The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(78)

He backs away from me, nods his head in a little bow. A good-bye.

“I’ll tell the others I lost you.” His voice is gruff, and in it I can hear all the emotion he despises, all the emotion he’s trying so hard to contain. “And it won’t be a lie.”





THERE ARE PEOPLE ALL AROUND, pushing into me. But I’m so stunned, I don’t move. I’m so stunned, I don’t do anything. I just stand there. Staring unseeing at the crowd around me, Caleb’s words echoing inside my head.

I feel a hand on my arm and jump.

“There you are.” It’s George. He’s standing in front of me, John and Fifer beside him. They’re frowning. “What happened? We turned around and you were gone.”

“I—I’m sorry, I—” I shake my head, still unable to think. “It’s bright out here,” I finally manage. “I guess I just got turned around.”

George tuts. “Well, come on, then. We’ve got a ship to board.” He and Fifer set off down the dock. But John just stands there, looking at me, brows raised. A question.

I could tell him that Caleb showed up, what he said to me. But what’s the point? It doesn’t change that I said good-bye to my best friend. Most likely forever. Tears fill my eyes again, and this time I don’t bother to push them away.

John’s eyes widen in sudden understanding.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” He spins around, searching the docks. “Was he alone? Are they sending more?”

“Yes. But they’re not—he didn’t.” My voice breaks. “He let me go.”

He turns back to me, surprise etched on his face. After a moment he nods.

“Let’s go.” He touches his hand to the small of my back and guides me through the crowd to the gangway, where Fifer and George are waiting. They give us both a curious look but say nothing.

The four of us start up the narrow wooden bridge. A bearded, heavyset pirate stands at the top, sword in hand. “Stop right there,” he commands. He aims the blade at John’s chest.

“I want to speak to the captain,” John says.

The man laughs. “They all want to speak to the captain. I tell them all no. What makes you any different?”

“Because this is my ship,” John replies. I shoot a surprised look at George; he shrugs. “I assume that makes me different enough?”

The man peers at John. Then his eyes widen and he lets out a sudden bellow.

“John Raleigh!” He grabs John’s arm and hauls him onto the deck. “I should have known. You’re the very spit of your father. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to trade a life of virtue for a life of debauchery?”

John smiles. “Not quite. My friends and I need a lift into Upminster. Greenwich Tower?”

The man raises his eyebrows. “I hope you came prepared.”

John pulls a sack from his bag and gives it a shake. By the heavy, dull clank I can tell it’s full of coins. “Of course.”

The man turns around and motions for John to follow. “Come on. You can plead your case yourself. Your friends can wait here.”

John follows the man to the upper deck of the ship, into the captain’s quarters. We wait by the railing, trying to ignore the overly interested stares of the other sailors.

Finally, John emerges. He looks furious, and my heart sinks. The captain must have refused us passage. I don’t see how it’s possible, especially if this really is John’s ship. I step forward, ready to find the captain and force him to let us on, when I see why John is so angry.

He exits the cabin behind John, a boy dressed entirely in black; shaggy blond hair, bright blue eyes, wicked grin.

Schuyler.

He’s come back for the sword, and Blackwell sent him. It’s the only explanation for his being here. I spin around, snatch the Azoth by the hilt from under Fifer’s cloak, and advance on him, pointing the blade directly at his throat. Behind me, Fifer gasps.

Schuyler doesn’t even flinch. “Ah, my little mouse, my bijoux. I knew we’d meet again someday. Though this is not at all how I hoped it might go. I imagined less weaponry, less hostility, less clothing—”

“Shut up,” I say. “Turn around and walk away. If you can do it without opening your mouth again, I might let you keep your head.”

“Elizabeth, put it down,” John says.

“No!” I say. “That’s what he wants. He wants the sword, and he can’t have it. He’ll take it to Blackwell. We can’t let him have it—”

“He’s not here for that,” John interrupts. “He’s here because Fifer called him. Last night. Told him to meet us here.” He gives her a furious look. “He stole a crate of lemons from Humbert’s and bribed his way on board with it.”

George chokes back a laugh. “Lemons?”

Schuyler shrugs. “Scurvy.”

I keep the sword on Schuyler’s throat, my eyes on his face. “Fifer, why did you call him here?” I think a moment. “And how? Revenants have to be close to hear someone’s thoughts. If he was in Stepney Green last night, he couldn’t possibly have heard you all the way from here.”

John makes a face and spins around, as if he can’t bear to hear what’s coming next.