The Goblin's Gift Read online

  ‘We’d better get to Bootles’,’ she said. ‘And quickly.’

  The mermaid scowled at her, but Tabitha ignored it.

  ‘Right you are,’ said Jeb, picking up the handles again. ‘Knew yer’d see sense.’ They set off, the wheelbarrow rumbling on the cobblestones as they hurried down the street.

  Tabitha tried to calm her beating heart. Tomorrow they’d be out of Port Fayt. They’d take Pallione back to her father, free the Demon’s Watch and bring the merfolk over to their side. They’d be rid of the mermaid and, better still, rid of Jeb. She couldn’t wait. They’d already had their fingers burned with that two-faced fairy Slik, and she wasn’t about to let this slimy goblin make fools of them too.

  What in Thalin’s name was he doing helping them?

  It niggled at her, like a cut finger dipped in seawater.

  THE TAVERN IS almost empty. After all, this is a town at war.

  He pushes back the hood of his cloak and takes a seat in the gloom amid the clatter of tankards and the soft glow of the lantern light. The Legless Mermaid smells of firewater, of fish and sweat. The stool he sits on is roughly made and encrusted with filth, and the table is no better. It is probably for the best that it is so dark inside.

  An impish child in an apron scurries up to him, small and pink-skinned, with a big nose and slightly pointed ears. Daemonium Minus. A textbook specimen. There is a hunted look in the child’s eyes, but it is not scared of him. It should be.

  ‘What can I get you? We’ve got eels for dinner. And for grog, how about Lightly’s Finest Bowelbuster? Mr Lightly’s the landlord, you see.’ He nods towards a big aproned man behind the bar, swathed in fat, his face ruddy, his eyes small and cruel.

  He smiles. Now he understands that hunted look.

  ‘Grog,’ he says, and the word feels foul in his mouth.

  As the imp leaves, he takes in the other customers, few as they are. Mostly old, broken things, not fit to go into battle with the Fayter fleet. A dwarf so fat he can scarcely imagine it is able to walk. Daemonium Crassum. An old goblin woman, uglier than a demon’s backside. Daemonium Cinereum. A pair of elves, drunk and bleary-eyed, arguing over a game of dice. Daemonium Pulchrum.

  He licks his lips, savouring the squalor of it all. He has seen many demonspawn before. But still their proximity sends a little thrill through his body. These twisted creatures, so like humans – and yet, so unlike them. Major Turnbull told him not to come tonight. Told him to stay aboard the Justice, where he’d be safe. But he couldn’t resist a little excursion in secret.

  The imp hurries to his table and sets down a dull, battered old tankard. He raises it to his nose and sniffs. A strange, spicy odour, mingled with the sharp scent of strong firewater. Disgusting. He lowers it again, untouched.

  The child is still waiting – for payment, he supposes. He draws out his pouch and hands it a half-ducat. As the imp takes the money, he studies its face. Its overgrown eyes, misshapen nose, too-pink skin.

  ‘Are you happy, imp?’ he asks.

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  ‘Are you happy here in Port Fayt?’

  A faraway look comes into the child’s eyes.

  ‘I used to work for a carpenter. Mr Boggs. But then he was … Then he died. Now I work here, for Mr Lightly.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘No. Sorry, sir.’ The imp thinks for a moment, trying to decide what to say. When it speaks, it’s in a lowered voice, so no one else can hear. ‘It’s a hard life, sir. But better here than the Old World. I’ll bring your change.’ And it hurries away with the half-ducat.

  Better here indeed. But not for long.

  ‘Oi, mate.’

  He turns and sees that one of the elves is staring at him – or at least trying to, through a haze of grog.

  ‘Wanna play dice?’

  This place is turning his stomach. He rises, eyes fixed on the door.

  ‘Hey! I said, wanna play dice? You deaf?’

  He pauses a moment. Inside his cloak, his fingers curl around the hilt of his sabre.

  ‘I said, ARE YOU DEAF? Stuck-up walrus.’

  Its friends snigger.

  He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath before opening them again.

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ he says quietly. ‘Wretched creature.’

  ‘What?’

