The Flight of the Griffin (17 page)

A morning’s sail saw them a good distance from the island and by early afternoon the clouds had parted and the sun shone down upon
The Griffin
for the first time in days. Spray flew back over her deck, washing away the taint of Chaos that had permeated everything on Skull Island and the crew began to relax.

The two days it took to get to
Sterling passed quickly: no storms, no strange scratching noises and, thankfully, no demons to disturb their passage. It was late afternoon when
The Griffin
sailed into Sterling Port, escorted by a cloud of cawing gulls, dipping and whirling in an aerial ballet that had Mahra transfixed, pawing the air in frustration.

Once moored, Mahra, Tarent and Loras went into town for fresh provisions while Pardigan and Quint went in search of suitable goods to take to Minster. They walked along the quay perusing the various offerings scratched on slates outside each portside warehouse, discussing which would be the best cargo to take. As a forested island with few natural resources other than wood, the list of possibilities was endless.

They finally decided on several bolts of cloth, some crates of tools and all the barrels of fire pitch available. Fire pitch was always sought after in any port, and would be especially well received on the island province of Minster. It was useful for a number of things, from waterproofing boats and roofs to refining down into lamp oil. The seller promised the barrels would be rolled down to
The Griffin
straight away, and even gave them the name of a contact in Minster Harbour who, he promised, would buy it all for a good price. Quint slapped palms with the warehouseman, paid the coin and then he and Pardigan walked off to see what else they could find before they went to sea again.

The back streets of
Sterling were an incredible hive of activity with crowds streaming among the shops, taverns and teahouses, the vendors eagerly competing for their business. The cries of merchants and barrow boys filled the air and brew sellers walked the streets with kettles and glasses slung over their shoulders adding their call to the general hullabaloo. The air was heavy with the aromas of brew, spices and wood smoke and the boys were soon caught up in the wonderful atmosphere of it all.

Sterling
was a centre of commerce for the whole kingdom, and several wagons and trading caravans were being loaded in the stables and marshalling yards ready for their long treks to far away cities across the kingdom. The Dhurbar, who made up most of the caravans, were from the southern deserts and had a rich flamboyant culture coupled with a fearsome reputation that kept all but the most desperate or determined robbers away. The colourful fabrics they wore set them apart, contrasting heavily against the dull stone of the city. Pardigan and Quint watched mesmerised as the Desert horsemen skilfully managed their beasts. The Dhurbar were readying for departure, tying huge bundles, crates and barrels to their camels as the animals shifted and complained under the weight, filling the air with strange moaning cries.

Without warning, Quint gripped Pardigan’s arm and pulled him back into the doorway of a small tavern. ‘Look, over there, it’s the merchant!’ he hissed. Pardigan followed Quint’s gaze. It was the merchant all right. Merchant Bartholomew Bask and here in
Sterling Port!

‘Maybe it’s coincidence, maybe he’s trading with the Dhurbar or something
; he is a merchant after all.’ They watched him talking with one of the horsemen, questioning him at length, obviously exasperated with the answers he was getting. He appeared dishevelled, hot and uncomfortable.

Quint poked Pardigan in the ribs. ‘Trying to get some of that money back, I shouldn’t wonder,’ he said, laughing. ‘He’s probably forgotten all about his midnight visitor by now.’

‘Oh I wouldn’t say that,’ said a deep rasping voice. ‘Merchant Bask hasn’t forgotten anything. You caused him no end of trouble and he’s actually here searching for you.’ Matheus Hawk's hands came down upon the boys’ shoulders in a grip of steel. ‘Merchant Bask,’ called Matheus, ‘look what I’ve found!’

The fat merchant swung around at the sound of his name, his face still caught in a frown of concentration. Seeing Matheus Hawk with his hands on the shoulders of two scruffy louts, it obviously dawned upon him that these might well be the thieves themselves.

‘Hold them!’ He hurried over towards the tavern, pushing people out of the way in his haste. Several passers by noticed a scene was unfolding and watched with interest as Pardigan struggled in the tracker's grip.

