32

Give a Man Luck, then Throw him into the Sea

Philbert had nightmares: a multitude of red Kroonks wading in a sea of blood, Groben laughing, hauling them in with a monstrous hook the size of Philbert’s crooked arm. He kicked himself awake, throat thick with panic, skin covered in sweat. The draggled curtain was pulled back suddenly from their cobbled-together tent and Kwert appeared, cheerful as the streaming sun.

‘Good news!’ Kwert was saying merrily. ‘Time to rise, Little Maus, I have the most excellent news!’ He passed over a bowl of cold water so Philbert could wash his face and hands. ‘Eat!’ Kwert commanded, pointing to fresh baked rolls, thick yellow butter beginning to melt beside them. ‘While you’ve been snoring your big head off I’ve been plying my trade, as has Zehenspitze, and between the two of us we’ve found us a ride to the north!’ Kwert creaked on his heels, and Philbert ­swallowed quickly at the news, choking on the hot bread, Kwert bashing him on the back without sympathy, impatient at the inter­ruption, whilst he continued to speak.

‘We’ll be riding in style, in a carriage with a certain gentleman who calls himself Il Conte Umberto Petitorri,’ Kwert announced.

‘Called who?’ Philbert answered, tightening his breeks about his waist.

‘Umberto Petitorri,’ Kwert replied. ‘A Cercatore di Meraviglie – a Seeker of Wonders – travelling around the continent gasping at this and that.’ There was a slight overtone of disgust to his voice as he spoke these last words, but not the next. ‘And just as well for us, I might add, for he’s very anxious to meet you, Little Maus. You and your marvellous head. And we don’t have much time – we must pack up immediately.’

This last Philbert understood well enough, and was happy for it. During his previous afternoon’s wanderings he’d caught sight of several fliers about the Murderers of Lengerrborn. The descriptions were vague – red-robed monk, boy with big head and hat – but enough for anyone to work it out if they knew Philbert and Kwert. He was eager to be gone, disgusted with himself for sleeping so long – despite it being his first proper night’s sleep in weeks. Kwert and Zehenspitze had been busy and, through their network of contacts, discovered Maulwerf was heading away from his usual patch, going instead up towards the neck of Schleswig-Holstein, where the land was being tugged apart by the Danes from one side and the Prussians from the other, and apparently in sore need of amusement. The turning up of Il Conte and his offer had been the icing on the cake.

Kwert was already starting to roll their blankets and tie them with cord, stow their few possessions into a bag while Philbert dressed.

‘I got a good price for the donkey,’ Kwert said, thanking heaven for Brother Langer and his generosity.

Philbert poked at a small place on the base of his foot where a thorn had lodged a couple of weeks before and not yet come out.

‘And you think we can trust this Godsend?’ he asked ­casually, Kwert looking over in surprise.

‘Well he can’t know us,’ Kwert said. ‘We only got here last night, and by pure chance he came upon us this morning.’

‘I suppose,’ Philbert agreed. ‘And it’s a way out.’

Zehenspitze bustled up to make his goodbyes, hugging Kwert, gifting him a pair of new crutches.

‘He’s an odd one, that boy.’ Zehenspitze nodded at Philbert as he began shifting their gear up the way, giving the old friends some privacy. ‘Fire and ice in him now, after what he’s done. And that, Kwert, can go either way. Just keep an eye out, is all I’m saying. Take care, old friend, until we meet again.’