The Hero's Tomb (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

They walked side-by-side through narrow alleyways, Joseph’s bile-soaked shirt drying and stiffening in the breeze. He’d wiped the worst of it off with a filthy rag given him by one of the goblins. Meanwhile Jeb had insisted on changing out of his griffin suit, and now he was got up like a drunkard’s maypole – a vivid green velvet jacket over an eye-watering pink waistcoat, with a silver hat and breeches. The outfit made him look even less trustworthy than before.

‘Not going far, are we, mongrel?’ said Jeb. ‘These shoes ain’t that comfortable.’

Joseph wasn’t surprised to hear it. They were
absurdly long and pointed and made with strips of coloured leather so they looked like candy canes. What was the point of a shoe if it wasn’t to make walking easier? ‘Not far,’ he said.

They crossed a bustling main road near the docks, and Jeb held onto Joseph’s shoulder as they pushed through the crowds. ‘Don’t want you running off, mate,’ he said with a wink.

Joseph didn’t complain. He’d already noticed a pistol stuffed into Jeb’s breeches. But then, he couldn’t blame the goblin for not trusting him either.

It was a relief when they turned off onto quieter back streets again, where the houses overhung the cobbles, enclosing them so much it reminded Joseph of wading through the sewers to get to the House of Light.

At last they came to a tall, burned-out tavern, blackened with soot, its door gone completely. Joseph had found it the night before – the first of the two things he’d needed for his plan.

‘This is it.’

This is where I find out the truth.
The thought sent a little shiver down his spine.

‘And how do I know this ain’t a trap?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

Jeb narrowed his eyes. ‘Get on with it then.’

Joseph did so.

Inside there was a bar, and space for lots of tables – though they were all gone now, of course. The layout reminded Joseph of the Legless Mermaid. He couldn’t remember being handed over to his uncle after the death of his parents, but if he’d known then what the Mermaid would be like, he would have fought and kicked and cried his throat raw.

Behind him, he heard the click of a hammer pulled back, and he turned to see that Jeb had drawn the pistol and levelled it at him.

‘One false move,’ said Jeb. ‘Just remember you ain’t as smart as me, mongrel, so don’t try nothing. Got it?’

Joseph nodded.

They climbed a spiralling stone staircase in the corner of the room. On the floor above there were several doorways, each leading out onto a corridor with rooms attached – probably bedrooms where customers could have stayed the night. That was one good thing about the Mermaid – Mr Lightly never had guests. For a man who ran a tavern, he didn’t seem to like people very much. Particularly if they were goblins.
Shady characters
, Mr Lightly called them.
Don’t know where you are with ’em. That’s the problem. Can’t trust ’em.

They stopped at the top floor, a turret which was nothing but a large, empty room, where the floorboards
were intact but singed and spattered with bird droppings. The roof was gone, leaving only a few wooden spars that stretched above. It was like standing inside a dragon’s ribcage.

Joseph had considered spending the night here, but it offered no shelter at all. And in any case he hadn’t felt like staying in this spooky mirror image of the Legless Mermaid. It brought back too many memories.

The open sky was still grey above them, and a breeze swept through the glassless windows, chilling him to the bone. He stepped into the room, positioning himself carefully, according to the plan, next to a loose floorboard. A very particular loose floorboard.

Jeb looked around, unimpressed. ‘If this is a joke …’

‘It’s not a joke. Look, over on the windowsill.’

A small, homely object lay there.

A wooden spoon.

The goblin’s eyes lit up with greed, and he started towards it. At the same instant Joseph knelt, lifted the floorboard at his feet and pulled out something from beneath it.

‘Wait.’ Jeb turned back. ‘How do I know that’s the real—’

‘It’s not.
This
is.’ Joseph stood, brandishing the
wooden spoon. The one he’d brought with him across the Ebony Ocean. Every bit as small and homely as the one on the windowsill.

‘You stinking little—’

‘I was afraid you might try to cheat me. Then I remembered how the shapeshifter tricked you back in Port Fayt, giving you an ordinary spoon instead of the magical one. So I did the same.’ Joseph nodded at the one on the windowsill. ‘I took that one from a soup stall last night, after I got away from your whitecoat.’
The second thing I needed for the plan
. ‘And you fell for it, just like last time.’

The goblin’s face twisted into a mask of fury, but Joseph stood his ground, gripping the wand tightly and fighting the urge to run. His cutlass lay at his feet, underneath the loose floorboard, but he made no move to take it.

Finally Jeb managed a sneering smile. ‘Well, congratulations. But it don’t make no difference. If yer don’t hand over that wand right now, I’ll blow yer brains out.’ He raised the pistol again. ‘No one’s goin’ to miss you. Most likely no one’ll even find yer, ’less you count the gulls. They’ll have a feast, I reckon.’

It wasn’t the first time Joseph had been on the wrong side of a loaded gun, but that didn’t make it any less frightening. He swallowed his fear and pointed the
wooden spoon at Jeb, just like the goblin was pointing the pistol at him.
Don’t be afraid,
he told himself.
You used it before. You can use it again.

