The Goblin's Gift (31 page)

The Boy King's mouth twisted in a sneer.

‘Kill the fish folk!' he screeched. ‘They won't spoil my treat!' He turned, raised the mace one more time. Tabitha and Joseph twitched like fish on a line, desperately trying to swing themselves out of reach. But it was no good.

Hal caught Frank's eye, and the troll mouthed two words:

Do something.

He dived forward, snatched the wooden spoon from amongst the weapons piled on the deck. Maybe there was a better spell, but he couldn't think of one, and the spoon was there in his hands. The bully boys were too busy gawping to stop him.

Concentrate.

He gripped it tight, levelling it like a pistol at the boy.

At the Azurmouth Academy they taught you to forget yourself.
All that matters is the spell. To control reality, you must first step out of it.
Of course in those days the most he had to worry about was a rap on the knuckles from Master Gurney – no maniacs with cutlasses who might cut your head off at any second.

The Boy King tensed, ready to swing.

Concentrate.

Warmth coursed through his body, from his head down to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was amazing how easy it was. The warmth found the wand and surged into it, making it hum in his grasp. He locked eyes with the boy.

Your mind is mine.

Your mind is mine.

Your …

… mind …

… is …

And suddenly, he was Nathaniel Ketteridge. The Boy King; Lord of the Marlinspike Quarter. Ten years old today, and furious that his birthday might be ruined.

Nathaniel Ketteridge, who didn't want to hurt the children any more. Who wanted to put down his mace.

Nathaniel Ketteridge, hesitating …

Abruptly, Hal was Hal again. Something was flying at him out of the corner of his vision, and his concentration had gone.

Slik slammed into the wooden spoon, wrapping his arms around it. His eyes were lit up with greed and his wings blurred as he tried to carry it away. Hal clung on but the spell was broken. The Boy King blinked, shook his head.

‘What in the Ebony Ocean was—?'

‘Look out!' howled Tabitha, still dangling from the spar. ‘Look out!'

And with a thunderous crash, the great wave broke. Water gushed over them, sending Slik sprawling away, then Hal himself. The last thing he heard before he went under was the war cry of the merfolk,
their voices raised up as one, carrying above the mighty roar of the sea.

‘PALLIOOONNEEE!'

NEWTON ROLLED ASIDE
as Major Turnbull's blade slammed into the deck where his neck had been a split second before. She tugged at the sword. But in the instant it took her to pull it free, Newton leaped to his feet and barrelled into her, shoving her backwards. He picked up the nearest weapon he could see – Old Jon's cudgel – and swung it. She ducked away.

Newton glanced to his right, hoping to see the smile wiped off the Duke of Garran's face. But he was looking out to sea. Newton followed his gaze and saw shapes – glistening, flickering shapes – moving fast below the surface of the water and streaking towards the
Justice
.

What the—?

Alice's sword blade sliced towards him, catching the cudgel with a glancing blow.
Idiot. Pay attention.
He charged again, staying close so she wouldn't have a chance to lunge at him. As she darted away, he caught a glimpse of something red on her shoulder. A fireball. The mark of a League magician. Funny. He hadn't noticed that in the library at Wyrmwood Manor.

Major Turnbull sidestepped round him, slamming him in the back with the pommel. Pain burst across his shoulder blades. And now she was raising her sword, ready to swing …

The deck jolted, throwing both of them off balance. Newton reached out, clung onto the gunwale. Major Turnbull lost her footing and slid away from him as the ship tipped.

Somehow Newton found it in himself to grin. Those shapes he'd seen, racing towards the vessel … They could only be one thing.

He heaved himself up and peered over the edge. The
Justice
was listing in the water and merfolk warriors crowded all around, shaking their bonestaffs, signing to each other and diving below. He'd be willing to bet they were heading for the bottom of the hull, pushing at it or using magic to capsize it.

‘Kill him,' barked the Duke of Garran. For the first
time, Newton heard a note of anger in the man's voice.

He spun round, saw Turnbull leaping at him, her sword raised over her head. She was fast, that was for sure. But she was light too. Newton dropped the cudgel and dived, low and hard. She faltered, unsure what to do.
Weren't expecting that, were you?
And by then it was too late. He crashed into her legs, gripping them tight and sending her toppling to the deck. The sword skittered away but Newton reached out for it, caught it and swept it up, the blade resting against her neck.

Do it. Do it now.

Old Jon lay no more than three paces away. And here she was. The daughter of Governor Turnbull, the man who'd run the zephyrum mines of Garran. Black Turnbull, they'd called him. The man who had destroyed his family.

Ten years spent toiling in the dark, eating slop, seeing his friends die, while Turnbull and his daughter lived in a fancy townhouse with servants at their beck and call. Ten years. And now she was back, a full-grown woman, to enslave his new family and friends. The people of Fayt.

Newton snarled. The rage was back, surging through him, overwhelming him.

Do it now.

Cold water broke over Tabitha, knocking the breath from her body and setting her spinning wildly out over the sea, her stomach churning. She opened her eyes as she began to swing back, and saw a figure surging towards her, riding an unnatural column of water as though it was a galloping horse. Tabitha knew she must be seeing things. A slim, white-haired figure, holding out a bonestaff in her outstretched hand.
Could it be … ? No, no, it couldn't …
The bonestaff twitched, the ropes around her hands and ankles came free and she was falling.

She cried out, and a calm voice spoke in her ear: ‘Don't be afraid.'

It was
her
.

How in all the—?

They plunged into the ocean, and a moment later strong hands had her by the shoulders and tugged her, gasping, above the surface.

