The Goblin's Gift (8 page)

‘
HOW ARE WE
going to get in, though?' asked Joseph.

They lay on their bellies on the cliff top, wind rustling the grasses around them, looking down at the Brig. It lay far below, bathed in morning sunshine, beached on the sand like an outsized whale carcass. Its hull was green with mould and its masts had long rotted away. Joseph could just make out the bars that covered the old gun ports. The Brig was a behemoth of a ship. Or at least it had been, before it became Fayt's one and only prison.

‘Simple,' said Tabitha, her eyes sparkling. ‘We knock. We're the Demon's Watch, remember?' She
pushed up her sleeve and prodded her shark tattoo.

Joseph nodded wearily as Tabitha got to her feet and strode off down the coastal path towards the beach. Everything had seemed easy the night before. The hard part had been deciding to leave Newt. Then all they had to do was rescue the mermaid and save Port Fayt. Now, in the cold light of day, he was pretty sure he'd got it the wrong way round, and their troubles were only just beginning.

It didn't help that he'd barely slept. They couldn't go back to Bootles' Pie Shop (‘Are you mad?' Tabitha had scoffed. ‘They'll send us straight back to Newt!') or to Newt's rooms above a Marlinspike Quarter tavern (‘Come on. Think. That's the first place he'd look!'), and they'd no money to pay for a room of their own. In the end they'd had to bed down in an old fishing boat in dry dock under a canvas covering. Now they were tired, grumpy, and stank of rotten fish. Neither of them had admitted it, but so far things weren't going that well.

Joseph scrambled to his feet, following Tabitha. At least they had a plan, of sorts. To find the mermaid, they needed to find which shark pit she was in. To find out which shark pit she was in, they needed to find someone who knew a lot about the shark pits. And to find someone who knew a lot
about shark pits, they needed to find a crook.

Which meant they needed to visit the Brig.

Tabitha was reaching the end of the path and Joseph stumbled to catch up. ‘Have you been here before?' he asked.

‘A couple of times, with Newt. Don't worry about it. We're watchmen.'

‘If you say so.' He wasn't convinced though. The first time he'd met Tabitha had been in a grotty tavern called the Pickled Dragon, and on that occasion it had taken her less than a minute to show off her Demon's Watch tattoo and start ordering people around. Unfortunately those people turned out to be militiamen, who laughed at them and then tried to kill them. Joseph would have thought twice about playing the watchman card again. But then, he wasn't Tabitha.

If only Newt were here, Joseph was sure he'd have no trouble getting them in. But no. It was no good thinking like that. They were on their own.

The Brig loomed over them as they approached. Now they were on the sandy beach, Joseph realized how gigantic it was – almost as big as Wyrmwood Manor. He tried to imagine what a ship like that would look like afloat, but it was too hard. It seemed like nothing more than a vast wooden wreck. They said that the pirate Captain Gore was the only person
ever to escape the Brig. Which meant there were an awful lot of dangerous maniacs still locked up inside.

A gangplank led up to a wooden door built into the hull, looking just like a door into a house. Above, someone had nailed a wooden plank with the words
HOME SWEET HOME
painted on it. There were even some decorative shells and bits of seaweed stuck on.

Tabitha hesitated for just a moment before she reached out and knocked.

‘Oh. One thing,' she said. ‘Don't say anything about the jailer.'

‘The jailer? What's—?'

The door creaked a little way open, and a head poked out. It belonged to a troll with pale green skin, a cluster of tarnished silver earrings and a few eyebrow rings for good measure. A trio of scars ran across his cheek, which could have been made by a cat's claws, if the cat had been ten feet tall.

Joseph rested one hand on the hilt of his cutlass and licked his lips. His mouth had gone very dry.

‘What?' growled the troll.

Tabitha rolled up her sleeve and showed her tattoo.

‘Demon's Watch. We need to talk to a few prisoners.'

‘Now?'

‘Um … yes. Please.'

