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- Herausgeber: David Fickling Books
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
Joseph Grubb has come to the great city of Azurmouth in search of his father. But in Azurmouth nothing is as it seems, and a terrifying ancient power is about to be unleashed . . . If Joseph is to learn the truth about his father, he must face his deepest fears, and a final reckoning, at the Hero's Tomb.
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Seitenzahl: 337
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For Katrina, always
Contents
PROLOGUE
From the Flatland Duchies, from the Northern Wastes and the Southern Hills, from every corner of the Old World, they have come. They have travelled for weeks, braving bandits, mountain trolls and worse. Now they are here. All of them.
The League of the Light.
The Duke of Garran watches, his fingers resting lightly on the stone balustrade, as the courtyard fills with mounted men dressed in white. Noises float up to his balcony, mingling with the joyful peal of the bells – the jangle of reins, the clopping of hooves and the shouts of greeting.
Some of his guests glance upwards, shielding theireyesagainst the late afternoon sun as they admire the façade of the House of Light. There are three hundred windows set into its shining white walls, so that on a bright day it lives up to its name, shimmering with golden radiance.
Let them enjoy it while they can.
The Duke smiles as the lords make their way into the House of Light. He knows what they think of him. He has heard their whispers, cut short as he approaches. They fear him. They are afraid because they do not understand. They do not know what he truly is. They will, soon enough. They will see what he has been planning.
And by then, it will be too late.
His eyes flick to the Golden Sun, the League’s banner, flying from the roof of the gatehouse. Fitting – for that is what he shall become. The sun in splendour. The death of darkness. The bringer of the light.
‘Your grace.’
Major Turnbull hovers at the balcony doors, her long blonde hair tied back, her uniform dazzling white. In the afternoon sunshine she is even more beautiful than usual. ‘They will soon be ready for you.’
He nods.
Their footsteps echo on the marble floor as they pass through mirrored corridors, Major Turnbull keeping pace at the Duke’s shoulder.
Hehas chosen the largest state room in the House of Light to receive his guests. As he enters he enjoys the shifting of position, the widening of eyes. He is dressed in his famous red coat. Dyed with the blood of trolls – that is the rumour, and he has never denied it. After all, it is true.
The Duke surveys his fellow lords, sitting in the comfortable chairs around the fireplace. The men who have held him back for so long. The Marquis of Renneth – a tall, handsome man, his pale blond hair swept back. The masters of the Flatland Duchies – Ysiland, Juddmouth and Henge – tanned and rugged, still wearing their mud-spattered riding boots. Beside them are Storth, Garvill and Tallis – a collection of effete southerners, whose interests extend little beyond fine wines, loose women and fast horses. He can barely keep his lip from curling in disdain.
Last, but not least, the Earl of Brindenheim. A bloated walrus of a man with bristling grey mutton chops, sitting with a soldier’s posture in the largest and most comfortable chair of all. Like a king holding court. He has brought his wretched son Leopold with him. The idiot stands at his father’s side, a pink, puffy-faced boy with greasy black hair plastered across his forehead. A joke.
The Duke’s gaze lingers on the Earl of Brindenheim.Theold fool has come dressed in the white coat and breeches of the League’s army – the butchers, as their enemies call them. Dressed for battle.
His presence makes things … interesting. The earldom is nothing in itself, but Brindenheim is the eldest of the lords, and the most experienced. He commands the respect of every man in the room, and it has made him arrogant. If there is to be trouble, Brindenheim will undoubtedly be at the centre of it.
The Duke would enjoy that.
He clears his throat.
‘My lords. Five hundred years ago, a warrior faced down the greatest horde of demonspawn ever to plague the Old World. Trolls, goblins, imps and elves felt the bite of his blade. All in the name of humanity. That warrior’s name was Corin the Bold.
‘We have all sworn to carry on the work of our great ancestor. To bring a new dawn into every corner of the Old World, stamping out the taint of demonspawn wherever it is to be found. We are the League of the Light. That is why we gather here each year, in the greatest city in the Old World, to celebrate Corin’s Day tomorrow. The date which marks his final victory at the Battle of the Three Forests. To honour his memory. Our first and greatest champion.’
He pauses. The Earl of Brindenheim is watching him with a peculiar expression. Wary. Like a lone traveller who has sensed a wolf prowling in the bushes. Perhaps even now he can tell that something is afoot.