Tabitha rubbed water from her eyes. The wavecutter's deck faced her, as though she was seeing it from above. She saw men clinging to the rigging, a few falling into the sea, cannons crashing across the deck. She heard orders, screams, the groaning of the vessel itself, then a slap of spray as the masts hit the water. Merfolk swarmed all about the capsized ship. Two
small groups sped round the prow and the stern, latching onto the masts like leeches and tugging them down, so the ship kept rolling over. Meanwhile others made for the deck, where the Boy King's men floundered, some trying to escape, others – the braver ones – drawing weapons and snarling insults at the merfolk.

She spotted Slik, his wings spraying water in all directions, flying away from the battle for all he was worth.

‘Wait here,' said her rescuer.

Tabitha turned. The mermaid was pale, but her green eyes sparkled. Her powerful silver tail shimmered below the surface, rippling as it bore her up in the water. She looked strong. Like a princess. She was home at last.

‘How did—? Why did—?'

Pallione shook her head impatiently. ‘It doesn't matter,' she said. ‘Not now.' She raised her twisted bonestaff, studded with pearls, and pointed at the ship. ‘I have work to do.' With that she upended, showering Tabitha with water as she darted towards the wavecutter.

‘Tabitha,' came a big, booming voice from nearby, and she turned to see the troll twins striking out towards her. Frank was supporting Hal, who looked as though he barely knew how to swim. His glasses were
spotted with droplets, and he was clutching the wooden spoon. Later she'd have to thank him for saving her life. But now wasn't the time.

‘Joseph!' she shouted. ‘Where is he?'

‘I've not seen him,' Paddy called back.

They bobbed together in the water, scanning in every direction. Tabitha's heart was thumping.
Please
, no. Don't let him be—

‘There,' Frank yelled, pointing a big green finger.

Tabitha's racing heart stopped dead.

Riding the waves was a wooden raft loaded with bully boys, and in their midst the Boy King, his golden clothes waterlogged, his cockatrice plume drooping. It was the platform he'd been standing on when the wave hit. Two of the bully boys were pulling a bedraggled figure out of the water. A scrawny boy with pointed ears and mottled skin.

‘Joseph!'

Major Turnbull was breathing fast. Even if she was a magician, like that red fireball suggested, there was no way she could focus enough to cast a spell with a blade at her neck. She closed her eyes. As if she knew what was coming next and was readying herself for it. Newton readied himself too. He was going to kill this woman.

Except she hadn't always been a woman. Not back then.

Just do it.
His grip tightened on the hilt. One quick movement and it would be over.

Out of nowhere, Newton was struck by a memory. A sunny day just like this one. She was playing in the garden as the miners marched by the governor's house. Her eyes were scrunched tight, her hands covering them, and she counted down from a hundred as her nursemaids scattered. A game of hide and seek. And she'd opened her eyes, peeking through her fingers. Just for a moment. Enough to see Newton watching her as they trudged past.

For Thalin's sake, do it.
Black Turnbull had killed his uncle, run him through for stealing bread. And there were countless others, the inglorious deaths in the mines, the forgotten souls who were simply worked until they dropped.
Revenge
. If they could see him now, they'd all be crying out for it.

Do it now. Do it for them.

That day in the garden he'd smiled at her, and she'd covered her eyes quickly, as though he might give the game away.

Do it.

But the rage was gone. Instead he felt weary. Tired of being angry. He flexed his fingers, loosened his grip
on the hilt. He staggered to his feet, fighting the listing of the deck.

‘Go,' he said, his voice hoarse.

Major Turnbull's eyes flicked open, and she glared at him like a cornered animal.

‘Quickly. And take your sword.' He flung it away.

She scrambled to her feet, racing after it.

Newton stumbled across the foredeck to where Old Jon lay. The elf's face was white and his eyes were glazed, and Newton knew at once that it was over.

No time for tears. Not yet.

He slung Old Jon's frail body over his shoulder. The ship jolted until it was almost side on in the water. No chance of clawing his way back up to the top side of it now.

Newton glanced around one last time. Major Turnbull was gone. So was the Duke, and the Sword of Corin.

He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on Old Jon. Then he closed his eyes and leaped out over the sea.

They dumped him, shivering and dripping, on the wooden platform.

‘You!' screeched the Boy King. ‘You ruin
everything
!'

He grabbed Joseph's ears and pulled him to his knees.

‘Someone give me a weapon!' he howled. ‘I've had enough. I want him dead.'

A bully boy passed him an axe. It looked like it was made for chopping wood, but Joseph knew it would have no problem chopping mongrel boy instead.
Saved from a mace to be killed by an axe
.

He closed his eyes. This was what he deserved. As he waited for the blow to fall, he was almost glad. At least after this he couldn't disappoint his friends. Couldn't betray his town. Couldn't get anyone killed.

‘Let him go,' said a voice from behind.

Joseph turned. Bobbing in the water was a mermaid with long white hair, green eyes and a bonestaff.

No, no, no.
His mind was playing tricks on him. Horrible tricks. He'd seen her die … hadn't he? He blinked, but the mermaid was still there. He felt as though his heart might burst.

‘You,' snarled the Boy King. His eyes bulged and his face was bright red. ‘You sneaking, backstabbing, fish-tailed
witch
! I hate you! Someone give me a gun.'

‘Don't you dare,' said Pallione. Her eyes burned with fury, and her bonestaff was raised and pointed at the raft. ‘This is not your court,
child
. It is mine. And
my powers are returned. I will ask you one last time. Let him go.'

‘You can't tell me what to do,' shouted the Boy King. ‘No one tells me what to do!'

‘Then don't say I didn't warn you.'

She disappeared, slipping below the waves with a flash of her silver tail. The bully boys edged backwards, raising their muskets and scanning the water.