The Black Museum

Chapter 2-1

Woodbury Wetlands. East London. 2021 Boudica, warrior Queen of the Iceni did not die at the hands of the Romans, nor did she poison herself and then her daughters. She would never have allowed it to happen – any of it. Boudica was resourceful and cunning, and she always, always had a way out. Once it was clear that the other tribal leaders would not take to the field of battle again, she gathered her family and disappeared. It was into the magical realms that she ran and once there – she killed her way to great power.

any of italwaysThat was hundreds of years ago. Tonight, she was in East London, preparing to race her chariot around the Woodbury Wetlands, her favourite of all London’s secret coliseums. Boudica whispered some last words of instruction into the ear of her lead horse, Epona. Then she slapped the horse’s finely muscled flank with the flat of her hand. It was like striking at a Roman shield, and she looked down at her palm, half-expecting to see a huge c***k running across it. Epona’s stablemate was Enbarr, and they were the finest horses that Boudica had ever reared. She loved them dearly and spoiled them dreadfully.

After checking the alignment of the chariot’s wheels and position of the yoke and fit of the harness, she looked out at the track her horses would shortly be pulling her around at breakneck speed.

The torches had been lit and placed at regular intervals. She had counted them all, an old trick she learnt from a Hibernian charioteer who had competed at the great colosseum in Rome.

“Walk the track if you can, judge the land, look for holes and wet ground, and above all, count the torches because you will know where you are even when some bastard is trying to take your eyes out with a long whip.”

She smiled at the memory of the man and his wise words. Boudica was tall, her red hair, so iconic, was still long and full. She was a striking woman. Broad-shouldered and still strong – both in mind and body. She had scars at the top of her arms where Roman javelins had grazed her and one on her face, just above her temple, and she wore them all with great pride.

She felt the wind change direction and scanned the surface of the water to see where it was blowing the hardest. Then she stepped onto the chariot and took the leather reins in her hands. The horses, sensing that their driver was ready, edged away and started to roll their shoulders and flick their heads up and down. They were getting used to the fit of their racing harnesses once again. Enbarr was always the impatient one, and she could smell the other horses nearby. She was excited too, because soon she would be free to run, and run she would, and it would take a brave charioteer and his team to stand against her and Epona.

Boudica took one final look at the track and the artificial lake that they were to race around. Man-made was the term they used now. Reclaimed land. Developed land. She remembered this countryside when it was pure and wild. The marshes around here were famous for hunting birds and boar, and the smooth flat downs of green that stretched away and down to the sea were perfect for riding horses. Now there were brick and metal buildings everywhere and train tracks that sliced the land into fractions, always thinner and thinner. A percentage more for a development here and a percentage more for an entertainment park there.

And on the roads, millions of cars, a restless plague of steel with open mouths that belched and blasted gas and fumes that stained the stones black with their poison. London had changed over the centuries. Not all of it was bad. For every motorway and car park there was a strong, deep river, and there were still thousands of green fields that when stitched together blanketed the land and helped it to breathe. The forests were still full of power and energy too, and many of the Old Kind, the spirits of stream and hill were still active and potent. There was still a balance, and the Iceni would help to keep it that way for as long as they could.

Boudica was energised and happy. She knew her own future, what lay around the next bend and where her path was leading. It hadn’t always been that way. The sacrifices that she had made in the beginning would have broken any other ruler and the promises that she at first regretted making, had proved to be right. And the great pact she had made? If she hadn’t gambled and made it, her head would have ended up on the tip of a Roman spear long ago.

She looked at the Moon and mouthed a silent prayer to the White Eyed Mother.

“Make me fast and make me brave, my lady.”

As Boudica waited for the Goddess of the Moon to bestow her blessing, a plane flew across the sky between them. It would be landing at City Airport nearby. If her Druid advisor had been there, he would have proclaimed it as some sort of magical fusion of the old ways and the new, and a clear sign that she would fly to victory. Or some other complete rubbish. She smiled and imagined the old fool’s face. He was ancient but kind and he would be missed when he was finally summoned to the Heart of the Forest to sleep under the hill.

fly From nearby, the sound of a hunting horn pierced the stillness – it was nearly midnight and time for the race to begin. This was her favourite night of the year; it was a chance for her to feel like a warrior queen once more. She breathed it all in, the sway of the trees and the soft hum of the rushes by the waterside. Bats whipped past overhead, and there was the occasional yap from a nosy fox, hungry and searching for food. The Wetlands was an almost perfect arena, and she had won many victories here. Boudica liked how the lights from the windows of the apartment blocks at nearby Manor House made the surface of the water look as though it were strewn with small neon flowers that rippled endlessly. London in 2021 was a fine place to live. It was just a shame that she would have to leave it sooner than she wanted.

