by Conrad Mason
Shark pits. Tabitha had never been to one herself, but everyone knew they existed all over Port Fayt. Criminal dens where lowlife went to watch vicious man-eating sharks in combat with merfolk. To the death. Usually it wasn’t much of a fight though. It was no wonder these people were upset about it.
‘The little grey boy is right,’ said the mermaid. ‘You take our people like fish from the ocean, for your’ – she scowled – ‘shark pits.’
‘You have to understand, the shark-pit owners are criminals,’ said Paddy. ‘We try to stop them but—’
‘Silence.’ The mermaid glared at him. ‘Each new king of Fayt promises an end to these shark pits. It has never come to pass. And now you have taken the greatest pearl in the ocean.’ She drew back her arm and hurled the bonestaff she’d been holding. It arced through the air and buried itself in the beach, quivering. In spite of herself, Tabitha was impressed.
‘This is the bonestaff of Pallione.’ The mermaid folded her arms as if she had said something conclusive. The Fayters all looked blank. She flicked her tail impatiently, sending a gout of spray crashing across the surface. ‘Pallione is our king’s daughter.’
This time a murmur ran among the smugglers. Hal and the twins exchanged glances. Tabitha hadn’t heard of Pallione, but she’d heard of the King of the Merfolk all right. From his seat in the south, he ruled over all the merfolk in the Ebony Ocean. He was said to be older than the sea, and almost as powerful.
And now, apparently, some idiot had kidnapped his daughter.
‘What do you want from us?’ asked Frank.
‘An end to your barbarism. You must close the shark pits down. But first, bring us Pallione; only then will we fight. You must find her. She has hair white as the clouds and eyes green as seaweed. She is beautiful.’
The other merfolk nodded seriously.
There was a burst of laughter. Tabitha turned to see Phineus Clagg doubled up.
‘You fish folk are a riot! What can you do to help, eh? The League’ve got guns, matey. It’ll take a bit more’n a few swimmers with white sticks to—’
Instantly the mermaid had her bonestaff off her back and levelled at Clagg. The air blurred and shimmered, and the smuggler was jerked off his feet, as though picked up by the hand of some angry seraph.
‘Wait, no, I didn’t mean—’
The mermaid made a circling motion with the bonestaff, and Clagg was flipped upside down. His flask of firewater went tumbling down to land with a clink on the stony beach.
‘All right, I’ve learned me lesson now – no need to—’
The bonestaff jerked to the right, and Phineus Clagg went with it, swooping out over the water like some sort of ugly sea bird.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorr—’
The staff came down hard, thwacking the surface of the sea. Clagg dropped like a stone, splashing into the deep water. Once again the merfolk let out their strange braying seal noises. But this time Tabitha joined in.
‘All right,’ said Frank as the smuggler surfaced and began to flounder back to shore. ‘I reckon you’ve made your point. We’ll go back to Fayt and speak to the governor – I mean, our king.’
‘No,’ said the mermaid. ‘You will stay here on this island, as our captives. Only one of you will go back. The weakest, most insignificant, most valueless among you.’ She pointed with her bonestaff. ‘Him. The little grey boy. He will go.’
‘Me?’ said Joseph stupidly.
Tabitha felt her chest tightening. Of course the mermaid was right about Joseph being the weakest. That was obvious. But she’d been a watchman for longer than he had, and she never got to do anything fun. Now this tavern boy had shown up – a tavern boy Newt had made a watchman after barely a day – and he was the one who got to go back to Fayt and deliver the mermaid’s message? While the rest of them stayed on this sun-forsaken rock?
‘No,’ she said, surprising herself.
Everyone, on shore and in the sea, turned to look at her.
‘I don’t … er … I don’t think Joseph should go.’
‘I understand,’ said one of the mermen – a big brute with long, wild hair tied back in a ponytail. ‘The angry blue-headed girl cares for the little grey boy.’ He grinned.
‘No,’ snapped Tabitha. ‘That’s not it. I mean, it’s just … If he’s so weak, how’s he supposed to deliver the message? Let alone get back.’
