Title: The Flight of the Griffin
Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Author:
C.M. Gray Publisher: C.M. Gray
Pages: 219
Language:
English ISBN:
9781471750359
The Kingdom is dying…
The
Darkness is coming… the balance between Order and Chaos is rapidly
shifting and the world is falling towards evil and horror, and all
misery that Chaos will bring.
But there is hope…
Pardigan’s
had enough, he’s only 12, but he’s breaking into the home of one of
Freya's richest merchants... and he’s doing it tonight…
A
burglary that will change their lives forever sets four friends upon a
quest, a race against time, to locate three magical objects and complete
an ancient and desperate spell.
Sailing their boat The
Griffin, the crew are quickly pursued by The Hawk, an evil bounty hunter
and master of dark sorcery, and Belial, King of Demons and champion of
Chaos who seeks to rule the world of man… yet first he must capture the
crew of The Griffin and end their quest…
First Chapter:
The floorboard creaked under the sole of his felt boot - a calculated risk whenever entering a sleeping man's room uninvited.
A
breeze fluttered the loose linen curtain, and the sleeper stirred at
the welcome respite from the hot sticky night. The prowler slowly
exhaled the breath that was starting to burn in his lungs, every sense
tingling, receptive to any change in the room or a sound from the street
below.
The sleeper, thankfully, continued to sleep.
The
street under the second-storey window was silent, the night given up to
the occasional rounds of the city watch and those set on a darker
business, the never-ending cat and mouse game that went mostly
unappreciated by the law-abiding citizens of the sleeping city.
The
summer had been one of the hottest people could ever remember, taxing
the energy of the city’s inhabitants to the limit. Several of the more
elderly citizens down at the port could be heard explaining that, ‘in
their day’, the summers were often this hot, and indeed often hotter. Of
course, these were the same group who would entertain the regulars at
the portside taverns with tales of goblin hordes, ferocious sea serpents
or the time the winters were so cold that the seas had frozen solid.
‘A
man could have walked from here to Minster Island without ever seeing a
boat or even getting his feet wet,’ was a much-repeated reminiscence.
Whatever history really concealed, it was a hot summer, and this, a
particularly humid night.
Pardigan watched the now softly snoring
form and, moving his foot from the traitorous board, crept towards the
cabinet that he knew held his prize. It was an elegant cabinet - its
construction given over to more than mere function. Gracefully curved
legs supported drawers and shelves that were fronted by a scrollwork of
intricate designs. He inserted the blade of his knife between the edges
of the middle left-hand drawer and felt for the hidden catch. If the
information Quint had given him was correct, the false front should
spring open. A prickle of sweat tickled his brow and he wiped it
absently away. Glancing over to the still-sleeping form, he applied a
little more pressure on what he hoped was the catch.
Nothing.
The merchant stirred, smacked his chops, exhaled wetly and then returned to snoring. Pardigan tried again.
Most
people hated the fat merchant, known for his cheating ways and vile
temper, so he and Quint had set about the business of planning to rob
him with great enthusiasm. The break had come quite by chance when Quint
had met the apprentice of a cabinetmaker who’d been happy to talk about
the merchant, and the cabinet he’d helped his master build for him.
‘The
shame of it is that the true beauty of the cabinet will never be
appreciated,’ the apprentice had moaned. ‘Such a cunning mechanism my
master contrived to conceal the hidden safe-box, nothing of the like
have I seen before, nor I fear will I ever see again.’ He had been all
too happy to describe and even sketch the piece for Quint who, of
course, had shown great interest, marvelling at the skill of the
cabinetmaker and, naturally, his gifted apprentice. Several glasses of
elder ale had kept his new friend’s throat well lubricated, an
investment in tonight’s escapade that they had both placed huge hopes
in.
Up until this point, the information seemed to be good; the
cabinet did indeed look like the sketch that he and Quint had spent so
much time studying. Pardigan’s hopes had soared when he’d first set eyes
on it as he was slipping over the windowsill. Right up until now that
is, as his frustration grew. Because the Source damned catch simply
wouldn’t shift - if catch it was. Pardigan was beginning to wonder if
the real catch hadn’t been poor old Quint, whom the apprentice had
conned into buying several glasses of elder ale on another blisteringly
hot day.
