The Hero's Tomb (7 page)

Chapter Ten

Tabitha flung open the door to Master Gurney’s rooms, panting heavily. The magician was bent over his desk, peering at a chicken, which sat on a pile of books, ruffling its feathers as though it didn’t have a clue what it was doing there.

‘You managed it, then?’ asked Frank. ‘Bravo.’

Master Gurney looked up sharply. ‘Managed what? Oh yes, I see. No, my good fellow, turning an egg into a chicken turned out to be rather troublesome. So what I am now attempting to do is to turn this chicken into … er …’

‘An egg?’ said Tabitha. She pulled off her bandana and dropped it on a pile of books. They’d run almost
the whole way back from the docks, and her clothes were sticky with sweat.

‘Quite right! Yes, you’ll go far, young lady.’

The door swung open again and Paddy wrestled Derringer into the room. The elf had been stubbornly silent since the fight on the docks. His make-up was peeling off, and his hat was lopsided, but he still glared at them as disdainfully as he had when he wore his official Dockside Militia uniform. Ty took off from Tabitha’s pocket to settle on top of a bookcase, watching the elf suspiciously as Paddy settled him in a chair.

‘And who, pray, is this gentleman?’ asked Master Gurney, examining Derringer over the top of his spectacles.

‘We’re so sorry for the interruption, Master,’ said Hal, mopping his brow. ‘This is Colonel Cyrus Derringer, of the Dockside Militia.’

‘I see. And what is he doing here?’

‘Good question,’ said Frank. ‘How about it Cyrus? What
are
you doing here?’

For a moment Derringer looked like he was going to keep playing dumb. Then his lip curled. ‘You’re all under arrest.’

Ty giggled from his bookcase. ‘Maybe I heard that wrong.’

‘You’re
not supposed to be here,’ snapped the elf. ‘None of you! Governor Skelmerdale has ordered me to take you back to Fayt at once. Did you really think that after the Battle of Illon, you could simply sail straight into the League’s greatest port? If the Duke of Garran caught you he’d execute you as spies and send another fleet over the ocean.’

‘Well, personally, I’m flattered,’ said Frank. ‘Never knew old Skelmerdale cared about us so.’

‘What about Joseph?’ Tabitha cut in. ‘Do you know where he is? Did you see him anywhere on the docks?’

‘Who in Thalin’s name is Joseph?’

Tabitha slumped onto a pile of spell books, sending up a cloud of dust. So far so bad. They’d barely escaped the whitecoats with their lives. Their only lead had been the griffin owner, and he was long gone by now. And where was Newton? He was supposed to be leading them, not sneaking off on mysterious missions all by himself.

We’ll find you, Joseph. I promise.
He had to be here, somewhere in the city.

‘If you’ll allow me to interject,’ said Master Gurney, ‘I should really prefer it if—’

The door swung open once again, and a large figure in a hooded gown ducked under the lintel.

Tabitha shot up from her seat. ‘Newt!’

‘Nice outfit,’ said Frank. ‘Very … magic-y.’

‘Don’t tell us you’ve been transmogrifying chickens too?’ said Paddy.

Newton drew back his hood and gave Master Gurney a nod. Tabitha saw at once that he was sweating, as though he’d been moving fast, but his eyes were gleaming. ‘Had one or two things to take care of,’ he said.

‘Yes, but what does that have to do with Joseph?’ Tabitha demanded. ‘We’re supposed to be rescuing him, remember? That’s why we came here in the first place!’

They were running out of time – she just knew it. Any moment Joseph could be caught and strung up by butchers. Or stabbed in an alley. Or sent to the zephyrum mines. The tavern boy was a total, utter bilge brain for coming to Azurmouth on his own, chasing some crazy lies about his father. What was he thinking?

She tried to imagine what she would do, if someone told her that her own father was alive. She’d only been a baby when her parents died, but somehow she knew exactly what they were like. Alfred Mandeville, governor of Port Fayt – tall, gentle and kind. And Jessica Mandeville, young
and beautiful, with a smile for everyone she met …

I’d want to know the truth. Whatever it cost.