He is right to be afraid. Nothing can prepare him for what is coming.
Nothing can prepare him for the triumph of the light.
The Duke spreads his arms wide.
‘My lords … welcome to Azurmouth!’
PART ONE
Azurmouth
Chapter One
‘Land ho!’
Joseph jumped up and hurried to the prow. He was supposed to be swabbing the deck, but what did he care? Once he got his feet on dry land, he’d never see the crew of the Dread Unicorn ever again.
He strained his eyes, peering across the sparkling water to the horizon. Without a spyglass he could see nothing but the gulls, wheeling and screeching in the blue skies above, as the ship cut through the waves towards the great city of Azurmouth.
Azurmouth. The thought of it gave him a shiver of excitement. You should be frightened, he told himself. Every night the crew had delighted in telling him tales of what might happen to a half-goblin boy in Azurmouth. Tales of elves snatched from their beds in the dark of night. Tales of imps dragged from dockside taverns and never seen again. Tales of drunken white-coated butchers who prowled the streets, looking for any excuse to stop you, if you weren’t a human …
Joseph swallowed hard. Maybe he was a little frightened. But it didn’t matter. He had crossed the Ebony Ocean for a reason. He had to know the truth. And the truth was here, somewhere in Azurmouth.
There’s no turning back now.
The breeze whipped him, and he narrowed his eyes to stop them from streaming. Soon it would all be spread out before him: marble statues and colonnades; wide avenues lined with tall trees, their green-laden branches swaying softly in the breeze; elegant spires that pierced the sky, serene and quiet but for the silver bells that pealed sweet music to mark a wedding, or a triumph, or Corin’s Day. The greatest city ever founded. A beacon of hope for all the people of the Old World. Or at least, for all the humans of the Old World.
He shivered again.
The sky began to fill up with gulls, and the sea with ships. First a distant sail, stark against the horizon, then vessels dotting the ocean. There was a red-sailed caravel from the Flatland Duchies. A fat black cog from the north. League galleons, tall and proud, white flags fluttering.
Joseph drank it all in, his fingers drumming on the gunwale with impatience.
At last, the city itself came into view, looming larger as they approached. It took his breath away. A hazy sprawl across the coastline; countless ramshackle buildings, even more motley and crammed in than those of Port Fayt. Thousands of coloured banners flew from the ships in the harbour, and still more from the grubby warehouses that lined the docks.
No trees, after all. No statues. No elegant spires.
Azurmouth.
The last thing to hit him was the smell. A powerful aroma that mingled grog, smoke, sweat and blood – but at the same time was utterly itself, like nothing Joseph had ever smelled before. It smelled of terror. Of desperation. Of hope. He breathed in deep.
The truth, he reminded himself. I’m going to find out the truth.
A hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Captain Phineus Clagg grinning at him with yellowed teeth, his long dirty hair tossed by the breeze and his lazy eye fixed on Joseph, for once. The smuggler’s smile said one thing: I told you so.
‘Azurmouth, eh, matey?’ said Clagg. ‘I reckon yer goin’ to regret this.’
The docks smelled even worse.
Joseph wrinkled his nose, and one of the smugglers, a broad-shouldered dwarf with silver hair in a ponytail, cackled at the sight.
‘Get used to it,’ he said cheerily. ‘And gimme a hand with this barrel. Last one.’
They rolled it down the gangplank whilst Captain Clagg had words with a wiry officer in white – a revenue man, Joseph guessed. Fortunately the hold was empty of contraband for once, and the barrels were filled with nothing more than watered-down grog.
Joseph had thought the docks back in Port Fayt were busy, but he’d never seen anything like this before. Even in the late afternoon sailors and dockhands thronged the cobblestones as far as the eye could see, their chatter assaulting his ears. To his surprise, they weren’t all humans: there were a few elves, dwarves, even trolls and the odd ogre too. Most of them looked shifty though, as if they weren’t supposed to be here and knew it. The warehouses loomed above, filthy red-brick buildings so big they looked like they’d been built by giants, and threw the whole harbour into shadow.
There was a commotion, sailors scrambling to get out of the way as a column of white-coated soldiers came marching from a side street.
Joseph ducked down into the shadow behind a barrel. Butchers. The last time he’d seen men in League uniforms, they’d been spattered with the blood of Fayters. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Come on, Joseph. It’s too late to have second thoughts.
