The Queen's Necklace (37 page)

Will reached into one of his pockets and drew out a stag-horn flask with a silver stopper. He pulled out the stopper, took a long pull, then laughed at the corporal's grimace of distaste. “A tonic given to me by my grandmother. Quite harmless, I can assure you.” As Dagget either did not know or had forgotten the name of Captain Blackheart's grandmother, his face relaxed.

“It will clear my head for about fifteen minutes,” Will added, as he returned the flask to his coat pocket. “I urge you to say what you have to say with as little preamble as possible.”

“Sir, I have located not only the Goblin but the lady who was with him. Only, they aren't in Hawkesbridge, or anywhere near it. I found them in Chetterly, near the Chêneboix border.”

Will put a hand to his forehead. Lady Krogan's potion might
serve to dissipate some of the mists, but it did nothing to banish a raging headache. “You're damnably thorough, anyway. But what led you so far afield as Chetterly?”

Young Dagget blushed. “Sir, I went into the mountains for personal reasons. My family—but you don't care to hear about that. Encountering the Goblin was the last thing I expected, but I've been in the habit of scanning faces wherever I go. Fortunately, he didn't see me, and I was able to dog his footsteps for quite some time. I took particular note of a house he entered, and a man who lives in the neighborhood told me he goes there
often
, and sometimes takes the lady with him.”

Wilrowan scowled. “You followed the Wryneck but didn't arrest him?”

“Captain Blackheart, how could I? I have no authority to make an arrest outside the city, and it's not as though he was doing anything illegal when I saw him in Chetterly. Without a warrant—”

“Quite right.” Putting his hands on the arms of his chair, Will levered himself to his feet. “Now that I think of it, you did just what you should have done. Particularly in coming directly to me. You did come directly?” Dagget nodded. “It happens I
can
make an arrest anywhere in the realm, with or without a warrant, if I have reason to suspect a plot against the queen.”

The corporal was looking vaguely offended. “Sir, on what charge? Surely this was a plot against your own safety, and as such—”

“You needn't trouble yourself about that.”

Leading the way out of the gaming rooms and down the stairs, Will gave his companion a sidelong glance. He seemed to remember lecturing young Dagget at their last meeting, on the methods and integrity expected of those who served the Crown—no wonder, then, if the corporal was shocked at what must appear an abuse of Wilrowan's position, in pursuit of a private vendetta. This was unfortunate, but it
could not be helped. The story of the Hawkesbridge professors and their infernal engine would not suit the present circumstances, nor was Will about to devise a whole new tale for the corporal's benefit.

“You will accompany me back to Chetterly and point out the house,” he said firmly. “Then, if the Wryneck appears, you will assist me in making an arrest.”

Nick Brakeburn had been left behind in the mining town, just to make certain there was nothing more to be learned, and Gilpin and Odgers—the other two men that Rodaric had approved to assist in the search—were out of the city as well. To recall them might take several days.

“Sir, I—”

“Moreover, you will take my word that this action is perfectly appropriate on my part. Is this
understood
, Corporal Dagget?”

The corporal saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” said Will. “I'll go to the palace, pack up my things, and send word to Marzden to extend your leave. You, in the meantime, will go to a posting house, hire a carriage, and meet me at the North Gate in about two hours.”

Chetterly was a drowsy little town in a mountain valley, the kind of place that seemed perfectly content to daydream the years and the centuries away, sleepily regarding its own reflection on the slow-moving waters of the Zule.

By the time Corporal Dagget drove his post chaise into the stableyard of the only inn, two days later, Will felt considerably refreshed after a sleep of about twenty hours, and he had taken advantage of a stop earlier that day to wash up and change his appearance. As he swung down from the carriage, Will looked a different person, in a severe brown coat of military cut, biscuit-colored small clothes, and well-polished boots, his auburn hair liberally powdered to disguise the color.

When the horses were stabled and a room had been engaged for the night, Will and Dagget took a brisk walk though the town, starting at the town square, eventually arriving outside the house where the Wryneck was known to visit.

