The Blackthorn Key

Valentine seemed to be losing patience with Stubb, too. “What’s the basis for your claim against this shop?” he said, frowning.

“My dispute with Benedict is well known, sir. He was stealing my secrets. By the laws of our Guild, I’m entitled to fair compensation.”

“You’re a liar,” I said.

Valentine’s jaw dropped. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

“Everyone be silent.” Sir Edward spoke softly, but even Stubb, his face beet red, went quiet. “We are perfectly aware of our own laws, Master Stubb. As you should be aware, any claims against a member’s assets are for the Council to decide.” He glared at Stubb, who shrank under the old man’s gaze. “First, we will need to determine who now owns this property.”

“Benedict’s will should be in our records,” Oswyn said. “I’ll have the clerks pull it.”

“Is this acceptable to the Crown?” Sir Edward said.

Lord Ashcombe shrugged. “Your business isn’t my interest.”

Sir Edward turned to me. “You. Er . . .”

“Christopher Rowe,” Oswyn said.

“Present yourself to the Guild Hall on Monday, Rowe. We’ll address your situation if time permits.”

I wanted to rage, at all of them. But I still had enough sense left to know yelling at the Grand Master would be very, very bad. So I just ground my teeth and said, “May I speak, Grand Master?”

“You’ll have leave to speak on Monday,” he said. “And when you do, apprentice, it would serve you to remember your place.” He looked around the shop. “For now, you’ll need to find somewhere to live.”

My stomach twisted. As I’d sat beside my master on the floor, a question, dirty and shameful, had wormed its way into the back of my mind. What’s going to happen to me? I guess I had my answer. “Blackthorn is my home,” I said.

“You can’t stay here, boy,” Valentine said. He waved at my master’s body. “Not with this . . . evil.”

“But . . .” I struggled to find a reason. “I . . . have to feed the pigeons,” is the best I could come up with.

“Someone from the Guild will care for them,” Oswyn said. “This shop is no longer your responsibility.”

His eyes flicked from me to the Grand Master, a warning. Hold your tongue. I could only do that by biting it. Silently, I went behind the counter and grabbed my puzzle cube.

“What’s he doing?” Stubb said. “Stop him!”

Lord Ashcombe did. “What’s that?”

I showed it to him. “Master Benedict gave it to me for my birthday.”

“He’s stealing it,” Stubb said.

“He gave it to me!” I shouted. “It’s mine!”

Valentine held out his hand. “Let me see it.” The Guild Secretary inspected it, then handed it to Oswyn, who turned it over curiously.

“Is it silver?” Sir Edward asked Valentine.

“Tin, I think.”

Oswyn shook his head. “Antimony.”

If Stubb touched it, I’d scream. “It’s mine,” I said again.

Sir Edward regarded me sternly. “An apprentice has no possessions.” He took my cube from Oswyn and placed it on the counter. “It stays here. Ownership shall be decided by the will.”

He was right. According to law, everything, even my bloodstained clothes, belonged to my master. I wondered bitterly if they were going to dump me naked in the street.

Clearly, Stubb had considered it. “Search him. He might have something else.”

I froze. In my rage, I’d forgotten. I did have something else. Suddenly, the paper slipping down the back of my waistband felt like a blade against my skin. If they found it, there’d be questions I couldn’t answer. And Lord Ashcombe would try to make me. In the Tower dungeon. With hot coals.

But the Guild Council looked disgusted that Stubb had even suggested it. “Oh, do shut up, Nathaniel,” Oswyn said, and I could breathe again. I wasn’t going to the Tower.

But the Cult of the Archangel had taken my master. And now the Council had taken my home.





CHAPTER


11


TOM’S FATHER STOOD IN THE doorway and folded his doughy arms. “Absolutely not.”