‘They’ve gone now, matey,’ said Phineus Clagg, taking Joseph’s hand and hauling him to his feet. The smuggler knocked back a swig from a small metal flask of firewater. ‘Well, I reckon this is it. Last chance. Yer can come with me, roam the seas and live like a prince of the waves. Or yer can stay here and get yerself killed, most likely. What’ll it be?’
‘I’m staying here. In Azurmouth.’
Clagg sighed. ‘An’ here was me thinkin’ you were a smart one. This city’s crawlin’ with butchers, lad. Why in Thalin’s name would yer come here?’
It wasn’t the first time the smuggler had asked, but the fewer people who knew, the better. Joseph shook his head.
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn yer,’ said Clagg. ‘Just mind yer stay near the docks. The League put up with demonspawn here, see, so’s they can trade an’ grow rich off the profits. Can’t be hurting their customers now, can they? Watch out for the Duke o’ Garran’s men, though. That cove ain’t like the other lords. Reckon he’d stamp out every last trace of demonspawn in the city if he could, traders an’ all.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Joseph told him.
‘Cap’n!’ called the silver-haired dwarf. ‘Comin’ for a grog?’
‘Aye, soon enough.’
Clagg knelt. Up close, Joseph noticed that the smuggler smelled even worse than Azurmouth itself. But it was a comforting, familiar smell.
‘Here, take this.’ He passed Joseph a small leather purse full of coins. ‘Ain’t much, but it’s all the help I can give yer.’ He hesitated a moment, then whipped off his coat. ‘Come to think of it, best take this too. Turn the collar up. Don’t let folk see yer face if yer can help it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Aye, yer’ll need it more than me, lad. Trust me.’ He helped Joseph into it, the long sleeves engulfing the half-goblin boy’s arms, the tails trailing on the cobblestones. It was heavy and weather-beaten, stained with grog and worse, but with the collar pulled up it hid Joseph’s mongrel skin well enough.
As Clagg stood, Joseph thought he saw something in the smuggler’s eyes – a glint of moisture. ‘Well, this is it. Fair winds and calm seas, eh, lad?’
Joseph shook Clagg’s hand, his long grey-pink fingers engulfed in a calloused palm. ‘Fair winds and calm seas. And thank you for … well, for everything.’
Clagg smiled. ‘I’ll be thinkin’ o’ you, matey. Maybe we’ll meet again someday. I have to tell yer, though – knowin’ Azurmouth, I ain’t holdin’ out much hope.’ He turned and strode away with the dwarf, their boots thudding on the cobblestones.
Joseph watched them disappear into a tavern. Then he set out along the quayside, sticking to the water’s edge, with one hand resting on the hilt of his cutlass. His skin tingled with fear, and with excitement. It was time to put his plan into action.
I’m going to find out the truth.
Either that, or he’d die trying.
He pulled Clagg’s coat tight around him, keeping his head down and hiding his grey-pink face from any passing whitecoats. The noise of the docks filled his ears: the thunk of barrels dumped on cobblestones; the clatter of carriages that moved among the throng; and the coarse insults their drivers hurled at each other. Street vendors hovered here and there, shouting at the tops of their voices.
‘Dragons’ teeth! Twelve ducats a molar! Incisors fourteen apiece!’
‘Fairy wings! Make a fine pair o’ earrings for the missus!’
‘Tired o’ your hook? See my fine brass hands! You’ll look ever so handsome and no mistake!’
There was something rotten in the air, and it wasn’t just the smell. The people of Azurmouth were louder, busier and angrier than Fayters back home. They seemed tense, like they might snap at any moment.
Joseph reached inside the smuggler’s coat and thrust a hand into his own left pocket, his fingers closing tightly round the silver pocket watch that lay inside. It was crudely made and poorly inscribed, and it was the most precious thing he’d ever owned.
His other hand patted his right pocket, checking that the second object he’d brought with him was safe inside. It had stayed there all the time they’d been on the sea – he couldn’t afford to take the risk of a smuggler seeing it. Besides, he still hardly dared touch it.
He’d have to soon, though. The plan depended on it.
