The Goblin's Gift (16 page)

The drunken elf tottered to her feet. ‘This is bilge,' she announced.

‘Yeah,' said someone else. ‘Shut it, mongrel.'

A metal plate came spinning out of nowhere, clattering onto the stage. Then a fork flew, bouncing off the wooden screen beyond. Murmurs swelled up from the audience, growing louder and angrier. Above it all rose the shrill giggle of the Boy King.

‘Encore,' he called. ‘Encore!'

The song was only two lines long – barely a song at all – and he'd already sung it twice.

‘Keep going,' called Pallione.

Joseph couldn't think what else to do, so he took a breath to sing it a third time.

And this time, the song sounded better. Much, much better. Louder and more confident, and … There was another voice singing with him, he realized.
Pallione's voice.
It danced around the melody, making the song sound alive and rich and beautiful.

The noise from the audience died down. Joseph stopped pretending to do the dishes and just stood, singing. He went through the song a fourth time, the mermaid's voice soaring above his. The guests said nothing any more; just sat in silence and listened. Joseph felt like he might burst into tears with relief.

The fifth round came to an end with a long, reedy note from Joseph and a deep, powerful one from Pallione. Joseph stopped. Waited.

Silence.

And then, at last, applause, filling the cavern. The diners began to cheer.

‘Pallione! Pallione! PALLIONE!'

Two liveried footmen hurried onto the raised area and trundled Pallione's cart down a ramp onto the main part of the stage. The applause grew louder.

‘PALLIONE!' roared the crowd. ‘PALLIONE! PALLIONE! PALLIONE!'

The cart came to a halt next to Joseph, and the two footmen scurried back behind the screen. Pallione scowled at the audience in spite of their applause.
When she turned to Joseph she was still frowning, but her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. A waft of perfume hit his nostrils.

‘I know you,' she said. ‘You fell into the pit, didn't you? At Harry's. This is the second time I've saved your life.'

Joseph tried to reply, but no words came out. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, and he felt his ears twitch and his cheeks burn.

Pallione's lips curved upwards. ‘No good at fighting sharks. No good at singing. And no good at talking either.'

‘Thank you,' Joseph managed to get out.

The mermaid smiled at last. ‘It's nothing. I'm joking.'

‘Oh, I know. I mean— Well. Thank you anyway.'

She nodded and went back to glowering at the audience.

At the head of the table, the Boy King got to his feet, and the applause came to an end. All eyes turned to the child in gold. His cheeks had gone red, and his plume shook, throwing a huge flickering shadow onto the cavern wall behind him. Suddenly all the relief that Joseph had felt ebbed away. He was scared again. Very scared.

‘How dare you!' said the Boy King. ‘How DARE you!'

He leaped up onto the table, kicking aside plates and cutlery and toppling a glass goblet which smashed on the ground. Joseph's stomach went cold.

‘I commanded the
mongrel
to entertain us. Not
you
, you slimy fish-tailed
sea cow
!'

Murmurs of agreement from the audience. Pallione was staring grimly at the Boy King, as though he was a shark in need of a trident.

‘He cheated! And you helped him. After all I did for you, rescuing you from that stinking shark pit!' His face was the colour of a lobster now. ‘I am the Boy King,' he shrieked, ‘and I will not be made a fool of!' He stamped his foot and pointed at them, his piggy eyes narrowing. ‘You will suffer. Both of you. I will devise your punishment myself. I'll rip your ears off! I'll pull your toenails out! I'll—'

A blur of green, purple and blue streaked out of the shadows and onto the table, and the Boy King let out a gurgling cry. More cutlery and glasses fell, clattering and smashing on the ground. Tabitha had one arm locked around the boy's chest. The other held a carving knife pressed against his throat. She forced him down so that he was kneeling on the table. His golden tricorne toppled off, landing on the ground amid the broken glass. The Boy King's hair clung to his head, dark and greasy.

‘Nobody touch them,' yelled Tabitha.

‘Guurgh,' said the boy. Tabitha pushed the knife closer, squeezing a terrified whimper out of him.

Lord Wren was on his feet with a pistol in his hand. Tabitha sprang forward off the table, taking the boy with her, dragging him through the mess and into the centre of the cavern. All eyes were on her. Joseph felt his chest tighten with fear.

‘You let them go,' said Tabitha, much more quietly this time. ‘You let them go, and me too. Or I'll cut this little dunghead's throat.'

Joseph started forward but a hand gripped his arm, holding him back. He looked up to see Pallione's green eyes blazing at him.

‘Stay here,' she hissed. ‘Don't make this worse than it is already.'

Lord Wren was levelling the pistol at Tabitha, fury twisting his face so that he looked like a different person entirely. Then, almost at once, the rage disappeared and he began to smile. Then he chuckled.

‘You won't do it,' he said.

‘Shut up!' yelled Tabitha. ‘I
will
do it.'

‘No. You've never cut a throat before. You're a child. You don't know what you're doing.'

‘Stay back,' said Tabitha. But her voice wavered. ‘Stay back, or I'll— Aaaargh!'

A flash of light darted out of her sleeve, and she dropped the knife.

Slik
.

The fairy flew round her back, tugging at his leash and pulling her hand away. The Boy King squirmed out of her grip, stumbling forward.

Clatters and bangs erupted from every table as the boy's guests launched themselves at the girl in the green and purple dress.

‘No!' shouted Joseph. He twisted out of the mermaid's grip and leaped from the stage, lunging towards Tabitha. Immediately a troll slammed into him, knocking him flying. As he got to his feet, someone else collided with him, and the air was squeezed out of his lungs. He was on his knees again, and someone was shoving at his back. His hands found the ground and a boot stomped on his fingers, making him yelp with pain.

