Bloodaxe Read online

  SPYING ON THE PAST

  BLOODAXE

  CHARLIE CARTER

  First published 2009 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Text copyright © Charlie Carter 2009

  Illustration copyright © Russell Jeffery 2009

  The moral rights of the creators have been asserted

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

  transmitted by any person or entity [including Google, Amazon or similar

  organisations], in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information

  storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from

  the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Carter, Charlie.

  Bloodaxe / Charlie Carter.

  9780330425209 [pbk.]

  Carter, Charlie Battle boy; 4.

  For children.

  Eirik Blodks, King of Norway, ca. 895-945—Juvenile fiction.

  Vikings--Juvenile fiction.

  A823.4

  Designed by Russell Jeffery, Emigraph

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural,

  recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests.

  The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations

  of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2009 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced

  or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any

  person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any

  form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying,

  recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the

  publisher.

  Battle Boy 4: Bloodaxe

  Charlie Carter

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  ‘Hey, Nappy. Where do you think you’re going?’

  Caesar blocked Napoleon’s way as he tried to get on his bike.

  ‘Not now, Caesar,’ said Napoleon. ‘I’ve got to be somewhere.’

  He glanced at his Battle Watch.

  Professor Perdu sounded like she was about to

  He had to get to the Special Reading Room ASAP.

  ‘Are you off to the library again, Napoleon?’ said his father, who was polishing his collection of medals. ‘I wanted to take you boys to that new World War Two movie this afternoon.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad, but I don’t know how long I’ll be,’ said Napoleon.

  ‘What a pity.’ Napoleon’s father looked disappointed.

  ‘Nappy doesn’t like battles,’ explained Caesar. ‘He’s a big scaredy cat!’

  Caesar laughed and his father smiled.

  If only they knew, thought Napoleon.

  If only he could tell them about the real battles he’d been in.

  His father wouldn’t think he was a scaredy cat then.

  But Napoleon couldn’t say anything.

  Operation Battle Book was absolutely top secret.

  He got on his bike and sped off.

  Ten minutes later he was pressing his hand against the palm pad on the wall outside the Special Reading Room.

  ‘Access approved,’ the door said and hummed open. ‘Have a good mission, BB005.’

  Napoleon stepped into the main chamber and the door slid shut.

  ‘About time,’ said Professor Perdu. She was at the control panel, looking cranky.

  She pressed a button and a cubicle opened in the wall. ‘Into your SimulSkin. And hurry!’

  What’s her problem? Napoleon wondered as he slipped into his skin-coloured survival outfit.

  ‘Good morning, BB,’ Skin said as Napoleon stretched the outfit over his head. ‘You are a Viking today.’

  A panel opened in the wall to reveal a set of clothes: woollen trousers and tunic, linen undershirt, leather boots and cap. And a woollen cloak.

  Napoleon got dressed. The trousers were thick and heavy, and the undershirt was prickly.

  ‘Your name is Thorven,’ Skin said. ‘Son of Ragnar. There are more details on your handscreen.’

  Napoleon rubbed his hands together and opened them like a book.

  They became an LCD screen with details of the mission.

  ‘The Vikings have been raiding England for hundreds of years,’ Skin explained. ‘The King of Dublin has gathered local lords and barons together to fight Bloodaxe, the Viking King of York, at the Battle of Stainmore. Bloodaxe dies in this battle, but he has a son. We do not know what happens to him.’

  ‘So who is this Bloodaxe guy?’

  ‘One of the fiercest Viking kings in history, that is who. You will need to be very careful of him.’

  ‘Sounds like the prof,’ Napoleon whispered. ‘What’s wrong with her today? She nearly snapped my head off.’

  ‘Negative,’ said Skin. ‘The professor does not possess the strength to “snap” your head off.’

  ‘And I heard that, BB005.’ Professor Perdu’s voice crackled over the intercom. ‘I’ll tell you what my problem is if you move a little faster,’ she said. ‘Because if you don’t, it’ll be your problem as well. There’s a Time Twister.’

  ‘A Time Twister?’ Napoleon repeated as he stepped out of the cubicle.

  ‘It’s a tornado,’ the professor said. ‘A time tornado. Enormous chunks of time and history spinning out of control in a vortex.’

  ‘Sounds crowded,’ said Napoleon.

  ‘Yes,’ said the professor, ‘crowded and chaotic, but we don’t really know to what degree because no-one has ever been caught in a Time Twister, apart from the time when—’ she stopped abruptly. ‘But you don’t need to worry about that.’

  ‘Worry about what?’

  ‘There’s no time to talk, BB,’ said the professor, ignoring his question. ‘It’s only a small twister, and it’s off the radar. So it’s harmless at this stage. If we launch you on the mission now, you’ll be back before it becomes really dangerous.’

  Professor Perdu pressed a button, and a hatch opened into the Tome Tower.

