When they ran out of pineapples, the Makers raided the guardroom lunch table (Sam helped herself to some chicken, too). The guards did not enjoy having their lunch hurled at them. When the roast chicken (and all the trimmings) ran out, the Makers found the supply of dry bread for the prisoners, and kept up the assault. The ravens were not fussy eaters.
“By order of the Crown—cease this rebellion!” a guard yelped.
“Only if ya let us out!” Sam yelled, lobbing a hunk of bread at him.
“Never!” the guard declared, before a raven snatched at his hat, thinking it was a charred crust.
When the royal galleon sailed up the Thames hours later, ready to free the prisoners from the dark dungeons, they found the Tower guards sheltering from a bombardment of food and ravens. Their uniforms were pecked to shreds and covered in bird poo, and they were only too happy to see an end to their torment.
CHAPTER 42
THE PORTCULLIS WAS RAISED AND THE PRISONERS charged out. Sam led the way, with the Hatmakers on one side of her and the king on the other. The king was pretending to be a lion.
Cordelia, Goose, and Sir Hugo were standing ready to greet them with the princess and all her courtiers. Sam waved wildly at Cordelia and Cordelia waved back, amazed to see Sam leading dozens of bedraggled Makers.
“Makers!” the princess cried. “You have been wrongfully imprisoned and for that I am truly sorry! I grant you all your freedom and beg your forgiveness!”
The princess curtsied low to the amazed crowd. The Makers cheered and clapped. In the excitement, the king spotted a broken pineapple crown lying on the ground and seized it, dancing happily around with it on his head.
When the princess saw her father, the smile slid off her face.
“I see Lord Witloof also lied about sending my father on a trip to the seaside,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “You Makers did all you could, but I fear my dear father is doomed to this silliness forever.”
The king dropped the spiky crown and started hopping from foot to foot, flapping his hands and squealing. The princess shook her head and Sir Hugo gallantly flourished an enormous silk handkerchief for her to dry her tears.
Cordelia, meanwhile, was studying the king.
He still wore the same strange outfit he had been in when the Hatmakers had delivered the Concentration Hat to the palace: puffy bloomers, an unbuttoned scarlet jacket, and tightly buckled shoes that were as purple as bruises.
Cordelia frowned at the shoes.
The king had been desperate to take them off, but Lord Witloof had forbidden it.
Why did he forbid it? Cordelia wondered.
There was only one way to find out.
She walked toward the hopping king and knelt down. He stopped hopping and, like a nervous horse, tapped his foot and shifted skittishly as Cordelia started to undo the buckles on his shoes.
One shoe came off, then the other.
The king stood in his socks on the cold cobbles and sighed with relief.
“Finally!” he said. “Those ghastly shoes are off! Gives a man space in his brain to think properly!”
Everyone stared with open mouths as the king looked around at them all.
“Father?” the princess asked, not quite believing her eyes.
“My dear Georgina!” The king smiled. “How lovely to see you! I’ve been in that dungeon a while. Not quite the trip to the seaside I was promised, eh!”
“Addlesnake skin!” Mr. Bootmaker exclaimed, picking up one of the purple shoes. “These shoes are made from Addlesnake skin. They have been causing the king’s silliness, I am certain.”
“Too right!” the king barked. “That rogue Lord Witloof gave them to me as a gift. He knows I have a fondness for shiny shoes. I put them on and, a moment later, I thought I was a kangaroo.”
“But a Bootmaker would never use Addlesnake skin—it’s far too menacing!” Mrs. Bootmaker blustered. “Where did he get them from?”
Goose’s older brother gave a strangled sort of squawk. All eyes turned to him.
“That’s where it got to!” he spluttered. “I—I brought that snakeskin back from the equator months ago!”
Everybody looked shocked. Mrs. Bootmaker, for once, was speechless.
“Ignatius,” Mr. Bootmaker choked. “Explain.”
“Oh, uh—yes—well …” Ignatius could not meet their eyes as he gabbled, “I—er—I remember that day … I unloaded all the ingredients I’d brought back, but somewhere between the dock and the back door of Bootmaker Mansion, the Addlesnake skin—erm—it disappeared. It—uh—it was in a crate marked DANGEROUS and it—I thought it had fallen off the cart. Went back to look for it but I couldn’t find it anywhere. Gosh! Um … gosh.”
