“I wonder if . . . ” Last year I hadn’t hesitated to call on a recently deceased spirit to spy for us, but I was becoming more aware of how unfair it was on those who had departed. However, I had another alternative. I patted my pocket. “Diccon,” I said.
“Can you send him to spy for us?” Corwen asked.
“He’s a lost soul. He wants his body back.” I looked around at the busy inn room to make sure no one was listening. “He can’t stay in limbo forever.”
“You mean—”
I nodded. “If we can’t reunite him with his body . . . ” I looked up. “He’s got to move on.”
“We’ll try the first warehouse tonight,” Corwen said.
“If it’s not the right one, we should go to the second immediately,” I said. “He might have some warning system set up, and we don’t want to give him time to prepare.”
“It’s a pity we can’t go to both at the same time,” Twomax said.
“Split our resources?” I asked.
Corwen looked thoughtful. “With the goblins and Hookey’s sailors, we’ve got a goodly company of scrappers.”
“But only one witch and only one sundered spirit,” I said.
“Sadly, yes. Let’s do it tonight,” Corwen said. “Southwark first and then the Isle of Dogs.”
Twomax nodded. It was as good a plan as any.
* * *
How many did we need to tackle Walsingham? Twomax had already offered a company of his fiercest goblins, and Hookey insisted on bringing half the crew of the Heart, volunteers all.
“I won’t see you go after that bastard on your own,” Hookey said, when we met him in the Town of Ramsgate’s public bar. “I’ll have the crew ready whenever you need us. In the meantime, I’ll send two men to each establishment to watch for activity.”
“Tell them not to get too close,” I said. “Walsingham’s dangerous. They should watch from a safe distance.”
“If he’s not in Southwark, we’ll need to get to the Isle of Dogs as quickly as we can,” Corwen said.
“By river, then,” Hookey said. “On an outgoing tide. How many goblins?”
“Sixteen including Twomax.”
“We’ll need four boats, and four good crews to row them if we’re to shoot London Bridge in the dark.”
“Oh, wonderful.” Corwen pulled a face.
We’d done it once before when Walsingham’s hellhounds had been chasing us, and we’d almost capsized in the maelstrom.
“Leave it to me,” Hookey said. “I’ll get enough boats and proper watermen to man ’em. The tide will be on the turn around eleven, so we need to be west of London Bridge by then.”
We left the arrangements to Hookey.
He sent two spies to each location in the afternoon. Goblins and sailors met at London Bridge soon after ten. They eyed each other for a few minutes, then decided that since their objective was the same, they could work together. Hookey and Twomax shook hands in a silent pact.
Hookey sent the watermen and their boats down to Horseshoe Stairs to wait for us and we made our way on foot to Southwark.
The long summer dusk still offered enough residual light that we could see where to put our feet. Some of the houses along the road already had lanterns at their doors. We found our way to the jumble of buildings Twomax had described. He was right about the Southwark warehouse. It was old and rickety. Newer buildings had been built onto it and around it. Everything was in shadow. Even the shadows had shadows. I shivered. I would very much like the comfort of a witchlight or a lantern, but until we knew whether Walsingham was inside, I couldn’t risk either.
Corwen walked next to me, brushing his knuckles against mine. The touch steadied me.
“Where are your men, Hookey?” I whispered.
“Should be here.”
“Who did you send?”
“Nick Padder and Crayfish Jake.”
It wasn’t like either of them to be slack in their duties, but they could easily be around the other side of the warehouse in the maze of alleyways.
“Two of our crewmen should be here,” I whispered to Twomax. “Ask your men to keep a watch for them, please.”
Twomax nodded.
One of the goblins went ahead, perhaps the one who’d scouted this location earlier. He stopped, so we all stopped. Then he pointed left and right, and the goblins silently peeled away from our company to surround the building and cover any other potential entrances and exits.
In front of us was a tall doorway with heavy double doors. I heard a few clicks as people pulled the dogheads of their pistols back. It was time for Diccon to earn his keep. I took the flask out of my jacket pocket. Diccon emerged from the flask, looking serious. He had a slight luminescence about him, though it didn’t cast a glow. I’d warned him earlier about what I might ask him to do. If he wanted his body back, he needed to scout ahead for us. I pointed him to the warehouse and he oozed through the locked door. It didn’t take long for him to reappear.
“Empty,” he said. “Not a living soul . . . but he’s been in there. There’s . . . evidence.” I thought if a spirit could retch, that might be what he would do next. I held up the flask, and he bolted into it as if it was a sanctuary.
“Billy.”
I motioned Lazy Billy forward. He picked the lock in less time than it would have taken me to unroll my lockpicks. Corwen pushed open one of the large double doors and Billy the other.
The stench made me gag. Something or someone had died in here.
I made a witchlight and sent it up into the rafters. That was a mistake. I saw immediately what was causing the stench. Inscribed in the middle of the floor, in a channel two inches deep, was a large circle inset with a long, narrow triangle. Whether it was the right way up or upside down depended on where you stood, Hanging from ceiling joists by their feet were two naked and very dead bodies.
