by Conrad Mason
‘Did you have to bring that … creature?’
There, among the huntsmen, Morgan is lumbering forward, still limping a little from when a citizen threw a stone at him last week. Space clears around him wherever he goes, and the lords cast him nervous glances. Some have never seen an ogre before.
‘You are referring to Morgan, I take it. Are you frightened of him?’
Brindenheim’s bushy eyebrows knit together in displeasure. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
‘The others are. As they should be.’
The Earl’s wyvern returns, landing softly on his hunting glove and folding its wings, meek and obedient.
‘On the contrary. The last army of demonspawn in all the Old World was crushed months ago, at the Crying Mountains. Victory is ours. Those few that still resist us are wretched creatures, scattered, pitiful and—’
‘I have no pity for demons.’
They watch in silence as Morgan lumbers back towards them, bearing the deer on his shoulders. One of the braver huntsmen swipes a branch at the ogre’s feet, making him skip out of the way and stumble. The others snigger.
‘They say you have hunted demonspawn before, with your wyverns,’ says the Earl of Brindenheim, without looking at the Duke. ‘They say you round them up, set them loose in the forest and send the wyverns after them, as though they were animals.’ His eyes flicker towards the Duke, a moment of weakness. ‘Is it true?’
‘And what if it is?’
Brindenheim shakes his head but says nothing. ‘In a few hours the Contest of Blades will begin,’ he says at last. ‘My son has been training hard.’
‘That is well.’
Brindenheim’s whiskers tremble, as he finally loses his temper. ‘I know what you are implying, and I will not stand for it. You believe you are better than all of us, but—’ He checks himself and draws a deep breath. ‘We are here to celebrate Corin’s Day, and we are your guests. But remember, we are all equals in the League. My fellow lords are tired of war. Tired of your restlessness. We command all the wealth of the Old World – so why do you waste your time gazing across the ocean, seeking to capture Port Fayt?’
‘You are referring to the Battle of Illon.’
‘Indeed. You sailed without even discussing it with us, and see what happened: ships sunk and men lost in their hundreds in a petty squabble with the Fayters and the merfolk. All for the Middle Islands. A handful of rocks in the middle of the sea. Let them keep their little islets.’
The Duke makes no reply. The Battle of Illon was never about the Middle Islands. There was a far greater prize at stake. A prize won in secret, and brought back to Azurmouth. But, of course, Brindenheim knows nothing of that.
The wyvern on his hunting glove screeches, impatient, and he feeds it another scrap of torn meat. Blood stains the creature’s snout, and he smears it away with a gloved finger.
‘Silence – very well then,’ says Brindenheim. ‘But be assured, I am not alone in these thoughts.’
The Duke does not doubt it. Only the support of the other lords would give Brindenheim the courage to speak to him like this.
The old walrus hesitates. ‘You’re planning something, aren’t you?’ he says finally. ‘I swear to you, whatever it is, I will find out.’
Chapter Six
At first glance, the Azurmouth docks didn’t seem so different from the ones back home. Tabitha could see stalls flogging steamed lobsters, battered fish and pastries. She spotted beggars and pickpockets. Then she began to notice the dirty looks that dwarves, imps and ogres drew as they passed by.
She tried to imagine Joseph stepping off the gangplank here, and it made her feel queasy.
‘What are we waiting for then?’ she said.
‘You’re right,’ said Hal. ‘Let’s find a harbourmaster, and fast.’
The docks were bustling, but even so Tabitha felt exposed as the watchmen strode in among the crowds. The bundled-up trolls weren’t helping, of course. They were wrapped up in long cloaks, with scarves wound around their faces, despite the bright morning sunshine. Even Tabitha had hidden her blue hair with a bandana, swapped her watchman’s coat for a fisherman’s jerkin and covered up her shark tattoo.
Not that it made much difference. Master Gurney had been right – no amount of clothing could hide how big and bulky the Bootle twins were. At least you can’t see their green skin. The thought made Tabitha feel ashamed, but it was the city’s fault. The longer she stayed in Azurmouth, the less she liked it.
She quickened her pace, scouting out for the blue sash of a harbourmaster. The sooner they found one, the sooner they’d find Joseph.