She regretted it as soon as she’d said it. She turned to see Joseph looking half confused, half hurt. She felt her cheeks burn.
‘She is red!’ roared the merman. ‘I am right. See? Her face is red!’
‘All right,’ said Paddy. ‘That’s enough. Joseph can’t go on his own. Tabs neither. They’re just children.’
‘Very well,’ said the big merman, putting on a straight face. ‘If that is so, let them go together. The little grey boy and the angry blue-headed girl. Like a man and his wife.’ He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter, so hard Tabitha thought he might do himself an injury. In fact, she hoped he did.
‘Fine,’ she said, stepping forward. Whatever it took to make this bilge-brain shut up. ‘We’ll go together.’
‘Tabs …’ said Paddy, a note of unease in his voice.
‘Then it is decided,’ said the mermaid with the spiky blonde hair. ‘The two children, or nothing.’
Paddy took Tabitha by the shoulders and leaned down, bringing his big green face close to hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Frank doing the same with Joseph. The tavern boy still looked a little sorry for himself. Why couldn’t he see that she was only saying those things to help him? And he knew he was a weakling anyway, didn’t he?
So why did she feel so bad about it?
‘Tabs, are you sure about this?’ said Paddy.
‘Of course.’
He sighed. ‘Then look after yourself. And take my hat. And my cutlass.’
He pressed them into her hands and at once she almost dropped them. There was no way that cutlass would be any use. She could barely get her hand round the grip, let alone swing it properly.
‘Umm – I don’t think—’
‘No, you’re right. Sorry.’ He took them back and stood there, looking uncomfortable.
Tabitha realized that he was anxious for them. She felt a sudden urge to say something nice. The kind of thing Joseph would say.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. She tried to make her tone light and breezy, but that made her sound like a child. She coughed and tried again, going for gruff this time. ‘We’ll be fine. How hard can it be to deliver a message? I’m more worried about you lot, stuck on this rock.’
‘Ah, we’ll be all right. Long as it doesn’t rain.’ They looked up at the grey clouds on the horizon. ‘Well. We can’t get much wetter than we are already, anyhow.’
‘We’ll be quick,’ she promised. The troll nodded and gave her a punch on the arm – gently, for once.
Tabitha smiled at him and strode down the beach to join Joseph. He was waiting for her by the water’s edge, not quite meeting her eye. She tried to ignore it.
‘How do we get back?’ she asked. ‘I don’t see a boat.’
‘There is no boat,’ said the mermaid. ‘We will carry you. As we did before.’
‘Oh,’ said Tabitha. ‘Perfect.’
Chapter Five
THERE WAS A sinking feeling in Newton’s stomach, and it had been there for days. He took a deep breath. After all, how much worse can things possibly get?
‘So you’re the captain?’ he asked. Please say no.
The imp nodded eagerly, his big eyes glued to the shark tattoo that adorned Newton’s cheek. He looked like he was barely sixteen, and a glance at his red velvet coat and smooth pink hands was enough to tell Newton that he was no seafarer.
‘Yes, sir! That I am. The Dread Unicorn’s my vessel. Passed down to me by my father. And by his father before him.’
‘That so?’ Newton looked up at the battered wavecutter rocking in the waves at the end o
f the quay. He didn’t know much about ships, but judging by the state of its hull the Dread Unicorn would be more likely to be passed down to the bottom of the ocean before it got to this imp’s son. The League’s guns would blow it apart within seconds.
‘Are you ready to fight?’ he asked the imp wearily.
‘Yes, sir. Me and my crew, sir. Tell you the truth’ – he leaned in closer on tiptoes – ‘we’re not used to battles really. We’re just honest tradesmen.’
‘That so?’ said Newton again, as if this was a surprise. He glanced at the rabble of sailors lined up along the dock. They looked filthy and dishevelled, each one sporting a sea-green armband instead of a uniform – the mark of Port Fayt’s hastily assembled army. Not one of them looked like a soldier though. If he was honest with himself, they looked terrified, as if they all believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were going to die.
Right now, Newton was finding it easier not to be honest with himself.
‘Let’s get you signed up then. And quickly.’
