CHAPTER 43

SEVERAL NIGHTS LATER, THE HATMAKERS WERE milling around in the hallway of Hatmaker House, all dressed in fine clothes and fancy hats. Cook and Jones, also dressed in their best, waited by the front door.

Cordelia peeked through the window as a musical jingle sounded outside.

“The royal carriage is here!” she cried.

“Come along, Sam!” Aunt Ariadne called up the stairs. “We can’t be late!”

Sam Lightfinger came thundering downstairs, wearing a pair of shiny new boots and a smart suit. “Sorry! Took me a while ta do up all the buttons!”

Cordelia thought Sam looked splendid in her new chestnut-brown suit, with her hair braided close around her head. Cook squinted disapprovingly at Sam’s trousers.

“Can’t think why you refuse to wear a nice dress,” Cook griped. “Specially on an important occasion like this one.”

“Ya never know when ya might need ta climb a building,” Sam said wisely, adjusting her new waistcoat. “And climbing anyfing in a dress is a right pain.”

“I agree.” Cordelia nodded fervently, remembering her unhelpfully flapping skirts during their nighttime escape from the Guildhall. She squeezed Sam’s hand as Uncle Tiberius ushered them outside.

“I can’t believe we’re going to see Sir Hugo himself perform in a play!” Cook squealed. “And at the palace! Lord love me, I’m all a flutter.”

They piled into the carriage, and four palace footmen hoisted Great-aunt Petronella and her wheeled chair in after them. Luckily it was roomy enough to hold everybody, though their knees knocked together as they trundled off into the dusk.

But the royal carriage did not take them to the palace.

A short while later, they rolled to a stop on Bond Street. A footman opened the door and let everybody out onto the street. The Hatmakers found themselves standing at the gloomy mouth of a rather familiar alley. Lanterns glowed along the twisting way, studding the darkness with gold.

“His Highness begs you to join him,” the footman intoned. “But the carriage can take you no farther. Kindly follow the lanterns.”

Aunt Ariadne and Uncle Tiberius’s smiles became rather fixed. They knew where the lanterns led.

“The Guildhall!” Cordelia whispered.

She began following the chain of lanterns down the dark alley. Cordelia could almost hear her uncle dragging his feet and her aunt’s hesitant steps. She supposed that it was difficult for them to return to the Guildhall: they had known it, years ago, as a bright place of friendship. It must be hard to see it now, sad and abandoned, and those friendships strained.

Nobody expected the change they found when they got there.

The Guildhall had come alive with lights. The windows twinkled, lit from the inside with a thousand candles. The statue of the man above the entrance (the statue that Cordelia had clung to not long ago) had been cleaned. Somebody had scrubbed the bird poo off his hat and placed a garland of flowers around his neck. The huge oak door stood open in welcome, hung with bunting.

The Guildhall did not look lonely or unloved anymore.

Inside, everything was gleaming. The floor was polished, candles flickered from brass sconces on the walls, a merry fire crackled in the fireplace, and new velvet curtains were swagged at the windows.

A palace footman bowed as he ushered everyone through the archway.

The Great Chamber was transformed.

The Great Chamber was transformed. The air rang with music and shimmered with light. Great garlands of flowers festooned the walls. Somebody had released hundreds of Dulcet Fireflies into the dome. They flittered like moving stars above everyone’s heads.

“Welcome!”

It was Princess Georgina, eyes shining as she opened her arms to greet the Hatmakers. King George, standing next to his daughter, inclined his head graciously as the Hatmakers bowed to the royals.

“Blimey,” Cordelia heard Cook whisper behind her.

“Welcome back to your Guildhall.” Princess Georgina smiled. “We’ve spent the last few days making it ready for you!”

There was a long table covered with lace cloths and laden with cakes. An enormous number of pineapples were piled beside them.

“King Louis sent the pineapples,” the princess told Cordelia. “As a token of his friendship.”

Royal music makers played their instruments on a raised stage and footmen carried silver trays of clinking glasses around.

The Guildhall was full of Makers of every age. The three Watchmakers observed everyone from the edges of the crowd. All the Cloakmakers paced and posed importantly together. The Glovemakers had gathered in a boisterous bunch.

Cordelia spotted Goose standing in a knot with his family. It was the first time she had seen him since the Tower. He was dressed in a too-tight suit and looked somewhat strangled by his cravat. His mother had his hand clenched tightly in hers. Sam whistled, Goose turned, and Cordelia saw his face light up with a smile as he spotted them. She raised her hand to wave, but Mrs. Bootmaker saw and yanked him out of sight behind his father.

