The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  Octavian jogged alongside, as Kerian manoeuvred the mounts, across the sand and back towards the marooned ship. Electing to explore the far side of the vessel, they discovered a wide gangway that allowed them to ascend to the deck. Kerian urged Toledo to make the climb, the horse’s hooves clattering heavily upon the cedar wood planking that made up the deck. Dorian the donkey and Octavian’s mount followed after him, with the gypsy coming up behind. Once they were all safely aboard, Kerian dropped from the saddle, crumbling the dried flowers scattered across the deck into pieces of dust as he walked to the far side of the ship and scanned what little of the area he could see.

  “What are you doing?” Octavian asked coming up beside him.

  “I’m just checking we are not being followed.” Kerian replied seriously before turning back to the gangway.

  “Help me with this.” he urged, gesturing that his guide assist him with lifting the cumbersome ramp, thereby cutting off any slim chance of anything unwanted coming up onto the craft with them. The two men crashed the gangway down onto the deck, then sank to the floor, breathless but thankful to be safe for the time being.

  Kerian closed his eyes for a second, whispering a silent prayer of thanks to his gods, then took in the vessel about him. There was a single mast in the centre of the deck, stretching high above them, the ragged main sail still remained in place, securely fixed to a spar off the mast. He noted that only the top of the sail was secured this way. Holes in the bulwark indicated where the bottom end of the rectangular sail would be located if the ship were under way.

  Brushing away the dried flowers scattered about the deck, Kerian noted that the inner planks beneath were roped together with carved mortices and the gaps between these wooden beams were caulked with dusty reed bales. Assorted urns, items of furniture and dusty chests were secured under tarpaulins, evenly spaced about the deck. He turned towards the bow and took in the figurehead staring directly at him. It was carved in the likeness of a bird, much like a falcon, dried flowers hung in garlands around its neck and in discarded piles beneath, as if the creature had been worshipped in some way. Kerian then realised that the figurehead looked back over the ship and not out in the direction of travel, so the guardian could look out over the ship and crew, granting protection as they sailed.

  “Well at least we have light for the moment.” Octavian laughed, using the torch to light a lantern suspended above his head. Kerian grinned, despite himself, relief flooding through him as the lantern light flared brightly and gave out warmth and a feeling of security. He looked back at his companion who was now taking in the ship around them and then stopped smiling as a disturbing thought suddenly occurred to him.

  “What colour are your eyes?” he asked carefully.

  “Brown of course.” Octavian pulled a funny face, using his finger to draw down his bottom lid and wiggled his right eye about showing lots of the surrounding white and a dark brown iris. “That’s a rather personal question. Why do you ask?” The gypsy’s tone had changed from happy to serious in a moment. Then after an uncomfortable pause, Octavian smiled again, jumping to his feet and moving across the deck to check the items secured there, purposefully not turning to look at his suspicious charge.

  “We have some more torches!” he exclaimed, throwing a few in Kerian’s direction from a pile stacked upon the deck. “Store these in our saddlebags please, whilst I get some others lit.” Within moments four more brands were blazing from sconces evenly set about the mast and deck, finally pushing back the oppressive darkness that had lingered about them for so long.

  Kerian looked thoughtfully at his guide, knowing there were more questions he needed to ask, more secrets he needed to discover but realising no more information was going to be forthcoming. He turned back towards the lantern, the hypnotic flame dancing before his eyes, allowing him to clear his mind and formulate his plan of interrogation.

  “How ever did a boat get out here in the desert?” he asked, more to himself than to his guide. “Who do you think owned this vessel?”

  “I have no idea.” Octavian replied, moving over to some crates located near a hatchway in the deck that descended to a lower level. He drew aside the tarpaulin tied over them and opened the first crate, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Little golden statues glistened in the flickering torchlight. The gypsy reached in with a sigh and lifted one out, examining it with an eye to turning a profit.

