The Fire King (19 page)

Croth watched them go. He gave his head a violent shake, causing his jaw to swing to and fro like a pendulum. Then he jerked his neck back, and the jaw snapped into its normal position.

When Will reached the corridor leading to the front shop, he put some speed into his steps. He pulled the door open and stumbled gratefully into the warm night air. He listened for a second to make sure Croth wasn't about to come charging after them, then flopped down onto the pavement.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” he said.

“Let me see that piece of paper you took from Cavanagh's desk,” ordered Corrigan.

William fished around in his jacket for the piece of paper he had found and handed it Corrigan.

“‘Got an appointment with a fey called Croth,'”
Corrigan read.
“‘(Or to give him his full name, Second Pardoned Lord Bataus Croth of the Everleaning Scry.) Gutter Lane. Vitay has told Croth I want to see something by the Prophet. He tells me
that if I use his name, Croth will talk to me and that I will find what I'm after. I hope this is so.'”

Corrigan stopped reading and looked at William.

“You really are a fool, you know that?”

“What?”

“If you'd just shown me this, instead of trying to do everything yourself—” Corrigan broke off, muttering beneath his breath. He hopped down from William's shoulder and turned back to the shop.

“Where are you going?”

“Wait here. I'll be back in a minute.”

Corrigan disappeared inside the shop.

William waited, scuffing at the cobbles with his feet.

“Hello again,” said an amused voice.

William surged to his feet and spun around, twisting his feet together and falling onto his backside in the middle of the street. He was rather taken aback to find Katerina standing above him, shaking with silent laughter.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to give you such a scare.”

“You didn't,” snapped William, pushing himself to his feet. He looked around for the others, wondering what Emily would have to say about his sneaking off on his own.

“It's just me,” said Katerina.

William frowned. “Just you? What? How did you find me?”

“I saw you sneak out and decided to follow you.”

“But … why?” William repeated. “Why didn't you just wake the others?”

Katerina shrugged. “One of my hunches,” she said. “I get them every now and then. I know better than to ignore them.” She smiled. “They usually take me to where the action is.”

A terrific roar of anger spilled out of the shop. William and Katerina whirled around just in time to see Corrigan come sprinting through the door, a large pouch clutched tightly to his chest. He didn't even pause when he saw Katerina. He just threw the pouch to William and then carried on straight past them.

William caught the small bag. He and Katerina glanced at each other, then turned and ran after the piskie as he sprinted along Gutter Lane and turned onto the next street. As they drew level with him, William scooped him up.

“Keep running,” panted the piskie.

William did as he was told. They kept going until they saw the dark waters of the Thames glinting in the night up ahead. Only then did they slow down for breath. William collapsed against a building, breathing deeply. “What … what was all that about?”

Corrigan glared at Katerina. “What's she doing here?”

“
She
is making sure you don't get
him
into any trouble,” said Katerina, indicating William with a nod of her head.

“Oh, is that right, is it?”

“Yes.”

William cleared his throat. “Corrigan? What happened?”

Corrigan tore his gaze away from Katerina. “That note you found on Cavanagh's desk. His contact had supplied him with Croth's real name. His fey name.”

“So?”

“So, if you know a fey's true name you can force him to tell you the truth.”

William straightened up. “Really?”

“Aye, really.”

“So did you ask him about the Prophet?”

“Aye.”

“And did he tell you who he was?”

“No. He really doesn't know.”

William deflated. “Oh.”

Corrigan broke into a sly grin. “But he
did
tell me where to find his handler.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

In which Beezle makes a deal, and the Hounds of the Hunt are on their trail.

E
mily and Wren would have run straight past Jack and Beezle's hiding place if Jack hadn't leaned out of the alley and grabbed hold of Emily's arm. He yanked her into the lane where Beezle was lounging against a wall, grinning.

“You got the keys then,” Emily said to Jack.

“As if there was ever any doubt,” said Jack. “Actually, they were just sitting on his desk. Not much of a challenge, if I'm honest.” He looked at Wren, who was wincing and rubbing his back. “What's wrong with him?”

