The Fire King (24 page)

a flight of stairs.

The voices in the church grew louder.

“Please,” William heard the Abbot say. “If you will just follow me. I have them downstairs. You can take them away and do what you wish with them.”

“Oh, we've got something planned,” said a voice William recognized as Croth's. “Don't we, lads?” A loud, bloodthirsty cheer greeted these words.

“And you can guarantee I'll be left alone?” asked the Abbot. “If things get ugly.
Out there
. You'll tell them I'm on your side?”

“I'll try,” said Croth. “But my advice is to hide for the next few days. Things could get ugly.”

What did he mean by that? William turned away from the door and hurried after Thomas. Corrigan had already gone on ahead. The stairs wound around and around in a spiral, and Will realized they were climbing the tower he had seen when they first approached the church. His steps faltered with this thought. Weren't they trapping themselves? If the fey came up the stairs looking for them, there would be nowhere to go.

William sprinted up the rest of the stairs and arrived in the bell tower. He slowed. Corrigan was standing on the wall that surrounded the top of the tower. Thomas was leaning next to him. They were both staring out into the city.

William hesitated. Something about the way their attention was fixed outward filled him with dread. He approached slowly, and with each step, more of the night sky was revealed. But instead of the blackness he should have seen, he saw orange-tinted clouds.

Another step. The orange grew brighter. William thought he could hear distant screams, people shouting.

Another step. The first of London's buildings came into view. Another step, then another, and William was out on the battlement.

Corrigan glanced at him. “It's begun,” he said bleakly.

William leaned on the wall. As he did so, he saw that it wasn't clouds he was looking at. It was smoke.

From their position high up in the bell tower they could clearly see the fire devouring a small section of the city close to the London Bridge. The flames roared high into the sky, the hot wind fanning the fire and spreading it through the wooden buildings and dry thatch.

They could see small figures running around as people struggled to contain the flames. Bucket lines had been formed from the nearby Thames, but they had as much effect as spitting into the fire would.

“Water's not going to do anything,” said Corrigan. “The only thing that can stop that fire is sending the Fire King back to where he came from.”

“Then we have to move!”

“Move where?” Corrigan nodded at Thomas the Rhymer, who was gazing in rapt fascination at the orange and red light pulsing against the clouds of smoke. “Did you ask him about the Raven King? Did he tell you anything?”

“No. Well, nothing except all that stuff about the condemned man dying.”

“But did he say it in response to a question? Prophecies and foretellings are never straightforward. They always come in riddles.”

William thought back. What was he doing before Tom spoke? He had just been sitting on the bed prattling on about his life. He
had
mentioned the Raven King, but he didn't think he asked a specific question.

“Regardless, we need to find another way out of here,” said Corrigan. He hopped up onto the wall and peered over the edge. While he did this, William moved to stand next to Thomas.

“Thomas?” he said softly. The man's face moved slightly, but he still stared out at the flames. “Tom, do you see the fire down there? It was started by a fey called Kelindria. We want to stop it. Because if we don't do something, then the whole city is going to fall. Thousands of people will die. But to do that we need to find the Raven King. Do you know who that is? Because someone thought you did. A man called Cavanagh. He is in a society called the Invisible Order. They want to protect us from the fey. Thomas? Can you help us?” William waited, but Tom didn't move. William sighed. Maybe Cavanagh had been wrong. Maybe Thomas couldn't help them.

“I think it will hold,” said Corrigan.

William turned to Corrigan. He was pulling at the ivy that grew up the tower wall.

“I'm not climbing down that,” he said, horrified.

“You're more than welcome to stay here,” said Corrigan, swinging around and grabbing hold of a stem. “See you at the bottom,” he said. Then he disappeared from view.

William leaned over the wall. Corrigan was almost halfway down the wall already, dropping hand over hand at an incredible speed. He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Thomas climbing slowly down as well. That left just him.

He sighed. Looked as though he didn't have a choice.

William pulled himself up onto the wall and lowered himself until his feet found a grip in the branches. Then he let go with one hand and grabbed hold of a thick vine. He yanked it. He pushed down. The branch felt strong. He let go with one hand and grabbed a thick clump of the ivy. Then he started to drop slowly downward, moving hand over hand, shifting his feet around until they found solid purchase in the vegetation.

“Come on,” said a voice from beneath him. “You can drop the rest of the way.”

