggghhkkmmm!”
“I know,” said Finn, hating every moment of this. “I’m sorry.”
“Hhhgggmmmm,” added Broonie, then “kkhhhhhhukkkk,” as if choking a bit.
The Hogboon seemed in genuine distress now, all trussed up like that, with the locket clamped tight in his neck. “Kkkgggggggggurrrrrrrkkk.” He writhed on the floor, thrust his head back, struggling for breath. It was awful to see.
Finn couldn’t stand it any longer and bent down to pull a corner of the tape from Broonie’s mouth. The Hogboon gasped a breath. “My neck,” he rasped. “The clasp. Too tight. Can’t breathe.”
The doorbell rang. Bing bong.
“Dad!” Finn called out of the door into the hall. “Can you get that?”
“Help,” gasped Broonie, a spray of spittle leaping from his lips.
“I’ll loosen it,” Finn said. “But just a bit.” He fumbled with the lock on the very back of the necklace. What code? He tried the house’s alarm code and sure enough the lock loosened and Finn could let the clasp out a bit, to the evident relief of Broonie who gulped in breath as if it was his last chance.
The bell rang again, urgent now. Bing bong. Bing bong.
“OK!” Finn shouted at the door. “I’m coming. Stay here, Broonie. There’s no point in trying to wriggle anywhere.”
Pressing the tape across Broonie’s mouth again, he ran from the kitchen, opened the door.
Emmie stood on the doorstep.
“They’re coming,” she announced urgently, pushing past Finn.
“Who’s coming?” asked Finn.
“What’s going on?” enquired Hugo, appearing in the hall with a Desiccator barrel in one hand, its canister in the other. A breeze tickled each of them, air whooshing through the house as if a door or window was open elsewhere. Hugo looked at the open door of the kitchen. “Where’s Broonie?” he asked, walking towards it.
Finn tensed immediately, and followed Emmie to the kitchen. They each peered under one of Hugo’s armpits as he stood, shaking his head, the restrained fury clear in every hard breath through his nostrils.
On the floor was a pair of scissors and shorn electrical tape. But no Broonie. Over the sink, a small window was open to the yard out the back, and the walled alleyways leading into Darkmouth.
“Fantastic,” said Hugo.
“He was choking, Dad,” explained Finn, feeling the world sink away beneath him.
“I presume he went through a whole routine, did he?” said Hugo, and began to imitate a choking Hogboon. “Kkkgggggggggurrrrrrrkkk. Help me. Kkkgggggurrrrkk.”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” said Finn, even though it had been exactly like that.
Hugo turned, pushed past Finn and Emmie to get to the Long Hall, quickly returning with a scanner: a chubby box with a screen that winked into view, displaying a hand-drawn map of Darkmouth. A blue dot appeared. This was the tracking device in Broonie’s locket. He was already moving at pace from the house.
Hugo clicked the Desiccator, arming it. There was a meek wheeze from its canister, the sound of its fluid engaging for action.
“This is getting serious,” said Hugo. “Mr Glad has killed two Half-Hunters. More may die. He’s up to something, even if we don’t know what it is yet. So we’ll go and bring Broonie back, but this time we’ll do it without any messing around, without playing nice. We’ll track him like we would any Legend. Hunt him down. Shrink him. Bring him back. Then we’ll start dealing with this situation properly.”
“Are we going to tell the Twelve he’s loose?” asked Finn.
“I’ll think about it,” answered Hugo.
“Oh yeah,” said Emmie, “that’s what I came to tell you.”
“Hello,” said a voice. “Anyone home?” Steve stuck his head round the door. “Hey, Hugo. You’d better have the kettle on.”
“Ah, it’s just you,” said Hugo.
“And