Her face felt hot and uncomfortable, and she dabbed angrily at her eyes.

I will not cry. Whatever happens, I will not cry.

‘Don’t worry, Tabs,’ said Paddy gently. ‘We’ll find him. Besides, Joseph can handle himself. He’s got his cutlass, hasn’t he?’

Newton cleared his throat. ‘Aye, we’ll find him. But first things first. Will someone explain to me what Cyrus Derringer is doing here?’

The elf glared at Newton, but held his tongue.

‘Ran into him on the docks,’ said Frank. ‘He says he’s here to arrest us. Caused a right scene with all his fancy sword-swishing. We had to run from the butchers.’

‘Pardon me,’ said Master Gurney, who seemed to have totally lost interest in his chicken. ‘But did you say the
butchers
?’

‘They followed you?’ asked Newton.

‘’Fraid so,’ said Paddy. ‘Reckon we lost them, though.’

‘But they saw you?’

Frank nodded.

‘That’s bad. They’ll be looking for us. And you got no leads on Joseph?’

Paddy shook his head and jerked a thumb at Derringer. ‘Not before we ran into this cheery cove.’

‘Dear, oh dear,’ muttered Master Gurney.

Newton sank into an old rocking chair in the corner and pulled out his pipe. For half a second Tabitha could have sworn he looked weary, as though it was all too much for him. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him like that before. There was a long silence as he stuffed his pipe with tobacco, his brow creased in thought. Then at last he spoke.

‘My apologies, Master Gurney. Seems things aren’t working out as quick as we’d hoped.’

Derringer sneered. ‘Typical incompetence.’

‘Shut it,’ said Frank.

‘Please,’ said Master Gurney, waving a hand dismissively. ‘Your business is your own. Just so long as you refrain from bringing the League to my door, I shall be content. Now, it seems you gentlemen have things to discuss. I’ll give you a little space, shall I? As it happens I need to pay a visit to the henhouse. I fear this chicken may be defective.’ He gazed sadly at the bird on his desk, which was still undeniably a chicken, and not an egg, before sweeping it up in his arms and bustling out of the room.

As soon as they were alone, Newton let out a sigh. ‘Nothing else for it. We’ll have to lie low until the
end of the day. First thing tomorrow we’ll figure out a better way to find Joseph.’

Tabitha could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘But he could be anywhere by then!’

‘He could be anywhere now,’ said Newton firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Tabs, but we can’t allow the League to find out that the Demon’s Watch is here in Azurmouth. It could put everyone in danger – not just us and Master Gurney, but the whole Academy, and Port Fayt too. They’ll think we’re spies, or worse. Can you imagine what would happen if the League sends another fleet to attack Fayt? We beat them once, but we couldn’t do it again.’

‘So what do we do, Newt?’ asked Frank.

‘I’d say Ty’s our best bet for now. He can head out and scour the city. He doesn’t have a shark tattoo, and he can escape quickly. Back by dusk though, understand?’

‘I’ll do my best, mister,’ said Ty, saluting. ‘Not promising nothing, though.’ He leaped off the bookcase and darted out of the window.

‘And what do you intend to do with me?’ Derringer demanded.

Newton ignored him. ‘The rest of you – sit tight at the Academy till I get back.’

‘What do you mean,
till I get back?
’ snapped
Tabitha. She felt the tears welling again, and fought them down fiercely. ‘You can’t tell us to wait here, then head out into the city all on your own.’ He was up to something. Something to do with that night in the library. Something to do with the Sword of Corin.
But what?

Newton lit his pipe, avoiding Tabitha’s glare. ‘I won’t be on my own,’ he said. ‘I’m taking our friend Cyrus here with me.’