William finally looked down to see Katerina waiting about six feet below. He let go and dropped onto the grass.

“I saw that fey and his friends arrive,” she explained. “Came in here to hide till I could figure out what to do and saw the other two climbing down the tower.”

William looked around, but couldn't see Thomas or Corrigan anywhere.

“They jumped over the wall at the back,” said Katerina softly. She held up a hand for silence. William could hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the other side of the church. “And I think we should join them. Rather quickly.”

William agreed, and they both ran through the graveyard and climbed over the wall to the street outside the church grounds. William could smell the fire now. Even though it was far away, the smell of burning wood and smoke hung in the air, scratching at the back of his throat.

“Over here,” called Corrigan.

William and Katerina hurried over to where the piskie was waiting at the mouth of an alley. He wasn't looking at them. His attention was focused on something else.

William peered over his shoulder to find Thomas sitting hunched on the ground.

“What—?” he started to say, but the words died on his tongue.

There was something crawling from Thomas's mouth.

William stared in horror as spindly legs pulled at the sides of Thomas's mouth. He moaned, then started rocking back and forth as the nostalgae (for William realized this is what was in his mouth), pushed open his jaws. Thomas tilted his head back, then spat the creature out. It dropped onto the ground in front of Corrigan, growing larger as they watched.

“What did you say to him?” William asked Corrigan.

“Nothing. He ran ahead of me. When I caught up, he was stuffing one of those things into his mouth. The question is”— Corrigan glanced up at William—“what did
you
say to him?”

The nostalgae started to flicker and glow, an image forming inside the creature's body. William leaned closer to try to make it out. The picture was that of a dark corridor lit only by a hand holding a candle. The owner of the hand moved along the hallway, passing heavy, forbidding doors. As the image moved and flickered before them, Thomas stood up and started talking in a soft, low voice: “All you that in the condemned hole do lie, Prepare you for tomorrow you shall die; Watch all and pray: the hour is drawing near, That you before the Almighty must appear.”

Every now and then, William caught a glimpse of something moving in the person's other hand. It took him a while to realize it was a bell. The owner of the memory was ringing a bell as he moved along the darkened corridor.

Thomas carried on: “Examine well yourselves in time repent, That you may not to eternal flames be sent. And when St. Sepulchre's Bell in the morning tolls, The Lord above have mercy on your soul.”

The image stopped before one of the doors. The number 40 had been painted onto it in a neat hand.

The image froze, then restarted again.

“Is that it?” asked Corrigan.

“What does it mean?” asked William, confused.

“
I
know,” said Katerina in a low voice.

William and Corrigan turned to face her.

“Every criminal in London knows that verse. It's the death chant. The night before a prisoner is executed at Newgate Prison, the Bellman of St. Sepulchre walks past his cell ringing the execution bell and speaking the verse. It's how you know your time is up.”

“Oranges and lemons,” said William suddenly, looking at Thomas.

“What?” said Corrigan.

“Oranges and lemons. He's been saying that over and over since you left the wine cellar. I didn't realize until just now, but it's another rhyme. You know the one. Oranges and lemons go the bells of St. Clements?”

“So?”

“So the last lines are of the rhyme are: ‘Here comes a candle to light you to bed. Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.'” He nodded at the nostalgae. “It could be about this Bellman of St. Sepulchre. Maybe Thomas is telling us to go to Newgate.”

They all turned their gaze to Thomas. He stared back at them, nodding. “Oranges and lemons,” he said. He held up a hand and waved it gently, then turned and stepped out of the alley. He turned away from the direction of the flames and started walking.

“Should we stop him?” asked Corrigan.

“No,” said William. “He's had enough of people forcing him to do things. Besides, he's already given us an answer.”

They all turned their attention to the nostalgae. The image had arrived at the point where the bellman was standing outside the door with the number 40 painted on it.

“We need to get inside Newgate Prison,” said Will.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-ONE

In which Emily, Jack, and Christopher Wren infiltrate the Faerie Tree. A nasty surprise arrives.

T
he little shop that housed the hoist that had taken Emily and Corrigan down to the Faerie Tree looked slightly less run-down than when Emily had come here last. But not by much. Two hundred years didn't seem to change much in the fey world.

“Just follow my lead,” Emily said to Jack and Wren. “I've been here before, so there's less chance of us getting caught out if I do the talking.”