Without warning, the warm still of the night was
disturbed as the door to the bedroom opened with a creak, causing the
hairs on Pardigan’s neck to stand up. He slowly turned, half-expecting
to be staring at the tip of a crossbow bolt. Instead, a large grey cat
slunk around the door, ran across and rubbed against his legs, purring
as it sought attention. He ruffled its ears, before gently pushing the
animal away. Without a backward glance the cat walked over and leapt up
onto the bed. Settling comfortably against the sleeping merchant, it lay
watching as Pardigan renewed his efforts.
He applied his knife
once again. Nothing was happening with the left-hand side so he moved
his attention to the right. An audible click echoed around the room,
rewarding his efforts as the false door opened, wobbling the washbasin
that sat precariously upon the cabinet’s top. The merchant turned over,
groaning loudly and ejected the cat from the bed. It meowed, padded over
to the open window and leapt to the sill. Ignoring Pardigan, it sat
regarding the street below with a critical eye.
The merchant
continued to sleep. He was back to breathing heavily, his fat sweaty
chins bobbing with the effort of sucking in the warm moist air.
Pardigan
returned his attention to the cabinet. Behind the false front was a
small opening. Several moneybags had been carelessly tossed on top of
some papers, a few old books and some rolled documents that had been
stacked neatly above on two shelves.
Pardigan hadn’t had any
real idea what he might find, but when he and Quint had been working out
the finer details of the plan, they’d had plenty of time for
speculation. Jewels, money and magical items had been on the hoped-for
and expected list, but Pardigan now noted, with a certain touch
of dismay, that there was a distinct lack of necklaces, rings and
brooches in the safe. He turned over a few of the papers to see what
they hid and wondered at the markings on them. He could read after a
fashion, but only the local low-speak, enough to tell the difference
between a bag of beans and a bag of rice. High-speak was for merchants
and nobles.
He slipped several of the more promising-looking
papers into his coat along with the moneybags, and then a small knife
without a scabbard caught his eye. He picked it up. It had a blade about
a hand’s span long and a plain blue jewel set in the pommel. He put it
into his pocket and cast a last glance over the remainder of the
contents. With a sigh, he gently reset the false front, watching the merchant’s face to make sure he wasn’t disturbed as the catch clicked
softly back into place. Satisfied that he hadn’t been heard, he
straightened and tested the new weight in his pockets. With a smile, he
crossed to the window. The cat watched him approach then meowed in
irritation as he brushed it from the sill. Taking care to mind the loot
in his pockets, he straddled the windowsill and, with one eye to the
street for the city watch and the other on the still sleeping merchant,
made his way carefully to the ground.
Dropping the last few
spans, he landed safely and offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the
Source. Then, after casting up and down the street, he drew in his first
real breath for what seemed an eternity and moved off towards the
sanctuary of the poor quarter. Keeping to the shadows, he kept an eye
open for both the watch and for any opportunist thieves that may be
lying in wait for a rich victim like himself.
****
The
grey cat continued to watch as he scuttled away, noting his haste now he
was in the open. The way he looked back and forth for danger, seeing
everything, but understanding so little.
She’d been waiting for
something like this to happen for several weeks and now she felt both
excitement and regret that the game was to move on. Maybe I was
beginning to enjoy the lazy life of a house cat too much, she wondered.
The easy life did have certain merits, especially for a cat. Licking a
paw she cleaned herself one last time, enjoying a few final moments in
this form, and then leapt from the window, shimmering before spreading
wide, snowy white wings and gliding silently in search of the departing
figure.
****
Pardigan hurried down the darkened alleyways,
the houses crowding closer together the further he got into the poor
quarter. At several points, the buildings actually touched above him and
the alley became a pitch-black tunnel, blocking out even the faint
ambient light that had lit his progress so far. Earlier in the evening,
the oil-lamps would have been lit, but it was late now and the oil had
long burned away. He came to The Stag, an inn on Barrow Street that was
favoured by traders from the market square. The murmur of a few late
drinkers came from behind the heavy closed door, then the sound of a
glass smashing and a woman’s shrill and angry cry prompted Pardigan to
move on before the drinker was tossed onto the street, illuminating him
in the light from within.
