The Fire King (22 page)

“I'm sure you can afford it,” said Corrigan coldly. “What with all the money you make from him.”

The Abbot glared at Corrigan, but said nothing. Instead, he walked briskly across the large flagstones and stopped before a thick, black door.

“You keep him in a cell?” asked William.

“It's not a cell. It used to be a wine cellar. And where else am I
supposed
to keep him? The man's mad. If I had him upstairs, my congregation would hear him. Besides, he's happier down here. He likes his privacy.”

“As I'm sure you keep telling yourself,” muttered Corrigan.

The Abbot slid a small panel to the side and peered through the hole. He nodded, then slammed it shut again and lifted the heavy latch that kept the door locked. He pulled open the door and raised the lantern.

“Hello, Tom. It's only me. I've got some work for you. Are you up to it?”

There was a low mumbling from inside the cell.

“I've also got some guests. Can we come in?”

More mumbling.

The Abbot glanced back at William. “Follow me. But please, no sudden moves. He's easily startled.”

The Abbot stepped through the door and moved to the side to allow William and Corrigan to enter. They stepped into a large stone room. The walls were dotted with dark, empty niches, presumably where the wine had once been kept. Against the far wall was a row of wall torches. They cast their illumination over a bed, a chair, and a table. A thin man was seated on the bed, rocking backward and forward as he stared at the floor.

He stopped rocking, then slowly looked up at them, studying their faces. Finally, he nodded.

“It is time,” he mumbled. “Time to die. Time to war. Time to burn.”

William felt a rush of air behind him, and he turned just in time to see the door slam closed. He heard the latch fall into place, then the panel slid aside.

“Most dreadfully sorry,” said the Abbot. “But don't worry. I just want to check with Croth that your story is true. I should be back in an hour or so. If it turns out you've been lying to me”—here he smiled, the light from his lantern glinting off his teeth—“then I'll hand you back to Croth to dispose of you as he sees fit.” He pushed the pouch of nostalgae through the small hole. “But if you
are
telling the truth, you might as well get started on these. Just give them to Tom. He knows what to do.”

The panel slammed shut. William stared around in despair. Corrigan was glaring at the door, so furious that he was actually shaking with anger.

“I'll get him,” muttered the piskie. “I'll see him fall for this.”

William heard a noise. He turned around to find the Prophet had quietly approached and was now standing directly behind him.

“The flames know our names,” he said. “They'll sniff you out. Eat you up. Burn you to a crisp. They're coming, William Snow, and nothing can stop them.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

In which Emily and Co. find out about magical disguises. A statue speaks.

I
've done my part!” complained Beezle as they hurried through the dark streets, putting as much distance between themselves and the bridge as possible. “I got you off the bridge. Now it's your turn. Hand over my book.”

“You were going to leave us there!” said Emily.

Beezle looked shamefaced. “I panicked,” he said. “I just wanted to get away.”

“By leaving us hanging over the River Thames,” said Wren dubiously. He had regained consciousness when Beezle grounded the boat on the banks of the river. He had a massive bump on the head, but otherwise seemed to be suffering no ill effects.

“I wasn't thinking straight.”

“It doesn't matter if you were thinking straight or not,” said Emily. “We still need your help.”

“This isn't fair!”

“Hey,” snapped Jack. “If it wasn't for us, you'd still be stuck in that cage back on the bridge. We saved your life, remember?”

“Yes, I remember! You're not likely to let me forget, are you?” Beezle stomped ahead of them, then stopped and whirled around. “Fine! What do you want this time?”

“We need to get into the Faerie Tree,” said Emily simply.

Beezle burst out laughing. “Impossible. No humans are allowed.”

“I've been there before,” Emily pointed out. “With Corrigan.”

“Yes. With Corrigan. Let me rephrase that.
Unaccompa
-
nied
humans are not allowed.”

“Then you can take us in,” said Jack.

“Afraid not. Some of that stuff Munifus said was true. I really am wanted by Titania for … causing mischief. I'll be arrested on sight.”

“Then we need some kind of disguise,” Emily said. “Something that will get us in so we can speak to Nimue.”

“You're insane, you know that? She is part of the Queen's court. You think you can just walk into the throne room and say to Nimue, ‘Oh, excuse us, where exactly did you trap Merlin? We'd like to have a word with him, if you don't

mind.'”

“Something like that.”

“And when she asks you why you want to know? What are you going to say? ‘Oh, he owed me some money, that's all.' Or, ‘I need to return a book I borrowed.' Yes, I'm sure that will work.”

“Let us worry about that.” She held up the book. “The question is, can you find us disguises?”

Beezle eyed the book hungrily. “And if I do, then that's us quits?”

“You'll never see us again,” Emily said.

Beezle licked his lip. “Fine! I'll have to call in a favor, but if it will get you off my back, then it will be worth it. Follow me.”

He led them eastward, moving through the side streets and back lanes of the city. They never strayed far from the river, though. Emily could always smell the stink of it, hovering on the warm air. It got worse as they walked, and it took Emily a few minutes to realize this was because they were approaching Billingsgate Market. The stench of rotting fish was heavy and cloying, causing her stomach to heave unpleasantly.

“This way,” called Beezle cheerfully, leading them down toward the river, then onto a wooden walkway that traveled along the waterfront. Emily eyed the planks beneath their feet. Some of them seemed to be rotting away.

The walkway turned and extended out over the water, leading to a squat, brightly lid building about halfway across the river. Emily frowned, confused. That couldn't be right, surely? Wouldn't the boats and ships crash into it?

Unless they had crossed over into fey London again.

