The Flight of the Griffin (19 page)

Watching her go was a black raven, its beady eyes glowing red as it watched her fly off, silhouetted against the moon. It glanced down towards the boat and cawed, its head leaning from one side to the other. Its eyes flashed red once more before it flew off towards the open sea and a distant speck of light briefly flashing on the horizon.

****

Chapter 13

A Minsten Tale

The next morning the crew once again rose early. Pardigan and Loras went straight off for bread, milk and buns while Tarent and Quint went in search of the warehouseman that their contact in
Sterling Port had said would be a sure buyer of their goods. True to his word, the trader in Minster was excited to hear they carried fire pitch and quickly struck a bargain with Tarent, making
The Griffin
a tidy profit. He took the other goods in with the deal and sent two of his workers along with a portable wooden crane to unload.

‘The name’s Maginty,’ he said, shaking hands enthusiastically with both boys in turn. ‘If you want a regular run, just bring me ooh, say fifteen to twenty barrels of pitch every three months and we could all make a tidy packet.’ His eyes sparkled and his big red cheeks pushed out in a smile, not quite concealed, behind the usual fluffy white beard. They agreed to return in three months with a new load,
and then questioned him about the island. Maginty was happy to chat.  

‘Most trade goes on here in the harbour. There are one or two outlying settlements, and a native tribe or two, but the fire pitch is for use in this harbour. Maybe one or two shops will sell it in smaller amounts, but only once it’s been refined down to lamp oil.’

‘What about the Hidden we’ve heard about, does anybody trade with them?’ asked Quint.

Maginty’s smile dropped and he fluffed his beard nervously. ‘Now who’s been toying with you, telling you old stories of the Hidden, eh? Course there
are
stories that long ago a race of little people lived on Minster, out in hiding, guarding some great dark secret. Supposed ter be that if one touches you, bad luck will follow you all day long, but it’s only stories boys, really. That ain’t the reason we got a fence all round the town, not the reason at all.’

Quint glanced at the little man who appeared to be getting more uncomfortable all the time. ‘So why is the fence there then?’

Maginty frowned. ‘The one to talk to is Trader Jack if you want to know about the island past the town limits.’

‘He’s the trader that brings the Acorn its ale, isn’t he?’ asked Tarent.

‘That’ll be him.’ Maginty glanced back behind his warehouse to where a tall fence separated the town from the trees. ‘Brave to walk the island, I don’t envy old Jack much…not that I believe in the Hidden of course, just ain’t right thas all.’

‘Haven’t you ever been around the island?’ asked Quint in amazement.

‘No I have not! Nor would I, nor would any Minsten for that matter. There are strict rules as to who can go where and do what, been in place thousands of years.’ Maginty appeared shocked that anyone would be so stupid as to suggest roaming the island and busily stroked his beard to calm himself.

‘Well who would stop you?’ asked Quint.

‘Well first commonsense, and then there’s Customs,’ said Maginty, as if that ended the matter. ‘Now if you young gents don’t mind I’ve got to get on, I’ve got a business to run.’ He started to go then turned back again. ‘See you in three months with more fire pitch then?’

‘Surely you will, Mr Maginty,’ replied Quint, ‘and thanks for your time this morning.’ Maginty left them with a wave and the boys walked on.

‘Well I can guess which Customs’ man stops people coming and going on the inland path, can’t you?’

‘Yeah, that would be our friend from the welcoming committee.’ Tarent shrugged. ‘So what are we going to do?’

‘Well tomorrow we’re going to try and find Trader Jack and see what he has to say. There’s not much point trying to form a plan until we’ve met him.’

They spent the day exploring and picking up a few of the local goods to sell back in Freya and
Sterling. The local craftsmen made wonderful furniture, toys and wooden boxes, and the boys stocked up to help with their cover story. Bringing goods in was obviously a profitable run, but there didn’t seem to be much to trade back out again; nothing in Minster was in demand back on the mainland.

