by Conrad Mason
Joseph bucked and writhed, but it was hopeless. He was out of breath. He choked in a mouthful of griffin bile, and it burned as it slid down his throat. How many more mouthfuls would it take to kill him? Drowned in bile. It wasn’t part of the plan.
‘Oi!’ said another voice. ‘That’s him! That’s the boy!’ And the next moment he was pulled out of the puddle, coughing and retching and trying to rub the bile out of his eyes.
When he cleared them, he saw three goblin faces peering at him. One of them was Wooden-nose, who looked none too pleased at the interruption.
‘Yeah, that’s definitely him,’ said one of his friends, and Joseph recognized the voice. It was the driver from the night before. ‘Little privy roach gave us the slip.’ He leaned in closer. ‘What d’you think you’re doing here, seaweed-brain? You soft in the head?’
‘Letth find out,’ snarled Wooden-nose. ‘I’ll get a rock.’
‘Who cares why he’s here?’ said the third goblin. ‘Let’s take him to Jeb.’
Yes, take me to him. Take me to Jeb the Snitch.
Joseph was hauled to his feet, dripping bile. It spattered his shirt, cold and heavy, and he tried to wipe it away as his captors hustled him across a small, muddy courtyard strewn with feathers and enclosed by high, whitewashed buildings. The smell was different here – an animal stink of dung and sweat mingling with the stench of the bile.
The goblins were all wearing the same clothes, Joseph noticed. Boiled leather suits with metal plates attached like armour, and metal tools dangling from their belts.
There had been a griffin farmer in the Legless Mermaid once, back in Port Fayt, and after a few grogs he’d told Joseph how griffins usually fought against bile milking, and how sometimes the beasts got injured. Griffin blood was one of the deadliest poisons known to man or troll – hence the suits.
Joseph was beginning to wish he had one himself.
Wooden-nose strode ahead and swung open a door that led into a dark, cavernous interior. Immediately Joseph’s nose was assailed by a stronger version of the griffin smell in the courtyard, and a strange cacophony of squawks and whines rose around him.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw cages on either side, packed one on top of the other and reaching all the way up to the rafters. There were movements inside – pawing of the ground and shifting of wings. Beady eyes glared out at him, glinting in the darkness, watching Joseph in a way that reminded him of Frank and Paddy with one of their ma’s pies.
Before Joseph could look more closely there was a commotion up ahead, and a figure rounded the corner. It was a goblin, dressed in one of the leather-and-plate suits, and wearing a feathered tricorne hat that even the most grotesquely vain merchant would dismiss as too flashy.
Even without the hat, Joseph would have recognized him at once.
Those pale, cruel eyes.
The pointed teeth.
The sneer on his lips.
Jeb the Snitch.
Joseph’s fists clenched. This was a goblin who had tricked him into betraying Port Fayt. A goblin who had shot his friend, the mermaid princess Pallione. The most treacherous, worthless, vicious goblin Joseph had ever met.
A goblin who knew where Joseph’s father was.
He was so close now. So close to finding him.
Breathe. Slow and steady. Stick to the plan.
Another figure came hurrying after Jeb. A skinny human dressed in a long plain robe and a turban, leading a griffin by a halter. Joseph had always imagined griffins as majestic, powerful creatures, but this one limped like a beaten donkey. It had dull eyes, a chipped beak, and its wing feathers were ruffled and bent out of shape. Joseph could see ribs sticking out at the point where the griffin’s feathered chest gave way to its furred hindquarters.
‘Please,’ said the man in the turban. ‘Nell is all I have.’
Jeb the Snitch rounded on him. ‘Call yerself a griffin-catcher? I seen starving seagulls wi’ more life than this heap o’ dung.’
‘My family,’ stammered the griffin’s owner. ‘I must feed them. I promise, you won’t see better. At this time of year, griffins are impossible to find.’
‘Two ducats. I’m being generous.’
‘It has always been ten. Her bile will be thick, I swear. If not, you will have the ducats back.’
‘You deaf? I said two.’
‘Please. For the sake of our friendship.’
The Snitch just laughed.
‘Jeb,’ said Wooden-nose. ‘Look what we found.’
