The Flight of the Griffin (28 page)

Mahra slid down, followed closely by Quint and then Loras. The head soldier approached, once more ready to issue more orders.

Mahra held up a hand and he stopped, obviously shocked that she would dare do so. ‘We’re here to visit your sultan and mean no offence. We would be most grateful if some of your men would guard our…beast
while we are gone.’ The guard captain regarded Mahra uncertainly and then peered at
The Griffin.

‘What if I were just to kill this thing and then throw you children into the dungeons? You show no respect by arriving like this and…’

‘As I said,’ interrupted Mahra as she felt Quint bristling behind her. ‘We mean no offence, we…children are ignorant of your ways and wouldn’t wish to cause offence should our beast hurt any of you, or by us defending ourselves if you mistook us for enemies. It would be far better for all if we were to be allowed to explain ourselves to the sultan. As a man who has risen to your rank, I’m sure you are blessed with a superior intellect and can see the wisdom of this. I commend you on your prompt, professional arrival and shall be sure to advise the sultan that his captain of the guards has acted both professionally and wisely in dealing with what must be a very strange event.’

Loras exchanged a nervous look with Quint as Mahra finished.

‘I don’t need
you
to explain anything to our sultan, who is also my brother,’ spat the guard captain as he puffed out his chest. ‘However, I will graciously grant your wish to see the sultan, and he shall decide what is to be done with you. You may see your bird thing again, or maybe you will not, now come with us.’  With that he marched off towards a large arched entrance.

‘Can you put some sort of spell on
The
Griffin
to stop anyone touching her?’ whispered Mahra to Loras.

‘I already have,’ he hissed back as they followed. ‘If anyone tries to get close,
The
Griffin
will snap at them, but if she feels she is under any real threat she’ll fly away, and only one of us can call her back.’ He saw a soldier listening to them so lowered his voice still further. ‘Remember how I said to break the spell on the Isle of Skulls? Well say the same thing in a normal voice and she’ll come.’

‘Okay, well let’s just hope that the sultan is a little more welcoming than his brother,’ muttered Quint as they entered the palace. He cast a look back and saw
The
Griffin
snap at a soldier that had prodded her with his spear. ‘I’m pretty sure she’s going to be gone when we come back out.’

‘If you get out,’ growled a soldier. ‘Our sultan hates to be disturbed, and this, I think, will be very disturbing for him. Maybe he’ll give you to us guards to play with.’ He leered at Mahra and held out his hand to touch her but flinched back in a hurry when she bared her teeth and emitted a deep animal growl.

‘Just pray that he doesn’t,’ she purred. ‘You might not like the games I play.’

****

‘My dinner is looking at me,’ Pardigan whispered to Tarent. He was staring down at his bowl and sure enough an eyeball, or something very much like one, was peering up at him through a mass of tubes, gristle and liquid.

Tarent held back a laugh and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Shhh, just eat around it or something, at least we’re being fed.’

‘I wish they hadn’t bothered, I can’t eat this muck. Pass me more bread, will you?’ They were sitting cross-legged around the edge of a large tent in the company of about twenty Dhurbar horsemen. No women were present except for two dancing girls in the middle who were swaying to a strange wailing sound coming from an old man blowing on a large bulbous flute.

‘It’s a shame Loras missed this, at least he would have liked the music,’ observed Pardigan with a grin, ‘and I’m sure he could have made this eyeball disappear as well.’ He scooped up the eye, popped it into a wedge of bread, and then pushed it to the side. ‘There...gone, magic!’ He glanced around to be sure he hadn’t been seen.

The conversations around them were taking place in Dhurban, which of course neither of them spoke. Most of the attention was for Azif Benhoudin Sharif as everyone tried to gain his favour. Azif was happily gorging himself and carrying on several conversations at the same time. Finally he wiped his mouth with a cloth and clapped his hands. The two dancing girls rushed off and a tall Dhurbar walked in and bowed deeply to Azif. He started to speak in Dhurban but Azif scowled and clapped his hands again.

‘Please, I have guests who have no knowledge of our tongue; you will speak Freyan, if you are able.’ He smiled and waved across at Tarent and Pardigan.

They had been invited to the tent by luck after asking to speak with Azif. While one of his people was trying to hurry them away, Azif had actually called them over. They’d told him of their need to reach Dhurbar and had produced a gold coin as good faith. On seeing the coin Azif had told them to follow and the whole group had retired to his tent, where the feast had started to take place.