Old Jon began to work his way down the line. His long white hair stirred in the breeze, and he puffed at his pipe as he took names and wrote them down. The elderly elf looked just as placid as ever. It was good to see that at least one person in Fayt wasn’t panicking about the League of the Light. It made Newton feel a little calmer himself.
‘There’s just one thing, sir,’ said the captain of the Dread Unicorn, jolting Newton out of his thoughts.
‘Aye. What is it?’
‘I was wondering … see … we don’t have any actual weapons. So, um, are there any we could borrow?’
Something snapped inside Newton.
‘Wait here,’ he said to Old Jon. Then he turned on his heel and strode off down the quay.
‘Whoa, mister. Where are we going?’
He almost jumped at the tiny voice in his ear. His old messenger fairy, Slik, had chattered all the time. But Ty kept quiet when he was told to, and he’d been sitting so still on Newton’s shoulder that he’d for gotten the fairy was there.
‘Going to see Governor Skelmerdale. I need a word with him.’
‘’Bout these new recruits?’
He shrugged.
‘Hey, watch it! I’ll fall off if you’re not careful. You don’t have any hair to hang onto, remember?’
‘Sorry, Ty,’ said Newton, carefully keeping his shoulders still. ‘But yes. I reckon if we send them to fight the League, they’re doomed.’
‘Aye, I reckon so too.’
‘Helpful.’
‘Well. It’s true, isn’t it?’
And Newton had to agree.
The dockside was bustling with activity. That was how it normally was, of course, except that today there was an urgency to it. The barrels sitting in rows on the cobbles weren’t full of firewater, but gunpowder. The dockside cranes weren’t hoisting up crates of dragon scales, but thirty-two-pound cannon and shot. Normally the flags that fluttered above the vessels in the harbour were multi-coloured – the purple and gold of the Cockatrice Trading Company, the red and white of the Redoubtable Company and the dark blue of the Morning Star Company – not to mention the flags of various Old World duchies, independent merchant families and Dockside Militia boats. But today only one colour flew from the mastheads – sea green with a silver shell stitched on. Fayt’s new flag – the symbol of a town united against a common enemy.
The governor had made the announcement in Thalin Square less than a week ago. Bunting had still been hanging in the streets from the Pageant of the Sea. The statue of Thalin the Navigator, founder of Port Fayt, had still been wearing a wreath of seaweed and flowers.
An armada has been sighted, Skelmerdale had told them. He was new to the job, a proud man with a famously fiery temper, tall and thin with dark, stern eyes and white hair cropped short. But that day he’d seemed like a man who had gone for a stroll on a cliff top and had just realized that he’d taken a step off the edge of it.
And this armada is coming from the Old World. It was no surprise to most Fayters. Some of the town’s fishermen had already spotted scout ships flying League colours. At first their friends had put the stories down to too much grog. But then more rumours came in, so many that they were impossible to ignore.
The League of the Light is coming. Across the Ebony Ocean. And they are coming for us. For Port Fayt. First there were murmurs, then arguments, then shouting. Everyone knew what the League would do. Each and every Fayter would be hunted down and killed. Perhaps the humans would be spared, but not the trolls. Not the goblins. Not the elves … As far as the League were concerned, they were all demonspawn to be stamped out. And that made Port Fayt, home to any creature that arrived on the docks, the town they hated most in all the Ebony Ocean.
Now the governor was marshalling what little forces they had. Within hours they would set sail.
Defeat was certain.
There was a shout from further down the quay, and a figure tore across the cobbles towards them. A dwarf, ragged and bearded, bare feet pounding the cobbles. Blackcoats followed, bayonets glinting in the midday sunshine.
‘Deserter!’ shouted one.
‘Stop him!’ yelled the other.
The dwarf glanced back, tripped on a loose cobble and went sprawling. A moment later the militiamen were on top of him, shoving his hands behind his back and hauling him to his feet.
Newton recognized him by his tangled, filthy black beard. Jack Cobley – ex-smuggler. Even crooks had to fight on Fayt’s warships. Luckily, Cobley didn’t spot Newton as he was bundled away.