The jailer muttered something and flung the door open wide. Joseph couldn't help but gasp. Tabitha jabbed him in the ribs, and he shut his mouth at once.

The troll was wearing a full-length, purple satin ball gown.

‘Come on then,' he said. ‘Haven't got all day.' He clumped off down the wooden passageway, his gown trailing behind him. ‘Always something. Why can't they leave me in peace?'

Tabitha threw Joseph a baleful glance as they followed.

At the end of the passage they came into a room unlike any cabin Joseph had ever seen. It was packed from deck to rafters with strange objects, so different and so varied that he didn't know where to look first. There was a jumble of furniture – wooden chairs, stools, even a chaise longue. There were antique paintings on the walls and an enormous mirror covering most of one side of the room, which looked so fancy it wouldn't have been out of place at Wyrmwood Manor. There was a rich red carpet on the floor, and beyond it a whistling kettle on a small stove. In the middle of the carpet was an elegant mahogany drawing-room table with a large, juicy-looking seed cake sitting on it.

Joseph's stomach rumbled at the smell, and he
remembered suddenly that they hadn't had any breakfast yet.

‘Sit,' ordered the troll.

Joseph found a wooden chest under the table and dragged it out to make a seat. Tabitha relaxed into a plush padded armchair opposite.

‘Is this your home?' asked Joseph. ‘It's amazing.'

‘Home,' grunted the troll. ‘Yes. I am a collector. I love
things
.' He busied himself with the kettle.

‘So as I was saying,' said Tabitha, ‘we need to speak to some prisoners.'

‘Wait,' said the troll. ‘Breakfast first.'

There was an awkward silence. Joseph looked at Tabitha, but she just shrugged.

‘I like your dress,' said Joseph, before he could stop himself.

The troll whirled round, glaring at him. Tabitha glared too. Joseph felt his ears twitch with embarrassment. What was he thinking? That had obviously been the wrong thing to say.

The troll spoke at last.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘It is good. I collected it. I love
things
.'

‘Um, yes,' said Joseph. ‘I like things too.'

‘But I don't love
people
.'

Joseph couldn't think what to say to that, so he just smiled as best he could.

The troll finished with the kettle and came over to the table, carrying a mug of something hot and steaming.

‘That smells good,' said Tabitha. Joseph noticed that her eyes were flicking between the mug and the seed cake.

‘Yes,' said the troll. ‘Very good. I collected it from a prisoner. It is called “tea”. You drink it hot.'

He picked up a knife and sliced into the seed cake. A little steam rose from it as he lifted a thick, golden slice, and Joseph's stomach rumbled again.

‘The cake looks good too,' he found himself saying.

‘Yes,' said the troll. ‘Very good. Food is one of the things that I like.'

‘I like food too,' said Tabitha. She was practically drooling. ‘Especially seed cake.'

The troll frowned at her and bit into the cake. Crumbs dropped onto his purple dress. He lifted up the train of his gown and sat down, chewing noisily.

‘Yes,' he said through his mouthful. ‘Everyone likes cake.'

There was a long silence as the troll ate his cake and slurped his tea. At last he finished the slice, reached forward and cut another one. He began to eat that too.

Joseph stared at their reflection in the enormous
mirror, trying to forget how hungry he was. They made an odd group. The blue-haired girl, the grey-pink mongrel boy and the giant troll in the dress.

‘Is it just you?' he asked, to break the silence. ‘No guards?'

Tabitha rolled her eyes at the question.

‘There were. Blackcoats. They went to fight. Much better on my own.' The troll swallowed the last mouthful of cake. ‘Now,' he said, ‘we'll go to the cells.' He stomped over to a door opposite the one they had entered by, without waiting to see if they would follow. Joseph and Tabitha hurried after him, Tabitha casting one final longing glance at the seed cake.

The troll led them along a wooden corridor and up some steps, his ball gown swishing as he strode ahead. Someone had entirely removed the interior of the vessel and rebuilt it from scratch, as though it really was a building instead of a ship. There were carpets, pictures on the walls – collected by the troll, Joseph guessed – and a clutter of different lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The jailer had obviously made himself at home.

