by Conrad Mason
She spotted Slik, his wings spraying water in all directions, flying away from the battle for all he was worth.
‘Wait here,’ said her rescuer.
Tabitha turned. The mermaid was pale, but her green eyes sparkled. Her powerful silver tail shimmered below the surface, rippling as it bore her up in the water. She looked strong. Like a princess. She was home at last.
‘How did—? Why did—?’
Pallione shook her head impatiently. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Not now.’ She raised her twisted bonestaff, studded with pearls, and pointed at the ship. ‘I have work to do.’ With that she upended, showering Tabitha with water as she darted towards the wavecutter.
‘Tabitha,’ came a big, booming voice from nearby, and she turned to see the troll twins striking out towards her. Frank was supporting Hal, who looked as though he barely knew how to swim. His glasses were spotted with droplets, and he was clutching the wooden spoon. Later she’d have to thank him for saving her life. But now wasn’t the time.
‘Joseph!’ she shouted. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’ve not seen him,’ Paddy called back.
They bobbed together in the water, scanning in every direction. Tabitha’s heart was thumping. Please, no. Don’t let him be—
‘There,’ Frank yelled, pointing a big green finger.
Tabitha’s racing heart stopped dead.
Riding the waves was a wooden raft loaded with bully boys, and in their midst the Boy King, his golden clothes waterlogged, his cockatrice plume drooping. It was the platform he’d been standing on when the wave hit. Two of the bully boys were pulling a bedraggled figure out of the water. A scrawny boy with pointed ears and mottled skin.
‘Joseph!’
Major Turnbull was breathing fast. Even if she was a magician, like that red fireball suggested, there was no way she could focus enough to cast a spell with a blade at her neck. She closed her eyes. As if she knew what was coming next and was readying herself for it. Newton readied himself too. He was going to kill this woman.
Except she hadn’t always been a woman. Not back then.
Just do it. His grip tightened on the hilt. One quick movement and it would be over.
Out of nowhere, Newton was struck by a memory. A sunny day just like this one. She was playing in the garden as the miners marched by the governor’s house. Her eyes were scrunched tight, her hands covering them, and she counted down from a hundred as her nursemaids scattered. A game of hide and seek. And she’d opened her eyes, peeking through her fingers. Just for a moment. Enough to see Newton watching her as they trudged past.
For Thalin’s sake, do it. Black Turnbull had killed his uncle, run him through for stealing bread. And there were countless others, the inglorious deaths in the mines, the forgotten souls who were simply worked until they dropped. Revenge. If they could see him now, they’d all be crying out for it.
Do it now. Do it for them.
That day in the garden he’d smiled at her, and she’d covered her eyes quickly, as though he might give the game away.
Do it.
But the rage was gone. Instead he felt weary. Tired of being angry. He flexed his fingers, loosened his grip on the hilt. He staggered to his feet, fighting the listing of the deck.
‘Go,’ he said, his voice hoarse.
Major Turnbull’s eyes flicked open, and she glared at him like a cornered animal.
‘Quickly. And take your sword.’ He flung it away.
She scrambled to her feet, racing after it.
Newton stumbled across the foredeck to where Old Jon lay. The elf’s face was white and his eyes were glazed, and Newton knew at once that it was over.
No time for tears. Not yet.
He slung Old Jon’s frail body over his shoulder. The ship jolted until it was almost side on in the water. No chance of clawing his way back up to the top side of it now.
Newton glanced around one last time. Major Turnbull was gone. So was the Duke, and the Sword of Corin.
He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on Old Jon. Then he closed his eyes and leaped out over the sea.
They dumped him, shivering and dripping, on the wooden platform.
‘You!’ screeched the Boy King. ‘You ruin everything!’
He grabbed Joseph’s ears and pulled him to his knees.
‘Someone give me a weapon!’ he howled. ‘I’ve had enough. I want him dead.’
A bully boy passed him an axe. It looked like it was made for chopping wood, but Joseph knew it would have no problem chopping mongrel boy instead. Saved from a mace to be killed by an axe.
He closed his eyes. This was what he deserved. As he waited for the blow to fall, he was almost glad. At least after this he couldn’t disappoint his friends. Couldn’t betray his town. Couldn’t get anyone killed.
‘Let him go,’ said a voice from behind.
Joseph turned. Bobbing in the water was a mermaid with long white hair, green eyes and a bonestaff.
No, no, no. His mind was playing tricks on him. Horrible tricks. He’d seen her die … hadn’t he? He blinked, but the mermaid was still there. He felt as though his heart might burst.
‘You,’ snarled the Boy King. His eyes bulged and his face was bright red. ‘You sneaking, backstabbing, fish-tailed witch! I hate you! Someone give me a gun.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ said Pallione. Her eyes burned with fury, and her bonestaff was raised and pointed at the raft. ‘This is not your court, child. It is mine. And my powers are returned. I will ask you one last time. Let him go.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ shouted the Boy King. ‘No one tells me what to do!’
‘Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
She disappeared, slipping below the waves with a flash of her silver tail. The bully boys edged backwards, raising their muskets and scanning the water.
‘Where’s she gone?’ demanded the Boy King. ‘Where’s she—?’