Cordelia saw Uncle Tiberius grinning delightedly at the Bootmaker’s mistake. Even Aunt Ariadne seemed unable to keep her mouth from twitching into a slight smile.
Before Mrs. Bootmaker could draw breath to berate Ignatius, Goose piped up, “I bet it was Miss Starebottom who stole it!”
Hatmakers and Bootmakers all looked confused to hear this familiar name in such strange circumstances.
“Bring her here,” Princess Georgina ordered a guard. “And we’ll ask her.”
“And somebody arrest that lawless Lord Witloof!” His Majesty declared.
“He’s already been arrested, Father,” Princess Georgina said proudly. “Guards, fetch him too!”
Lord Witloof and Miss Starebottom were summoned and hauled before the king. They were both soaked with stinking bilge water.
“Did you steal the snakeskin to Make these shoes?” the princess asked the governess.
Miss Starebottom grinned nastily, still green with sea sickness. “Yes, I stole it from the cart when that stupid Bootmaker’s back was turned,” she hissed, pointing at Ignatius, who was determinedly avoiding his mother’s eye. “I Made it into shoes using the old Bootmaker workshop in the Guildhall,” she added. “Not bad for my first pair.”
“I see you stopped hopping long enough to take them off,” Lord Witloof snarled at the king.
“Miss Hatmaker helped me,” King George boomed. “I am deeply in debt to her for freeing my feet—and, indeed, my entire self—from your villainy.” He looked from the treacherous lord to the governess. “Who is this person?” His Majesty asked.
“That is an excellent question, Father,” Princess Georgina said. Turning to Miss Starebottom, she went on, “Shall we call you Miss Starebottom? Or do you prefer to be known by your true name: Delilah Canemaker?”
All the grown-up Makers gasped.
“Call me Canemaker,” Miss Starebottom spat, staring daggers at all the Makers. “You left me to die when I was only a child and you don’t deserve to forget it!”
The guards dragged her away, her furious wail echoing off the stone walls of the Tower.
“And this villain deserves a trip to the seaside,” Princess Georgina announced. “Just like the one he gave you, Father.”
“Take Lord Witloof away!” the king commanded.
Everybody watched as the wicked lord was bundled into the Tower and out of sight.
Silence followed his departure. Cordelia gazed around at the dazed faces of the Makers.
“By Bottom!” Sir Hugo declared. “Let’s see some cheerful spirits! The villains are vanquished and the day is won—this calls for a theatrical celebration!”
Cordelia and Goose looked at each other in alarm.
“More acting?” Goose gasped. “I thought we were safe!”
CHAPTER 43
SEVERAL NIGHTS LATER, THE HATMAKERS WERE milling around in the hallway of Hatmaker House, all dressed in fine clothes and fancy hats. Cook and Jones, also dressed in their best, waited by the front door.
Cordelia peeked through the window as a musical jingle sounded outside.
“The royal carriage is here!” she cried.
“Come along, Sam!” Aunt Ariadne called up the stairs. “We can’t be late!”
Sam Lightfinger
came thundering downstairs, wearing a pair of shiny new boots and a smart suit. “Sorry! Took me a while ta do up all the buttons!”
Cordelia thought Sam looked splendid in her new chestnut-brown suit, with her hair braided close around her head. Cook squinted disapprovingly at Sam’s trousers.
“Can’t think why you refuse to wear a nice dress,” Cook griped. “Specially on an important occasion like this one.”
“Ya never know when ya might need ta climb a building,” Sam said wisely, adjusting her new waistcoat. “And climbing anyfing in a dress is a right pain.”
“I agree.” Cordelia nodded fervently, remembering her unhelpfully flapping skirts during their nighttime escape from the Guildhall. She squeezed Sam’s hand as Uncle Tiberius ushered them outside.
“I can’t believe we’re going to see Sir Hugo himself perform in a play!” Cook squealed. “And at the palace! Lord love me, I’m all a flutter.”
