Something powerful is drawing Ward back to Devil's Island. Something he thought he had forgotten. He must evade vicious lighthouse keeper George Jaggles in order to rescue it, but Jaggles will soon be the least of his worries. Because an assassin is...
"What're you going to do?" Carmen said later, outside the gates of the Old City.
"I don't know," Ward said. He was still coming to grips with all Corvus had told them.
"Well, stay in touch." She gave him a concerned look, then turned and trotted away into the twilit city. Ward stayed at the gates and watched her go. Only when she had vanished did his thoughtful paralysis break. Then he set out across Killing Field.
When he got back to the Okies' common room Lightfinger was there. Since their internment in Bedlam Ward had grown closer to the mute boy.
"Hey," Ward said.
Lightfinger looked up, smiled, nodded, then went back to the barking iron he had dismantled and was cleaning.
Ward lay on a couch and watched the ceiling and thought about what Corvus had told him. The dice had been made by King Sol, or for him – that much was clear. When he had died they had probably been thrown in the Royal Treasury. After the Revolution the Treasury had become the Arcane Vault. Centuries later, Nick had raided the Arcane Vault and retrieved the dice. That was interesting. The Vault was full of priceless treasures – why would he bother taking an old pair of dice? And he could hardly have been possessive of them: he had soon given the dice away to his friend Joe Carmichael, Carmen's pere. Joe had put them on a shelf and forgotten about them. From there they had gone to Grandmere Anna, who had given them to Corvus. Corvus hadn't kept them long before giving them to a man called Frank. This Frank had been pursued by the Brotherhood. Then he had vanished. Finally, somehow, the dice had found their way into the storeroom cellar on Devils Island.
(but you know how that happened)
The dream. He had seen it all in the dream. Which hadn't been a dream at all, but a vision. The Brotherhood had been pursuing Frank, and he'd used the dice to escape. They had sent him to the Author's world.
With a sick, swooping feeling in his stomach, Ward realised who the dying man in his dream had been. Not George Jaggles, but someone who looked like him. His father, Frank. The same Frank Jaggles who had written the journal Ward himself now owned.
Ward glanced over at Lightfinger, as if afraid the boy might be able to read his thoughts, but Lightfinger was engrossed in the barking iron.
Frank Jaggles had given the dice to the boy just before he died. The boy, who would one day become an author, had hidden the dice in the ring he'd found in the library, unintentionally sending them back to Frank's world. Where Ward had found them.
It all made sense. He went over it again and again in his mind, looking for inconsistencies, for reasons to doubt it. More than anything, he didn't like the implication that someone else had had the same facility with the dice as he did. He couldn't help the ugly feeling of satisfaction at the knowledge that one of these men, Frank Jaggles, was now dead. The other – the Author – was in another world. The dice were his.
If only he could get them back.
There was a snapping sound from nearby. Ward looked up to find that Lightfinger had reassembled the barking iron.
"Lightie?"
Lightfinger looked up.
"I need your help."
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