Page 5 of The Neverfear

But as she spoke, the answer – or half of it – came barrelling towards them, beaming, carrying two glasses of sparkling liquid. Nighthand always moved, even when not in a hurry, as if there might be an emergency somewhere. Ratwin perched on his shoulder.

‘Have a drink.’ He offered them the glasses. Christopher refused, but Anya accepted one, took a gulp, and spat it on to the lawn.

‘What is that?’

‘Berserker punch. Secret ingredients. Puts hair on your chest. Indeed, hair is one of the ingredients. Come and meet some people. The vast majority are Irian’s friends. I have very few friends myself, but I do have some enemies whose company I enjoy.’

His gaze scanned the crowd. Then he stiffened. A tall figure was striding on to the lawn, turning heads as he moved. He was as wiry as Nighthand was broad, and clad in exquisitely fitted black silk which nonetheless managed to look faintly stolen. His belt – three golden discs of fine metalwork – clanked at his waist, and he had rings on every finger.

‘Vigo Nex,’ said Nighthand.

‘Anya,’ hissed Ratwin. ‘Hides that necklace unders your dress, quicks.’

Startled, Anya tucked away the loquillan she always wore. ‘Why?’ she said.

‘You’ll sees.’

‘Nighthand!’ The man lifted a single beringed finger in greeting. A second man, hugely muscular and blond, with skin the colour of unbrushed teeth, followed behind. He carried a crossbow.

‘I didn’t expect to see you, Vigo,’ said Nighthand. ‘Largely because you weren’t invited. And last time we met you tried to kill me.’

‘I like to assume there’s no such thing as a party I’m no’ invited to,’ said Vigo. He lifted two glasses of dryad wine from a waiter’s tray. ‘I need ter talk to you, Nighthand.’ He downed one of the glasses and threw it over his shoulder. There was a cry behind him as a distinguished professor received an unexpected faceful of champagne flute. ‘Alone.’ And he looked pointedly at Christopher and Anya. ‘Not for the ears of kiddies.’

‘No,’ said Nighthand. ‘These two have seen and heard enough to be trusted with anything. This is Christopher Forrester, from the Outerlands. The mermaids sing songs of him – perhaps you have heard them? And this is Anya Argen, former Princess of Dousha.’

‘Ah. I’ve heard of yer, lad.’ Vigo Nex’s eyes, outlined in charcoal black, flicked from Christopher’s dark hair to his boots and back again. He felt the man’s gaze linger on the mark high on his cheekbone, shaped like a miniature apple. The gold belt clinked around Vigo’s middle as he swallowed the second glass. ‘You ever had a fancy fer the pirate life? I’m not recruitin’, but I’d mebbe make an exception for you.’

‘No,’ said Christopher shortly. ‘I haven’t.’

Jacques came to land on Christopher’s wrist. In honour of Midsummer he had tucked a poison snapdragon flower jauntily behind his ear. ‘Who is this? Do you need him immolated?’

‘By th’Immortal!’ said Vigo. ‘Wha’s that?’

‘A dragon,’ said Christopher. ‘Obviously.’

‘A great and mighty jaculus dragon,’ said Anya. She was glaring at Vigo. She and Jacques looked, Christopher thought, very similar. She had the mouth of someone always ready to laugh or to fight.

‘I’d no’ known you got dragons in little bite-sized portions,’ said Vigo. There was a glint of desire in his eyes. ‘I’ll buy him, Nighthand. A thousand bullions.’

‘Say that again, sir,’ said Jacques, ‘and I shall burn you to ashes.’

This, Christopher knew, was a lie. Jacques’s fire required him to eat a leaf of the rascovnic plant every week. Argus Argen grew it in the greenhouse, but it was a difficult plant, and there had been none for the last month. A few seedlings were just breaking through the earth, but they would not mature for weeks. For now, Jacques had no fire, and it left him vulnerable and nervy.

‘What was it you came to tell me, Vigo?’ said Nighthand.

The man at Vigo’s side moved half an inch towards him, and Vigo turned. ‘Leave, Rixo. Go mingle, waft the deligh’ of yer scintillating personality around.’

Rixo scowled and slouched away. ‘Dumb as dirt,’ said Vigo. ‘If yer put his own foot on a dinner plate, he’d eat it. Bu’ he’s murder with that crossbow, an’ after wha’ I saw, I’m not movin’ without a bodyguard. There’s evil been set loose in Glimouria.’

‘Evil?’ Nighthand’s face was suddenly serious. ‘That’s a strong word from you, Vigo.’

Vigo glanced behind him. ‘This don’ get traced back ter me, yer hear?’ Nighthand nodded. ‘I saw a crew o’ bandits burn a village to the ground. Now, I’ve burned a lot o’ villages: I’ve go’ a talent for it. This was different. They had no mercy.’ And swiftly, the pirate told the Berserker what he had seen: the masked men, the unholy terror of the Tiger in the Mirror.

‘They wore the same bracelet, all o’ them: an ouroboros – a snake with its tail in its mouth.’

Christopher listened, and the glorious evening felt suddenly colder.

‘Pass on the word, Nighthand. The Flyin’ Senate should know, but I’m not goin’ ter be the one to tell.’