Joseph strode on, faster now. There were countless ships bobbing in the harbour, a forest of masts rising high against the darkening sky. But at last he spotted a cluster of hobgoblin vessels in the distance. They were sticking together, as though their captains were nervous of mingling with the human ships that surrounded them.
With any luck it would be there – the ship he had followed here to Azurmouth. A hobgoblin junk, with battered sails and a hull coated in shiny black lacquer. A ship he had sailed on once before.
Finding it was the first part of the plan.
The crowds swelled and Joseph stumbled along, carried by the tide of people on the harbour front. Someone stood on his coat tails. He caught a knee in his ribs, and his foot sank into something soft, wet and smelly. He winced and smeared it off on the cobblestones, trying not to see it as a bad omen. Marble statues, green trees, silver bells … The stories of Azurmouth had never said anything about horse dung.
A couple of burly humans stopped to stare at him – the funny-looking child in a coat that was far too big for him. Joseph tugged the collar higher to hide his blotchy skin and his pointed ears, and hurried onwards.
Gradually the wavecutters and galleons in the harbour gave way to vessels from further a-seas. Sampans, barques and, at last, the hobgoblin junks that Joseph had seen from further off.
His fingers found the bulge of the object in his right-hand pocket. He’d never used it before, and the mere thought of doing so gave him a thrill of fear. Hal had told him how to use it, though the magician probably wouldn’t have been so obliging if he’d known that Joseph was going to steal it – no, borrow it – from under his pillow while he slept, just before running off with Captain Clagg.
By now, the magician must have told the other watchmen what Joseph had done. The tavern boy’s taken it. He’s taken the wooden spoon.
The wooden spoon that was so much more than just a wooden spoon.
What would Captain Newton say when he found out? Joseph didn’t like to think.
There! At the end of a jetty a black junk was riding the waves, its sails furled. The lacquered hull had scrapes along its side, the marks of a battle. No doubt about it – this was the ship he was looking for. Two bored-looking sailors sat on the gunwale beside the gangplank, swinging their legs above the water and chewing tobacco. They’d probably been left to guard the vessel while the rest of the crew went ashore.
Joseph hovered, trying to look inconspicuous. So far so good. But what next? It was all very well finding the ship, but now he had to get on board without being caught.
Before he could figure out how, a terrible sound split the air.
‘Yeeeeeeeargghhh!’
Joseph almost jumped out of his skin. The howl seemed to have come from the cabin at the ship’s stern. He felt his goblin ears prick up as he heard a calm, murmuring voice follow it, speaking in a reassuring tone.
‘I don’t give a stuffed lobster!’ came the screeched reply. ‘You ain’t cutting my bleedin’ foot off!’
Come on, Joseph. Now or never. He strode forward, stepping onto the gangplank before fear made him question whether it was going to get him killed or not.
‘Oi!’ said one of the sailors. ‘What are you—?’
‘Surgeon’s boy,’ mumbled Joseph. ‘Supplies.’ He dug in his pocket and brought out the silver pocket watch to show them. It didn’t look much like a medical instrument, but then, the sailors didn’t look like geniuses either.
‘Oh, right,’ said the other sailor doubtfully, as Joseph boarded the junk and strode across the deck, coat tails trailing behind him.
The last time he’d been on this ship … well, the memory was a painful one, and he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He made for the cabin.
‘Wait! You can’t go in there without—’
Too late. Joseph hesitated for just a moment.
I’m going to find out the truth.
The truth about my father.
Then he drew his cutlass and barged through the door.
Chapter Two
Tabitha Mandeville already hated Azurmouth, and she hadn’t even seen it yet.
She squirmed, trying to get comfortable, but it wasn’t easy with her knees squashed up against her chin, sitting inside a barrel with several kilograms of salted herring for company.
The cart rattled over cobblestones, jostling Tabitha and the herring along with it. Surely they should have arrived by now? The sea voyage had been bad enough. She’d spent half of it leaning over the side, emptying her guts into the waves. Everything will be fine once we’re on dry land, she’d told herself, as the ship had weighed anchor in a hidden cove just west of Azurmouth.
No such luck. If anything, the darkness inside the barrel, combined with the powerful stench of fish and the feel of their slippery, slimy scales against her skin, were making things worse.
Just don’t be sick again, she told herself. Not in here.
