The Flight of the Griffin (4 page)

He stopped crying and jerked back from the cabinet, trying not to move. The more he was near it and the more he searched, the less a Mage would have to go on. Yes, he needed a Mage and he needed a good one. Bartholomew stood up, now under control. Snatching up his cane, he crammed a hat upon his head and left the house.

Hildy watched him waddle quickly from the house and went back to scrubbing the kitchen floor. Gone for another day and no more shouting to endure, she started to feel happy for the first time that morning and even started to hum a tune.

Unfortunately, she was wrong. Merchant Bask was back in less than a turn of the glass with a nasty looking man in tow. The stranger was scruffy and wearing a long gown, or some such thing that wasn’t any fashion that Hildy knew about. Although they were back down again and gone in no time, without a ‘Hello’ or ‘Get out of the damn way, gal,’ most odd.

She went upstairs to find the bedroom in a state worse than usual. It appeared to have powder over half the room and there was a horrible smell as if something had been burning. Hildy wrinkled her nose, something she did many times a day in the employ of Merchant Bask, in fact, she did it so much that she now had permanent wrinkles on her nose from this very action.
With a sigh of resignation she set about cleaning it all up.

By lunchtime, she was ready to leave and was just putting her hat straight when Merchant Bask came home with his new friend. She had just stepped out and closed the door behind her, when the hot afternoon air was split by the sound of Merchant Bask screaming her name.

‘Hildy, Hildy,
by the light of the Source, where are you, gal? Come here this instant!’

‘Aaahh,’ muttered Hildy to herself, ‘now what’s his problem?’ She thought for a moment of simply heading off down the street. After all, she’d finished for the day and a good job she had done as usual. He had no call to… The thought was left unfinished as Merchant Bask’s head appeared out of the bedroom window, bright red and bug-eyed in fury. She saw him scan the street and then he noticed her standing below and pointed, screaming once more.

‘Hildy, you stupid, stupid girl, you’ve cleaned it all, cleaned every last blessed bit!’

Staring up at merchant Bask, Hildy finally decided that he had gone completely mad. Now he’s screaming at me because I’ve cleaned. The man’s a raving lunatic to be sure. She decided there and then to take the advice of her friends, so with a flick of her skirts and one last wrinkle of her nose, she left the service of Merchant Bask once and for all.

Several of the people on the street watched her leave with the merchant screaming from his window. An elderly couple told him to mind his tongue. When he started to scream and shout at them, others joined in, until a small crowd had gathered and a number of objects were hurled up at him.

Forced to retreat back into the room, Bartholomew turned once more to his guest who was studying him closely, quite unaffected by the merchant’s outbursts.

‘Well, is there anything left?’ panted Bartholomew, angrily wiping bits of tomato from his face. He sat down heavily on the corner of the bed and regarded the scruffy Mage, with a look of desperate appeal.

‘As I first advised you Merchant Bask, there is a general confusion surrounding the room.’ The Mage stood up from where he’d been examining the bottom of the cabinet. ‘This makes it much harder to read whatever has transpired. What first appears to us cannot be readily applied to what one would normally associate with an act of theft.’

‘What?’ wheezed Bartholomew, his mouth hanging open.

The Mage went on. ‘There are strong echoes of yourself, of course, and your cleaner. The makers of the cabinet are also evident, but these are easily set aside. What
is
confusing, are the strong echoes of a cat and a child.’

After a short silence, the Mage decided to venture the question that he felt almost unnecessary. ‘Do you...have any children in the house, Merchant Bask?’ The look that he received from Bartholomew was enough of an answer. ‘Well I thought not, this is why I asked for more time and indeed stressed the need for a different approach. Alas the cleaning of the room has undone any chance of getting any closer to the truth. Why an animal’s echo should be so strong I cannot fathom, however, we can be sure this was no ordinary animal, but one that carried an echo of magic about it. As to that of the child…’ He shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.

Bartholomew frowned; it grated on him to pay for so little results, but to refuse payment to a Mage was…well, frankly...stupid.  He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and handed it over; the Mage took it without question or apology for any lack of results and quietly left.

Bartholomew sat back and tried to think. My home has been invaded, my monies stolen and all I’m left with is an image of a magical cat and a child running around in my bedroom as I’ve slept. What unlucky star was burning over me last night?

He knew the cat to which the Mage was referring. He’d had it for about a month and had been getting quite used to it. Bartholomew glanced nervously around the room but as he suspected, detected no sign of the animal anywhere. He’d keep an eye out for it anyhow and if he saw it … he felt the rage build within him again and drew in a breath in an attempt to calm down. Whoever has committed this filthy act will pay dearly, he vowed. What I need is a tracker, and with that thought, Bartholomew started to smile for the first time that day. I know of
just
the tracker that I need.

****

Despite the late night, the crew of
The
Griffin
were up shortly after sunrise. Loras went into the city to buy provisions while Pardigan and Quint stayed talking in hushed tones over a hot brew and stale buns.

The boys were anxious, half expecting the city watch to come storming down to the port and turn the boat over at any moment. The moneybags were all stowed safely away and the knife, so Pardigan assured Quint, was buried in soot at the bottom of the stove. It made sense to move part of the haul off the boat, but if the watch were indeed investigating at this point then they’d be searching any boat that was trying to leave. This was what Pardigan and Quint were discussing when Tarent emerged from his bunk.

His eyes were red and he’d obviously had little or no sleep. Sitting down next to Pardigan, he poured himself a cup of brew and placed two stacks of papers onto the table.

