The Dark Griffin (24 page)

“What for?” said Flell, aghast.

“It’s said he went crazy when Riona told him he was disgraced and tried to kill Lord Rannagon. If that’s true, then it’s a pretty serious crime. They could execute him for that.”

Flell jumped up. “What? No—for the gods’ sakes, tell me it’s not true!”

“It ain’t,” Bran snapped. “Shut up, Gern. Yeh’ve got no bloody idea what yer goin’ on about. Sit down, Flell.”

Flell sat. “What’s going on, Bran? How d’you know it’s not true?”

“I’ve been moved to a different squad,” said Bran. “I’m workin’ in the prison district now, and I promise yeh that if Arren was in there I’d know about it. All right?”

She relaxed a little. “Well, if he’s not at home and he’s not in prison, where is he?”

“I think he’s probably gone to visit his parents down in Idun,” said Gern.

Flell shook her head. “I went to see them before I came up to the city. They haven’t seen him. They don’t even know about Eluna. I don’t like this. He wouldn’t just run off again, not after what happened last time.”

“I saw him right after he got back,” Gern said. “He looked terrible. He was dirty and he’d grown a beard, and there were bruises on his face, like someone’d been hitting him. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. He wouldn’t talk to me—just disappeared. It must’ve been right before he went to the Eyrie. I’ve never seen him look like that before. It scared me.”

Flell stood up. “Well then, we’ve got to find out what’s going on,” she said sternly. “Come on.”

“Where to?” said Gern, putting down his drink.

“To Arren’s house,” said Flell. “I know where he keeps the spare key. Even if he’s not at home, there could be a clue there. Come on, let’s go.”

“What, now?” said Bran.

“Yes, now. Come on, damn it! What if he’s in trouble? He’s our friend, and he needs our help.”

Bran and Gern got up and went with her without much argument, abandoning their drinks and following Flell as she left the tavern and walked toward the market district at high speed. Thrain jumped down off her shoulder and ran ahead, her claws skittering on the wood beneath her.

When they reached Arren’s house they found it cold and still. The front door was closed and the windows shuttered. Flell, though, lifted Thrain over her head, holding her as high as she could. The griffin chick, balanced on her partner’s hands, rooted around among the thatch over the door with her beak, as if looking for worms. Eventually she gave a triumphant chirp and pulled out a small oilcloth pouch. Inside was a key. Flell put it into the lock and turned it. But the door wouldn’t open. She pushed hard, but it refused to move more than an inch. “It’s stuck,” she said.

Bran reached past her and shoved on the door, but without result. “Must be blocked from the other side,” he said.

“Then someone must be in there,” said Flell. She put the key back into the pouch and hid it among the thatch. “What do we do now?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Bran. “I’ve done this sort of thing before. Outta the way please, miss.”

Flell stood aside and the big guard drew his sword. He poked it through the gap at the edge of the door, and then lifted it hard and pushed. There was a thud from the other side, and the door swung open.

“There yeh go,” Bran said triumphantly.

It was gloomy inside the house. Some light was coming in through the back windows, but there were no candles or lamps burning. The air smelt stale and there was a layer of dust on the furniture. But it was plain that it had been lived in recently: there were dirty dishes on the table and a fire smouldering in the hearth. The hammock had been slept in, and there was a stained tunic hanging on the back of the chair.

There was also a large bowl on the table with a cloth over it. Flell wandered over and lifted the edge of the cloth, and the bowl proved to be full of water. “What—” she began.

“Don’t touch that!”

They turned. Arren had appeared in the entrance to the stable. He was grubby and dishevelled and his face was obscured by an unkempt beard. Never particularly tanned, he now looked as if he had just climbed out of a tomb.

Flell stared at him, horror-struck. “Arren!”

He stood there, swaying slightly. “Hello, Flell.”

She started toward him. “Arren, for gods’ sakes, are you all right?”

Close up he looked even worse. There were faded bruises on his face, and his hair, normally obsessively neat, was matted. He peered at her, looking slightly bemused, and then shook his head. “No, no, not really. I mean, I’ve been better. I mean—” He made a half-laughing, half-coughing sound. “Eluna’s dead. I’m broke, I’m unemployed, and also—excuse me a moment.” He walked past her and lurched away through the door leading to the balcony. They heard him vomiting, and then he returned. He almost fell over in the doorway, and Gern and Bran took him by the shoulders and led him to the table. He sat down in the chair and slumped forward onto the table, groaning.