“No arguments from me,” said Jack. “Stealing and sneaking is my thing. In all else I bow to you.” Jack sketched an elaborate bow to illustrate his point.

“Be serious,” said Emily.

“Why?” asked Jack.

Emily hesitated. “What?”

“Why do we have to be so serious? You're
always
too serious, Snow. You're old before your time. You need to relax a bit. Have fun.”

Emily was amazed. The words
Have fun
? were posed incredulously on her lips, but before she could utter them, Jack raised a hand to stop her.

“All right. Maybe ‘have fun' isn't quite appropriate. But you
do
need to relax a bit. Stop and smell the flowers.” Jack spread his arms wide and turned in a circle. “Look at us, Snow. Look where we are. Look
who
we are. Could you ever in your wildest dreams have imagined something like this happening to us? It's
adventure
. It's escape from the freezing streets. Escape from a life that … that was nothing but work and sickness and hunger.” He stepped closer to Emily. “No matter what happens to us in the future, even if we go back to our old lives, we'll always have this to look back on. We're different now. Special. Things have happened that can never be taken away. You should appreciate that. I know I do.”

Emily was rather taken aback by Jack's outburst. She always thought of him as a bit silly, really. Nice enough, but not really capable of deep thought. But now she would have to rethink that. There was a lot more going on inside his head than she had given him credit for.

Even Wren was looking at Jack with some admiration in his eyes.

She cleared her throat. “Yes. Well. I'll consider your words, Jack Doyle. But later on, when I actually have time, and not when
we're about to sneak into the home of the Faerie Queen magically disguised as the fey
! If that's all right with you?”

Jack grinned. “But of course.”

A tiny smile tugged at Emily's mouth. She quickly turned away before he could see it and knocked on the door.

“Come in then!” snapped a voice from inside the shop.

Emily pushed the door open and entered. Wren and Jack followed her, and Jack closed the door quietly behind them. Emily looked around the small room. It was exactly the same as when she had come here with Corrigan.

Mr. and Mrs. Stintle still sat propped up in their bed, their wizened faces peering toward them.

“Who is it?” asked Mr. Stintle.

“Open your eyes, you old fool.”

“They are open! I just don't know who they are.”

“Well, neither do I!”

“Have they closed the door? It's freezing in here.”

“Have you closed the door?” asked Mrs. Stintle. “It's freezing in here.”

“We've closed the door,” said Emily. “Um …” She stepped forward with the small sack she had been carrying since they left the tavern. “I brought this for you.”

Mrs. Stintle straightened up in bed. She fished around the threadbare sheets until she found a massive horn that was almost as big as she was. She held it to Mr. Stintle's ear and spoke into it.

“Did she just say what I thought she said?” she bellowed.

“Bones! No need to shout, woman!”

“Never mind that. Did she say what I thought she said?”

“I don't know, do I? What do you think she said?”

“That she brought us something.”

Mr. Stintle almost choked in surprise. “What? When? Never.” He glared at Emily suspiciously. “Did you?”

Emily nodded. “Yes. It's … not much, I'm afraid. And you might need to give it a wash. But I was here before. I remembered how cold you were.” Emily opened the sack and pulled out the thick (but rather musty) quilt she had asked Beezle to get from Lady Steele. She placed it over the bed. Mr. and Mrs. Stintle stared at it in amazement for a few moments. They prodded it hesitantly, as if afraid it was about to burst into flames. But when it didn't, they pulled it closer with ancient fingers and ooh'ed and aah'ed over the material.

Emily smiled. She looked at Jack. He was staring at her with an odd expression on his face. He shook his head wryly.

“Uh … can we use the hoist?” Emily asked, turning back to find Mr. Stintle had put the quilt over his head. Mrs.

Stintle ignored Emily.

“What's it like? Any drafts?”

The quilt was whipped away. “None! No drafts. No holes. It's warm, Muggins. Warm.” He looked at Emily, and she was rather shocked to find tears in his eyes. “No one's ever brought us anything before. We're always cold—”

“We're from the southern fey tribes, you see,” interrupted Mrs. Stintle. “Very hot. Can't seem to get used to the chill up here.”

“You're the first,” said Mr. Stintle. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” said Emily awkwardly. “Honestly. It's just a blanket.”