The cart bounced up and down once more, and finally jolted to a halt. Footsteps sounded outside, then thunks of metal on wood. Tabitha had a sudden rush of panic. What if they’d been stopped by whitecoats? What if the driver had betrayed them? What if he’d tipped off the butchers that the cart contained more than just salted fish … ?
Something hit the top of Tabitha’s barrel, and a crescent of dark blue sky appeared as the lid came loose, then was tugged away entirely. She tensed, her hands closing on the hilts of her knives. But the face that appeared above was no human’s. It was big, ugly and grinning.
‘All right, Tabs?’ said Frank. ‘You look almost as green as me and Paddy here.’
Paddy’s identical face appeared next to Frank’s, and the troll twins chuckled.
Tabitha scowled as she rose, sending the herring cascading from her like a waterfall.
They’d stopped in a small cobbled courtyard, surrounded on all sides by high white walls topped with battlements. Dusk was falling. The driver, a sullen youth with big ears and hair like straw, clambered over the cart with a crowbar, levering open the barrels and freeing the rest of the watchmen.
Tabitha took a big gulp of fresh air. They’d made it. She just hoped their host would be as friendly as Hal had promised.
Captain Newton rose from one of the larger barrels, his blue watchman’s coat glistening with fish scales. Tabitha felt instantly calmer at the sight of his shaven head and the shark tattoo on his cheek – the mark of the Demon’s Watch. Above, Ty flitted in the darkening sky, giggling at the state of them all. Newton’s fairy hadn’t needed to hide in a barrel, of course – he’d ridden all the way in the driver’s pocket.
‘Thank Thalin that’s over,’ said Frank, brushing herring from his tricorne hat.
Hal emerged from the final barrel, looking even paler than usual as he unwrapped his spectacles from his handkerchief. The magician had been unusually silent ever since they left Illon, as though he were worried about something.
For once Tabitha couldn’t blame him. Thalin knows, we’re all worried.
Someone cleared their throat on the far side of the courtyard, and Tabitha spun round to see a human, tall, thin and gangly, watching them from the shadow of an archway. A thick black gown hung from his shoulders, and long, lank white hair fell onto it. His chin sprouted a wispy, uneven white beard, and his bulging eyes peered from behind thick eyeglasses. He looked even more anxious than Hal.
Tabitha couldn’t blame him either. The two hulking green trolls, the glowing fairy who had settled on Newton’s shoulder, the blue shark tattoos they all bore, and most of all the weapons: her knives, the cutlasses dangling from Frank and Paddy’s belts and Newton’s wooden staff – the Banshee – folded into three sections and poking out of his pocket; none of it looked very reassuring.
‘Welcome,’ said the man in the gown, ‘to the Azurmouth Academy.’
‘Master Gurney,’ said Hal, stepping down from the cart.
‘Ah, Hal! Splendid to see you again. One of my brighter students, yes.’
Hal blushed. ‘Well, I don’t know about—’
‘Now,’ said Master Gurney, already turning away. ‘If you’d all be so good as to follow me …’
As they set out across the cobblestones Tabitha reached under her coat, just to check her trusty bandolier of throwing knives was still in place. It never hurt to be prepared.
The magician led them through a narrow wooden door and up a well-worn spiral staircase. ‘I trust you’ll forgive the herring cart,’ he said, as they climbed. ‘Most uncomfortable, I should imagine, but sadly necessary. If the Demon’s Watch were to be seen in Azurmouth – and moreover, if a magician from the Academy were seen to be helping the Demon’s Watch … Well, the Duke of Garran would hardly be delighted.’
‘We understand,’ said Newton. ‘Thank you for taking us in.’
The Captain of the Watch seemed a little uncomfortable, but Tabitha knew that they couldn’t very well stay in a boarding house. The Academy is the safest place in Azurmouth. Master Gurney will shelter us for as long as we need, just so long as we don’t get him in trouble with the League. That’s what Hal had told them. He’d been a little reluctant to ask the favour, but they’d persuaded him in the end. After all, what choice did they have?
Through a window Tabitha caught sight of a twilit courtyard enclosed by the white stone walls, a gravel pathway cutting through the middle between two rectangles of immaculately kept grass. In the centre of each lawn stood a white statue; on one side a demon, horned and snarling, and on the other a seraph, its face smiling and serene, wings curving round its body. Her father had been the governor of Port Fayt, and she’d still never seen anything so fancy in all her life.
