The Hatmakers

by Tamzin Merchant

  The stranger stalked from the room. Cordelia heard him stumping down the stairs, chuckling softly to himself. She forced herself to wait, heart pounding in the dark, for several minutes after his footsteps had faded. It was torturous. She could hear Sam whimpering in the locked trunk.

  When she was sure the stranger had gone, Cordelia lurched out of the wardrobe in a shower of dust. She fell on her knees beside the trunk and tugged at the iron bolt, grazing her knuckles as she dragged it back.

  She heaved the heavy lid open and Sam staggered to his feet, gulping great lungfuls of air.

  “Thank you, Cor—you saved my life—thank you,” he gasped between grateful breaths.

  Cordelia’s hands were shaking. “He said the Makers were going to be locked in the Tower!” she whispered. “Why? Who is he?”

  Sam shook his head wretchedly.

  “I dunno, I never seen ’is face. He’s never took ’is cloak off.”

  “We’ve got to get home,” Cordelia muttered desperately. “I’ve got to warn my family!”

  CHAPTER 26

  CORDELIA MADE FOR THE TOWER DOOR BUT Sam grabbed her hand.

  “Not that way! She’ll see us!” he hissed.

  “Who?” Cordelia whispered back.

  “The one who sings while she works. Downstairs.”

  Cordelia remembered the lullaby lilting through the great chamber. “Is there someone else hiding out here?”

  Sam nodded.

  “I get in and out through the window, cos I can’t open the front door. But she uses it. I never seen ’er, but she always sings that song when she’s workin’.”

  “But how does she get in?” Cordelia frowned. “My aunt told me only a Maker or a Monarch can open the front doors.”

  Sam vaulted to the top of the wardrobe and leaned out of the window. He turned to look doubtfully at Cordelia.

  “I dunno if you’ll make the climb,” he said. “How are you with heights?”

  “I’m all right with heights if there’s something to hold on to,” Cordelia said.

  Sam shook his head. “It’s sheer.”

  “We’ve got to go,” Cordelia urged in a low moan. “There’s no time! My family’s going to be thrown in the Tower!”

  Sam leaped lightly down and padded across to the door. His mouth was set in a grim line.

  “Nuffin’ for it, we gotta go this way. Foller me.”

  They crept down the silvered stairs back onto the gallery populated with the silent mannequins.

  Cordelia peered over the wooden balcony. A rectangle of flickering light stretched across the floor of the chamber below. One of the old workshop doors was open and there was a fire crackling in the fireplace. She heard two voices mingling. One belonged to the stranger in the cloak. The other was a woman’s.

  In the darkness of the vast chamber, their shapes moved like sharks in a deep sea. They reached the far wall and stopped. Then the woman lit a lantern and her shadow splayed, massive, across the floor. Distant, but distinct, came the clinking of keys and a scraping screech of metal on metal.

  Cordelia frowned. She turned to Sam, fretting silently beside her.

  “The keys—did you steal them from every Maker family?” Cordelia whispered.

  Clink—scrape.

  Sam nodded tersely.

  “We gotta get outta here, Cor,” he muttered.

  Clink—scrape.

  A wailing shriek split the room in two.

  A moment later, the air had claws and teeth. It surged and snapped around her, and a scorched, sulphuric stink—like rotten eggs laid by Firechickens—blackened the atmosphere in a foul tidal wave. Cordelia choked, clapping her hand over her mouth to stop herself coughing.

  Down in the depths of the Great Chamber, the woman gave a howl of vicious delight. The man’s triumphant laughter rang around the domed ceiling.

  Sam sprang to the window, gesturing silently for Cordelia to join him. She scrambled after him and he eased the window open. They took grateful gulps of the fresh night air.

  “It’s gonna have ta be this way out,” Sam muttered, hoisting himself up.

  He stretched a hand out to Cordelia. She clambered up beside him onto the windowsill and felt her stomach churn. The ground was a long way down.

  But a little way below the window was the stone statue of the Maker. They were above the front doors.

  “Jus’ foller my lead,” Sam whispered. “You’ll be all right.”

