The Hero's Tomb (22 page)

Epilogue

It wasn’t hard to find Bootles’ Pie Shop – you just followed your nose.

Cyrus Derringer’s belly rumbled as he turned into the alleyway and spotted the sign, squeaking as it swung in the breeze. The rich, mouth-watering scent was even stronger here.

Is that seagull pie? Or lobster
…
?

‘You sure about this, sir?’ said Culpepper, as they reached the door. Derringer gave him a smile. The ex-sergeant had replaced his stripes with a colonel’s silver on his shoulders and lapels. Culpepper was probably the most capable blackcoat in Port Fayt, which, he had to admit, wasn’t saying much. Still, the
new commander of the Dockside Militia was rising to the challenge admirably. He’d got his act together, and one or two taverns were going to go out of business as a result.

Derringer laid his hand on Colonel Culpepper’s shoulder. ‘You don’t need to call me sir any more. And yes, I’m sure. Good luck with the militia, Colonel.’

‘It’s just … the Demon’s Watch,’ said Culpepper, squirming uncomfortably. ‘You never liked them, sir – I mean, er … Mr Derringer.’

Cyrus shrugged. ‘Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there is room for the blue coats as well as the black.’ He smoothed down his new uniform. It was crisp and freshly laundered – just the way he liked it. He raised his hand to knock, and caught sight once again of the new shark tattoo inked on the back of it. The mark of the Watch.

The last time he’d been here, he’d ordered his men to attack the pie shop, tried to arrest Captain Newton and broken a good few windows.
I’ll have to apologize to Mrs Bootle for those.

Things were going to be very different from now on.

He couldn’t wait.

The door opened, and a friendly green face peered out.

‘Well, if it ain’t that famous Captain Derringer of the Demon’s Watch!’ said Paddy, with a wink. ‘Come on in. Joseph and Tabs aren’t here yet, so that means more pies for us.’

Derringer smiled as he stepped inside, and the mongrel boy’s words came back to him.

They took me in, all the same.

Yes. It felt like home.

Tabitha waited at the end of the road. Her blue hair stirred in the breeze, paler than usual. She’d told Joseph the night before – she’d decided to stop dying it and let the blonde colour return. She’d always hated being recognized as the Mandeville girl.
The girl whose parents were killed.
But she didn’t feel like hiding any more. She was proud of her parents, and everything they’d done.

She smiled at Joseph and told him to take as long as he needed. She could tell this was something he needed to do on his own.

He remembered every cobblestone. Every battered doorway. And one more than all the others.

Of course, it wasn’t really green any more. The paint had flaked and chipped away, leaving a few scraps of colour, some of it red – as though the door had been painted and repainted. Joseph couldn’t even
tell if the red had come before or after his parents had lived there.

He laid his hand on the rough wood, remembering. He’d been sure the house would be abandoned, but when he tried the door it wouldn’t budge. He edged to the nearest window, and saw that it had a broken pane, but that someone had attached a scrap of sackcloth over it.

He peered inside. The room beyond hadn’t changed a bit. The same old table and chairs, the same bare wooden planks on the floor. Even the same cracked mirror and a couple of bad paintings of fish tacked to the walls. Joseph felt a lump in his throat.

He started as someone entered the room. An elf woman, young and beautiful, dressed in tattered old clothes. She was humming as she went to the stove, took the lid off a pot and stirred the contents. A fine aroma filled Joseph’s nostrils. As she turned, he saw that she was carrying a baby, swaddled in a thick blanket. An elf child, gently slumbering.

Joseph’s gaze returned to its mother. She was looking straight at him, eyes wide with alarm, her mouth hanging slightly open.

A pause.

He raised a hand in greeting.

She looked confused, then angry. Then her mouth
twitched up at the corners and she raised her own hand.

Joseph stepped away from the window, turned back up the street towards Tabitha.

He’d imagined returning so many times, to the house with the green front door. In his dreams it had been just the same, and his parents were there to welcome him. It was his home.

Now he knew that dream wouldn’t haunt him any more. It was still a home – it just wasn’t his.

As he walked back towards his friend, his hand slipped into his pocket and closed over his parents’ silver pocket watch.

He ran his fingertips over the engraving –
To my dearest Elijah, with all my love, Eleanor
– and he smiled.

Thanks once again to the good people of Lutyens & Rubinstein and particularly to Jane Finigan, the best agent in town. To my friends, fellow writers and colleagues, and to the extremely brilliant team at DFB – Simon, David, Anthony, Rosie, Phil, Bron, Linda and Sue. To Alison and David, whose artwork has shaped my characters and stories. And finally to my wonderful and extraordinarily patient family, not least Katrina, who has endured more nonsense about goblins than can possibly be healthy, and Sandy, who mostly just slept through the whole thing.

Tales of Fayt: Book 1 – The Demon’s Watch

Tales of Fayt: Book 2 – The Goblin’s Gift

Tales of Fayt: The Mystery of the Crooked Imp

(with David Wyatt)