CRRRASH!
The wood below their feet erupted in a shower of splinters. Bully boys lurched in all directions, and the raft rocked as several fell into the sea. Pallione rose up through the shattered planks like an avenging seraph, gripped the Boy King by his collar and lifted him up into the air. Joseph forgot to breathe. She hovered there in a haze of magic, long tail gently pulsing like a snake’s coils, as though she was treading water. The Boy King dangled from her hand like a marionette.
‘The rest of you can go,’ she said.
The bully boys didn’t need to be told twice. They dropped their weapons and dived into the sea, striking out in all directions. Anything to escape from the flying mermaid who had just punched her way through six inches of solid wood.
‘Cowards!’ yelped the boy. ‘Come back …’ He struggled weakly, but he’d dropped his axe and had nothing to fight with.
Only Joseph stayed on the raft, still on his knees, still staring at Pallione.
It was her.
It really was.
‘How shall we kill him?’ said the mermaid.
The Boy King’s eyes went wide, and all of a sudden he was no king at all. Just a child squirming in the grip of someone stronger and more powerful than he was. For an instant, Joseph thought of his uncle, Mr Lightly, hitting him for getting the customers’ orders wrong, or for not cleaning the tankards properly.
He tried to speak, but no words came. In the end he just shook his head.
Pallione raised an eyebrow, hesitating for just a moment.
‘Please,’ whined the boy, and all the arrogance was gone from his voice. ‘Please, let me go.’
The mermaid flung her arm out, tossing him into the ocean like an unwanted catch. They watched as he floundered amid the debris, bodies and broken bits of ship. He looked even younger than before, small and helpless as he paddled away. His golden hat floated nearby, the plume soaked and sagging.
Maybe they should have killed him. But Joseph was glad they hadn’t.
He stared up at the mermaid. Th
e gunshot wound was gone. So was the blood and the deathly pallor. He had so many questions he didn’t know where to begin.
‘Look, Joseph,’ said Pallione, and she pointed out to sea with her bonestaff.
Most of the smoke had cleared now, and Joseph saw ships in the distance. League vessels sailing away, rounding the coast of Illon. Fayter vessels in pursuit. Merfolk everywhere, swarming through the water. As he watched, a League galleon was tipped onto its side in a great crash of spray, and warriors raced to attack its crew.
Something about the sounds of battle had changed too. Joseph had been too distracted to notice it until now. Screams of rage and pain mingled with yells of triumph. An impish dhow slid past, the crew jumping up and down on the deck and cheering, the sea-green banner of Fayt fluttering from the mainmast. Some of the fleeing League ships were nothing but dots in the distance now.
‘The Fayters have won,’ said Pallione. She smiled, but it was a weary smile, full of sadness as much as joy.
‘What did … ?’ Joseph began, but tailed off. ‘How … ?’ he tried again, but he couldn’t get any further.
Pallione floated down through the air and came to rest, sitting on the edge of the raft with her tail submerged and her bonestaff laid across her lap. She looked suddenly exhausted. The effort of the fighting and the magic had clearly taken its toll.
‘Do you remember what you said on the hobgoblin’s ship?’ she said, in a quiet voice. ‘You told me that when I saw my father, I’d see he cared about me more than I thought.’ She bit her lip. ‘I was so close to death. I could reach out and touch it. But he brought me back. He saved me with his magic.’
Joseph said nothing. He could tell there was more to come.
‘But a spell like that comes at a great price for the magician who casts it. The greatest price there is.’
Silence. The breeze stirred her damp hair, but nothing else moved.
‘Pallione, I’m just— I’m so—’
She raised one hand. ‘No, Joseph. When it counted, you tried to save me.’
Silence again. Joseph didn’t know what to say. There was one question he wanted to ask more than anything else, but he didn’t know how. Pallione seemed to sense it.
‘I didn’t have to come. I could have stayed on the island. Done nothing while the League defeated your fleet. But I came. I came because …’ She paused for just a moment. ‘Because it was the right thing to do.’ She smiled at him, a weak smile, but her eyes sparkled like tropical seas. ‘Goodbye, Joseph. We’ll meet again.’
In one swift movement she was gone, disappearing deep below the surface. Joseph watched her go, until all he could see was the silver glimmer of her tail below the waves.
And then nothing at all.
PART FIVE
The Dread Unicorn
Chapter Thirty-four
THE FLAMES LEAPED up high, sending sparks dancing into the night sky. Tabitha gazed into the fire, holding her hands out for the warmth. She was dimly aware of the feasting, drinking, singing and dancing going on around her, but no more than that.
It had taken an hour for her clothes to dry out after the battle. Now they were stiff and uncomfortable, encrusted with sea salt. Not that Tabitha cared. There was so much more to think about. Old Jon. Pallione. And Joseph.
He was an idiot for believing Jeb the Snitch. And even more of an idiot for trying to help him. But when she remembered what she’d said in the warehouse, she felt horribly guilty. I’d be better off on my own. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t really meant it. Surely he knew that. It was obvious, wasn’t it?