She gave the rein in her left hand a quick flick, and her well-trained team pulled away. All the racers gathered here tonight were from prominent Under Folk families. Rochester was here of course, drunk as usual, but not to be underestimated. Then there was Norfolk, a bastard of the first degree and his close friends, the Romans. There were a few new faces among the crowd tonight too. Boudica smiled. There must always be fresh blood. Always. Albion demands it. As she drew nearer to the starting line, she saw her entourage and family drinking in the blue and white tent with the golden livery. The Iceni were the Underworld’s largest and most powerful family. Their empire stretched far and wide and their fortune was vast. They had a hand in most criminal enterprises and provided certain services for London’s magical communities. More recently, they had branched out into the Mundane world – something that she was still not comfortable with.

Under FolkAlwaysAs she manoeuvred her chariot towards the start, a mobile phone went off nearby, and the annoying ring tone caused Enbarr to shy away. Boudica made a clucking sound, and the horse snorted in reply. It was good to see some of her children enjoying life. She had always regretted not telling them more often to worship life rather than money and power. One of them would see the light, hopefully.

lifemoney and power hopefullyThe crowds began to cheer and roar and as Epona and Enbarr sensed the occasion, they tossed their heads back and stepped high. They wanted to show the world why their queen had chosen them above all others. Then the hordes of the Iceni saw Boudica, and they cheered as she passed by. Flowers were thrown and great horns filled with mead were thrust into the air. Froth flew everywhere and showers of golden liquid rained down on the revellers. Some of the guests regretted wearing Givenchy and Prada.

The other families had pitched their tents nearby and she received loud catcalls and the odd insult or two. The banter and the songs helped make the evening what it was, and Boudica, if she was completely honest, enjoyed it immensely.

When she drew up next to one of the new racers, a tall and broad-shouldered girl that reminded her of herself in many ways, she suddenly felt her years and subconsciously stood as tall as possible and affected a slightly comical pose. The feeling lasted only a few seconds and she burst out laughing at her silly behaviour.

Acting like a first-time racer at your age? Ridiculous woman, get a hold of yourself, she muttered.

Acting like a first-time racer at your age? Ridiculous woman, get a hold of yourself,The girl in the next chariot held her team well. She may look like a novice but there was every chance that she would show no hesitation in smashing Boudica into the water or edging the Queen of the Iceni’s chariot towards the trunk of a tree. Boudica would have to watch her closely. The colours she wore identified her as being one of the ghost children from the White City. They were good people, and she nodded to their champion. Once all eight charioteers had formed on the start line, one of the druids lifted a horn to his lips and sounded the first blast. On the second, they would be off.

The first circuit was slow; all the racers watched each other, looking for their opponents’ weaknesses. The second lap was quicker, and already a few had fallen. Inexperience and a false sense of invulnerability were more dangerous than an empty chariot being pulled by a team of wild horses. Only five charioteers now remained. As they began the third lap, Norfolk was the first to move. His team of jet-black horses ran on fear. They were badly treated at home and had become mean and nasty, just like their owner. Boudica disapproved of the way he treated his horses, but she had a grudging respect for his abilities as a racer. When he decided to act, he did so without fear.

Boudica watched him swerve across the track and then, at the last moment, he pulled hard on his right-hand rein and used his riding platform as a battering ram. The last remaining Roman tried to pull back and avoid contact but he had reacted too slowly, and he followed his horses into the water. As the remaining chariots skidded around the bend on the approach to the tents, Boudica calmly threaded her horses through a small gap between two chariots ahead of her. As expected, the sudden sight of the Iceni Queen appearing on their shoulder caused both to panic, and they tried to close the gap, but it was already too late. Their wheels met, spokes splintered, and both platforms flew upwards, throwing both charioteers into the air like dolls. The broad-shouldered girl would have a few bruises to show for her first real race.

Boudica allowed the reins to play out a bit, and the horses felt it and started to speed up. They had been given their freedom, and the sudden burst of acceleration nearly threw her off the back of her chariot. Gods, it was good to be alive! The track ahead was empty – her horses were like two bright comets tearing the dark night to pieces, and the torches on the trackside were not lying. She was so far ahead that she could afford to look back. It would have earned a swift rebuke from the old Hibernian, but what the hell. Boudica shot across the finishing line and used all her strength to pull the horses back and reduce speed. The team had been travelling so swiftly that the chariot sped down the track and away from the tents. Boudica pulled hard at the reins again and shouted at her girls to slow down and stop playing around. They had destroyed the competition and were just showing off now.