The tall Dhurban swung towards them and bowed deeply. ‘May you please forgive me,’ he said in perfect Freyan. ‘I did not see you seated amongst this noble gathering.’ He indicated the other guests in the room with a bow and a casual gesture of his hands, then turned back to Azif and, bowing once more, swept aside his cloak with a flourish to show two belts crossing his chest holding a selection of deadly knives. ‘My great Lord Azif Benhoudin Sharif, noble guests. If it pleases you I shall display my humble talents, for I am Mustep the Knifeman,
greatest
blade thrower in the entire known world.’

‘I bet he’s not,’ whispered Pardigan. ‘What do
you
think bread?’ He held up his bread with the eye wrapped in between looking out. It looked like the bread was a real eye in a furrowed brow. Pardigan made it blink a couple of times then turned it from side to side. ‘The bread is watching him and isn't convinced.’ He laughed but had the sense to hide his mirth behind his hands.

‘Shhh,’ cautioned Tarent with a glare.

Mustep clapped his hands and a scruffy looking boy ran into the tent and stood in front of a large board. The boy stood still as the knifeman arranged him with arms outstretched and had him hold burning candles in each hand, he then placed a small pomegranate on top of the boy’s head. The boy stood trembling, his eyes tightly closed. Mustep marched back, close to where Azif was seated then spun around and threw his first knife. It flashed across the tent snuffing the candle in the boy’s left hand. A second knife quickly followed the first, snuffing the second candle. The diners all clapped enthusiastically, although it seemed to both Tarent and Pardigan that they’d all seen the display before. The third knife was sent spinning and the pomegranate split in two, juice dribbled down the boy’s frightened face and he blinked it away from his eyes.

‘If he’d set the knife to land flat rather than straight, he could have done that without spilling any juice,’ muttered Pardigan. ‘He’s definitely not the best...but I'm keeping my eye on him.’

‘Shhh, shut up you fool!’
hissed Tarent.

Next, a young girl ran in and stood opposite the boy in front of a different board. Servants came in and set candles in each of her hands, and fresh pomegranates were placed upon their heads.

‘My Lord, today I have extended my performance and shall amaze you by doubling the danger. I shall prepare myself and throw fast but true, proving once again that I am the greatest knife thrower in all the kingdoms.’

Azif glanced up from the conversation he was having with a small round gentleman in a bright flowing robe and waved his hand. ‘Yes, yes I am sure it will be a most wondrous display, Mustep.’ He quickly returned to his conversation.

‘And dangerous,’ pointed out Mustep, ‘for this requires great practice and preparation.’ He bowed low offering an oily smile before returning to the centre of the room.

‘Not dangerous for him though, is it,’ snorted Pardigan a little too loudly. ‘If I was one of those two, I think I’d run for the door about now.’

Tarent dug him in the ribs. ‘
Shhh
. For the love of the Source, Pardigan, why can’t you just keep quiet?’

By now several people had heard him even if they hadn’t quite caught what he’d said. Mustep the knifeman turned a stony face to Pardigan before addressing Azif.

‘My Lord, I do believe that your young guest is trying to show his courage by volunteering to stand at the board for the young lady.’ Azif leaned forward to peer at Pardigan who had sat back in shock.

‘Young man,’ cried Azif. ‘I am heartily impressed with your valour, indeed with anyone brave enough to stand in front of Mustep's knives; they are not always known to find their mark. If they do, they are often in the children he uses as targets.’ This brought a roar of laughter from the seated Dhurbar causing Mustep to turn red with shame and anger.

‘Come, boy, show your courage,’ urged the knifeman gruffly. Pardigan glanced over at the girl. She was holding out the candles with a pleading look in her eyes, the pomegranate wobbling precariously on her head. He glanced over at Tarent who shrugged.

‘I did try and warn you to keep your big mouth shut. Now get up there, close your eyes and say nothing if that’s possible, then sit back down when it’s over, all right?’ Pardigan took a breath.

‘At least I can stretch my legs and don’t have to eat the muck in that bowl,’ he whispered. He saw his Dhurbar neighbour prodding suspiciously at the piece of bread that had the eye peeking out. ‘Oh, and keep an eye on my food will you, Tarent, it keeps winking at people?’ With a sigh he stood up. ‘Very well, I would be happy to stand for the lady. I have great faith in your ability, oh wondrous knife man.’ He walked over and a servant helped him with the candles and pomegranate.

