The Goblin's Gift (21 page)

Who was she?

‘I don't believe I introduced Major Turnbull,' said the Duke of Garran. He was fussing with his coat where Newton had touched it, making sure that it was still perfectly white. ‘Of course, it's possible you've met before. For many years Turnbull lived in Wyborough, in Garran. Above the mines.'

Wyborough. Turnbull.
The names stirred distant memories.

Suddenly Newton saw the woman's face differently. Not the face of an adult, but of a little girl, blonde and smiling, her hair in pigtails. That was how he'd known her. Governor Turnbull of Wyborough had overseen the mining of zephyrum. And this woman before him was Alice. The governor's daughter.

He felt dizzy.

She couldn't have been more than ten years old the last time he saw her. Clinging to her mother's skirts and sucking her thumb as she watched her father inspect the miners.

She wasn't sucking her thumb now, that was for sure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Newton saw that the Duke was smiling. Again the urge welled up to attack him, stab him, hurt him …

There was a hand on his shoulder.

‘Mr Newton,' said Governor Skelmerdale gently. ‘Put up that sword.'

Slowly the rage washed out of him, like bathwater down the drain. He was left with something else, cold and hard.
Anger
. The memory of the mines burned inside him, impossible to ignore now the Duke had reminded him. He stepped back, lowering the sword as he did so, the pain in his arm subsiding to a dull ache.

‘I'm sorry,' he said tightly.

Skelmerdale nodded and turned to the Duke of Garran. ‘Is there anything else you wish to discuss? If not, I suggest you go back to your ships at once. There will be no agreement, unless it is for the League to return to the Old World in peace.'

The Duke of Garran shook his head, no longer smiling. ‘I'm afraid that will not happen.'

Alice Turnbull sheathed her sword in one fluid movement. Newton felt a shiver run down his spine. She'd been a shy child, but happy. Whatever had happened to her since then, there was no trace of the quiet little girl left in those cold eyes.

One of the League officers opened the door, and the men in white began to leave the room.

Only the Duke of Garran remained, motionless. ‘I am very sorry to hear this,' he said quietly. ‘I had hoped you would see sense.' He turned to leave, then paused and turned back, looking thoughtful. ‘Forgive me, but … it is strange for the people of Fayt to possess such a sword. A sword that has slain countless demonspawn. A sword that stands against the darkness.'

‘It's just a sword,' said Newton coldly. ‘A tool. It could kill you just as easily as it could a troll or a goblin.' His heart was racing again, his voice getting louder, and Governor Skelmerdale's hand was on his arm once more. He didn't care though. Not now. He levelled the sword, pointing it at the Duke. ‘I'll prove it too. I'm coming for you, your grace. With this blade here. The Sword of Corin.'

‘I do not doubt it,' said the Duke. ‘But be assured I will be ready.'

He bowed low, replaced his tricorne on his head
and left the room. His footsteps receded down the corridor as the door swung shut.

‘Put that sword down!' roared the governor, making everyone in the room flinch.

Newton lowered the blade. The rage was gone again, passing as quickly as a spring shower. And though the anger remained, there was something else too – a dull, throbbing pain of regret. This wasn't like him. ‘I'm sorry, your honour. I – I shouldn't have let him—'

‘No, you shouldn't.' Skelmerdale's eyes blazed for a moment longer. ‘But what's done is done. There was never a chance of another outcome, in any case. Back to your ships.'

There was a shift in the room, as blackcoats and captains made their way towards the door.

‘You two, wait,' said the governor, indicating Newton and Derringer.

‘Your honour,' said the elf, coming smartly to attention.

‘Aye,' said Newton. He could guess what was coming.

‘Mr Newton. Thalin knows, I understand anger. But this is too much. If you cannot control yourself, how can I rely on you to lead our fleet? A commander must think only of what is best for his men.'

Like when you refused to seek the help of the merfolk?

But there was no point in saying it out loud. Besides, the governor was right. Newton was not to be relied on. Not any more.

