The Soul Hunters by Chris Bradford

Author:Chris Bradford [Bradford, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241326718
Publisher: Penguin Random House Children's UK
Published: 2020-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

22

‘So my colleague was right about you two, then!’ Smugly folding his arms, the steward waits by the door for the police.

As the unit of armed officers gather at the base of the gatehouse, I realize we don’t have much time. ‘Whatever you’ve read in the papers, Phoenix is not a terrorist and I’ve not been kidnapped,’ I explain hurriedly. ‘The truth is, we’re being hunted. We need that jar in order to survive!’

The steward’s stony expression tells me he’s unmoved by my pleas. ‘Tell that to the police, not me,’ he says bluntly. ‘In my eyes, you’re common thieves.’

‘Have it back, for all I care,’ says Phoenix with a resigned sigh. Then, to my surprise and dismay, he pulls the Soul Jar from his backpack and tosses it to the steward. ‘Here, catch!’

Taken off-guard, the steward fumbles with the antique clay pot … and drops it. ‘No!’ he cries as the jar shatters into a dozen pieces at his feet.

In the confusion, Phoenix grabs my hand and together we make a dash for the door. Pushing past the distracted steward, we rush down the spiral staircase to the floor below. But the clump of heavy boots is already rising to greet us.

‘Not again!’ Phoenix mutters, as a police officer in a bulletproof vest and riot helmet blocks our escape.

This no longer feels like déjà vu, rather a repeat of history. Without a sword this time to fend off the armoured officer, Phoenix kicks out at the man’s chest. Hemmed in by the narrow spiral stairwell, the officer can’t avoid the blow and tumbles backwards down the stairs, triggering a domino effect which knocks over all the other officers on the stairs behind. But now a second unit of armoured police is advancing along the narrow corridor from the main castle.

‘Stay where you are!’ orders the lead officer, a Taser gun in his hand.

Ignoring his command, we turn and sprint away in the opposite direction, towards a familiar heavy oak door that we both know leads on to the battlements. Just as we did some four hundred years ago, we make a desperate dash for the castle’s keep.

The police are hot on our heels. But Phoenix doesn’t stop to confront them like he did the Soul Hunters. Instead, we bound up the steep flight of stone steps, two at a time. Burdened by their riot gear, the officers struggle to keep up, and we reach the top far ahead of them and enter the keep through the portcullis gateway. Unfortunately the mechanism to lower the portcullis has been sealed off. I slam the inner door shut and tug the bolt across, but realize the rusted metal won’t hold the police back for long.

‘Where now?’ I pant, looking round the circular inner courtyard, praying for another exit. The timber-framed living quarters from Civil War times are long gone, the square holes and stone supports in the walls the only evidence of their past existence. There’s a large, bricked-up entrance to our right, but I recall that being blocked even in our previous life.

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