The Lost Heir (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1) (11 page)

“So beautiful! Those kind, blue eyes. Oh, woe, woe is me…” The ghost was in his own world once again. Returning to his private, eternal misery, he started gliding off down the corridor.

“Wait, ghost, what is your name?”

The spirit vanished, then reappeared right in front of him, pondering the question. “My name…my name? Oh, yes…what was it? George. I was George. Yes, of course!” The memory seemed to cheer him up a bit.

“George who?”

“George Hobbes. Yes. Sir George Hobbes, Baronet. Yes…I ranked just below a Baron, didn’t I? Not that it matters now…” He seemed to become more sure of himself as Jake forced him to remember.

“And who am I?” Jake asked him, as an experiment.

The ghost looked him up and down, then answered, “You are Jacob Everton, of course. But why are you only a boy again, like when we were at school together? You were past thirty when you died.”

“I am not, nor have I ever been a grown man,” Jake informed him. “And I certainly haven’t died. I’ve barely even been to school.”

“But you are his very image—” The ghost suddenly gasped. “Wait. The child! Yes, I remember now. The baby son he was always bragging about. They thought I did something to the tot, as well! But what are you doing in Newgate, lad? Have you been wrongly accused of murder, too?” Sir George asked sympathetically.

Jake was shaken to the core by the things the ghost had said. His heart pounding, but he told himself to think about all this later.

For now, he still had to get out of here. And find Derek Stone. “No, but my friend has been falsely accused,” he answered. “Will you help me find him? Please? He’s innocent, like you.”

“Like me?” the ghost echoed wistfully.

“Yes, they’ll hang him unfairly if you don’t help us.”

“What shall I do?” Sir George crooned.

“Help me search for him and keep a lookout for the guards along the way. He’s locked in a cell somewhere around here. You float on ahead and tell me if you see any of the wardens coming.”

Sir George nodded. “I still despise you, Jacob, but I will do as you ask—for the sake the Lady Elizabeth.”

“Fine,” Jake muttered.
He sure likes this Elizabeth.

Jake was almost positive that this Jacob Everton the ghost was talking about was his father, and Elizabeth, the mother he had never known. But he could not handle thinking about it at the moment. Besides, he wasn’t jumping to any conclusions until Derek Stone confirmed it.

The chubby ghost-squire swept into the corridor ahead of him, then disappeared around the corner, checking for any guards who might be headed this way on their night rounds.

Sir George reappeared and beckoned him on, indicating that the coast was clear. Jake trotted after him. The headache from using his powers to get the keys was getting worse. He’d been so engrossed in what Sir George Hobbes had to say that he hadn’t noticed it, but now that they were moving again, he didn’t feel so good.

The dank stone corridor ahead seemed to wave as the world grew ever more distorted with the pain. A stabbing sensation had begun to throb behind his eyes.

Following Sir George through the dark prison labyrinth, Jake finally found Derek Stone. He was in a group cell for the prisoners who were still awaiting trial. His cellmates were sleeping, but fortunately, the warrior was awake.

As soon as Derek saw Jake, he swung his legs off the top bunk by the wall and sprang down without a sound. He strode over to the bars and gripped them. “What are you still doing here? I figured you’d get out, but you didn’t have to come back for me.”

“Well, I didn’t do it out of the goodness of my heart,” Jake warned with a hard look. “We need to talk. I want answers once we’re out of here.”

“Very well. Hurry up.”

As Jake quickly tried a few different keys, he noticed Sir George had disappeared. At last, he found the right key and let Derek out, wincing when the rusty door creaked as it opened. Thankfully, none of the prisoners awoke at the sound. Derek slipped out of the cell and shut the door silently behind him.

Jake locked the other prisoners in again and brought the keys along in case they needed them. “Come on,” he whispered to the warrior. “The exit’s this way.”

CHAPTER NINE

A Treacherous Lullaby

Derek Stone followed him through the dark maze, but when they came to the corner, Jake quickly put up his hand, holding his large ally back.

