by David Logan
Junk recounted everything that had happened in the monastery. When he got to the part about the box on the altar that held the key, Garvan sat up a little straighter. Clearly it meant something to him, but he didn’t say anything. He let Junk continue. Junk repeated Brother Antor’s threats of extreme violence if they didn’t leave by sunset.
‘Such arrogance!’ said Otravinicus forcefully when Junk had finished. ‘These people who think their beliefs give them the right to tell us what we can and can’t do. They’re nothing but terrorists.’ He started pacing. He was angry. ‘I say we go back there and break down that door and take their damn key.’ It was what he had been saying for hours, but his focus had shifted slightly after discovering the existence of the key.
‘You haven’t seen the place,’ said Hundrig. ‘It’s a fortress. Only one way in or out. It would be impossible, plus there was no storming of monasteries mentioned when you hired us, Doctor. I abhor what they did to Junk but will not put my crew in danger needlessly. I’m sorry, Junk.’
Junk shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t want you to.’
‘I’ll pay you double,’ said Otravinicus.
‘We are not mercenaries, Doctor,’ said Hundrig. ‘We are sailors. There are places where you can hire such people, and if that’s what you want I will gladly ferry you there, but nothing more.
‘Triple?’ said Otravinicus hopefully.
‘Nothing more.’ Hundrig sounded so definite that even Otravinicus finally conceded. ‘We’ll be ready to set off in an hour. What’s our heading?’
Otravinicus was silent for a few moments as he stewed. He was a man who liked getting his own way and didn’t react well to being told no. ‘North,’ he said finally. ‘Back to Arrapia.’
‘What?’ said Junk. ‘No. You said we’d go to Cul Sita. You promised.’
‘And you promised you could find the Room of Doors for me. There’s nothing I want in Cul Sita. The answer lies in that monastery, and getting in there will take planning and research. The best place for that is back in Arrapia. I’m sorry, Junk. I truly am.’ Otravinicus turned to leave but paused. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I have paid the captain in advance. The ship is ours until the end of the month. Once I am back home, the captain can take you south until the money runs out. You should reach the waters off Glarn Sita by then. A resourceful lad like you will be able to make it the rest of the way, I’m sure.’ He smiled as if that had solved everything.
*
Junk sat up on the Casabia’s prow and looked out at the sun as it started to dip. Garvan came and sat with him.
‘Should we go and rebuild my cabin now?’
Junk thought about that. He liked to build things. It cleared his mind. Back home he used to help his father whenever he could. He had helped him build the staircase. Though he was very young, so wasn’t actually that much help. He had scratched his name on the underside of one of the treads. He wondered if that was the only evidence now that he had ever been there. Had his mother removed all other traces of him?
‘What do you think?’ said Garvan.
‘No. I’m sorry, Garvan,’ said Junk. ‘I can’t stop yet. Not until I find him. I promise I will help you then.’
Garvan was quiet for a few moments and then he nodded. ‘I knew you were going to say that. I will go with you.’
‘You don’t have to. It’ll take you a long way from home.’
‘No. Actually it will take me closer to home.’
Junk frowned. He didn’t understand. He waited for Garvan to explain but he didn’t say any more and Junk was forced to ask, ‘How come?’
‘How come what?’ asked Garvan.
Sometimes it was exasperating talking to Garvan. ‘How come that takes you closer to home when your island is half a day that way?’ said Junk, pointing.
‘I don’t come from that island. I just live on it,’ said Garvan. ‘I was born on a different island. It’s called Cantibea. Do you remember when I drew the map in the sand?’
‘Of course,’ said Junk.
‘There was Glarn Sita, Unta Sita, Daté Sita and Cul Sita. Well, in the middle of those is Cantibea. It’s quite small in comparison.’
‘I see,’ said Junk. ‘And do you know people there? Any family? Anyone who can help us?’
Garvan nodded. ‘My family’s there still.’ He paused, and Junk could tell there was more to the story so he said nothing and let Garvan come to it in his own time. ‘But I can’t go back.’
He didn’t say any more so Junk had to prompt him. ‘Why not?’
‘I would have to do something I don’t want to do,’ said Garvan.
‘What?’ asked Junk.