Chapter Eleven

Joseph was bundled down the steps into a big room directly below the attic. Sunlight filtered through a small, grubby window, leaving most of the room in shadow. The walls were shelved and cluttered with busts and wigs, just like in the attic, and in the middle of the room sat a plain wooden table and chairs. A selection of tools was spread out on the table. Tinderboxes. Wooden clothes pegs. Crowbars. Keys. Knives.

His heart jumped at the sight.
They’re going to torture me!
No, that was ridiculous. You couldn’t torture someone with clothes pegs. Could you?

The horse thrust Joseph into a chair, pinning him
down with hands that felt large, strong and entirely immoveable. The cat came behind, closing the door quietly. He moved so much like the animal that Joseph half expected him to curl up in a patch of sunshine and start licking his paws.

No such luck.

A third figure materialized out of the darkness from a corner of the room. A pale, cadaverous woman, dressed entirely in black. Her eyes were tiny, solid black and glistening, and she was completely bald – without even any eyebrows. She looked like a walking skeleton.

The spider
, Joseph realized with a jolt.

The three shapeshifters loomed over him, watching, appraising. They made an odd trio, but no less menacing for that. The cat leaned suddenly across the table, peering curiously at Joseph’s face. For a second Joseph could have sworn his nostrils flared, as though he were snuffling at a mouse hole.

Joseph changed his mind again.
They’re definitely going to torture me. Or kill me. Or both. They’re dangerous criminals, and I got one of them arrested.

He didn’t stand a chance.

‘I—’ he began, but the spider laid a long, bony finger over her lips.

‘You took this from me once,’ said the cat. He
drew the wooden spoon from his pocket. ‘Back in Port Fayt. I stole it, and you stole it back from me. Do you recall?’

Joseph was gripped by sudden desperation. Somehow, the thought of his own death seemed less terrible than the loss of the spoon. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I need it. Just for a day. You can have it afterwards, I swear, then you can do what you like to me.’

Maybe they’d take pity on him? His father had always told him,
There’s a little bit of demon and a little bit of seraph in everyone, Joseph. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

‘We don’t want it,’ said the spider. Even in human form her voice was barely a whisper, and her strange black eyes gave nothing away.

‘Don’t need it,’ said the horse.

‘You underestimate us, mongrel,’ said the cat. He leaned forward and tucked the spoon into Joseph’s pocket. ‘We are no greedy, grasping goblins. We care nothing for the value of what we steal. What we care for is the game. And we have found a new game to play.’

‘A bigger game,’ said the horse.

‘A better game,’ said the spider.

Joseph clamped his hand firmly over his pocket. What kind of cruel trick was this? Surely, any moment
now, the cat would laugh and snatch his prize back.

‘You’re going to let me keep it?’ he said cautiously.

‘Indeed,’ said the cat, his yellow eyes twinkling. ‘Though if I were you, I should leave it well alone. Such a powerful wand in the hands of a mongrel boy. You really have no idea what it could do to you, if you were to misuse it.’ The spider chuckled.

Joseph thought fast, trying to ignore the thumping of his heart. After all the shapeshifter had gone through to steal it, he was content to pass up the spoon.
So what does he want from me?

‘Can I go then?’ he asked.

‘How precious,’ said the cat. ‘But I’m afraid not. My lady, if you’d be so good?’

The spider produced a large scroll of paper and unfurled it on the table. It looked like one of the maps Joseph had seen captains poring over in the Legless Mermaid. Except instead of islands and currents, the map showed a building. A vast, sprawling building, seen from above, with windows, doors and walls marked on in thin, delicate lines of ink.

‘What is this?’

‘Why, this is our game, of course,’ said the cat. ‘A game for which we require your assistance. A mongrel boy with a certain wit. It is the least you owe me, after your troublesome interference when I visited
Port Fayt. And who knows?’ He smiled, stirring up Joseph’s unease all over again. ‘Perhaps your little spoon will prove useful too.’