“Sore back. Seems Mr. Wren isn't exactly athletic.”

“Yes, thank you,” he snapped. “A little warning would have been nice. So I could prepare.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Emily asked.

Wren hesitated, then sighed. “No, probably not,” he admitted.

“Right,” said Emily, turning her attention to Beezle. “We did our part. Now, where's Nimue?”

Jack looked uncomfortable. “Ah,” he said.

Emily frowned. “What do you mean ‘ah'?”

“Seems we have a bit of a problem there.”

Beezle straightened up. “I think ‘problem' is a bit too strong a word. I simply need to get my notebook from my shop. It's the only way I can be certain of her location.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” said Emily. “Why would you have her location written in a book?”

“It's a timetable of sorts. A shift rota.”

“Then what's the problem?” she asked. “Let's just go and get it.”

“Love to,” said Beezle awkwardly. “Great idea. But that's where we
do
have a bit of a problem. My shop will be watched by guards. It's where I was arrested. You'll have to sneak in somehow.”

“We're not sneaking in,” said Emily. “You do it.”

“I'm not risking getting caught again. If you want the book, you'll have to do it.”

“If I may make so bold,” said Wren, casting a distasteful glance at Beezle, “I have a feeling we are being used here.”

“Funny,” said Jack. “I have the same feeling.”

Beezle raised his hands in the air. “Look, I'm just telling you what needs to be done. If you don't trust me, you can walk away now, and we'll never see each other again. But if you want to know where Nimue is, I need that book.”

Emily and Jack exchanged glances. He shrugged in resignation.

“It's not as if I'm an amateur,” he said. “Although I never thought I'd see the day when Emily Snow encouraged me to thievery.”

“I'm not encouraging you. And anyway, it's not thievery. It's his property. We're just getting it back for him.”

“Yes, I seem to recall your using that same argument when you asked for my help to get that seeing stone. And look at the trouble
that
got us in.”

“I would advise you to make your mind up swiftly,” said Beezle. “Once Munifus finds out I'm gone, my shop is the first place he'll look.”

“Fine,” said Emily. “Lead the way.”

Beezle's shop wasn't far, but it was, as Beezle had said it would be, watched by guards. They weren't much to look at, just two goblin-type creatures with old, mismatched armor and helms that were too big for their heads. They would actually look quite comical if it weren't for the spears they were holding, the only things about the pair that looked menacing. The sharpened heads glinted in the torchlight.

“There's two more round the back,” said Beezle from their hiding place outside a busy tavern about five shops away.

“So how are we supposed to get in?” Emily asked.

“The same way thieves always get into houses like that,” said Jack. “The roof.”

He pointed. Emily followed the direction of his finger and saw a small window on the rooftop of a shop about seven buildings down from Beezle's. It looked like an attic room of some sort. Then he pointed to Beezle's shop. There was a similar window set into his roof.

“How are we going to get up there?” asked Emily doubtfully. “Do we just walk in and ask if we can climb out their window?”

“You're half right,” said Jack. He grinned at her. “Relax, Snow. This is what I do best, remember? Who got you into Somerset House? Who got that safe open for you? Spring-Heeled Jack, that's who. You concentrate on all the thinking and leave the lawbreaking to me.”

“We're not
technically
breaking the law,” interjected Beezle. “It's my shop, and I'm giving you permission to enter.”

“Yes, but the fact that we just broke you out of prison
does
mean we're breaking the law,” Emily pointed out.

“Mmm, good point,” said Beezle.

“So where is this book of yours?” Jack asked.

“Hidden. When you get into the shop, go to the back room. You'll see a painting on the wall. Take the painting out of the frame, then stick it back on the wall where the painting originally hung.”

Emily and Jack waited.

“And?” Emily prompted.

“And nothing. The painting
is
the safe. It will open once it's mounted on the wall.”

“Ah,” said Jack. “Magic. Come on, then, Snow.”

“Should I come?” Wren asked.

