Ives turned his attention to the man they carried between them.
“You would think they would treat their harbourmaster with a little more respect.” He remarked.
“I’m not really the harbour master.” The injured man flushed. “I’m the harbourmaster’s assistant. I run, fetch and stand in for him when he is asleep in his cabin.”
“Who is this idle lout?” Ives demanded. “He doesn’t seem much, especially as we arrived at the quayside after crashing into the bridge and yet he still never thought to raise his head and look out.”
“I believe he is at the gambling pits.” came the reply. “He likes to watch the gladiators and places bets on the side.”
“Does he win?”
“Rarely, and when he loses, he is often in a foul mood and takes it out on others around him.”
“I would like to have a word in his ear.” Ives remarked. “You would think he would look after the welfare of his associates.”
“His slaves you mean.” Came the defeated reply. “I will be in so much trouble for this.” Then his face spilt with a wide grin and he chuckled despite the pain.
“What is it?” Ives asked. “What’s so funny?”
“You would need a step stool to reach my master’s ear. He is eight-foot-tall just like your shaggy friend over there.”
“He’s a Minotaur?”
“Everyone of power is in Taurean. We all just do as our masters order us.”
Weyn butted into the conversation.
“Has anyone noticed we have one missing from our party?”
Thomas moved closer, overhearing Weyn’s innocent revelation.
“Keep it down!” he hissed. “Let’s not draw attention to the fact.”
The group continued to move slowly along the shop-lined street before entering a large open plaza with a curved colonnade around the perimeter. Fountains splashed elegantly into large ponds, miniature rainbows winking where the sun reflected on the water. Brightly coloured ornamental fish swam lazily about the lily pads, mouths gaping wide at the surface when anyone came near, eagerly sucking down the food thrown to them.
Statues of Minotaur on huge plinths were dotted around the area, their muscular physiques and fearsome weapons frozen in time for the people of Taurean to observe and wonder at the masters towering above them.
“What is this place?” Thomas asked.
“The Plaza of the Fallen.” The harbour master’s assistant replied. “It is here we remember the mighty, here we honour our previous masters.”
“Who is that one?” Thomas asked, pointing out a large statue of a Minotaur standing proud, his face looking towards the sun. The sculptor had made every effort to ensure his subject appeared fearless, heavily muscled legs slightly parted, ornate armour and a huge double-headed axe at his side. The withered remains of flowers and offerings were spaced at the base of the statue, turning it into a shrine of remembrance.
“That’s Kristoph, the prince.” The injured assistant replied. “He went sailing with his brother Drummon and there was an accident on the lake. No one ever found his body.”
“Kristoph?” Ives remarked. “Isn’t that the name they were calling Rauph?”
The man struggled to turn his head, wincing in pain, taking in the long shaggy haired Minotaur walking behind them. “That Minotaur could never be the prince. Look at his matted hair, his dishevelled appearance. I mean looking like that, no one would recognise the prince unless they looked really closely at the shape of his horns…” His eyes widened suddenly, before turning to examine the statue. “By the Gods… could it be?”
Thomas tried to scan the crowds through the small gaps between the Minotaur troops as they led the group towards a bridge that rose in sweeping, graceful curves at the far end of the plaza before stretching off towards a large elaborate building that appeared more opulent than the other structures below it.
“I presume that is the palace.” Thomas asked, trying to gain more information from Aelius.
“Don’t talk unless you are spoken to… pet!” snarled Drummon, pushing past Aelius and towering over the captain. “Or I will take great delight in shutting you up permanently.”
Thomas turned towards Rauph, expecting his colleague to say something in his defence, but his navigator appeared subdued, even beaten, walking along head held low, his thoughts, for once, not telegraphed on his bovine face. Rauph was not shackled physically, but mentally it appeared he was helpless to resist the path destiny had placed him upon.
