THE MAN FROWNED harder at the piece of paper. He was dressed in rich blue velvet with small golden crowns stitched on each shoulder – livery like that of a trading company official. But his head was shaven, exposing an angry scar where one ear should have been, and his left eye was made of wood and painted to look like a real one, although not very successfully. All in all he looked like a glorified bully boy. Which was exactly what he was.
‘You’re not on the list,’ he said at last.
‘I know that,’ said Slik. ‘But we’re not guests, see? Reckon you’re short on servants, what with old Skelmerdale dragging all the ships in the harbour out to fight the Duke of Garran. And these two here want to help out in the kitchens, earn a ducat or two. I’m Slik. Cold-eyed Parsons knows me. He’ll vouch for me.’
‘We already got servants,’ said the bully boy.
‘Not like these you haven’t. The Boy King’ll want them. You know how he likes freaks.’ Tabitha scowled at Slik, but the fairy carried on anyway. ‘Look at that mongrel’s skin, all weird and blotchy. And the girl’s funny blue hair.’
The bully boy narrowed his one real eye.
‘Wait there.’
The door slammed shut, brass knocker jangling. Joseph hugged his shoulders against the evening chill and gazed up at the building. It didn’t look like the headquarters of the most dangerous gang in Port Fayt. It was a large, pale stone merchant’s house – just one of a hundred in this street, all identical. It was eerie how quiet it was here. Nothing like the busy Marlinspike Quarter he was used to.
He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. The street was dark and empty. The Flagstaff Quarter was where the wealthiest merchants in Port Fayt lived, and folk like that tended to stay safe inside their big houses at night. All the same, he was nervous. What if a blackcoat patrol came … ?
‘They’re all at sea, remember?’ said Tabitha, who had obviously guessed what he was thinking. ‘Slik – I thought you said this would be easy.’ She yanked on the fairy’s lead, wrapped around her arm and hidden under her jacket cuff.
‘No patience, this one,’ said Slik. ‘He’ll let us in. Not nervous, are you?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I’m nervous,’ said Joseph.
‘Well, I’m not, all right? I just don’t trust this fairy.’
Slik shrugged. ‘Boo hoo. Not as if you have a choice, anyway.’
‘He’s right,’ said Joseph. ‘We couldn’t get in on our own.’
Tabitha glared at him, then at Slik. She lifted the fairy up on the back of her hand so that he was level with their faces. Slik grinned at them.
‘Listen up, you slimy little sea slug,’ she said. ‘If you cause any trouble in there, it won’t be the Brig any more.’ She drew a finger across her throat. ‘Got it?’
‘You don’t scare me.’
Tabitha wrapped her hand around the fairy, so that only his feet and head poked out on either side of her fist. He struggled, but it was no use.
‘How about now? One good hard squeeze. That’s all it would take. I’d enjoy it too.’
The fairy paled. ‘All right, keep your breeches on. I’ll behave.’
Footsteps sounded beyond the door. Joseph took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists.
‘We’ll be all right, Joseph,’ said Tabitha. ‘Just stick with me.’
He managed a smile. ‘Thanks. I will.’
Slik rolled his eyes and pretended to throw up.
The door opened again, and the man with the wooden eye stood back to let them pass. As they entered, two more men stepped out of the shadows and patted them down. Thank Thalin they’d left their weapons at Bootles’. It hadn’t been easy persuading Tabitha to part with her knives. Or her watchman’s coat, for that matter.
Joseph snuck a quick glance around him. The hallway was large and luxurious, a bronze chandelier hanging high above the white marble floor, its candlelight glowing softly onto blood-red walls. There were portraits, just like the ones in Wyrmwood Manor. Except the people in these paintings were terrifying. Most of them were missing something – front teeth, or an eye or a nose – and every one of them looked like they’d stab you in the face for half a ducat.
Joseph shivered. We’ve got to do this, he reminded himself. They couldn’t leave their fellow watchmen at the mercy of the merfolk. Couldn’t leave Newt and his fleet to face the League armada on their own.
‘All right,’ said the doorman. ‘Tommy here’ll take you down to the kitchens. You’ll get a ducat apiece for the evening’s work. Cause any trouble and you’ll get the hiding of your life. Or worse. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal,’ said Slik, before Joseph or Tabitha could say anything. ‘Reckon I’ll stick around and enjoy the party.’
‘Reckon you won’t,’ said the doorman bluntly. ‘You can stay with the boy and girl or you can clear off. Parsons doesn’t want to see you.’
Joseph thought fast. Better to have the fairy with them, where they could keep an eye on him. ‘He’ll stay with us,’ he said. ‘Won’t you, Slik?’
‘Course I will,’ said the fairy, giving him a big grin.
Joseph smiled back, until he remembered Slik’s words from earlier. If you go into the court of the Boy King, you’re going to get yourselves killed. And I want to be there when it happens. The smile died on his lips.
