Witch Hunter (34 page)

is closest, but Westferry is the better bet. It’s safe harbour

for pirate ships that stop for provisions before heading

south. My father knows all the captains and I’ve met

a few. I could probably get us on one of them without

too much trouble. If we left tonight, we could catch one

in the morning.’

‘We?’ I say. ‘There is no we. Just me.’

‘Wrong,’ John says. ‘I’m going with you.’ I open my

mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand. ‘I heard what you

said. But if you try to sneak aboard some ship, and they

find you and decide to make an example of you, not getting

to Blackwell’s will be the least of your problems.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ I say.

‘Fine,’ he snaps. ‘But who’s going to take care of your

stitches? Who’s going to make your medicine? Who’s going

to keep you from dying?’ There’s an edge to his voice,

something between anger and frustration.

‘No one!’ I shout, brought to anger and frustration

myself. Maybe because I know it’s true.

The room goes quiet as we glare at each other.

‘I’m going with you,’ John says again.

‘I’m going, too,’ Fifer says.

‘No, you’re not,’ John and I say at once.

‘I am, and don’t you dare try to stop me,’ she fires

back. ‘I have a sword, and unless Elizabeth wants a matching

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set of stitches and you want some of your own, I’m going

with you.’

George raises his hand. ‘Count me in, too.’

‘This is ridiculous.’ I turn to Humbert, and I don’t need

to raise my voice for him, because I’m already shouting.

‘They cannot go, and you have to stop them. It’s too

dangerous. You know it and I know it. They could get

captured. They could get killed, and – what?’

Humbert is shaking his head.

‘It’s Nicholas,’ he says simply. ‘We all care too much

what happens to him to sit back and do nothing. So for me

to try to stop them from helping would be wrong, not to

mention unfair.’

I start to argue, but Humbert speaks first.

‘And you’re going to need help,’ he reminds me gently.

‘You can’t do it alone.’

I snap my mouth shut, gritting my teeth against this

foolishness; against the idea that they can help, against the

idea that I am anything except alone. But I know that for

now, arguing will get me nowhere.

Then I get an idea.

‘I guess that settles it,’ I say. ‘Can you help us get ready?’

Humbert nods, then motions for John and George to

follow him upstairs. When they’re gone, I turn to Fifer.

She’s not crying anymore, but she’s still sniffling, and now

both her eyes are swollen and red.

‘This is a terrible plan, you coming with me,’ I say.

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‘Surely you know that.’

‘I do,’ she says. ‘But Humbert’s right. You’re going to

need help.’

‘But you can’t help me,’ I say. ‘And if something happens

to you while I’m in there, I won’t be able to help you.’

‘Let us worry about that.’ She starts towards the door.

‘We should probably go and get ready.’

‘You go ahead,’ I tell her. ‘There’s something I need

to do first.’

I go to Humbert’s desk, pull out a pen and some paper.

While I may not be able to keep the others from going to

Blackwell’s with me, I can at least make sure they get out.

When I’m done, I fold up the pages neatly and seal them,

dripping melted wax over the edges and pressing Humbert’s

signet, a falcon, into the pool of crimson.

I find Bridget. ‘Give this note to Humbert the moment

we leave,’ I say. ‘It’s very important. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, miss, I do,’ she says, alarmed at my urgency.

‘I understand.’

‘Good. And make sure Horace doesn’t go anywhere.

Humbert’s going to need him.’

Several hours later we’re all in Humbert’s stable, loading

our bags onto four of his horses. We’re dressed in Humbert’s

servants’ livery, pale grey trousers and tunic with an orange

falcon embroidered across the front.

‘It’s a bit suspicious, your riding at night,’ Humbert says.

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‘So if anyone stops you, tell them I’m expecting a shipment

of fruit from Iberia at dawn, and you’re going to port to

wait for it.’

‘Fruit?’ George says, climbing onto the mounting block.

He’s so short he can’t get on his horse without it.

‘Of course! How else would I get oranges, limes, and

lemons in the dead of winter?’ He slaps his hand on John’s

shoulder. ‘Just got one last week. It’s a good thing, eh?’

John gives him a weak smile and climbs onto his horse.

‘There’s an inn at Westferry called the Nutshell. My

servants always stay there. Ask for Ian. He’ll give you a

couple of rooms and not ask too many questions.’

Humbert leads us outside. It’s only four o’clock, but

night is already falling. I can see the moon, a shining

crescent in the dusk. As we prepare to ride off, I feel his

hand on my arm. I turn to him and he motions for me to

come closer. I lean down.

‘What is it?’

‘Do you still have the ring?’ he whispers.

‘Yes.’ I feel embarrassed about packing it. It’s probably

valuable, and I suppose he’s realised if I die he’ll never get it

back. I reach for my bag. ‘It’s right here, just give me a

minute to find it—’

‘No.’ He puts his hand over mine and squeezes. ‘I would

like it very much if you wore it at the masque,’ he says. ‘Can

you do that?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ I say. ‘But why?’

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‘It’s a lucky ring,’ he says. ‘I know, it’s an old man’s

silly superstition. But I would feel better if I knew you had

it on.’

He’s right; it is a silly superstition. Even still, I’ll take all

the luck I can get.

‘Okay. I’ll wear it,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’ He gives my hand

one last squeeze and I’m about to ride off when it dawns on

me. ‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘You can hear me. I’ve been whispering

this whole time, but you can hear me. Can’t you?’ I stare at

him as it sinks in. ‘You’re not deaf at all, are you?’