  Napoleon stepped inside and went straight to the row of grey metal caskets – the Battle Books.

  He knew exactly which book to pick, the one that was shaking and rumbling.

  He took it down and placed it in the middle of the chamber.

  Soon the floor itself was shaking.

  Napoleon kneeled and released a latch on the side of the book. At once the heavy cover sprang back and a column of blinding light burst upwards.

  Napoleon threw himself into the light.

  He was sucked out of sight.

  What an adrenalin rush.

  Napoleon loved it – the moment he entered the Battle Book.

  Total freefall, no parachute, nothing.

  It made
base-jumping look like knitting.

  He was plunging through space and time – falling more than a thousand years into Dark Age England.

  ‘Arrival co-ordinates for the village of Witby locked in,’ said Skin.

  Napoleon could soon see the village below – the thatched roofs, the church, the village square – all zooming closer.

  And beyond the village, marching towards it, was the biggest army Napoleon had ever seen.

  ‘I guess that’s Bloodaxe?’ he said.

  ‘Affirmative,’ said Skin. ‘Bloodaxe destroys anything or anyone who gets in his way. He killed nineteen of his twenty brothers to become king. The village of Whitby is about to experience his ruthlessness.’

  ‘Skin!’ Napoleon said suddenly. ‘Something’s not right. Look below.’

  The square was crowded with people and they were all staring at the sky.

  ‘They’re pointing at me,’ said Napoleon. ‘Shouldn’t they be frozen in Epsilon Phase?’

  ‘Malfunction detected,’ said Skin. ‘The Battle Book has jumped immediately into Kappa Phase.’

  ‘Oh no!’ shouted Napoleon.

  ‘Correction,’ Skin said. ‘“Oh no” is an inadequate description of the situation.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The situation is potentially hostile,’ said Skin. ‘Peasants do not respond favourably to things falling from the sky.’

  Before Skin could say any more, the Turbo Decelerators kicked in – too late as usual – and Napoleon hit the ground with a thump.

  He tried to roll on the cobblestones, but he bounced instead and tumbled across the square, stopping at the foot of a big stone cross.

  ‘Landing imperfect, BB005,’ Skin said. ‘Decelerators not fully functioning.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Napoleon groaned, picking himself up. ‘I think I’ve broken something.’

  Napoleon felt a series of electrical impulses pass through his body as Skin checked him out. ‘Negative. No breakage of bones. Minor bruising only.’

  ‘That’s what you always say.’

  ‘Body check interrupted by higher priority situation,’ said Skin. ‘Detection of maximum-level negative energy.’

  Napoleon turned around.

  About twenty people were edging towards him.

  They were as thin as scarecrows, their faces drawn, eyes sunken.

  Their clothes were torn and grubby, and only a few wore shoes. Their hair was matted and filthy and many were covered in scabs.

  ‘Eww! What’s wrong with them?’ Napoleon said.

  ‘Multiple problems, BB, such as inadequate food consumption.’

  ‘You mean they’re hungry?’

  ‘No,’ said Skin. ‘They are starving. And diseased.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘This is the Dark Ages,’ said Skin. ‘There are plagues, pestilence and famines. These people are continually raided by warring tribes.’

  ‘And they’re about to be raided again,’ Napoleon said. ‘By Bloodaxe.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ said Skin. ‘But they do not know that. All they know is that you have fallen out of the sky. And they believe only demons fall from the sky.’

  The peasants were mumbling loudly and glaring at Napoleon. One of them in a hooded cloak spoke.

  ‘He’s from the devil,’ the man said in Old English, his words translated by Skin. ‘He has fallen among us to spread evil.’

  The people nodded, and then snarled at Napoleon.

  He’d never seen so many rotten teeth before.

  There can’t be many Dark Age dentists around, he thought.

  ‘I don’t think they like me, Skin,’ he gulped.

  ‘See,’ snapped the hooded man, pointing a bony finger. ‘He talks to the devil now.’

  Napoleon began backing away. ‘Any suggestions, Skin?’

  ‘Only three,’ said Skin. ‘In the following order:

  REACT

  RETREAT

  RUN!’

  Napoleon tried to get away but the peasants were too close.

  They grabbed him and bound his hands and feet with coarse rope.

  ‘To the stake!’ the hooded man shouted.

  ‘NO,’ cried Napoleon. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a devil. I’m a—’

  But the crowd pressed in around him, muffling his words with their shouts.

  ‘Burn, burn, burn,’ they chanted.

  Napoleon was trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy.

  He was tied to a wooden stake in the middle of the square, sticks and bushes piled underneath him.

  The peasants were circling him in a slow dance.

  ‘Can’t we talk about this?’ cried Napoleon.

  The hooded man threw a torch onto the pyre.

  Small flames were soon licking at Napoleon’s feet.

