Vile things
Gwen was not feeling particularly heroic.
She watched the body of the sea monster sink beneath the waves in a pool of its watery, plum-red blood, wondering distantly why she felt no triumph or relief at having defeated it again. She’d managed to keep hold of her sword this time, which she supposed counted as a good thing. And she was alive.
Also supposedly a good thing.
And Isobelle, who had insisted on coming with her again, was unhurt – that, at least, Gwen could be glad of with no reservations.
The first time she’d killed the beast, there had been a feast in the town square. This time, as Henry expertly guided his ship back to the docks so that Gwen and Isobelle could disembark, there was no celebration. A few of the townsfolk had turned out to watch, but they did so silently, drawn back against the buildings as though they mightprotect them from the thick miasma of fear that permeated the air. Many of the shutters in the nearby houses were locked up tight, and some slammed shut as they walked up the harbour road towards the centre of town.
Isobelle was talking – Gwen forced her attention to the girl at her side with an effort.
‘And that move you did, where you used the mast to brace yourself and launch at its head as it tried to come up the side of the boat …’ Isobelle gave a long, gusty sigh of admiration. ‘You really are spectacular.’
Could Isobelle notfeelthe heavy, sinking dread that was so tangible to Gwen?
‘It worked, at any rate,’ said Gwen. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t remember these fights if it comes back again. For all we know, it learns faster than I do.’
Another window shutter banged shut, near enough to make both girls jump. Gwen glanced at the house, uneasiness prickling between her shoulder blades. ‘The monster’s dead – it’s not coming back right this second. Why are they still so frightened?’
She knew the answer, though, even before Isobelle replied.
‘It has to be Bingleton’s spell on the town,’ Isobelle said in a low voice. ‘I know, I know, you don’t believe in magic, but—’
‘I just fought a sea monster that rose from the dead,’ Gwen said, trying not to shiver as she heard the wordscoming out of her own mouth. ‘I think this is where I have to admit I was wrong.’
The taproom of the inn was deserted when they arrived. Even Rosamund’s son had abandoned his place behind the bar. The empty room had an eerie feel, with the fire burned down to coals, and only the meagre light filtering through the bubbled glass of the windows to illuminate the place. The shadows in the corners seemed to stretch long fingers up towards the raftered ceiling, and the air was heavy with the ghost of the laughter and cheer that had once filled the space.
Gwen felt Isobelle shiver beside her.
‘Right,’ Gwen said, giving herself a mental shake. ‘Let’s go upstairs, I want to change. I got sea monster gunk all over my jerkin, and we’ve no Olivia to magically get the stain out if we let it sit.’
The next morning, Gwen opened her door and nearly fell over an object on the floor of the corridor. She managed to leap over it and catch herself against the wall – the object was a tray, with a few dishes of food. A couple of doors down stood Hilde and Sylvie, the latter of whom wore a viscous splodge of goo trailing down her skirt, and a mutinous expression.
She had not managed to avoid tripping over the tray outside her own door.
Isobelle’s door opened and she stood blinking in sleepy confusion. ‘What’s going on?’ she mumbled, looking down at her tray and then back up at the others.
Gwen stooped to retrieve a small piece of parchment on her tray, and then padded down the corridor to join the other girls.
‘Please enjoy your breakfast without having to leave the comfort of your rooms!’ the note said. ‘We are happy to provide this service to your room for every meal.’
Gwen sighed and handed the note to Isobelle, who read it with a frown, lips moving silently. ‘It seems we’re no longer welcome downstairs for meals,’ she said. ‘They can’t let us starve, I suppose, but they don’t want to be in the same room as us.’
‘Butwhy?’ burst out Hilde. One door down, an angry, incoherent protest rose from behind the door. Jane was not a morning person, and was almost certainly still in bed. Hilde moderated her tone, scowling. ‘We have done nothing – you have killed their monster, not once buttwice, and exposed the villainy of their lord!’
Isobelle crouched down and poked a tentative finger into the porridge. Or tried to, anyway. It was so congealed that her finger made a little dent in its gloopy surface. She grimaced. ‘Ordinarily I would be delighted by the option of room-based service. But they must’ve left this at dawn. It’s ice cold.’
They gathered up the trays, brought them to Gwen’s sitting room, and divvied up what was edible. Sylviearrived late, having had to change her dress – the porridge was no more enjoyable as a fashion accessory than a meal – and when she came in, she had Jane in the crook of her arm.
Isobelle gave a wordless exclamation as she saw Jane’s face. Normally pink-cheeked and cheerful, her rounded form fairly vibrating with energy, Jane now sported shadowed eyes, a drawn expression and shoulders that drooped.
‘She had nightmares all night long,’ Sylvie explained, leading Jane to a chair by the fire.
Jane mumbled a groan and slid from the chair so she could lie on the floor in front of the fire like a large, grumpy cat.
‘What sort of nightmares?’ Gwen asked, carefully staring at a spot on Jane’s skirt; she could feel Isobelle’s eyes on her, but refused to give Isobelle the satisfaction of looking at her.
