The Watchmen of Port Fayt Page 19

  “Go and boil your head.”

  The man shrugged and went back to ignoring her, humming softly to himself.

  She shook her head to clear it and looked up at the sunrise, trying to work out which direction they were heading in. Sun rises in the east, sets in the west. So they were sailing north. Going fast too.

  Tabitha started to feel sorry for herself again and didn’t bother to fight it. She wished there was someone here with her. Even that grogshop boy Joseph would do. He was a bit wet, obviously, and not much good in a fight. But when you spent all day washing tankards, she supposed that was all you could expect. And he hadn’t made a big fuss when she told him about her parents. Now that she had a minute to think about it, she supposed he was … nice, sort of. She missed him. Sort of. At least he …

  Her stomach heaved without warning, and this time she really was sick, all down the side of the ship.

  Dejected, she slumped down with her back against the gunwale and pulled her thin blanket around her. She was exhausted. The night had been bitterly cold, and she hadn’t felt like sleeping, anyway. All the same, might as well do something. In the morning light, she could see the ship properly for the first time and began looking for clues—anything that would help her work out where they were going.

  She was fairly sure it was a frigate, but that didn’t help much. A blackcoat guarded the captain’s cabin, his tricorne low so that his face was hidden in shadow. Whatever was going on, apparently the militia were in on it too. Scum. Apart from that, there wasn’t much to go on. Except …

  The ship’s dinghy was cluttered with a strange contraption of carpentry and metalwork, like nothing Tabitha had seen before. It reminded her of a crane, a miniature version of the ones that stevedores used to unload cargo ships. But instead of a block and tackle hanging from the end, there was a long metallic rod with a pointed tip. She recognized the blue sheen of zephyrum. The magic metal. Hal had told her about it once. Just like when you put an iron poker in the fire, the iron got hot, if you exposed zephyrum to magic, it got … magical. She screwed up her eyes, trying to work out what the machinery was for.

  “Have you guessed yet?” said the old woman.

  The voice came from nowhere, making her jump. She could have sworn that the witch wasn’t anywhere near her a second ago. A vague anger stirred in her at the presence of her captor, but she was too tired and sick to do anything about it.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  The old woman gazed out to sea. She looked different in the morning light. Behind the alley at Bootles’ Pie Shop she’d seemed like some black demon from the Northern Wastes. But now her shabby gray cloak hung from her like the rags of a beggar, and what Tabitha could see of her face was pitiful—lined and twisted, ruined in some way. She didn’t seem very magical. More like a sad, tired old woman.

  “Do you know where we’re going, child?”

  “Why would I, for the sky’s sake?”

  “Of course, why would you?” The woman licked her lips. “Have you ever heard stories of the Farian trench?”

  Tabitha’s stomach lurched, but this time it wasn’t because of the rolling of the ship. Yes, she had heard stories of the Farian trench. Stories for children and old wives. She looked up into the witch’s face, expecting to see some hint that she was being made fun of. But the witch just carried on staring out to sea, her face stony and still.

  “We’re really going there? To the trench?”

  The old woman nodded.

  “But … what …”

  She trailed off. There could be only one reason to go to the Farian trench.

  And with a dizzying feeling, like standing on the edge of a cliff, Tabitha began to realize what the zephyrum rod was for. What the wooden spoon was for. What the old woman had been planning to do, all along.

  “We will bring an end,” said the old woman, “and a beginning.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” said Tabitha, fighting down her horror, along with the urge to be sick again. “You must have. Why, in Thalin’s name …?”

  “I’ve been waiting so long for this,” said the old woman wistfully, as if she hadn’t heard Tabitha. “You cannot begin to imagine. I tried to cleanse this town once before, but I was repaid with exile. My friends cast me out and turned their backs on me. Even my son did nothing to save me.

  “Ten long years I spent, away from my home in Port Fayt. Ten years gone but not wasted. When I first set foot in the Old World, I understood so little. I longed for my fine dresses, and my mirrors, and my jewels. But I changed. I learned. I studied night and day in the libraries of Azurmouth, of Renneth and Ysiland. I knew that in the end I would return and cross the Ebony Ocean back to Port Fayt.”

