‘None of that is written in any of the history books,’ said Will, shaken.
‘Not all that is written has passed,’ said Justice, ‘and not all that has passed is written.’ Justice looked troubled. ‘My Order are all that’s left who remember. Only we keep the old ways, and it is no accident that the Dark King reaches his hand across time now, when our numbers dwindle.’
Justice’s coat slipped back from his left shoulder, and Will saw two things at once. The first, that the fabric of Justice’s sleeve was red with blood from wrist to shoulder. Justice had taken a bullet to protect Violet, thinking that he was saving her from Simon’s men.
The second was the symbol on his livery, torn and grimy but visible. It was a silver star, its points of varying lengths, like a compass rose.
The bright star holds, he thought.
‘You’re a Steward,’ he said.
He was suddenly conscious of the medallion that he wore under his shirt. Simon’s men hadn’t taken it, uninterested in a dull, warped piece of old metal.
‘It’s our sacred duty to stand against the Dark,’ said Justice, ‘but if Simon succeeds, we will not be enough. The last time that the Dark King rose, all fell before him. The only one powerful enough to stop him was—’ And Will felt the knowledge pushing at him, like it was part of him—
‘—a Lady,’ said Will.
He remembered her in the mirror, ancient and beautiful, but with the same determination in her eyes as his mother. He remembered the jolt of familiarity, and the shock when their eyes had met, as though she recognised him.
His stomach twisted. ‘She looked at me like she knew me.’
‘You saw her?’
‘In a mirror.’ Will closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the warm metal against the skin of his chest. Then he made his decision. ‘She was wearing this.’
With unsteady fingers, he unbuttoned his coarse shirt and took out the battered medallion. It swayed on its leather tie, engraved with the words in that strange language, which now took on a new meaning:
I cannot return when I am called to fight So I will have a child
Justice had gone very still. ‘Where did you get that?’
Will thought of his mother’s old servant Matthew, his sightless eyes, the rain soaking his clothes. ‘It belonged to my mother.’
Justice let out a breath. Will wanted to ask a question, but in the next moment Justice’s hands clasped around his own on the medallion and pressed it back to his chest.
‘Show it to no one else.’ He seemed shaken, and that more than anything convinced Will to quickly tuck the medallion back in his shirt and do up the buttons again.
‘I must take you to the Elder Steward. I came to that ship searching for my shieldmate, Marcus, and have stumbled on something beyond me.’ Justice’s eyes were serious. ‘But I swear to you: I will protect you. My sword is yours, and by my life I will not let Simon take you.’ Justice closed his eyes briefly, as though even he might be afraid. ‘Though I think, having had you in his grasp, he will tear London apart to find you again.’
You must go to the Stewards, Matthew had said. Justice was offering answers. Justice understood what he faced. Justice was the only person he had met who was fighting against Simon. Will found himself nodding, once.
Justice said, ‘It’s not long till sunset. Once it’s dark, the three of us can make for the Hall.’
‘The three of us,’ said Will, and thought again of this strange alliance of three, forged in water and black fire. He turned to look for Violet.
But the girl had gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
VIOLET PUSHED OUT onto the street, her heart pounding.
Outside, there were just the regular sounds of London: the clop of hooves, the barks of an overexcited dog, the cry of the evening newspaper, ‘Fine Evening Mail!’ A stagecoach trundled past on spoked wheels. A boy darted in front of a water cart, and the driver called a perfunctory ‘Watch it!’ after him.
She blinked at the normality of it. It was nothing like the inn room she had left – the boy on the bed with the dark eyes, and the man who dressed like an ancient knight and talked about the stirrings of a bygone world. Magic and dark kings … Will had listened to Justice’s stories like he believed them. And she – even she, remembering the black fire on the Sealgair, watching the bruises fade from Will’s face as he drank water poured across the surface of a stone – for a moment, she had started to believe.
Justice had talked about Tom like—