“I’ve also—also—also, I’ve drunk enough cheap wine to kill a horse,” he added, to no-one in particular.

Flell had found a jug of water by the hammock and poured some into a mug. She had to put it into his hands for him. He downed it and then dropped the mug on the floor, where it broke.

He stared at the pieces and then suddenly started to cry. “Oh gods, I’m s—I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean, I—” He huddled down in his chair, face in his hands, sobbing brokenly.

Flell put her arms around him, and he clung to her pathetically, shuddering all over. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Arren, it’s all right, it’s all right, I’ve got you.”

Bran patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’s all right, mate. We’re here for yeh. I’ll just—” He glanced at Gern. “I’ll get some more water.”

They kept their distance, both embarrassed, and Flell held on to Arren until he started to calm down, which took a while.

“I’m sorry,” he said, between sobs. “I re—I really—I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Gods, I’m so pathetic, I—I’m an idiot, I’m a stupid gods—godsdamned idiot.”

Flell didn’t let go of him. “It’s all right, Arren,” she said, again and again. “It’s all right. You’re not an idiot.”

After that his sobs died down, and he drank some more water. “I need to lie down,” he said eventually.

Flell helped him to his hammock. He slumped into it, legs hanging over the sides, breathing heavily. He tried to shuffle himself further toward one end, but then slid back, wincing. “Thanks, Flell.”

Flell crouched by him and touched his forehead. It was hot and clammy. “Gryphus—Arren, you’re a mess,” she said.

He turned his head slightly to look at her. “Am I?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the innocent inquiry in his voice. “Yes,” she said. “You’re a mess.”

Arren closed his eyes. “I suppose so. I’ve been . . . drinking too much. I ran out of food, and—and—and . . .”

Flell took his hand in hers. “It’s all right. Just rest.”

His hand moved slightly. “I don’t . . . I don’t feel . . . well.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said, standing up carefully. She turned to Gern and Bran; they were watching silently and gave her imploring looks. Flell took her money pouch from her belt. “I need you two to help me,” she said. “Go and buy some food.”

“Won’t be many places open right now,” said Bran, taking the pouch.

“I know somewhere,” said Gern. “C’mon.”

The two of them departed. Flell closed the door behind them and sighed unhappily.

Arren had fallen asleep. Flell touched him lightly on the forehead, brushing away a few loose curls. He stirred slightly, his face creasing, and she covered him with a blanket and set about cleaning his home. She left the bowl of water untouched and found another one in a cupboard, filled it from the rain-barrel out on the balcony and used that to wash the dishes. After she had dried the dishes and put them away, she went into the stable, where she found that all the hay had been removed, leaving it bare and rather depressing to look at. A keg of wine stood against one wall. It was indeed cheap, and half the contents were gone. She carried it onto the balcony and poured the rest of it over the edge. Then she returned to the house. The floor was covered in dirt, and the shattered pieces of the broken mug were still lying by the table. She found a broom and cleaned it up as well as she could, and then opened the front windows to let in some fresh air. It was an improvement, at least.

Thrain had been exploring the corners, and now she wandered back. Flell bent and scratched her head. “It’s much better in here now, isn’t it?” she said, keeping her voice low.

Thrain lifted her beak, wanting Flell to scratch the spot underneath it, which she did. Satisfied, the little griffin sat down by her foot, purring. “Arren is sick,” she said suddenly.

“I know,” said Flell. “He’s very unhappy. Eluna died.”

“He is hurt,” said Thrain.

Flell paused. “What d’you mean, Thrain? Where is he hurt?”

“I smell blood,” said Thrain. “Blood, there.” She stood up, but instead of walking toward Arren she made for the table. She paused there a moment, sniffing, and then snatched at the tunic hanging over the back of the chair. It fell down, landing in a sad little heap at the chick’s foretalons, and she started to peck the fabric, twittering to herself.

Flell came over and crouched to look at it. “Can I pick it up?” she asked.

Thrain nodded and withdrew, and Flell picked up the tunic.

There were bloodstains on it. Several of them. Flell dropped the tunic and almost ran toward the hammock. When she pulled the blanket away, she noticed for the first time that there were also stains on the tunic Arren was wearing now, over his chest and shoulders.