They climbed down another set of wooden stairs to a barred metal door. The troll fished around beneath his skirts and pulled out a ring of keys.

‘You want to talk to some prisoners,' he said,
unlocking the door. ‘Good luck.' The door opened with the faintest squeak of hinges, and he led them through.

They were in the hold, and the corridor before them seemed to stretch the whole length of the vessel. On either side there were more barred doors. Hundreds of arms and faces appeared out of the darkness beyond, pointing at them, shouting at them, beckoning them. Joseph suddenly felt very frightened. If it wasn't for the metal holding the prisoners back, there was no telling what they'd do.

He tried not to listen as they made their way down the corridor, but he couldn't help catching an occasional ‘mongrel', ‘stinking mongrel', ‘bilge-brain mongrel', and worse. But most of the abuse was directed at the troll in the dress, who was striding ahead, ignoring the prisoners entirely. Joseph was impressed, and tried to do the same. He was beginning to see how the jailer had come to like things and not people.

‘Help! Joseph!'

He spun round, his heart racing. Tabitha had ventured too close to the bars. Now an elf had got hold of her hair and was tugging at it, grinning madly, a string of dribble dangling from his lips.

Joseph leaped forward, grabbed the elf's hand and
tried to pry it away, but another hand got hold of his ear and he was tugged closer to the bars himself.

‘Won't bite,' someone was saying. ‘Not much …'

He yelped, flailed for his cutlass, but couldn't reach it. More hands seized his arms and his head, pulling him closer and closer …

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Suddenly the hands had let go, and there were wails of pain from behind the bars. Joseph stumbled away, collapsing in the centre of the corridor, out of reach of the prisoners. He looked up to see the jailer raise a cudgel and bring it down hard on the arm of the elf who had Tabitha. The elf squealed and let go, and Tabitha came tumbling down beside Joseph. Her hair was dishevelled and her big grey eyes were wide.

‘Are you all right?'

She frowned, rubbing her head. ‘I'm fine.'

The troll growled at the prisoners cowering in the corners of their wooden cells. Then he slid the cudgel down the front of his dress.

‘Careful,' he told Joseph and Tabitha. ‘Come on.'

Shakily, they got to their feet and followed.

Joseph was starting to feel sick. He hadn't been prepared for what a terrible, desperate place the Brig would be. They passed several large cells with ogres inside, most sitting silently and watching them.
Beyond that, there was a large tank full of greenish water and merfolk, cooped up like salted fish in a barrel. And then there were smaller cells, double-layered like bunk beds, for imps. At the end of the corridor were the smallest cells of all, packed one on top of the other, for fairies – each cage no bigger than the ones for parrots at the market in the Crosstree Quarter. The fairies rushed to the front of the cages as they passed, screaming at them in a high-pitched cacophony.

The troll in the dress came to a halt. ‘So?' he said.

‘Right,' said Tabitha. ‘Um … right.'

‘There are so many of them,' murmured Joseph. ‘How do we know who'll be able to help us?'

Tabitha glanced up at the troll. ‘Is there a list we could look at? Of the prisoners?'

The troll wrinkled his nose and frowned, saying nothing. Joseph reckoned that was a no.

‘Then we'll just have to ask questions until we get somewhere,' said Tabitha briskly. ‘Let's start with the ogres. At least they're a bit quieter than the others.'

‘What about the merfolk?' asked Joseph. ‘If anyone knows where Pallione is, it ought to be them.'

Tabitha frowned and shook her head. ‘Most merfolk only know sign language. Even if they did tell us, we wouldn't be able to understand. Now, are you
coming?' She marched back down the corridor with the troll in tow.

Joseph was about to follow when he heard something among the fairy voices. He froze, listening hard. Could it be … ?

Yes, there it was again.

‘
Grubb
.'

Someone was saying his name.