by Conrad Mason
“But she was … mad. How can you take revenge on someone so crazy?”
“So what? The League of the Light, they’re all crazy, every last one of them. But they’re still dangerous scum. What about you? It was idiots like that who killed your parents, for the sky’s sake.”
Funny how just the mention of it still made his heart feel like an anchor, weighing him down.
“Yes, I know. But—”
“But what? So that witch got what she deserved. Fine. But it wasn’t us who stopped her. It was just bad luck, or chance, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
There was a long pause.
“I thought I would feel different,” said Tabitha at last, in a small voice. “Once the witch was gone. I thought I could, not forget, but sort of … get away from it all. And I can’t. I still feel the same when I think about them.”
“Lonely,” said Grubb.
“Lonely,” agreed Tabitha.
They sat for a while, looking out across the town.
“All those people,” said Grubb, “carrying on as if everything’s just fine. They don’t have any idea a sea demon could have been rampaging through the town right now.”
“They’ll know soon enough. Those militiamen won’t be able to keep their gobs shut. The smugglers neither. Fayters won’t care though. It’ll just be a rumor that dies away within a week, you’ll see.”
Grubb was pleased to see color returning to Tabitha’s cheeks. Of course, it was mainly because she was getting cross again. But that was better than being sad.
“And there’ll be nothing in it for us, I can tell you that,” she went on. “That’s the Demon’s Watch for you. We’ve spent the whole festival chasing after a deadly, powerful wand and a dangerous, crazy witch, and we might as well have been chasing after nothing at all.”
“Nothing,” said Grubb.
Tabitha turned to look at him.
There was something uncoiling in Grubb’s mind. He looked out over the rooftops, as memories whirled and surfaced …
How had he not seen it?
I can’t detect a trace of his work.
“Joseph? What’s wrong?”
You can’t trust nobody in this town.
This is a leash, my dear, deluded friend. Do you understand what a person could do with this?
His stomach went cold.
“Oh, Thalin, you’re right.”
“What do you mean, I’m right?” Tabitha asked grumpily. “What’s got into you?”
“What you said just now. All this time, right from the beginning, we’ve been chasing after nothing. Nothing at all. Just a wooden spoon.”
She looked at him as if he’d just told her he was a flying swordfish.
“What are you talking about?”
“The witch managed to call the Maw to the surface, but then she couldn’t control it. So the wooden spoon didn’t work, did it? Maybe that was because the spoon she used wasn’t the wand that Captain Clagg smuggled in from the Old World. Maybe it was just an ordinary spoon.”
Tabitha was frowning.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“But it does. It makes perfect sense. What if someone switched the magical spoon for an ordinary spoon, so they could keep the wand for themselves? Hal said that the best enchanters can lock magic into a wand so it doesn’t give off a magical trace until you cast a spell with it. So the witch wouldn’t know she had a fake, until she actually tried to use it.”
“Well, who switched it then? The Snitch? It would be just like that maggot to pull a stunt like that.”
“No, it couldn’t have been him. If he had the real spoon, he wouldn’t have bothered bringing Captain Gore and his men to attack the pie shop.”
“Clagg then?”
“I don’t think so. Why would he come all the way over the Ebony Ocean to deliver a fake wand? Besides, he was terrified of that witch. I don’t think he would have risked it.”
“So who? It couldn’t have been a watchman.”
Grubb shook his head.
Do you understand how much it’s worth?
It seemed so obvious.
“There’s only one other person who could have made the switch.” He started to slide down from the roof. “We’d better hurry. I just hope he’s still in Port Fayt.”
The ginger-haired man buttoned his shirt in front of the mirror, yellow eyes following every movement of his fingers.
“So this is it then?” said Slik, from the dresser. He shoved the handle of the wooden spoon with his toe. “Doesn’t look any different from the other one. Are you sure it’s magic?”
The shape-shifter sighed and adjusted his lace jabot.
“Yes, I am sure. The fact that it doesn’t look any different is precisely the point. If it did look different, it would hardly have been a very effective deception, would it?”
