The Hero's Tomb (10 page)

Chapter Sixteen

The cat led the way, striding much faster now, casting quick glances in every direction. They twisted and turned through the corridors, heading deeper and deeper into the House of Light.

Every inch of it looked the same. White marble floors, white ceilings and white walls covered in mirrors. But still the cat seemed to know exactly where they were going. Joseph realized suddenly that even with the shapeshifters’ disguises there would be no excuse for bringing a mongrel boy here, out of the cells. He swallowed hard.

Once or twice he heard the distant noise of a cheering crowd, and the clash of steel.
The Contest of
Blades
, he remembered.
Of course.
The shapeshifters had chosen the perfect night for their game.

The cat stopped at the end of a corridor, in front of white double doors. Above was a moulded wooden shield emblazoned with a winged sword. Two words were carved beneath it:
Corin’s Hall.

‘Where is he?’ said the horse. ‘He should be here by now.’

‘He’ll be here,’ said the cat.

Footsteps came echoing towards them from a nearby corridor, and a figure turned the corner. It was a whitecoat, big and broad-shouldered, moving with an easy grace. He swept off his hat, revealing sandy-coloured hair and some strange mark on his forehead. Joseph winced as he realized what it was – a blazing sun, etched out in white scar lines.

The spider’s hand fell on Joseph’s shoulder, holding him in place. ‘His name is Hoake. He’s a friend.’

A friend of whose?

‘You took your time,’ said the horse.

‘My apologies. It was the contest,’ said the butcher, in a low voice. ‘I had to throw the fight just to be here. Some filthy elf.’ He looked around, checking they were alone, and Joseph caught a whiff of something strong and unpleasant on his breath.
Firewater
. Up close he saw that the man’s eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

‘Next year, perhaps,’ sneered the cat. ‘If the drink doesn’t get you first.’

Hoake grunted and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. ‘This bit you’ll have to do yourselves. I won’t risk being found out.’

The spider’s voice came suddenly from beside Joseph’s ear, making him jump. ‘Have you ever seen a man die before?’

‘Keep him out of it,’ said the cat, waving a hand at Joseph. ‘We’ll do the rest.’

The whitecoat thrust a key into a lock, turned it with a clunk and stepped back as the horse kicked the doors wide open.

Joseph was thrust through, stumbling, into an enormous hall. The cat and the horse were already ahead of him, moving fast. Joseph saw dark red wallpaper covered with paintings, saw a statue in the middle, spouting water into a stone pool surrounding it. Saw the two whitecoats beside it, whose confusion was turning rapidly into aggression. Sabres flashed from scabbards.

‘What in Corin’s name are you—?’

And then the shapeshifters were on them. A pair of muskets were propped up against the stone pool, and the cat kicked them over the edge, splashing harmlessly into the water. The horse launched himself at
the nearest whitecoat, smashing his shoulder into the man’s belly and falling with him into the pool in a great crash of spray that spattered the marble all around.

Something blurred at the edge of Joseph’s vision and he turned to see a third butcher charging at him from the shadows at the corner of the hall. Before he could react, the spider stepped past him, grabbed hold of the whitecoat’s sword arm and twisted it in a way arms aren’t meant to be twisted. The man yelped and groaned. Blood spurted onto the floor. The spider stood back as her opponent sank to his knees, his sword thrust through his own chest.

Just like that, it was over. The horse was rising, dripping, from the water, his opponent motionless as the fountain continued to play. The cat was dabbing at his jacket where a few spots of blood had appeared. The whitecoat he’d been fighting was flat on his back with no obvious wound, but it was clear that he wasn’t getting up again.

The waters of the fountain were clouded with red.

The scarred whitecoat came through the door, closing it quietly behind him. ‘All done here?’ he asked. The spider nodded.

‘I thought there’d be more,’ said the horse, cracking his knuckles.

Joseph felt ill, and he tried to distract himself by
looking around the room. Now he had time to take it all in, he saw that the paintings and the statue in the centre were all of one man. Tall and muscular with long, shaggy dark hair, craggy features and piercing blue eyes. In the painting nearest Joseph he was bare-chested, standing on a rock and pointing with a sword as he shouted to the men below – an army of metal-clad humans, cheering and jostling to follow him into battle. In another he was fighting off a horde of trolls, all black-skinned and red-eyed. He gripped one by the throat, while his sword clashed with his opponent’s cleaver.

Joseph would have recognized that sword, even if he hadn’t already guessed who this figure was: Corin the Bold – the greatest warrior who had ever lived.

