by Conrad Mason
‘No we’re not. Come on. Think about it. He doesn’t need us – he’s commanding the most powerful warship in Fayt. And what good can we do here? Do you know how to lower an anchor or set a mainsail?’
‘Well—’
‘Exactly. But if we stay here in Fayt we might be able to find the mermaid.’
‘But … I mean, have you asked Newt?’
‘Of course I’ve asked Newt. It was his idea.’ Tabitha’s eyes were shining in the darkness. ‘And it’s perfect. We’re going to be heroes. Don’t you see?’
Joseph wasn’t sure he wanted to be a hero. But it was true – on board the Wyvern, they would only be getting in the way. Here in Port Fayt, they could really make a difference. If they could rescue Pallione …
‘Are you sure Newt’s all right with us going?’
‘Of course he is. He’s not an idiot. He knows we can do much more good off this ship than on it.’
Joseph thought for a moment. It did make sense. The Wyvern would set sail at dawn, with or without them. Of course, if they disembarked, they’d be on their own. They’d have to find the mermaid by themselves, whatever it took. It would be hard – maybe impossible.
But it was worth a try.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m in.’
He almost fell over as Tabitha flung her arms around him in a hug. Once he’d got over the surprise, he hugged her back.
‘One other thing,’ said Tabitha, moving away again. ‘What I said on the island about … er …’
‘Never mind,’ said Joseph quickly.
‘No, I … er … I just wanted to say, I don’t really think you’re weak. I mean, you’re not strong exactly, but you’re not weak either.’
Joseph could hardly believe what he was hearing. She was trying to be nice again. Twice in one day. And Thalin knew, it didn’t come naturally to her.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he managed to say.
‘Good.’ And suddenly the old Tabitha was back. ‘Let’s get going then. Quickly now. There’s the gangplank. And remember, keep it quiet.’
‘Shouldn’t we say goodbye to Newt first?’
‘Of course not. He’s sleeping, isn’t he? And he’ll need it. He’s going into battle, don’t forget.’
‘Yes. Sorry. You’re right.’
Together they crept across the deck and down the gangplank. Joseph pulled on his sword belt and buckled it up. His limbs buzzed with adrenaline. It looked like he was going to need a cutlass, after all.
At the bottom of the gangplank Tabitha turned and strode along the quayside.
‘Hey,’ hissed Joseph. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Got to find a place to stay tonight. Come on!’
‘What about Bootles’? Or Newt’s rooms? They’re the other way.’ He pointed off in the opposite direction. ‘Or why don’t we stay on board the Wyvern and leave at dawn? Then we could say goodbye to—’ He stopped up short, finally understanding. How could he have been so slow? ‘Newt doesn’t know, does he? This was all your idea.’
Luckily it was dark enough that she wouldn’t be able to see him blushing. Did she think he was a complete idiot? All right, she’d had him fooled until now. But not any more. He turned and started to climb the gangplank.
Tabitha caught up, grabbed hold of him and tried to pull him away.
‘Wait!’ she whispered.
Joseph struggled. ‘We can’t just leave! He won’t know where we’ve gone. At very least we should leave a note so—’ His foot slipped off the edge of the plank, and they fell awkwardly. Joseph’s heart leaped into his mouth as he saw the dark water looming below. But instead they hit the gangplank, half rolling, half tumbling back down onto the quayside and landing sprawled in a heap on the cobblestones.
‘All right,’ said Tabitha. ‘So he doesn’t know. What difference does it make? You agreed with me two minutes ago. Who else is going to find that mermaid, remember?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Joseph. ‘But can you get off me?’
‘No. Not until you say you’re coming too.’
‘I … No, I can’t.’
‘Fine.’ The weight on top of him lifted as Tabitha got to her feet.
‘In that case, I’ll go on my own.’ And she walked away, without glancing back, without breaking stride.
Joseph watched her, knowing that at any minute the shadows would swallow her and she would be gone. She was heading into Fayt, whether he came with her or not. So should he go too or stay on the ship? He couldn’t believe her, putting him in this position. If he returned to the Wyvern, she’d be completely on her own. But why should he have to go with her just because she’d got it into her head to be a hero? She was crazy. Crazy and dangerous. Was this what all girls were like?
