by Conrad Mason
“I can take the Demon’s Watch tonight, Your Honor,” said Derringer. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ll throw them all in the Brig. Just say the word, and—”
“Quiet,” said the governor irritably. “I’m thinking.” His headache seemed to have gotten a lot worse since Derringer had arrived.
What would Mother do?
As it happened, he knew exactly what she would do.
“Very well,” he said at last. He waved his hand vaguely, shooing them away. “It can’t be helped.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two of them saluted again, Derringer’s other hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Eugene Wyrmwood was struck by a thought.
“One thing though, Colonel. No one is to be hurt. Do you understand? Not now. Not in the middle of the festival. I don’t want you making a scene.”
Derringer’s smile grew even wider, irritating the governor so much that he almost winced.
“No, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
When they had left, the governor picked up his pipe and reading glasses again and opened a new book, puffing absently. But his concentration was gone. He reached for the antique globe that stood on the corner of his desk and began to spin it. His fingers brushed over the vast bumpy surface that showed the Old World, over the Ebony Ocean that Thalin the Navigator had crossed so many years ago, on to the Middle Islands and Port Fayt, and on again, over the ocean, toward the New World.
Governor Wyrmwood sighed and pushed the globe aside. Sometimes he almost doubted that the fabled Navigator had ever really lived. So many of the stories about him were scarcely believable … Not least the tale of the Maw. Could such a creature have existed? Could it still exist? And was there any way to know for sure?
The study was warm and cozy, but Governor Wyrmwood shivered all the same.
He took another puff on his pipe and rang for a secretary.
And that’s when Tabitha came along,” finished Grubb. He wasn’t much of a storyteller, but he’d muddled his way through as well as he could, from the night of the Grand Party to the Pickled Dragon. At first he’d been so nervous, standing in the pie shop serving room and speaking to the Demon’s Watch, that his voice shook. But if his audience had noticed, they’d been kind enough not to show it. It felt strange, being the center of attention and having everyone listen to him. He wasn’t sure he liked it very much.
Newton was the first to speak.
“Should have known better than to trust the Snitch.”
“So he sold us out, tried to take the cargo for himself,” said Tabitha. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll make that bilge rat pay.”
“Aye,” said Newton grimly. “We’ll make him pay. Hal, what can you tell us about that wooden spoon?”
The magician was sitting hunched over a table, cradling the witch’s contraband in his handkerchief and peering at it through eyeglasses. He took off the glasses and frowned.
“My hypothesis is that this wooden spoon is in fact a wand, enchanted for a specific purpose. However, Mr. Phineus Clagg’s old elfish enchanter must be a consummate professional, because I can’t detect a trace of his work.”
“Explain.”
“Well, a poorer enchantment would leave a magical stain, which could aid identification. But here the spell is firmly locked into the wood, so securely that I cannot detect any trace of magic. That being so, there’s no way to establish how powerful it could be, or even what kind of enchantment has been used. Until someone attempts to use it as a wand, it is no different from an ordinary wooden spoon.”
“A wand?” said Frank doubtfully. “Shouldn’t it be more … magic-y looking?”
Hal sighed and rubbed his brow.
“That is exactly the sort of ridiculous preconception that magicians have to put up with every day. Anyone can perform magic you know, it simply takes considerable time and patience to learn. You don’t need a flowing white beard and a cape with stars on it. Likewise, the appearance of a wand is entirely immaterial. What matters is that it is a physical object that can be used to direct magical energy. A wooden spoon is a perfectly common choice. It’s cheap and readily available, nicely balanced, and it saves you the trouble of carving your own.”
“Right,” said Newton. “Understood.”
“Er, can I say something?” said Grubb.
“Of course.”
They all looked at him.
“It’s just, when I was in the cellar of the shark pit, I heard the thief who stole it talking to Jeb. I think they thought I was still asleep. But he said something about a leash.”
Hal’s eyebrows shot up.
“What does that mean?” asked Newton.