Drummon’s pelt shone midnight blue in the sunshine, emphasising his thick muscular frame. The only change in his colour was the top of his head between his horns where there was a thinning patch. A pale scar clearly showed above his left eye, a reminder of yet another example of Drummon diplomacy. Massive curled black horns, oiled until they gleamed, towered above Thomas, the symmetry of the lethal tips now ruined by the chip Rauph had taken out of the right one.
The prince regent stared intently down at the captain as if daring him to speak again, then, confident there would be no more noise, the Minotaur stalked off through the group towards Rauph, his sheer size and strength physically intimidating Thomas to the point that he only realised he was holding his breath once the massive beast had moved away.
This was not a good situation. Just one of these Minotaur was sufficiently powerful enough to bring the three of them down and ten such warriors surrounded them, all adorned with gleaming armour, axes and spears. Then there were the others carrying the female Minotaur in her brightly coloured palanquin. They were sorely outnumbered and in no position to escape. He bit his lip nervously looking this way and that, before noticing a shadowy figure at the base of one of the immense columns lining the plaza.
Thomas squinted to be sure and recognised the cloaked figure of Mathius smiling back at him. Where did he manage to find a cloak and how had he obscured his features to escape capture? As he watched, the assassin turned silently away, the cloak revealed as a tablecloth from the Fickle Fish.
“What do you think they want with us?” Ives asked sweating at the physical effort required to keep assisting their injured colleague along. “Thomas can you help us for a moment?” he pleaded. “My shoulder feels as if it is about to snap off. I need help or I fear I will never roll a carpet again.”
Thomas shrugged and walked over, resigning himself to the fact they were practically prisoners until they reached their destination. He tried to grasp the injured man but the three of them were making it more difficult to walk with any speed. A large sadistic Minotaur purposefully bumped into the three of them and sent both them and their charge sprawling on the cobbles.
“Why did you do that?” Ives snapped, forgetting himself. A solid backhand from the guard sent the merchant sprawling. Thomas went for his sword, Weyn for his bow, only to be answered by a ring of glittering spear points and Drummon laughing in the background.
“I don’t think your pets are house trained” he jibed at Rauph.
The navigator did not respond and simply stood there silently with his head bowed. The spear points glittered in the sunlight, tension visibly rising in the group. It would take just one false step to turn this into a situation where blood would fly and lives would be lost.
An explosion of red and purple parrots blasted over the group, feathers flapping like rolling thunder in a tremendous cacophony of surprised squawks and squeals as they took flight from the plaza floor, launching themselves into the air. Several well-timed deposits of bird dung struck across the group splattering all across Thomas’s tunic. A young child screamed in laughter running around waving his arms having spooked the birds and pretended to squeal the same sound as the departing psittacines, before returning to the closest pillar in the colonnade and running into the shadows in a fit of giggles.
The Minotaur guards started snorting at the sight, none more so than Drummon, who slapped Rauph across the shoulders before snapping orders to the group to get e
veryone moving again. One guard turned to the injured harbour assistant and threw him physically over his shoulder despite the man’s pain-filled protests and the group began traversing the bridge, revealing a truly magnificent view of the beauty of the city of Taurean.
As the Minotaur and their ‘guests’ crossed the bridge the young child held out his hand to a cloaked man squatting at the base of one of the pillars.
“I did wot you wanted now where’s me reward?” He gestured, snot running from his right nostril, his cheeks flush from running. Mathius flipped a copper bit towards the child, then pulled his tablecloth cloak more tightly around him and moved to follow the distant party.
“That’s one copper bit and a meal you owe me Thomas Adams!” he muttered under his breath, knowing that before this would end Thomas would owe him much more than that.
* * * * * *
“What is Ashe doing?” Rowan asked, nudging Commagin’s arm and getting a dark scowl from the Dwarven engineer as amber liquid slopped from a test tube he was holding and dribbled down his arm.
“How would I know?” he snapped, wobbling dangerously on the tall stool he had used to get up to his work bench. The Dwarf furiously licked his arm, ensuring not a drop of his latest alcoholic experiment was wasted. “He’s making a costume of some kind.”