Slik sniffed and sat on the spoon, kicking his heels against it.
“If you say so. It still doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.”
Slik rolled his eyes. He was already thinking of finding a new employer, and he’d been with this one for only a day.
The cabin was dingy and cramped and smelled funny, but in a few hours the ship would weigh anchor, and Slik would be shot of this stinking town for good. It hadn’t been easy to find a vessel that would set sail on the night of the Pageant of the Sea. But now, at last, he could relax. In the Old World, he could easily find another employer. There’d be plenty of opportunities for sugar there.
“So, Azurmouth, eh?” he said. “What are we going there for?”
“Azurmouth is the greatest port in the Old World,” replied the shape-shifter, pulling on his waistcoat. “And the spoon is worth ten thousand ducats, to the right buyer.”
Slik whistled.
The shape-shifter buttoned the waistcoat, straightened it, and ran a comb through his tangled ginger hair.
“Understand one thing, fairy. If you are to accompany me to the Old World, you’ll have to learn some manners. This crude provincial behavior won’t do at all.”
He sat down on the cabin’s rickety chair and bent down to pull on a shoe.
“Manners cost nothing, and besides, they’re good for business. Nobody expects to be cheated by a gentleman. Like your Jeb, for instance.”
Slik was just about to reply, when someone put a hand over his mouth and grabbed him from behind.
The fairy made no reply.
“You see,” said the shape-shifter testily, “this is precisely what I’m talking about.” He pulled on his other shoe. “Manners, for the sky’s sake. Pay attention when I’m speaking to you, if you please.”
“Mmmmmf mmfff,” said Slik.
The shape-shifter was fast. With practiced ease, he whipped out a miniature pistol, stood up, and kicked the chair backward, straight into whoever was sneaking up on him. Except that the man who was sneaking up on him knew that trick and was standing a little to the right.
“Game’s up,” said Newton, as the chair clattered against the side of the cabin. His pistol clicked as he cocked it, right next to the shape-shifter’s head.
“Mmmmmf,” said Slik again. Ty had him in a headlock now, with one hand clamped over his captive’s mouth.
The door opened and the rest of the Demon’s Watch barged into the cabin.
The shape-shifter froze for an instant. Then, with a scraping, sucking sound, he was gone. His pistol clattered on the floor, and his clothes fell in a crumpled heap. A ginger cat leaped out of them, snatched the wooden spoon from the dresser, and streaked toward the cabin door.
“Stop him,” roared Newton, but the cat was already through the watchmen’s legs, sprinting out onto the deck, startling a pair of sailors who were rolling up a spare sail.
Grubb crouched, reaching for it. He felt its tail brush through his hand, but gripped at it too late and toppled over—just like the last time he’d tried to catch it.
The cat vaulted onto a barrel a few feet away, put down the wooden spoon, and sniggered nastily.
“So here we are again, mongrel,” said the cat. “You, me, and your delightful falling-over routine. Last time you nearly broke your leg. Who knows, maybe it’ll be your head this time.”
Newton stormed out of the cabin, followed by the rest of the Demon’s Watch, weapons drawn.
“Don’t shoot!” cried Grubb, scrambling to his feet. “Nobody move.”
The watchmen stopped at once.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Newton.
“I hope so too,” said the cat, and it giggled.
Grubb had no idea what he was doing. But he did know that if the watchmen chased after it, the cat would escape straight away. It was too fast for any of them. He knew that from their chase over the rooftops.
He glanced at the gangplank to the quayside. The only way off the ship. It was old, wooden, covered in barnacles and barely wide enough for two. No rails, and nothing to secure it to the ship.
An idea began to form in his head.
The cat might be fast, but it was careless and arrogant too. Even now, when it could get away so easily, it was sitting, waiting, enjoying his uncertainty. It would take any chance it could get to mock him …
Newton and the other watchmen were waiting too, still and silent, just like he’d told them. They trusted him. He really hoped he wasn’t about to let them down.