“Guard!” he hissed in warning.

The warden’s office was just beside the exit to the jail. Jake had noticed it in the nick of time.

Derek peered past him and stole a glance around the corner. He frowned, seeing the three guards gathered in the office. They were blocking the way out.

“What do you think?” Jake whispered.

Derek shook his head. “I’ll go in and silence them before any of them can raise the alarm.”

“All three of them at once, and a dozen more just a shout away?”

Derek shrugged.

“Wait—I see someone who might be able to help us.”

“Where?” He looked around in question.

“Hey!” Jake called in a whisper to the ghost-thief, who had just floated down through the ceiling. “Come ‘ere!”

“Who, me?” the Cockney ghost asked cheerfully.

“What do you mean, come here?” Derek asked, frowning at him. “I’m standing right beside you.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Shh! Never mind,” Jake muttered.

Derek eyed Jake suspiciously, not at all used to being shushed, then the warrior began glancing around to make sure no more guards were coming.

Meanwhile, the ghost-thief floated over with a grin on his translucent face. “Well, you got yourself into quite the sour pickle now, ain’t you, mate?”

“Can you help us?”

“Wot, me?”

“Do something to distract the guards? We’ll never get out with them standing in the way.”

The ghost looked at the guards, then back at him. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, throw something. Scare them away with some moaning. You’re a ghost. You’ve got to be able to do something mysterious. Distract them so we can sneak out.”

“You think it’s that easy? They can’t see me like you can. Besides, you already saw I can’t grab nothin’. On the other hand—” A thoughtful expression came over his smoky, bluish face. “Maybe one thing I could try… Wait ‘ere, I’ll give it a go.”

“Thank you,” Jake whispered.

“Jacob, who are you talking to?” Derek demanded in a low tone.

“A ghost,” he admitted ruefully. “I don’t know his name.”

“It’s Oliver,” the ghost-thief informed him, but Derek still stared skeptically at Jake. “Who’s your grumpy friend?” Oliver asked, giving Derek an insolent once-over.

Few living men would have dared peruse the imposing warrior so disrespectfully, but then again, even Derek Stone couldn’t do much to a wiry little thief who was already dead.

“Don’t mind him,” Jake told Oliver.

“Is he saying something about me?” Derek demanded.

Jake turned to him in surprise. “You believe me? That I can see ghosts?”

“Of course. Wait…do you hear that?”

“Ohhh, I do!” breathed Oliver, pressing a hand to his heart as he hovered a bit higher in the air.

Jake shook his head. “I don’t hear anything. What is it?”

“Beautiful…singing,” Derek murmured. “Like an angel…” His words trailed off at the exact moment that a hideous sound assaulted Jake’s ears.

It stabbed like a spike through his already pounding head. He clapped his hands over his ears in pain, but that only muffled it. Beautiful?

The hideous screeching was a deafening cross between a vicious, midnight catfight, an avalanche of gravel, and monster claws scratching down a thousand chalkboards.

Holding his ears, Jake looked at Derek in terror, wondering what on earth this horrid sound might mean. But when he saw the look on the warrior’s face, he was all the more bewildered. You would have thought the man was listening to a symphony, not that horrendous racket.

Derek’s usual scowl had turned to a dreamy smile; he was motionless, but stood staring in the direction that the sound was coming from. His eyes glistened, glazed over with rapture, as if he had eaten a whole Roly-Poly Pudding by himself.

In confusion, Jake turned to Oliver, but the ghost-thief was equally captivated, floating like a happy bubble in midair, as if he could not tear his attention away from the sound.

Jake’s fear gave way to intrigue before this mystery.

Was this hideous song also affecting the guards? He stole a cautious glance around the corner and saw that the uniformed men were, indeed, in the same charmed condition as the warrior and the ghost.