‘Kill my father.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Tradition,’ said Garvan.
‘What sort of crazy tradition is that?’
‘Cantibean tradition. It’s how one king succeeds another,’ said Garvan, and it took Junk a few moments to process that information.
‘Wait. Are you saying your father’s the king of Cantibea?’
‘Yes,’ said Garvan.
‘And you’re supposed to be the next king?’
‘Yes,’ said Garvan again.
‘You’re a king?’ Junk was incredulous.
‘No,’ said Garvan. ‘Not until I kill my father, and I don’t want to do that.’
‘Well, no, I can see why you wouldn’t.’
‘So I left. Now my father will remain king until he dies naturally. Hopefully an old man. Unless one of my brothers hunts me down and kills me. Then he becomes eldest heir and he can kill my father and take his place.’
‘How many brothers have you got?’ asked Junk.
‘Seven,’ said Garvan.
‘Any of them potentially homicidal?’
‘Oh yes, all of them. It’s not frowned upon. As I said, it’s tradition,’ said Garvan. ‘I’m the only one who has a problem with it, but then I’m not like everyone else.’
‘No,’ said Junk. ‘No, you’re not. But I think that’s a good thing. OK, so we won’t go anywhere near Cantibea.’
‘Hmm,’ said Garvan, furrowing his brow. ‘Except I think we have to.’
‘How come?’
‘There’s a way for me to go home that involves you. I’m just not sure what it is exactly.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Junk.
‘Neither do I,’ said Garvan. ‘There’s a flower, you see, in Cantibea, the nolic flower. It’s a tradition to make a tea from its petals. One cup will make you sleep and you dream very intensely.’
‘Like you’re tripping?’ asked Junk.
‘Tripping?’
‘Never mind. Go on.’
‘The dream shows you a path you must follow. Mine showed me I had to leave Cantibea. Showed me the island. Then it showed me you. Except I didn’t know it was you then. Didn’t look like you. You looked more like a rodent.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ said Junk.
‘At first, in the vision, you spoke but I didn’t know what you were saying. Then I did. Just like when I met you. Then I tested you. With the puzzle boxes. You passed. After that I almost died and you chose to save me.’
Junk thought about this for a moment. ‘So when we got attacked by those birdmen thingies, you kind of knew that was going to happen?’
‘Yes.’
‘That was taking an awful big chance. What if I couldn’t save you?’ asked Junk. ‘Or didn’t?’
‘But you did,’ said Garvan.
‘So what comes after that?’
‘Then we’re sitting on a ship next to a tree …’ Garvan and Junk both turned to look at a tall, proud tree alongside the ship, ‘and I ask you about rebuilding my cabin and you say not yet. Just like now.’
Junk thought about this. It intrigued him. ‘And then?’
‘And then there’s a box. It’s a dark gold colour. There are lines all over it.’
‘Just like the one they keep the key in,’ said Junk, thinking about the box on the altar in the mon
astery chapel.
Garvan nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what I thought when you described it. We have to get that box, Junk.’
‘But that’s impossible.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said a quiet voice from behind them. They turned to see Lasel.
‘How long have you been there?’ asked Junk.
‘Long enough,’ she said. ‘I know how to get the box.’
‘How?’
‘Steal it.’
18
Lasel and Junk sprinted through the woods back towards the monastery while Garvan stayed behind to make sure the Casabia didn’t leave without them. Lasel had told them how she supported herself back in Corraway and the dozens of other places she had lived in since leaving home at the age of seven. She was a thief, plain and simple. There was nothing, she boasted, that she could not steal.
At the base of the rock pillar they stopped to get their breath back. Lasel’s plan was a straightforward one: climb up the rear face of the six-hundred-metre rock pillar, cross the roofs of the monastery till they reached the chapel, where she would break in through one of the high windows, steal the box and get back down again.
Six hundred metres had appeared to be very high the first time Junk ascended, in the basket. Now, looking up the north face, the back wall so to speak, even to attempt it appeared to be nothing less than lunacy.
‘I don’t think this is going to work,’ said Junk.
‘Course it is,’ said Lasel.
‘We’ve got maybe forty-five minutes before the Casabia is due to set off.’