Jeb spun around and saw Joseph. For a moment his face came alive with anger. Then his lips curled into a smile.
Joseph felt sick to his stomach. I should be furious, shouldn’t I? After everything he’s done … But instead, he was frightened. He knew what Jeb was capable of. And in the cold light of day, his plan didn’t seem nearly as clever as it had the night before.
‘Well, well,’ said Jeb. ‘Thought you were pretty smart running away from ol’ Hoake, didn’t yer? Thought you were the cat’s pyjamas. I knew my boys’d catch yer.’
‘Um,’ said Wooden-nose. ‘Acthually … he came here himthelf.’
Jeb scowled. ‘Came here himthelf, did he?’ he mimicked. ‘That case he’s even less smart than I thought.’ He leaned forward, his long, hooked nose almost touching Joseph’s own. ‘Good thing you’re here, mongrel. Them griffins are famished. I reckon it’s breakfast time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Joseph. ‘I don’t think you’re going to feed me to the griffins.’
‘Oh, yer don’t? And why’s that?’
‘Because if you do, you’ll never get the wooden spoon.’
‘What did he say?’ squawked one of the other goblins.
Jeb snarled. ‘Never you mind.’ His bony fingers dug into Joseph’s jaw, and he dragged him across the floor to the nearest cage. Behind the metal bars, a dark shape shifted in the shadows and snorted, the breath condensing in the morning air. Its eyes caught the light, glinting. Joseph struggled, but was held in place, face pressed against the cold steel of the bars. His nostrils wrinkled at the stench.
‘Looks hungry, don’t he?’ murmured Jeb, his breath hot on Joseph’s ear. ‘You’d be hungry too, I reckon, if you’d had nowt to eat all week but half a dozen mice.’
Somewhere behind him, the other goblins began to chuckle.
‘Out with it,’ hissed Jeb. ‘Where’s my wooden spoon?’
‘I’m not telling.’
‘Then I’ll chop yer into bits and push ’em through the bars, one by one. Don’t think I won’t.’
Anger swelled inside Joseph at last, giving him courage. ‘You didn’t let me finish,’ he said, his voice muffled by metal. ‘I’m not telling you where it is. But I’ll show you.’
He was tugged away from the bars and spun to face Jeb again. The goblin’s pale eyes were staring into his own, probing, as though they might snatch the truth out of him.
‘What are you saying?’ snapped Jeb.
‘I’m saying I’ll take you to the wooden spoon.’ Joseph licked his lips. ‘But there’s two conditions.’
‘Conditions, eh?’ said Jeb. ‘Maybe you are a smart one after all. Let’s hear ’em then.’
‘The first is that you have to come alone. Just you.’
‘Suits me.’
‘And the second …’ He reached into his pocket and closed his fingers around the silver watch. ‘The second is that after you’ve got the spoon, you tell me how to find my father.’
A faint smile hovered on Jeb’s lips. ‘Thought yer might say that. You believe me, then? That he’s still alive?’
Joseph had every reason in the world not to. After all the lies Jeb the Snitch had told, why should he be telling the truth about this one thing?
Except that he is. He’s telling the truth.
Thalin knew how, but Joseph was sure of it. His father was alive.
‘I believe you,’ he said.
Jeb ran a long tongue over his pointed teeth. ‘Seem
s I ain’t got much choice then.’ He turned to the other goblins and the man in the turban. ‘Two ducats, Mr Mandak. We got a deal?’ The man’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded. ‘Thought so. You boys iron out the details. Me and this mongrel are goin’ to take a stroll.’
Chapter Twenty-one
They walked side-by-side through narrow alleyways, Joseph’s bile-soaked shirt drying and stiffening in the breeze. He’d wiped the worst of it off with a filthy rag given him by one of the goblins. Meanwhile Jeb had insisted on changing out of his griffin suit, and now he was got up like a drunkard’s maypole – a vivid green velvet jacket over an eye-watering pink waistcoat, with a silver hat and breeches. The outfit made him look even less trustworthy than before.
‘Not going far, are we, mongrel?’ said Jeb. ‘These shoes ain’t that comfortable.’