What would Thalin the Navigator do?
What would Newt do?
What would my father do?
Footsteps sounded on the deck and a gruff voice called out, ‘Is someone there?’
Joseph froze. Their tumble down the gangplank must have woken some sleeping sentry. He opened his mouth. He looked at the figure of Tabitha, heading down a side street. Just a few more seconds, and she would turn a corner and disappear from view.
He shut his mouth and scampered after her.
You owe me, Tabs.
As he reached the houses he paused and took one last look at the Wyvern, a towering black bulk against the starlit sky.
‘Good luck, Newt,’ he said quietly. Then he turned and followed Tabitha into Port Fayt.
BY THE TIME he reaches the village the real work is done. Even the flames have been doused, leaving only smouldering wreckage and ruin.
They came before dawn, moving through the uphill woodland of Illon, dragging light cannon with them. It would have been easier with cavalry, but victory was never in doubt. The soldiers of the League of the Light are an unstoppable force. A righteous fist, crushing all trace of demonspawn in their path.
He holds a scented handkerchief against his nose as he picks his way through the debris scattered on the cobbled streets. There are bodies all around him but he ignores them. They are of no interest. Once dead, these foul creatures are mere waste to be cleared away. It is the living demonspawn that fascinate him. To get inside the mind of such a creature … To understand the darkness that must surely lurk within …
There are human corpses too among the rubble. A sad loss, but necessary. He has learned that once tainted by living with demonspawn, even the most upstanding human can fall. And these slaughtered fishermen could hardly be called upstanding.
At last he arrives at the square. A tiny area, as befits the village itself. New Dalport, the only settlement on Illon, the easternmost of the Middle Islands. There was scarcely a need to destroy it, but he believes in doing a job thoroughly. And from the bodies, he can tell that his men have been very thorough indeed.
Majors Metcalfe and Garrick have a table set up, with a map spread out on it. The Golden Sun flutters proudly above, the flagpole thrust into the thatching on the roof of the village hall. Their white uniforms are smudged with soot and blood, and they are drinking grog, taken from the tavern on the square no doubt.
He never drinks.
They put down their flagons and come to attention as he approaches.
‘Your grace,’ they say, as one.
‘Gentlemen. Congratulations. Where is Major Turnbull?’
Metcalfe frowns. ‘Somewhere in the village, your grace. Finishing the work.’
The Duke nods. Turnbull has always been the most enthusiastic of his officers where the pursuit of demonspawn is concerned.
Over the shoulders of his majors, at the corner of the square, he can see a pair of white-coated marines battering on a locked door with their muskets.
‘How long before we are done here?’
‘An hour, your grace, at most.’
‘Good. I believe the Fayters will come soon. They will not allow us to sail into their harbour.’
‘Let them come,’
says Major Metcalfe. ‘We will stand firm against them.’
‘Indeed.’ He traces a finger across the map, taking in the Middle Islands. Illon. Eld. Immel. And Arla, of course. The largest, where Port Fayt lies.
The Jewel of the Middle Islands.
In the corner of the square, a crack has appeared in the door. The marines redouble their efforts, slamming it harder and harder with their musket butts.
‘See it through,’ he says. ‘And then return to your vessels. We must be at sea by noon. The whole fleet. We shall show the demonspawn what a force they have to reckon with.’
The door gives way at last and the marines rush inside.
There are screams.
PART TWO
Pallione
Chapter Eight
‘HOW ARE WE going to get in, though?’ asked Joseph.
They lay on their bellies on the cliff top, wind rustling the grasses around them, looking down at the Brig. It lay far below, bathed in morning sunshine, beached on the sand like an outsized whale carcass. Its hull was green with mould and its masts had long rotted away. Joseph could just make out the bars that covered the old gun ports. The Brig was a behemoth of a ship. Or at least it had been, before it became Fayt’s one and only prison.