Godsit was good to be aliveOnce she had them under control, she turned them neatly around and pointed them back in the direction of the crowds and the tents. Rochester, Norfolk and the other surviving charioteers eventually crossed the finishing line and thundered past. A few raised their arms in salute, and she acknowledged them.

A good ruler must never miss an opportunity to remind the enemy of its weaknesses.

A good ruler must never miss an opportunity to remind the enemy of its weaknesses.That piece of advice had come from her late unlamented husband. He was a terrible ruler, but his advice was sound. It was just a pity that he hadn’t learnt to listen to it.

She looked over her shoulder and saw that the other racers had decided to give their horses another lap of the track, and it was while her head was turned to watch them that it happened.

A monstrous black shape flew out of the bulrushes at the water’s edge and hit her chariot so hard that she was thrown into the air and landed in the bushes near the trees. She was winded, her lungs felt as though they had been flattened by a blacksmith’s hammer and her right arm felt dead. Boudica, who had survived much worse, reacted as she had done on countless battlefields and summoned the strength, from somewhere, to stand up. There was blood in her right eye, and she was dizzy.

No matter! said the small voice inside, fight on, fight on and never kneel!

No matter!fight on, fight on and never kneel!Boudica set her back against the trunk of a tree and closed her b****y eye. She still had one that was fully functioning and one good arm. Whoever had attacked her had better be more of a man than she was, or he was going home in an envelope.

She could just make out the lake through the bushes and one sputtering torch. There was no sign of her horses or her chariot. No one would know precisely where she had fallen if the horses had bolted. Boudica tried to calm her breathing and at the same time she searched the ground nearby for something to defend herself with. For once, her legendary luck deserted her, and she was still empty-handed when the bushes in front of her parted and a fell beast edged towards her on silent paws.

“Black Shuk, you rancid animal, you know who I am and what you have done! Your disgusting black hide will be decorating the ground in one of my privies before the next moon.”

There was no reply from the hound, and it attacked so swiftly that she was lifted from the ground once again and thrown against the trunk of a tree.

“Speak then, Beast, on whose orders are you made assassin? You are too stupid to attack me out of spite.”

The creature closed the distance between them in one bound and placed one great paw over Boudica’s mouth.

“You will know soon enough Queen of the Iceni. There will be a new king soon and he will make good on what you have neglected to!”

Queen of the IceniBoudica suddenly realised who had sent the great Black Beast of the Fens to kill her. But she hadn’t broken her promise to him? The pact was still strong, what would he have to gain from this attack? Why take her soul now? They had agreed on a time and a place for that. She had told him that she would give it to him gladly, so why now?

But she hadn’t broken her promise tohimBlack Shuk’s great jaws opened, and the scent of the death pits flooded out. Then the darkness came, and her last thoughts were stolen away on the tips of sharp yellow teeth and eyes that dripped with blood and despair.

Prince Faelan, heir to the crown of the Iceni, was the first to see his mother’s empty chariot career around the bend and raised the alarm. Bedlam and confusion followed. Some of the Iceni charged into the water, hoping not to find an upturned chariot, others disappeared into the trees. Teams were sent to search the undergrowth and the nearby woods, but all returned empty-handed and forlorn.

As silence descended on the assembled ranks of the searchers, the torches nearby crackled, and the wind turned the sounds into the breathing of many dragons.

Prince Faelan pushed through the crowd and vaulted onto Boudica’s chariot.

“Iceni! The queen is missing, not dead. Her body has not been found. She is lost but not gone. We must search this place until we have found out who has taken the queen and where she has been taken. Now, go! Leave no stone unturned!”

not deadThen he returned to the Iceni tent. Rochester, Norfolk and the other Lords were assembled and waiting for him there.

“Let it be known amongst your people and the Under Folk that there will be b****y war if our queen is harmed. And believe me when I say that if we do call our banners to arms that none of you shall survive it. Please believe me when I say that. We will use every weapon we possess if we have been wronged, our reach is great and many of your fortunes could be vulnerable if we withdraw our support. Good night my Lords, pray for our queen if you will.”

Under FolkRochester and Norfolk made their retreat. Soon their tents were gone, and so were the Range Rovers and the SUV’s that had transported their followers to the races. All that remained were the Iceni. They searched until the sun rose, and then they too disappeared. They had found some clues – but not their queen.

but not their queen.