The Goblin's Gift (29 page)

Newton strode across the deck, down into the darkness of the lower levels, where the imp captain stood by Old Jon, watching the gun crews reloading and dabbing at his brow with an expensive-looking handkerchief. Smoke hung heavy in the air, along with the smell of gunpowder.

‘Are there any magicians on board?' barked Newton. ‘Anyone?'

‘But Mr Newton …' said the imp. His cheeks were flushed now. ‘Magic isn't permitted in Fayt without a warrant.'

Newton had all but lost his patience. ‘We're
not in Fayt now,' he pointed out. ‘Any magicians?'

Hesitantly, three figures stepped forward from among the gun crews – a nervous-looking woman with scraggly grey hair, a fat bald man with several teeth missing, and a tall, gaunt elf with hollow eyes.

‘Perfect. Follow me.'

He led them up the steps and across the deck to the prow. More cannon fire was sounding now, making them duck with every volley. The faces of the three magicians paled, just as the imp's had, when they saw the towering
Justice
approaching them. Newton didn't have time to reassure them.

‘We need to get onto that ship.'

The bald man and the elf shook their heads.

‘It's too high,' said the elf.

‘We could lift a person up onto it,' said the man. ‘But not a whole crew.'

Newton was just wondering if knocking their heads together would help, when the woman spoke up. ‘What if we go through? Instead of up? If we all work on one small area of the hull, we could smash a hole – some simple arboreal manipulation. Then we could jump across onto their gun decks.'

Slowly, her two companions nodded. They looked a little disgruntled that they hadn't thought of it themselves.

‘Aye, s'pose we could do that.'

‘Then do it,' growled Newton.

A shape dropped out of the sky towards them and they all ducked again. But it was only Ty. The fairy alighted on Newton's shoulder.

‘Colonel Derringer's not too happy, mister. Called you some pretty bad names, if I'm honest.'

‘He can take a dive into the ocean for all I care. Get everyone armed and ready to board the
Justice
.'

‘Aye, Captain.' The fairy's wings blurred back into life. He took off, saluted and darted down below decks.

The three magicians stood side by side, staring at the approaching ship and holding hands. Newton stepped back, not wanting to break their concentration.

The
Justice
was close now. Very close. He could see the cannon poking out of the gun ports, four ranks deep. But still the enemy flagship made no attempt to steer away and expose the
Dread Unicorn
to her fearsome gunnery.

Then he spotted a figure up on the enemy deck, silhouetted against the sails. A second joined him. A third. They wore white uniforms with red symbols embroidered on their shoulders.

Fireballs.

‘Look out!' he roared, but even as he spoke the
League magicians raised their arms, and three streaks of unnatural fire tore through the air.

Newton dived onto the Fayter magicians, bundling them to the deck. A wave of heat passed overhead. But when he looked up, he saw that they hadn't been the targets after all. The
Dread Unicorn
's sails were ablaze, smoke billowing from rapidly widening holes scorched in the mainsail and two topsails.

Behind, there were shouts of dismay as Fayters saw the damage.

Newton grabbed hold of the magicians and pointed them towards the
Justice
.

‘Best get going. And quickly.'

The woman nodded and took the other magicians' hands. They stood shakily, working up their power again.

Newton watched the League magicians raising their hands for a second time …

Cannon fire, to port. The
Justice
shook, and the League magicians stumbled, turned to see what was happening. Newton turned too.
What in Thalin's name
was that?

Two small vessels had sailed out from behind the
Dread Unicorn
– low-lying, with elegant triangular sails. Impish dhows. One had smoke rising from her cannon. The other fired a broadside as Newton
watched, red flashes racing along her gun deck, booms rolling out across the waves. The
Justice
shuddered for a second time as cannonballs smashed into her hull.

In spite of everything, Newton smiled. The imp captains had remembered his plan from their first encounter with the League. And it was working.

The nearest dhow had strung up a set of signal flags:
Good luck
.

The
Dread Unicorn
was on a collision course with the
Justice
. Just a few more moments …

‘Now!' roared Newton.

The three Fayter magicians threw their hands out as one. The air shimmered and there was an almighty
CRACK!
as a section of the enemy ship's hull broke apart, crumpling like paper, planks splintering inwards to leave a gaping hole big enough for two men to enter side by side. Inside, Newton saw wide-eyed League marines stumbling backwards in surprise.

At the same instant, the two vessels collided with a bump, throwing everyone off balance as the hulls ground together.

Newton stepped up on the gunwale and leaped into the enemy ship, raising the gleaming Sword of Corin high above his head.

CANNONS BLASTED INTO
life, and the merfolk dived down deep as the shots thundered overhead. Tabitha got a mouthful of seawater and spluttered as they came up for air. She clung onto her mermaid carrier with one hand, rubbing salt from her eyes with the other.

Whatever happened, she couldn't let go. She was just as helpless here in the sea as Pallione had been on the land.
No, don't think about her. Not now …
There were other things to worry about.

One of the League scout ships had sailed out ahead of the armada, uncomfortably close.

‘Turn!' yelled Paddy, pointing with his cutlass. ‘To the Fayter fleet!'

But it was too late. The League ship seemed to shimmer for a moment, and a ripple raced through the air towards the merfolk.

‘Down!' Tabitha heard Hal shouting. ‘Down again!'

She spotted one of the mermaids leaping out of the waves, carrying a smuggler on her back. The pair of them caught the full force of the magic bolt and were hurled backwards, coming apart and smashing into the sea like cannonballs.

Her heart was pounding as they dived.

The first of us to die
, she realized.
Probably not the
last.

They surfaced moments later, and Tabitha saw that the League ship had tacked back towards the battle. But now a Fayter vessel had broken the line and was steering towards them. A small wavecutter, keeping watch over the flank. Signal flags were raised.
Come
aboard.

