The Goblin's Gift (14 page)

Figures were trooping out of the small cave entrance. Figures dressed in leather and metal, carrying ancient-looking weapons – chipped old blades and shields painted with lurid emblems. They gathered on stage as the boy's reedy voice rose and fell with excitement.

‘Corin marched for weeks, and even though the evil Zargath set lots of ambushes and traps for him, he kept going. Finally the wicked sorcerer had no choice. He brought his whole army out to fight, on the cliff top they call the Giant's Knee.'

Servants wheeled a canvas screen onto the stage, behind the armoured figures. It was painted to resemble the edge of a cliff, with grass at the bottom and gulls circling in the blue sky above.

‘Behold the Giant's Knee! Taste the salt in the air. Hear the rolling waves of the ocean, far below.'

A sound began to fill the cavern – a high, mournful song without words. It dipped and soared, giving Joseph goose bumps. He craned his neck round, trying to see where it came from.

A small cart rumbled out from behind the wooden screen, pushed by two liveried footmen, up the ramp and onto the raised section of the stage.

The audience all gasped in awe.

On top of the cart was a strange wooden construction, painted grey and hung with seaweed, which was clearly supposed to represent rocks. And sitting on top of the fake rocks was a mermaid with a long silvery tail.

Joseph caught his breath.
Pallione was a shark fighter. One of the best too.
He'd thought nothing of it at the time. But now, that long white hair and those bright green eyes … He had seen her before. Surging out of the water, raising a blood-spattered trident in victory. The mermaid who'd saved his life when he was floundering in Harry's Shark Pit, at the mercy of Florence the bull shark.

She looked different now. Her hair was dry and combed, and she was dressed in a costume woven out of seaweed and shells. She had a pearl band holding back her hair, pearl earrings and a pearl necklace. Her eyes shone in the candlelight as she sang.

The King's daughter.

Pallione.

THE FIRE CRACKLED
on the beach, and the sea breeze wafted smoke and the scent of frying fish towards the watchmen.

‘Sure you don't want to play?' asked Frank. ‘We've got time for a hand or two before dinner.'

Hal made a face and shook his head.

‘Suit yourself, grumpy guts,' said Paddy, shuffling the water-damaged cards.

The twins had made a table out of a large flat rock, and Hal had lost count of the number of games they'd played on it. Nothing seemed to dampen the Bootles' spirits. No matter how many hands of Dead Man's Leg they played, or Hunt the Griffin, or Red Flash,
they just kept smiling and joking and dealing the cards. Hal had never been too keen on card games, and by now he was trying to decide when to snatch the deck, and if it would be better to throw it into the fire or the ocean.

He peered out beyond the smugglers cooking on the beach, over the dark water. The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving only an orange tinge in the deep blue sky. But Hal could still make out the merfolk dipping in and out of the waves. By mid-afternoon their guard had doubled, and yet more merfolk had arrived throughout the evening. Hal had watched them in between the card games, and the fried fish, and the endless waiting.

Now the bay was cluttered with heads and flicking tails. Two mermaids streaked through the black water, playing chase. Another arced through the air, disappearing underwater again in a fountain of spray. Most were huddled in small groups signing to each other, sometimes glancing towards their captives on the island.

No doubt about it: the King's army was gathering. Already they had a force that might stand a chance against the League, and it was getting bigger by the hour.

All the same, Hal felt uneasy. What if Joseph and
Tabs didn't bring back the King's daughter? They must have reached Fayt by now. And they must have spoken to Newt. But still, there were no ships on the horizon, and no sign of the mermaid princess. Would the merfolk give up and go home? He seriously doubted it.

‘Moping again, Hal?' said Frank, with a wink.

‘I'm observing the merfolk, if you must know.'

‘That right? Well, there's just one thing I don't get,' said Paddy, laying down a card. ‘If this king of theirs is so magical, how come he doesn't rescue his own daughter? I heard he can even bring the dead back to life, just like the Witch Lords did in the Dark Age. So why can't he do a bit of hocus-pocus and save her himself?'

Frank snorted. ‘Bring the dead back to life? That's walrus dung.'

Hal leaned forward.
Finally, something interesting to talk about
. ‘Merfolk magic is certainly impressive. But to raise the dead … That would require an expert of the highest degree. I doubt even Master Gurney at the Azurmouth Academy could achieve such a—'

‘Merfolk are different though, aren't they?' Paddy cut in. ‘Ma told us that when we were youngsters. They're born magical. Get it from the sea, not from studying at fancy schools.'

‘Yes, obviously,' snapped Hal, before Paddy could prattle on any further. ‘The magic of the merfolk was one of my principal subjects at Azurmouth. They are natural magicians, but their power is drawn from the ocean. On dry land their “hocus-pocus”, as you call it, simply doesn't work. That's why shark-pit owners can keep them locked up so easily once they've managed to fish them out of the sea. It's rather fascinating, in fact. When I was studying at—'

‘Oi, you lot!'

Hal turned at the shout, annoyed that he'd been interrupted. Phineus Clagg was stumbling towards them over the rocks, from the other side of the island. The smuggler had run out of firewater an hour ago and had been a little twitchy ever since.

‘Well, thank Thalin for that,' said Frank. ‘I could feel one of Hal's magic lessons coming on. What's up, Captain Cuttlefish? Found a secret fountain of grog?'

The smuggler came panting to a halt, bent over and wheezing, his lank hair hanging in front of his sweaty red face and his lazy left eye even less under control than usual.

‘Come and see for yerselves,' he gasped.

The troll twins rose and followed him, clambering away over the rocks. Hal brought up the rear,
lingering to take one last look at the merfolk before he followed.