“We’ll find a way to talk to him,” Sam whispered in Cordelia’s ear. “Come on—let’s look around.”

Sam made straight for the table of cakes and Cordelia was about to follow when she caught sight of the Canemaker crest above a workshop door.

Those crossed lightning bolts striking down made her shudder. But beneath her surge of horror, pity fluttered like a baby bird.

Delilah Canemaker had been nine years old when she was left alone, with no family and no friends.

Cordelia walked toward the Canemakers’ door. It was the only one left undecorated. Nobody had come to hang flowers and bunting on it: it was bare and abandoned.

She reached for the handle.

“No, miss.” A footman appeared, blocking her way. “Not allowed in there. It’s dangerous.”

Cordelia drew her hand back. “What’s dangerous about it?” she asked.

“Best left well alone, miss,” he said, planting his feet firmly in front of the door.

“MAKERS ALL!” a herald yelled, crashing a pair of brass cymbals. “Please take your seats! We are proud to present to you a new Theatrical Spectacular! Starring the superlative Sir Hugo Gushforth in a Great Heroic Role as Savior of the Day! A Tale of Daring and Skulduggery! Of weeping Maidens and dastardly Sailors! Of Courage and Heroism, the like of which has not been seen since Shakespeare himself—”

“Get ON with it!” the king bellowed.

In three seconds, the lamps were out and the play had begun. The Makers shuffled into their seats in the dark as Sir Hugo bounded onto the stage.

The play turned out to be little more than an elaborate sword fight. Five minutes in, after a bit of wailing from a boy dressed as a princess and some unpleasant words growled by a burly sailor, Sir Hugo swept them aside and was plunged into the middle of a heroic brawl. He bravely battled an ugly ship’s captain and twelve hulking guards all at once.

Watching Sir Hugo lay waste to his enemies on the stage, Cordelia realized that the actor did not need a hat to help him with stage fright anymore. He was doing splendidly on his own.

She turned in her seat and furtively searched the crowd. She saw both pairs of Glovemaker twins wearing expressions of violent delight as they watched Sir Hugo thrashing his adversaries. Three rows in front of them, she spotted Goose. He was wearing an expression of such complete disbelief that Cordelia snorted with laughter.

Goose flicked his eyes over to her. She raised her eyebrows, as if to say: This isn’t quite how I remember Sir Hugo fighting on the ship.

Goose grinned in reply.

“Have at thee!” Sir Hugo cried. “Take that! And that!”

Sir Hugo cut the buttons off the costume of the actor playing the captain and his trousers fell down, exposing his frilly underwear. The audience roared with laughter and applauded. Sir Hugo took several bows.

The seat next to Cordelia’s was empty. Sam Lightfinger had crept away.

I have an idea where she might be, Cordelia thought, slipping off her seat.

Sure enough, when she lifted up the lace tablecloth of the long table, she found Sam underneath. Sam had a cake in each hand.

“Mind if I come in?” Cordelia asked.

“Make yerself comfy!” Sam grinned through a mouthful of cake.

Cordelia shuffled under the table, helping herself to a jam tart on the way down. A minute later, the tablecloth was hoicked up as Goose looked in.

“Hello!” he whispered. “Is there room for me, too?”

“Always!” Cordelia whispered back, making space for him.

Goose smiled shyly at Sam as he squeezed in beside her.

They spent a happy half hour munching cakes and biscuits, listening to the rumbles of laughter and the applause from Sir Hugo’s audience.

“Are you enjoying living at Hatmaker House?” Goose asked Sam.

“’Sgreat!” Sam said, scoffing a cream bun. “Cook makes me all the food I want and so far I’ve only had to have one bath.”

Goose chuckled. “I hope I’ll be allowed to come back and see Hatmaker House again one day,” he said wistfully. “My mother’s still furious with me. She said Bootmakers and Hatmakers have no business being friends with each other.”

He tensed for a second, then peered under the fringe of the tablecloth.

“It’s all right—she’s watching the play.” He sighed, turning sheepishly back to the others.

Cordelia stifled a laugh.

“But why are you still dressed as a boy, Sam?” Goose asked, ignoring Cordelia’s chuckle. “And why did you do it in the first place?”