They came to another narrow wooden door at the top of the staircase. The air was cool and still, as though undisturbed since the Dark Age. Master Gurney unlocked the door and pushed it open in a swirl of dust. ‘Home, sweet home,’ he murmured.
The watchmen followed the shuffling magician, crowding into the room. It was tiny, made even more cramped by the landscape of books heaped on the floor and stuffed into the bookcases that covered every inch of wall. Several lanterns flickered, giving the place a cosy orange glow, and illuminating an egg that floated in the air above Master Gurney’s desk, gently rotating.
‘An experiment,’ the magician explained. ‘I’m trying to change it into a chicken, you see? Transformation is one of the most profoundly complex fields of magic, as I’m sure Hal will have explained to you.’
‘I’m sure he’s told us,’ said Paddy.
‘Not so sure we listened,’ muttered Frank.
‘Why?’ asked Tabitha.
Master Gurney blinked at her. ‘Why what?’
‘Why turn the egg into a chicken?’ She’d never really understood magic, and the more she saw of it, the less she liked it.
Master Gurney considered for a moment, before wagging his finger at her. ‘Well, young lady, perhaps a better question might be … why not?’ He beamed and flicked his wrist, sending the egg drifting to rest on a small cushion. ‘Now, to business. Have a seat, all of you.’ He gestured vaguely around the room.
Tabitha perched awkwardly on a heap of books with some of the most peculiar titles she had ever seen: The Cockatrice: Magical Minion or Foolish Fowl?; Fifty Most Useful Applications of Dragon’s Breath in the Medical Magics; Demons and Doorknobs: a Surprising Correlation …
‘You know why we’re here?’ said Newton.
‘Indeed, young Hal explained it all in his letter,’ said Master Gurney. ‘Your poor young friend … Of course you must find him, and quickly.’
‘That’s right,’ said Hal. ‘The sooner we can track down Joseph, the better.’
‘Then we’ll be out of your hair, and back to Port Fayt,’ added Frank.
‘So what are we waiting for?’ said Tabitha. ‘We can start on the docks, see if the Dread Unicorn has put in and—’
‘Good gracious, no!’ interrupted Master Gurney. ‘That is to say … I only wish it were so simple. But you can hardly walk the streets of Azurmouth dressed in those uniforms. You’ll need disguises at the very least. And I fear no amount of disguise will conceal the fact that these good gentlemen are trolls.’ He smiled at the blue-coated twins.
‘No offence taken,’ muttered Paddy.
‘Besides, night is falling.’ The magician gestured to a small window set in the wall above his desk. Through it, the gleaming white towers of the House of Light could just be seen rising above the ramshackle rooftops of Azurmouth.
‘We’re not afraid of the dark,’ said Newton.
‘You should be,’ said Master Gurney sharply. He frowned for a moment, before spreading his hands and smiling again. ‘You are strangers in this city. But I can assure you, it is no place for Fayters to go wandering after the sun has set. Much less trolls. The Duke’s men will be out on the streets.’
‘Butchers, you mean?’ said Frank.
‘Indeed. The Duke is extremely committed to the Way of the Light. In theory, of course, the League is a partnership, and its decisions are made jointly. But in Azurmouth, the Duke holds sway. When the sun goes down, his whitecoats do as they please.’
The magician hesitated, and Tabitha saw that he was frowning again. When he spoke, it was in a small voice. ‘If the Duke had his way, of course, he would declare war on Port Fayt at once, and rid the Old World of demonspawn. Starting with Azurmouth. He would send out his butchers and …’ He shook his head and smiled again. ‘Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’
‘Yes, but what are we supposed to do about Joseph?’ said Tabitha briskly. She could still picture the tavern boy the way she’d last seen him, sitting cross-legged on a sandy beach, his face glowing from the firelight, his jaw set with determination. She should have seen it then. Should have guessed what he was planning.
I could have stopped him.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. If things got ugly, Joseph wouldn’t even be able to protect himself. Tabitha had seen how handy he was with a cutlass. About as handy as a walrus with a knitting needle.
‘What about using magic?’ suggested Frank. ‘Can’t we do a spot of hocus pocus and track him down that way?’
‘Sadly not,’ murmured Hal. ‘I’m afraid such a spell simply doesn’t exist.’
