The Goblin's Gift (30 page)

His crew chuckled.

‘Yes, very amusing. But I hear everything, you idiots. Everything! This fairy found out about the hobgoblin captain, and your little plan to sneak away in the night. My ship's
much
faster than his stupid junk. And now I'm angry. Very, very angry. You, Tommy. You know what happens when I get angry, don't you?'

Tommy held up his three-fingered hand.

‘And you, Gargunnock.'

Another crewman stepped forward, a goblin, lifting off his hat to reveal that he had no ears.

Joseph couldn't stop trembling. He cast a quick glance at the other watchmen, and that settled him a little. The troll twins looked icy calm. Tabitha too. Only Hal looked halfway scared.

‘But this is different,' the Boy King went on. ‘You spilled wine on me. You failed to entertain me. You spoiled my special punishment and you stole my mermaid from me. And now you've forced me to chase after you. In the middle of all this!' He flung his arm out, indicating the battle.

Cannon fire sounded somewhere close by, making half the crew jump and turn round. There was too much smoke to see what was going on, but every now and again there was a flash of guns, or the shape of a vessel looming in the distance. The wavecutter was cruising at the fringes, safe from the fighting.

‘And what's more,' said the Boy King, ‘it's my birthday! So you see, it won't just be a couple of fingers or a pair of ears for you, you disgusting, foul-skinned mongrel runt. And you, you filthy girl with your stupid hair.' He spat on the deck in front of Tabitha. ‘Oh, no. You see, my papa was Lord of the Marlinspike Quarter before me. And every year, on my birthday, he used to hold a party for me. There were cakes and jugglers and music. But my favourite part was the piñata.'

The crew shifted, anticipation in their eyes. They knew what was coming.

‘Oh yes. A big ball made out of cloth, hung from the ceiling, with sweets inside. And every time you bashed it, sweets fell onto the floor. I used Papa's mace for it. It was the only time he let me touch it. Bash. Bash. Bash.' He grinned, and his eyes grew wide. ‘So now we're going to bash you and see if any sweets come out.'

NEWTON SNARLED AND
threw himself forward. In a split second Alice was there, raising her sword to parry his swing. A clash of metal on metal. Newton stepped back, his sword juddering in his hand, trying to calm himself. If he lost his temper this woman would butcher him. He had no doubt of that. She stood in a fighting stance, blue eyes fixed on his, her sword held steady in front of her.

The Duke of Garran calmly poured powder into the barrel of his pistol, as if he was nowhere more dangerous than a shooting range.

‘Coward!' growled Newton. ‘Why don't you fight me yourself?'

The Duke didn't even look up from his pistol. ‘Because, Mr Newton, I might lose. And I only enjoy the games I know I will win.'

Behind him, Newton heard Old Jon slump onto the deck. He wanted to look so badly, to go and help the old elf. But that was out of the question. One slip-up, one waver of his attention, and Alice would carve him into pieces. No. He had to deal with her first.

Best get on with it then.

She was fast, he knew that. But he had ogre blood in his veins.
So use your strength.

He sprang forward, unleashing a torrent of heavy blows. She stepped back, deflecting each one with calm, precise movements, allowing the Sword of Corin to slide off her own blade and never meeting it full on. All the power of his swings counted for nothing. He would only wear himself out.

He paused, panting. The wound in his arm was playing up but he scarcely noticed it. Alice waited, watching him, offering no attack of her own. She had fought in total silence, Newton realized. It was eerie.

The Duke of Garran had loaded his pistol now, but he didn't fire. Just stood there, enjoying the spectacle with a half-smile dancing on his lips.

At the sight of that, Newton threw himself into
another attack. He swung his sword once to keep the woman at bay, then crouched, grabbed hold of one leg of the golden chair and flailed it round at her.

If you're so clever, try parrying a chair.

Alice moved with incredible speed. Newton hadn't realized what she'd done until he saw the chair go crashing across the deck. In his hand he held only the severed stump of its leg.

For Thalin's sake …
If she could pull off a move like that, she could just as easily have taken his arm off. She was playing with him. He looked up at her again, and saw that she knew what he was thinking. A small, tight smile formed on her lips, with no emotion behind it. As though she smiled only because it was expected.

What has she become?

He lunged at her and she sidestepped, fast as a mermaid in water. He lunged again and she repeated the move, not even bothering to touch his blade with her own.

Why hadn't he brought the Banshee? The weapon he knew best how to fight with in the whole world.
Idiot
. He'd been so fixated on killing the Duke with the Sword of Corin that he'd become foolish. Lost his head.

Why hadn't he listened to Old Jon?

And now at last the League officer stepped forward for her own attack. She darted in under his guard, swiping away his blade. Newton stumbled backwards, trying to bring the sword back to protect himself, but she struck again, a twisting blow that sent the Sword of Corin spiralling out of Newton's hands. His eyes followed it, saw it land with a thud in the foremast. Just like Tabitha throwing knives at a target. Then something struck his chest and he tumbled backwards, floored by a kick more powerful than a woman that size should have been able to deliver.

Joseph tried struggling, but it was no good. Lord Wren held him firmly in place as Tommy tied a thick rope around his wrists and ankles.

‘Nice and tight,' said Tommy, with a wink. ‘Don't want you coming loose before his majesty is finished with you.'

The crew were shouting at him, calling him greyskin, mongrel and worse. It all blurred together into one torrent of hate. That was fine though, because Joseph hated himself. It wasn't enough to get Pallione killed. Now he'd brought the whole of the Demon's Watch to their deaths.

‘You bilgebags,' yelled Frank, his voice rising above the clamour. He sprang to his feet, but immediately several of the biggest bully boys leaped forward, battering him with musket butts and forcing him back down.

