The Lost Heir (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1) (9 page)

“Well,” the earl replied, turning to him, “at least you’re a little brighter than this one, aren’t you, Flare?”

Flare nodded. “We seen ‘em from around the corner.”

“Hmm.” The earl considered this and paced away from them, stroking his mouth in thought. He pivoted at the other end of the cave. He shivered as if he had a chill, and paused to run his fingers idly across the top of the candle’s flame as he considered his next move. “Very well, slight change of strategy,” he announced. “We’ll pick up the hunt for the boy tomorrow. First, we’ve got to deal with Derek Stone. There’s no point trying to kill my nephew as long as that wretch is alive to protect him.”

Gladwin realized Derek’s locating instincts must be working just fine, after all. He’d found the boy—in the nick of time, it sounded.

“However,” Waldrick continued with a crafty glance, “right now, our brave Guardian is locked in a jail cell, unarmed. There’s no way he can escape, nor fight back, behind those bars. And that means there’s no way for you to miss. It’s the perfect opportunity to get rid of the miserable lout for once and for all. Tonight,” he instructed, “you will break
into
Newgate Prison, find Derek Stone’s cell, and kill him. It’ll be easy,” he promised. “Shooting fish in a barrel. Do not fail me again,” he added, “or this time, I’ll let Fionnula turn you into a pair of oysters and feed you both to her pet eel. Hello, darling,” he added, suavely blowing the sea-witch a kiss.

Gladwin lifted her eyebrows as the hideous creature giggled like a schoolgirl.

Oxley, meanwhile, cast a nervous look in Fionnula’s direction. “Yes, sir. Uh, I have one small question—”

“Do not fret, man! I’m half a league ahead of you, as always. My sweet Fionnula will get you into the jail. Oh, darling?” he called in a singsong.

As he sauntered toward her, the sea-witch swam over to the edge of the pool closest to the earl. “Yes, my lord?”

“Perhaps you have a pretty lullaby to sing for all those nasty prison guards. Oxley and his men will need a bit of help breaking into Newgate.”

“Oh, yes, I know just the tune!” The hag clapped her warty greenish hands. “But if you want me to do it, I must have a feather! I must go, after all, to where the prison guards can hear me sing my tune.”

“But of course.” With a debonair smile, the earl reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a scarlet feather with a faint golden shimmer of magic dancing round the edges.

Gladwin stared at it, mesmerized, but unsure what it signified.

Fionnula’s eyes shone with an unholy gleam as Waldrick offered it to her, but he paused. “Now promise, my lovely, that you’ll keep your end of the bargain.”

“Don’t I always?”

He did not deign to answer that. “And that you won’t run amuck after you are through?”

Her eager smile turned to a huff. “It’s none of your business if I do!”

“Fionnula,” he chided.

“I cannot always stay penned up in this cave, Waldrick! You have no idea how boring it is! I need life, parties, dancing! Every now and then, a girl has to stretch her legs!” She lifted a rubbery tentacle from the water and wiggled it playfully.

Waldrick’s smile was not quick enough to mask his distaste. “Limbs, my dear.
Do
try to be a lady. In the polite world, we call them
limbs
, if we must refer to them at all.”

“Ha!” She turned her back on him. “You don’t approve of my manners? Find yourself another way into Newgate!”

“Now, now, Fionnula, don’t be cross. Very well, I don’t wish you to be unhappy in my humble home. Of course you can have the feather. If you need to go out and have some fun afterwards, I suppose I don’t mind. Just make sure you’re back by dawn, and for heaven’s sake, don’t let my Society friends see you in—this form.”

“Done,” she replied. Turning around with a splash and a monstrous grin, she snatched the feather out of his hand.

Oxley and Flare backed away. Gladwin pressed her nose against the glass jar, staring.

The sea-witch took the shimmering red feather between her palms and began to twirl it briskly back and forth, like someone trying to start a fire with two sticks. A sweet-smelling cloud of white smoke began to rise.

Faster and faster she rubbed the feather in between her hands. The cloud grew, engulfing her. All of a sudden, the feather crumbled into dust in both her hands. The sea-witch cackled and lifted her fists over her head to sprinkle herself with the sparkling dust.