‘Why don’t you just tell me the truth?’ His voice trembled. ‘Tell me where my father is. It can’t hurt you, can it?’

A strange expression came over Jeb’s face. But the next moment it was gone, like a passing storm cloud, replaced by his familiar smirk.

‘You don’t want to know, mongrel. Now gimme the real spoon or I’ll shoot you dead and take it anyway.’

Joseph locked eyes with Jeb. He concentrated hard, harder than he ever had before, trying to remember how it had felt in the carriage with Hoake.
Just think the right thoughts.

I’m Jeb. I’d do anything for more ducats. Betray anyone.

‘I’ll count to three,’ snarled Jeb. ‘Then it’s goodbye, mongrel.’

Joseph’s head began to throb. It felt heavy, potent with magic.

‘One.’

The magic spread, a tingling warmth, suffusing his body like hot velvetbean swallowed on a winter night. It was happening faster this time. As though it was easier to inhabit Jeb’s thoughts than it had
been with Hoake. Or was it just the practice?
It doesn’t matter. Focus.

‘Two.’

I’m a bile trader. A snitch. A thief. A liar.

Into his chest, his arms, his hands. And now the spoon itself was vibrating. From the corner of his eye Joseph saw that the air around it was swirling, distorting with magic. But he kept staring at Jeb, climbing out of himself, forcing his way into the goblin’s mind.

‘Three!’

Jeb’s finger tightened round the trigger, and at the same instant the world jolted, and Joseph wasn’t Joseph any more.

Chapter Twenty-two

He was Jeb.

Jeb the Snitch, who knew Port Fayt better than anyone, made more ducats in a day than most sailors made in a week, whose clothes were the finest, the smartest, the best. Who had the Grey Brotherhood in his pocket, and had built a griffin bile farm from scratch. Who had set up trading links throughout the Old World, using nothing but his wits.

Who was never good enough, no matter what he did.

Why, in all his life, had no one ever respected him?

Joseph was there, inside the goblin’s head. Soaring through his mind like the fairies that darted and swooped in the skies of Port Fayt. He scoured the deepest recesses, scavenging for the information he needed.
Elijah Grubb. Elijah Grubb. Elijah Grubb. Where are you?
They had to be there – thoughts of Joseph’s father, lurking somewhere in the goblin’s mind. And he was going to find them.

A boyhood memory. A cold day. Jeb had got up early and snuck out with his fishing rod, shivering on the pier for hours to catch one fat flounder. Afterwards he had taken a short cut home, through an alleyway where he was ambushed by two trolls from the roughest part of the quarter – not much older than him, but three times as big, fists the size of his head. They wanted his catch.

As he was about to hand it over, another goblin boy appeared in the alleyway, shouted at the trolls, ran at them, swinging his fists. He wasn’t much bigger than Jeb, but his anger frightened the bullies enough to make them slink off, muttering empty threats as they went.

Saved. It was such a relief that Jeb actually cried, and the goblin boy put an arm around him. Jeb hated that, almost as much as the bullies.

‘It’s all right,’ Elijah told him. ‘I’m here now.’

Elijah.

Somewhere far away, Joseph reeled in shock. So Jeb
had
known his father. Known him from when they were boys. Known him all their lives. What did it mean?

He delved deeper, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Another memory, years later. Jeb sat at a table with Elijah. It was a tavern – they were both older now – but young enough that the smells, the sights, the atmosphere of the place were thrilling. Jeb took a sip of grog from a giant pewter tankard, and it tasted sweet and foul, and above all
dangerous
. They were goblins fully grown – or near enough.

He leaned over the table, his eyes darting left and right. Over there, a human whispering something to a dwarf woman. And there, money changing hands between two tall, proud elves.

Secrets. Knowledge. Power. It was the lifeblood of Port Fayt. He knew that now, and he knew that it was the only strength he’d ever have. He was no troll, with a chest like a barrel and a jaw like a jutting cliff face. He was a goblin, and goblins had to use cunning to make ends meet.

Now he was telling Elijah of his own secret. Of his
girl, and what had happened between them. How she was going to have a baby. Jeb’s baby.

Elijah’s face lit up.
This is wonderful news. We must celebrate.
He was bigger and stronger than Jeb, his arms already taut and muscled from long days at the docks, working as a stevedore, carting barrels of dragon grease from the Northern Wastes, crates of wyrm scales from the Flatland Duchies, bottles of blackwine from Garran. His skin was darkened from the sunshine, his hands worn and his face a little wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and full of life, and when he smiled it was like looking through a window to a better place – a place where you could be honest and truthful and good.

Jeb hated Elijah and wanted him all to himself, both at the same time.

It’s not like that,
Jeb had explained.
It’s
complicated.

You don’t love her?
asked Elijah.

Maybe he did. But Jeb was a coward. He couldn’t let his parents find out about the child. His father would beat him, or worse.
I’m going to end it with her
, he said.
I’m going to forget it ever happened
.