‘What about that wooden spoon of yours?’ said Paddy. ‘Surely we can use that to—’
‘No, that wouldn’t work at all,’ interrupted Hal. For some reason he had gone red in the face.
Why’s he so touchy about the spoon? Tabitha wondered. It’s like he doesn’t want to talk about it.
‘Wooden spoon?’ said Master Gurney, confused.
‘Forgive them, Master. It’s not— They don’t really understand what—’
‘So what do we do?’ Tabitha demanded, before the conversation could stray off topic.
‘Well, my dear,’ said Master Gurney. ‘If I were you, I should stay here tonight. There’s plenty of space in the attic. Then tomorrow morning I can find you some suitable disguises and show you the safest routes through the city.’
‘What do you think, Newt?’ asked Frank.
‘The harbourmasters will have gone home by now,’ said Paddy.
‘I reckon so.’ Newton nodded thoughtfully. ‘We’ll go into the city at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and we’ll find him. Meantime, we should get as much rest as we can.’
‘But Joseph is—’ began Tabitha.
‘Not now, Tabs,’ said Newton sternly.
‘But he’s on his own, and—’
‘And he can look after himself,’ said Newton.
‘Newt’s right, Tabs,’ said Frank gently. ‘He’s a bright lad. He’ll be smart enough to keep his head down till we get there.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ muttered Hal. The blood had drained from his face, and he was looking anxious again.
Tabitha opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. She could tell from Newton’s knitted brow that his mind was made up. He never listens. And she just had to put up with it. Newton was all she’d had, ever since she was little. Ever since her parents had died.
As the others climbed the ladder to Master Gurney’s attic, Tabitha hung back, peering out of the window at the ghostly spires of the House of Light. The thought of Joseph wandering the streets of Azurmouth, where the Duke’s butchers prowled … It made her blood run cold.
If only he had told her where he was going. She could have come too. Looked after him. Helped him. If only she hadn’t been so horrible.
I told him I’d be better off without him.
She winced at the memory. And what she’d said about his father … Well, she should have known better. She was an orphan too, after all.
Maybe it was her fault he’d snuck away.
Her fault he’d told no one.
She thought about what Frank had said, trying to make herself believe it. He’ll be smart enough to keep his head down. It had to be true, didn’t it? After all, he was a mongrel boy, and he was all on his own. He wouldn’t just go charging straight into danger.
Would he?
Chapter Three
Joseph leaped into the cabin, brandishing his cutlass.
Inside it was dark and cramped, with only a small window and candles for light. A hobgoblin lay strapped to a table in the centre of the cabin, at the mercy of a surgeon – a human whose apron was smeared with a disturbing variety of colours. One leg of the hobgoblin’s breeches had been peeled back and his shoe removed to reveal a nasty wound in his grey foot.
‘A mongrel boy,’ said the surgeon, lowering his hacksaw. ‘How extraordinary.’
At the sound of the door banging open, the patient had propped himself up on his elbows, and was now glaring at Joseph as though a bad day had just got even worse.
‘What in all the stinkin’ blue sea are you doin’ here?’ snarled Captain Lortt.
Joseph slammed the cabin door shut and turned the key. His cutlass hilt slipped in his sweating palm, and he gripped it tighter, setting his jaw and trying to look as menacing as he could. Not easy when your coat is twice as big as you are.
‘Where is he?’
‘Where’s— What are you talking about?’ spluttered Lortt. ‘Can’t you see we’re a bit bleedin’ busy?’
‘Indeed, young man,’ said the surgeon. ‘I am about to remove this gentleman’s foot, and the least you could do is—’
‘For the last time,’ roared Lortt, so loudly the surgeon flinched. ‘You ain’t cutting off my foot! Just make the pain go away. An’ do it quick.’
‘You know who I mean,’ said Joseph. ‘I’m looking for Jeb the Snitch. You brought him here to Azurmouth, didn’t you? After the battle.’
‘What d’yer want with that lousy weevil?’
‘Never you mind. Just tell me where he is, and no one’ll get hurt.’
‘I’m already hurt, mongrel, can’t yer see?’ snarled Lortt, pointing at his foot. ‘That filthy blue-haired friend o’ yours done this.’
Tabitha. Joseph’s stomach twisted at the thought of his friend. He hadn’t told her where he was going. Hadn’t even said goodbye. Would she have come after him, when she found him gone? Would she have brought Newton and the Demon’s Watch?