Sam twisted her face up and squinted at Goose. Then she glanced sideways through the table legs. Cordelia suspected she was planning an escape route in case things went wrong.

“Truth is, Goose,” Sam said, “I was a thief. I’m reformed now: good as gold, since Friday. Ain’t that right, Cor?” She winked at Cordelia. “It’s a bit easier on the streets if yer a boy,” Sam went on. “Not lots easier, but a bit. Bad things happen ta boys, but a lot worse can happen ta girls. That’s why I disguised meself.”

Goose nodded in understanding.

“Also, I ’ad a bit of a run-in with the Thieftaker, and since he was lookin’ for a girl, I made meself into a boy.” Sam grinned. “And I gotta say, boys’ clothes is a lot comfier than girls’.”

“I agree,” Cordelia muttered, tugging at her sash. “Maybe I’ll try it.”

Sam giggled. “Cook’d ’ave a tantrum! I’d love ta see that!”

“At least you don’t need to worry about the Thieftaker anymore,” Cordelia said.

“Why?” Goose asked.

“He was still in the workshop, trussed up in the ribbons, when the Newgate Prison guards came to arrest him for staging the assassination attempt at the theater!”

Goose grinned, imagining that sight.

“Cordelia Hatmaker! Lucas Bootmaker! Sam Lightfinger!” a voice called.

All three of them jumped and hit their heads on the table.

“Uh oh,” Goose said. “We’re in trouble.”

Sam tried to creep away, but Cordelia held onto her foot.

“Come on, Sam,” she said. “Let’s face the music together.”

They crept out from under the table, wiping crumbs off their faces. Sam took another slice of cake in case it was the last chance she got.

The princess was standing on the stage, looking splendid in the Peace Hat that Cordelia, Goose, Sam, and Cook had made for her. Even though the Peace Hat had been through a lot, the golden spire star still twinkled and the Sunsugar halo glowed and the feathers shimmered and the Leaping Bean hopped. The princess smiled when she saw the children come out from under the table.

“There you are!” she beamed. “Please come here, Cordelia, Lucas, and Sam!”

Feeling very hot and prickly with the eyes of the audience upon them, the three of them shuffled up onto the stage.

“Thank you, with all of my heart,” the princess began. “This hat you Made stopped a war. As a celebration of your immense bravery, I present each of you tonight with the Order of the Golden Heart.”

The princess pinned golden heart-shaped medals onto their chests. Sam immediately bit hers to see if it was real gold (it was). Goose was as red as a Firechicken and Cordelia felt as though a dozen Sicilian Leaping Beans were dancing in her ribcage as the audience cheered them.

Cordelia took a deep breath. She had something she wanted to say. She didn’t exactly know the words to use but she knew what she was feeling, and she wanted to give it a voice.

“Makers!” she began.

The crowd fell silent. Every Maker in London stared up at her. She swallowed. Now that she had their attention, she had to continue.

“Um … We’ve been Making for centuries, but we always focus on—on the first part of our name: Cloak, Glove, Watch, Boot … Hat …”

She tailed off as she glanced at the closed door of the Canemaker workshop and wondered for a long moment about the nine-year-old girl who for years had burned bitter from the loss of her family.

“Uhm, I mean … What I mean to say is: we’re all Makers,” Cordelia continued. “Half of our name is the same. Let’s never forget that. Again.”

It was not an elegant speech, nor was it a long one, but it did not need to be. It was exactly how she felt.

There was a small smattering of applause, but in the middle of the Makers, Aunt Ariadne, Uncle Tiberius, Great-aunt Petronella, Cook, and Jones clapped loudly and long. Cordelia smiled at them and wished everybody else would stop staring at her.

The king (who had refused all footwear since being freed from the Addlesnake shoes) leaped to his bare feet. “Now we shall have dancing!” he cried.

The chairs were cleared as Cordelia, Sam, and Goose clambered down from the stage on shaky legs. Goose was pulled away by his parents, but Uncle Tiberius leaned down and whispered in Cordelia’s ear, “Your father would be very proud of you, little Hatmaker.” Then he flourished his green handkerchief in front of his face and sobbed freely.

Cordelia gazed around at the milling crowd, at all the Makers freed from the Tower, and the king and princess freed from an evil lord. She had stopped a terrible war. Her father would have been tremendously proud of her. That knowledge should have made her glad. But there was only a sad stone in the middle of her stomach because he was gone.

“Cordelia.” It was Aunt Ariadne, looking down at her with serious eyes.