They piled into the carriage, and four palace footmen hoisted Great-aunt Petronella and her wheeled chair in after them. Luckily it was roomy enough to hold everybody, though their knees knocked together as they trundled off into the dusk.
But the royal carriage did not take them to the palace.
A short while later, they rolled to a stop on Bond Street. A footman opened the door and let everybody out onto the street. The Hatmakers found themselves standing at the gloomy mouth of a rather familiar alley. Lanterns glowed along the twisting way, studding the darkness with gold.
“His Highness begs you to join him,” the footman intoned. “But the carriage can take you no farther. Kindly follow the lanterns.”
Aunt Ariadne and Uncle Tiberius’s smiles became rather fixed. They knew where the lanterns led.
“The Guildhall!” Cordelia whispered.
She began following the chain of lanterns down the dark alley. Cordelia could almost hear her uncle dragging his feet and her aunt’s hesitant steps. She supposed that it was difficult for them to return to the Guildhall: they had known it, years ago, as a bright place of friendship. It must be hard to see it now, sad and abandoned, and those friendships strained.
Nobody expected the change they found when they got there.
The Guildhall had come alive with lights. The windows twinkled, lit from the inside with a thousand candles. The statue of the man above the entrance (the statue that Cordelia had clung to not long ago) had been cleaned. Somebody had scrubbed the bird poo off his hat and placed a garland of flowers around his neck. The huge oak door stood open in welcome, hung with bunting.
The Guildhall did not look lonely or unloved anymore.
Inside, everything was gleaming. The floor was polished, candles flickered from brass sconces on the walls, a merry fire crackled in the fireplace, and new velvet curtains were swagged at the windows.
A palace footman bowed as he ushered everyone through the archway.
The Great Chamber was transformed.
The Great Chamber was transformed. The air rang with music and shimmered with light. Great garlands of flowers festooned the walls. Somebody had released hundreds of Dulcet Fireflies into the dome. They flittered like moving stars above everyone’s heads.
“Welcome!”
It was Princess Georgina, eyes shining as she opened her arms to greet the Hatmakers. King George, standing next to his daughter, inclined his head graciously as the Hatmakers bowed to the royals.
“Blimey,” Cordelia heard Cook whisper behind her.
“Welcome back to your Guildhall.” Princess Georgina smiled. “We’ve spent the last few days making it ready for you!”
There was a long table covered with lace cloths and laden with cakes. An enormous number of pineapples were piled beside them.
“King Louis sent the pineapples,” the princess told Cordelia. “As a token of his friendship.”
Royal music makers played their instruments on a raised stage and footmen carried silver trays of clinking glasses around.
The Guildhall was full of Makers of every age. The three Watchmakers observed everyone from the edges of the crowd. All the Cloakmakers paced and posed importantly together. The Glovemakers had gathered in a boisterous bunch.
Cordelia spotted Goose standing in a knot with his family. It was the first time she had seen him since the Tower. He was dressed in a too-tight suit and looked somewhat strangled by his cravat. His mother had his hand clenched tightly in hers. Sam whistled, Goose turned, and Cordelia saw his face light up with a smile as he spotted them. She raised her hand to wave, but Mrs. Bootmaker saw and yanked him out of sight behind his father.
“We’ll find a way to talk to him,” Sam whispered in Cordelia’s ear. “Come on—let’s look around.”
Sam made straight for the table of cakes and Cordelia was about to follow when she caught sight of the Canemaker crest above a workshop door.
Those crossed lightning bolts striking down made her shudder. But beneath her surge of horror, pity fluttered like a baby bird.
Delilah Canemaker had been nine years old when she was left alone, with no family and no friends.
Cordelia walked toward the Canemakers’ door. It was the only one left undecorated. Nobody had come to hang flowers and bunting on it: it was bare and abandoned.
She reached for the handle.
“No, miss.” A footman appeared, blocking her way. “Not allowed in there. It’s dangerous.”
Cordelia drew her hand back. “What’s dangerous about it?” she asked.
“Best left well alone, miss,” he said, planting his feet firmly in front of the door.