Even the warden of Newgate himself had frozen in the middle of writing some report. He sat enthralled. His hand remained in midair; the drop of ink on his pen dripped onto his sheet of paper. He didn’t even notice.

Clearly, the grown men, both the living and the dead, had become enchanted, hearing something quite different from what Jake perceived.

Jake did not know if he had his youth or his own weird powers to thank for that, but whatever this harsh, grating sound meant, it did not bode well. He shoved Derek, to no avail. “Wake up, man! Come on, snap out of it! We’ve got to get out of here!”

Derek just kept listening. Tears of nostalgic emotion glistened in his eyes. “It’s beautiful. I could listen forever…”

“Blazes!” Jake muttered. He had to find some way to block Derek’s ears, then maybe the warrior would come back to reality.
I can’t believe I’m doing this,
he thought in vexation as he slipped around the corner.

He must truly be losing his marbles. First, he’d gone willingly into the police station to testify, and now he was sneaking into the warden’s office in the very heart of Newgate Prison. But what choice did he have?

As he crept into the warden’s office with the utmost stealth, the enchanted guards didn’t even look at him, to his relief.
There!
His gaze homed in on the melting clumps of wax from the candle burning on the desk, providing the warden with light for his paperwork.

As Jake sneaked over to the warden’s desk, the man gave no reaction whatsoever, though he was staring straight at Jake. It was a little unnerving. Whatever that sound was, it had to be some sort of magic.

Jake still wasn’t sure he even
believed
in magic, though it was getting hard to deny. Brushing off his thoughts, he quickly gathered a clump of the still-warm candle wax between his fingers and rolled it into two round blobs.

First he stopped up his own ears with the makeshift earplugs, then he made two more, ran back to Derek, and carefully tucked them into his ears, as well.

A second later, Derek returned to his senses. He shook his head to clear it, but his eyes were still rather glazed, as if he had just taken a good wallop in the head.

“Where am I, what’s happening?”

Jake poked him to get his attention. When Derek looked at him, Jake mouthed the words, “Let’s go!”

Derek’s face darkened as he remembered what was going on. “Only a few creatures can unleash that kind of power through their song, and all of them are deadly.”

“Creatures!” Jake exclaimed.

Derek nodded. “Probably a siren. But what would a siren be doing here so far from the sea? Well, never mind. We’ll figure it out later.”

“Agreed. I’ll unlock the door.”

“Hold on.” Derek took the still-entranced warden’s night stick, hefted it in his hand to test its weight, then tucked it through his belt. “That’s better.”

“Expecting trouble?”

“Always.” Then he helped himself to a set of leg-irons hanging on the wall in the warden’s office.

“What are you going to do with those, arrest someone?” Jake asked.

In answer, Derek twirled the chain in both hands for a few seconds; the leg-irons began whirling all around him in deadly patterns, circles, figure eights.

Anyone who came too close would be knocked out cold.

“Aha,” Jake muttered, impressed. “Right.”

Derek shot him a cold little half smile and made the chains go still. “
Now
I’m ready.”

“What about me?” Jake insisted. “Shouldn’t I take something to fight with, too?”

“What about that power in your hands?”

“So you know about that.”

“Your father had it, too.”

His eyes widened. “Really? But how did he—”

“Patience. Let’s get through this first.” Derek cast him a warning glance over his shoulder, then pushed open the door to freedom, and they both slipped out into the dark, chilly night.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the building, Fionnula Coralbroom still disguised as a beauty beckoned the black-clad servitors into the jail.

She was satisfied that everyone inside would have succumbed by now to the enchantment of her song.

Oxley nodded to the others, eager to get even with the Guardian who had trounced them in the alley and had caused
him
to kill their comrade Ratlow. His failure to succeed at his task so far had made His Lordship very cross, and Oxley had no desire to anger him further.

Along with a few extra henchmen, they marched toward the doors of Newgate, weapons at the ready, their wits protected from Fionnula’s treacherous lullaby by earplugs.