Good. They needed to get onto a friendly ship fast. Tabitha did not want to be floundering around in the ocean amid the enemy fleet.

The merfolk turned like a shoal of fish, streaking towards the wavecutter at incredible speed. The ship loomed larger and larger, and Tabitha saw rope ladders
being flung overboard. As her own mermaid reached the hull, the troll twins were already there, heaving themselves out of the water, dripping wet. They clambered up the side of the ship to the welcoming arms of Fayters in sea-green armbands. Next went Phineus Clagg. Then Joseph, Hal and the remaining smugglers.

Tabitha was the last to go. She grabbed hold of the rope ladder and pulled herself out of the water. ‘Thank you,' she called over her shoulder. ‘On behalf of the Demon's Watch.'

‘You rescued us,' said a mermaid with thick black hair and a broken nose. ‘Now the debt is paid.'

Tabitha nodded and watched as they disappeared beneath the waves. She'd hated them at first. But the more she knew of these merfolk, the more she liked them.

No. Don't think about her.

She began to climb. Hal was ahead, scrambling up over the gunwale, helped by a man wearing a Fayter armband, with ginger hair tied back in a ponytail and a ginger beard and moustache.

She'd seen him somewhere before. Somewhere recently. Where was it?

‘Hello there, miss,' said the man, holding out a hand. As Tabitha reached up, she saw that there was some
thing wrong with it. The hand had only three fingers.

A man with a ginger ponytail … and three fingers …

With a sickening jolt, she knew exactly where she'd seen him. She pulled her hand away, but the man snatched her wrist and held on with an iron grip, tugging her towards him.

‘Let me go,' she yelled, but it was no good. She sounded pathetic. Tommy just grinned, and a dwarf joined him, heaving her up over the gunwale and onto the ship.

The Demon's Watch were kneeling on the deck, hands on their heads, weapons piled in front of them. One of the crewmen was inspecting Hal's wooden spoon with suspicion, before finally throwing it onto the pile. Joseph caught Tabitha's eye for a moment before she looked away.

Ranged around the prisoners were the ship's crew, armed with crossbows, blunderbusses and pistols. They wore the sea-green armbands of Fayt, but up close she saw that their faces were hard, cold and cruel. In the centre stood a tall man dressed in black, wearing a hammered ducat as an eye patch and smoking a pipe. At his side was a much smaller figure. A child dressed in gold, from his buckled shoes to the tip of his cockatrice feather plume. His hand was outstretched, and in his palm sat a fairy, swinging his legs and smirking at Tabitha.

Slik
.

‘You fools,' sneered the Boy King. ‘Did you really think you could get away from me?'

Smoke everywhere
. Newton didn't know where it had come from, but it engulfed him, along with the noises of battle: the clash of steel, the cries of the dying and the boom of distant cannon.

He stalked across the gun deck, almost tripped over the sprawled, bloodied body of an imp. No time to stay and see if the fallen Fayter was dead or alive. He pressed on, a pistol in one hand, the Sword of Corin in the other.

Old Jon moved behind him, stealthy and silent, his cudgel poised to strike.

Always got my back, Old Jon.

A glimpse of white coats through the smoke, and Newton veered away from them. He didn't want to get bogged down here below decks. The man he wanted would be up above, overseeing the battle from the foredeck.

A dwarf appeared out of nowhere, roaring with all his lung power, and Newton had to sidestep to avoid being chopped in half by a whirling axe.

‘Sorry,' grunted the dwarf, and disappeared back into the smoke, roaring again.

At last they came to the steps that led to the upper deck. Newton took a deep breath and flexed the fingers of his sword hand. His grip was too tight – no good for fighting. But anger and the adrenaline of battle did that to you. He tucked the sword under his arm and shook out his hand, looking back at Old Jon to check that he was ready. The elf nodded. They set off up the steps.

Above, more smoke. None of the Fayters had made it this far yet, and the only figures to be seen were white-coated League sailors scurrying about, and a couple of snipers trying to sight through the smoke, looking for targets on other ships.

One turned at the sound of their footsteps, swinging his musket round. There was a gunshot and the man collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Old Jon dropped a smoking pistol, drew another from his belt.

Newton peered through the smoke. There, on the foredeck, was an ornate golden chair, its back to them. It could only belong to the Duke of Garran. He broke into a run, cleared the steps and leaped forward, boot first, connecting hard.

The figure sitting in the chair went into a roll as it tumbled forward. Newton landed off balance, and staggered back. It wasn't the Duke of Garran at all.
Instead, he found himself glaring into the blue eyes of Alice Turnbull. Her white coat was pristine and her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, as before. She held her huge sword in both hands, relaxed but ready. Her face was expressionless – no trace of fear.

A pistol crack from behind him.

Old Jon, again.

But the woman didn't fall. Instead her eyes flicked momentarily to Newton's left. He spun round and his heart jolted.

Old Jon was on his knees, one hand still holding his cudgel, the other clasping his throat. Blood bubbled through the elf's fingers. His face was as white as a sail and his eyes bulged. He raised the cudgel slowly, pointing it at something.

‘Mr Newton,' said a familiar voice. The Duke of Garran stepped out from behind the foremast, holding an ornate pistol. He blew away the smoke, pulled back the hammer and began to reload. ‘I suspected we might meet again.' He pointed a white-gloved finger at the Sword of Corin. ‘A beautiful blade for a mongrel.'

The Boy King took a sugar lump from his pocket and tossed it to Slik. The fairy caught it and tucked in, gnawing like a rat.

‘You did, didn't you?' said the boy, and his voice
was a sneer of triumph. ‘You thought you could beat me. Me, the Boy King! Lord of the Marlinspike Quarter! Terror of Port Fayt! How absurd. How … funny!'