They spotted the Customs man several times, snooping about, possibly spying on them, but when Tarent waved at him and made to walk over, he scurried off in another direction to annoy someone else. Boats came and went in the harbour and they kept a watchful eye for the big merchant vessel. They knew it was close behind them, but their luck was holding and nothing arrived to upset their day.

The crew had a great time exploring Minster town. The people were extremely pleasant and hospitable, but when they asked anyone about the Hidden they were either laughed at or the subject was changed as quickly as possible. They rounded their day off once more at the Acorn Forest Inn, chatting with Feneggin and some of the other locals. The musicians were playing inside, but it was only Loras that sat watching them.

‘I can’t understand what you can enjoy in that din,’ said Pardigan when Loras finally came out and joined them. ‘They’re all playing different tunes, it’s horrible.’

‘The drummer’s playing three different tunes all on his own,’ joined in Tarent. ‘I’m only glad there isn’t a singer with them, and I’m sure that the base player has really just discovered a complicated way to pluck his beard.’ This drew laughs from the rest of the table and Loras blushed.

‘Well I like them. Haven’t you noticed that they all sort of play together, then one or two may stop and allow one of the others to take the music in a new direction? That’s really clever.’

They all stared at him, somewhat lost for words. ‘Is that what you really hear: one song with lots of directions, not a mad jumble of nonsense?’ said Pardigan in a shocked voice.

‘Give it a go,’ said Loras, standing and heading back to the door.

‘I think I’d be scared to go and listen now. I’d hate to think I could actually start liking that noise. I’m quite comfortable disliking it.’ Pardigan settled further into his chair.

‘Don’t you worry, young'un, just you be staying right there and I’ll go and get the next round of drinks. I’m not a big fan of the Acorn’s band mind, but they work hard, and I reckon I’m brave enough to listen on the way to the bar.’ Feneggin smiled at Pardigan through his beard. ‘Course, if you were going in there in the first place, you would still be wanting to pay, wouldn’t you?’ He stood and held out his hand.

Pardigan stared up at Feneggin in amazement and before he knew what he was doing, he was passing over some coins. Feneggin closed his hand and marched inside before Pardigan could come to his senses.

‘I would swear I wasn’t about to go in there at all,’ he whispered to Quint. ‘I think he just tricked me.’

Quint put his arm around Pardigan’s shoulder. ‘Maybe it’s magic, my friend.’ He was trying hard to keep a straight face, which Pardigan saw and poked him in the ribs.

‘You know Quint, I think we should trade here when all this is over, this isn’t such a bad life. That contract will still be good. We could trade between here and
Sterling, then back to Freya before returning here. We’d have a real business and a good life.’

‘Well we could as long as we were a step or two ahead of Merchant Bask all the time. He knows it was us that got his stuff and he didn’t look that friendly the last time we saw him, did he?’ Both boys glanced over at the harbour, but no ships were coming in.

‘Oh yes, I forgot about him,’ said Pardigan, grimacing.

‘Well I doubt he’s forgotten us,’ replied Quint.  ‘…unfortunately.’

****

It had taken the best part of two days to figure out and then fix the problem with the
Esmerelda
, Bartholomew Bask’s proud trading vessel. Bartholomew had seethed with fury the whole time, making life for the captain and crew miserable. Comments and jokes had been constantly hurled from the group of locals that had been in attendance ever since the entertainment had begun. No amount of threatening and glaring from Bartholomew had shifted them and he’d spent the entire two days taking the brunt of their humour and ridicule personally. That, of course, had delighted the crowd and the insults had become more and more personal. Bartholomew had risen to their baiting as the jests were once again aimed at him, rising to a peak when they eventually worked out that the problem was with the anchor so cut the chain, the boat righted itself and everyone on board was flung to the deck.

‘Finally moved yer dinner plate from that side of the boat did yer, porky?’ shouted a youth and the crowd howled with laughter.

‘Old fatso must have been drying his undershorts and they just fell overboard, ain’t that so, blubber butt!’

It had taken Bartholomew most of the two days to realise that when he shouted and threatened the crowd, it only made things worse, so he was now trying to restrict his fury to the captain and crew. Once the anchor chain was cut, he glared at the captain and yelled
,
‘Get us out of here and underway immediately, you incompetent fool,’ then returned to glowering at the crowd, ignoring the captain's efforts to say something.