  Her voice had grown soft, dreamy, and contented.

  “The times are changing, child. The League of the Light is conquering the Old World, their troops vanquishing all before them. Port Fayt will be next. It is a nest of demonspawn. A pit of darkness, ripe to be purged. And what more fitting end than this? What better time than now, at the Festival of the Sea, when Fayters throng the streets for their foul pageant? Those who honor Thalin the Navigator will die for it.”

  Tabitha bit her lip until she tasted blood. She could think of a lot of things to say about the old woman’s plan, and not one of them seemed like a good idea. But she couldn’t just stay silent.

  “You can’t really believe that filth about trolls and goblins being demonspawn. There was peace between the people of the Old World for centuries before the League came along. And even so …” She took a deep breath and tried to stop her voice from shaking. “This won’t work. You’re going to get us all killed.”

  The old woman shook her head slowly, then drew something from her sleeve. The wooden spoon. She held it up, examining it like a duelist testing a rapier.

  “But I have this, child. A wand enchanted by the elf Caspar of Hel, the finest magician in all the north. Magical potency locked securely, hidden within the very grain of the wood. Untraceable. Undetectable. And yet more powerful than any trinket in all the Old World. It was a mistake to entrust such a thing to a reckless smuggler, but no matter. I have it now. And with this wand, there will be no danger.”

  The deck creaked as a militiaman approached. Colonel Cyrus Derringer. Only this morning, he didn’t seem like his usual, calm self. There were bags under his eyes, as if he’d had a sleepless night, and he looked uneasy.

  What in Thalin’s name was he doing here?

  “Lady Wyrmwood. The navigator reports that the wind is fair, and we’re making good time. We’ll be at the trench within a few hours.”

  “Very well. I will begin my preparations.”

  Tabitha stared at the woman.

  “Lady Wyrmwood?”

  “Arabella Wyrmwood,” said the old woman. “Yes, that was my name. As you can see, my coward son has been a help, at last. He provided me with this ship and crew, and of course, Colonel Derringer and his blackcoats.”

  “But … So you’re … Governor Wyrmwood’s mother?”

  “And you are Tabitha Mandeville. You do not have to tell me, child. I’ve seen those gray eyes before, ten years ago. You have your mother’s looks but your father’s blindness to the truth.”

  Derringer stepped forward and caught Tabitha firmly as she sprang up.

  “You evil hag! You stinking witch! You monster!”

  “I did not expect you to understand,” said the witch. There was a note of sadness in her voice. “Your parents were corrupted. That is why I had to kill them. For the good of humanity.” She turned to look at Tabitha at last. “Do you understand why I’ve brought you here? So that you can see. See the destruction. See the twisted place that your parents tried to protect crushed into nothingness. See the triumph of the Light. You must see all this, child, before you die.”

  “Can’t we go any faster?”

  “Now, now. Patience, matey.”

  Hal muttered something under his breath, but fortunately, Clagg didn
’t hear.

  It was strange, Grubb thought, seeing Clagg in command of a ship. He’d seemed a bit lost and helpless on land, but out here in the salt air he was in his element. He was bellowing out orders to his crew, one hand gripping the wheel and the other a large flask of something that Grubb reckoned probably wasn’t water. Even the smuggler’s lazy eye seemed to be behaving itself better now that they were out at sea.

  Above them, the sails stretched out like billowing white clouds, carrying them forward. The wind was good, thank Thalin. Grubb had been nervous about his first journey in a real ship, but he was actually enjoying himself. He watched Clagg’s men at work, tugging ropes and clambering on the rigging. At the prow he saw Newton, one foot on the bowsprit, staring grimly ahead and ignoring the bustle of the smuggler crew behind him.

  Clagg noticed him looking and chuckled.

  “That’s one crazy captain yer’ve got there, lad.”

  Hal shook his head in disgust. He was sitting on a barrel nearby, his hands thrust deep in his pocket, looking acutely uncomfortable around the ragtag smuggler crew. “He’s trying to rescue our friend and arrest a dangerous witch. And all you can say is he’s crazy?”