  Five years he spent, studying fencing at Taggart’s School of Blades. The best academy in the Old World. With his left hand, he brushes aside his cloak. With his right, he draws the sabre. It flashes in the lantern light. Four steps, he estimates. On the first he locks eyes with the elf. On the second, he draws back his sword arm. On the third, he kicks aside the stool standing between them. And on the fourth, he lunges, throwing his whole body into it. Then pulls back, fast and clean.

  The elf slumps to the floor. So drunk it didn’t even have time to look surprised.

  The clatter of tankards has ceased. All conversations cut short. Every degenerate human and demonspawn in the tavern stares at him.

  He runs a thumb along the blade, wiping away the few drops of blood he has spilled. Then he slides it back into its scabbard and pulls his hood up over his face.

  ‘Goodnight, gentlemen,’ he says. ‘I’ll be seeing you all again. Very soon.’

  PART THREE

  Of Seraphs and Demons

  Chapter Twenty-one

  MR BOOTLE PEERED out at them, the light of the lantern throwing his green face into craggy relief. In his nightgown he looked a bit like an oversized ghost, and the wide eyes and gaping mouth added to the impression. Joseph couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day a mermaid in a wheelbarrow turned up on your doorstep.

  They trundled Pallione into the pie shop, and Mrs Bootle set about putting food on the table. The mermaid princess insisted that she should be put onto a chair like everyone else, and the elderly trolls carried her between them and delicately set her down. There were pies, gravy and smashed-up patatas for Joseph, Tabitha and Jeb, and raw fish for Pallione. She pulled it apart with her fingers and wolfed it down, casting suspicious glances at her companions.

  Tabitha’s food went untouched. She sat frowning, the multi-barrelled pistol resting beside her plate, pointed none too subtly at Jeb.

  ‘All right,’ she said, as soon as the Bootles had disappeared into the back rooms. ‘Time for you to explain. What are you doing here?’

  Jeb burped and pushed his plate away, licking gravy from his fingers.

  ‘Can’t an honest goblin lend a hand to some old friends? What’s the world coming to?’ He winked at Joseph.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Tabitha. ‘And by the way, there are man-eating sea demons I’m better friends with than you.’ She fingered the hilt of her favourite knife, sliding it a little way out of its sheath, then back in again. Joseph thought she seemed a little calmer now that she’d got her bandolier back. She’d slung it on the moment they got through the door.

  ‘All right. Cards on the table,’ said Jeb. He leaned forward, pale eyes darting left and right, as though checking that no one was listening in. ‘Truth is, I want the same as you. Get this mermaid back to her father.’

  Tabitha snorted. ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

  Jeb spread his hands. ‘Think about it. Her pa’s the most powerful cove in all the ocean. Who wouldn’t want to be the one to bring his daughter back?’

  Pallione spat a half-chewed morsel of fish at him. ‘If you think my father will reward you, you are mistaken.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure, fish-tail. You merfolk are honourable types. Especially fogeys like yer old pa. I reckon he’ll give me my due.’

  ‘We don’t need you,’ said Joseph. This was the goblin who’d got him thrown into the shark pit. The one who’d tried to have the entire Demon’s Watch killed. And now he wanted to help them?

  ‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong, mate,’ said Jeb, wagging a long grey finger. ‘How d’you reckon you’ll be getting out of Port Fayt? Stroll do
wn to the docks and hop on a ship?’ He threw back his head and cackled with laughter. ‘Face it, yer haven’t thought this through. Skelmerdale’s taken nearly every vessel in the harbour to fight the League. But I can get us one. Which means you do need me.’

  Joseph glanced at Tabitha, who was busy scowling at the Snitch. He had a nasty feeling the goblin was right.

  ‘Tomorrow morning we’ll head down to the docks,’ said Jeb. ‘I know a captain who’ll take us, for a price. Then fish girl will have her pa back, you watchmen’ll have whatever it is you get out of doing the right thing, and I’ll have my reward.’

  ‘I’m not going on your stinking ship,’ said Pallione. ‘I’ll swim. I’m sick of dry land.’ She glared at the wheelbarrow sitting in the corner, as if this was all its fault.

  Joseph leaned across to Tabitha, keeping his voice low.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘What do I think? I think I don’t trust him. I think I’d rather trust a pirate with a sack of ducats.’

