by Paul Crilley
“Move!” Jack shouted.
Emily tried to move faster. She glanced down to see how far they had to go, but something else caught her attention.
Beezle was busy sawing at the rope, casting frantic glances up toward the bridge.
“Beezle!” Emily screamed. “Don’t you dare!”
Beezle ignored her and carried on sawing through the rope. The strands were already parting.
Emily half slid, half climbed down the rope, moving as fast as she could. She caught up with Wren, her feet banging into his shoulders. He picked up speed. They were almost close enough to let go …
They nearly made it. When they were only a few arm spans away from Beezle, the rope parted with a loud snap. The boat dropped through the air and slammed into the water.
But Emily wasn’t about to let Beezle get away. As soon as she saw the rope separate, she let go. As did Wren.
A split second after the boat hit the Thames, Emily landed feetfirst at the back end of the vessel, falling onto her knees. The craft was already moving forward, swirling around in circles and heading toward the spaces between the bridge struts. Wren landed next to her, banging his head on the wood. He didn’t move.
Emily looked up just in time to see Jack miss the boat altogether and disappear into the water.
“Jack!” she screamed, frantically searching for some sign of him amidst the rapids. She saw him pop up out of the water a few feet away. They were already being pulled in separate directions. She searched for something that he could grab hold of and spotted the oars lying beneath a foot of water at the bottom of the boat. She grabbed one and heaved it over the side, keeping a tight grip on one end. Jack had vanished again. Emily wasn’t even sure if he could swim.
“Jack! Jack! ”
Nothing. And they were heading straight for the bridge supports. The boat bucked and lurched. The water swirled and thundered in violent whirlpools as it strained to push its way through the narrow gaps.
Then she saw him. His head bobbed to the surface behind the boat. Emily struggled with the oar and heaved it toward Jack, almost smacking him in the head with the heavy wood. He grabbed hold of the oar and pulled himself toward her. Emily leaned out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into the boat. He collapsed next to Wren, coughing and spluttering, vomiting up the water he had swallowed.
They hit the rapids. The front of the boat shot straight into the air, sending Emily staggering backward. The backs of her feet smacked against the seat and she felt herself falling. The night sky flew past above her. A hand grabbed hers just as she was about to fall into the water. A second later the boat slammed back onto the river and Emily and Jack were thrown to the deck. Jack wrapped Emily’s hand around the seat, then grabbed the still form of Wren and did the same, just as the boat smashed up against the stone pilings of the bridge.
The breath exploded from Emily as the boat swirled around and around, smacking up against the supports with every turn. She heard wood cracking, the roar of the river, someone screaming, cursing into the night. Water poured over them, thundered into the boat. There was a brief moment of weightlessness—
—and then they were through, the boat skimming away over the river. Emily took a deep, shuddering breath. She turned and peered over the edge of the boat and saw the bridge receding into the darkness behind them. Emily collapsed onto her back and let out a shaky laugh.
They had made it. Somehow they had made it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In which William and Co. meet the Abbot.
So what’s your true name?” asked William, as he, Katerina, and Corrigan moved through the dark streets, leaving the neighborhood of Cheapside far behind them.
“You really want to know?”“Yes!”“Can I trust you never to use it?”“Of course!”“Really trust? I mean, you realize the power I’m giving
you? Knowing a fey’s true name is deep magic. It’s bone
magic, boy. It goes right back to ancient times.” “I promise you. You can trust me.” “And what about her?” Corrigan nodded at Katerina. Katerina simply raised her hands in the air and shook her
head. “Leave me out of this,” she said.
Corrigan appeared to think about it, then he nodded. “Fine.” He was sitting on William’s shoulder and leaned to his ear. “Can you hear me?” he whispered.
William nodded.
“My true name is Lord High Banzilum of the First Degree, Adept of the Order of the Second Suppers and Second Shin-Kicker in Service to the Queen.”
There was a pause. William turned to look at the piskie. “That’s not your true name, is it?”
“No.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Then why didn’t you just say so?”
“More fun this way.”
William sighed and checked the darkened houses that surrounded them. It was quiet. He reckoned it had to be a couple of hours past midnight by now. Nearly everyone would be asleep. Except for them. They were wandering around the dark streets of seventeenth-century London searching for a so-called Prophet in the hope that they could find someone called the Raven King and stop the Great Fire of London. It sounded like some kinds of children’s story that his ma would have read to him before she vanished. He felt a wave of sadness at the thought. He wished it was just a story. “Do you know where we’re going?” asked Katerina.
“To Blackfriars. Seems Croth deals with an abbot who lives in the district.”
“Priests?” Katerina almost spat the word out.
“Aye.”
Katerina’s face clouded with disgust. “Then I’ll wait outside. I have no time for priests.”
Corrigan shrugged. “Do what you like. Feel free to go away, if you really want to. It’s not like we asked you to come along.”