Stay out in the open, Newton had told them. The whitecoats will take any excuse to arrest you, so don’t make a scene. That was all very well for him to say. He’d disappeared not long after dawn, saying there was something important he needed to do. It made Tabitha angry just thinking of it. Why did he have to be so mysterious? And what could possibly be more important than looking for Joseph?
The crowds pressed closer all around them. Tabitha had to dodge as a chamber pot was emptied from a first-floor window, then again as a procession of carts came trundling over the cobblestones. She gasped as she saw that the last of them was a wooden cage on wheels, and inside it was a beast as big as a horse, with a curved beak, furred hindquarters, a feathered breast and wings. A griffin! It lay at the bottom of the cage, watching the world outside without interest.
Tabitha was about to turn away when her gaze snagged on something beyond the cage. No – someone. A pale face that seemed familiar. A pair of watching eyes. But when she looked properly, whoever it was had gone.
A little shiver ran down her spine.
She hurried after her fellow watchmen, rounding a stack of crates to see that Hal and the twins had already accosted a large man wearing a blue sash and sweating heavily.
‘’scuse me, mate,’ said Paddy. ‘We’re trying to find a ship called the Dread Unicorn.’
The harbourmaster drew a small leather-bound book from his pocket, casting a curious glance at the trolls as he did so.
‘It would have arrived yesterday,’ said Tabitha, as he flicked through his book. ‘Or maybe the day before. It had a friend of ours on board – a mongrel boy, half human and half goblin.’
‘Can’t promise nothing,’ said the harbourmaster. ‘This is Azurmouth, sweetheart, not some little fishing village. Hundreds o’ ships dock here every day. Besides, we’re busier than usual right now, on account o’ the Contest of Blades.’ He jerked a thumb at a peeling poster attached to the side of a nearby cart. It showed a crude drawing of two men in the middle of a sword fight, and above them the words:
The Azurmouth Contest of Blades!
A Corin’s Day tradition
By order of The League of the Light
Do YOU have what it takes to best the finest
swordsmen in all the Old World? If so, enter
the Contest of Blades! Enrol at your nearest
fencing house, and perhaps YOU will lift the
much-coveted zephyrum Dagger of Victory!
Also needed: SURGEONS, to assist on the day of the contest.
‘Contest of Blades?’ said Paddy, his voice muffled by the scarf.
‘Aye, the opening ceremony’s at noon, over in the House of Light. Then there are bouts in the fencing houses for the rest o’ the day, and the finals tonight, back at the House of Light. Not that it’ll be much of a show. Lucky Leo barely even knows which end of the sword to hold, but the other fighters are all frightened to death of his pa, so they let him win.’
‘This ship we’re looking for—’ Tabitha began impatiently.
But the harbourmaster was well into his stride now. He leaned in close, with a gust of fishy breath. ‘One year there was this fella from the countryside who didn’t know that, and beat Leo black and blue. The old Earl of Brindenheim had the fella strung upside down and left for dead. Wanna guess how long he lasted?’
Tabitha wrinkled her no
se. ‘We’d rather you told us about the Dread Unicorn. We need to find our friend, remember?’
The harbourmaster tutted and went back to his book, running a finger down a page. ‘Here it is! Aye, the Dread Unicorn was here.’
‘Was?’ said Hal.
‘It’s gone now. Set sail before dawn.’
Tabitha wanted to scream. Hadn’t she told Newton they should have been out looking for Joseph as soon as they arrived in Azurmouth?
‘What now?’ said Hal, scrubbing at his spectacles with a handkerchief, as the harbourmaster strode off. Tabitha noticed dark bags under his eyes, as though he’d barely slept a wink.
‘We could ask around,’ said Frank. ‘See if anyone spotted a mongrel boy here yesterday.’
‘That could take weeks,’ replied Hal. ‘Besides, we mustn’t stay here too long.’ His gaze flicked nervously to a pair of off-duty whitecoats moving through the crowds. People skipped out of their way as they passed.
A tiny glowing figure dropped out of the sky, landing lightly on Tabitha’s shoulder.
‘Any luck?’ asked Paddy.