  “Aye,” confirmed Clagg. “It’s crazy doing anything that don’t earn you a nice tidy heap o’ ducats, that’s what I reckon.”

  “So money is the only thing you care about?”

  “He’s not my captain, anyway,” said Grubb quickly, hoping to stop the argument before it got going. “I’m not Demon’s Watch, remember? Just a tavern boy.”

  “Well, matey, yer seem like a watchman to me.”

  Coming from Phineus Clagg, Grubb couldn’t be sure whether that was a compliment.

  The smuggler’s cabin boy arrived with a basket and handed out breakfast: morsels of fried squid. Grubb took a piece. Hal made a face, shook his head, and went belowdecks.

  “We’ll be there in a couple of hours,” said Clagg, tearing off a chunk of squid with his teeth and gulping it down. “Two leagues south of the Lonely Isle. You can tell yer precious Newton if yer like. Beats me why anyone would want to go to the Farian trench, anyway.”

  Grubb stopped in mid-chew.

  “What did you just say?” He swallowed.

  “The Farian Sea Trench. That’s where we’re going, matey. Two leagues south of the Lonely Isle. You ’ave to know yer charts to be as good a smuggler as I am.”

  “But the trench isn’t real, is it? It’s just a story.”

  Clagg snorted.

  “ ’Course it’s real.”

  “This can’t be,” said Grubb.

  “This can’t be what?” asked Newton. He was striding down the deck toward them.

  “The wooden spoon. I think I know what it’s for.”

  “What? How?”

  “We’re going to the Farian trench.”

  Newton’s face froze for just an instant.

  “The Maw,” he said.

  “Will someone please tell me what in all the blue sea you lot are talking about?”

  Newton murmured under his breath:

  “In the Farian trench, the great Maw sleeps,

  Where sailors fear the dreadful deep.”

  “A sea demon,” said Grubb. He felt foolish saying it. Everyone knew that demons didn’t exist anymore. But Clagg had said it himself—why else would anyone go to the Farian trench? “The demon that killed Thalin the Navigator. In children’s stories, it’s said to live there, in the trench.”

  “Not just in children’s stories,” said Newton. “In the Dark Age, no ships would go near the Lonely Isle. That’s where it gets its name. Whole vessels disappeared, along with their crew.”

  Clagg snorted again.

  “Now come on, lads. A sea demon? You’ve been hanging round with airy-fairy magicians for too long, filling yer heads with daft old stories. Them demons died out centuries ago. The ones that weren’t killed off by heroes on stupid quests, that is.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Newton. “Miss Arabella Wyrmwood thinks this one’s still alive, at least.”

  “And that’s why she wanted the wooden spoon,” said Grubb. “It’s a mind leash, but not for a person. For a demon.”

  The morning had turned gray and chilly, and at last the frigate was riding the waves above the Farian trench.

  A team of ten men had stripped to the waist and were shoving and straining as hard as they could to turn a capstan. The dinghy creaked downward, taking its mysterious load down to the murky water.

  The militia company were all on deck now. They were drawn up in two ranks of ten, all of them stood at attention, crossbows and muskets pointing skyward. It was an impressive sight, but Tabitha only had to look at their faces to see how nervous they were. None of them knew what was happening.

  Arabella Wyrmwood had changed her clothes. The ragged gray cloak was gone, replaced by a thick white hooded gown with a golden sun embroidered on the back—the arms of the League of the Light. As ever, her hood was drawn up. She stood on the poop deck, a lone figure silhouetted against a vast, featureless sky.

  Tabitha looked out over the sea ahead. Could the witch really raise the Maw from the deep? She tried to imagine the waters parting and the sea demon raising its head above the waves. Did it even have a head? No one knew, of course. There was the statue in Thalin Square, and she’d seen pictures in books when she was little, but they were all just fantasies—imagined versions of the demon. Sometimes the Maw was an enormous green serpent with a coiling tail and gaping jaws. Sometimes a kraken, with thick, slimy tentacles. Sometimes a giant black creature with horns and red eyes …

  Tabitha laid a hand on the gunwale to steady herself. She was feeling dizzy, her head swirling with vertigo. The beast that slew Thalin, rising again at his festival, to destroy the town he founded. She had to admit, it was just like the witch said. What more fitting end than this?