On the first day Frank and Paddy had led an expedition all over the island, trying to find water or food – and there was nothing. Just rocks, a few patches of windswept grass and some stunted trees. No wonder the merfolk had chosen it. Here the watchmen were entirely dependent on their captors. But now Phineus Clagg, of all people, had found something …

The smuggler came to a halt on a high rock and pointed downwards. There was a small pebble beach below, and in the sea beyond it, more merfolk had appeared, milling around among the waves. There were at least as many as on the other side of the island – maybe more. That was nothing though.

In the shallows, the waves lapped at a pile of boulders, each one as big as a crouching ogre. Except the boulders were perched one on top of the other, six or seven impossibly balanced, casting a long, strange shadow across the water. And on top of the boulders …

‘The King,' whispered Frank.

There was no doubt about it. The merman was perched on the highest rock, staring out to sea. In his right hand he held a bonestaff, the shaft twisted and
gleaming with pearls set into the bone. The evening breeze stirred his long white hair and beard. His tail flicked, once. He wore no crown, but that didn't make him seem any less like a king.

If only Master Gurney was here to see this …

‘Blimey,' said Paddy.

In silence they made their way down across the rocks, pausing when they arrived at the beach. The column of boulders was just a short swim away, and the waters around it were empty of merfolk, who were keeping a respectful distance from their ruler.

‘What do we say to him?' hissed Frank.

‘Let's ask him if he brought any blackwine with him,' suggested Clagg. ‘A king ought to have some decent liquor handy.'

‘Mermaids don't drink, walrus-brain,' said Paddy.

Clagg groaned. ‘Don't drink? Where's the sense in that?'

Hal stepped forward. ‘I'll talk to him. See if I can persuade him to let us go. I'm not sure I trust any of you not to insult him.'

‘Fair enough,' sniffed Frank. ‘Just don't start talking to him about magic, all right? Don't want him falling asleep on us.'

Hal ignored that and headed across the beach. He felt in his pocket, and his fingers closed around the
wooden spoon. He tried to calm his breathing. Did he dare use it? It was incredibly powerful, but then, so was the King.

He took off his shoes, rolled up his breeches and stepped out into the surf, wincing as the cold water swallowed his feet.

‘Human,' came a shout from nearby. It was a fair-haired merman, his bare chest covered in tattoos, bobbing in the shallows. His brow was furrowed with suspicion. ‘Why do you come here?'

‘I wish to speak with the King.'

The merman said nothing. Hal was about to speak again when the water began to tug at his ankles, lightly at first, then suddenly with irresistible force. He fought for balance but it was no good. He fell, water flooding through his clothes, so cold that he was numb at once. He opened his mouth to cry out and got a mouthful of salt water that made him choke. And then he was being dragged across the sea bed, as if by invisible hands, out into the ocean, his back and head bumping against the bottom. His whole body tingled.
Magic
, some part of his brain told him.

He was jerked upwards in a crash of spray, sodden and dripping in the chill evening air, to hover above the waves. He coughed, spluttered and rubbed the salt from his eyes.

When he opened them and cleared the water from his spectacles, he saw that he was floating in mid-air in front of the King. The merman stared at him with his lip curled, as though Hal was a weevil in a ship's biscuit.

Up close the King seemed even more impressive. He was muscled and strong, despite his age, and under his busy white eyebrows his eyes were a vivid green.

‘You wish to speak with me, four-eyed man,' he said. His voice rumbled like distant thunder, and his accent was only slight.

‘Yes, I, er … Indeed,' said Hal. It wasn't quite the commanding response he'd hoped for, but then, it was hard to be commanding when you were soaking wet and dangling six feet above the sea. ‘I was hoping you might consider letting us … well … go.'

A smile twitched at the corner of the King's mouth. ‘I see,' he said.

Something tugged at Hal's pocket, and before he could react, the wooden spoon flew out and hovered between them, rotating slowly in mid-air. His heart raced.

‘And this wand,' said the King. ‘You brought this to persuade me, I take it.'

‘I … Not exactly …'

The wand darted like a fairy, back into Hal's pocket.

‘Just as well. My powers are at their strongest, magician.'

‘You've been
speaking with the ocean
,' said Hal, before he could stop himself. It was a merfolk expression that Master Gurney had taught him. Every year, each merman and mermaid had to dive down deep, alone, and commune with the sea. It was the closest thing they had to a religion. It took days, sometimes months, but when they returned to the surface their magic was replenished and strong.

Something clicked in Hal's mind.

‘That's why you've only just come to— I mean …'

He faltered. A cloud had passed across the King's face.

‘Yes,' said the merman, and some of the strength and confidence was gone from his voice. ‘I was speaking with the ocean when she was taken. I wish it had not been so.' Suddenly his eyes seemed to go a deeper shade of green, dark and threatening, and his voice rumbled again. ‘But now I am returned.' He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘I cannot release you. Not until my daughter is restored to me.'

Hal nodded. The King's eyes made him want to be as far away as possible. ‘I understand. Our friends will bring her back soon.'

‘Let us hope so. For your sake.'

Hal opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly there was nothing holding him up any more. He plummeted, hit the waves with a smack, and was dragged away through the water. An instant later he was washed up on the beach like some broken bit of flotsam, coughing and gasping for breath.

The troll twins raced towards him as he sat up. He turned from them to stare at the King, sitting silent on his rock, his strange throne of boulders silhouetted against the evening sky.

It was clear the interview was over. But those last words stayed with him.
Let us hope so. For your sake
.

‘Hal?' called Paddy. ‘Are you all right? What happened?'

Hal staggered to his feet, trying not to think too hard about what the old merman had said.