  “I’ll tell you something.” He gestured towards Kerian holding up the foot-high figure. “If this is one of the golden people from Tahl Avan, they were really, really small.” The gypsy placed the little gold figurine to one side and continued to delve through the contents of the crate.

  “How could you see me in the dark?” Kerian asked quietly. “How did you find me in the shadows?”

  Octavian reached deeper into the crate and lifted out a long slender dagger and some golden scarab brooches.

  “Now this is nice.” He commented loudly, pretending he had not heard Kerian’s last question. A heavy footstep reverberated throughout the ship, making Octavian freeze in his foraging and Kerian blink away from the lantern that now swung erratically on its hook.

  “Was that you?” they both asked at once. Kerian shook his head, as another heavy step landed and something terrifying started to climb up from below decks. Its nightmare form becoming clearer with every step the lumbering figure took.

  Octavian slowly, gently, placed the golden statues back into the crate and turned to face their latest threat, his head slowly angling up as the creature towered above him. It stood about seven feet tall, a terrifying mummy wrapped in bandages that had been applied with skill, dedication, ritualistic care and respect. Assorted treasures were wrapped about the creature’s body, artefacts it was expected to take with it into the afterlife. The wrappings were only loose about its head, where the skin beneath glowed in the torchlight.

  As Octavian stared in horror, he made out the face of the monster more clearly. It was frozen in a scream of pain, the attention to detail on its intricate death mask showing every piece of hair, every once pulsing vein and the blank expression of eyes that should no longer see. The golden head of the mummified fiend looked down with a creaking groan, appearing to focus intently on Octavian, where he knelt, afraid to move, at its feet.

  “Look everything is just fine. It’s just a simple misunderstanding. I’ve put everything back in place. Nothing is missing.” The gypsy uttered breathlessly, holding his hands up to display the fact he was not hiding anything. The monster leant down, placing its face inches from Octavian’s own, as its spindly gold fingers reached out to grab him roughly by the shoulders. By moving in closer, the creature revealed something even more terrifying than the malice radiating from its form, more disgusting than the smells wafting from its bandages and more horrifying than its open mouth frozen forever screaming in agony. The secret of Tahl Avan was suddenly revealed.

  This creature wore no death mask. The agonised face preserved in gold was its own. The mummy had been encased in molten gold whilst very much alive.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ashe laughed riotously, rocking backwards in the massive chair he sat in, almost dropping the goblet of milk he held in his little hand. The Halfling’s face started to contort and go crimson and then he choked, blowing milk out of his nose and spraying it all over his plate. The harbourmaster’s assistant sitting opposite him looked on in horror as droplets sprayed across the tablecloth, dotting his meticulous place setting. He reached for a napkin; slowly pulling the pristine linen from an elaborately engraved golden tube designed to keep the cloth in its shape before leaning forwards and wiping furiously to clean every trace of Ashe’s outburst. It was now quite apparent to the injured man as to why his seat had been suspiciously vacant when they had all been ushered into the hall.

  “This is the best bit...” Ashe grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and his nose with the back of his sleeve, before leaning for
wards carefully balancing on the pile of teetering cushions beneath him. “So all that time we were looking for the sultan’s treasure it was actually the flower on the pedestal behind us.”

  “Ashe! Please behave.” Thomas glared at the Halfling, embarrassed at his lack of decorum and at how he always exaggerated tales about his past. As far as the captain was aware, the thief had never left Catterick in his entire life, so the chances he ever robbed a sultan’s palace was highly unlikely, a proverbial shaggy dog’s tale as it were. “We are honoured guests here and should act as such. Remember you are representing my crew.”

  Thomas watched Ashe bouncing about on the cushions as if it were a trampoline and tried not to laugh at the sombre pout that was now forming on the Halfling’s lips. There was an innocence about the little crewman that warmed you to him, despite how angry he could sometimes make you feel. Ashe almost lost his balance and his hand landed on the table top allowing the captain a glimpse of his soiled bandage, a reminder of the injuries the little thief had suffered. Despite his pain, Ashe still managed to make light of things and smile, a trait they could all definitely benefit from.