At the end of Barrow Street he slowed
to a cautious walk. Market Square was in front of him, a regular hangout
for drunks and beggars who tended to group together. Even at this time
of night there would probably be a few milling around. These people
didn’t seem to keep normal hours. You could be walking around at midday
and most would be sleeping like it was midnight, and then times like
now, they would be up and about sucking on a bottle and probably
wondering idly where the sun had gone to.
Keeping to the shadows
as best he could, he moved into the square being careful to skirt the
darker parts at the edge. Picking up his pace he had to clamp his hand
over his nose and hold his breath as he sidestepped several piles of
rotting vegetables; the warmth of the night rich in their pungent
odours.
Several of the square’s occupants were dotted about but
none seemed interested in him. Three drinkers grouped around a
spluttering fire were singing and laughing as they passed a small
barrel. Pardigan slowed and watched for a moment, fascinated as they
took turns, upending it and laughing at each other’s efforts as more of
the liquid splashed down their chests than into their mouths. Pardigan
shuddered, and wondered at the mystery that was adulthood and at what
age you lost your mind and did crazy things like that.
At 12
years old, Pardigan dreaded the thought of waking up one morning as an
adult. To have had all the fun sucked out of his life, replaced by the
need to scowl at people and tell everyone off for not seeing the world
his way. Growing old was inevitable, growing up was not. He and the
others had made several vows that they would never grow up and would
sail the coast in their boat The Griffin, for a lifetime of fun,
adventure and good times. Whatever happens, I’ll not be sitting in this
square drunk, dribbling and howling at the moon like some crazy dog, he
vowed. Casting another look at the small group, he moved on.
The
square was crossed without incident and he started down The Cannery, a
street so named because of all the fish canning shops that lined its
sides as it went down the hill towards the city's little port. During
daylight hours, it was one of the busiest areas of town, with fishermen
hauling their catch up from the port and the canneries bustling with
wagons shipping out their product all over the realm. At this hour, all
was deserted and Pardigan passed down the pungent street without
incident, a few squabbling rats its only nocturnal residents.
Coming
down into the port, there remained one final obstacle in his path -
Blake’s. The largest of the inns around the harbour, it never closed. On
a warm night like tonight, even at this late hour, there could be
people sitting outside hoping for the comfort of a small breeze to come
in across the sea.
The sound of music drifted up to him
accompanied by the sound of voices laughing and talking – there was no
way he could escape being noticed. He would have to cross right in front
of the entrance to get to where The Griffin was moored. Drawing his
coat about him, he walked on, a shiver running the length of his spine -
his nerves once again on edge.
A lone figure sat on a barrel
under the main window, bathed in a pool of light from a lantern that
hung above the door. Keeping his eyes averted and with his heart beating
in his
ears, Pardigan tried not to stumble on the uneven cobbles
in his haste to get past. Nearly there, only Blake’s to pass, almost
there… Talking to himself often helped in times of stress, it was almost
as if some of the burden of the moment was shared … Only a little way
more … Nearly …
A sudden movement from behind and he spun round
in time to see a dark figure loom up with arms outstretched. With a cry,
Pardigan stepped back, tripped over something and then hit the ground
hard, pain instantly screaming from his back and left ankle.
He
lay writhing on the cobblestones gasping, fear and despair filling him
as he realised he’d been caught so close to The Griffin. It was almost
in sight, only a little further around the port, but this obviously
wasn’t to be his night after all. That’s how my luck’s been running
lately, thought Pardigan, offering a silent curse to the Source. Shadows
gathered about him and he tried to struggle up but someone flipped him
face down and sat on his back. Powerless to move or even breathe
properly - flutterings of panic threatened to overcome him. Footfalls
surrounded him and he waited for the touch of a knife.
‘You
should have told us you were going to do it tonight.’ The speaker tapped
Pardigan’s head with something hard. ‘We could have helped you know.’
He sounded cross.
‘Quint?’ Pardigan felt a wave of relief and
then anger at being tricked like this. ‘Get off me, you lump.’ He felt
the weight move and several pairs of hands rolled him over. A lantern
was lit and he gazed up into the shadowy faces of his friends.