A large man strolled round the edge of the fire towards her, half in shadow. The orange glow lit up Newton’s shaven head and the shark tattoo on his cheek. He sat down on the sand next to her, reached out to ruffle her hair, then remembered she didn’t like that and let his hand drop. They gazed into the fire together.
Tabitha stole a glance at him. It was only now they were together again that she realized how much she’d missed him. He wasn’t her father. Never was, never would be. But he was the closest thing she had.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘About Old Jon.’
Newton nodded. ‘Aye.’
‘You knew him for a long time, didn’t you?’
‘A long time. Not long enough.’
Tabitha didn’t know what to say to that, so she went back to staring into the fire. She felt so safe with Newton by her side. After all that had happened, she would have liked him to put his arms around her and hold her, like when she was little. Of course, if he had done that, she’d have squirmed away and told him off for treating her like a baby. But still.
She hugged her knees up close and scanned the ocean, trying to spot the flash of merfolk tails among the moonlit waves. But they’d all gone. Disappeared almost as soon as the fighting was over, taking their dead with them. It made all this celebration seem hollow, Tabitha reckoned. After all, it was Pallione who’d really won the battle.
Pallione. The Queen of the Merfolk.
‘I still don’t understand,’ she said out loud. ‘Why did she help us? After everything that happened?’
Newton didn’t reply. Tabitha glanced at him and saw that he was looking uneasy, rubbing at the red marks around his wrists. Clearly he had something on his mind.
‘Tabs,’ he said at last. ‘Something’s up with Joseph. Do you know what it is?’
Tabitha shrugged.
He turned to her with that expression on his face – the earnest look that showed he was trying to act like a good father but didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
‘Thing is, Tabs, friends are worth hanging on to.’
‘I know. What do you—?’
‘And I think, right now, Joseph needs somebody to talk to.’
Tabitha was about to argue, but then for some reason Old Jon came into her mind. Old Jon and Newton sitting in the corner of Bootles’ Pie Shop while the others played triominoes, just sitting together and smoking. Not even saying a word to each other, but content. From now on, when Newton smoked in the corner of the pie shop, he’d be smoking alone.
She got to her feet, using his shoulder to steady herself.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll go.’
‘… and if I never eat fried fish again, it’ll be too soon!’ finished Frank. The others around the fire laughed, and Joseph smiled along with them. It helped, somehow, having all this energy and happiness around him. Helped him think, without anyone noticing that something was wrong.
The Fayters all seemed so relaxed, as if this was over. But for him it wasn’t. He remembered his last sight of Jeb the Snitch, snarling and pointing a pistol at them. That last threat too. What about your father, boy? You’ll never see him again. If there was even a chance that Jeb meant to hurt his father …
Pallione’s face came to him, her white hair slicked back and dripping with water as she sat hunched on the raft, telling him how the King had died to save her life. Always do the right thing, she’d told him.
At last he was starting to see what the right thing was.
Joseph looked around at his friends and noticed Hal, sitting cross-legged on the sand next to him, cradling the wooden spoon and frowning through his spectacles at it.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For saving us on that wavecutter.’
Hal flinched and looked up, as if he’d just been woken from a deep sleep.
‘Oh. You’re welcome.’
‘How does it work? The wooden spoon, I mean.’
Hal’s whole face lit up, as if he’d been waiting for someone to ask him that.
‘It’s a question of mental focus,’ he said. ‘Very little more than that. That’s the genius of it. Most wands require a kind of specific thought process achievable only by the most talented of magicians. Or a verbal trigger to unlock the wand’s potential. But in the case of this wooden spoon none of that is needed. You merely have to be in contact with the wand, with a clear line of sight to the target, then concentra
te on your intention to take control of their mind. Extremely sophisticated.’
Joseph frowned at the wand as Hal held it up. Half of the spoon lay in shadow from the fire; the other half glowed orange.
‘Are you saying you don’t even have to be a magician?’
Hal frowned. ‘It would be unwise for a layman to use it. Only magicians have the necessary mental focus and—’
‘But you wouldn’t have to be.’
‘Well. Technically, I suppose not. Although it could be highly dangerous if used incorrectly. I read about wands like this when I was studying at the Azurmouth Academy, but I had no idea there were enchanters still capable of creating them.’
‘And if you take control of a person’s mind, you can make them do anything you want?’
‘Naturally. That’s what mind control is.’
‘So you could make them tell you something they didn’t want to tell you?’
Hal’s eyes darted from the spoon to Joseph’s face, narrowing slightly.
‘I suppose so. Why do you ask?’
‘Just wondering.’
The magician relaxed and turned his attention back to the wand. At this angle his spectacles were two solid orange discs in the firelight.
‘Well, I’m glad. No one else in the Watch has an appreciation for the art of magic. Except Newt. And he doesn’t talk about it much.’
‘No,’ said Joseph absently.
You could make them tell you something they didn’t want to tell you.
‘Hey.’
They both turned at the voice. Tabitha was standing there, her face lit up from below so that strange shadows danced across her features, and Joseph couldn’t quite tell what expression she wore.
‘Tabs,’ he said cautiously.
‘Can we talk?’
He nodded and scrambled to his feet. Hal went back to his wand without a second glance.