Quint, in contrast, was standing quite still, taking in the situation without panicking, his newly acquired instincts already planning his move. In one fluid action, he stamped down hard, scraping his boot down their captor’s shinbone and onto his foot, causing Matheus to let both boys go with a howl of agony and rage. In the same movement, Quint kicked out at the nearest table, sending it spinning across the narrow street, and a jug of sweet red berry juice flying into the air, all over the approaching merchant.

‘Run!’
bellowed Quint, pushing through the crowd.

Pardigan didn’t need to be told twice; he slapped down the hands of the person trying to hold him and chased after Quint, down the street and into the labyrinth of passages that made up this quarter of the city. They could hear the sounds of laughter from the crowd and the merchant shrieking, ‘Thieves, thieves, stop them!’  

Footsteps echoed in pursuit.

‘We’ve got to get out of here and fast,’ said Pardigan. ‘How were we recognised? I was sure I wasn’t seen going into the house and I’ve never met that tall ugly fellow before, have you? I would have remembered him all right, he was scary.’

‘Stop talking and keep running, we have to get to the boat,’ panted Quint. They dodged their way across town and down to the harbour where the last of the barrels were being loaded under the watchful eye of Tarent. Mahra was curled up asleep in her favourite spot on the hatch top, her tail flicking lazily in the sun.

‘The merchant’s here,’ Pardigan gasped as they came alongside. ‘Almost…got us…got to go…now!’

‘Where is he?’ Tarent glanced towards the warehouses, but life appeared normal up there.

‘Is this the last of it?’ questioned Quint, looking at the barrel a labourer was guiding over to the hold, the wooden crane creaking with the effort.

‘Yes, only a few more barrels then we’re loaded. Loras is below deck so we can leave just as soon as…’ his words were left unfinished as a crowd of people entered the harbour bunched around the familiar figure of Merchant Bask, who let out a loud roar when he spied
The Griffin
.

‘There they are!’ he bellowed. ‘Stop them, hold them, I demand justice!’ His waddling gait increased, limping at his side, the tall man was snarling and the crowd was still with them, eagerly anticipating entertainment.

The crane deposited a barrel in
The Griffin’s
hold and swung back for another, the two workmen looked to each other and then at the young crew.

‘Wos going on ’ere? That fat chap seems to want words with you lot.’ The workman held out a hand to hold Pardigan but Quint leapt up and pushed him back.

‘We’re leaving right now, and it would be a good idea not to try and stop us.’

Tarent had already cast off the mooring lines and Pardigan followed him onto
The Griffin
leaving Quint alone on the quayside. The little boat began to ease out into the harbour under the power of its small foresail.

The workman eyed the sword at Quint’s waist and shrugged. ‘Good luck to you, boys, I’ll not be a trouble to yer as I think yer got trouble enough.’

Quint jumped onto the deck and nodded in thanks, then, fishing into his pocket, he flipped over a gold coin. ‘We’d really appreciate it if you could delay them somehow.’ The man glanced down in surprise at the coin; it was more than a month’s pay and he smiled.

‘Maybe I can think of something, maybe I can.’

The Griffin
drifted further out towards the harbour mouth as the crowd came level. Bartholomew was red as a plum and screaming curses at being so close to his hated quarry, while the tall hunter muttered a spell under his breath with an evil look in his eyes.

‘Get Loras up here,’ called Quint. ‘I think that tall one is up to some sort of magic.’ As he said this, a ball of fire darted from the Hawk’s fingers towards
The Griffin
and exploded on the mast close to Quint’s head.

Pardigan sent an electric charge back at the group on the quayside where the crowd all jumped and started to disperse as it crackled and spat amongst them. Another ball of fire hit the deck setting it aflame and Mahra reverted to her human shape to help put it out. Merchant Bask had already set off back down the quay towards a large ship, shouting instructions to get underway.

‘If that ship gets going, it’s going to catch us in short order,’ said Quint, eyeing the powerful looking vessel with its crew efficiently casting off lines, ready to navigate from the harbour.