‘Well,
how did it go?’ asked the tall scruffy boy holding the lamp. Tarent,
for that was his name, reached down and pulled Pardigan to his feet.
Waves of relief filled Pardigan and he smiled, his anger slipping away.
‘You rotten…’ he took a half-hearted swing at Tarent who moved aside easily. ‘Why did you jump me? I thought you were…’
‘Serves
you right, now tell us…’ hissed Loras, the fourth and final member of
The Griffin’s crew. Smaller than the others with a tangled mop of red
hair, Loras was peering up at Pardigan with a frown etching shadows on
his face. ‘We found your bunk empty, and then Quint told us about your
plan.’
‘Which he wasn’t meant to carry out yet,’ added Quint.
‘So
we came and waited for you here. You’ve been ages.’ Loras was moving
from one foot to the other, clearly agitated. ‘Quint seemed to think
you’d have plenty of coins and would be in a better position to settle
our bill than we are,’ he glanced back into the inn, a worried look on
his face. ‘Like I said, you’ve been ages and we were hungry.’
‘And thirsty,’ added Tarent. ‘So we appear to be a little in arrears with the good landlord here.’
Loras
reached out and dusted Pardigan’s cloak. ‘Sorry about the surprise, but
you should have included us, so…how did it go?’ All three waited
patiently for some sort of response.
Pardigan finally shook his
head in wonder at his friends, then checked up and down the path for
observers. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out a moneybag, recently
the property of a certain local merchant, and fished out a silver coin
that he tossed to Tarent. ‘Settle up here and let’s get back to the
boat. I’ll tell you all just how well it went when we get there.’ Tarent
disappeared inside the inn as the others moved off towards the gently
bobbing boats of the port eager to hear more.
Now, back in the
company of his three friends, Pardigan finally felt safe. They were a
strange group, all with a different story of hard luck and the tough
times they’d had before finding each other. They’d since formed the
closest thing to a family that any of them had ever known - even the
boat that they called home had a sorry tale. Quint had found it in a
terrible state, rotting in a small river, off the main estuary to the
city. Having nowhere better to go and all alone, he’d started to live on
it. The boat had conveyed the feeling of abandonment and the only other
inhabitants had been a few mice and lots of spiders. Quint had spent
the first few weeks alone and in fear, expecting a gang of cutthroats to
reclaim their vessel at any moment. Then, as the weeks had turned to
months, he had realised The Griffin, for that was the name he had found
under layers of grime, really was abandoned and he began to relax. The
hull was sound, had no leaks and it had several cabins plus a good-sized
cargo area. The problem with the boat had simply been neglect. Whoever
had abandoned her hadn’t left any clue to their identity, but abandoned
she most certainly was.
About ten spans long, The Griffin made a
wonderful home, blending in wherever the boys moored her. They spent
most of their time in the rivers hidden from the world, but made several
trips into the port cities for supplies and a change of scene.
Pardigan, of course, was the practised thief, bringing gold, food and
supplies to the boat whenever they were needed. He felt no remorse from
his exploits, saying it was a harsh world and if he didn’t take stuff
then someone else would. Quint often found the rich targets for Pardigan
and was the only one who had known how to sail, making him the logical
choice as Captain. As the oldest, Quint was the unofficial leader of the
group.
Loras had once been apprenticed to a magician, but the
old boy had died before passing on much of his craft. When he had left,
Loras took what he could of the books and spells; the boys had found him
appearing dazed and confused, with soot all over his face, blowing up
tree stumps in the forest.
‘That’s great!’ Quint had said, obviously impressed at Loras’s efforts, ‘How do you do it?’
‘I
haven’t the foggiest idea,’ Loras had replied. ‘I was actually trying
to make the stumps grow new leaves; they aren’t supposed to blow up like
this.’ He’d looked questioningly at a tatty old book held together with
string. ‘I think I must be doing something wrong - maybe there’s
another page missing?’
He was waving his wand again, hopping about and
trying to read, all at the same time. Quint had brought him back to the boat and Loras had settled in well.
