Chapter 21
You have a hero in your midst
‘Lord Bingleton?!’ Jane gasped, clutching at Hilde’s hand.
The girls and Orson were gathered around a table in the corner of the tavern, where the ragged remains of Isobelle’s beautiful clothes were drawing the wrong sort of attention.
The innkeeper wore a fixed smile and refused to meet anyone’s gaze, but clearly wasn’t game to suggest Isobelle was bringing the tone down.
For her part, Isobelle wasn’t letting anything come between her and breakfast, so Rosamund was reduced to darting in to deposit plates on their table, then edging back again.
Gwen and Isobelle’s relaying of their night’s adventure had made its way through the failure of the ritual, via Tabitha’s kidnapping and the tracking of their new friend to the witch’s cottage – complete with the shocking revelation of her parentage – then through the secret passage and as far as the discovery that Olivia’s mysterious order was somehow involved.
Now, they were up to the part about the necromancer himself, and despite her sandy-eyed exhaustion, Isobelle was quite pleased with the general reaction.
Everyone fell silent as Rosamund sidled up once more with a fresh tray of toast, trying very hard to look as though she weren’t straining to overhear any snippets of conversation.
Her knuckles were white on the tray, as if she would rather keep hold of it and scuttle away from the sort of danger Gwen and Isobelle so clearly attracted, but still she lingered.
Sylvie thanked her pointedly, and she deposited the food and retreated again, deprived of the gossip she so clearly sought.
‘You’re sure it was Bingleton?’ Orson asked quietly.
‘He’s a newcomer,’ Sylvie pointed out. ‘What does anyone here really know about him?’
‘But Bingleton, a witch? And one who summons the dead, at that?’
Isobelle reached for another slice of toast as everyone contemplated this, and Hilde passed her the pot of jam.
‘It’s a decent disguise,’ Gwen said, propping her chin up on one hand, allowing herself to close her eyes. ‘Playing the fool. If we hadn’t seen him with our own eyes, I’d never have believed it.’
‘A necromancer …’ Jane said quietly. ‘Girls, I know we’ve faced down a dragon …’ She paused for an apologetic glance at Orson, who inclined his head. He had not, after all, faced down the beast. ‘But this is bigger than that. Are we sure we’re the right people to take him on?’
‘It’s a fair question,’ Sylvie said, before Isobelle could reply. ‘The man is more than dangerous. We can assume he’s behind the curse on the town, and it must have been he who commanded the sea monster, too.’
Isobelle winced. ‘Ah,’ she said, buying herself a moment more, because she knew this next part was going to be tricky. ‘About that past tense.’
Blank looks met her around the table, save for Gwen’s exhausted gaze.
‘Commanded,’ Isobelle clarified. ‘I’m afraid the correct word is commands.’
‘Sorry, what?’ Sylvie asked, setting down her spoon.
‘The creature is back,’ Gwen said wearily. ‘We saw it after we escaped the tower.’
‘He has raised …’ Hilde began, and then lowered her voice as the whole table hushed her at once. ‘He has raised the creature from the dead?’ she whispered, eyes huge. ‘Mein Gott.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Jane whispered.
‘You said he has Tabitha,’ Sylvie said. ‘Surely our focus should be—’
‘It is.’ Gwen reached for her cup of tea and took a long swallow. ‘Our focus is on saving Tabitha. Whatever it takes.’
‘Of course,’ Isobelle agreed. ‘We know that matters more than the monster. What we don’t know is …’ She trailed off, the next words unspoken. How on earth to save her. No one wanted to say them.
It was some time before Gwen broke the ensuing silence. ‘I’ll kill it,’ she said, her voice low but determined. ‘The sea monster.’
‘Didn’t we just say—’ began Orson.
Gwen kept going, right over the top of him.
‘Tabitha said that every time he raises the dead, it weakens him. So if I kill the sea monster, and he has to raise it again, that’ll weaken him.
And then I’ll kill it again.’ She looked around the table, meeting each of their eyes in turn.
‘And again, if I have to. Until there’s no more strength left in him.
We promised her we’d find a way to save her. This is the only one I see.’
Nobody spoke. Again, there was complete silence, but this time it was of Gwen’s making. Her words rippled out and passed through the group, pinning everyone to their chairs.
Even Isobelle, who had not a doubt in the world that Gwen could prevail against an army, was pausing for thought at the idea of killing a sea monster three more times.
