For the last three days they’d been arriving from all around. Mostly on horseback or on foot, but one or two in cars, usually the leaders of the various camps, showing off. They’d marched in from the surrounding countryside, bringing sickos with them. The sickos were kept in the racecourse stables over the road. When Ed had found out exactly what the sickos were for, he’d at first been appalled. He’d kind of come to terms with it now. Saw that there was a twisted sense to it. He still hadn’t made up his mind if he was going to join in that part. The rest of the set-up was pretty straightforward, a mixture of horse races and fights.

Most of the kids stayed in tents they’d put up in the middle of the giant racetrack. It looked like an army encampment, or a rock festival like Glastonbury.

This had been the most famous racecourse in England. Where the Queen visited every year for Royal Ascot. There were notices and signs and information boards about the event everywhere Ed looked. Photos of the Queen and Prince Philip arriving in an open-topped carriage escorted by soldiers in old-fashioned uniforms riding matching horses. Photos of the aristocracy enjoying themselves. Celebrities. The rich and the famous. He remembered seeing things on the news about it; women parading about in stupid hats.

Now it had been taken over by children.

The locals lived in a big old hospital behind the track and the guy in charge was known as the Mad King. In the past he would have been described as having a syndrome, or a condition. You weren’t allowed to call people mad then. But that’s what he was. He didn’t say much, and most of what he said made no sense. A guy called Arno Fletcher looked after him. He went everywhere with the King and interpreted everything that came out of his mouth. Ed could see that the whole thing was a scam. Arno was the real boss man, hiding behind the Mad King, twisting his words to mean whatever he wanted.

The King was huge, unnaturally so. His head was big and bony with a heavy brow. He walked stiffly and awkwardly as if he was in pain all the time and he looked at you with deep-set, wary eyes. Arno was about Ed’s age, small and skinny and clever, with long hair. He was always laughing and joking and came across as being friends with everyone.

Ed recognized him as a born politician.