Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(66)

‘And if we can’t find a near match?’ Aaron said.

‘Then you’ll get found out,’ Tom said. ‘He’s lazy, not an idiot.’

That had presented a problem. Joan didn’t have a chop, and the other two couldn’t leave a record of their real marks at the gate.

Tom had taken them down to a marina where narrowboats and barges with peeling paint bobbed up and down on brown water. His little bulldog, Frankie, had toddled behind him. When her stubby legs had struggled with the wharf steps, Tom had leaned down and bundled her under one arm.

‘The Hathaways live on the canals and the river,’ Ruth had whispered to Joan. ‘This is their territory.’

Muscular men and women had eyed them from boat decks and from chairs set up along the wharf. There’d been a homespun quality to the boats; most had obvious repairs. They’d all had the same symbol, painted on the cabin or as the weather vane: a two-headed hound, growling and black.

Real animals had been everywhere too—lounging on decks and running underfoot: dogs, birds, cats.

Tom had climbed down into a boat at the end of the wharf, Frankie still under his arm. He’d returned with a tray full of chops, the figurines dull and dirty.

‘Tell me you’re not a grave robber,’ Aaron had said.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Tom had said. ‘They came out of the river. Everything washes up on the foreshore. Even monster chops.’ He held out the tray. ‘Go on. Pick.’

Aaron had gone first. He’d sorted through all the chops, dismissive until he’d finally found a bronze mermaid figurine.

‘Not much of a disguise,’ Ruth had said.

‘I’m clearly an Oliver,’ Aaron had said. ‘No one would believe anything less.’

Ruth had gone next. She’d chosen a Patel family chop: a white horse, its chipped enamel showing glimpses of the bronze beneath.

Joan had picked out a figurine that reminded her of the sea serpent images beside monster doors. ‘A dragonara serpent,’ Ruth had said. Joan had turned it over. The underside had been etched with a name—Lia Portelli.



Joan gripped her figurine now as she waited in the queue. The gate arched behind the guards, creating a dark passage between this world and the next. Through the gap, Whitehall Palace gleamed, bone white as the Banqueting House.

Aaron stepped up to the guard. ‘Henry Oliver,’ he said.

The book of marks sat open on a pedestal like a guest book at a wedding.

The guard turned the pages with a white-gloved hand. Joan glimpsed caged-bird stamps for pages and pages, and then the Oliver mermaids.

Aaron ran a finger down the page, one hand in his pocket as if he were bored by the ritual. Then he reached for the golden ink pad and stamped his seal beside one of the marks.

The guard glanced down at the book. Joan held her breath. Now, at the crucial moment, the whole plan seemed stupid. It relied too much on one man’s poor judgment, and on luck—the stamps would have to look reasonably similar.

‘Pleasant evening,’ Aaron commented to the guard.

‘The dates on both sides were chosen for the occasion,’ the guard said. He nodded at Aaron. ‘Welcome to the Monster Court.’ He waved Aaron through. Joan breathed out in relief.

Ruth was waved through next.

And then it was Joan’s turn. She took her place in front of the guard. He was wearing a dark blue uniform with gold braid. This close, she could see that his gold buttons were etched with winged lions. She’d seen the same creature on monster currency. And again on the guards’ pins at the market. The symbol of the Monster Court.

The guard himself was just as Tom had described him: curly blond hair under the braided guard’s hat, and heavy-lidded eyes already dull with boredom.

The guard had barely glanced at Ruth’s mark, but Joan’s hands still shook as she reached for the book. She’d tried to memorise the features of Lia Portelli’s chop: the sea serpent, the exact pattern of the rippling waves around it. The number of olive leaves in the border wreath.

The man held up a hand to stop her. ‘Please wait,’ he said. ‘We’re changing guards.’

‘What?’ Joan whispered. Her mouth was so dry, the sound hardly came out. Do you have any idea what the Court will do to us if they catch us? Aaron had said.

On the other side of the gate, Aaron and Ruth were waiting. They’d seen the guard speak, but apparently hadn’t been able to hear any words. As the lazy guard stepped away, Aaron’s eyes widened in alarm.

Joan’s heart thudded as a new guard made her way through the gate. She had a neat blonde bun and hard eyes. She took her place by the book and then nodded at Joan. ‘Please find your mark,’ she said.

Go, Joan willed Aaron and Ruth. Go. But they just stood there, staring at her. Joan’s heart sped up even more. If she was caught, they’d be caught too. They’d made it too obvious that the three of them were together.

The new guard looked Joan up and down. ‘Please find your mark,’ she said again, with more impatience.

‘Portelli,’ Joan managed.

The guard turned the pages from the horses of the Patels until she reached pages with the Portellis’ dragon-like sea serpent. Joan swallowed. She could see the differences at a glance, and she wasn’t even an expert at looking for them.

She wet her dry lips and then pressed her stamp to the golden ink pad. ‘That other guard,’ she said. She looked over in the direction he’d gone, and held the line of sight. ‘He wasn’t checking the marks very carefully.’