Katerina glared at him.
“There’s a Blackfriars district back in our time,” said William, trying to distract the two of them.
“Here as well. Got its name from the Dominican friars who used to have a monastery here.”
“How are we going to cover such a large area?”
“We’re not. There’s a church in Blackfriars where Croth told us to go. Croth supplies this abbot with the nostalgae and the Abbot returns them to Croth filled with the Prophet’s visions. They fetch a pretty price to collectors. They sift through them looking for any information they can use, any foretellings.”
William thought about this. “So this Abbot is using the Prophet? Making money from him?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“But … that’s not fair.”
Corrigan snorted. He leapt down from William’s shoulder, then turned and stared up at him incredulously. “Not fair? Are you being serious? You’re not, are you? You’re being funny, yes?”
William flushed, confused. “What? No. I … It’s not, is it? Fair, I mean.”
Corrigan stared hard at William, then shook his head. “Dear, oh dear,” he muttered. “You and your sister are not as different from each other as you’d like to think, you know that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“‘That’s not fair,’” Corrigan mimicked. “That’s exactly what Emily would say. How on earth did you both manage to hold on to that kind of thinking living the kind of life you did?”
“What kind of thinking?” said William, really not liking Corrigan’s comment about him and Emily being similar.
“So …” Corrigan waved his hands in the air. “So naïve. So bloomin’ innocent. It’s disgusting.”
“Leave him alone, piskie,” snapped Katerina. “Let them hold on to that as long as they can. We both know it won’t last.”
“No, it won’t.” Corrigan turned away and stalked a few paces down the street. Then he whirled around and pointed up at William. “Because I’m making it my solemn duty to knock it out of you. You hear me? It’s dangerous walking around with that kind of attitude. Now come on. We’re here.”
“Come on, then,” said Corrigan. “Let’s go wake up this Abbot.”
“I’m waiting here,” said Katerina. She hesitated. “In case there’s any … you know. Problems.” She looked apologetically at William. “I don’t talk to priests,” she explained. “Long story, but any God that allows what happened to me and my family has no place in my life. I’ll keep watch.”
“Fine. You do that,” said Corrigan. “Come on, boy. Let’s go.”
They moved through the churchyard and approached the front doors. They towered above them, the old heavy wood reinforced by black metal hinges as thick as William’s arm. Corrigan eyed them nervously.
“Hope there’s not too much of that inside.”
“What? Oh.” William realized the hinges were made from iron. He looked anxiously at Corrigan. “Will you be
all right?”
“Should be. Let’s just get this over with. Knock.”
“Do we have a plan?”
“Of course we have a plan. What do you take me for? Now knock.”
William knocked on the heavy, wooden door. But his hands hit the solid wood with barely a sound. He tried again, hitting the door harder. Again, there was barely an echo.
“Maybe we should look round the back?” suggested William.
“Fine. Come on, then.”
They followed a dirt path that led around the side of the church. William’s steps faltered when he saw that they were walking through a graveyard.
“What’s wrong?” snapped Corrigan from up ahead. “They’re already dead. They can’t hurt you.”
Will steeled himself and carried on walking, trying to ignore how the moonlight lit the gravestones, casting dark shadows that stretched across the ground. It didn’t make a bit of difference telling himself they couldn’t hurt him. It was still unsettling, being in a graveyard at night.
The path led them to a much smaller door at the back of the building. This one had a door knocker. Will lifted it and slammed it down as hard as he could. The crack of metal on wood split the air like a gun shot, echoing inside the build
ing. Even Corrigan jumped.
“Bones, boy. What are you trying to do? Stop my heart?”
“Sorry.”
They waited, and a few minutes later the door swung open to reveal a tall, thin man. He was holding a candle and glaring at them.
“What are you doing, boy? It’s after midnight! How dare—”
He stopped talking when he saw Corrigan standing. His eyes widened, all traces of sleep leaving him in an instant.
“What’s going on?” he snapped. “What do you want?”
“I see we’ve found the right man,” said Corrigan. “Will? The bag.”
William had almost forgotten about the bag Corrigan had thrown at him. He untied it from his belt.
“Give it to the nice Abbot,” said Corrigan.
William handed it over. The Abbot nervously reached out and snatched it away, opening it up and peering inside. He locked eyes with Corrigan.
“I don’t understand.”
“Croth sent us. He has—how did he put it?—‘an order to fill for a rich fey duke with more gold than sense.’ He wants it done right away.”
The Abbot reached into the bag and pulled something out. William saw they were small, bulbous insects. They looked like—
Nostalgae. They were nostalgae, but before they had been filled with memories.
“This is most irregular,” said the Abbot, eyeing them suspiciously.
“Irregular or not, Croth wants them filled. Before the night is out. We’re to wait for them.”
“What nonsense. How will you carry them all?”