Joseph wasn’t surprised to hear it. They were absurdly long and pointed and made with strips of coloured leather so they looked like candy canes. What was the point of a shoe if it wasn’t to make walking easier? ‘Not far,’ he said.
They crossed a bustling main road near the docks, and Jeb held onto Joseph’s shoulder as they pushed through the crowds. ‘Don’t want you running off, mate,’ he said with a wink.
Joseph didn’t complain. He’d already noticed a pistol stuffed into Jeb’s breeches. But then, he couldn’t blame the goblin for not trusting him either.
It was a relief when they turned off onto quieter back streets again, where the houses overhung the cobbles, enclosing them so much it reminded Joseph of wading through the sewers to get to the House of Light.
At last they came to a tall, burned-out tavern, blackened with soot, its door gone completely. Joseph had found it the night before – the first of the two things he’d needed for his plan.
‘This is it.’
This is where I find out the truth. The thought sent a little shiver down his spine.
‘And how do I know this ain’t a trap?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
Jeb narrowed his eyes. ‘Get on with it then.’
Joseph did so.
Inside there was a bar, and space for lots of tables – though they were all gone now, of course. The layout reminded Joseph of the Legless Mermaid. He couldn’t remember being handed over to his uncle after the death of his parents, but if he’d known then what the Mermaid would be like, he would have fought and kicked and cried his throat raw.
Behind him, he heard the click of a hammer pulled back, and he turned to see that Jeb had drawn the pistol and levelled it at him.
‘One false move,’ said Jeb. ‘Just remember you ain’t as smart as me, mongrel, so don’t try nothing. Got it?’
Joseph nodded.
They climbed a spiralling stone staircase in the corner of the room. On the floor above there were several doorways, each leading out onto a corridor with rooms attached – probably bedrooms where customers could have stayed the night. That was one good thing about the Mermaid – Mr Lightly never had guests. For a man who ran a tavern, he didn’t seem to like people very much. Particularly if they were goblins. Shady characters, Mr Lightly called them. Don’t know where you are with ’em. That’s the problem. Can’t trust ’em.
They stopped at the top floor, a turret which was nothing but a large, empty room, where the floorboards were intact but singed and spattered with bird droppings. The roof was gone, leaving only a few wooden spars that stretched above. It was like standing inside a dragon’s ribcage.
Joseph had considered spending the night here, but it offered no shelter at all. And in any case he hadn’t felt like staying in this spooky mirror image of the Legless Mermaid. It brought back too many memories.
The open sky was still grey above them, and a breeze swept through the glassless windows, chilling him to the bone. He stepped into the room, positioning himself carefully, according to the plan, next to a loose floorboard. A very particular loose floorboard.
Jeb looked around, unimpressed. ‘If this is a joke …’
‘It’s not a joke. Look, over on the windowsill.’
A small, homely object lay there.
A wooden spoon.
The goblin’s eyes lit up with greed, and he started towards it. At the same instant Joseph knelt, lifted the floorboard at his feet and pulled out something from beneath it.
‘Wait.’ Jeb turned back. ‘How do I know that’s the real—’
‘It’s not. This is.’ Joseph stood, brandishing the wooden spoon. The one he’d brought with him across the Ebony Ocean. Every bit as small and homely as the one on the windowsill.
‘You stinking little—’
‘I was afraid you might try to cheat me. Then I remembered how the shapeshifter tricked you back in Port Fayt, giving you an ordinary spoon instead of the magical one. So I did the same.’ Joseph nodded at the one on the windowsill. ‘I took that one from a soup stall last night, after I got away from your whitecoat.’ The second thing I needed for the plan. ‘And you fell for it, just like last time.’
The goblin’s face twisted into a mask of fury, but Joseph stood his ground, gripping the wand tightly and fighting the urge to run. His cutlass lay at his feet, underneath the loose floorboard, but he made no move to take it.
Finally Jeb managed a sneering smile. ‘Well, congratulations. But it don’t make no difference. If yer don’t hand over that wand right now, I’ll blow yer brains out.’ He raised the pistol again. ‘No one’s goin’ to miss you. Most likely no one’ll even find yer, ’less you count the gulls. They’ll have a feast, I reckon.’