“But where did he get all of those feathers from?” Rowan asked, nudging Commagin again and getting another loud grunt of disapproval.
“Be careful lass this has taken a while to get just right.” the engineer warned sternly. “If you knock my arm one more time, I swear I will bar you from my laboratory whether you are a keen engineer or not.”
Rowan smiled at the gruff nature of her colleague. It had taken a while for Commagin to get back to his usual grumpy self and Rowan was glad to see him stabilizing from the loss of his lab assistant. The wounds were still there, a distant stare, a moment of unexpected silence but Commagin had found something to focus his distress onto. If only the same could be said for Thomas.
When that man finished acting like James Tiberius Kirk, heading off to who knows where with his ‘landing party’ she was going to have stern words with him. He needed to open up to her, divulge the secret gnawing at him, be honest with his feelings and tell her he loved her. This was not the USS Enterprise and her captain was not going to end up dating a green skinned woman if Rowan had anything to say about it!
“What else are you working on?” she asked, breaking her thoughts by lifting a mass of wires, dead circuits and springs from the workstation, even as one ear listened in to the furious banging and clashing of Ashe on another work station at the far side of the room.
“Are you sure he isn’t doing anything dangerous?” Rowan asked, twirling a screwdriver in one hand. “He does appear to be tackling whatever it is with some gusto.”
“Oh pickled walnuts!” Ashe cursed as he dropped something with a tremendous clatter, before falling to the floor as he tried to retrieve it, pulling what looked like strips of canvas, feathers and thin canes down on top of him.
“I’m sure he is harmless.” Commagin replied, adjusting his spectacles as he held the test tube up to the light, licking his lips enthusiastically. “Why can’t you leave me a moment to assess the success of my latest endeavour and come back in about three hours or so?”
Rowan gently placed the wires back down onto the bench and turned to take in the mish-mash that was Commagin’s workshop. Pots, pans, wires, test tubes, flickering flames in glass lanterns and multi-coloured liquids shot around the place like some futuristic transport system. Piles of manuals and textbooks piled precariously on surfaces filled with clutter.
A rack shaped like a fish, stuffed with small pieces of paper swam alongside a calendar dated 3027. Silver discs hung spinning on wires, humming softly as they turned. Tools of every shape and size dotted the floor, hammers, chisels, spanners socket sets and jar upon jar of rusty screws and nails. Inventions from years past and times yet to be, lay alongside models of tanks and strange automobiles, whilst flying machines hung from the ceiling or were shoved, wings broken, onto shelves. Pieces of genius lay forgotten and forlorn, amidst disasters and debacles, everything coated in a thick layer of dust.
Small glass cabinets held figurines of little fairies and small models of dragons sniffing flowers and pulling hand carts. There were boxes with lids created from mosaic mother of pearl, dusty tumblers filled with mould, discarded lotions or potions. Assorted bottles in lots of different shapes and sizes. Come to think of it there were an awful lot of bottles!
Another crash followed, a nut related profanity its companion, before a loud rustling and crunching sound announced that Ashe was heading in their direction. Rowan backed herself into a corner, checking her pockets to ensure there was nothing of value to lose and was just placing a polite smile on her face when the Halfling squeezed between two stacks of newspapers that wobbled ominously at his passage.
“Hi Rowan.” Ashe beamed cheerfully, his face beaming despite the feathers plastered to his grimy face. “I don’t suppose you have any glue over here do you?” Rowan looked around and spotted a green pot filled with something runny and swiftly passed it to the miniature inventor.
“What are you doing?” she asked sweetly.
“I can’t tell you. Its top secret.” Ashe winked conspiratorially. “I’m going to amaze everyone and get Sinders to fly at the same time. It is going to be amazing and… this is honey.”
“Uh…” Rowan took a second to understand what Ashe was talking about. “Honey?” she asked.