“Um … no. Better not, eh? With that back? You might fall off the roof and kill yourself. Terrible tragedy and all that.”

If it was at all possible for a person to look both crestfallen and happy at the same time, Wren managed it.

Jack jogged across the street to the building he had pointed out with the attic room. Emily followed after and discovered that it was, in fact, a restaurant. Heavily laden trays floated through the air and dropped onto cramped tables, where fey of all kinds tucked into their food.

Jack walked purposefully, acting as if he belonged there. Emily tried to imitate his style, but it wasn't something that came naturally to her. She
knew
she didn't belong here. And so, apparently, did everyone else.

“You. You there.” A creature with a man's body and the head of a goat waved at her from behind the counter. Emily hesitated, which was probably a mistake. If she had just carried on, maybe she would have gotten away with it. But the goat-headed fey saw her hesitation and started to make his way toward her.

Jack saw this and quickly headed him off. “Don't worry about it. She's with me.” He winked at the creature. “New on the job. You know how it is.” He grabbed Emily by the arm and led her through a door into a room filled with wooden casks. A set of stairs led upward. “Hurry up. Before he uses whatever brain he has and comes after us.”

Jack hurried up the stairs to the top floor and opened doors until he found the attic room. He opened the window and leaned out.

“It's fine,” he said over his shoulder. “Lots of footholds. Come on.”

Jack hopped out onto the window ledge and straightened up, so Emily could see only his legs framed against the night sky. Then the legs disappeared as Jack pulled himself up onto the roof. Emily could hear him just above her as he walked across the tiles. The roof didn't sound very thick at all. A worrying thought, considering they were both putting their weight on it.

Jack's head appeared at the top of the window, upside down. “What are you waiting for? We haven't got all day.” He hesitated. “You're not scared, are you?”

“Of course I'm not scared.”

Jack grinned. “Then get a move on,” he said, and vanished.

Emily climbed carefully onto the windowsill. She peered up to find Jack lying on the roof with his hands dangling over the eaves, waiting to help her. She ignored him and pulled herself up, then climbed to the peak of the roof and set off in the direction of Beezle's shop.

“Hey,” complained Jack from behind her,“
I'm
supposed to be leading the way.”

“Oh,” said Emily. “I do apologize. You're welcome to go past if you think you can.” She waited, but Jack didn't try to get past her, so she carried on until they reached the window to Beezle's shop.

They pushed it open and Jack was about to climb through when Emily grabbed him by the arm and dug her nails in.

“Ow. What?”

Emily didn't answer straightaway. She was peering upward, searching the night sky.

“What's wrong?” asked Jack nervously.

Emily wasn't sure. She thought she had heard something, something that brought dread to her heart.

The flapping of many wings.

“Snow?”

Emily waited a moment longer, but she couldn't see anything and the sound didn't repeat itself. Perhaps it had

just been a fey creature with wings.

“It's nothing,” she said. “Come on. Let's get this over with.”

Jack cast a last distrustful look at the sky, then ducked through the window. Emily followed after, breathing a sigh of relief when her feet touched the flat wooden floor. She would never admit it to Jack, but walking across the sloping roof had actually been quite terrifying.

Emily's relief was short-lived. She looked around their surroundings, her nose crinkling in distaste.

They were in a bedroom—Beezle's, Emily assumed. And the fey certainly didn't know how to keep things tidy. A small, unmade bed was pushed up against the wall and the floor was littered with all sorts of rubbish. Clothes, empty bottles, old news sheets, and unwashed plates.

Jack opened the door that led down to the shop. He waited for a few moments, listening to make sure there weren't any guards inside the building. When he was satisfied that everything was clear, he slipped through the door and moved carefully down the stairs, making sure to keep to the edge of the steps. Emily recalled Jack's telling her that there was less chance of creaking that way.

Emily followed Jack down the stairs. The shop was dark. The only light came from the bridge outside, struggling to make it through the dirty window. Emily supposed that was a good thing. It meant the two guards standing outside wouldn't be able to see much unless they put their heads right against the glass.