The
fourth crew member was Tarent who was the laziest person that any of
them had ever met, or so they often told him. Fortunately, he hid this
flaw in his character by being one of the nicest people you could ever
want to meet. He slept more than anyone had a need or right to, and
could spend the most amazing amount of time merely gazing out to sea, or
up at a star-filled night while the others were working. To many this
would have grated and annoyed, but he would also talk and talk and talk,
which was a good thing. He would tell about the night skies or monsters
from the deep and he knew the reason why a compass always pointed north
or how to make the ticker fish bite on a hot afternoon. After supper
Tarent could always be relied upon for a good story to lead their minds
around the world or bring enchanted sea creatures up from the deep. His
body could be lazy, but his mind was as nimble as an acrobat. He was one
of the crew, and shared many of the responsibilities of leadership with
Quint.
The Griffin was waiting for them at the end of the quay,
dwarfed in the shadow of a large black barge. The fragrant aromas of
spices and herbs rich on the warm night air attesting to the cargo the
barge was carrying. They clambered up the gangplank and Quint waited at
the top until the last of them came aboard, then he pulled it in,
sealing the boat from the land. He glanced over to the barge where a
sailor was smoking a clay pipe, watching them. Giving a wave that was
returned; he slipped down the hatchway pulling it closed behind him.
Down
below, two lamps were already lit, the slight breeze from the open
portholes enough to make the flames flicker, sending shadows dancing
around the cabin. Everyone had settled; waiting for the news as Pardigan
stood at the table and, without any ceremony, started to empty out his
pockets.
He carefully placed the bags on the table, side by
side, eight in all. The boys watched without saying a word as each bag
made a soft chink, the cord drawstring falling softly to the side. Eight
bags. Four were blue, one red, one yellow and two were of common
canvas. The papers and books were passed across to Tarent, while the
small knife was placed upon the table alongside the bags.
They
hadn't believed Quint when he’d told them of the plan; hadn't actually
thought that Pardigan would come back with anything except a tall tale
of a daring escape and some would-have-beens and should-have-beens. They
hadn't thought they’d really be seeing moneybags this evening. They all
sat and stared.
Loras eventually broke the silence. ‘So what’s in ‘em?’
‘I haven’t had a chance to look,’ said an exhausted Pardigan. He waved them an invitation to the table.
Loras
jumped up and tipped out the contents from one of the canvas bags.
Copper coins fell out and rolled around. ‘About thirteen shillings in
coppers,’ he muttered, pushing the coins with his fingers. He picked up a
red bag, untied the cord, and upended it. More coins hit the table making an altogether different sound, the buttery
colour of gold glinting in the lamplight. ‘Seven sovereigns and one
royal crown,’ said Loras after a moment, his interest growing. The other
bags were duly opened and all but the yellow bag held coins of gold,
silver and copper. The yellow bag held a necklace that sparkled with
precious stones as Loras held it up in awe for the boys to see.
‘It’s beautiful, Pardigan. Who, in the name of the Source did you rob? Was it the King?’ They all stared at Pardigan.
‘What
sort of trouble are we in?’ asked Loras, as the peril of their
situation suddenly dawned upon him. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Come on, let’s not panic,’ said Quint. ‘Did anybody see you, stop you or question you at any point, Pardigan?’
‘No, nobody saw me and I’m sure I didn’t leave any clues,’ stated Pardigan confidently. ‘I’m very good at what I do.’
‘Course you are, but come morning the city will be in uproar about this - we have to play this with cunning and no mistake.’
Quint looked at each of them in turn; lastly he turned to Tarent. ‘What do you think?’
Tarent
sighed. ‘If we up and sail on the first tide come daybreak, the watch
will be after us like a shot. We can’t be appearing guilty.’ He pondered
a moment. ‘...Even if we did want to give it all back, which I don’t
think we do’? He glanced around the group seeing shaking heads, ‘Well we
couldn’t, could we?’ Everyone shook their heads again. ‘We keep the
coins, some on the boat and some we take up river and stash back at the
moorings.’
Quint nodded.
‘The papers I’ll look over
tonight to see what we have, then we either burn them or plan on their
use. What we don’t do is leave them here to be found if we do get
searched. Source willing, we can up and leave in a few days' time and be
back on our usual moorings for further plans.’ He turned once more to
Quint.