“I think so.” Ashe replied, twisting the lid off the jar and sticking his finger into the gloopy liquid inside. “See!” He pulled his finger out and stuffed it into his mouth, sucking noisily. “hunneee.”
“I can’t see any other type of glue around.” Rowan apologised, watching Ashe making the most hilarious set of facial expressions as he sucked on his finger. “Commagin do we have any glue around.”
“It’s in the green pot.” The Dwarven engineer shot back from his high stool perch. “You can’t miss it. It looks like...”
“Hunneee!” Ashe gurgled.
* * * * * *
Taurean was beautiful, even if the upper echelon of its inhabitants were not. Thomas found wherever he looked it was like seeing a colour brochure for a summer holiday made real. The island was roughly circular, with bridges spreading out across the huge crystal-clear lake. The party had walked from the previous plaza to an area higher than anywhere else on the island. The buildings perched upon this mount were mostly white with terracotta tiled roofs and statues as far as the eye could see.
Huge spacious buildings, large open balconies, pillared entrances enclosing manicured gardens and tinkling waterfalls. The other obvious change from the tightly packed streets below were the guards. The more guards seemingly standing at your door, the more powerful a position you had.
Passers-by stopped what they were doing and bowed, voices dropped away to be replaced by respectful silence as the procession of guards and prisoners passed by. The captain noted that the palanquin curtains did not move in acknowledgement. For all Thomas knew the female Minotaur could be asleep in there. It was quite clear to him who was senior overseer here.
Then there were the slaves. Everywhere you looked there were human slaves or the ever-present visual representation of them. Statues of overseers whipping the human population in the act of construction marked the architect guild. Friezes of slaves toiling in the fields marked the agriculture guild. Humans in sandals and for want of a better description, togas ran from place to place, coloured beads around their necks marking them as brightly as the tattoos down their arms marked their ownership.
“Are all these people slaves?” Thomas asked Aelius, watching the humans running around and bowing their heads in respect as the procession passed them by. “Surely they can’t all be slaves. Are there some people that live their own lives, have their own properties and dreams?”
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“Humans are never treated as equals here.” Aelius whispered back. “It is not permitted. If humans are offered freedom, then they will want more rights, better pay, positions of power. The matriarch has ruled this can never be. Taurean’s rule here. Humans serve us. This is the way it should be. It is the way it will always be. Now be quiet before I am forced to silence you.”
Thomas closed his mouth and turned away, realising the spans of the bridge forked ahead, with the procession going to the left, instead of to the right where the bridge led across from the island over to the mainland and the towering pyramid at its far end, surrounded by mile upon mile of thick dark rainforest. Something about the structure caused shivers to run down the captain’s spine. The pyramid was ominous, a brooding presence that towered over everything. It was a majestic monument that made him realise just how small he was in comparison.
Was it a temple? Did they undertake sacrificial offerings to their gods like the Aztecs? He hoped he would never know. The fork continued to swing around to the left leading up to the final courtyard outside the marble steps of the palace. The procession stopped and the palanquin lowered gently to the ground.
The guards sprang to attention as the curtain was held aside and the female Minotaur stepped out onto the palace steps. A thousand questions sprang into Thomas’s mind and he opened his mouth to ask but a stern look from Aelius stopped him in his tracks. Mora gathered her blue dress about her and turned to address the group.
“I have decided you shall all be invited to a banquet to celebrate the return of my dear son Kristoph.” The matriarch decreed.
“What!” Drummon snarled in disbelief. “Celebrate the return of Kristoph! We do not even know this is Kristoph. Why should we celebrate it?”
“It will not take long to identify Kristoph’s markings and confirm his heritage.” Mora replied icily. “Summon the physicians. Let this question be answered to silence those with little faith at this miracle that has befallen us. After all, not everyone can have a mother’s intuition.” Mora towered above them all, radiating power and might. Thomas found himself slightly in awe of her presence.
The Labyris Knight Page 23