It was a typical cottage, white-washed stone with a slate roof, with windows curtained in chintz and shutters painted green, and evidence of a tiny walled garden behind.

“Will we question the people who live inside?” the corporal asked.

“That would only serve to alert the Goblin. No, I want to arrest him, but to do it discreetly. Then we can take him off to some private spot, and squeeze the information out of him at our leisure.”

Young Dagget was frowning. No telling what he imagined Will meant by “squeezing” the information out of the Goblin—nor had Wilrowan failed to notice that the corporal's speech was larded with fewer “sirs” and “Captain Blackhearts” than it had been formerly.

Once more, Will cursed the need for so much secrecy. In fact, he had a warrant from the king tucked inside his waistcoat, which granted him extremely sweeping powers. It might have eased the corporal's conscience had he known, but Will had been cautioned against showing the paper to anyone, until and unless it became absolutely necessary.

“You have grown very nice,” he said sharply, “for a man who not three months since was accepting bribes.”

Dagget flushed to the roots of his hair. “I believe I told you—sir—that on that occasion I believed I was serving the Crown.”

“As you may also believe it now,” Will answered coldly. “And on immeasurably better authority.”

Leaving Dagget to his own thoughts, he began to study every detail of their surroundings. The street was a narrow one and not very long, ending at a mossy stone wall at least twelve feet high. The buildings opposite the cottage were neat little shops, with upper stories given over to lodgings.

“We need to keep an eye on this house at all times, but without drawing attention. Perhaps we should begin by renting a room across the way. We will say—we will say we are planning to stay for a least a fortnight and therefore don't wish to remain at the inn.”

But now Dagget was shaking his head.

“Well, Corporal?”

The youth hesitated. “It is a good plan, sir. I don't dispute that. But I—some of the people here know me; they know that my father lives not seven miles from this very spot.”

“Yes, I see,” said Will. “I'll make inquiries about a room, while you wait here and try not to be seen.”

So Wilrowan set out purposefully in search of temporary lodgings. The shop directly opposite belonged to a tailor and would have been ideal, with its broad upper windows facing the street, but the tailor and his family occupied the entire top floor and the attic as well, and could not be coaxed into letting out a room. A chandler, a cooper, and several others were equally reluctant to oblige. In the end, Will was forced to settle for a two-room lodging several houses down on the wrong side of the street.

A day and a half of watching, turn and turn about with young Dagget—a day and a half during which Will grew increasingly impatient, as the only Goblins to appear were two Ouphs and a Padfoot with business in the neighborhood—and finally he was rewarded by the sight of a stoop-shouldered figure moving down the lane in the faded light of late afternoon.

Will hailed the corporal out of the other room, where he had been taking a nap, and Dagget arrived just in time to hang out the window and catch a glimpse of the blue-coated Goblin as he entered the cottage. “Yes, sir, that is certainly him.”

Will glanced at the sky, then took out his watch. “It should be dark in another hour. Really, this could hardly be better. If the Wry
neck stays with his friends that long, we can follow him home when he decides to leave; and overpower him in the dark.”

He felt a tensing of muscles, an intoxicating rush of blood to his head, now the time for action had finally arrived. Speaking over his shoulder to Dagget, he armed himself and headed for the door. “For the love of heaven, Corporal, don't you forget to bring the rope.”

But once Will and Dagget were down in the street, they were forced to loiter in the shadows for the next two hours, until the door of the house finally opened and an angular figure appeared briefly silhouetted against the light, then stepped out onto the narrow lane.

Will drew a long hissing breath. “This street is not so dim as I would like.” Though these village streets lacked gas-lights or flares, several of the shopkeepers hung lanterns outside their doors. “The next street may be darker. If it is—we'll take him as soon as he turns the corner.”

Dagget whispered his assent, and they both moved stealthily after the shambling figure of the Goblin. The next street was dark, and deserted as well, and their quarry seemed quite unaware he was being followed. Will caught up in a few swift strides, took the Goblin roughly by the arm, and thrust the barrel of a silver pistol into his side.