  Cordelia tried to nod, but it was more of a nervous jerk of her head. She felt dizzy from the sickening mixture of curdled air and sudden space beneath her feet.

  Sam swung his legs out over the space and tentacled a leg into the air as he reached for a foothold. His toe brushed the stone feather of the statue’s hat.

  “Right,” he murmured. “Bit of a stretch. Gonna have ta jump it.”

  “What?” Cordelia gulped, but Sam had already leaped—

  —and was wrapped around the statue’s shoulders like a living cloak.

  He slid down onto the narrow stone ledge and turned his face up to Cordelia.

  “Come on!” His voice floated up to her.

  Cordelia silently cursed her skirts, which flapped heavily around her legs as she pulled herself around to face out over the abyss. As she stared at the statue, it seemed to get farther and farther away.

  “Don’t think—jus’ jump!”

  Her hands were slippery with sweat and her mouth was dry and her stomach was knotty as Eelweeds.

  “You can do it, Cor!” Sam’s voice was a red thread made of courage.

  She screwed up all her guts and heart and muscles into a tight bundle—and everything else she was made of too: bravery and imagination, wildness and wits and her spark of magic—

  —and she jumped!

  “Oof!” The statue knocked all the air out of her, but she clung on.

  “You done it!” Sam whispered joyfully.

  The doors to the Guildhall, just inches beneath their feet, opened. The children froze.

  Cordelia felt the night shift around her as the cloaked stranger emerged onto the steps. The rotten stink came with him in a revolting surge. Cordelia took a tiny sip of air and the vile taste—like vomit and old milk—made her gag.

  If the man looked up now, he would see her wrapped in a strange embrace with the stone Maker, and Sam splayed against the wall behind her, desperately clinging on with his fingertips.

  She slid an inch down the statue and Sam gave the tiniest of whimpers. They were trapped halfway up the bare face of the building. She clung to the cold stone figure, feet dangling helplessly.

  Cordelia felt hope ebb from her heart just as surely as she felt the strength ebbing from her muscles. The stranger slowly turned his head. He would spot them in a second—he would wait for them to fall, like shot birds, to the ground, and drag them away to the Tower.

  “I say, Archie, darling, you are such a flash at the card table. I’m terribly proud of you!” A voice, brighter than the moonlight, rang through the gloomy alley.

  “Well, my love, Lord Buncle was just begging to gamble away all of his cash,” another voice replied. “And I was very happy to help him do it!”

  Two young men burst, laughing, from the dark mouth of the alleyway.

  Cordelia recognized them, even though there was cold sweat trickling into her eyes. It was Archibald and Ferdinand, the boys who had almost dueled in Berkeley Square.

  They stopped dead when they saw the situation they had stumbled into: the ominous stranger in a black cloak and two terrified children clinging to the building right above his head.

  Help! Cordelia mouthed without a sound. Help!

  Both boys leaped into action at once.

  “Good sir!” Ferdinand cried, stepping sideways so that the stranger, watching him, turned his back on the children. “We are lost in this maze of alleyways! Can you tell us the way to—ah—the Sargasso Chocolate House?”

  “Ah, yes!” Archibald said, leaping in front of the stra
nger too. “We are hopelessly lost. And I’m craving a cup of Mrs. Tempest’s hot chocolate.”

  For a moment, the stranger did nothing. The boys froze, smiling uncertainly at him. Then one hand emerged from the deep black cloak and pointed back down the way they had come.

  The boys laughed and clapped each other on the back, rolling their eyes.

  “I told you we were lost, Archibald!” Ferdinand laughed, bowing to the cloaked stranger. “Sir, may I humbly beg you to show us the way? I do not trust that my companion here will lead us aright.”

  The cloaked stranger growled a word which sounded like “no.”

  “Once we are set on our way, we shall leave you to your business,” Ferdinand insisted. “This way, you say?”

  The boys each took the cloaked stranger by the arm and led him down the alleyway. Just before they were swallowed by the darkness, Archibald glanced back, his face full of concern.

  Thank you! Cordelia mouthed.