No! she wanted to cry. Stay here, where it’s safe!
But Tabitha was trapped. And Gwen herself was under a spell – the necromancer’s spell, Isobelle realised grimly – which would surely get worse, the longer he was allowed to continue it.
The town itself was under his curse. And for once, Isobelle’s clever brain could see no other way out of the situation, except for the one that made her feel like she’d swallowed a stone.
Then Gwen’s gaze flicked across to her, and she knew what was called for. What Gwen needed. She straightened her back, and lifted her chin.
‘That’s exactly what Gwen will do,’ she agreed, pushing every piece of certainty she possessed into her tone. ‘Tabitha trusts us, and we won’t let her down.’
Later, Hilde hustled Gwen off to introduce her to a basin of hot water before she fell into bed, and Jane escorted Isobelle to her rooms, with Rosamund the innkeeper watching them all the way out of sight, wide-eyed and wary.
They left Sylvie and Orson behind at the breakfast table, still speaking in low voices.
‘I think we can mend most of this,’ Jane said, and for a dizzying moment, Isobelle thought she was talking about …
about everything. About the fault lines that had appeared between her and Gwen …
the nightmares, the hidden letter. The magical ritual that had failed because of the secrets they were keeping.
The tension that sang between them even after they had done their best to make up with each other.
About Tabitha, with her pale face and her scream of terror, trapped up in the tower with a man who could raise the dead.
And about Gwen, wrapped up in a spell cast by that same necromancer. Would slaying the sea monster weaken his grip on her, too?
‘Do you really think it can be mended?’ she murmured.
‘Certainly,’ said Jane. ‘The silk’s actually barely torn, it’s just the seam that’s come apart.’
‘Oh,’ said Isobelle. ‘Of course. The dress.’
Jane fixed her with a long look. ‘Into bed,’ she said firmly. ‘No matter what has to be done, you’ve been up all night. You’ll be no use to anyone if you drop where you stand.’
So Isobelle let Jane usher her into bed and pull the covers up, tucking her in as though she were a small child. It was comforting. It made her miss Olivia – Olivia, who had so many questions to answer now, but was so very far away.
As she drifted towards sleep, Tabitha’s voice returned to her, though, dancing at the edge of her coming dreams.
You have to go, she had said. Gwen, you have to go.
Isobelle knew she hadn’t mistaken that emphasis. Tabitha knew about the spell that had ensnared Gwen. She knew what danger Gwen faced.
How was Isobelle to free her from it?
‘Sleep,’ said Jane, stroking her hair back from her forehead. ‘Just for a little while.’
And Isobelle did.
The sun was streaming through her windows when someone laid a hand on her shoulder. Isobelle made a grumbling noise, rolling onto her front and burying her face in her pillow.
‘Stop that,’ said Sylvie’s voice. ‘And get up.’
Isobelle made a noise that indicated that she disagreed with the proposed course of action, and tried pulling a second pillow over the back of her head.
Memories were creeping in, though, and dragging her back towards consciousness.
Tabitha’s face, drawn and afraid. Gwen’s jaw squared, as she swore to fight the sea monster over and over again.
Sylvie confiscated all the pillows one by one, tossing them across the room.
‘There’s a … well, there’s a group of people outside the tavern,’ she said.
‘And if they’re not a mob, they’re certainly trending in that direction, and it’s making Jane and Hilde nervous.
I suggest you brush your hair and go talk to them.
They’re demanding the Lady Dragonslayer, and just now I’m not sure you want Gwen to face them alone. ’
It turned out Sylvie was right. A sleepy Gwen had been summoned as well, and when the pair of them made their way through the tavern’s front door, at least two dozen people burst into speech all at once.
Isobelle immediately wished she had paused for a cup of tea before dealing with whatever this was.
‘Please,’ she called, raising her hands. ‘One at a time. If you wish to express a concern, I can’t possibly hear you all at once.’
Every member of the crowd most decidedly did have concerns to express, and they all attempted to do so at once.
‘Stop!’ Gwen barked beside her, and the crowd immediately went silent. Isobelle shot her a grateful look, and Gwen inclined her head to indicate that Isobelle should try again.
This time, Isobelle pointed at a woman in the front row, who was twisting her apron in her hands. ‘Is his lordship really a murderous necromancer?’ the woman demanded.
