The Fire King (15 page)

He had taken her beauty.

Her screech of fury was heard far and wide. The white ravens took to the air in a panic, flying madly around the room in an attempt to escape the horrific, pain-filled scream.

The Fire King smiled and reached upward, plucking the white ravens one by one from the air.

All was quiet on Pudding Lane in the early hours of Sunday morning. Inside the bakery of Thomas Faryner, the bread ovens were banked for the night, checked by both Faryner and his maids.

The fires were out.

But in one of the five ovens, in the far corner, an old, stillwarm coal shifted. It rolled over, revealing an orange ember. The orange glowed brighter, then a tiny claw appeared, poking out from the coal. The claw reached out, grasping blindly, and touched a second coal. This second coal flared to life, and the orange head of a salamander pushed slowly out, its fiery tongue flicking into the air.

It could smell food. Lots of it. And nearby.

The salamander paused to gather its strength, then pulled itself out of the coal. It crawled sluggishly to the door of the oven. There was wood nearby. It could sense it. Fuel to gain strength.

It crawled over the edge and dropped to the floor. A small stool stood not far away. The salamander pattered across the cobbles, leaving red-hot footprints behind that quickly cooled to black ash. It reached the stool and climbed slowly up the leg.

The wood started to smoke. Then there was a small puff, and a flame appeared beneath the salamander. The lizard settled down while the flame grew bigger, letting the heat wash over its body.

It tasted the air with its tongue again. There was so much food nearby. It tasted oil. Pitch. Resin. Tar. Hay. Paper. Everything its master could possibly want.

Once the flames had taken hold of the stool, the salamander hopped to the wooden table. Behind it, a second salamander crawled from the flames it had just left behind in the wood. This second salamander looked around, then crawled in the direction of the wooden door.

The Great Fire of London had begun.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

In which Corrigan faces something wholly unfamiliar to himself—to whit, his conscience—and wrestles it into submission.

C
orrigan didn't like introspection. It distracted him from the moment, called his attention away from what was really important in life (i.e., enjoying himself). But sometimes he couldn't help it. Sometimes, his thoughts demanded to be attended to; otherwise, they would itch away at him like an insect bite.

And right now was one of those times.

He stalked up the street, then turned around, glared at Cavanagh's house, and stalked back to the front gate once again, where he stood glaring at the house with his hands on his hips.

He was muttering to himself.

The source of his current bout of introspection was Emily Snow. Specifically, the events that he had taken part in since meeting her, and the changes she had brought about in someone who had been perfectly happy the way he was before she came along, thank you very much.

She was turning him into someone who …
cared.
(Even thinking the word caused his lips to curl with distaste.) She was turning him into someone who wanted to …
do the right thing.

What was this unholy power this little dark-haired girl possessed? Why did he feel so guilty every time he had a thought she would disapprove of, thoughts that—only a few days ago—he wouldn't have even batted an eyelid over?

She was trouble, that one. It would all end in tears. Nothing good could come of it. And … and many more such sayings, which he was too upset at the moment even to think of.

And now there was this latest idea to come out of that too-adult mind. Finding Merlin the Enchanter! Fine, it was a good idea.
If
they could pull it off, a number of fey might survive the coming days, fey who would otherwise die in the fire or the war.

Corrigan paused at this thought. Could they even do that? Could they change history in such a way? Wouldn't they get into some kind of trouble? Surely there was someone who watched over that kind of thing? Changing the course of history had to be frowned upon in polite society.

Now there was a thought. Corrigan straightened his back. That actually made him feel a bit better about the whole thing. It probably went against a whole number of natural laws. Corrigan carefully explored this new line of reasoning, the same way one would tentatively probe a loose tooth. So … by helping Emily do this, even if
her
reasons were good ones, Corrigan was probably breaking the biggest law out there. He was breaking the laws of Nature. Surely that made him the biggest criminal mastermind of
all eternity
!

Corrigan liked the sound of that. It had a nice ring to it. Course, he wouldn't tell Emily that. She could just carry on as normal, smug and happy in the mistaken knowledge that she had managed to make Corrigan a
better piskie.

Hah! Just shows what you know, my lass,
thought Corrigan gleefully.
I'm not helping you because it's the right thing to do. I'm breaking the laws of Nature! Beat that, Spring-Heeled Jack.