‘The diet worked I see, you must be hungry again, have a bun.’ A stale cinnamon bun was hurled up, falling short of Bartholomew and bouncing along the deck, accompanied by laughter from the crowd.

‘Damn and blast you all, I’ll see yer all in irons before I’m done. I’ll remember you…and you …and you…and…’ He took some time pointing and shouting to the amusement of the crowd until, finally spent; he turned and sat down heavily on the deck. It was then that he noticed the captain.

‘Begging yer pardon, Merchant Bask, but we can’t go to sea without an anchor, it would be completely foolhardy. And an anchor for a ship the size of the
Esmerelda
will mean going ashore to get one made...’ He saluted, waiting hopefully for Bartholomew then edged back into his First Mate as Bartholomew’s trembling face became red enough to explode.

‘Anchor! What do I need with a Source-damned anchor when I can use you!’ Leaping to his feet, which was no easy feat for such a large man, Bartholomew grabbed the captain by his collar and leggings, lifted him over his head, and threw the startled seaman over the side. The crowd on the dockside rolled around slapping their sides in mirth and for once, none of them could muster the breath to hurl more abuse at him. Bartholomew glared down at them then at the spluttering shape of the captain splashing in the water below and sat down again with his head in his hands.

By contrast, the last couple of days had actually passed fairly pleasantly for Matheus Hawk. His initial fury at being bested by a group of mere children had subsided as he’d watched the antics of Bartholomew Bask and his crew. Matheus had taken a room at a small boarding house close by and taken great delight in watching Bartholomew being baited and teased. He was almost disappointed when he saw them cut away the anchor allowing the boat to spring upright. He had worked out what the magician brat had done a few hours after
The Griffin
had slipped port but was enjoying the entertainment far too much to enlighten the crew himself. He knew where
The Griffin
was heading, and they would catch up soon enough, meanwhile the entertainment was simply too good to pass up.

He checked out of his room and made his way through the crowd to the boat where he passed the ship’s captain making his way back on deck after his swim.

‘Out of my way, yer weasel,’ growled Matheus, brushing past the wet seaman. He’d watched the man bullied and abused since they had first boarded the
Esmerelda
back in Freya, and had no respect for anyone that wouldn’t or couldn’t stick up for themselves. The man was a sorry excuse for a captain. Matheus glared at him. ‘So are we getting underway?’

‘We are,’ responded the captain, tugging on his shrinking jacket and attempting to pull himself together.

‘And to where are we bound?’

‘I haven’t been advised of our next destination. I only hope it is to some harbour and not an anchorage as we currently have no anchor,’ said the captain, unhappily wringing water from his lace sleeves, as a crewman handed him the sodden remains of his hat.

‘We’re heading for the Island of Minster, and we will indeed be required to anchor.’ Matheus made to walk off, and then turned back to the dripping man. ‘For the sake of this voyage and the Source, pull yourself together man, get dry and start acting like a captain.’ He threw his bags to a sailor and strode over to Bartholomew who was intently studying a chart. Matheus stabbed a finger down and indicated Minster. ‘We’re going there, because that’s where your thieves went.’

‘How do you know?’ Bartholomew’s face was sweaty and fatigued. The last week had taken its toll on him yet he still remained cautious and somewhat polite with the Hawk.

‘Let’s just say a demon told me.’

The
Esmerelda
slipped out of Sterling Port shortly after sunrise, three days delayed, but once again on the trail of
The Griffin
and its crew. As Bartholomew Bask and Matheus Hawk stood with the captain on the wheel deck, a black raven came flapping down and landed on the wheel, making the helmsman jump. It hopped across with a
‘kaauww’
and sat on Matheus’s shoulder drawing a cursory glance from Bartholomew while the captain, quite sensibly, kept his eyes forward. Matheus reached up to stroke its black feathers and it nipped his finger. He uttered a curse but let it alone - it wasn’t actually his bird.