Ty shuddered. ‘I don’t like this place, mister. They got fairy-catchers all over. Ones with bad breath and big nets. Lucky I’m so fast.’
‘What about Joseph?’ said Frank.
‘The docks go on for ever, mister. It’s like looking for a splinter in a galleon.’
‘So far so bad,’ said Paddy, as Ty darted down to hide in Tabitha’s coat pocket.
‘Then we’ll think of something else,’ snapped Tabitha. ‘There must be some other way to find Joseph. Imagine you were him. Where would you have gone?’ She concentrated, trying to put herself in the shoes of the tavern boy. She was fairly sure who he had been looking for, at least. Jeb the Snitch. Joseph was convinced that lying goblin knew something about his father.
So where would you find the Snitch in a city like Azurmouth?
It hit her like a lightning bolt.
An abandoned stall stood nearby, its blackboard advertising cockles at a half-ducat a pound. Tabitha leaped up onto the counter and stood on tiptoes, peering over the heads of the crowd.
‘Whoa, miss!’ yelped Ty, poking his head out from her coat.
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Hal. ‘You know there are butchers everywhere, don’t you?’
Tabitha ignored him. She saw a pair of children fighting with wooden swords, whilst a group of drunk men cheered them on, laughing, slamming tankards together and singing rude songs. One carried a placard with Lucky Leo for champion painted on it. She saw a group of fishermen arguing over a game of dice. An old woman bartering for a tin pot. A gaggle of children hovering suspiciously close to a fat fairy-catcher’s money bag. None of it helpful.
And then, finally, she saw what she was looking for.
She leaped to the cobblestones and set off, heading for a side street.
‘Wait for us, Tabs,’ came Paddy’s voice from behind. But Tabitha didn’t slow her pace. She weaved through traders, sailors and stevedores, catching up as fast as she could.
It was the wooden cage on wheels. The horse that pulled it was straining every muscle in its body to keep the load trundling over the cobblestones. A thin man in a robe and a turban walked alongside, leading the horse by a halter.
Up close, the griffin didn’t look much like the ones Newton had described in Tabitha’s old bedtime stories. The colours of its feathers were muted, and she could see its ribs, as though it hadn’t been fed properly. Its eyes were dull and rheumy, its beak blunted and battered. And those great wings were tied to its body, far too tight. There was a small wooden board attached to the cage with a name painted on it: nell.
It seemed like Nell wasn’t enjoying Azurmouth any more than Tabitha was.
‘I don’t like this, miss,’ murmured Ty, from inside Tabitha’s pocket.
‘Just keep your head down.’ She outpaced the man in the turban, planting herself firmly in the way. ‘Excuse me.’
The man scowled and brought the horse to a halt. Inside the cage, Nell the griffin turned to look at Tabitha, and blinked.
‘What do you want?’ barked the man. He had an accent Tabitha couldn’t place. ‘I am in a hurry.’
Tabitha swallowed. ‘I was just wondering … You have a griffin there, so I thought maybe you might know something about the griffin bile trade?’
‘Why do you ask?’
Hal and the Bootle twins had caught up now, but they were hanging back, waiting to see what would happen. Frank raised an eyebrow at Tabitha, and she put up a hand to tell him she knew what she was doing.
Griffin bile. Back in Fayt, she and Joseph had hidden out in one of Jeb’s warehouses, and the stench of the bile wasn’t something she could forget in a hurry.
‘I’m looking for a bile trader. A goblin called Jeb the Snitch. Do you know where I could find him?’
The man’s eyes narrowed, and in that moment Tabitha knew that he did. Her heart quickened. ‘Maybe,’ said the man. ‘If I tell you, what will you give me in return?’
‘Tabs!’ yelled Frank.
Tabitha whirled round.
Hal was on his knees, spluttering, held tightly in the grip of a tall, thin figure. A slender rapier was drawn, the edge pressed in close against his neck.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Ty.
The trolls had edged away, and a space was forming, as people saw the figure with the drawn blade and hustled to get away from him. He was dressed in black, and his face was pale.
The face Tabitha had seen earlier, watching them.
Except now, up close, she knew at once who it was.