  And the three of them were gone. The Guildhall square was empty and the boys’ voices faded as they strode away with the villain into the night.

  Sam slid off the ledge, down the wall and sank to the ground, clutching his heart.

  Cordelia gingerly let go of the statue and slithered onto the plinth, her whole body shaking with effort and fright. Then, too numb to feel any more fear, she jumped.

  The shock of the earth shot up her shins and she tumbled into a slushy puddle. But she did not care. She laid her cheek on the muddy street, profoundly grateful to be on the ground.

  Without stopping to congratulate her on her safe arrival, Sam grabbed her hand and tugged her to her feet. They slipped away down the alley, into the safety of the dark.

  CHAPTER 27

  THEY WERE TOO LATE.

  A heavy black wagon was standing in front of Hatmaker House. Silver-and-black guards glinted around it in the pale dawn light.

  That was all Cordelia saw before Sam pulled her back around the corner.

  “Let me go!” Cordelia fought Sam, but the orphan pinned her to the wall.

  “You wanna get arrested?” Sam hissed.

  Cordelia forced herself to calm down, but her stomach felt as though she had a swarm of Frenzy Bees buzzing inside it, and her mouth was desert-dry.

  “I’ll see what’s goin’ on,” Sam said. “Stay ’ere.”

  Cordelia could only watch, trying not to panic, as Sam casually sauntered around the corner, glancing along the street. Moments later he returned looking somber.

  “They’ve got ’em,” he said.

  “Who? Aunt Ariadne? Uncle Tiberius?”

  “Both of ’em,” Sam said.

  Before he could stop her, Cordelia dodged around him and into plain view. The soldiers were shoving her uncle into the wagon. She could see Aunt Ariadne already inside, wearing her nightclothes, looking aghast. Cordelia’s insides turned to liquid.

  Four guards struggled out of the front door carrying Great-aunt Petronella, still throned in her big red armchair, between them. With a surge of pride, Cordelia saw her great-aunt poking all the guards as hard as she could with her Knobble Oak walking stick.

  “Blunderbusses! Wretches!” she squawked. “Oafs! Blaggards!”

  “Where’s the smallest one?” a guard demanded. “We got orders to take you all.”

  Great-aunt Petronella glanced up and looked straight at Cordelia. The ancient lady’s eyes flashed bright.

  The guard turned his head and Great-aunt Petronella swung her stick and thwacked him as hard as she could.

  “She’s run away, you clodpole!” she crowed. “You won’t find Dilly here!”

  In a rage, the guard seized Great-aunt Petronella’s walking stick and snapped it in half. The broken pieces clattered to the ground and Cordelia felt furious tears sting her eyes. She started forward, only to be pulled back by Sam.

  “She’s protecting ya, don’t ya see?” he hissed.

  Once Great-aunt Petronella had been wrestled into the wagon, it trundled away down the street, soldiers mounted on the outside like flies. Cordelia saw the pale faces of her family staring out of the tiny barred windows. In a flurry of flour, Cook burst from the house, covered in flour, and staggered into the road. But the wagon was gone and she collapsed in the middle of the street, sobbing and clutching her side.

  Cordelia and Sam ran over and pulled Cook to her feet. They steered her, still sobbing, through the wide-open doors of Hatmaker House and into the kitchen.

  “What happened, Cook?” Cordelia asked, poking the big kitchen fire so it threw sparks up. She was trembling as violently as Cook.

  “Dilly? Is that you under all that muck?”

  Cordelia tried to wipe her face clean with a dirty hand. “Yes, Cook, it’s me! Please tell me, what happened?”

  “There was a terrible banging on the door and your uncle went to open it, and a dozen soldiers were waiting on the front step,” Cook said. “They came barging in, seized hold of your uncle and dragged your aunt out of her bed! I couldn’t stop them! There were so many of them swarming all over the house! They’ve t-t-took them to the T-T-Tower!”

  Cook succumbed to a storm of sobs. Cordelia patted her on the back. Sam hovered in the doorway, looking morose.