‘Simple,’ said Tabitha, her eyes sparkling. ‘We knock. We’re the Demon’s Watch, remember?’ She pushed up her sleeve and prodded her shark tattoo.
Joseph nodded wearily as Tabitha got to her feet and strode off down the coastal path towards the beach. Everything had seemed easy the night before. The hard part had been deciding to leave Newt. Then all they had to do was rescue the mermaid and save Port Fayt. Now, in the cold light of day, he was pretty sure he’d got it the wrong way round, and their troubles were only just beginning.
It didn’t help that he’d barely slept. They couldn’t go back to Bootles’ Pie Shop (‘Are you mad?’ Tabitha had scoffed. ‘They’ll send us straight back to Newt!’) or to Newt’s rooms above a Marlinspike Quarter tavern (‘Come on. Think. That’s the first place he’d look!’), and they’d no money to pay for a room of their own. In the end they’d had to bed down in an old fishing boat in dry dock under a canvas covering. Now they were tired, grumpy, and stank of rotten fish. Neither of them had admitted it, but so far things weren’t going that well.
Joseph scrambled to his feet, following Tabitha. At least they had a plan, of sorts. To find the mermaid, they needed to find which shark pit she was in. To find out which shark pit she was in, they needed to find someone who knew a lot about the shark pits. And to find someone who knew a lot about shark pits, they needed to find a crook.
Which meant they needed to visit the Brig.
Tabitha was reaching the end of the path and Joseph stumbled to catch up. ‘Have you been here before?’ he asked.
‘A couple of times, with Newt. Don’t worry about it. We’re watchmen.’
‘If you say so.’ He wasn’t convinced though. The first time he’d met Tabitha had been in a grotty tavern called the Pickled Dragon, and on that occasion it had taken her less than a minute to show off her Demon’s Watch tattoo and start ordering people around. Unfortunately those people turned out to be militiamen, who laughed at them and then tried to kill them. Joseph would have thought twice about playing the watchman card again. But then, he wasn’t Tabitha.
If only Newt were here, Joseph was sure he’d have no trouble getting them in. But no. It was no good thinking like that. They were on their own.
The Brig loomed over them as they approached. Now they were on the sandy beach, Joseph realized how gigantic it was – almost as big as Wyrmwood Manor. He tried to imagine what a ship like that would look like afloat, but it was too hard. It seemed like nothing more than a vast wooden wreck. They said that the pirate Captain Gore was the only person ever to escape the Brig. Which meant there were an awful lot of dangerous maniacs still locked up inside.
A gangplank led up to a wooden door built into the hull, looking just like a door into a house. Above, someone had nailed a wooden plank with the words HOME SWEET HOME painted on it. There were even some decorative shells and bits of seaweed stuck on.
Tabitha hesitated for just a moment before she reached out and knocked.
‘Oh. One thing,’ she said. ‘Don’t say anything about the jailer.’
‘The jailer? What’s—?’
The door creaked a little way open, and a head poked out. It belonged to a troll with pale green skin, a cluster of tarnished silver earrings and a few eyebrow rings for good measure. A trio of scars ran across his cheek, which could have been made by a cat’s claws, if the cat had been ten feet tall.
Joseph rested one hand on the hilt of his cutlass and licked his lips. His mouth had gone very dry.
‘What?’ growled the troll.
Tabitha rolled up her sleeve and showed her tattoo.
‘Demon’s Watch. We need to talk to a few prisoners.’
‘Now?’
‘Um … yes. Please.’
The jailer muttered something and flung the door open wide. Joseph couldn’t help but gasp. Tabitha jabbed him in the ribs, and he shut his mouth at once.
The troll was wearing a full-length, purple satin ball gown.
‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Haven’t got all day.’ He clumped off down the wooden passageway, his gown trailing behind him. ‘Always something. Why can’t they leave me in peace?’
Tabitha threw Joseph a baleful glance as they followed.