He hoped not.
The surgeon rattled a bag hopefully. ‘Yes, now, about that foot … Perhaps my fine range of whalebone replacements might change your mind?’
A sudden battering on the cabin door made Joseph’s ears twitch. ‘Want us to kill ’im, Captain?’ came a shout from outside.
Joseph darted around the table, putting the injured hobgoblin between him and the door.
‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ said Lortt.
‘Perhaps,’ said the surgeon, ‘if you would just allow me to—’
‘PUT. THAT. SAW. DOWN!’
The surgeon looked pale as he tucked it away in his bag. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed.’
Joseph puffed out his chest, trying to imagine he was big and tough like Captain Newton. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to, er …’
What would he do? The thought of actually using the cutlass was too horrifying. Still, he had to pretend at least. What would Tabitha say?
‘I’ll … I’ll cut your foot off!’
‘That would certainly save me the trouble,’ muttered the surgeon.
‘And the other one too!’
Lortt smirked. ‘Hope you ain’t plannin’ to charge as much as this quack.’
Joseph felt his face getting hot. The hobgoblin didn’t think he had it in him. Just tell me. Tell me now. All of a sudden he found that he’d taken a step forward, his cutlass raised. He could just imagine it – bringing the blade down with all his strength …
It scared him.
Lortt’s eyes grew wide, as though he could sense what was going on in Joseph’s head. Obviously it scared him too.
‘All right, keep yer breeches on. Me and Jeb, we ain’t friends. Matter o’ fact, the bilge crawler cheated me out o’ half my pay for bringing him across the ocean. So I’ll help you out, and in return you can get off my ship. That clear?’
Joseph nodded, lowering the cutlass with shaking hands. ‘Tell me where he is.’
‘He said he had business here with the Grey Brotherhood. They got a place called the Whale, on Seagull Alley off Butcher’s Cross.’ He hesitated. ‘Just don’t tell ’im I sent yer, understand? The Snitch don’t like being crossed.’
‘Thank you,’ said Joseph. ‘And, er … I’m sorry about your foot. I hope you—’
‘Just get off my ship.’
Two minutes later, Joseph was dripping and shivering as he hurried over the cobblestones. Lortt had promised not to hurt him, but he didn’t exactly trust the hobgoblin, and he trusted his sailors even less – which meant he’d had no choice but to wriggle out of the cabin window and go plunging into the sea. It had been freezing cold and brimming with slimy seaweed, but that didn’t matter.
He had a lead. A real, solid lead.
Joseph had heard tales of the Grey Brothers, back in the Legless Mermaid. They were goblins – underground fighters who hit back at the League, ripping down their banners, rescuing prisoners from their gaols and robbing rich League merchants to buy bread for families who hadn’t any of their own. They were heroes.
It was hard to imagine good folk like that doing business with Jeb the Snitch. But then, Jeb had a knack for making people trust him, only to betray them later. Joseph knew that all too well.
The most vicious, treacherous crook in all the Old World. And he’s the one person who can help me find the truth.
But first he had to find Butcher’s Cross, and that turned out to be trickier than he’d thought. He asked directions from a dockhand who sent him one way, then a revenue man who sent him the other. A gang of kids threw stones at him, and one managed to grab hold of Clagg’s waterlogged coat, forcing him to shrug it off and dart down a side street.
After that people wouldn’t stop giving him funny looks. Some shouted mongrel, and worse. He began hurrying through the shadows, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
It wasn’t long before his feet were sore and his belly was rumbling. He used some of Clagg’s coins to buy a greasy fish pie, then ducked into a dark alleyway to wolf it down, keeping a lookout for butchers as he ate.
Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to give up. He was going to find Jeb the Snitch. The goblin’s face had haunted Joseph’s dreams every night since the Battle of Illon. Those cold, pale eyes. That smirking mouth and sharp goblin teeth. The ludicrous outfits, so brightly coloured it almost hurt to look at them. The last time Joseph had seen Jeb, the goblin had been levelling a pistol at him, howling threats of death – and worse.
He brushed the last of the pastry from his face, trying not to imagine what Tabitha would say if she were here. You’re crazy. That goblin would slit your throat for half a ducat. He cheats and lies for a living. It was all true. But still, Joseph had to find him.