“All right,” Grubb said loudly. He puffed up his chest and did his best impression of Mr. Lightly. “All right, you little maggot. You can’t escape me twice. I’ll teach you some manners, you stupid, stinking FURBALL!”
Grubb lunged forward. The cat snatched up the spoon, jumped off the barrel, shot over the deck, hopped onto the gangplank, and began to race down it. Grubb was no more than three strides short of the gangplank himself, when he tripped and hit the deck.
The cat heard him fall and paused, halfway to dry land, to turn and sneer at him.
Just as Grubb had hoped it would.
The cat’s yellow eyes went wide. Its hair stood up. It dropped the wooden spoon.
Grubb hadn’t tripped at all—he had dived to reach the end of the gangplank. Now he gripped the edge of it, summoned up all his strength, and shoved it outward.
With a scrape of wood against stone, the plank pivoted on the edge of the quayside. Then it swung slowly down into the sea, taking the cat with it.
“No!” yelped the cat, every trace of dignity gone. “Mercy! Please! But I can’t swi—”
There was a splash and a squawk, and the next moment the cat was soaked and flailing desperately in the water. The wooden spoon bobbed a short distance away, utterly forgotten.
Grubb had never known a cat to look so terrified.
They used a long-handled fishing net to scoop out the wooden spoon and the waterlogged shape-shifter. Frank had found an old metal lobster cage to keep it in for the time being, and Paddy dumped it, dripping, inside. According to Hal, a shape-shifter needed hours to build up enough magic to change form. So, for now, this one was stuck being a cat. It sat, crouched and shivering, its fur plastered to its body and its yellow eyes glaring, unforgiving, at the mongrel boy who had tricked it.
Grubb couldn’t help feeling a little bad. He knelt down next to the cage.
“It’s all right,” he told it. “Captain Newton isn’t going to lock you up. He wanted to, but I told him how you looked after me when I fell off the roof. So you can stay on this ship, until you’re back in the Old World. Then the crew will open the cage and let you go.”
“Count yourself lucky,” growled Paddy. He was carrying a bottle, thumb over the top, with Newton’s old fairy inside. Slik sat hunched at the bottom, glaring out at the watchmen. “This bloke here’s going to the Brig, so you got off lightly, understand? Just don’t ever come back to Port Fayt.”
The cat curled up and ignored them. It hadn’t said a word since they’d rescued it.
The cabin door opened, and Hal stepped out onto the deck, his eyes shining.
“This is it,” he said quietly. He held out the wooden spoon, cradled in his hands like a newborn baby for all the watchmen to see. “It’s the real thing, just like Joseph said. A genuine leash. The most powerful I’ve ever seen.”
They all stared at the leash. Just a wooden spoon. And at the same time, not just a wooden spoon.
There was a hand on Grubb’s shoulder, and he glanced up to find Newton frowning at him.
“You’ve got some explaining to do. How did you know this cat had the real wand?”
Grubb swallowed and opened his mouth to reply.
“Because,” said Tabitha, before he could get a word out, “Arabella’s one didn’t work, did it? She couldn’t control the Maw. So someone must have taken the real spoon and switched it for a fake.”
“Um, yes,” said Grubb. “Thanks, Tabs.”
“So the question was, who? And it had to be the shape-shifter. See, the fake spoon, the one that Hal examined, had no magical trace on it, of course—so Hal couldn’t tell us what the wand was for. Joseph knew that it was supposed to be a leash, but only because the shape-shifter had said so, back in the shark pit. So how could the shape-shifter have known? The only way was if the real spoon did have a magical trace.”
“Blimey,” said Paddy. “All pretty straightforward, then.”
“So after he stole the wooden spoon from Joseph on the night of the Grand Party, this joker took it to an expert, had it identified, and decided to switch it for a fake. And it’s that fake spoon that we’ve been chasing all over town and halfway across the Ebony Ocean.”