Recognition came slowly because I didn’t want to believe it, and because their faces had been carved into bloody masks.
Nick Padder.
Crayfish Jake.
“That ain’t right,” Windward said.
Someone else cursed, and the angry muttering rose to a crescendo.
Nick had been on my crew since he was ten. He’d been a pageboy at my wedding to Will, and a guest at my wedding to Corwen. He was not even twenty, and he was dead.
“We’ll get the bastards what did this, Cap’n, won’t we?” Windward asked.
“We will,” I said. Or die trying.
Crayfish Jake had joined the crew after Will died. He’d been an old comrade of Hookey’s and Hookey had vouched for him. His time on the Heart had led to this.
They’d obviously been alive when they’d been hung there because they were gagged and secured, not only by their feet but by a rope around their wrists and necks tied to a spike hammered into the floor. They wouldn’t have been able to swing or spin or struggle in any way while they bled to death. They’d died slowly by the state of their bodies. Rather than a single slice across the throat, which might, in certain circumstances, have been a mercy, they’d bled out from a series of shallow cuts to head, arms, torso, belly, and genitals.
Their blood had been channeled into the circle, and from the circle into the triangle. In the center of the triangle was ash from a fire, and directly above the fire, the pantiles from the roof had been removed, or maybe blown to pieces.
“Bad men,” the Greek said, and then he said something else in Greek, which from the inflection was a string of curses.
“Cut them down, Hookey, please.” I heard my voice rise. I wanted to scream around the hard knot in my throat, but instead I turned to Corwen and buried my face in his shoulder. He held me without trying to say anything to make it better. There was nothing he could say. Walsingham was a bastard. This was a deliberate act of provocation because the working t
hey bled into was old.
How did I know that?
I took a deep breath and turned back to the scene, putting my knowledge and my instincts to good use.
“This is the fire-working that they used to try and burn the Heart,” I said. “You can see where the fire shot up through the roof.” Damn, my voice was shaking. I took another deep breath. “But that was before Jake and Nick came here.”
I didn’t watch the team of goblins and sailors taking down the bodies together. We didn’t have anything to cover them with, but the goblins laid them gently by the far wall. Mr. Twomax took a handkerchief and laid it gently over Nick Padder’s face. Hookey surprised me by having a handkerchief of his own, and this he used to cover Crayfish Jake’s face. I heard him say something softly and thought he might have made a promise to an old friend.
I took a deep breath and stepped out of the protection of Corwen’s embrace. I needed to take charge. I swallowed hard and looked at the evidence for the working. “Walsingham must have been here.” I pointed to the triangle. “Philip was stationed closer to the Heart to direct the flames.”
Hookey delivered a stream of invective which might have made me blush under other circumstances, but this time I agreed with him wholeheartedly.
“We should send the bodies back to the Heart,” he said. “Give them a proper burial.”
“Not now. We’ll come back later. I think this was meant either to delay us or discourage us. We mustn’t let it.”
“Over here.” One of the goblins called from the back of the warehouse. As we got closer, he lifted some old sacking. “I thought I might find something to cover your crewmen, but the sacking had already been put to use.”
A body had been dumped carelessly. By the state of her, I guessed she was the source of the blood for the magical fire-working. I wondered who she was. We might never find out. There were always people on the street for someone like Walsingham to prey on. If we survived this night, we would give her a decent burial along with Nick and Jake.
We backed away, and Billy secured the doors again.
“To the Isle of Dogs, then,” Corwen said. “Do you think Walsingham left any kind of warning spell. Might he know we found this place?”
“I think it highly likely. He’ll know we’ve been here, but he won’t know where we’re going next.”
“He’ll be watching out for us, though.”
“Oh, yes. Killing Nick and Jake was his way of sending an invitation. He wants to finish it. He wants to finish us.”
The boats were waiting for us at Horseshoe Alley Stairs, four of them big enough to take ten passengers each and crewed by experienced Thames watermen. We piled in, Corwen and I behind Hookey and Lazy Billy with Windward and the Greek behind us. I held onto the planking of my seat as we sped downriver toward the gaps between the piers of London Bridge. The fat starlings which protected the bridge also narrowed the gap to such a degree that water gushed through, creating a maelstrom. Many lives had been lost here, so cautious passengers often disembarked before the bridge and rejoined their boat below it. There was one wider arch, however, where the water was swift but not as dangerous. Last time we’d shot the bridge, we’d deliberately chosen one of the narrow arches, trying to drown our hellhound pursuers. This time, we took the wide arch, splashing through without incident, though I felt as if my heart was in my mouth as we swooshed through safely to the other side.
Corwen pried my fingers from the edge of the seat and gave them a squeeze. I squeezed back.
He put his head close to mine. “I love you.”
It took my breath away. I knew that he did. It was in everything we did and said together. I loved him, too. Why say it now unless he knew that, if we found Walsingham, there was a likelihood that one or both of us would not survive? The twins turned somersaults in my belly. I was responsible for more lives than my own. I told myself that the fear was natural and no different from the fear I squashed down each time I led a boarding party from the Heart, but I knew that this time I wasn’t simply afraid for myself.