  ‘Me too. But we do need a ship, don’t we? And the Boy King will be after him as well as us. Maybe we’re in this together.’

  Tabitha rolled her eyes. ‘Joseph, we’re not on his side, remember? He’s scum. We should probably just kill him.’

  Joseph didn’t know what to say to that. Tabitha glared at him, then at last gave a long, loud sigh. ‘Fine. You can help us with the ship. But until then, we’ll be watching you. Try anything and you’re dead, understand?’

  Jeb grinned, and his eyes twinkled. Something about that smile gave Joseph a very bad feeling indeed.

  Wind rattled the door of Bootles’ Pie Shop, and the night cold seeped into the serving room. Joseph was alone. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and edged his stool closer to the dying embers of the fire.

  Of course, he wasn’t really alone – it just felt like it. His three companions lay huddled on a heap of straw in the corner of the room. He’d been looking forward to one of the big soft beds in Mr and Mrs Bootle’s guest rooms, but Tabitha had insisted they stay down here in the serving room for the night. That way, if the Boy King did track them down, it would be easier to escape. Not to mention the fact that they could keep an eye on Jeb the Snitch.

  Joseph had been on watch for an hour now. One more hour to go, and then he could wake up Tabitha and get some sleep himself. But he wasn’t tired. Not even close. His fingers drummed lightly on the ancient blunderbuss resting across his knees, in time with the snores coming from the corner.

  The mermaid had been rescued. Now all they had to do was get her back to that rocky island, and the Demon’s Watch would be free. They’d join up with Newton again, and the merfolk would fight with them against the League. But all the same, he couldn’t relax with the Snitch lying there. He kept running it over in his head, trying to work out how to get rid of the goblin. Maybe they could leave him locked up at the pie shop … But that would put the Bootles in danger. Besides, they needed that ship.

  Joseph sighed and glanced over at the sleeping Pallione. She looked peaceful for once, her white hair spilling over the straw in a plait, her tail flicking occasionally, like the wagging of a dog’s tail. Joseph had always thought his life had been tough, but he’d never been locked up like an animal and made to fight in front of hundreds of baying Fayters. That quaver in her voice when she spoke of her father – that was the only sign of weakness he’d seen in her.

  She must miss him. Though it seemed like she’d never admit it.

  Tabitha had rolled over to face the mermaid – as if they were friends, deep in conversation. In fact she’d hardly said a word to Pallione since they got back to Bootles’. After dinner she’d sat by the fire on her own, sharpening her knives and scowling at Jeb the Snitch as he scoffed the leftovers. Once or twice, Joseph could have sworn she’d been glaring at him too. Meanwhile Pallione had plaited her hair and told Joseph stories about her father. She couldn’t stop talking about him, even though most of that was complaining about how little attention he paid her. Joseph would have given anything to be able to speak to his own father again.

  He held his hands closer to the embers, hoping for a little extra warmth.

  His mother had let him plait her hair when he was very little. She’d taught him early one morning, at the velvethouse where she worked, while the hot velvetbean was brewing. He’d had to stand on a stool to reach.

  ‘First the left one goes into the middle,’ his mother told him. ‘Then the right one. Then start over again. Keep going.’

  Joseph couldn’t believe that such a simple thing could make a plait so neat. Then the other velvethouse maids had come bustling into the room, and his mother had lifted him down from the stool. They crowded around him, cooing over him and making a fuss. They meant well, but Joseph was young, and he was scared. He’d called out for his mother, and of course she appeared at once, her face a picture of concern.

  ‘It’s all right, Joseph,’ she told him. ‘It’s all right.’ And then Joseph had known that it really was all right, if his mother said so.

  But then, later …

  It was lunch time, and Spottington’s stopped serving velvetbean for an hour so the maids and the owner could eat. Joseph’s mother had put him on the stool and told him to wait there while she fetched them some bread and cheese.

  As soon as she was out of the room, the maids crowded around him again.

  ‘Poor dear,’ said one. ‘It must be hard.’ Joseph didn’t know what she meant. ‘Here.’ She pressed a half-ducat into his hand. ‘Your ma must be having a tough time on velvethouse wages. You buy yourself some sweets.’