‘From henceforth, Colonel Derringer, you will take charge of the
Wyvern
, and of the fleet. Captain Newton, you will act as the colonel's second-in-command. Is that understood?'

Derringer smirked, his eyes shining like the silver on his uniform.

‘Understood, your honour,' said Newton.

It didn't matter. Commander or not, he was going to kill the Duke of Garran.

And he was going to enjoy it.

THE MERMAID STILL
slept. Even her snoring was annoying. Any louder and Tabitha was going to grab hold of that slimy fish tail and drag her onto the flagstones.

She rubbed her tired eyes, hunched over the table and took another swig of velvetbean, the warmth of it seeping down her throat. The morning had dawned bright but cloudy, as if uncertain which way it would go. With any luck they'd be on a ship by noon, and Jeb the Snitch would be walking the plank. If he thought he could outwit them he was as crazy as a crate of crabs.

The door to the back rooms opened and Joseph
emerged, frowning, dabbing at his ears with a threadbare towel. He looked clean but exhausted, as though he hadn't slept either.

Tabitha watched him sit down opposite her and pour a mug of velvetbean. He was being so odd lately. Ever since they'd rescued Pallione. What was he doing, listening to the mermaid drone on about her father after dinner – then not even caring when she'd tried to talk to him in the night?

She wished he hadn't seen her crying. Then again, considering the way he was acting right now, he probably hadn't even noticed.

‘Sleep well?' she asked. She'd meant to sound casual and friendly, but instead her voice was wooden.

Joseph blinked and looked up at her. ‘Hmm? Oh. Yes, thank you. Sort of.' He stirred sugar into his velvetbean. ‘You?'

‘Not with that mermaid snoring all night. Didn't she keep you up?'

He shrugged.

Tabitha swirled the last of the velvetbean around her mug, choosing her words carefully. ‘Don't you find her a bit … you know … annoying?'

Joseph looked puzzled. ‘I think she's nice.'

‘You think everyone's nice,' she snapped.
Careful, Tabs
. ‘Sorry. What I mean is, she keeps complaining
and arguing about everything. And we've got a job to do, remember?'

‘I suppose.' He cast a glance at the sleeping mermaid, then turned to check that the door to the back room was closed. Jeb was still in there with Mrs Bootle, looking for clothes. Joseph leaned in, a strange, pleading look in his eyes. ‘You know what the Snitch said last night? About my father … ?'

Tabitha blinked, thrown by the change of subject.

‘I've been thinking about it,' he went on. ‘I never told him who my parents were, but he knew. And he knew my mother's song. So he probably knows more. Even if my father isn't—'

‘Joseph,' said Tabitha. It was all she could do not to grab him and knock his head on the table. ‘Don't be stupid, all right? He's the Snitch. He knows a lot of things. And I already told you, he's the biggest liar in Port Fayt.'

‘But what if it's true? What if my father
is
alive? What if he wasn't killed after all?'

His eyes were wide, and it was making her feel uncomfortable. She tried to make her voice stern and commanding, like Newt would have done.

‘Forget it, Joseph. Right now, all that matters is getting the princess back to that island. We've got more important things to worry about than—'

‘More important things?'

‘Well, I mean, I don't— Look, you can't believe a stinking goblin snitch like Jeb. He'd sell his own grandmother for a swig of grog.'

Joseph's ears twitched. ‘What do you mean, “stinking goblin”?'

‘All right, sorry. That's not what I meant. I was just—'

‘Look, what if it was your father? Imagine he was alive. Wouldn't you—?'

She shot up, her stool scraping backwards across the flagstones.

‘He's not. And you don't know what you're talking about.'

Joseph shrank back, instantly defeated. ‘I'm sorry,' he said.

Tabitha felt her cheeks heating up.