“A leash is a particularly powerful enchantment, banned in every known state in the Old World, and in the Middle Islands. It allows a magician to penetrate another mind and manipulate it at will. Which is to say that if you know how to use this wand correctly”—he held up the wooden spoon—“you can make someone do whatever you want.”
There was a long pause.
“So,” said Frank. “Whose mind does this witch want to control?”
“Could be anyone’s,” said Tabitha.
Paddy shook his head.
“Not anyone’s. Ten thousand ducats it cost, to get this wand into Port Fayt. So whoever she’s after is going to be someone important.”
“How about Governor Wyrmwood?” suggested Frank. “There’s no one in Port Fayt more important than him.”
Newton nodded slowly.
“That’s possible. If you control the governor, you control the town. You could do anything you wanted.”
“The timing fits too,” said Paddy. “Why come to Port Fayt now, on the eve of the Festival of the Sea? Maybe it’s because the governor has a whole year in office before the next handover. Thalin knows what the witch could do in that time with the governor as her puppet.”
Frank ambled over to Grubb, gave him a wink, and punched him on the arm. Grubb only just managed not to yelp out loud. It hurt, a lot. But he could tell it was supposed to be friendly.
“You’re a brave lad, you know that?” said the troll.
“Umm … I didn’t really do anything.”
“Nonsense. You’ve got guts, and you’re a quick thinker, besides. You got lucky, of course, getting fished out of the shark pit by those lads, but all the same—”
“That reminds me,” interrupted Tabitha, rescuing Grubb from his embarrassment. “I forgot to tell you, those bullyboys from the shark pit turned out to be blackcoats. They started making trouble, and we got into a fight, and …”
She trailed off.
Everyone was looking at her.
“Tabitha,” said Newton. “These blackcoats … They don’t know you’re a watchman, do they?”
There was a long pause. Tabitha went very red and began to fiddle with her coat buttons.
“Oh, Tabs,” said Paddy.
“But I … I didn’t know they were blackcoats, until …”
“Exactly,” said Old Jon. It was the first word Grubb had heard him speak. “You didn’t know.”
Tabitha glanced around the room, but no one met her eyes. No one defended her. Grubb wished there was something he could say to help her, but no words came.
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” asked Hal.
“I didn’t think … I mean, they’d had enough grog to sink a galleon. They won’t even remember.”
“You don’t know that, Tabs.”
Tabitha opened her mouth but couldn’t find a reply. Instead, she just shrugged and began to stare fiercely at a random patch of wall.
“We’re in trouble,” said Newton at last. “If I know Derringer, he’ll have gone straight to Governor Wyrmwood. And after that, he’ll be after us.”
“But—” said Tabitha.
“Quiet now.” Newton’s voice had turned instantly hard. “You’ve done enough. You did well to find Joseph and the wand, but you were reckless. I’ve told you before, this isn’t a game. You’ve sti
ll got a lot to learn.”
Tabitha looked close to tears.
“I can help, I …”
Frank placed a hand on her shoulder.
“We all make mistakes, Tabs.”
She drooped, looking down at the floor so that no one could see her face.
“We don’t have much time,” said Newton. “Any minute now, Derringer and his men will be—”
There was a gunshot, and the window shattered.
Everybody, get down!”
Grubb felt a firm hand on his back, and then he was half falling, half shoved down onto his knees. Someone had snuffed out the lanterns. There was a splash and a hiss, and the fire was out too.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the shadows and the moonlight. He could hear the watchmen moving cautiously to the edges of the room, metallic clicks and scrapes as pistols were loaded and cocked. Another hand gripped his collar, and he was pushed up against the wall, squeezed in between the hulking figures of Newton and Frank. Phineus Clagg brushed past, scuttling for the corner.
“Good evening,” said a calm voice. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, amplified by magic.
“Cyrus Derringer,” whispered Frank. “Doesn’t that scurvy elf have anything better to do?”
“I know you’re in there, Newton,” said the voice. “And I’m not in the mood for messing around. You and your men have exactly three minutes to come out, unarmed, with your hands in the air.”