  “Who was that man in the Guildhall?” Cordelia demanded, suddenly angry. “How did he know my family was going to be thrown in the Tower?”

  Sam shook his head and hugged himself miserably.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I never seen ’is face. He caught me one day, nicking ladies’ handkerchiefs in Covent Garden. Said he’d watched me thieving fer an hour. I was guilty all right—’ad a dozen stolen fings in me pockets. He said I ’ad a choice: work fer him or get chucked in Newgate Prison. Newgate’s a hellhole. I’d take anyfing over that.”

  Sam’s eyes brimmed with bright tears and they fell, leaving two pale tracks down his dirty face. Cordelia’s anger melted.

  The back door crashed open. Cordelia and Sam dived under the table and Cook leaped to her feet, seizing her rolling pin. “You won’t take ANOTHER SOUL from this house!” Cook howled, charging to the door.

  There was a clatter and—

  “AAAAAAAARGH!”

  “NOOOOO!”

  “GOOSE!” Cordelia yelled, scrambling out from under the table.

  Goose was cowering beneath Cook’s raised rolling pin.

  “Cook! He’s my friend!”

  “But he’s a Bootmaker!” Cook bellowed.

  “I know he’s a Bootmaker,” Cordelia said soothingly. “He’s also my friend.”

  Goose was in his nightclothes. He looked very small standing in the doorway.

  “Cor-Cordelia,” he whimpered. “They’ve taken my family away to the Tower! They said they were going to throw the Peace Boots in the river! I hid in the Bootlace cupboard and when I came out my family was gone!”

  Cordelia rushed to him and hugged him.

  “Mine too, Goose,” she said softly, squeezing him so hard she heard him squeak.

  “I’m so sorry for everything I said,” Goose whispered into her shoulder. “I don’t know who stole the Peace Boots or how your handkerchief ended up in my schoolroom, but I do know I was stupid to ever think it could have been you.”

  Cordelia glanced under the table. Sam’s sparrow-bright eyes blinked back at her.

  Now was not the time to tell everyone the truth about Sam. Instead, she took her friend gently by the shoulders. “It’s all right, Goose.”

  Cook was staring at them. Cordelia could not tell if it was in disapproval or disbelief.

  “We’ll get them back, Goose,” she said. “We’ll get our families back.”

  CHAPTER 28

  COOK COOKED. IT CALMED HER DOWN, AND Sam emerged from under the kitchen table fifteen minutes later when she laid out a big sizzling breakfast for all of them.

  “Can’t do anything properly on an empty stomach,” she said, handing plates to everyone.

  Goose looked curiously at Sam. Sam gave hi
m an awkward smile, then copied how Goose used the cutlery.

  As they ate, Cordelia filled Goose in on almost everything she had overheard in the Guildhall. She took care to avoid any mention of Sam, who blushed furiously all the way through the story but still managed to eat three times as much as everyone else.

  “He said ‘traitorous Makers,’” Cordelia repeated, buttering toast.

  “Traitorous! I ask you,” grumbled Cook, digging out the marmalade. “How your poor aunt and uncle are meant to finish the hat when they’re stuck in the Tower, I don’t know. And how they’re meant to get out of the Tower when they can’t finish the Peace Hat—”

  “So the king threw them in the Tower?” Goose asked, helping himself to more sausages. “People are traitors if they betray the king.”

  “The princess,” Cordelia corrected, reaching for the jam. “She’s in charge while the king is away for his health at the seaside. But … I think that man in the Guildhall has something to do with it.”

  “Was he the thief?” Goose asked.

  Sam tensed.

  “Yes,” Cordelia said.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam sigh with relief.

  “And you didn’t see anything to give a clue who he was?” Goose asked.

  Sam gave a tiny shake of his head.

  “No—oh, wait! He had gold buckles on his shoes!” Cordelia remembered. “They were strangely shaped. Like two Ms.”

  “Could be his initials!” Goose suggested, waving a bit of egg on the end of his fork. “When we Make boots for really rich people, we sometimes make their initials specially!”

  “MM,” Cordelia said. “MM?”