‘This big pile is stuff that I either don’t understand or is just nothing we can sell or work with. My vote is we burn it all as soon as possible.’ He glanced over at the other two who nodded saying nothing, not questioning any of the papers in the pile, both were staring at the smaller bundle of papers.

‘There’s some interesting things here that we may be able to use.’ Tarent slurped some of his brew and grabbed one of the stale buns, pulling it into small pieces that he fed into his mouth as he spoke.

‘I’ve found one contract here worth keeping - it’s a license allowing any vessel holding it to conduct legal business operations out of
Minster Island. We could either sell it in a few weeks when the noise has calmed down, or even use it ourselves to do some legitimate trade.’ He stared at Pardigan. ‘This one paper could mean we are never hungry again. Thank the Source you never left this one behind.'

‘I’m not stupid,’ said Pardigan indignantly. ‘I took all the good stuff.’

‘Oh, and this one’s interesting, but I can’t say why.’ Tarent ignored Pardigan and flipped a thin, tatty book from the pile on to the table in front of Quint. It was obviously very old and worn, as if handled many times over the years, and had some strange text in small letters crammed into every conceivable space. The only recognisable thing about it was a rough sketch of a knife on the cover. The boys inspected the book then Pardigan went over to the stove and brought back the knife, secretly glad that it was still there and hadn’t found its way back into his pocket. He laid it next to the book. There was no mistaking it. The picture and the knife were one and the same, the stone on top, the shape of the blade; it was no coincidence.

‘Well what’s it about?’ asked Pardigan, his interest sparked.

‘I can’t read it, can’t even tell you what language it is I’m afraid,’ Tarent yawned and got to his feet. 'That's it, the sum of my night's efforts. I’m going to sleep - you can deal with that lot.’ He staggered back to his cabin and slammed the door. Quint rose and put the big pile of papers into the stove, he lit a match and they watched the papers flare. Just as the smoke became too much and he closed the stove door, they heard a shout on deck and he and Pardigan jumped up with cries of glee and scrabbled for the ladder - Loras was back with fresh buns.

In their efforts to be first to the ladder, the papers were pushed aside and the knife briefly touched the book. The cover transformed and the blue gem in the pommel glowed brightly, unfortunately, no one was there to see it.

The three boys came down the ladder into the cabin, helping Loras with several bags. Quint was crossly telling Loras that it looked like he’d gone on a crazy buying spree and that he could have brought them unwanted attention.

‘All I got was the usual buns, milk and some blue fish for our supper,’ whined Loras. ‘Then some dried beans and other stuff for the stores - was that too much?’

‘You seem to have forgotten the other two sacks Loras, the one with all the books in, and what’s in the other bag?’ asked Quint, calming down now that he was munching on a fresh cinnamon bun still warm from the baker’s oven.

‘Well the books I’ve needed for a long time and the bookseller has been holding them for me. They’re the books I used when I was apprentice to Magician Pyper. They’ll help me to continue my studies.’ His face began to turn red. ‘The other bag,’ he started sheepishly. ‘Well the other bag has a few luxuries that we can afford and it’s not like I’ve bought anything too much, just dried fruits, sweet lemon drops, a game of Old Jack Bones, things like that. It’s not like I’ve gone out and bought everyone a new pocket watch, is it?’

With a shrug Quint relented and they indulged themselves in cinnamon buns as Pardigan made up a fresh pot of brew. The day was starting to warm up now and sounds of the port awakening could be heard.

‘Sounds like the barge next door is getting underway,’ said Pardigan absently, as he glanced over the remaining buns deciding if he could fit one more in.

‘They’re bound up the coast to Sterling Port,’ said Loras. ‘I walked back this morning with their cabin boy. Says the barge’s captain is right unhappy with the merchants in Freya. Says they can’t turn a profit here and won’t be coming back ’cos they’re going broke.’

Quint stopped chewing, swallowed his mouthful of bun and stared at Pardigan and then Loras in turn.  ‘That’s it!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘That’s how we get the money out of Freya and back to the Moorings,’ he put the remainder of his bun down. ‘Loras, go wake Tarent, you and he can ship aboard the barge as paying passengers. When he’s awake, go aboard and book passage. He turned to Pardigan. ‘We split the money, we've split the risk. You and I can sail
The
Griffin
away in a few days and meet up with them back at the moorings.’ Quint grinned. ‘We can swing by and pick them up. Sterling Port is only half a day from the moorings.’

Loras finished his bun, took a slurp of his brew and jumped up to bang on Tarent's door, before scuttling up the ladder to book berths on the barge.

Tarent poked his head out of the cabin as Pardigan and Quint were tidying away the remains of the papers and the food. As they did so the knife once again came into contact with the book. The blue stone in the pommel glowed brightly, and the book was once more transformed - this time, it was seen.

‘What by the Source was that!’ squealed Pardigan, jumping back.

After a moment, he and Quint hesitantly approached the table. The knife was now resting with the blade on top of the book, and the book had changed. No longer a thin pile of papers, barely held together with a threadbare cover, now it was a small leather-bound book, its title displayed in flowing script.

Pardigan moved the knife away. The book returned to its previous state. He moved the knife back and once again the knife’s blue stone glowed brightly and the book was again transformed.

Tarent approached the table. ‘Did that just…?’

‘A magic book!’ cried Pardigan. ‘I knew there must be magic stuff in that cabinet, but nothing like this.’ He reached out and touched the book, making sure not to move the knife. As he did so, something leapt from the hatchway above them and landed hissing on the table. The boys jumped back, Tarent banging his head on the lamp, Quint fell back onto a chest and Pardigan tripped over his own feet - all three gazed up at the table from the floor. There, standing over the book was a large grey cat - it stared intently at the three friends and paced slowly round the table.