Humbert winks. ‘Oh, I don’t know. We’re all a little

hard of hearing in our own way, aren’t we?’ He laughs at

the shocked look on my face. ‘It’s a wonderful disadvantage

to have, I’ll tell you. One learns so much being deaf.

You’d be surprised at what people will say when they think

no one is listening.’

Trust the one who sees as much as he hears. Fifer thought

that was about Schuyler, and it was – but it was also about

Humbert. I wonder if she knows.

I shake my head and laugh, too. I can’t help it.

‘Our little secret?’

I nod.

‘Good girl. Now you’d better get moving.’

The four of us ride away. But before we can even make it

all the way through Humbert’s vast estate, I see a falcon

circling the sky. He hovers over us before swooping away, a

rolled up note clutched in his tiny feet.

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‘Isn’t that Horace?’ George says.

‘Yes,’ John confirms. ‘I figured Humbert would write to

my father to tell him where we were going. But I thought

he’d at least wait until we cleared his property first.’

I smile. So far, things are going according to plan.

It’s dark when we reach Westferry. We find Humbert’s

friend Ian easily enough. He takes our horses to his

stable, feeds us, and shows us to our rooms, all without

question. Fifer and I fall into our beds immediately. I’m

exhausted, and my side throbs painfully. John wrapped it

up tightly before we left, but three hours on horseback has

left it aching.

The next time I open my eyes, it’s morning. To my

surprise, the sun is shining. Fifer and I dress and go next

door to John and George’s room. John is standing at the

window, watching the ships that line the harbour. He’s fully

dressed and ready to go.

‘See it?’ Fifer asks, setting her bag on the floor.

‘Not yet,’ John says, shielding his eyes against the

bright sun.

‘It?’ I repeat. ‘I thought you said we could take any one

of those ships.’

John shrugs, but he doesn’t turn around. ‘We could. And

we might have to. But I’d rather take one I know. It’ll make

it easier, given where we’re asking them to take us.’

George comes in with food, and the three of us eat while

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John continues to monitor the window. Then Fifer and

George play a card game on the bed while I sit in a chair

in the corner, trying to rest. Even though I slept well last

night, I’m still tired. I guess it’s my stitches. I can’t remember

the last time an injury left me so exhausted.

Next thing I know, there’s a hand on my arm, gently

shaking me. ‘Elizabeth. Wake up.’ I blink and see George

standing over me. ‘Time to go.’ He helps me out of my chair

and hands me my bag.

John stands by the door, waiting. He hasn’t spoken

to me, at least not voluntarily, since we left Humbert’s.

Every now and again I catch him watching me when he

thinks I’m not looking. But when I try to meet his gaze,

he always looks away.

Outside, the dock is crowded with people, stevedores

mostly, loading and unloading crates from the ships

that line the quay. For a moment I stand there, letting

the warmth from the sun sink into my skin. I should

be feeling safe – as safe as someone like me could feel,

anyway. But for some reason, the hairs on the back of my

neck start to prickle, the way they do when I know I’m

being watched.

‘Which one is it?’ George says. There are several ships

along the pier. Some are massive, hulking things, all masts

and rigging, billowing sails, and cargo stacked high. Others

are low and sleek, with nothing on board but cannons,

poking from the gun ports like tiny black eyes.

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‘There. At the very end.’ John points to one of the smaller

ships docked at the end.

‘It’s smaller than I thought it would be,’ Fifer says. ‘Don’t

you think we’d be better off in one of those?’ She motions to

one of the larger ships.

John shakes his head. ‘Blackwell’s house is off the river.

Something that big will never be able to get us close enough

without running aground. I don’t really want to row

in, do you?’

Fifer shakes her head.

We step into the jostling crowd and make our way

towards it. We’re about halfway there when someone

bumps into me, knocking my bag off my shoulder. I stop to

adjust it. In that moment, one man’s heavy shoulder slams

against mine as another man steps in front of me, and I lose

sight of the others.

The sunlight bounces off the water and into my eyes, so

bright I can’t see where they went. I spin around in a circle,

searching the crowd. When I still can’t find them, I feel a

little jolt of panic until a hand lands on my arm. I turn

around, thinking it’s George, maybe John. But it isn’t.

It’s Caleb.

‘Hello, Elizabeth,’ he says, as calmly as if we’d met at the

palace grounds, or The World’s End, or any place besides

this dock, the last place on earth I’d ever expect to see him.

‘Caleb,’ I gasp. ‘What are you – how did you—’

‘How did I find you?’

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I nod, too stunned to speak.

‘It was difficult – I won’t lie. Easier, perhaps, once we

found the dead guards in Stepney Green. As soon as I saw

them, I knew it was you. I’d recognise your handiwork

anywhere.’ He smiles then, but it doesn’t quite reach

his eyes.

I start to shiver. ‘Caleb, I—’

He holds up a hand. ‘I need to talk to you, and we don’t

have a lot of time. Marcus is here; so is Linus. They haven’t

seen you, at least not yet.’ I whip my head around, searching

the crowd for them. What if they found the others?

‘Don’t worry, they’re not here for your friends. I told

them specifically to leave them alone.’

I freeze.

‘Don’t look that way. I’m glad you made friends. I’m

happy to see you were taken care of. The tall one, in

particular, seems as if he’s taking very good care of you.’

I let out a strangled gasp.

‘Elizabeth, I want you to come back with me.’

It takes a moment to find my breath.

‘What?’ I say finally. ‘No, I can’t go to prison, Caleb.

I won’t—’

‘You’re not going to prison,’ Caleb says. ‘I’m the

Inquisitor now, haven’t you heard? What I say goes. I want

you to come back and be a witch hunter again.’

‘What?’ I say again. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. ‘No,