Even the satyr stopped munching to see what was going to happen. Inside the cloud of white smoke, a transformation was taking place.

Lord Griffon clasped his hands together behind his back and beamed proudly, waiting a moment. “Ah, there she is, my beauty from the Irish Sea! Welcome back, my rare ocean pearl!” He put out his hand with the utmost gallantry, and from out of the cloud, a dainty white hand emerged, alighting atop his palm gracefully.

And then the rest of a wholly changed Fionnula Coralbroom stepped out of the cloud, no longer a sea hag, but restored to what she once had been before King Oceanus had cursed her for her treachery—a dazzling beauty in an ocean-blue dress, with black hair that curled in waves all the way down to her hips.

“Waldrick!” she greeted him in a breathy singsong.

Flare stared at her in shock, but Oxley just shook his head as Fionnula lifted the hem of her gown and admired her own legs. “Hello, legs—limbs! Hello, pretty feet! Sweet Poseidon, I am myself again!” Making happy little noises, she pranced barefooted over to a closet and yanked away the curtain.

Gladwin’s eyes widened again in bewilderment when she saw that the closet contained countless pairs of fancy ladies’ shoes.

Fionnula Coralbroom’s dainty hand skimmed over her shoe collection; she almost chose a fluffy pink pair of sandals, but then opted instead for a sparkly red pair of high heels.

She hummed a little tune to herself as she bent down to put them on, flirting with the men as she did so. This done, she popped up again and smoothed her skirts. “Now I’m ready! La, it’s going to be a good night!”

“Now, no tricks, my pretty, no singing before you get there,” the earl warned.

She giggled prettily and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Who, me? Do I put a spell on you, my lord?” She glided back to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, fluttering her long, velvety lashes. “My Lancelot! My rescuer!”

“You enchantress,” he flattered with a tense smile. “Now behave yourself, my dear, and remember, for your own safety, make sure you’re back by dawn.”

“How kind you are, Waldrick, to look after me. So strong, so handsome. Oh, I cannot resist you mortal men! Back in the old days, there used to be whole ships full of Royal Navy sailors—”

“I say!”

“Oh, don’t be jealous, darling. I only used to lure them to their deaths!” She giggled.

“Right. Off you go, then.” He pushed her away, barely hiding a grimace, and handed her off to Oxley.

Fionnula slipped her other hand through the crook of Flare’s elbow. “Oh, what big muscles you have, Mr. Oxley!”

He gulped nervously and looked, thought Gladwin, like he wanted to bolt away from her, but apparently he did not dare risk offending the sorceress’s vanity.

“Get my men into Newgate and then you may go off and have your fun.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Fionnula Coralbroom blew the earl a kiss as she skipped out with his henchmen, but the wicked glimmer in her eyes remained the same as when she was a hag.

Gladwin suddenly felt rather sorry for the prison guards of Newgate. She had no idea what the treacherous siren might do to them.

As for Derek Stone, she hoped he would find a way to fend off this sneak attack. For if Oxley and Flare succeeded in killing the Guardian, young Jacob didn’t stand a chance.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Ghosts of Newgate

As night descended over Newgate Prison, clammy-cold and inky-black, Jake made up his mind that he was going arrow-straight in life. From now on, he would not so much as use a curse word—if only he could somehow get out of this.

Being in a cage was intolerable to a boy so used to doing what he liked, when he liked, and answering to no one. Although he was pretending to be as nonchalant as the rest of the hard-edged boys who shared his cell, in truth, he was terrified, for even a streetwise pickpocket had much to fear in the dark, dank bowels of Newgate.

The rough guards. The rats that scurried along the filthy walls. The awful smells that carried fevers.

And of course, the dozen criminal lads, his cellmates. Unlike him—in Jake’s view—they looked like they belonged here. By the time they fell asleep, he was weary down to his bones from hours of trying to look tough so they would stay away from him. At last, he was the only one left awake and could focus on planning his escape.

Or so he thought.

But his cellmates had no sooner dozed off than a whole new round of prisoners started arriving: the dead.

Countless ghosts of the past prisoners of Newgate began floating through the mighty dungeon that had been their final home.

Gooseflesh prickled down Jake’s arms; the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he spotted the first translucent figure floating up the hallway, a mysterious orb surrounded by an eerie bluish glow.