Corrigan pointed at Will. “Why do you think he’s here? A bit slow in the head, but a good worker. He’ll make a few trips.”
The Abbot glared at them, but he obviously didn’t want to threaten his relationship with Croth, because he finally stood aside.
“Come on then. We’d best get started.”
William and Corrigan entered the church, finding themselves in a small, carpeted corridor. There was an open door just to their right. Will peered inside, but it was only a bedchamber.
The Abbot led them along the passage and unlocked a door that opened into darkness. They followed him through, and although William couldn’t see anything, he could tell they were in a large room from the echo his footsteps made.
A scraping sound made him jump. A small flame flickered to life as the Abbot lit a lantern. He trimmed the wick and lifted it from the small table next to the door, raising it high into the air so they could get a proper look where they were going.
Will glanced around. They were in the actual church now. Pews were arranged neatly all the way back to the arched doors and the stained-glass window. To their right were a raised area and a pulpit from which the priest would deliver his sermons.
“Follow me,” said the Abbot, heading past the first line of benches and toward another door in the wall opposite. He took a key from his belt and unlocked the door, pushing it open and standing to the side.
“After you,” he said. “I have to keep it locked.”
William hesitated, but stepped through the door, followed closely by Corrigan. What choice did they have?
The door opened onto a short landing. At the end of the landing a flight of stone stairs led downward.
“Hold this,” said the Abbot, handing William the lantern. William took it, holding it up so the priest could lock the door once again. He turned to William and gave him a brittle smile. “Down we go.”
The stairs were worn smooth and dipped slightly in the middle due to years of use. William didn’t like it at all. It reminded him of Kelindria’s cells, where he had been locked away in the darkness, not knowing if anyone would ever come to let him out.
The stairs stopped at another door. The Abbot squeezed past William and unlocked it. It led into a stone passage, but this one was brightly lit by lanterns placed inside small niches in the walls.
“He doesn’t like the dark,” explained the Abbot. “Have to keep these lit all the time or he throws up such a fuss. It’s very expensive,” he said disapprovingly.
“I’m sure you can afford it,” said Corrigan coldly. “What with all the money you make from him.”
The Abbot glared at Corrigan, but said nothing. Instead, he walked briskly across the large flagstones and stopped before a thick, black door.
“You keep him in a cell?” asked William.
“It’s not a cell. It used to be a wine cellar. And where else am I supposed to keep him? The man’s mad. If I had him upstairs, my congregation would hear him. Besides, he’s happier down here. He likes his privacy.”
“As I’m sure you keep telling yourself,” muttered Corrigan.
The Abbot slid a small panel to the side and peered through the hole. He nodded, then slammed it shut again and lifted the heavy latch that kept the door locked. He pulled open the door and raised the lantern.
“Hello, Tom. It’s only me. I’ve got some work for you. Are you up to it?”
There was a low mumbling from inside the cell.
“I’ve also got some guests. Can we come in?”
More mumbling.
The Abbot glanced back at William. “Follow me. But please, no sudden moves. He’s easily startled.”
The Abbot stepped through the door and moved to the side to allow William and Corrigan to enter. They stepped into a large stone room. The walls were dotted with dark, empty niches, presumably where the wine had once been kept. Against t
he far wall was a row of wall torches. They cast their illumination over a bed, a chair, and a table. A thin man was seated on the bed, rocking backward and forward as he stared at the floor.
He stopped rocking, then slowly looked up at them, studying their faces. Finally, he nodded.
“It is time,” he mumbled. “Time to die. Time to war. Time to burn.”
William felt a rush of air behind him, and he turned just in time to see the door slam closed. He heard the latch fall into place, then the panel slid aside.
“Most dreadfully sorry,” said the Abbot. “But don’t worry. I just want to check with Croth that your story is true. I should be back in an hour or so. If it turns out you’ve been lying to me”—here he smiled, the light from his lantern glinting off his teeth—“then I’ll hand you back to Croth to dispose of you as he sees fit.” He pushed the pouch of nostalgae through the small hole. “But if you are telling the truth, you might as well get started on these. Just give them to Tom. He knows what to do.”
The panel slammed shut. William stared around in despair. Corrigan was glaring at the door, so furious that he was actually shaking with anger.
“I’ll get him,” muttered the piskie. “I’ll see him fall for this.”
William heard a noise. He turned around to find the Prophet had quietly approached and was now standing directly behind him.
“The flames know our names,” he said. “They’ll sniff you out. Eat you up. Burn you to a crisp. They’re coming, William Snow, and nothing can stop them.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In which Emily and Co. find out about magical disguises. A statue speaks.
I’ve done my part!” complained Beezle as they hurried through the dark streets, putting as much distance between themselves and the bridge as possible. “I got you off the bridge. Now it’s your turn. Hand over my book.”
“You were going to leave us there!” said Emily.
Beezle looked shamefaced. “I panicked,” he said. “I just wanted to get away.”