Chapter Seven
‘Colonel Cyrus Derringer,’ said Paddy. ‘What a delightful surprise.’
Tabitha went for a throwing knife, but the elf saw and pushed the edge of his blade closer into Hal’s neck. ‘Touch that, and your friend dies.’
Reluctantly Tabitha slid the knife back in its sheath, weighing up her options. Derringer didn’t look much like the elf that she remembered. Back in Port Fayt where he commanded the Dockside Militia, he was fresh-faced and clean shaven, dressed in a uniform so smart he looked like a child’s tin soldier. Today he was wild-eyed and scowling, his ears hidden underneath an oversized, wide-brimmed hat. There was something on his face too – some kind of make-up that made his skin look darker than normal. More human, in fact.
Disguise, she realized. He’s in disguise, just like us. As a human.
It would have been laughable, except that Tabitha didn’t really feel like laughing, considering that Hal was about to get his throat cut.
‘Help,’ gurgled the magician.
‘I spotted you on the docks,’ sneered Derringer. ‘You think those disguises fool anyone?’
‘Look who’s talking,’ muttered Frank. ‘Anyhow, aren’t you supposed to be back in Port Fayt with the militia? What are you doing here?’
‘We’ll discuss that after you’ve dropped your weapons, nice and slow.’
‘I don’t think so,’ scoffed Tabitha.
‘Do it, Tabs,’ said Paddy, reaching to unbuckle his cutlass belt.
‘But—’
‘Look around.’ Paddy indicated behind her. A circle of citizens had formed around them, and it was getting bigger by the second. They just want to see some bloodshed. For a moment Tabitha hated them even more than Cyrus.
‘We’d best get this over with,’ said Frank. ‘Won’t be long before the whitecoats show up, and then we’ll all be in serious trouble.’
Reluctantly, Tabitha reached for the buckle of her knife belt.
‘You too,’ Derringer snapped at the man in the turban. ‘Hands in the air.’
‘Kill him, I don’t care,’ said Nell’s owner. ‘I want nothing to do with—’
It happened so fast Tabitha barely registered it. Frank lunged into the crowd, snatched something and hurled it at Cyrus. The elf lashed out instinctively, fending off the missile. At the same instant Paddy dived forward and tugged Hal from Derringer’s grasp.
It was only when Hal was stumbling free, and the trolls were drawing their cutlasses, that Tabitha saw the weapon lying on the ground and realized what it was.
A wet, gleaming halibut.
Derringer took less than a second to recover himself. ‘Very funny,’ he snarled. ‘But I suspect you won’t be laughing with a sword in your guts.’ His blade cut the air in a complex pattern that gave Tabitha a sick feeling. She’d almost forgotten – this elf was the best swordsman in Port Fayt.
Derringer swung at Paddy first, driving the troll backwards. Paddy was strong, and his cutlass was bigger, but he was no match for the elf’s speed. Derringer danced around him, blade flashing, toying with his victim. Frank tried to come to his rescue, but the elf’s leg swept round, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to his knees.
A murmur swelled among the crowd, and a few shouts broke out.
‘Go on, mate!’
‘Kill ’em! Kill the trolls!’
If the butchers weren’t coming already, they will be now. Tabitha snatched up a throwing knife again, but as she drew it back she felt a hand on her arm.
‘No, Tabs,’ said Hal. ‘You might hit one of the twins.’
He was right. Derringer was a fast-moving target, and he was far smaller than the Bootles. His rapier flashed again and Frank let out a soft grunt as the point nicked his arm, and troll blood stained his sleeve. Derringer twirled his blade, a mad grin painted on his face.
‘We’ve got to do something!’ Tabitha yelled. ‘Hal, can’t you use the wooden spoon on him?’
‘I don’t, er …’ stuttered the magician. His face was white as a sail. ‘I don’t have it with me.’
Typical. He must have got worried that it would fall into the wrong hands and left it at the Academy. The one time they actually needed Hal’s magic, he was as useful as a rubber cutlass.
‘Is it over yet?’ came a tiny voice. Ty was cowering deep inside Tabitha’s pocket. It didn’t look like he was going to save them either.