At the end of the passage they came into a room unlike any cabin Joseph had ever seen. It was packed from deck to rafters with strange objects, so different and so varied that he didn’t know where to look first. There was a jumble of furniture – wooden chairs, stools, even a chaise longue. There were antique paintings on the walls and an enormous mirror covering most of one side of the room, which looked so fancy it wouldn’t have been out of place at Wyrmwood Manor. There was a rich red carpet on the floor, and beyond it a whistling kettle on a small stove. In the middle of the carpet was an elegant mahogany drawing-room table with a large, juicy-looking seed cake sitting on it.
Joseph’s stomach rumbled at the smell, and he remembered suddenly that they hadn’t had any breakfast yet.
‘Sit,’ ordered the troll.
Joseph found a wooden chest under the table and dragged it out to make a seat. Tabitha relaxed into a plush padded armchair opposite.
‘Is this your home?’ asked Joseph. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Home,’ grunted the troll. ‘Yes. I am a collector. I love things.’ He busied himself with the kettle.
‘So as I was saying,’ said Tabitha, ‘we need to speak to some prisoners.’
‘Wait,’ said the troll. ‘Breakfast first.’
There was an awkward silence. Joseph looked at Tabitha, but she just shrugged.
‘I like your dress,’ said Joseph, before he could stop himself.
The troll whirled round, glaring at him. Tabitha glared too. Joseph felt his ears twitch with embarrassment. What was he thinking? That had obviously been the wrong thing to say.
The troll spoke at last.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is good. I collected it. I love things.’
‘Um, yes,’ said Joseph. ‘I like things too.’
‘But I don’t love people.’
Joseph couldn’t think what to say to that, so he just smiled as best he could.
The troll finished with the kettle and came over to the table, carrying a mug of something hot and steaming.
‘That smells good,’ said Tabitha. Joseph noticed that her eyes were flicking between the mug and the seed cake.
‘Yes,’ said the troll. ‘Very good. I collected it from a prisoner. It is called “tea”. You drink it hot.’
He picked up a knife and sliced into the seed cake. A little steam rose from it as he lifted a thick, golden slice, and Joseph’s stomach rumbled again.
‘The cake looks good too,’ he found himself saying.
‘Yes,’ said the
troll. ‘Very good. Food is one of the things that I like.’
‘I like food too,’ said Tabitha. She was practically drooling. ‘Especially seed cake.’
The troll frowned at her and bit into the cake. Crumbs dropped onto his purple dress. He lifted up the train of his gown and sat down, chewing noisily.
‘Yes,’ he said through his mouthful. ‘Everyone likes cake.’
There was a long silence as the troll ate his cake and slurped his tea. At last he finished the slice, reached forward and cut another one. He began to eat that too.
Joseph stared at their reflection in the enormous mirror, trying to forget how hungry he was. They made an odd group. The blue-haired girl, the grey-pink mongrel boy and the giant troll in the dress.
‘Is it just you?’ he asked, to break the silence. ‘No guards?’
Tabitha rolled her eyes at the question.
‘There were. Blackcoats. They went to fight. Much better on my own.’ The troll swallowed the last mouthful of cake. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we’ll go to the cells.’ He stomped over to a door opposite the one they had entered by, without waiting to see if they would follow. Joseph and Tabitha hurried after him, Tabitha casting one final longing glance at the seed cake.
The troll led them along a wooden corridor and up some steps, his ball gown swishing as he strode ahead. Someone had entirely removed the interior of the vessel and rebuilt it from scratch, as though it really was a building instead of a ship. There were carpets, pictures on the walls – collected by the troll, Joseph guessed – and a clutter of different lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The jailer had obviously made himself at home.
They climbed down another set of wooden stairs to a barred metal door. The troll fished around beneath his skirts and pulled out a ring of keys.
‘You want to talk to some prisoners,’ he said, unlocking the door. ‘Good luck.’ The door opened with the faintest squeak of hinges, and he led them through.
They were in the hold, and the corridor before them seemed to stretch the whole length of the vessel. On either side there were more barred doors. Hundreds of arms and faces appeared out of the darkness beyond, pointing at them, shouting at them, beckoning them. Joseph suddenly felt very frightened. If it wasn’t for the metal holding the prisoners back, there was no telling what they’d do.