The Blackthorn Key

“Come see me tomorrow, then, and we’ll arrange it.” Isaac smiled. “I have some stories I think you’ll want to hear.”


He said farewell to all three of us, and began walking home. Thinking about my master’s memorial made me wonder again about who my new master was going to be. After what the King’s Warden had just told me, I had even more reason to be worried.

“Do you really think any of Oswyn’s men are still out there, my lord?” I said.

“Men like that are always out there,” Lord Ashcombe said. “No matter who they follow. And you know Wat’s still at large.”

I didn’t know that. The news sent a chill down my spine. “But . . . your men went to get him while he was unconscious in the lab.”

“They did. But when they returned, Wat wasn’t there.”

My eyes darted down the street. “Do you think he’ll come back?” For revenge, I didn’t say.

Lord Ashcombe shrugged. “More likely he’s fled the city. It’s not easy to stay hidden, missing half a face.” The King’s Warden traced his fingers along his own brutal scar. “Which reminds me. Wat wasn’t the only thing we returned to the lab for. Some of the papers survived the blast. His Majesty’s apothecaries are going through them now.”

I swallowed. “Yes, my lord?”

“They can’t seem to find the recipe for the Archangel’s Fire.”

My face grew hot. “It was on the workbench,” I said. “Right by where Oswyn was standing. It . . . it might have been destroyed in the explosion.”

Lord Ashcombe studied me. “I seem to recall Wat saying it wasn’t there.”

“Wat wasn’t very smart.”

“No,” Lord Ashcombe said, his one eye narrowed. “I suppose he wasn’t.”

Beside me, Tom shuffled from foot to foot.

“I’m sure you’ll let me know if anything comes up,” Lord Ashcombe said.

I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“As for you, boy,” the King’s Warden said to Tom, “you swing a mighty rolling pin.”

Now Tom turned red. “Th-thank you, my lord,” he stammered, not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed.

“Stop by the Tower if you’d like to learn a real weapon.”

Tom’s eyes bulged. “Are you—you mean—a soldier? Me?”

“If you can pass the training.”

Tom stared at the pair of King’s Men waiting for Lord Ashcombe. They looked back at him bemusedly. “Me?” Tom said again, flushed with pleasure.

“You’d be great at it,” I said. I turned to Lord Ashcombe. “You should see him fight a shop bear.”

Lord Ashcombe shook his head as he walked away. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”

? ? ?

The sign still hung over the front door. BLACKTHORN, it said: RELIEFS FOR ALL MANNER OF MALIGNANT HUMORS. The wood needed a new coat of paint. I’d have to redo the unicorn horn, too, faded from years of London weather. Other than that, I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d never change a thing.

The shop did need a good cleaning, though, and I didn’t need to wait for my new master to know whose job that was. Tom helped get me started as soon as we got inside, sweeping straw that had spilled from the shredded stuffed animals. “Christopher?” he said.

“Yes?”

“That wasn’t true, was it? What you said before. To Lord Ashcombe.” He stopped sweeping and leaned on the end of the broom. “The recipe for the Archangel’s Fire wasn’t really on the workbench.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t want to leave it out for Oswyn to see.”

“What did you do with it, then?”

“I put it behind the ice vault. Before I went up to the garden, I greased it in a leather sheath and hid it in the back, under the bricks.”

His eyes widened. “So it’s still there?”