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 something 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.
‘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!’
His crew chuckled.
‘Yes, very amusing. But I hear everything, you idiots. Everything! This fairy found out about the hobgoblin captain, and your little plan to sneak away in the night. My ship’s much faster than his stupid junk. And now I’m angry. Very, very angry. You, Tommy. You know what happens when I get angry, don’t you?’
Tommy held up his three-fingered hand.
‘And you, Gargunnock.’
Another crewman stepped forward, a goblin, lifting off his hat to reveal that he had no ears.
Joseph couldn’t stop trembling. He cast a quick glance at the other watchmen, and that settled him a little. The troll twins looked icy calm. Tabitha too. Only Hal looked halfway scared.
‘But this is different,’ the Boy King went on. ‘You spilled wine on me. You failed to entertain me. You spoiled my special punishment and you stole my mermaid from me. And now you’ve forced me to chase after you. In the middle of all this!’ He flung his arm out, indicating the battle.
Cannon fire sounded somewhere close by, making half the crew jump and turn round. There was too much smoke to see what was going on, but every now and again there was a flash of guns, or the shape of a vessel looming in the distance. The wavecutter was cruising at the fringes, safe from the fighting.
‘And what’s more,’ said the Boy King, ‘it’s my birthday! So you see, it won’t just be a couple of fingers or a pair of ears for you, you disgusting, foul-skinned mongrel runt. And you, you filthy girl with your stupid hair.’ He spat on the deck in front of Tabitha. ‘Oh, no. You see, my papa was Lord of the Marlinspike Quarter before me. And every year, on my birthday, he used to hold a party for me. There were cakes and jugglers and music. But my favourite part was the piñata.’
The crew shifted, anticipation in their eyes. They knew what was coming.
‘Oh yes. A big ball made out of cloth, hung from the ceiling, with sweets inside. And every time you bashed it, sweets fell onto the floor. I used Papa’s mace for it. It was the only time he let me touch it. Bash. Bash. Bash.’ He grinned, and his eyes grew wide. ‘So now we’re going to bash you and see if any sweets come out.’