  ‘Minimise stress levels, BB,’ Skin said. ‘You are not breathing properly. Anti-heat shield activated.’

  Napoleon tried to calm his breathing.

  In and out. In and out.

  ‘The shield will withstand heat of up to 500°C for ten minutes,’ said Skin.

  ‘Okay,’ said Napoleon. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? Ten minutes is good. What happens then?’

  ‘Douser Cells will be triggered,’ said Skin.

  ‘Great. The heavy-duty stuff,’ said Napoleon. ‘What do they do?’

  ‘They are high-level fire suppressants.’

  ’So they’ll put the fire out?’ said Napoleon, anxiously.

  ‘Affirmative.’ Skin paused, and then added: ‘In theory.’

  ‘In theory? Haven’t they been used before?’

  ‘Not in the field,’ said Skin. ‘But initial laboratory tests were impressive.’

  ‘What!’ yelled Napoleon. ‘Prof? Are you listening? Get me out of here. HELP!’

  But the professor didn’t answer.

  ‘Skin, what’s happening?’ Napoleon said.

  ‘You have been tied to a stake in a village square by malnourished, diseased peasants and a fire has been lit beneath you.’

  ‘I KNOW THAT!’ shouted Napoleon. ‘I mean the professor! Where is she?’

  ‘Contact with the professor temporarily inactive,’ said Skin. ‘Activating back-up communication now.’

  Napoleon wriggled and squirmed. He tugged at the ropes, fear welling up inside him.

  ‘Stress levels dangerously high, BB,’ warned Skin. ‘Initiating Douser Cells.’

  Napoleon waited anxiously. The flames were now around his ankles.

  ‘Sequence not responding,’ said Skin.

  ‘Everything’s on the blink,’ shouted Napoleon. ‘SKIN. DO SOMETHING!’

  Suddenly, there were screams and terrified cries at the edge of the square.

  Napoleon heard the clashing of swords and cries of war.

  The Vikings had arrived.

  At last, he thought. I’m saved!

  The villagers fled in panic.

  No-one stood in the way of the mighty Vikings for long.

  ‘Help!’ called Napoleon. ‘Over here. The one tied to the stake. I’m a Viking too!’

  The Vikings smashed through the village, destroying everything in sight.

  ‘Please,’ Napoleon begged. ‘I’m getting really hot.’

  A massive warrior strode through the crowd. His spiked silver helmet shone in the sun. He wielded a huge axe in one hand.

  ‘It’s Bloodaxe,’ Skin said.

  ‘I don’t care who it is,’ Napoleon spluttered. ‘As long as he gets me out of this.’

  ‘Who have we here?’ Bloodaxe growled. ‘A little devil?’

  ‘I’m not a devil!’ Napoleon shouted. ‘I’m a boy.’

  ‘I have no use for boy devils,’ said Bloodaxe, turning away. ‘Let him burn.’

  ‘No! Wait! I’m a Viking,’ Napoleon called out. ‘And no real Viking would let another die like this.’

  Bloodaxe laughed and kept walking.

  Napoleon was desperate. The flames were getting higher and hi
gher.

  He yelled at Bloodaxe as loud as he could. ‘Unless that Viking was a coward. A good-for-nothing coward!’

  The king spun around and glared. ‘So the little devil taunts me, does he?

  A nasty grin slid slowly across his face. ‘Very well. Set the boy free.’

  The Vikings dragged the burning bushes away. One of them hacked at the thick ropes with his sword.

  Napoleon stumbled through the smoke.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to the king.

  ‘Don’t thank me, boy. I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  He inspected Napoleon closely. ‘You dare to call yourself a Viking?’

  ‘I do,’ coughed Napoleon. ‘I’m Thorven, son of Ragnar. My father and I were shipwrecked by a storm. He drowned in the fierce waves.’

  ‘A likely story,’ Bloodaxe sneered.

  ‘A true story,’ Napoleon said in his best fearless voice.

  ‘If you really are a Viking, then you will be able to handle a sword like a Viking.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Napoleon as bravely as he could.

  ‘Then show us,’ said Bloodaxe. ‘Fight for your life.’

  ‘Accept the challenge, BB,’ said Skin, ‘but delay for a few minutes. I have contact with the professor. We are downloading the necessary fighting software.’

  ‘I will fight,’ Napoleon said to Bloodaxe. ‘But I need time to gather my strength. Some water too, please.’

  The king tossed him a flask. ‘Enjoy your drink, boy,’ he said. ‘It will be your last.’

  Napoleon drank the water in one swig, then buried his head in his hands.

  He was listening to Professor Perdu, who was online again.

  ‘I’ve uploaded Viking FightRite 3.2 into Skin,’ she said. ‘It’s the latest version. It will make you move much faster. Skin’s in-built sensors will detect your opponent’s moves. Keep your balance and do whatever Skin says. Understood?’