“Poor old Jeb the Snitch,” chuckled Frank. “He paid Thalin-knows-how-many ducats and got a bit of useless kitchenware in return. It’s like he always used to say … ‘You can’t trust nobody in this town.’ ”
The cat was staring at Grubb again.
“You,” it said at last. “Mongrel.” Even soaked and locked up, it spoke as if it were a duke addressing a particularly inferior servant. “You’re not as stupid as you look. What’s your name?”
Grubb was about to answer but found he didn’t know what to say.
Who was he?
Until a few days ago, he had always been Grubb. But to the watchmen, he was Joseph. His real name. The name his parents had given him. He didn’t want to give that up.
In the end, Newton answered for him.
“His name’s Joseph Grubb,” he said. “Of the Demon’s Watch.”
Ship ahoy!”
“Aha,” said Tuck, beaming. He’d always known he’d make a better captain than Gore, and now that the old scumbag was dead, he finally had a chance to prove it. It was his time, at last.
“What you waiting for, boys?” he roared. “Break out cutlasses. Raise skull and cleaver. We take this prize before we even reach Old World.”
The pirates raised a ragged cheer.
Tuck cupped his hands to shout up at the crow’s nest.
“What colors she fly, Muggs?”
“Looks like the Golden Sun, Cap’n.”
“That’s the League,” said the ship’s new bosun, a nervous, weasel-like elf named Ringle. “We want to be careful round that lot.”
“Stow it, Ringle. This’s the Weeping Wound, for sky’s sake. We take any ship afloat. Eh, lads?”
There was another enthusiastic cheer.
“Ship ahoy!”
“We hear you first time, Muggs.”
“No, no, I mean, another one.”
The pirates looked to their leader.
“Maybe we should leave it just this once, Cap’n,” said Ringle, in a whiny voice that Tuck found particularly irritating.
“Don’t talk bilge. We take them both, so help me.”
The pirates cheered again, but this time it was noticeably subdued.
“Gaaaargh,” said Muggs, from the crow’s nest.
“What you mean, ‘gaaaargh’?”
Tuck pulled out his spyglass and sc
anned the distant waters. There were the two vessels. Three vessels. Four, five … He adjusted the spyglass to get a clearer image, and his stomach went cold. From the shimmering horizon, ships were appearing. More ships than Tuck had seen in twenty years of piracy in all the waters of the world. Sails filled the sky, and above them, the white banners of the League of the Light were proudly streaming out in the wind.
An armada.
Heading west.
Toward the Weeping Wound.
Toward Port Fayt.
Extract from the Authoritative Compendium of Demonspawn
BY ORDER OF THE LEAGUE OF THE LIGHT
Compiled by Dr. John Fortescue, Dr. William Silverbell, and Dr. Alfred Slaughton
This survey has been commissioned by the League of the Light, in order to illustrate the manifold degenerate creatures that currently plague both the Old World and the New. We, the authors of this survey, believe the Human to be the most noble creature of all, created by the very Seraphs themselves. Indeed, one might consider the Human to be the perfect form, of which all other creatures are mere perversions.
The Dwarf—Cantankerous and foreshortened, and in many cases possessed of prodigious facial hair on account of rapid follicle growth. In addition to its modest height, the Dwarf is generally stout and ill-favored. Some conjecture that it is these factors that most contribute toward the Dwarf’s notoriously foul temper. Otherwise human in appearance, if not in temperament.
Not the most despicable of demonspawn by any means, yet still to be treated with suspicion and avoided wherever possible.
The Elf—Slender of form and very pale of skin; the Elf’s ears are unnaturally tapered. Considered beautiful by those of a dissolute character.
The Elf bears more than a passing resemblance to the Human, and for this reason has often been suffered to live where other demonspawn have been driven out. Nevertheless, the League of the Light maintain that the Elf’s pleasing appearance and honest demeanor only make it all the more dangerous.
The Fairy—A tiny creature, no taller than a blade of grass. Human in form, yet winged like the butterfly, and capable of generating a luminescent glow. An entirely inferior type of being, of which no more need be said.