The man called Tommy stepped up behind them and laid his hands on their shoulders. He was tall and thin, dressed in the same blue velvet as the doorman, with a face as pale as a corpse, wispy ginger hair tied back into a ponytail and a long, drooping ginger beard and moustache. He steered them along the dark red corridor, deeper into the house. It wasn’t a gentle grip, and the swirling in Joseph’s stomach didn’t improve when he noticed that the hand on his shoulder had only three fingers.
There was a clatter of pots and pans and raised voices up ahead. They turned a corner, went through a doorway and down wide stone steps, and at last came out into an enormous kitchen. Servants were scurrying in every direction, tasting soup, chopping vegetables or plucking birds at the long table that ran down the middle of the room. Joseph wiped his brow. It was swelteringly hot thanks to three large open fires set into one wall.
Tommy took them across the kitchen, not pausing for a moment. An elf carrying a giant platter of roast meat had to dodge out of his path, and a woman with a pan of white sauce almost spilled it in her hurry to make way.
‘Meal’s already started,’ said Tommy. His voice was thin and nasal. ‘But there’s room for a couple more serving staff. Put these on …’
He pulled costumes off some pegs and handed them to Joseph and Tabitha.
Tabitha frowned. ‘Do we have to?’
‘Yes,’ replied Tommy, in a way that made it clear there was no more to say on the matter. ‘The Boy King likes his servants dressed up. And the Boy King gets what he wants. Always.’
Slik sniggered. Joseph’s costume was a red and yellow jester suit with an enormous coxcomb on its hood. Tabitha’s was a dress sewn together from large purple and green patches with a gigantic ruff at the neck.
‘But these are ridiculous. Why do—?’
Quick as a flash, Tommy whipped a silver pistol out of a pocket and pressed it against Tabitha’s forehead, two fingers curled around the handle, the third resting on the trigger. Joseph started forward but Tommy’s other hand gripped him by the throat, squeezing until he could barely breathe.
The noise died down as the servants stopped to watch.
‘Well then, young mistress,’ said Tommy, ‘I reckon you’ll be looking ridiculous.’
Tabitha stayed silent, her eyes wide and her face pale. As quickly as it had appeared, the pistol was put away again; the fingers relaxed around Joseph’s throat. The background noise swelled up once more as he gasped and spluttered for air.
‘Come on then,’ snapped Tommy. ‘Haven’t got all night.’
They struggled into the costumes, pulling them on over their clothes. Slik made a big fuss as the dress came down over him, but Tabitha managed to keep the leash concealed.
Joseph caught a glimpse of himself in the curve of a large polished copper pan. Tabitha was right – they looked ridiculous. His costume was too big for him and the coxcomb sagged absurdly to one side. Tabitha’s dress pooled around her feet, and the colours clashed madly with her blue hair.
‘This way,’ said Tommy, and he led them to a table by the wall, crammed with dishes giving off exotic, delicious smells. There was a roasted seagull sitting on a bed of seaweed; a huge platter of rocks with oysters on top; a bowl of baby octopus. Joseph tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. It had been a long time since breakfast.
‘This is the third course,’ said Tommy. ‘They’re finishing the second now. So you’ll be pouring black-wine until they’re ready.’ He handed them each a large crystal decanter sloshing with dark ruby liquid.
Joseph gazed at his in awe. Blackwine. No one in a dockside tavern like his uncle’s could afford such an extravagance. Blackwine was imported from the finest vineyards in the Old World, and you could probably feed a family for a year on what this single decanter must have cost. He rearranged his grip, making sure he wasn’t going to drop it.
‘Now, most important of all: rules. You go in there and you top up anyone whose goblet is getting empty. You do whatever you’re told. You don’t take the costumes off. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t, under any circumstances, look the Boy King in the eye. And whatever you do, you don’t spill any of that blackwine. Understand?’
‘Underst—’
‘Not a drop. Those decanters are worth more than your stinking lives.’ The blackwine suddenly felt even heavier than before. ‘Now scram.’
Tommy ushered them through a thick, studded metal door and slammed it shut behind them, leaving them on their own in a dingy corridor lit by lanterns dangling from the ceiling.
‘Come on then,’ said Tabitha, and she strode off without waiting to see if Joseph would follow. He hurried after her.
The corridor sloped downwards, gently at first, then more steeply. Joseph’s costume was hot and scratchy, and he couldn’t stop worrying that he might trip and drop the blackwine. Ahead of him, Tabitha stepped on the hem of her dress and cursed as she stumbled.
Their footsteps began to crunch on sand. The walls were uneven now – the wallpaper replaced by rock, as if they were inside a cave instead of a merchant’s house.
Down, down and further down. Where were they going?
Sound began to float up towards them – chatter and music. The tunnel grew lighter and the noises louder. At last they came to a corner with light flickering on the wall opposite.
‘Are you ready?’ hissed Tabitha.
‘I think so.’
There was a snort of laughter that could only have come from Slik. ‘I don’t think you are.’
‘Shut it,’ said Tabitha. ‘Just remember, any trouble and …’ She lifted her free hand and mimed squeezing it into a fist.
‘Good as gold, I’ll be.’
Tabitha readjusted her hold on the blackwine and stepped round the corner.