Page 101 of Foul Days

“Great choice.” Blackbeard flashed a smile. “That’s an interesting story.”

He poured himself another glass of wine and took a big drink before he started talking. “I’m a born sailor. Just like some people are born witches, and others are great singers or painters. I can find the Polar Star on a cloudy night. I can smell a wind change hours before it happens. I can get you through a storm without you ever feeling it. I started working on my da’s ship as soon as I could walk and got made captain at thirteen. I sailed around the world when I was fourteen. Everyone knew my name in both Chernograd and Belograd. Back then, before the Wall, they were like the same city.”

Kosara lifted her eyebrows but didn’t interrupt him. She hadn’t realised he was old enough to remember Chernograd before the Wall. He certainly didn’t look it. Was he even fully human?

“One evening,” Blackbeard continued, “years and years ago, there was a knock on my door. I open and what do I see? Three old farts, dressed in fancy suits, speaking all posh. Obviously from Belograd. ‘We’re from the Royal Council,’ they say, ‘and we require your assistance on matters of national security.’ They required, they didn’t ask. You didn’t argue with the Royal Council back in those days, if you didn’t want to end up accidentally stabbing yourself in the back half a dozen times. They wanted me to sail them across the Zmey’s Sea. I told them no way. I’d tried sailing it, and it was impossible to navigate. The stars are different, and compasses don’t work. That’s when one of them handed me the compass. ‘You can keep it,’ he says, ‘if you manage to get us there and back safe.’”

“Did they give you the ship as well?” Kosara couldn’t help but ask. She felt as if she was a child again, sitting on her granny’s lap, listening to bedtime stories.

“Oh no, the ship’s mine. It was my da’s, and his da’s before him. But that’s a different story. Anyway, me and the three farts sailed across the sea and reached the Zmey’s palace. I didn’t dare get off the ship that first time. ‘Wait here,’ one of them says, ‘we’ll be back in a jiffy.’ Truth be told, I was scared stiff. ‘What if the Zmey catches me?’ I asked. ‘What if he decides to pop out of his feast for a smoke, and there’s little old me, just sitting here?’ One of them just winked at me. ‘Maybe the hunter will become the hunted tonight,’ he told me. The hell was that supposed to mean?

“It turns out, I’d been worrying about the wrong monster. The farts returned, leading on a leash—as if it was a bloody puppy—the most terrifying monster I’ve ever seen. Three heads on three long necks, tossing like a rabid dog’s, stirring up a wind strong enough to lift you off your feet. Its every step sent the ground shaking. Its horns pierced the clouds, making thunder and lightning come out. Honest to God! Thunder and lightning! Its three mouths were full of teeth the size of swords, and in between them, fire squeezed out! Fire! My ship’s made of wood! I told the old farts, I said, ‘No way, you’re not taking this thing on my ship,’ and they said, ‘Not to worry, we’ve sedated her, she’s just about to fall asleep.’ And the damned thing did. It dropped on the deck like a beached whale. It slept like a baby until we reached Chernograd.”

Kosara’s sixth sense tingled. Suddenly, she was aware this wasn’t simply a bedtime story. A few drops of the truth serum glistened bright pink on Blackbeard’s moustache. This had all truly happened.

And there was something about it that seemed terribly familiar. Blackbeard had said those men were from the Royal Council.…

“What did they do with the monster?” she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

“Who knows? I can only tell you this—I sailed them back to Chernograd safely. I went to bed, and when I woke up, there was a Wall around my city.”

Kosara gasped quietly as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

She’d wondered about it before: how did the Royal Council manage to cast a spell strong enough to last all these years? Now, the answer seemed obvious. The best way to ensure the longevity of any structure was to embed someone in it. It was old, black magic. It truly worked.

They’d embedded the monster in the Wall. It was a good idea, in theory—the magic of monsters was stronger than that of people. They’d make for better guards. The only problem was, embedding them wouldn’t kill them. Monsters could only be killed with silver bullets and aspen stakes, holy water, and mirrors.

The monster in the Wall was still alive. This was why it thrashed and flailed and slammed its body against the dark surface. This was why sometimes, on a quiet night, people claimed they heard the Wall scream.

Kosara swore under her breath. That conversation she’d had with Roksana at Sevar’s engagement party floated to the forefront of her mind.

Roksana had asked about a three-headed monster, right before she’d started prodding Kosara about embedding magic. She’d even given Kosara a name: Lamia.

Roksana had known. She’d practically revealed it all, and Kosara had been too distracted to pay attention. And then Roksana had said that like every monster, the Wall could be defeated.

Was this why she and the Zmey were collecting witches’ shadows? Were they going to fight the Wall?

No way. It took a lot more than raw power to undo magic this old and this strong. Destroying a spell took just as much skill and knowledge as casting it in the first place, like unravelling an expertly knit jumper.

“One more game?” Blackbeard asked.

Kosara shook her head. “It’s getting late.”

Truth was, she couldn’t concentrate on the game. Her mind raced.

She stood up and swayed on her feet—from the waves or from the wine, she couldn’t quite tell. Through the window outside, the stars shifted and changed.

If the Zmey attempted to destroy the Wall, Kosara had no doubt the whole thing would only end in flames and devastation. He lacked the precision to do it. His magic was like a wildfire, not an accurately aimed bullet.

And the worst part was, Kosara didn’t think he’d care. If destroying the Wall took half of Chernograd with it, that was no skin off his back. After all, he’d have the whole world to terrorise once the Wall fell. Who cared about Chernograd?

He’d let his monsters wreak havoc on the other side. And while a small, rather unpleasant part of Kosara felt that perhaps the Belogradeans deserved it, she was sure the Zmey wouldn’t stop there. That was just the sort of man—no, monster—he was. Once he got that first taste of blood, he’d find it difficult to rein himself in.

She shuddered. She had to get her shadow back.

18

Day Eight

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