  “Please try and sit still.” The captain warned, concern now colouring his tone.

  “This chair is too big!” Ashe commented, wiggling forwards and trying to get comfortable. “When are they going to bring some food in? I am really hungry. Did Colette tell you I flew today? If I ask that Minotaur guard nicely, do you think he will swoosh me into the table?”

  “I don’t think so.” Thomas replied, looking at the surly creature standing at attention to the rear of Ashe and briefly had the image of Ashe being smashed rather than swooshed into the heavy furniture. “We are all having the same issues; the chairs are too big even for me.”

  “But I’m much smaller than you.” Ashe remarked. “It’s much harder for m…” The Halfling suddenly dropped from sight with a crash, sending cushions up into the air and setting the wine goblets trembling.

  Thomas rolled his eyes and tried to pretend everything was okay despite the fact his gut told him it clearly was not. He took a moment to look around and take in the great hall where they all sat. The hall, measuring thirty-foot square, was open on three sides, offering spectacular views across Taurean, the placid lake and the vibrant jungles around. A cultivated field was visible to the West dotted with manicured crops that grew in straight lines like an army on the march and trees clipped and shaped so that they appeared like giant olive grey mushrooms, whilst to the North the brooding pyramid commanded the vista. The sun was setting in a vibrant display of reds and oranges as if the sky were afire. The light colouring the whole feast and company in a warm ruddy glow.

  Most of the crew sat about an immense dining table occupying the centre of the veined marble floor. Luckily, Mathius appeared to have got the message through to the ship and there were several noticeable vacancies; Commagin, Colette and Mathius among them. Around the edge of the hall stood at least thirty armed guards, standing to attention with an aura of strength radiating from them. Thomas also caught some sly aggressive looks that swiftly reverted to a neutral expression when they realised that he was paying attention to them.

  The captain glanced over at the head table, set back and raised purposefully to aid in the feelings of superiority the Minotaur royalty portrayed. Numerous female Minotaur sat on the left side of the table, all pushing up towards Rauph, fluttering their eyelids at him and stopping just short of physically throwing themselves at the poor navigator, much to the chagrin of their slighted male escorts. Rauph sat oblivious to the unwanted attention looking totally miserable and dejected. He fidgeted and squirmed in his chair, his eyes staring longingly down at the table where all of his friends sat, telegraphing his clear desire to join them.

  On the opposite end of the table sat more female Minotaur, some holding napkins to their faces as if to ward off a terrible stench or prevent themselves from catching something contagious from the humans seated before them. Servants ran about the table, pouring wine and serving food, trying to avoid the rough handling sent their way by two thuggish looking Minotaur who sat, laughing and joking alongside their more darkly brooding drinking companion Drummon. However, the thuggish prince regent had no time for his loutish friends and instead spent his time glaring at Rauph as if he wanted to snap him in two.

  Out of all the creatures seated at the high table, there was one figure that concerned Thomas the most. She sat regally at the centre of the table, polite smiles and whispered conversations shared with those sitting alongside her as if nothing were amiss. However, despite her body language portraying a calm exterior, the matriarch’s eyes moved continuously, lingering on each member of the crew before her, judging them one by one, eliminating threats, calculating risks, much like Thomas from his position here on the floor.

  The captain stared at her a moment too long, only for Mora’s shrewd calculating gaze to meet his own straight on and stare unflinchingly back. There was an iciness to her that made Thomas feel cold, sitting there with her head held high, nose slightly tilted up into the air. In those split seconds Thomas realised that despite all this fake pomp and circumstance the matriarch clearly despised the group, visibly cringing when Ives laughed riotously and barely containing a look of cold contempt as the crew consumed the dainty starters and downed the wine from her personal store. As Thomas watched she leaned over to talk to Drummon and the Minotaur’s dark visage turned to take in the captain as well. It was clear Thomas was starting to gain some unwanted admirers.