“Or what?” shouted Tabitha. It sounded like she’d recovered a little in the excitement. “You leave us alone and mind your own business?”
“Not exactly,” said Derringer, without humor. “We smash this place to smithereens and take every one of you to the Brig. Every one of you who survives.”
“No surprise there,” muttered Newton. “Hal, can you see anything?”
Grubb could just make out the thin silhouette of the magician on the opposite side of the room. He was peering through the window, into the darkness.
“Nothing.”
“Right. Frank, is there any way out of here that Derringer doesn’t know about?”
“An old smuggling passage,” said the troll. “It’s not been used for almost a century, but the entrance is in the cellar. Comes out in the alleyway round the back of the shop.”
“Good. We’ll split into two groups. Hal, Jon, and the twins, you’re with me. We’ll stay here and hold off the blackcoats. Tabs, you get everyone else out through that passage. And keep an eye on that smuggler, while you’re at it. Hal, let’s have the wooden spoon.”
The spoon came skittering across the floor. Newton caught it and placed it into Grubb’s hands.
“Joseph, you’ve kept hold of this so far. Tuck it in your belt and don’t take it out, no matter what.”
“Yes, sir,” said Grubb, and his stomach stirred with a mixture of fear, excitement, and pride. Newton seemed to respect him, and he wasn’t used to that. It made him feel brave, as if he could do anything. He wouldn’t let the watchmen down. No matter what.
“We’ll all meet at the lighthouse in two hours’ time. The keeper’s a friend of mine. Everyone understand?”
Grubb’s eyes were used to the light now, and as the others nodded, he thought he saw Tabitha scowling. But she didn’t say anything, and neither did Grubb.
“Go now,” said Newton. “And keep your heads down.”
Grubb felt Frank’s hand on his arm as he started to move.
“Hey,” he said. “Tell my mother sorry about the window.”
“We’ll be lucky,” murmured Hal, “if it’s just the window.”
Was it really such a good idea, sending Tabs on her own to take care of Mr. and Mrs. Bootle? Not to mention the tavern boy and the smuggler. Well, it was too late to worry about it now. The boy Joseph seemed to have sense, at least. And anyway, Newton was going to need the rest of the watchmen here, if he knew Derringer. He cleared his throat.
“Evening, Cyrus. You’re making a big mistake, you know.”
Amplified laughter filled the room.
“Oh, well, if you say so. You can go free then.”
A musket ball shattered another window and knocked a chunk of plaster from a spot dangerously close to Old Jon’s shoulder. The elf didn’t even flinch.
“Scum,” he grunted.
“All right, point taken,” called Newton. He eased back the hammer on his pistol. “So why don’t you come in here and we’ll talk about it like honest folk?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” said Derringer, with a hint of a snarl. “How about you stop wasting my time and get out here, now. You have two minutes.”
Well, Newton hadn’t expected that to work. Now there really was no choice.
“Frank, Paddy. We’re going to need more firepower.”
The twins grinned matching grins.
“No problem.”
They crawled behind the shop counter and emerged a moment later, crouched and hauling a large chest. Frank lifted the lid, and Paddy passed around the contents—a pair of muskets for Old Jon and Hal (Hal waved away the offer, and Jon took both), a blunderbuss for Frank, and a hefty four-barreled volley gun for Newton. Paddy handed them each bags of gunpowder and shot and a few grenadoes, and drew out a squat weapon with a gaping, flared muzzle and a bronze model of a dragon bolted on to the barrel.
“Maw’s teeth, what is that?” asked Newton, tugging open a bag of gunpowder.
“My grenadoe gun. Dwarf design. Been waiting a long time for a chance to try this out.”
“It’s a good thing your parents aren’t here,” said Hal, eyeing the weapon with distaste. “I’m not sure your mother would approve.”
Newton finished loading the volley gun, cast a quick glance around the room to check that everyone was ready, and took a deep breath.