It wasn’t the first time Joseph had been on the wrong side of a loaded gun, but that didn’t make it any less frightening. He swallowed his fear and pointed the wooden spoon at Jeb, just like the goblin was pointing the pistol at him. Don’t be afraid, he told himself. You used it before. You can use it again.
‘Why don’t you just tell me the truth?’ His voice trembled. ‘Tell me where my father is. It can’t hurt you, can it?’
A strange expression came over Jeb’s face. But the next moment it was gone, like a passing storm cloud, replaced by his familiar smirk.
‘You don’t want to know, mongrel. Now gimme the real spoon or I’ll shoot you dead and take it anyway.’
Joseph locked eyes with Jeb. He concentrated hard, harder than he ever had before, trying to remember how it had felt in the carriage with Hoake. Just think the right thoughts.
I’m Jeb. I’d do anything for more ducats. Betray anyone.
‘I’ll count to three,’ snarled Jeb. ‘Then it’s goodbye, mongrel.’
Joseph’s head began to throb. It felt heavy, potent with magic.
‘One.’
The magic spread, a tingling warmth, suffusing his body like hot velvetbean swallowed on a winter night. It was happening faster this time. As though it was easier to inhabit Jeb’s thoughts than it had been with Hoake. Or was it just the practice? It doesn’t matter. Focus.
‘Two.’
I’m a bile trader. A snitch. A thief. A liar.
Into his chest, his arms, his hands. And now the spoon itself was vibrating. From the corner of his eye Joseph saw that the air around it was swirling, distorting with magic. But he kept staring at Jeb, climbing out of himself, forcing his way into the goblin’s mind.
‘Three!’
Jeb’s finger tightened round the trigger, and at the same instant the world jolted, and Joseph wasn’t Joseph any more.
Chapter Twenty-two
He was Jeb.
Jeb the Snitch, who knew Port Fayt better than anyone, made more ducats in a day than most sailors made in a week, whose clothes were the finest, the smartest, the best. Who had the Grey Brotherhood in his pocket, and had built a griffin bile farm from scratch. Who had set up trading links throughout the Old World, using nothing but his wits.
Who was never good enough, no matter what he did.
Why, in all his life, had no one ever respected him?
*
; Joseph was there, inside the goblin’s head. Soaring through his mind like the fairies that darted and swooped in the skies of Port Fayt. He scoured the deepest recesses, scavenging for the information he needed. Elijah Grubb. Elijah Grubb. Elijah Grubb. Where are you? They had to be there – thoughts of Joseph’s father, lurking somewhere in the goblin’s mind. And he was going to find them.
A boyhood memory. A cold day. Jeb had got up early and snuck out with his fishing rod, shivering on the pier for hours to catch one fat flounder. Afterwards he had taken a short cut home, through an alleyway where he was ambushed by two trolls from the roughest part of the quarter – not much older than him, but three times as big, fists the size of his head. They wanted his catch.
As he was about to hand it over, another goblin boy appeared in the alleyway, shouted at the trolls, ran at them, swinging his fists. He wasn’t much bigger than Jeb, but his anger frightened the bullies enough to make them slink off, muttering empty threats as they went.
Saved. It was such a relief that Jeb actually cried, and the goblin boy put an arm around him. Jeb hated that, almost as much as the bullies.
‘It’s all right,’ Elijah told him. ‘I’m here now.’
*
Elijah.
Somewhere far away, Joseph reeled in shock. So Jeb had known his father. Known him from when they were boys. Known him all their lives. What did it mean?
He delved deeper, drawn like a moth to a flame.
Another memory, years later. Jeb sat at a table with Elijah. It was a tavern – they were both older now – but young enough that the smells, the sights, the atmosphere of the place were thrilling. Jeb took a sip of grog from a giant pewter tankard, and it tasted sweet and foul, and above all dangerous. They were goblins fully grown – or near enough.
He leaned over the table, his eyes darting left and right. Over there, a human whispering something to a dwarf woman. And there, money changing hands between two tall, proud elves.
