Jackaby leaned on his desk and stared at me. At length he turned his eyes back to the trapper. “I’ve created a monster, Mr. Hudson. She won’t even let me wallow properly.”
Hank chuckled. “She sure talks pretty, though, don’t she?” He pushed himself up. “I’ll go ahead and give y’all the room. Should be gettin’ on about now, anyway. I’ll see you in the mornin’.” He tipped his hat to Jackaby and gave me an approving wink and a pat on the shoulder as he headed out.
Jackaby slumped back in his chair. “She made me a hat, Miss Rook.” The lumpy thing lay on the desk in front of him.
“Yes, she did,” I told him. “And it is atrocious. It suits you.”
He gave a halfhearted smile. “Bite your tongue,” he managed, his brooding melancholy falling off him like heavy treacle from a spoon. “I think it’s splendid.”
“It may not have been woven with wool from a rare yeti, or dyes mixed by Baba Yaga,” I told him, “but I’m sure it was made with love. And also with an ice pick. Hatun didn’t come here for your protection; she came here because she believed in you. She believed that what you do matters. So, we’re going to finish what we started, and we’re going to save Hatun, and that’s all there is to it.”
“And if I can’t keep you safe along the way?”
“You were never supposed to. I didn’t take this position for safety, sir. I took it for purpose. Keep giving me that.”
After a pause, Jackaby smiled in earnest. It was a tired smile, a slow smile, but it was good to have him back. “All right then, my sage young apprentice—what do we do next?”
“Something foolish, I imagine,” I said. “Foolish and decidedly dangerous. That sounds about our style, doesn’t it?”
From across the quiet house, three loud clanks echoed through the corridors.
“Was that the front door knocker?” I said. “Who would be calling at this ungodly hour?”
We both slipped quietly into the foyer. The giant’s low snores rumbled, and the gnomes were piled on top of one another in the corner, sleeping like puppies. I looked up at the transom window. “Well. I’m not sure I like the look of that at all,” I said. The transom read:
r. f. jackaby:
revenge
Chapter Seventeen
By all accounts he should be dead,” Jackaby said, staring at the door. “But I suppose that is true about an increasing number of faces I’ve come across lately.”
“Who is it?” I whispered.
“An old friend,” drawled a muffled voice through the door. “Little pigs, little pigs, let me in.”
My blood froze. Pavel. How was it possible? The last time any of us had seen the vile vampire, he had been leaving the premises very quickly through a closed window—into the sunlight—with a brick in his mouth. My own hands had done the banishing, although I had no memory of my actions. The Dire King had crept into my mind at the time, manipulating me, using me. How could Pavel be back? Why now? Had our night not gone wrong enough already?
“No, sir, don’t—!” I began. Jackaby opened the door.
What awaited us on the other side was not the Dire Council’s cold, confident killer, standing on the doorstep all dressed in black. What awaited us on the other side was barely standing at all. What was left of Pavel was draped in soiled rags. He wore a floppy hat low over his head, but I could see that his face and hands were a mess of angry scars. He had been badly burnt, and he was leaning heavily against the column outside. He looked small and thin and unsteady, and he smelled like a lavatory.
“Not going to just let yourself in?” Jackaby asked. “It went so well for you the last time.”
“I thought I might give you the opportunity,” Pavel managed, his voice slow and labored, “to make up for your poor manners during our previous encounter.”
“You threatened to kill me,” I said.
“I was making small talk.”
“And then you actually tried to kill me.”
“I get tired of small talk. You take things too personally.”
“How did you survive?” Jackaby asked. “I watched Miss Rook drive you out into the direct sunlight. You should be ashes.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“The sewer system, I presume?” said Jackaby.
“I’ve had worse accommodations,” Pavel said, closing his eyes. He looked as though the act of standing might prove too much for him soon.
“And you’ve been draining innocent people to regain your strength ever since?” Jackaby posited.
“Ungh. I wish. Pigs,” said Pavel. “They taste almost human, if you close your eyes. And your nose. They were better than rats, at least. I found myself a quiet corner in the tunnels beneath that fat butcher in the Inkling District. I could go for a pint of the good stuff, though, if you’re offering.” He laughed a dry, hacking laugh.
“And now that you’re back on your feet, you’ve come for your revenge, is that it?” said Jackaby.
“YES.” Pavel’s bloodshot eyes flashed up at me from blackened, blistered sockets. “Yes, I have. And you are going to help me get it.”
“Help you?” I said. “Why should we help you avenge yourself on us?”
“On you? Don’t flatter yourself,” Pavel spat. “It was your hand that drove that brick into my jaw, but it was not you. I’m not stupid. I know who did this to me.”
I blinked. The Dire King. Having that egomaniac trespassing inside my head had been the most disquieting experience of my life. I had lost time during his psychic transgressions. I had done things I could not remember. It was a violation I had told only my closest friends about, but Pavel knew.
“You want revenge on the Dire King,” said Jackaby, his eyebrows rising.
Pavel nodded. “And you two want to save the world. We can help each other.”
“Just because you’ve fallen out of favor with your mad monarch, we’re supposed to believe you suddenly care about protecting the earth?” I said.
“The earth can rot,” Pavel snarled. “I served that bastard for a century, and he cast me out the moment I was not of use to him. He cut pieces off me when he was displeased, he took my fangs when he was through with me, and then he threw me into the sunlight to die. I should have died—I would have died, if I had not reached that reeking grate in time. My whole body was burning in agony, greasy smoke pouring out of my lungs. But I refused to die. Not yet. The Dire King took everything from me. So, while I was choking down foul swine’s blood, week after week, I began to ask myself, how do I make him suffer? How do I take everything from him as he did from me? I take the one thing he cares most about.”
“Morwen?” I hazarded. “I’m afraid you’ve just missed her.”
“No. He would let her die for his cause. He would let us all die. I want to rob him of his victory. He’s waited so long—he yearns for it. It consumes him. I want to throw a wrench in the works of his grand plan. I want him to watch it fall apart around him.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” Jackaby asked.
“You,” said Pavel, “are the biggest wrench I know.”