Yet if I didn’t try and end this conflict with Walsingham, our children would always be in danger. And much as he would have liked to do this without me, Corwen knew he couldn’t. It would take magic to fight magic.
If only the Fae . . .
But they wouldn’t get involved in this. We were on our own.
Well, not quite on our own. We had the Heart’s crew out for revenge, and a squad of goblins with a grudge. Surely that would be enough.
* * *
The river carried us swiftly through London in the darkness. Our boats drew in at Mill Wall Stairs, below the massive basins and buildings for the new West India Docks and the City Canal.
I heard the chink of coins changing hands, then Hookey said, “Wait two hours. If there’s been no word, you can leave.”
“Right you are, guv,” the lead waterman said.
Two hours. We’d be back sooner than that if Walsingham wasn’t here. If he was here . . . I let my thoughts trail off. It would all be over in two hours, one way or another.
The blustery wind hit us as we climbed to land. It buffeted my ears and took my breath away. Someone lost a tricorn hat which swirled above us and vanished into the night. We jogged down the Deptford Road, helped along by the half-moon rising in the sky, but bedeviled by the crosswind. To our right, between the road and the river, there were ship breakers’ yards, rope makers, and timber merchants, but here there was a deal of space between them, unlike the buildings of Bankside which were almost on top of one another. Land here must be as cheap as it was dismal. You could tell it had a natural inclination toward swamp, and if the river-wall was ever breached, the Isle of Dogs would be the Isle of Frogs, or even the Isle of Fish.
On the left of the road it was all open countryside, low-lying and intersected by drainage ditches. Something was growing; barley, I thought, by the way the wind set it rippling in the moonlight.
An iron foundry was working through the night. Through its open doors we could see the lava-flow glow of molten metal poured from a crucible, and an oily, burned smell drifted across on the wind. Farther down the road, we passed a warehouse, dark save for a couple of lanterns, probably carried by night watchmen.
Whereas Blackwall, along the river, was known for shipbuilding, here on the isle of Dogs, ships came to die and to be broken up. We passed a dry dock with the remains of a hulk in it. Farther along, a lonely windmill turned, its sails buffeted by the wind.
We pulled up sharply as one of Twomax’s goblins pointed out a large building of weathered wood, bleached gray in the moonlight. The outline was irregular as if one corner had sunk into the soft clay and peat. It looked drunk.
“Is that it?” I whispered.
The goblin nodded and then scurried to his friends.
Hookey had sent two men here as well, Abe Bennett and Saul Bunyan, but there was no sign of them. Please, God, don’t let them be bleeding to death in the warehouse.
As I had that thought, two figures emerged from the ditch on the far side of the road. I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Cap’n.” Abe spoke for both of them. “Two coves, one of ’em being led by the other, went into the warehouse about three hours ago. There’s been neither sight nor sound since.”
Time for Diccon to earn his brandy fumes. I took the flask from my jacket pocket and uncorked it. Diccon oozed out.
“Over there,” I told him. “We need to know whether Walsingham’s in that building.”
“I can feel it.” He gave a low moan.
“What?”
“Me. My body. It’s in there.” He appeared to take a deep breath, though I doubted whether he had actual functioning lungs. He swayed toward the warehouse as if drawn by deep desire.
“I think the answer is yes,” Corwen said. “If Philip’s in there, Walsingham will be as well. No sense i
n putting the little chap in any more danger than he is already, and no sense in risking Walsingham learning we’re here.”
“He may know already.”
“Possibly, but if there’s any chance we have surprise on our side, we should use it.”
I held the flask up. “In you go, Diccon. Not long, now.”
“But I can feel it. So close. So close.” He swirled round, broke away from us, and sped over the ground like an arrow released from a bow.
“Diccon,” I hissed his name, and then I tried summoning his spirit, but he was deaf to me, fixated on what he’d lost.
“He’s going to get himself sundered permanently,” I said. “No time to waste. Come on. Keep your heads down until you’re sure there’s no magic flying.”
Corwen stripped off his clothes in next to no time and bundled them into the magic bag.
We split into two parties. Twomax, some of his goblins, and half our crewmen went looking for a back way into the building. Corwen and I with Hookey, Windward, and the Greek, plus seven determined-looking goblins raced in a direct charge toward the front door. Corwen, still human, set up an illusion to run in front of us. It was the most complex I’d ever seen him produce, a dozen pirates, armed to the teeth; the leaders looked remarkably like Nick Padder and Crayfish Jake.
I primed my pistols, my navy piece and a smaller one, half of the pair that had been made for me by Mr. Bunney of London. I pulled back the dogheads, then I gathered my weather powers about me and harnessed the buffeting wind. With an explosive crack I blew the warehouse’s double doors inward, ripping one off its hinges.
Corwen’s illusion saved us. Walsingham’s first blow was aimed at the nonexistent pirates and not at us. Two of the foremost goblins leaped for the rafters. Corwen rolled to the right and changed into a wolf. I slid to the left, Hookey close behind me. A huge crash announced the doors resealing themselves with Windward, the Greek, and most of the goblins still on the outside.
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