Almost every painting showed some battle or another; only in the central statue was Corin at rest, standing with his feet apart, hands placed gently on the pommel of his sword and smiling, as though at a job well done. It took Joseph a moment to notice the stone body of a goblin sprawled at the great hero’s feet, its face twisted in a grimace of death. The fountain’s streams were gushing from its many wounds.

‘So …’ said the cat. He had just finished cleaning his jacket and turned his yellow eyes on the one living whitecoat. ‘Where is our prize, Hoake?’

‘It’s here, just like you were told it would be.’

‘Show us,’ said the horse.

‘Show us now,’ said the spider.

Hoake crossed the marble floor to a painting of Corin receiving the surrender of an elf lord on top of a mountain, their armour battered and blood-stained. The whitecoat reached for the frame, feeling along it until there was a soft click.

From the far corner of the room came a creaking sound, and Joseph turned to see that part of the wall had swung open to reveal a room beyond. A secret room, small and dark.

‘You’ll find it in there,’ said Hoake. ‘That’s our side of the bargain. Now I’ll take what was promised in return. I trust you weren’t planning to cheat him again.’

Him
… Who was ‘him’? All of a sudden Joseph remembered being in the attic, hearing the voices in the room below. The cat, the horse … and the third voice. Their visitor.

Him
. A chill ran down his spine.

Joseph felt the spider’s hands on his shoulders again, but this time they dug in hard. He winced and tried to squirm away. It was no good – the spider had him in her grip. They were all looking at him now. Why? He hadn’t done anything. He had nothing to do with this.

His eyes met those of the cat, and he saw something there that he hadn’t noticed before. Anger. Fury.

Triumph.

The horse grabbed hold of Joseph and the world pitched as he was turned upside down and shaken like a salt cellar.

‘No! What are you—?’

The wooden spoon fell clattering onto the marble.

‘There,’ said the horse, as he turned Joseph the right way up. ‘All yours.’

Joseph snatched the spoon, but before he could scramble away the whitecoat was there, sword drawn and held up hard against Joseph’s throat. He took the spoon and twisted it out of Joseph’s grip.

‘What do you want with me?’ said Joseph desperately. ‘Let me go!’

The horse shook his head sadly.

‘
Let you go?
’ said the cat. His voice was full of venom. ‘Have you forgotten what you did to me? How you dumped me in the sea, then locked me in a cage so small I could barely move? And you think we should
let you go
?’

‘I … I don’t …’

Too late, Joseph realized what an idiot he’d been. To come here, to the House of Light, trusting a shape-shifter who hated him. He should have fought, kicking
and screaming, not to come. He tried now, lashing out at Hoake and kicking blindly, but the butcher was far too strong and just caught him in a grip even tighter than before.

‘What are you going to do with me?’

The cat smiled coldly. ‘That is for our mutual friend to decide. Now, Hoake. We have delivered you both the boy and the wooden spoon, as promised. We will take what we came for, and be on our way.’

‘There’s a lantern by the fountain,’ said Hoake. He hauled Joseph back to the double doors and swung them open.

‘Wait,’ hissed the spider.

Lantern light fell on the secret room now. A tiny, cramped cave of bare stonework and cobwebs, and in the centre of it a small podium. Empty. The shapeshifters were glaring at Hoake.

‘Where is it?’ said the cat. His voice had lost all trace of calm. ‘
Where is the Sword of Corin?
’

Hoake shrugged as he pushed Joseph out of the hall. ‘He promised you I’d get you in, and I’ve done that. It’s no business of ours if your prize isn’t there any more.’ He slammed the double doors and locked them, leaving the shapeshifters trapped inside. Then he cupped his hands and shouted down the corridor. ‘Help!
Help!
’

There was a distant answering call, and a thunder of footsteps.

‘Who is it?’ asked Joseph. ‘Who are you working for?’

He knew the answer even before the words left Hoake’s lips. Three little words.

All through the House of Light, as he was hustled along mirrored corridors, down winding stairs and out into the darkness, even as he was gagged and bundled into a waiting carriage, Joseph wasn’t thinking about the cat, or the wooden spoon, or the Sword of Corin.

Those three words ran through his head, over and over.

Jeb the Snitch.

Chapter Seventeen

‘Just a few more minutes,’ said Tabs. ‘Please. I have a
feeling.
’

‘I have a feeling too,’ said Paddy, peering into a mirror and adjusting an enormous purple wig. ‘I have a feeling I look fantastic.’

Frank snorted. ‘
Fat
-tastic more like. Come on, Tabs. We don’t want Newt to get back to the Academy and find us missing. We can try again tomorrow.’

Tabitha rolled her eyes. It might have earned her a friendly punch under normal circumstances, but fortunately she was crouched behind a mountain of wigs, and it was so dark the trolls probably wouldn’t have seen anyway.