“MAKERS ALL!” a herald yelled, crashing a pair of brass cymbals. “Please take your seats! We are proud to present to you a new Theatrical Spectacular! Starring the superlative Sir Hugo Gushforth in a Great Heroic Role as Savior of the Day! A Tale of Daring and Skulduggery! Of weeping Maidens and dastardly Sailors! Of Courage and Heroism, the like of which has not been seen since Shakespeare himself—”
“Get ON with it!” the king bellowed.
In three seconds, the lamps were out and the play had begun. The Makers shuffled into their seats in the dark as Sir Hugo bounded onto the stage.
The play turned out to be little more than an elaborate sword fight. Five minutes in, after a bit of wailing from a boy dressed as a princess and some unpleasant words growled by a burly sailor, Sir Hugo swept them aside and was plunged into the middle of a heroic brawl. He bravely battled an ugly ship’s captain and twelve hulking guards all at once.
Watching Sir Hugo lay waste to his enemies on the stage, Cordelia realized that the actor did not need a hat to help him with stage fright anymore. He was doing splendidly on his own.
She turned in her seat and furtively searched the crowd. She saw both pairs of Glovemaker twins wearing expressions of violent delight as they watched Sir Hugo thrashing his adversaries. Three rows in front of them, she spotted Goose. He was wearing an expression of such complete disbelief that Cordelia snorted with laughter.
Goose flicked his eyes over to her. She raised her eyebrows, as if to say: This isn’t quite how I remember Sir Hugo fighting on the ship.
Goose grinned in reply.
“Have at thee!” Sir Hugo cried. “Take that! And that!”
Sir Hugo cut the buttons off the costume of the actor playing the captain and his trousers fell down, exposing his frilly underwear. The audience roared with laughter and applauded. Sir Hugo took several bows.
The seat next to Cordelia’s was empty. Sam Lightfinger had crept away.
I have an idea where she might be, Cordelia thought, slipping off her seat.
Sure enough, when she lifted up the lace tablecloth of the long table, she found Sam underneath. Sam had a cake in each hand.
“Mind if I come in?” Cordelia asked.
“Make yerself comfy!” Sam grinned through a mouthful of cake.
Cordelia shuffled under the table, helping herself to a jam tart on the way down. A minute later, the tablecloth was hoicked up as Goose l
ooked in.
“Hello!” he whispered. “Is there room for me, too?”
“Always!” Cordelia whispered back, making space for him.
Goose smiled shyly at Sam as he squeezed in beside her.
They spent a happy half hour munching cakes and biscuits, listening to the rumbles of laughter and the applause from Sir Hugo’s audience.
“Are you enjoying living at Hatmaker House?” Goose asked Sam.
“’Sgreat!” Sam said, scoffing a cream bun. “Cook makes me all the food I want and so far I’ve only had to have one bath.”
Goose chuckled. “I hope I’ll be allowed to come back and see Hatmaker House again one day,” he said wistfully. “My mother’s still furious with me. She said Bootmakers and Hatmakers have no business being friends with each other.”
He tensed for a second, then peered under the fringe of the tablecloth.
“It’s all right—she’s watching the play.” He sighed, turning sheepishly back to the others.
Cordelia stifled a laugh.
“But why are you still dressed as a boy, Sam?” Goose asked, ignoring Cordelia’s chuckle. “And why did you do it in the first place?”
Sam twisted her face up and squinted at Goose. Then she glanced sideways through the table legs. Cordelia suspected she was planning an escape route in case things went wrong.
“Truth is, Goose,” Sam said, “I was a thief. I’m reformed now: good as gold, since Friday. Ain’t that right, Cor?” She winked at Cordelia. “It’s a bit easier on the streets if yer a boy,” Sam went on. “Not lots easier, but a bit. Bad things happen ta boys, but a lot worse can happen ta girls. That’s why I disguised meself.”
Goose nodded in understanding.
“Also, I ’ad a bit of a run-in with the Thieftaker, and since he was lookin’ for a girl, I made meself into a boy.” Sam grinned. “And I gotta say, boys’ clothes is a lot comfier than girls’.”
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