“Derringer! You know as well as I do, we aren’t coming out without a fight. So if your men don’t have the stomach for it, you’d better let them go.”
“Very funny,” said Derringer’s voice. “One minute.”
Had it really been such a good idea, coming to the watchmen? So far, it hadn’t been quite what Grubb had expected. It should have been the end of his problems, but instead he was hurrying through a darkened corridor in a pie shop, fleeing from the Dockside Militia, and trying to protect a wooden spoon. And for company, he had a dangerous smuggler and two elderly trolls wearing nightgowns. Not to mention his new friend Tabs, who was stomping on ahead with a lantern, in a black mood. Grubb thought he might have found this whole situation funny, if it wasn’t so completely terrifying. He glanced back down the passageway, toward the room where they’d left the watchmen—the watchmen who he’d only just met and might never see again.
“Everyone stick together,” barked Tabitha. “Stop dawdling at the back.”
Grubb broke into a trot to catch up.
“Hey, matey,” said Clagg, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I can look after that spoon for yer if you fancy. Take a load off yer mind.”
“I heard that, walrus brains,” said Tabitha, without giving Grubb a chance to reply. “You, Joseph. If he tries any funny business, wallop him.”
“Girls, eh?” muttered Clagg, as they went down a flight of steps. Fortunately, Tabitha didn’t hear.
The cellar was dank and freezing. It smelled of age, of neglect, and of fish that had gone off months ago.
“So where’s this secret passage?” asked Tabitha.
“Well, well now, let me see …” said Mr. Bootle. “It’s been such a very long time since I saw it last …”
“Yes, yes. We don’t have much time.”
“But I think the entrance is … erm … behind there.” He pointed with a trembling green finger to a blackened old barrel.
Tabitha crossed the floor and tugged viciously at the barrel, grunting as she took out her frustration on it. It fell apart in a tumble of deadwood, and she collapsed backward onto the floor.
“Rotten,” observed Clagg.
&nbs
p; “Well, thanks,” spat Tabitha, rounding on him with gritted teeth. “I’m so glad we’ve got you to—”
A burst of gunfire cut her short.
Grubb flinched. Mrs. Bootle let out a scared whimper. The sound was muffled underground, but there was no doubt about it. It came from the street outside the pie shop.
“What are yer waiting for?” said Clagg. He was already yanking open a trapdoor set into the wall behind the ruined barrel. “Sky’s sake, let’s get out of here.”
The tunnel was narrow, not much wider than the smuggler. It wasn’t so bad for Grubb, who was skinny even for a goblin boy. But he didn’t like the thought of the large elderly trolls coming behind him, squeezing through the muck in their freshly laundered nightgowns. He felt something warm and wet under his hand and wiped it on his breeches, trying not to think too hard about what it could be. Something scuttled over his other hand, and he pulled it back in shock. Whatever it was had gone. He focused on following the light of Tabs’s lantern moving ahead of him.
The tunnel curved slowly upward, longer than he’d expected. When he finally emerged, hauling himself through a trapdoor above his head, he saw why. They had crossed under the alleyway and were now on the opposite side. Grubb pushed past a stack of old crates that hid the exit and joined the others clustering against the wall, casting suspicious glances each way like rats hiding from a tavern cat.
The rain had stopped at last, but the air was chilly. There was a constant dripping noise from the overloaded gutters, and the cobbles were a network of pools and puddles. The alleyway was dark and empty, except for the crates and a broken ladder leaned up against a wall. Gunfire sounded distantly, but now it was mingled with shouts and screams.
Grubb noticed the elderly trolls, holding on to each other and shivering in just their nightwear.
“Here, Mrs. Bootle,” he said, “take my coat.” As she took it from him, Grubb gave Tabitha a look.
“Oh, right,” she said gruffly, taking off her own jacket and handing it to Mr. Bootle.
“Thank you very much, Tabs.”
Tabitha seemed a bit embarrassed.
“Come on then,” she said fiercely. “Let’s get out of here. Before we freeze to death.”