‘Agreed,’ said Quint. ‘Check the papers as quick as you
can. The coppers we can add to our own cash box with a few of the silver
as well, so we can get our normal provisions.’
‘And the knife?’ asked Pardigan.
They all stared at the knife, still lying next to the sacks. The blue jewel sparkled in the lamplight.
‘It’s
a very unusual knife,’ said Tarent in a soft voice almost as if talking
to himself. ‘The best thing would be to lose it over the side, or drop
it in some back alley well away from here.’
He glanced across at Quint, but he was saying nothing, simply staring with the others at the knife on the table.
It
seemed almost to be calling out to each one of them, and they all knew
they wouldn’t be throwing it into the sea, or losing it anywhere else
for that matter.
‘Stash it in the stove for now until we can think on it,’ said Quint. Sounds of ready agreement came from all around.
Pardigan
placed the knife in the cold stove then piled old ash and wood over it.
The cash was split between that which was staying, and that which was
going, and then Tarent moved off to his cabin to check the papers. The
boat settled down; Pardigan and Quint went on deck in search of fresh
air before sleeping.
‘I can't believe it was really there, false front and all,’ whispered Quint as he lay back looking up at the stars.
‘Oh, it really was there, just as he said it was and twice as lovely as the picture.’
‘I
wish I could have seen it. What were you thinking when you were
creeping round the room?’ Quint sat up and stared at Pardigan. ‘Weren’t
you scared to the very marrow of your bones?’
‘Being scared is
what keeps a thief alive and not caught and hanged,’ replied Pardigan.
He pulled the knife from his pocket, and rubbed the blue gem with his
thumb.
‘I thought you put that into the stove,’ said Quint watching him.
Pardigan stared at the knife, a frown creasing his face. ‘I did, I’m sure I did but…’
‘Well
you can’t have, can you?’ Quint nodded at the knife in Pardigan’s hand.
‘Don’t get caught with it, put it in the stove, eh?’
‘I will.’
Pardigan ran his finger across the long thin blade. It wasn’t sharp but
it didn’t feel dull either, he could just make out signs or writing on
the side in the dim light, but unfortunately it wasn’t bright enough to
see properly. ‘I’m sure I put it in the stove, I remember covering it
with ash,’ he murmured as he slipped it back in his cloak.
The
boys chatted about the night’s events for a while longer. Pardigan
telling of scaling the wall and creeping around the sleeping chamber as
the fat merchant snored, puffed and farted, and Quint telling a lengthy
story of how Tarent and Loras and he had managed to dine at Blake’s on
the slim hope of him turning up with a few coins to pay for it all.
‘Blake
would have skinned you all alive if he’d known you were eating and
drinking all evening with no money in your pockets,’ laughed Pardigan.
‘Ahhh,
but we had faith in you, my friend,’ countered Quint, punching Pardigan
softly in the arm.
‘And besides, we were hungry and the iced lemon
water at Blake's is the best in all of Freya; we needed it.’
‘I know,’ murmured Pardigan softly, ‘let’s hope this is a sign that our fortunes have changed.’
As
the stars maintained their journey across the night sky, the city
continued to sleep and the boys finally went below to their bunks, ready
for a busy day.
****
The owl watched from the top of the
boat’s mast as the two boys disappeared and with a beat of her wings
flew off, back into the city. It had been an interesting evening and she
felt pleased that events were finally moving along. She knew the boys
would need a nudge or two to put them in the right direction, but she
had a good feeling about them, a far better feeling than she had when
the merchant had got his greedy, pudgy hands on the knife.
She
soared over the shops and buildings of the city enjoying the freedom of
flight, the air flowing over her feathers as she rode the warm currents
rising from the buildings below. She watched as the moon rose above the
water, its reflection rippling upon the calm ocean, its pale light
making long dark shadows of the boats in the harbour, giving a new
texture to the cityscape beneath her.
She flew until she saw the
world start to awake and with it, dawn break on a brand new day. Turning
back towards the harbour, she glided down to alight upon the deck of
The Griffin and, returning to the form of the grey cat curled up on a
badly stored sail and there she slept, waiting for the start of the
day’s events to unfold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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