The way Elijah looked at him then, his eyes so cold, his mouth a thin line. It burned in his memory.
She can’t forget,
Elijah told him.

The words twisted Jeb’s gut. He’d thought Elijah would understand. Elijah, of all people.

Elijah, his brother.

No. No, it can’t be true.

And yet Joseph knew that it was. He could feel Jeb resisting him, but it was no good. Here, now, his mind belonged to Joseph.

My uncle’s mind. Jeb the Snitch is my uncle.

Joseph felt sick. He didn’t want to know any more. He could sense, somehow, that there was something worse coming – something terrible. He wanted to turn away. But now a third memory surged up like a tidal wave, and engulfed him.

A few months later. Jeb had hardly spoken to his brother since the day he’d told him about the baby. He’d been so busy. The petty crooks on the docks had begun to call him ‘The Snitch’, but he knew so much now – a few secrets here, a few dark truths there – that no one dared touch him. Jeb the Snitch. He liked the sound of it. It was all going so well.

Until the day he walked past the house with the green front door, and heard laughter inside. He crept to the window and saw the girl sitting at the table, and opposite her Elijah, both of them smiling, practically
shining with joy. Her belly was swollen. Inside it, he knew, was a child.
His
child.

He knocked at the door, and when Elijah opened it, he demanded to know what was happening.

They went back to the tavern. Their tavern, the one they always came to, though it was the first time in months. The last time too, though he didn’t know it then.

Elijah explained. After Jeb had ended it with the girl Elijah had gone to see her, to give her money. Money from his own pocket, that he’d earned as a stevedore, to help her with the baby.

Idiot,
Jeb thought.
For a goblin to make a living with his muscles.

Elijah had begun to visit, at first just to make sure she was all right, that she would be able to look after the baby on her own. Then for more than that. They had fallen in love.

He told Jeb not to worry about it, that it didn’t concern him. He was going to live with her, help look after the baby and do his best to make her happy.

You can’t
, Jeb hissed.
Think what Father would say. For Thalin’s sake, you’re a goblin and she’s a human.

That didn’t stop you
, said Elijah.

It’s different. I would never have lived with her. What next – will you marry her?

Elijah’s eyes went cold again, and his jaw set. He was sorry he hadn’t told Jeb sooner, and even sorrier that Jeb didn’t understand.

What about me?
said Jeb.
You took her from me.

You gave her up,
Elijah told him.
You tossed her aside. You never loved her.

Maybe it was true. Maybe he’d just wanted her, in the same way he wanted ducats, and power and respect. But still … His own brother. His perfect brother, whom everybody loved, who had just stolen her away.

He leaned forward across the table. He was angry, and he only had one card left to play. He told Elijah to stay away from her, or he would tell their mother and father.

Elijah shook his head. There was no coldness left in those eyes now, only sorrow, perhaps even pity.
Goodbye
, he said.
If you ever need me, I’ll be with Eleanor.

With Eleanor and Joseph.

Little Joseph.

Everything lurched, and Joseph dropped to his knees, choking. His head spun. The wooden spoon fell from his fingers and clattered on the floor.

No. Please, no.

The strangest thing – Jeb hadn’t even lied to him.
His father was alive, had been all along. He just wasn’t the person Joseph had thought he was.

His father stood two feet away, staggering, clutching his head. Jeb the Snitch. Who had once been just Jeb.

Jeb Grubb.

All Joseph’s memories, everything he had locked away, every precious moment with the goblin he’d thought was his father – his uncle, Elijah Grubb – all of them rushed through his head in a torrent, redefined by the truth. The horrible, awful truth. The truth he’d fought so hard to uncover.

He barely looked up as Jeb stumbled forward, replaced the ordinary wooden spoon with the real one, his pistol still trained on Joseph. On his son.

‘I didn’t recognize yer at first,’ muttered Jeb. ‘Reckoned you’d died long ago, along wi’ your ma. You got some o’ yer old man’s wits about yer, that’s for sure. Using a wand, like you were some sort o’ magician …’ He tucked the wooden spoon in his pocket. ‘Well, the fun’s over now. Eli’s gone. Eleanor too. Just you left.’

Joseph closed his eyes, squeezing them tight to stop the tears from falling. This was it. The end. Everything he’d thought he’d known was wrong, and the life he was about to lose seemed to belong to a stranger.

The
son of the Snitch.
Surely he deserved to die.

He would never see Elijah again. The goblin who had raised him, who cared for him even when he knew what Joseph was – the child of a monster. It racked his heart with love and pain. He would never again see Tabs. Or Newton. Or Frank, or Paddy.

So be it. They were better off without him anyway.

He was ready. Ready for the gunshot to pierce his body and for the life to leave it.

And the shot never came.

‘Get up, for Thalin’s sake,’ snapped Jeb. ‘I ain’t goin’ to kill yer.’

Joseph opened his eyes and saw the goblin stuff the pistol in his pocket.

‘Not yet, anyhow. I’ve got plans for you, son.’