‘We’re all dead!’ wailed the dwarf. ‘Dead, dead, dead …’
If the blackcoats had any sense, they’d leave him behind.
Newton strode on, past a sailor saying goodbye to his wife and children. The youngest clung to her mother’s skirts, face red and tear-stained. She was surely too young to understand exactly what was happening, but she could tell that it wasn’t good. A tiny goblin girl watched her from a distance, thumb stuck in her mouth, puzzled as to why her friend was so upset. Newton quickened his stride.
Up ahead, a concentration of blackcoats stood guard at a pier in the shadow of the biggest ship in the bay. A war galleon painted inky black from stern to prow and sporting seventy-four of the heaviest guns in Port Fayt – the Wyvern. Skelmerdale was bound to be on board. The Wyvern was to be the town’s flagship, and soon she would be leading the Fayters into battle against the League.
Newton pitied her crew.
The black-coated militiamen tried to stop him, but Newton wasn’t in the mood to be stopped. He shouldered through the press, made his way down the pier and climbed up the gangplank onto the deck.
Sure enough, there were many more blackcoats on board, and at the prow, leaning down to inspect a vicious-looking bowchaser gun, was Governor Skelmerdale. He was dressed in a purple velvet jacket and well-laundered breeches, and a long ceremonial sword hung from his belt. The hilt glittered with gold.
Standing next to the governor was a tall elf, wearing a black coat with silver trimmings. Colonel Cyrus Derringer, commander of the blackcoats. The Dockside Militia. As soon as he spotted Newton, his lip curled and his eyes narrowed. The feeling was mutual. Newton’s leg had only just healed from the sword wound the elf had given him the last time they’d disagreed.
‘Your honour …’ he began, trying to keep his voice calm.
Governor Skelmerdale stepped forward and shook Newton’s hand briskly.
‘Mr Newton. And this must be your fairy.’
Ty bowed.
There weren’t many men tall enough to look the captain of the Demon’s Watch straight in the eye, but Skelmerdale was one of them. Newton was thrown for a moment by his gaze, direct and bold. As though he had nothing to hide.
Governor Skelmerdale was a leader, that was for sure. The only problem is, where he’s planning to lead us.
‘Your honour, we’re not ready.’ Newton hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. Particularly to a
man so famous for his short temper. But now he’d said it, there was no point in holding back. ‘We should wait for the Sharkbane to get back with intelligence. We don’t know anything about that armada, outside of rumours and guesswork. And look …’ He swept an arm out, indicating the vessels rocking all around them in the bay. ‘This isn’t a battle fleet. Most of these ships are merchantmen. Some are barely fit to be called ships at all. Our men are inexperienced, scared and—’
‘Mr Newton,’ Skelmerdale interrupted. He was frowning slightly, as if Newton were a child who had been sent home from school for misbehaving. ‘I understand your concern. And as you say, many of our men are not quite at the fighting standard we would desire. But what do you suggest? Should we wait? While the League occupy our waters? While they sail into our very harbour?’ His voice was getting louder, and suddenly Newton realized that the governor was addressing everyone on the ship, not just him. ‘No! How could we countenance such a thing? We shall fight. We shall fight until our last living breath.’
‘I understand, but—’
‘We shall resist, Mr Newton. Until the end. To do otherwise would be … unthinkable. It would be preposterous. It would be—’
‘Governor!’ said Colonel Derringer. He was pointing at something in the bay, one hand clamped around the hilt of his sword. ‘There’s something out there.’
There was a clattering of footsteps on the deck as Skelmerdale and several blackcoats went to see what it was. Newton followed. He peered over the crowd and made out two strange shapes in the distance, poking up from the waves, just rounding the headland and approaching the port.
‘Looks like whales,’ said a militiaman. ‘Two of ’em.’
‘It’s not whales,’ said another. ‘It’s merfolk. What do they want?’
‘They’re each carrying something.’
Everyone leaned further over the gunwales, trying to make it out. Someone passed the governor a spyglass and he held it to one eye.
‘Aha,’ he said.
He turned and passed it to Newton. As he took it, Newton noticed Colonel Derringer scowling at the spyglass. He’d been waiting to receive it himself.