They’d been waiting in the wig shop for two hours now. At first they’d barged through the door, pistols and cutlasses at the ready. But there was no shapeshifter and no Joseph. Instead they’d found a set of bare rooms, a few mattresses, a locked strong box that no amount of levering would open and a large wardrobe of different outfits, everything from beggars’ rags to merchant finery. That was it.

Apart from the wigs. Hundreds and hundreds of wigs, every colour of the rainbow. There was even a tiny cabinet of fairy wigs, with a set of tweezers for fittings.

Still, they’d waited. Perhaps Joseph and the shapeshifter were out somewhere. Perhaps they would come back. So they’d taken up position, hiding among the wigs and waiting for the door to open.

Waiting …

… and waiting.

Tabitha shook her head.
Focus. That shapeshifter could be back any minute.
‘You can go if you like,’ she said. ‘I’m staying.’

‘Unfortunately, I think the twins may have a point,’ said Hal. The magician was crouched uncomfortably behind the counter. The troll twins had made him accept one of their pistols for protection, and he was holding it between finger and thumb, as
though it might go off at any moment.
Which, actually, it might.

‘We’re putting ourselves in danger here, with absolutely no guarantee that Joseph and this shapeshifter will return. If indeed they were ever here in the first place.’

‘Two minutes,’ said Frank. ‘Then we’re all going back. That means you too, Tabs.’

Paddy swapped his purple wig for a towering, pink-powdered monstrosity festooned with ribbons. ‘Now this is more like it …’

Tabitha turned her attention back to the door, willing it to open. Any moment, Joseph might come through. She knew she ought to feel angry with him. He’d run off without any explanation and forced them to follow halfway across the Ebony Ocean. He’d let Jeb the Snitch trick him over and over again. He was just a tavern boy with no skills and a head full of bad ideas.

And still, she missed him. She missed him so much it hurt.

Wait.

‘Did you hear that?’

Everyone froze. Ty peered out from between the hairs of the long blonde wig he was hiding in.

Yes – footsteps, in the alley outside. Paddy took off
his wig and silently replaced it on the stand, sinking down behind the nearest set of shelves and drawing his cutlass. Frank dropped to the floor behind a mannequin, a set of pistols in his hand. Slowly, cautiously, Tabitha slid her favourite knife out of its sheath. She’d sharpened it that afternoon.

There was a scrabbling at the lock, and the door swung open. Tabitha tensed. In the dim light that filtered from the street she saw three figures in white coats and tricorne hats.

Butchers!
What in Thalin’s name was the League doing here?

The closest whitecoat began hunting for a lantern. Tabitha caught Hal’s eye, but he looked just as clueless as she felt. They hadn’t planned on this. Where was the shapeshifter? Where was Joseph? And what were they supposed to do now?

‘No-good scum-sucking bilge-bag maggot,’ spat the biggest of the whitecoats. Tabitha noticed that the figure was limping. Then she saw that another was clutching its arm, and the third, a woman, had a long tear in her white coat. They’d been in a fight.
Some sort of tavern brawl?

‘We’ll find him,’ said the whitecoat with the injured arm. His voice was soft, sinister and strangely familiar. ‘Tonight. Right now. He won’t get away with this.’

‘What troubles me most,’ hissed the woman, ‘is that he thinks he’s clever. Ordering that drunkard Hoake to lock us in Corin’s Hall … Did he really think we would not escape? That a few whitecoats could arrest the Quiet Three? He needs to be taught a lesson.’

‘What troubles
me
most is how we nearly got killed. Look at my leg!’

‘It will heal. More than I can say for the butcher who—’

‘Wait.’ It was the familiar voice again. ‘Something’s wrong.’

A lantern flared suddenly into life, picking out the three figures in its warm glow. The whitecoat with the injured arm was half turned towards Tabitha, and the light glinted in his odd, inhuman eyes.

Yellow eyes.

Cat’s eyes.

‘You!’ gasped Tabitha out loud, before she could stop herself.

If the cat’s eyes were strange, the others’ were even stranger. The big man’s were enormous, like those of some large animal.
Like those of a horse
. The woman’s were tiny and black, like glittering shards of coal.

The troll twins rose from their hiding place, weapons ready.

‘Stay right where you are,’ said Frank. ‘In the name of—’

There was an ear-splitting gunshot, and one of the wig shop windows cracked into a web of fractures. Hal dropped his smoking pistol like it was a crab that had pinched his fingers.

‘My apologies,’ he stammered. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

Too late. The three whitecoats had turned tail and sped out of the shop, faster than could possibly be natural.