Now that he had wrestled his conscience to the ground and beaten it into submission, Corrigan checked his surroundings with renewed interest. He wondered where the nearest alley was that would take him through to the fey side of London. He felt like a tankard of real Faerie mead, and he still had a couple of hours till midnight came around and they headed out to the bridge.

He wandered along the street, whistling softly to himself. He hadn't gone far before he heard the click of a door latch.

He turned around and saw the front door to Cavanagh's house opening. Corrigan thought it must be Emily, coming to berate him about something, or lecture him about some crude comment he had made hours ago.

But he was wrong. Because stepping through the doorway, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder, was Emily's brother, William.

“Hello,” mused Corrigan. “What have we here?”

William closed the door softly and moved silently along the garden path. Corrigan trotted along the road and stopped directly in front of the gate, his arms folded across his chest.

“You're up to no good,” he said as the gate opened.

William breathed in sharply and froze. Corrigan smiled to himself as William struggled to recover.

“And please don't insult me by denying it,” said the piskie. “I know the look. You can't fool someone who's … fooled … others.” Corrigan winced. “Sorry. That didn't come out as dramatic as I thought it would. What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” said William.

“What did I just say, boy? I said, ‘don't insult me.' You want I should shout for your sister?” Corrigan nodded with satisfaction at the look of panic that flashed across William's face. “Thought not. Now tell me what you're doing. And if I think you're lying, I shout. Got it?”

William hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Emily's fixed on finding Merlin,” he said. “I think she's wrong. I think we should track down this Raven King.”

“Ah, I see. Your plan is to track down the Raven King all by yourself? Showing your big sister that her little brother isn't so little after all? That maybe she should listen to his opinion once in a while. Is that it?”

“That's it exactly,” said William quietly.

Corrigan hesitated. “Oh,” he said. He had expected some sort of denial, some sort of argument. Truth to tell, he was rather taken aback by the determination in the boy's voice. “And is there anything I can say that will talk you out of it?”

“Not a thing.”

“And do you have a plan? Or were you just thinking of wandering around aimlessly in the vain hope of bumping into this Raven King?”

William held up a piece of paper. “I found this on Cavanagh's desk. It has the address of the fey he was going to see. The one called Croth.” William then held up a small purse. It jingled. “This was sitting on top of the paper. I take it to be payment.”

“Oh,” said Corrigan again. “That's actually quite logical. Well done. And what do you think your sister will say about this?”

William snorted, halfway between a laugh and a curse. “I'm not going to tell her. Why should I? She's made her feelings clear enough. She doesn't think I'm old enough to make my own decisions. She had her chance, Corrigan. She can look for Merlin, and I'll look for the Raven King.”

“You're playing a dangerous game, boy.Thousands of lives are at stake here. The fate of London, even.”

“Exactly. And this way we double our chances. Emily looks for Merlin; I look for the Raven King. If we both succeed, great. If only one of us does, then that's fine as well. But if we all just follow Emily, we're ignoring another avenue. We'd be foolish to do so.”

William stepped around Corrigan, then paused and crouched down so he was face-to-face with the piskie. “I hope we all see each other after this is finished. But if not … If something happens … then it's been a pleasure knowing you.”

William straightened up and hurried away into the night.

Corrigan hesitated. He couldn't just leave the boy to wander around London on his own, could he? He'd get himself captured. Or killed. Or both. And Corrigan just
knew
that Emily would blame him for that.

And besides, thought Corrigan. The boy actually had a point. Why not double their chances by following two clues instead of one? He'd told Emily how to contact Beezle. She had brains. She'd been into fey London before.

But William, no matter how sure he was that he could look after himself, needed someone to watch over him. Someone wise, someone knowledgeable in the ways of the world. Someone to teach the boy, to guide him, to pass on centuries of experience.

Someone like Corrigan.

The piskie broke into a run, a grin spreading across his pointed face. Besides, he reckoned William would be a lot more fun than his sister.

A few moments later, the door to Cavanagh's house opened again. Someone truly observant may have noticed that there was no sound of the latch clicking this time. Someone with a bit of intelligence may deduce that this was because the door hadn't actually been closed. That it had remained slightly ajar so that whoever was hiding on the other side could hear the conversation taking place outside the gate.

That someone would be right.

A dark figure slipped out of Cavanagh's house and followed after Corrigan. The figure kept to the shadows, but every now and then the moonlight would shine on the determined face of Katerina Francesca as she trailed the piskie and William through the streets of London.