The Goblin's Gift by Conrad Mason Page B

mind as Mrs Bootle hurried into the serving room with a big bowl of sugar. The old troll woman set the bowl down on the table and Slik’s eyes lit up with greed. He fluttered to the rim and fell in head first, his arms outstretched to embrace the shiny white crystals.
    Tabitha caught Joseph’s eye. He looked almost as disgusted as she was. It wasn’t right, Slik getting rewarded after he’d nearly got them beaten to death by a mad cross-dressing troll. But unfortunately they needed him.
    Mr Bootle had found a strong, slender length of cord, one end of which was now tied firmly round Slik’s leg. The other end was looped around Tabitha’s wrist. She wound it a couple more times, picking up the slack – just to be sure. There was no one in all of Port Fayt she trusted less than Slik. But she had to ignore that. Or at least that’s what Newt would have told her, if he was here. Probably. She could make her own decisions, anyway. She was a fully-fledged watchman, wasn’t she? With the shark tattoo to prove it.
    Mrs Bootle had disappeared into the kitchen, but now she came bustling back with a tray: two mugs of velvetbean and a plate of thick, dark shokel cakes.
    â€˜Sugar?’ she asked, passing a mug to Joseph.
    The tavern boy glanced at Slik, who was now doing the breaststroke through the sugar bowl, slobbering as he went. He shook his head.
    â€˜Tabitha?’
    â€˜I’ll pass, thanks, Mrs Bootle.’
    â€˜Oh, will you look at that? I forgot napkins. How could I forget napkins?’
    â€˜Don’t worry, Mrs Bootle,’ said Joseph. ‘We don’t …’
    But the twins’ mother had already rushed off to the kitchen.
    It seemed as if poor Mrs Bootle wasn’t entirely with them at the moment. She hadn’t even told them off for sneaking away from the Wyvern without Newt’s permission. Tabitha supposed that was only natural though, if your sons were stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere. If you didn’t know whether they were dead or alive.
    She wondered if Newton was feeling the same way about her. But then, he was the one in danger, sailing into battle with the League. He wasn’t her real father, and he spent half the time ordering her around andstinking of tobacco. Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of something bad happening to him.
    Mrs Bootle returned with some large red cotton napkins.
    â€˜Are you worried about your sons, Mrs Bootle?’ Tabitha asked.
    Across the table she noticed Joseph stiffen a little. It annoyed her. She thought hard, trying to decide what would be the nicest thing to say. ‘I’m sure they’ll be all right. I’d be more worried about Hal, actually. He’s not as strong as the others and I bet it gets cold at night. There might not be much to eat either. And if there’s a storm the twins will be much more—’
    â€˜The merfolk will be looking after them,’ Joseph cut in. ‘And anyway, it’s just for a few days. We’ll get them back, Mrs Bootle.’
    The old troll lady smiled sadly at him.
    Tabitha frowned. How come Joseph was the one who took the credit here? She’d been helping to cheer up Mrs Bootle as well. Sometimes it seemed like Joseph was the only one anyone took notice of any more. He didn’t have a mother or a father to look after him, but then, neither did she.
    An image of her parents – her real ones – flashed into her head. Him: broad-shouldered, dark-haired, handsome. Her: young, beautiful, her long blonde hairshining in the sun. She wasn’t even sure if it was really them any more, or if she’d just imagined them like that. Their murderer was dead now, like Tabitha had wanted, but it hadn’t made things any better. She still dreamed of them. And these days the watchmen seemed more bothered about Joseph’s dead parents than they ever had about hers.
    Enough trying to be nice. She turned to Slik, who