Isobelle blinked, resisting the urge to twist around and look for Rosamund, whose eavesdropping abilities she had clearly underestimated.
Another voice rose from near the back of the crowd – it was Henry, who’d captained the boat when Gwen had slain the sea monster for the first time, his eyes wide and anxious. ‘Is the beast back? Has he raised it from the dead?’
And the crowd exploded again.
‘Can his lordship really be …?’
‘Came from elsewhere, didn’t he, and …’
‘… heard it can walk on those tentacles and come clear up onto shore to destroy our very homes!’
‘… going on up at that tower, and the sorceress’ll be back soon enough, and …’
‘… we ain’t had any beasties rising from the dead before this so-called Lady Dragonslayer showed up!’
That shook Isobelle out of her paralysis. When necessary, she was capable of raising her voice to a pitch and volume that was extremely difficult to ignore. She did so now, and after a few moments, she was the only one still speaking.
‘Fear not,’ she said firmly. ‘The Lady Dragonslayer has dealt with worse than this. Sir Gwen faced down a dragon single-handedly, when not a knight in Darkhaven was willing to ride out to her aid. She has slain the sea monster once, and she will do so again. In fact, she must do so again!’
‘It’ll murder us all if she doesn’t!’ cried a voice.
Isobelle pressed on. ‘Nobody is being murdered,’ she said firmly.
‘Except, of course, the sea monster. We have learned that the necromancer is weakened with each use of his powers. Sir Gwen will slay the monster, and if he raises it again, she will slay it again, draining the necromancer until he is ripe for defeat. Good people of Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea, you have a hero in your midst. You need have no fear.’
The energy of the crowd had shifted slightly as she spoke, and though Isobelle knew they were one good scare away from fresh panic, they weren’t willing to protest anymore for now.
A cold, serpentine unease stirred inside her, but before she could inspect it, Henry spoke up from the back.
‘I’ll have the Elizabeth ready to cast off,’ he said.
‘When the beast returns to the harbour, we’ll ring the port bell to summon you. ’
Isobelle looked to Gwen, who nodded slowly.
‘I’ll be ready,’ she said simply. And though she wore nothing but a rough shirt and trousers, her hair pulled back into a simple braid, her eyes still shadowed with tiredness, she looked like nothing so much as a hero of legend.
Not the kind that danced at balls and dined at feasts, or wore armour that accented her chest and hips.
No, she looked like the type that saved the day.
The type that raised her sword to protect those who needed it.
Isobelle knew the townsfolk sensed it, too. One by one they went still – placated, at least for now. For the time being they would put their trust in Gwen, though it was clear it wouldn’t hold forever.
Without another word, Gwen turned to head back inside the tavern, and Isobelle followed her, casting a beady eye about for Rosamund, who had not only eavesdropped but gossiped as well.
Isobelle was fully prepared to admit the necessity of both on occasion, but the innkeeper had chosen a cursed inconvenient time to play this particular game.
Sylvie, Jane, Hilde and Orson were waiting for them, gathered around a table in a quiet conversation that broke off when Gwen and Isobelle arrived.
‘What time is it?’ Gwen asked, scrubbing at her face.
‘After lunch,’ said Hilde, rising to her feet. ‘I will ask Rosamund to find us some.’
‘Least she can do,’ Orson muttered, as she disappeared.
Sylvie was quiet, drumming her fingers on the tabletop as Gwen and Isobelle took their seats with the others. ‘So this is our plan?’ she said, when the others fell silent. ‘Risk Gwen’s life, fight the sea monster again and again, and hope she wins each time?’
‘It’s the only idea we have,’ Gwen said simply.
Isobelle allowed herself to slump in her chair. ‘If only word hadn’t got around so quickly about Lord Bingleton. I’m not surprised they’re nervous out there. If we’d been thinking, we’d have kept it under wraps.’
Gwen eyed her sidelong. ‘You mean … keep a secret from them?’ she asked a little too blandly. ‘Because you don’t think they can handle the truth?’
The letter.
Isobelle let out a slow breath, searching for the right answer.
But before she could speak, a distant clanging noise rang out down by the harbour.
A quick flash of panic ran through her – it was the bell Henry had promised.
Already? She’d thought they’d have more time, a chance to discuss tactics, to …
Gwen rose to her feet. ‘I’ll get my sword,’ she said quietly. ‘Tell Rosamund to hold lunch.’