“Oooooo…”

“Woooooooo!”

“OOOOOO!”

Ahh!
Jake bit back a shriek, his heart pounding. He backed against the wall by his cot. They were everywhere!

The dead of Newgate began materializing from out of the walls, as motley a population as had ever been incarcerated. Criminals in life, they made very nasty spirits, moaning and cackling and chasing around after their enemy ghosts.

A pair of gentlemen duelists from the previous century carried out a swordfight sideways on the wall, dancing upside down across the ceiling as they tried to hack each other to bits.

A ghostly highwayman galloped his horse right down the main aisle of the cell block, while a crooked apothecary floated past, snickering evilly as he stirred rat poison into the medicine he was making for some customers.

The night watchmen on patrol in the jail obviously could neither see nor hear the ghostly prisoners running loose throughout the jail after dark, but Jake could see them everywhere, each one trailing a weird, faint, blue glow. With all the noise they were making, he was amazed that none of the other boys woke up.

Each spirit that he saw made him shake his head and swear to himself he’d never steal again. Heaven forbid he should end up like them, imprisoned here for eternity.

A Tudor-era traitor sauntered by carrying his head, while a hanged pirate captain marched down the aisle barking orders at his invisible crew.

Jake cowered when a ghostly burglar poked his head through the bars and then came tiptoeing into the cell, creeping stealthily among the sleeping boys.

The ragged ghost-thief flew from one sleeping person to another trying to rob them of any valuables they had in their pockets. Jake watched the apparition becoming more and more frustrated when his spectral hand kept whooshing right through anything he tried to take.

Angrily, the intruder flew around the cell to his next would-be victim, but when he came to him, Jake pulled away, holding onto his lucky conch shell necklace, even though he knew the ghost-thief wouldn’t be able to grab it.

He wasn’t sure why anyone would want to take it, anyway. His sole token from his parents had only sentimental value. “Don’t even think about it!” he warned, protecting the seashell in his hand.

The ghost thief’s eyebrows shot upward. “Wot, you can see me?” he exclaimed.

“Of course I can, you idiot!” he whispered. “Now get away from me! Shoo!”

“’Hoy, lads, this one can see me! Can you see them, too, eh?”

“I can see all o’ you,” Jake said impatiently, keeping his voice low to avoid waking the other boys. Easing up out of his smelly, bedbug-ridden cot, he stood and crept past the sleeping prisoners, followed by the ghost-thief.

“I don’t understand. Are you a ghost, too, then?”

“Not yet,” Jake muttered.

“Then how come you can see us?”

“I don’t know, I just can!” he whispered in annoyance.

“Explain yourself, lad! You’ve got the second sight?” the pirate captain demanded, clomping over to them on his peg-leg.

The two gentlemen duelists now noticed their conversation and stopped trying to run each other through, coming over to investigate, as well.

“What is going on here?” the first demanded, elbowing his opponent aside.

His opponent elbowed him back. “Is it true, lad? You can see us?”

Jake scowled. “Afraid so.”

“Young master,” the taller one said at once with a gentlemanly bow as he smoothed his fine, ruffled shirt, “since you find yourself with the good fortune of being amongst the living, will you be so kind as to bring a message to my lady?”

“She’s
my
lady! She loves me!” his enemy interrupted, drawing his sword on him again. “En garde!”

The ghost thief shoved his way between them once more and floated back to Jake. “Never mind these two. They been at this for a ‘undred years. The important question is, how do we get out of ‘ere?”

“How should I know?” Jake retorted. “I’m trying to get out myself. If you’ll excuse me!” He marched past them, walking through one who refused to get out of his way.

He went to the metal bars and peered through them.

It was the particular cruelty of the jailers to hang the keys in sight, but out of reach of the prisoners. It gave them all something to stare at so they could contemplate the error of their ways.

But Jake meant to do more than contemplate. He gripped the bars of the cell and focused his full attention on those tantalizing keys.

They dangled from a peg set into the opposite wall.

Recalling his success with the mincemeat pie, he made sure none of the guards were coming, then glanced over his shoulder to confirm that none of the boys were awake.

Satisfied that it was only himself and the curious audience of ghosts looking on, he reached his arm through the bars of his cell and extended his fingers.
Come!