  “How could you bring us here?” a voice stated at his side, breaking Thomas’s thoughts. He turned to see the ship’s cook Violetta, a plump and normally jolly member of his company who not only fed the crew but also worked wonders in healing their injuries. The captain looked at her angry face without understanding the ire directed his way.

  “Everyone was invited.” Thomas replied. “You are part of my crew; therefore, you were invited.” He smiled only to find the smile dying on his lips. Violetta was clearly not satisfied with his answer.

  “But they are slaves Thomas.” Violetta replied indignantly, gesturing at the servants running around them. “How can you sit here and be served by slaves?” The captain flushed as he realised what his cook was saying. Violetta and her daughter were escaped slaves from a cotton plantation in 1815. They had found sanctuary on board the El Defensor when it appeared in the Mississippi delta after a tropical storm. Thomas had not realised how the humans attending them were a reminder of those dark times in their lives back in Louisiana. Even as he realised his error, a servant ran to refill Violetta’s goblet.

  “I can do it myself.” Violetta snapped, snatching the jug away from the horrified young woman, then pouring herself and her daughter some milk and handing the vessel back. “Thank you for your kind hospitality.” The servant went to bow her head and back away but Violetta stopped her with a click of her fingers.

  “Don’t you ever bow your head to me missy.” She warned. “You are as much a human as me. You have every right to look me in the eye. I am not your better. You remember that now.”

  “Look I’m really sorry.” Thomas replied, as the servant moved away looking confused. “I can’t explain what’s going on right now but the El Defensor is the last place you would want to be at the moment.”

  Violetta scowled, beginning to turn away, however a hand gently placed on her shoulder stopped her.

  “Violetta, I am sorry for Thomas’s insensitivity.” Rowan interrupted calmly. “He is a man of deep thoughts, although often not about the people around him. He means no insult. Please be assured if Thomas feels you need to be here, he has a very good reason.”

  Violetta offered a sad smile in reply and turned to talk to her young daughter who was making short work of a plate of grapes.

  “You do have a good reason, don’t you?” Rowan asked, turning to Thomas and stroking his arm reassuringly. “What is the matter with you?”

  The captain
turned to his partner, taking in her look of concern, her beautiful hypnotic eyes, the curling wisps of dark hair hanging down to frame her face and felt his heart melt.

  “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “But I don’t trust our hosts.”

  “Is it really that you don’t trust them, or is it that you don’t want to lose another one of your crew?” Rowan replied, leaving Thomas realising just how fortunate he was to have met such an intelligent and caring companion.

  “Where’s my napkin ring gone?” the harbourmaster’s assistant asked aloud.

  Several pairs of eyes immediately turned to a small Halfling who had just managed to climb back onto his pile of cushions. Ashe bounced up and down a few times to check his seating was just right, then realised everyone was looking at him.

  “What?” he asked as innocently as a baby.

  Thomas tried to hide his smile and looked away, only to find himself staring straight into the steely eyes of Mora the matriarch. Missing nothing, analysing, planning, plotting and making the captain instantly fear for the remaining crew on the El Defensor. As he watched she was whispering into the ear of a servant dressed in fine clothes, marking the man a more senior member of the servant class. Unsettlingly, her gaze never left Thomas’s the entire time.

  The captain met her gaze, held it and then despite the anxiety he felt inside, he lifted his goblet to spite his host and offered a toast in her direction.

  * * * * * *

  Aelius led his troops up onto the vacant mid-deck of the El Defensor, then held up his hand to signal silence as he stood and scanned the surrounding area with a military attention to detail. The ship appeared deserted just as his matriarch had planned. All of the human crew were now at the banquet, leaving the Captain of the Guard with the task of taking the galleon out into the middle of the great lake and sinking her there. All was peaceful on board. This would be a simple task; all be it a shame that such a magnificent vessel had to meet such an undignified end.