  ‘If only you had a papa,’ sighed another of the maids.

  Joseph had shaken his head. ‘I do have a papa,’ he said.

  The maid laughed. ‘Of course you do. Everyone does. I meant, well …’ Her eyes flicked to her feet, as though she was unsure what to say. ‘I meant one who lives with you and your ma.’

  There was a commotion behind the maid, who turned to see that Joseph’s mother had returned. The bread and cheese trembled in her hands. Her face was red and flustered. It was the first time Joseph had ever seen her like that.

  ‘Joseph’s father lives with us,’ she said to the maid, and there was anger in her voice, barely suppressed. ‘He lives with us, and he’s alive and well, and he works, thank you very much.’ She hurried over to Joseph and made him open his fingers. ‘Give that back, Joseph.’

  He’d done so at once. He had no idea why she was so cross. He’d told her he was sorry, feeling as if he was about to cry.

  At once the anger fled her face, and she knelt down in front of him.

  ‘No, Joseph. You mustn’t be sorry. You mustn’t ever be sorry.’

  ‘Oi!’

  Joseph almost leaped out of his stool. His fingers closed around the blunderbuss and he swung it to his shoulder, taking aim.

  Jeb the Snitch was standing by the fireplace in front of him, one finger against his lips. His yellow coat was rumpled from sleeping in it, and a bit of straw stuck out from behind one ear.

  ‘Watch it,’ the goblin hissed. ‘You’ll wake up the fish girl. And that vicious little friend of yours.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Jeb shrugged. ‘Just a little chat.’ He pulled up a stool beside the fireplace, rubbing his hands and trying to warm them on the near-cold embers. Slowly Joseph lowered the blunderbuss.

  ‘What was that you were singing, eh?’ asked Jeb.

  ‘Singing?’

  ‘Aye. Under yer breath. Something about scrubbing dishes, weren’t it?’

  ‘It’s nothing. Just a song I learned when I was young.’ He hadn’t realized what he was doing.

  ‘Learned it from your ma, did yer?’

  The words hit Joseph like a punch to the face. ‘How did you know that?’

  Jeb just smiled, firelight glinting off his pointed teeth.

  ‘So. Been a while since our paths have crossed, mongrel, ain’t it? And now you’re a
watchman, are yer?’ He nodded at the shark tattoo on Joseph’s arm. ‘You done good for a tavern mongrel, that’s sure enough.’

  Joseph shrugged.

  ‘And now yer still off adventuring, taking what’s not yours. What happened to that black velvet package anyway? No, don’t tell me. Heard it turned out to be a wand. That skinny magician of yours has it now, I’ll bet. What a waste. Thalin knows how many ducats I could’ve got for it.’ He sighed, picked up a poker and prodded the coals, sending orange sparks dancing.

  Joseph tightened his grip on the blunderbuss. ‘Why are you here, anyway?’ he asked. ‘Really.’

  ‘I already told you, mongrel. Ducats. It’s always about ducats with me. Or whatever it is them fish folk use instead. Reckon they’ll have something worth my while.’ He cast a glance at the mermaid, who was frowning in her sleep. ‘Poor lass, can’t stop talking about her pa. All lost without him. ’Course, you’d know about that, wouldn’t yer?’

  Joseph’s ears twitched. He racked his brains, tried to remember if he’d told the Snitch about his parents.

  He hadn’t.

  ‘Thing is, you can’t see your pa again so easy, can yer? But I wonder what you’d give if you could.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  The goblin held his hands up. ‘Nothing, nothing. Just wondering, is all. Let’s say your pa was still alive, and—’

  ‘He’s not.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Jeb’s pale eyes sparkled. ‘Think about it. Six years ago a blackcoat came to your home, told yer ma that old Elijah had been murdered. Killed by humans, just for being a goblin. You ain’t seen him since. But you ain’t seen his body neither.’

  Silence.

  Joseph stared at him. The room was spinning, and he felt sick. ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘Don’t talk about my parents.’

  ‘Just trying to help, mate.’

  ‘No you’re not.’ He raised the blunderbuss, his hands trembling so that it shook all over the place. ‘My parents are dead. How do you—?’