“What is this place?” Jack asked.

“It's Lady Steel's Coffeehouse,” said Beezle.

This brought a snort of laughter from Jack. “A coffeehouse? Really? Aren't you lot more suited to taverns?”

Beezle stopped walking and turned to face Jack. “You shouldn't make assumptions, boy. I don't drink. Never have. It clouds the mind, right? I like to stay clearheaded. What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” said Emily hastily. “Nothing at all. Very admirable, actually.”

“Hmmph. And for your information, there are a lot of fey like me. Lady Steel saw an opening in the market and took advantage. She runs a whole chain of coffee shops and eateries across fey London.” As they drew closer, Emily could hear the sounds of merriment coming from inside. The lilt and squeak of a badly played fiddle, the clink of glasses, the shouts of laughter. A coffeehouse it may be, but the fey were certainly having a good time inside. The door opened, and Emily found herself staring at a pair of legs that disappeared up past the top of the door. The legs folded up and a huge head peered out at them.

“'Scuse me,” said the giant. “Comin' thru.”

Emily, Beezle, Wren, and Jack stood aside while the large fey wriggled through the doorway. He pushed himself to his feet with a sigh and brushed himself down.

“Not exactly a giant-friendly establishment,” he said. He turned and stomped away, the whole walkway shaking with his footfalls.

Beezle led them inside. Fey of every kind filled the coffeehouse. Squat, yellow-skinned goblins; tall creatures with white skin and white hair; faeries flitting through the air, casting colorful glows wherever they went. There was a table filled with fishheaded creatures. Emily wondered how they could breathe, but they seemed perfectly content to sit there eating … Emily peered closer. Eating frogs! She looked away in disgust, hurrying after Beezle as he made his way to the front of house. Over in a corner Emily saw a fey similar to one she had seen back in Merrian's shop, a tall creature with a hollowed-out back. But this fey had hooks attached to the inside of the hollowed-out area, and other fey were taking turns trying to throw little wooden circles over the hooks. As Emily watched, a broad-shouldered dwarf, his beard tied around his waist, took his turn. He missed, the wooden circle falling inside the hollow fey's body. The dwarf cursed as the fey turned around with a grin, holding out his hand. The dwarf handed over some coins and stomped away in anger.

The serving area of the coffeehouse was a huge circular bartop that looped around a stand-alone wall covered with clear jars. Inside the jars were various brands of coffee beans. Emily had no idea there were so many different types. Beezle pushed his way through the crowds and hauled himself up onto a barstool. After a moment's hesitation, Emily, Jack, and Wren followed suit.

“Service!” Beezle called, smacking the stained wood.

Emily looked around; there was no sign of anyone serving behind the bar. But a moment later she heard a squeaking sound, and a small platform came whizzing around the circular bar from the other side of the drinks wall. Sitting in the platform was an ancient fey woman who would probably come up only to Emily's knees if they were to stand side by side. The woman's face was a mass of such deep wrinkles that her features were hard to make out. What Emily
could
see, however, were two tiny black eyes that glared at them as her platform jerked to a squeaky halt in front of Beezle.

“Evening, Lady Steel,” said Beezle.

“Beezle.”

“I've come to call in my favor.”

“Is that so?” asked Lady Steel. “You sure?”

“Aye.”

“'Bout time. How long has it been? Fifty years?”

“Sixty.”

“So what do you want?”

“Disguises. For these three.”

The woman glanced at them. “What kind?”

“Fey,” said Beezle. “And they have to pass muster. So none of the cheap potions.”

The fey woman drew herself up. “Cheap potions? How dare you? All my products are of the finest quality.”

“Aye,” Beezle said wryly. “That's why I was sniffed out the moment I stepped into Queen Caelia's castle. They were actually watching me from across the field. Knew who I was the whole time.”

“Pah. The Irish fey are a paranoid lot. Anyway, I've adapted my work since then. Learned from your mistakes.”

“
Your
mistakes.”

“Whatever. Take them through the back. I'll join you in a moment.”

Beezle slid off his stool and motioned for them to follow. He moved through the crowds and opened a door at the far end of the coffeehouse. It led into what looked like a private dining area. A long table dominated the room, but it was empty at the moment.

A few minutes later, Lady Steel entered the room carrying a small wooden box. She climbed up a small set of stairs that Emily hadn't even noticed and put the box on the tabletop, flicking it open with a sharp click of her fingers.

“Right,” she said, eyeing Emily. “What are you after? Big or small? Goblin? Faerie?”

“What?” Emily looked uncertainly at Beezle.

“Your disguise,” the fey said. “What do you want to be?” He saw the look on her face. “It's not permanent, you idiot. It'll last … what?” He glanced at the old fey. “Five? Six hours?”

“About that.”

“Enough to get you where you're going without being discovered.”

“So. What'll it be?”

Emily thought back to her time in the Faerie Tree. What had been the most common fey she had seen? What stood out in her mind were the tall, graceful fey. But the very fact that they stood out meant that they were too visible. She thought harder. As she and Corrigan had walked through the branches, there had been lots of smaller fey going about their business. She had seen quite a few piskies, she recalled.

“A piskie?”

“Ah, the rats of the fey world,” said Beezle.

“Good choice,” said Steel. “Common as mud, piskies. You'll blend right in.”

She fished around in the box and took out two small vials, handing one to Emily and one to Jack. She rummaged around a bit more.

“Sorry, only have two piskie potions.” She handed Wren a third vial. “This will do you, though.”

Wren took the vial. Jack looked at his uncertainly, then pulled Emily aside so they could talk without being overheard.