‘After them!’ yelled Tabitha. She leaped over the mountain of wigs and shot through the door, leaving it to swing shut behind her. There was a soft
thunk
as Ty flew straight into it, then a tiny beating of fists from within.

‘Oi!’ cried the fairy. ‘Wait for me!’

But Tabitha didn’t have time to help him out. The cold night air sharpened her senses. There, at the end of the alley – three white figures. As they reached the main road they split up, each heading down a different back street. Tabitha charged after them.

For a moment she considered going after the limping one, but thought better of it. The one with the injured arm – the cat – that was who she wanted. He was the leader. If anyone knew where Joseph was, it would be him.

She followed.

The shapeshifter was fast, but the injury seemed to be slowing him down. He veered left, boots slamming the cobblestones, and Tabitha followed. Then right. Tabitha followed again.

‘I’ve got him!’ she yelled. ‘I’ve got him!’

But she was on her own. Hal was no runner. The Bootle brothers were strong, but heavy and slow on their feet. Ty might have made it out of the shop by now, but he hadn’t caught up with her yet – assuming he could even find her.

Tabitha was panting now. She pulled a second blade from its sheath, one in each hand, like the professional knife-fighters she sometimes saw back in Port Fayt.

On my own.

She swerved round the corner and found herself facing a brick wall scrawled with obscene messages.

‘Come out! In the name of the Watch!’

Silence. Then a movement, somewhere to her left. She spun, but it was only an empty tankard rolling across the cobbles. Rolling – but there was no breeze. She strode towards it, and immediately something
crashed
behind her. She spun again to see the shattered remains of a pottery jug, dropped from somewhere above.

Someone chuckled. A low, threatening sound.

Tabitha’s skin began to crawl. ‘I said come out!’

Silence. And then a voice. ‘You’re a long way from home, little girl.’

‘A long way from your friends too,’ said a second voice.

‘A long, long way,’ said a third.

Tabitha bolted. Up the alleyway, still clutching her knives. Behind her, footsteps, following.
Idiot!
How could she let this happen? Cornered by all three of them. If those trolls hadn’t been so slow …

She ran left and came out into a small cobbled square. Black-beamed house fronts loomed on all sides, and a Golden Sun banner hung limp from a flagpole on a boarded-up tavern. On the far side of the square was a raised platform with three pillories set into it.

Two of them were empty, but the third held a skeletal elf prisoner, his neck and wrists locked in by wood, pale face even paler than it should be, long hair matted with the remains of rotten eggs and fruit. A strip of sackcloth was wrapped around his head like a bandana, equally clotted with food.

He raised his head at Tabitha’s arrival. ‘Help!’ he croaked. ‘Help me!’

Heart thudding, Tabitha raced across the square
towards him. Beside the pillories was a sign bearing the words: KNOW YOUR ENEMY. She sheathed one knife and thrust the point of the other into the rusted lock that held the wooden clamp in place, working it as fast as she could. Maybe she could get the elf free. Maybe he’d fight with her.

Two against three
…

‘Thank you! Thank you!’ burbled the elf.

But the metal wasn’t giving.
Come on!
She’d seen Newton pick locks before. He made it look so easy.

The elf let out a sudden screech. ‘Whitecoats!’

Tabitha turned and saw three figures loping into the square. The woman, as gaunt as a walking skeleton. The big, muscular man with the limp. And the cat, smiling as he approached, his wounded arm dangling at his side, his yellow eyes narrowed …

Tabitha tried to spring into a fighting stance, but a sharp pain in her scalp told her that someone had got hold of her hair. She twisted, but the fingers held on tight. Half turning, she saw the elf watching her.

‘I’ve got her,’ he yelled out. ‘I’ve caught her for you!’

Tabitha tugged desperately at the elf’s fingers. ‘They’re not real whitecoats, you dung head! Can’t you tell?’ Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the three shapeshifters getting closer …

Nothing else for it
. She reached up with her knife
and hacked savagely at her hair. Two blows and she was free, leaving the elf with nothing but a handful of blue curls. She dived off the platform and instantly tripped over an outstretched foot, hitting the cobblestones hard.

When she rolled over she saw her three captors looking down at her, silhouetted against a black sky pricked with stars. Behind them the elf was quietly sobbing, his fingers clutching her lock of blue hair. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m so sorry. They took my wife. They took my little Caroline. I’ve got nothing. Nothing …’

‘How fortunate,’ purred the cat. ‘I’ve already dealt with the mongrel boy. And now you come along.’ He knelt down next to her, and his yellow eyes glinted in the light of the moon.

‘This is a good night for vengeance.’