“You, sir, will make no outcry nor any attempt to escape. Not if you value your miserable life.” The Goblin stood passively. “Corporal, tie his hands behind him, and make very certain that the knots are tight.”

No sooner were the words out of Will's mouth than there came two loud cracks of gunfire. At the first, Dagget cried out and collapsed to the ground; the second whizzed past Will's head, so close he could feel the wind of its passage fanning his cheek.

Acting instinctively, Wilrowan wrenched the prisoner around to cover him. He peered into the shadows, looking to see who had fired the shots, but the street appeared empty.

“Corporal Dagget?” A faint moan answered him. Will drove the muzzle of his pistol a little deeper into the Goblin's side. “How many men—Goblins—are there?”

Before the prisoner could answer, there was another crack of gunfire, and the Goblin grunted and doubled over. Despite Will's attempts to keep him up, he began to slide heavily down toward the pavement.

“Damn!” said Will, abandoning the effort, letting him go, and throwing himself down flat on the hard cobblestones. He found one of the Goblin's wrists and felt for a pulse. There was not so much as a flutter, the flesh was as cold as ice. As the creature was obviously dead, Will crawled over to see to Dagget.

The corporal, he was relieved to discover, was still breathing, though he had a very large hole in one shoulder which was bleeding copiously. By now, doors were flying open and people were pouring out of the shops and into the street. Will hesitated, not liking to desert his comrade.

Yet neither he nor Dagget was of any account when weighed against the greater significance of the Mountfalcon Jewel. Realizing this, Will abandoned the corporal to the care of the emerging shopkeepers. Springing to his feet, pulling another pistol out of his pocket, he took off in pursuit of the two dark figures just disappearing around a corner.

Being lightly built and fleet of foot, he gained on them rapidly. When one of the two crossed a patch of yellow lantern-light, Will stopped, aimed, and fired, then dodged into a recessed doorway to avoid being shot in return. He thought he had winged the fellow, but when he looked cautiously around the corner of the recess, he saw that both figures were still moving.

There was a stamping of horses and a rattle of wheels as a carriage came rolling out of nowhere, stopped just long enough for the two who were fleeing to leap inside, then went careering around the corner and out of Will's sight.

In the meantime, he had managed to get off another shot and hit the driver, but the carriage continued on—as evidenced by shouts and screams on the other street where the gathering crowd was forced to scatter. By the time Will rounded the corner himself, the carriage was already out of sight.

Three men stood over the place where Dagget still lay crumpled and bleeding on the cobblestones. A fourth man knelt beside him, with a brass lantern in hand. Will concealed both pistols inside his coat and hurried over to take charge. “Is he still alive?”

“Aye, just barely.” The man with the lantern put down his light, drew out a handkerchief and wadded it up, making shift to cover the wound in Dagget's shoulder. “We'll need better than this, though.”

“Someone should send for a surgeon.” Will pulled off his coat, removed his neckcloth, was just about to kneel and offer his assistance, when one of the other men took a step in his direction, removing a stout-looking club from a chain at his waist. Will knew at once that he and Dagget were in the capable hands of the citizen Watch.

“Already sent for,” said the man with the truncheon. “But if you please, sir, 'tis a very bad business, and there be a good many questions you maybe ought to answer—”

“As you say.” Will handed his neckcloth to the man beside Dagget. Reaching inside his waistcoat, he pulled out the warrant and passed it over to the other burly watchman. The time for showing his credentials had clearly arrived.

“This
is
a very bad business. But I am Captain Wilrowan Blackheart, and as you no doubt recognize the king's seal and signature on this document, you'll do me the favor of following my orders
now
and asking your questions later. Is there some house nearby where we can take Corporal Dagget and the body of the Wryneck?”

One of the spectators stepped forward to offer his house. Will accepted the offer gladly, and Dagget was very carefully lifted by four men, carried inside, and gently laid out on a table to await the
surgeon. Meanwhile, the Goblin was wrapped in a ragged sheet and deposited unceremoniously on the floor.