He woke up when she undid the fastenings on the front, and tried to push her hands away. “No, don’t—that hurts—
aah
!”

His chest was thin and pale, scattered with black hairs and the faded scars that all griffiners had. There were several puncture marks on his shoulders and a partly healed slash just above his heart, and nearly all of them were red and swollen with infection.

Flell knew a few things about medicine. She felt the wounds carefully; they were hot to the touch, and Arren cringed at the slightest contact.

“
Ah!
Ow! Please, stop it, you’re hurting me.
Flell!
”

She withdrew her hands. “Arren, for gods’ sakes, why didn’t you go to a healer?”

He closed his eyes. “I thought they’d get better on their own. I couldn’t
afford
it.”

There was a thud from behind them. Flell turned to see Bran and Gern arrive. They were carrying several parcels.

Flell went to them. “How did you do?”

Bran put down his burden on the table and gave her back her money pouch. “Not too bad. I owe yeh five oblong.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Flell. “Did you get food?”

“Of course we did,” said Gern, gesturing at the parcels. “What d’you think that is, the Mistress’ jewels? We caught a couple of stallholders as they were packing up. Got cabbage, cheese, bread and some smoked fish. It was cheap, too. Always is at the end of the day.” He looked toward Arren. “How’s he doin’?”

“Not well,” said Flell. “He’s got some infected wounds on his chest. Thrain smelt them out.”

“I’m all right,” Arren called. “They don’t hurt much now. They’ll get better.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Flell said grimly. “You two, could you give me a hand?”

There was nothing for it but to clean the wounds as well as they could. Bran held Arren down while Flell used her knife to cut away the scabs and then cleaned the pus out. Once each wound was as clean as she could make it, she daubed on some ointment Gern found in a cupboard and then covered it up with a crude bandage.

Arren didn’t enjoy the process one bit. He yelled and struggled and mouthed abuse at them when they refused to let him go. It was an ugly scene, but Flell only gritted her teeth and worked on. When she had finished, she tied the last hastily made bandage into place and pulled him to his feet. He stood, trembling slightly, but didn’t try to make good on any of the threats he’d made.

“There,” said Flell. “That’s better. Now, try not to touch them. They need a chance to heal. How d’you feel?”

“My head hurts,” Arren volunteered.

“I’m not surprised. How does your chest feel?”

“Like I’ve been stabbed by a girl with a dagger,” said Arren.

“Har har, very funny. How did you get those injuries in the first place?”

“Shoa,” said Arren. “She—she—she knocked me over and stuck her talons in me ’cause I . . . called your father a liar to his face.”

“You did what?” said Flell. “Arren, what were you thinking?”

“Well, he is a liar,” said Arren, slumping back into his hammock. “He said—he said—said—he told me to go, and then when I got back he said he didn’t, and Riona wouldn’t listen to me, and I called him a liar, and Shoa said—” He broke off suddenly and glanced toward the door with a slightly fearful expression. “Never mind. It doesn’t—it’s not important. I just n-need to rest a while, till I’m better.”

“Good idea,” said Bran. He stood up. “Sorry, everyone, but I gotta be off home. Early start tomorrow.” He nodded to Arren. “G’night, sir. Hope yer feeling better in the—well, all right, not in the morning. By lunchtime, maybe. I’ll come back an’ see yeh later.”

Arren had closed his eyes again. “Right, right,” he mumbled.

Flell put the blanket over him, careful not to touch the bandages. “Just get some sleep now, Arren. I’ll come back in the morning, all right?”

He yawned and covered his face with one arm. “If—don’t tell anyone. Lock the door.”

“I will, Arren,” said Flell. “Goodnight.”

She hustled the other two out of the house and locked the door behind her with the spare key. The moon was up by now, and the torches in the street were lit.

Gern leant against the wall of the house and wiped his forehead with his arm. “Phew! That was horrible!”

Bran shook his head. “I’ve seen him drunk before, but never that bad. He’s really lost it, hasn’t he?”

“Who can blame him?” Flell snapped, lifting Thrain into her arms. “And if either of you two had any sense you’d have put a bit more effort into finding out if he was all right. That’s how people die, you know, because no-one bothers to check on them. I’ve heard about people who’ve killed themselves, and no-one found them for months just because they lived alone. What if that’d happened to Arren while I was away and you were off worrying about yourselves?”