‘I— No, that's not … I—'

The door swung open with a bang and Jeb the Snitch swept in, scowling. His fancy clothes were gone, and in their place he wore a yellowing shirt and a dirty old coat several sizes too large for him. He was barely recognizable without all his finery. Mrs Bootle appeared behind him, one eyebrow raised at the outfit.

‘Is this supposed to be a joke?' said Jeb. ‘'Cos it ain't funny, and I ain't wearing this.'

In all her life, Tabitha had never been so relieved to see the Snitch.

‘Yes you are,' she told him. ‘And be grateful for it too. This way there's a chance the Boy King's men won't recognize you. Anyway, it's a lot more sensible than the stuff you normally wear. Thank you, Mrs Bootle.'

The old troll woman did her best to smile. Tabitha could tell she wasn't happy about having the Snitch in her pie shop.

‘All right,' she said hurriedly. ‘Let's wake up the mermaid and get out of here.'

Joseph nodded, but said nothing.

There was no noise except for the trundling of the wheelbarrow on cobblestones as they strode down Mer Way towards the quayside. The street was as empty as the grey sky above, and it gave Tabitha the chills. Shop shutters were down, doors and windows bolted shut. There were no buskers, no beggars and no one trying to sell them things. Fayters were all either at sea fighting the League, or at home hoping for good news.

And it's up to us to make the good news happen
, she thought.
Up to us to bring the merfolk into the war and beat the Duke of Garran
. There was just the small
matter of getting out of Port Fayt to deal with first. She felt for her knives, stowed in her bandolier under a big brown coat.

They probably shouldn't be on Mer Way at all, but for some reason she'd insisted. Actually, she knew exactly why. Just before they'd set off, Joseph had suggested they keep to the back streets and Pallione had agreed. That was when she'd decided. It would be quicker and therefore better to go down Fayt's biggest street. Now that they'd found Mer Way empty, Tabitha was ready to admit to herself that in truth she'd just wanted to do the opposite of what the tavern boy and the annoying mermaid had wanted.

She glanced sideways at Joseph. He looked like he was barely with them at all, just frowning into the distance as he tramped along. He'd hardly said a word since they'd left Bootles'. Still moping about his father probably, though Thalin knew why. He was dead, just like Tabitha's parents. Simple as that. How Joseph could even consider believing Jeb the Snitch was beyond her.

The goblin was pushing the wheelbarrow on Tabitha's right-hand side. He was sulking too; had been ever since he'd left his mad clothes behind at the pie shop. But they couldn't take any chances with this.
If they were recognized by one of the Boy King's bully boys, it was all over.

The bundle in the wheelbarrow shifted, and Pallione's voice floated out from under the sackcloth covering:

‘Aren't we there yet?'

Tabitha rolled her eyes. ‘No. Just keep quiet.'

The mermaid's head poked out from under the sackcloth, her hair in disarray, her eyes blazing. ‘It stinks under here. Everything stinks in this dump of a town. We should go faster.'

‘We're trying not to draw attention to ourselves, remember? So stay down.'

Pallione groaned and disappeared again. For a moment Tabitha almost felt sorry for her, being forced to ride in a dirty old barrow that was barely big enough for her. But it was hard to sympathize with an ungrateful princess who kept trying to order you around.

‘Streets are empty,' she said casually. No one answered. She was fed up with this. Fed up with having to be in charge all the time, and not getting a word of thanks for it. She had no idea how Newt did it.
Please, Thalin, let him be safe, wherever he is. Let him not be in a battle …
But the last thing she needed was to start worrying about him too.

They wheeled to a stop at the end of Mer Way,
where the docks spread out in front of them and on either side. The harbour was even emptier than the rest of the town. Usually you could barely see the open sea for all the masts and sails. But today, Tabitha could count the number of vessels rocking at anchor on her fingers. In the distance, a huge white ship was sailing away from Fayt, and a little closer another vessel followed, black-hulled, still large by normal standards, flying the sea-green flag of Port Fayt. If Tabitha didn't know better, she would have sworn that was the
Wyvern
.