Oh no, Cordelia thought. She’s going to tell me off for Making another hat without permission. In front of everybody!

“I spoke very angry words to you, little Hatmaker,” her aunt murmured. “I told you, in fury, that you were too young to Make a hat. But I was wrong—I am sorry.”

Suddenly Cordelia found she had her own apology to make. In a rush, she gabbled, “No, Aunt, I was wrong! I shouldn’t have done that with Sir Hugo’s hat—I’m sorry!”

But her aunt put her finger to her lips. “You truly are a Hatmaker now, Cordelia.”

She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a little velvet-wrapped parcel.

Cordelia took it, feeling the soft material in her palm. She gazed up at her aunt in amazement. “Is this—”

“Open it.” Aunt Ariadne smiled.

In the folds of velvet lay a beautiful golden hatpin. An aquamarine as big as a blueberry glowed on the end.

“I know you’ve wanted one for a long time,” Aunt Ariadne said.

“Yes!” Cordelia cried. “I’ve wanted one forever.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked, poking her nose over Cordelia’s shoulder. “Looks valuable!”

“It is valuable, Sam!” Cordelia beamed, sticking the hatpin through her hat. “It’s got special magic in it, like my aunt’s, to make me a proper Hatmaker!”

“Oh, Cordelia, my dearest,” her aunt said, laughing. “The hatpin doesn’t have any special magic! Nor does mine!”

“But I felt it,” Cordelia insisted. “I felt the special magic in your hatpin when I put it in my hair. It was like … like lots of ideas and energy and excitement all singing through me.”

Aunt Ariadne shook her head and smiled. “It’s just an ordinary hatpin, Dilly! Those ideas and energy and excitement come from you.”

And before Cordelia could quite grasp this unexpected fact, the royal music makers began to play a merry polka, and everyone turned to watch the king begin to dance.

A few steps in, His Majesty whirled Sam along with him. Sir Hugo pirouetted impressively and Princess Georgina allowed him to lead her into the dance. All the other Makers hung back. The Bootmakers stared suspiciously at the Hatmakers, while the Watchmakers eyed the Glovemakers. The Cloakmakers frowned at everyone in general.

Then someone wove through the crowd and grabbed Cordelia’s hand. She stumbled as she was pulled through the throng. Cordelia was astonished: it was Goose! He towed her determinedly to the middle of the room.

In front of a hundred people, Goose turned to Cordelia and bowed.

Cordelia grinned and bowed in return. Then Hatmaker and Bootmaker joined hands and embarked on a rather eccentric series of dance steps. Clearly their ex-governess had failed to teach them to move in a dignified manner. They romped rather than danced. Sam whooped as she saw them rollicking past her.

“Why isn’t anyone else joining in?” Goose panted.

“When you’ve been mortal enemies for a long time, I suppose it is quite difficult to just start dancing together,” Cordelia mused, spinning Goose in a circle.

As she twirled Goose under her arm, she saw Mrs. Bootmaker scowling at them.

“Your mother’s expression could freeze fire!” Cordelia shuddered.

Goose chanced a glance at his mother, tripped over his feet and staggered to a stop. Mrs. Bootmaker glowered down at him like an iceberg about to sink a ship.

“Lucas Bootmaker, come here at once,” she growled.

Goose stared at his feet, now frozen to the spot, though they had been dancing a polka only moments ago.

Mrs. Bootmaker’s lip curled. “Lucas!” she snapped. “Here! Now!”

The music makers stopped playing their violins, bows sawing the air as they gawped. Goose was still frozen, staring hard at his polished boots. There was a dangerous silence.

Cordelia flicked her eyes from Goose to his mother. She thought she could hear the very air between them sizzling.

Then, in a tiny gesture of defiance, Goose’s foot began to tap. He raised his chin and waved a hand at the music makers. They snatched up their instruments again and started playing a fast jig.

And then the whole of Goose was dancing.

He wheeled around and grabbed Cordelia’s hand, twirling her wildly. The music was wild and the dance got faster and faster until everything but Goose’s face was a blur.

“Aren’t you in terrible trouble?” Cordelia gasped as they jigged.

“Just keep dancing!” Goose grimaced, hopping up and down in time with the music and clapping his hands.

He had a slightly panicked look in his eyes and there was sweat glistening on his forehead, but he grinned.

“I’m proud to be your friend, Cordelia Hatmaker.”