“Not to us,” said Mrs. Stintle. “Not to us. Thank you—” she stopped suddenly, staring at them suspiciously. “You didn't bring it because you thought you had to pay, did you? You know the hoist is free to use?”

“I know,” said Emily. “As I said, I've been here before. I just thought you'd like it.”

Mrs. Stintle nodded. “We do. Don't we, Muggins?”

“We do, indeed, Muggins.”

“Now get you away. So we can snuggle and get warm.”

Mrs. Stintle pulled the blanket up so that only her head was poking out the top. Mr. Stintle did the same. They both let out contented sighs.

Emily led Jack and Wren to the back wall. “You'd better hold on,” she said. She frowned at Jack. “Why are you grinning like that?”

“You're just a big softy,” he said.

Emily moved like lightning and punched him as hard as she could on his arm.

“Ow!” he said. “What—?”

That was when Mrs. Stintle pulled the lever. There was an explosion of steam, a horrendous shrieking of gears, and then a circle of floor dropped downward.

Jack and Wren were both thrown onto their backsides. But Jack quickly scrambled to his knees and stared in awe at the earthen walls rushing past them, lit by soft globes of golden light. Wren reached out to touch the wall. Soft earth pattered onto the wood. He smiled at Emily, although the effect was rather discomfiting when seen on the face of the goblin; then they settled down to wait.

Ten minutes later, the lift slipped out of the shaft and entered the vast underground space that housed the Faerie Tree. Both Jack and Wren straightened up, their eyes wide with amazement.

Emily knew how they felt. It was only a few days since she had been here, but that didn't make the sight any less impressive. The sheer size of the tree overwhelmed her, bigger than anything she had ever seen. The lights on the huge branches lit up the cavern with a glow as bright as the afternoon sun. The tree dominated everything, spreading its branches up toward the cavern roof as if supporting it, protecting and sheltering those beneath. There were other platforms rising and descending through shafts in the roof, fey coming and going. Faeries flitted through the air, the glow of their wings washed out by the light from the tree.

As they dropped lower, the details of the tree grew sharper. Emily could make out the small window openings in the branches and trunk. Fey moved around in the rooms beyond, going about their daily business.

The platform slowed down, then came to a standstill at the same branch she and Corrigan had stopped at. Emily hopped onto the wide branch, then turned back to Jack and Wren. Their heads were craned back, mouths hanging open as they tried to take everything in.

“What do you think?” Emily asked.

Jack reluctantly tore his gaze away from the tree. “I think that's a very big tree, that's what I think.”

She shifted her gaze to Wren. He swallowed.

“Uh … what he said.”

They left the platform and headed toward an opening in the tree trunk. As they arrived, a long line of tiny fey riding on the backs of mice streamed outside. Emily, Jack, and Wren stepped aside while the procession passed them by.

“There must be a hundred of them,” whispered Jack, watching the mice hop up onto the platform that Emily and the others had just vacated.

“Come on, you,” said Emily, waking Jack out of his reverie. “We should go.”

Jack nodded, and he and Wren followed Emily into the tree. Emily paused and took a deep breath, smelling the warm, comforting scent of leaves and rain. A rich golden light suffused the air, striking highlights against the dark wood. It reminded Emily of a time she'd been in Hyde Park. It was autumn, and the late-afternoon sun had peeked out from behind the clouds, throwing hazy streamers of gold into the trees and fallen leaves.

“So what's the plan?” asked Jack.

Emily blinked. “Sorry?”

“The plan? You do have one, don't you?”

“Of course I do. You think we came all this way and I didn't have a plan?”

“I'm just asking. So what is it?”

Emily caught the attention of a tall fey who was walking along the corridor with a bored look on his face. “Excuse me. Where's Nimue? I have a message for her.”

The fey waved his hand vaguely back along the corridor. “Probably with the Queen, watching the entertainment,” he said. “Although why anyone bothers, I don't know. It's the same thing, all the time. Wretched, if you ask me.”

“Thank you,” said Emily, and she moved along the corridor. Jack and Wren quickly caught up with her.

“That's your plan? ‘Excuse me. Where's Nimue?'”

“It worked, didn't it?”

“But if she's with the Queen, how are we supposed to find out where Merlin is?”

“I'm not sure,” said Emily. “But we're getting closer. That's all I care about right now.”