If Azurmouth smelled bad, its sewers were a thousand times worse. Even the wooden clothes peg clamped over Joseph’s nose could barely protect him from the stench of the dark sludge that flowed around their ankles, carrying with it the occasional lobster shell, broken tankard or shattered pair of eyeglasses. They said that goblins had a better nose than most, but Joseph would have traded his for anything at that moment.

That reminded him of the wooden-nosed goblin who’d tried to kill him at the Grey Brotherhood, which didn’t make him feel any better.

Instead, he concentrated on the vaulted brick tunnel extending into blackness ahead, and forced himself not to look at the sewage below. He could still feel it of course, now liquid, now uncomfortably solid … The shapeshifters were wearing long, heavy wading boots, but there hadn’t been a spare pair for Joseph. The next chance he got, he was going to scrub his feet like he’d never scrubbed them before.

Where are we going?
They hadn’t killed him – not yet. They’d even given him a bowl of stew to eat, and
let him have his cutlass back. When he’d asked why, the spider had laughed and replied, ‘Why not?’
It’s an insult
, Joseph had realized.
They know I couldn’t hurt them, however much I wanted to.

He felt the reassuring weight of the wooden spoon in his pocket. But even that gave him a twinge of unease. What was it the cat had said?
You really have no idea what it could do to you
… Did the shapeshifter know something he didn’t? And anyway, why was he here – what could a mongrel boy like Joseph have to offer the Quiet Three? And what had the cat meant about the spoon being useful?

So many questions. But whatever was happening, he had no choice except to go along with it. The cat and the horse went ahead, still in human form, the horse striding casually through the centre of the sewage, the cat skirting round the edge of it, hopping between bits of dry brickwork like … well, like a cat.

Every now and then Joseph heard a rustle of clothing behind him, but nothing more. The spider was disturbingly quiet as she brought up the rear. No danger of Joseph running away, with that dark presence behind him. If he was going to bolt anywhere, it would be forwards, and he didn’t fancy his chances with the massive bulk of the horse in the way.

‘Nearly there.’ The horse’s voice echoed off the brickwork.

Nearly where?
They’d been going for hours, Joseph reckoned, but it was too dark to check the time on his father’s pocket watch. All he knew was that he was tired, and his feet hurt, and still they kept walking.

The sewers were empty and silent but for the distant rumble of cartwheels above and the echoes of dripping in side tunnels. Some time ago, they’d crossed paths with a pair of imps dressed in ragged, filthy clothing. The strangers had watched them with a haunted look, and only moved on when they seemed sure the shapeshifters wouldn’t hurt them.

Beggars, or prisoners fleeing from justice. The League’s justice.

‘Here,’ said the spider suddenly. She pulled the clothes peg from her nose, and Joseph and the others followed suit.

Joseph peered all around him, but he couldn’t see anything except the tunnel carrying on in both directions. The brickwork was old and ramshackle. Weeds grew through cracks, clinging on to life against the odds. Joseph was glad of the darkness – the smell wasn’t so bad here, but the dripping and scuttling noises from the shadows weren’t exactly making him curious about their surroundings.

The cat lit a lantern and held it up to a patch of the wall. In the soft glow, Joseph saw that his captor was smiling. Brimming with excitement.
The game has begun.

‘Excellent work, my lady,’ the cat said.

‘It’s just a wall,’ said Joseph dumbly.

Ice-cold fingers found the back of his neck, making him gasp and flinch away. The spider chuckled, a sound like ancient, rustling paper.

‘
Just
a wall?’ she said. ‘But to one such as myself, a wall can be many things. A home. A ladder. Or even an
entrance
.’

The spider smiled, a horrible leer that made Joseph’s skin crawl. And the next moment her black clothes fell in a heap, empty. She was gone. The horse reached down and plucked something from among them, holding it up against the brickwork – a small black shape which scuttled off his hand, climbing upwards and disappearing suddenly through a crack.

‘She glides through gaps,’ said the horse.

‘Crawls through crevices,’ added the cat. ‘She will find us a way in.’

‘A way in to where?’ tried Joseph.

‘Patience,’ said the cat.