‘Well, we’ll have to slow it then, won’t we,’ answered Loras coming up beside him. He muttered an incantation, his fingers fluttering in the air and with a jolt; the merchant vessel leaned heavily to one side. Merchant Bask, who’d just arrived back onboard, lost his footing and disappeared from sight and several crewmen, caught unawares, slid yelling from the deck and landed with a series of splashes in the murky harbour. What had been an orderly efficient vessel a moment before, became floundering confusion with the boat listing to one side so badly, it appeared like it might even sink.

‘Oh Source, well done!’ said Quint in admiration. ‘What did you do, Loras?’

Loras cuffed away a fireball thrown by the cursing hunter. ‘I simply enhanced what was already there. I made their anchor about a thousand times heavier than it already was. They won’t go anywhere until they think to cut it loose!’

They heard a scream and a splash and turned to see the hunter floundering in the water. The workman that Quint had flipped the coin to was running off down the quay after giving their attacker a hefty push.

Matheus was having trouble in the water. His cloak was weighing him down and he was madder than a sack of bees.

‘The demons shall have you…this doesn’t end here! You young…you have not heard the last of Matheu...’ The last was finished in an angry rush of bubbles as he bobbed under the water again, his hands splashing the surface trying to grasp something or maybe he was still trying to shake his fist at them with a last ball of fire.

A small boat left the stricken merchant vessel and struck out towards the drowning man, one sailor shooting arrows at
The Griffin,
while another rowed. Bartholomew Bask was standing in the small boat, giving animated directions that were causing the boat to rock violently. He was slapping the back of the man rowing and cursing the efforts of the archer as his arrows fell short.
The Griffin
, now under full sail, passed the seawall leaving behind a harbour filled with a mixture of cursing and laughter.

They headed out to sea until losing sight of the land,
and then turned south once more, bound for Minster,
The Griffin
sailing fast, as if it knew trouble was close behind them.

‘I don’t think they’ll work out the problem with the anchor for a while,’ said Loras grinning happily.

‘All the same, we have to make good time to Minster and keep an eye out for pursuit, but how did they find us?’ puzzled Quint. ‘The merchant was asking questions, looking for us, but the strange thing is; how did that nasty looking tall fellow end up behind us? Was it a coincidence? Maybe it was, but then again, maybe not.’

Mahra sat up from where she’d been sleeping again. ‘There’s no such thing as coincidence. These were soldiers of Chaos, hunting us, Chaos aids them; the balance is alive and well. We have three skulls to find. One we already have, one we know is in Minster and the other is in an, as yet, undisclosed location. There will almost certainly be a further destination to complete the spell. This is going to give our enemies ample opportunity to stop us.’

‘Well thanks for all the good news, Mahra,’ muttered Quint, ‘but whatever they throw at us we’re going to throw it right back and go gathering skulls, eh Loras?’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Loras happily.

‘Hmmm,’ murmured the cat settling down to sleep once more.

****

‘What by the great demon’s toenails were you doing, man?’ Bartholomew Bask screamed down his frustration at Matheus Hawk’s wallowing figure. ‘Some kind of help you turn out to be. That lad was swatting down your magic like it was …uurghh.’
A bony hand with fingers like talons had erupted up from the water and fastened themselves around the fat merchant’s throat. The boat wobbled precariously as Bartholomew thrashed about and the two sailors did what they could to keep it from capsizing.

‘Uurghh,
get…off, damn riff-raff…tracker, gutter…snipe,’ gasped Bartholomew, as he thrashed at the water where the arm indicated Matheus must be. He was abruptly dragged down to the edge of the boat, his chin cracking on the side as Matheus used Bartholomew to pull himself above the surface.

Ignoring Bartholomew completely, except as purchase to stay afloat, Matheus addressed the closest sailor. ‘Help me out, you fool, don’t just sit there.’ He cast a look at the harbour mouth but
The Griffin
was nowhere to be seen.
‘Damnation!’
he cried and tipped Bartholomew into the water as he clambered aboard. ‘Get us back to the ship and hurry.’ He sat down and wrung water from his sleeves.