‘Stop!' someone yelled. ‘STOP!'

Incredibly, everyone did. Joseph took the chance to clamber to his feet, holding his crushed fingers tightly. At once someone grabbed him and pushed him up towards the boy's table. Tabitha was on the ground in front of it, her blue hair covering her face, arms held behind her back by one of the guests. The leash that had held Slik in place was snapped, and the fairy was nowhere to be seen.

The Boy King had climbed onto the table again. He was pale and wide-eyed, rubbing at his neck where Tabitha's knife had been.

‘Enough,' he croaked. ‘I've had enough. The revels are finished. All of you go home.'

Lord Wren cleared his throat and glared at Joseph and Tabitha.

‘What about these little maggots, your majesty?'

‘Feed them to the sharks,' yelled someone.

‘Cut them in bits,' called another voice.

‘Poison them!'

‘Drown them!'

‘Stab them and gut them and … and … eat them!'

The Boy King raised a hand, and silence fell.

‘Shut up, all of you,' he said. His voice was quiet, smouldering with rage. ‘Lock them away with that ungrateful fish girl. I need to think of something special for them. Something that really, really
hurts
.'

THE WOODEN DOOR
creaked as Newton pushed it open, and the cold evening air made him shiver. Governor Skelmerdale stood on the battlements in a heavy coat, gazing out over the rooftops of Wyrmwood Manor.

‘Evening, your honour.'

The governor beckoned but didn't turn round. Newton crossed the flagstones, his old leg injury aching from the climb up the spiral staircase.

As he reached the battlements he was buffeted by wind and his head swam with vertigo. Wyrmwood Manor was high enough as it was, even without the stomach-churning drop down the cliffside below, to
Port Fayt. The town slumbered, quiet and still beneath the deep blue star-flecked sky. The first lanterns had been lit, sending streaks of soft yellow light glimmering across the dark water. At the mouth of the harbour the
Wyvern
rocked at anchor, just where he'd left it. And a little way beyond it, the ghostly shape of the
Justice
bobbed among the waves.

Newton braved a glance at the governor. His short white hair rippled in the wind, and his eyes were watering, but he didn't turn away. He looked so stern, it seemed as though his face had been carved from the same grey rock as the walls.

Tomorrow, the Duke of Garran would come to Wyrmwood Manor. Newton had sent fairies ahead with the news, but he didn't know how the governor had reacted. This silence wasn't especially reassuring.

Of course, he wasn't thrilled about it either. The thought of the League's butchers so close to all the most defenceless Fayters had haunted his dreams the night before. The mothers and the fathers. The children and the elderly. Tabs and Joseph.

He'd wanted to go looking for them as soon as he came ashore, but a squad of blackcoats had been waiting at the docks to meet him and bring him straight here. He just hoped Old Jon was right and they could look after themselves. Old Jon was generally right
about most things. If only he was here now … But the governor had insisted that Newton come alone.

An imp appeared at Newton's side, wearing the purple velvet livery of the Cockatrice Company and an enormous powdered wig. He held onto the windswept wig with one hand and offered up a silver tray with the other, bearing two delicate glasses of transparent liquid.

‘Firewater,' said the governor briskly. ‘I'll have none of those fancy Old World wines Governor Wyrmwood was so fond of. I like things plain and simple.'

Newton took a glass and sipped. It scorched his throat, but he held it down. The governor took the second glass, and the imp bowed and hurried away, still clutching his wig.

Skelmerdale knocked back his firewater in one gulp, without so much as a flinch. He fixed his piercing dark eyes on Newton.

‘Plain and simple. And this – bringing the Duke of Garran here, into our harbour – this is neither plain nor simple.'

‘My apologies, your honour. The man gave me no choice.'

‘What does he want?'

‘To discuss terms.'

‘Bilge.' The governor suddenly drew back his arm
and hurled the glass, sending it spinning out into the night. There was a smash as it struck some unseen part of Wyrmwood Manor.

Newton waited silently for the rage to pass.

‘You have heard of this man?' said the governor at last. His voice was calm again.

‘Aye.'

‘And what do you know of him?'

Too much.

He knew how the Duke liked to set hungry griffins on his prisoners. How he'd once had an elf nobleman strung up in his courtyard and torn apart by magicians. How he wore a red coat to fancy society balls – dyed with the blood of trolls …

There were plenty of stories about what the Duke of Garran had done, but none of the man himself. They said he didn't drink. Didn't gamble. Had nothing to do with women. Had no interest in anything besides the persecution of demonspawn.

What did it take to turn a man into such a monster?

And what would such a man do, if he took Port Fayt?

‘A little,' he said.

The governor snorted. ‘A little. More than a little, I do not doubt. Everyone has heard of him. And I have
had the misfortune to meet him too. Make no mistake, Mr Newton. The Duke of Garran appears soft and round and harmless, but it's mere play-acting. On the inside he is a devious, vicious sadist. And you have brought him here. So I will ask you one more time …What does he want?'

Newton gazed out at the
Justice
and shook his head.

‘I'm sorry. I wish I knew.'

The governor looked for a moment as though he wanted to push Newton over the battlements.
Good luck with that, your honour
. But finally he relaxed and turned back to the town.

‘Tomorrow, then. We will find out tomorrow.'

‘Aye. Tomorrow.'

Newton didn't like it any more than the governor did. But what choice did they have?

At least we've bought Joseph and Tabitha some time.

He just hoped that was all they needed.