isn’t that right, Finn?” asked Mrs McDaid.
Finn looked up to see his teacher staring at him from behind her desk, and quickly hid Emmie’s notebook under his textbook as he answered. “Yes, miss.”
The class murmured.
“No, Finn, it is not right. You really need to pay attention, even though we all have great sympathy for your special circumstances …”
This turned out to be one of the better moments of Finn’s day.
Later that afternoon, Finn and Emmie wandered home again under clearing skies, through the sullen Darkmouth streets, past people with their heads down, except for when they gave accusing glances. They walked up Broken Road past its row of dusty shops. The dummies in the fashion store that looked like they’d been dragged from a skip before being dressed. The dusty bookshop with the little gathering of dead flies in the corner of the window.
They passed the damaged dental surgery where Finn’s mam should have been pulling teeth, fitting crowns, removing dead nerves, and all the other things she did that Finn loved to watch.
Except his mother wasn’t there. The rebuilding hadn’t even begun and probably wouldn’t until she had helped find a way to get Finn’s father back.
They stopped for a few moments at Darkmouth’s pet shop – Tails and Snails – where Finn stared wistfully at its window of flapping budgies and curled-up snakes. He felt he was being dragged as far away as possible from whatever hopes he had of being a vet.
They passed the police station with the now-dead flowers left at its entrance for Sergeant Doyle, grievously wounded saving Finn and Emmie, and who now lay in a city hospital, having finally got out of Darkmouth – but not in the way he would have liked.
The town had been sent a replacement, who hid out so effectively that most people were still unsure whether the new sergeant was a man or woman, bearded or clean-shaven, brave or scared.
“I should’ve stopped Mr Glad,” said Finn, idling at the front of the police station.
“You did,” said Emmie.
“Not in time to stop Sergeant Doyle getting badly hurt, though. Or half the town destroyed.”
“Seriously, you fought a Minotaur. You went to the Infested Side. You’ve really got to stop beating yourself up over the whole thing.” She jumped at him and, laughing, gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “That’s my job.”
Emmie ran on ahead and Finn followed, rubbing his arm and wondering how much more it would have stung if it had been an unfriendly punch. When they reached the corner where their streets met, Finn saw that Estravon the Assessor was parked up at the front of his house, talking to his mother.
“Maybe it’s good news,” said Emmie.
“It’s not,” said Finn as they approached slowly.
“How do you know?”
“Because he hasn’t even got out of the car,” said Finn, “and he’s kept his engine running. I think he’s ready to leave here quickly.”
They arrived to hear the Assessor methodically reading the words on a piece of paper stretched across his lap. Even with his face down, his head was crammed up against the roof of the car.
“The Council of Twelve has read the Assessor’s report and met again on this matter,” Finn heard him say as he and Emmie arrived.
“If this was something positive, you’d be inside tucking into the biscuits,” said Clara. “So, just get on with telling us whatever bad news is on that page.”
Estravon cleared his throat and continued, clearly hoping that he’d be allowed to do so without interruption so he could just make his escape. “Before this tragic occurrence in Darkmouth, Hugo the Great was due to become a member of the Twelve, a true reward for a real hero. This is our loss as much as yours.”
“You really think so?” Clara asked.
“The Council of Twelve has accepted that Hugo acted out of the highest bravery, which will be duly noted in a later, official capacity, according to section 19, clause …” The Assessor looked at them out of the corner of his eye, noted the impatience on the faces of his audience and skipped on a little.
“Nevertheless, it is with the deepest regret that we must conclude that Hugo is most likely …” Estravon cleared his throat, “… dead.”
Finn’s mouth flopped open.
Emmie’s head dropped.
Estravon paused, as if expecting a reaction or a follow-up question. All that came was a calm, stern instruction from Finn’s mam.
“Just keep reading,” she said.
“Under rule 123a, paragraph 14, it is required that an appropriate time must pass before a lost Legend Hunter is officially declared dead and a full-time replacement Legend Hunter brought in.”
“And the appropriate time is?” asked Clara.
“Forty-eight hours.”
Finn’s mouth flopped open a little more, so that his jaw felt like it might fall from its hinge.
“Two days?” exclaimed Emmie, but Clara simply put a hand up to quieten her, as if she was keeping her fury snarling behind a locked door for when she really needed it.
“A little less than two days, to be accurate,” said Estravon. “You know, with the gap between the news being passed to me and then me delivering it onwards to yourselves.”
“And what happens to us?” asked Clara.
“Reassignment,” said Estravon.
“Reassignment?” said Finn. “To another town?”
“No, no. Another house in Darkmouth. Where Steve and Emmie are at the moment.”
Steve appeared round the corner, a bounce in his step that suggested he had absolutely no idea what had just happened. “You all sunbathing?” he asked.
Clara’s glare hit him like a blastwave.
“What?” Steve asked.
“You wanted a Blighted Village to call your own and you finally got it,” Clara said to him, still remarkably calm on the surface even though her anger was so very clear.
“Actually,” said Estravon the Assessor, bumping his head on the car ceiling, “that’s not quite how it works.”
“Someone is going to have to rewind this conversation and start from the beginning,” said Steve, “because I have no idea what you’re going on about.”
“All those years of living with their rules, of living with their demands and restrictions,” added Clara, “and this is how we’re repaid. Eviction.”
“Reassignment,” clarified Estravon.
Clara ignored him. “So, congratulations, Steve; unless Hugo comes back within forty-eight hours, we’re swapping houses. I hope you like vacuuming corridors because you’re going to be doing a lot of it.”
Calculating that this was his moment to escape, Estravon took his chance and put his foot down so the car lurched on to the quiet road, paused at the corner and, with a belch from the exhaust, disappeared from view. They could hear the engine fading away into the town, the fumes of its exhaust still acrid in the air.
Finn had already gone into his house and was heading straight for the library. He had less than two days to find the map. To find his father.