  “Careful with that, you fools,” screeched Arabella at two sailors who were lowering a wooden casket into the dinghy. They nodded, wide-eyed with fear, and carried on as if the casket was made of glass.

  There was a shout from the crow’s nest.

  “Ship ahoy! Due south.”

  The captain drew out a spyglass and scanned the horizon. Tabitha could just make it out, a speck in the distance.

  “She’s coming from Fayt, my lady,” said the captain. “Heading straight for us.”

  “How fast?”

  “Looks like a wavecutter. With this wind, she’ll be with us in less than an hour.”

  Arabella turned cold eyes on Tabitha.

  “Your friends, no doubt. But they are too late. Captain, run out the cannons.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Colonel Derringer.”

  The militiaman saluted.

  “Take charge of the ship and deal with these maggots.”

  “Er, very well, my lady. But perhaps … I mean … shouldn’t we wait and see what they want, before—”

  The woman’s face twisted with fury.

  “Do not tell me what to do, elf,” she spat. “You will deal with it. I have more important matters to attend to.”

  “You do know what she’s doing, don’t you?” Tabitha cried out suddenly. “She’s going to raise a demon from the sea! Are you just going to stand around and let her do it?”

  Arabella said nothing. Several of the sailors glanced at one another. Derringer looked searchingly at the witch.

  “Look at her robes, for Thalin’s sake!” yelled Tabitha. “Are you blind? She’s an agent of the League of the Light! She’s going to kill us all.”

  Derringer had gone very pale. He swallowed hard.

  “My orders,” he said at last, “are from the governor. I’m to protect Lady Wyrmwood at all costs.”

  Tabitha almost screamed with frustration.

  “You, girl,” said Arabella, her voice dripping with hatred. “You come with me.”

  She gripped Tabitha by the ear and pulled her toward the dinghy.

 
“It’s them,” shouted Paddy, punching the air in triumph. “She’s flying the Cockatrice Company flag.”

  He was right. The witch’s frigate loomed up ahead, gold and purple fluttering above the mainmast. The Sharkbane was closing fast.

  “Told yer I’d get yer there, didn’t I?” Clagg grinned. “This here is the fastest ship in the Ebony Ocean.”

  “Is it, now?” said Paddy. It wasn’t the first time Clagg had mentioned that particular fact.

  Frank clapped a hand on the smuggler’s back, almost knocking him off-balance.

  “Well done, Cap’n Cuttlefish. You’ve done something useful for once in your life.”

  “We have to stop her from raising the Maw,” said Newton. “Clagg, tell your men to get ready for a fight.”

  The grin on Clagg’s face froze.

  “Er, now, now, matey. Fair’s fair. Yer didn’t say anything about fighting, did yer? So how about we drop you lot off here and be on our way?”

  “Don’t be such a baby,” said Paddy cheerfully.

  “You big scaredy-fish,” added Frank.

  “All right, all right, steady on. I ain’t going to fight for nothing. What’ll yer give me?”

  “Self-respect,” replied Newton.

  “A chance to redeem yourself,” said Hal. “Prove that you’re more than just a money-grubbing crook.”

  “Hmm. That’s very tempting o’ course. How about all that, plus an extra month into our bargain, to do whatever I please. And whatever plunder there is on that there ship. Deal?”

  The troll twins groaned, as one.

  “Deal,” said Newton.

  “That’s far enough.”

  Tabitha let go of the oars and slumped over them, her muscles aching. The weight of the witch’s apparatus had made the short trip hard work. The dinghy bobbed gently in the waves, some distance from the ship. It was strangely quiet. The sea was calm and the sky was empty. There was something spooky about this patch of water, Tabitha realized. It felt … wrong.

  “Now you won’t be bothering me anymore,” said the witch.

  Before Tabitha could respond, she felt her hands drawn together as if someone was pulling them. They met with a clap behind her back. She tried to stand, but her feet shot together in the same way. She tried to open her mouth to protest, but her lips felt like they were glued, and they wouldn’t open. She was furious but powerless. She could only sit and watch.