Mustep paced to the centre of the room and let fly his first knife. It flew towards Pardigan who screwed his eyes shut and stood completely still. He heard it thud into the board to his left and he opened his eyes to see that the candle in his hand was split in two, the knife only a hairsbreadth from his fingers. Hot wax dripped onto his hand, but he gritted his teeth and held firm. Mustep grinned at him showing black rotting teeth. Pardigan glanced across to Tarent who shook his head and frowned. The message was clear, just hold still and get it over with.

The next knife flew at the boy and the candle in his hand was snuffed out, another knife immediately followed towards Pardigan who again closed his eyes and prayed to the Source. It thudded home and his mind reached out to see if any pain had accompanied it before he opened his eyes, the candle was snuffed. Loud clapping came from the diners and even Azif was applauding happily. The next knives flew and the pomegranates on both Pardigan’s and the boy’s heads were split, dribbling juice onto their faces. Pardigan squinted open his eyes and saw everyone, including Tarent, laughing and pointing at him. Pardigan hated being laughed at; it had always been a problem and had gotten him into many a scrape. He felt his anger rise and the urge to spin the knives back at Mustep began to overwhelm him. He took a step forward and saw Tarent shaking his head urgently, but Pardigan just smiled and pretended not to notice.

****

Chapter 19

Walking The Knife’s Edge

It had taken almost two days to get to Freya, which was where Matheus Hawk was sure the thieves had gone. He’d renegotiated his position with Bartholomew Bask and they’d agreed that Matheus would now receive any magical goods as well as a third of any captured cargo or coins. He was especially pleased with the deal, as magical goods would most certainly include a boat that transformed into a flying creature. The trail was somewhat cold but Matheus wasn’t known as the best tracker in the entire kingdom for nothing. They’d questioned the nervous official from the Customs boat on leaving Minster, and been told that a small craft had been seen heading away from the island in much the same direction as the bird thing, towards Freya.

After arriving and much rooting around in the port, they had found the boat and Matheus had watched, amused as Bartholomew half destroyed it in his anger at finding neither the thieves, nor indeed any sign of his goods. Bartholomew had finally realised that the boat itself would possibly be worth something, and ordered two seamen to patch it up and sell it. Happy to be at least a little up on the deal, they were now supping Elder ale in front of Blake’s while discussing where to go next. The heat was intense, more so here in Freya than in Minster, or of course the open sea, and Bartholomew was constantly mopping his brow with his now shabby lace handkerchief.

‘By the life of me, I have no idea where the brats would be going. I’ve half a mind to call it quits and get on with me business now that damn demon has seen fit to depart.’ He drank deeply from his tankard,
and then wiping his mouth on his sleeve glanced around for a serving girl to order more.

‘Half a mind is about right, my fat friend. It was I that departed our demon tormentor; I’ve explained that to you. It would be bad business to abandon our search now when we’re so close; besides, I think the prize is far richer than just the contents of your cabinet. There’s too much interest in these young thieves. This is all about some bigger prize, you mark my words; your cabinet was just one small piece of this puzzle.’ Matheus drained his tankard, a thoughtful expression on his face.

‘Yes but it was my small piece of puzzle, wasn’t it, and
I won’t be robbed
,’ snarled Bartholomew, his temper rising once more but then he sagged back down; it was too hot to get cross and he wanted more ale. They sat and continued to drink as the day went on, until finally the sun set and the shadows became night. When a girl came out to light the oil lamps in front of the inn, the two of them were laughing together like old friends, making jokes about demons and drinking far too much ale for their own good.

A short way to the left of Matheus Hawk a small tear appeared in the fabric of space and a finger forced itself through making a faint ripping noise. Muted sounds of panting and a struggle could be heard, but it wasn’t until the hole finally forced itself closed again with a small pop, that Matheus finally noticed.

‘What was that?’ he glanced around, startled.

‘What was what?’ said Bartholomew dreamily, staring into the bottom of yet another empty ale pot.

‘A sound,’ said Matheus peering into the shadows. Seeing nothing, he returned to his drink. ‘Come on, we should get back to the ship, we’ve still to plan what we’ll do from here. We know those brats can’t be too far ahead of us.’ They stood up and leaning on each other, staggered back to the
Esmerelda
to plot their next move.

****

Belial sat back exhausted but happy. He had worked out how to follow the trail back to the right dimension and was satisfied that he could find it by concentrating his magic on the Hawk. Now he simply needed to gather his strength and some followers and he would be ready.

****

Loras was feeling two emotions as he studied the old man in the over-large turban. The first was complete and utter awe that he was facing a real live magician, one that had obviously spent a lifetime studying and perfecting his art. The second was a small amount of fear and uncertainty that he may be about to embark on his first magical duel with this strange opponent.