Paddy tried to wade in and help his brother out, but there were too many of them, and he was shoved onto the deck as well.

‘Don't listen to them, Joseph,' he called out.

‘Shut your disgusting green face!' screamed the Boy King. ‘Now hoist him up.'

There was a whirring sound as several crewmen pulled on a rope, taking up the slack, then a
swoosh
as Joseph's feet were pulled from under him, and the world turned upside down as he went whizzing up into the air. The insults turned to laughter as he bobbed, suspended from a spar, and the men at the end of the rope had their fun, letting him drop a short way before tugging him back up again. The blood rushed to his head and he spun; he was so dizzy he thought he might be sick. His clothes were still dripping from the sea, and salt water stung his eyes, mingling with his tears.

‘Now the girl,' commanded the Boy King.

Joseph watched Tabitha fight, but she couldn't win. Lord Wren held her tight, just like he'd held
Joseph, as Tommy knotted the rope around her. And then there was a cheer as she was dragged across the deck and up into the air beside him. They were lowered so that crewmen could grab hold of them and push them, sending them through the air, right out over the ocean, before they swung back, just missing each other the first time, but colliding the second, unable to stop themselves. Tabitha let out a grunt of pain but said nothing. She hated him just as much as the Boy King's men. More, probably. Joseph didn't blame her.

The swinging slowed, and Joseph saw, in revolving upside-down images, that Lord Wren had brought something up from below. A long rectangular box covered in black leather. He knelt and opened it for the Boy King. In the red velvet interior lay a mace, the shaft as thick as an oar pole and studded, the head a lump of metal almost the size of Joseph's head, cruelly ridged and spiked.

‘Happy birthday, your majesty,' said Lord Wren.

‘Happy birthday,' echoed his men.

‘Hmphy brmphdy,' said Slik, cramming the last of the sugar lump into his mouth.

Some crewmen had set up a raised platform on the deck – planks of wood lashed together and laid out on barrels. Hal and the smugglers watched, helpless, still
on their knees. The troll twins fought to get upright again, but many hands held them down.

The Boy King snatched the mace out of the box. His eyes were glued to Joseph and Tabitha, as though he was a spider watching the flies caught in its web. Slik fluttered away to land on Lord Wren's shoulder.

‘My father's mace,' said the Boy King, and grinned. It was clearly too heavy for him, but not so much that he couldn't lift it. He leaped up onto the platform and gave the mace an experimental swing. The crewmen cheered. One or two fired flintlock pistols into the air, the shots mingling with the cannon fire and noise drifting over from the battle. Smoke had billowed across the deck now, obscuring half the Boy King's men.

Joseph and Tabitha were lowered, inch by inch, until they were level with the boy on his platform.

‘I'm sorry,' said Joseph, but Tabitha didn't answer.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,' roared the Boy King, his legs wide apart, his cockatrice plume bobbing in the smoke. ‘Behold the death of these scurvy sea slugs! Behold their punishment for defying me, the Boy King, Lord of the Marlinspike Quarter. Behold my birthday treat!'

He raised his mace amid the cheers.

‘You first, you filthy mongrel,' he whispered.

Joseph closed his eyes.

Newton crashed down onto the deck, his head throbbing with the impact. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Old Jon lying flat, motionless, his eyes glazed over. He tensed, ready to crawl towards the elf, but before he could move, he saw the point of Alice's blade hovering above his throat. She was holding it in a stabbing grip now, like a dagger, ready to push downwards with all her strength. No flicker of emotion touched her cold blue eyes.

Beyond, the Duke worked the Sword of Corin free from the mast and held it up, admiring it. The noise of battle still surged all around them, but in the smoke it felt like they were alone.

‘Do you understand me now?' asked the Duke. ‘You could never have defeated Major Turnbull, Mr Newton. She is amongst the greatest swordsmen the Old World has to offer. A worthy bodyguard, I'm sure you'll agree.' He gestured with the sword. ‘If you don't mind, I shall be keeping this. A little memento.'

He stepped across the deck, leaning down to inspect Newton like an explorer discovering some strange new species of insect. His colourless eyes narrowed, and his lip curled.

‘You mongrels have always fascinated me the most. To have mingled blood – a little demonspawn and a little humanity. Extraordinary. Almost as though you were shaped by both seraphs and demons. But I know better.' The Sword of Corin snaked forward, poking at the wound on Newton's arm. He had to grit his teeth so as not to cry out in pain. ‘The seraphs made us, Mr Newton. We humans. But a little demon blood is enough to corrupt any one of us.' He whipped away the blade, tucking it under his arm.

‘And so it is farewell. Major Turnbull – kill the mongrel.'

Hal couldn't watch. He turned away from the Boy King, trying to focus on anything but Tabitha and Joseph.

Wait.

There. Out to sea, beyond the smoke of the battle, something was moving. No, a thousand things. Flashing silver shapes, racing towards them like the shadow of a storm cloud.

Merfolk
.

Ahead of them the water pulsed with magic and a wave began to form, like no wave Hal had ever seen before. It grew higher and higher, lifting up the leading warriors until it was roaring forward, twice as tall
as the Boy King's ship. The merfolk rode it in a ragged line, silhouetted against the sky. Each held a bonestaff high above their heads, the air around them hazed with magic. And in the centre, riding the crest of the wave, was a mermaid. Her white hair streaked back in the wind.

It can't be …

He blinked, took off his glasses, rubbed at them and put them back on again.

What in Thalin's name … ?

She was still racing towards them, her bonestaff held aloft.

Out of nowhere, Hal remembered Paddy's words as they sat around the camp fire on the island, talking about the King.

I heard he's so powerful he can even bring the dead
back to life …

The wave was roaring towards them, no more than a few ship-lengths away. Hal turned and saw that the smoke had cleared, and everyone was watching.