‘Garvan will hold them up,’ said Lasel.
‘The rock looks very smooth. Doesn’t look like there are many handholds.’
‘Don’t need them,’ said Lasel.
‘Look, to be honest, I’m just not sure I’m that good a climber,’ said Junk.
‘You’re not climbing it.’
‘I can’t let you go up on your own.’
‘You’re not,’ said Lasel. ‘We’re both going to go.’
‘How are we supposed to get up there without climbing?’
‘Hauk tines,’ said Lasel.
‘What now?’ asked Junk.
*
Before they had left the Casabia, Lasel had gathered together a few items they would need into an old cloth sack. Now she pulled out two lengths of rope that she had knotted into two loops, like a figure of eight, and two thick leather hoods she had made out of an apron belonging to the Casabia’s cook. She pulled on thick leather gloves and gave a second pair to Junk.
‘It pays to know your environment,’ said Lasel. ‘All the rock around here is sandstone. Sandstone is the perfect habitat for hauk tines.’
‘And hauk tines are?’ asked Junk.
In reply Lasel crossed to some large boulders and moved some smaller rocks until she exposed the entrance to a low cave.
‘Tap your finger on the ground like this,’ she said, and demonstrated the intensity and rhythm that Junk needed to replicate. She chose a spot about half a metre from the mouth of the cave.
‘What’s going to come out?’ asked Junk nervously.
‘Don’t stop tapping,’ said Lasel. ‘Trust me. I know what I’m doing.’
Reluctantly Junk crouched down and started tapping.
‘Harder,’ instructed Lasel, and Junk did as she said. Lasel moved to the side of the cave mouth, held one of the rope loops in her mouth, the other in her gloved hands, just above the entrance, and waited.
Junk kept tapping, his eyes fixed on the dark hole in front of him. After about twenty seconds or so, the loose gravel around the entrance started to shift. Something was coming out. When it came, it came fast. A hauk tine was about the ugliest creature Junk had ever set eyes on. It was a light sandy colour, blending easily with the surrounding stone, and it was covered in lumps and bumps, looking almost as if it was made from rock itself. It was about the size of a Staffordshire bull terrier and just as muscular. It had a wide, snapping mouth full of sharp, crooked teeth that jutted out at various angles and powerful-looking clawed feet. Its eyes were translucent and white. It was blind and snapped liberally at the air around it as it honed in on Junk’s still tapping finger. Lasel threw one of the looped ends of the rope over its head, followed it with the leather hood and pulled. The loop tightened and the hauk tine was plunged into darkness from the hood and instantly ceased its thrashing.
Lasel tossed the hooded creature to one side and moved back to the cave, pulling the other rope from her mouth. ‘Keep tapping,’ she said to Junk. She dangled the second rope loop in front of the entrance just as another hauk tine came charging out. She repeated the process with the hood and then quickly moved the boulder back over the entrance.
‘Come on,’ she said, holding both hauk tines by the rope leashes strung around their necks. Both creatures hung at her sides limply.
‘What do we do with them?’ asked Junk, trailing after Lasel.
*
When they reached the base of the rock pillar Lasel handed Junk one of the hauk tines.
‘Put it by the base,’ she said, meaning the base of the rock, ‘and pull off its hood. Its natural instinct is to climb. Whatever you do, don’t let go.’
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said Junk, stopping Lasel just as she was about to unhood her hauk tine. ‘Are you saying this thing is going to climb up there, pulling me along with it?’
‘They’re excellent climbers,’ said Lasel. ‘Very strong.’
Junk looked up at the pillar of rock towering above him and then down at the lifeless creature in his hand. What Lasel was suggesting did not make any sense, but then again, he had swum underwater covered in gunk from a jellyfish and survived. He took a deep breath and then he and Lasel positioned their hauk tines at the base of the monolith.
‘On three?’ said Junk.
Lasel shrugged. ‘If it makes you feel better.’
‘One …’ Junk left a lengthy gap. ‘Two …’ Then an even longer gap until he couldn’t put it off any more. ‘Three.’ With that, both Junk and Lasel yanked the leather hoods off the heads of the hauk tines and both animals shot up vertically at great speed. Junk screamed at the top of his lungs as he felt his feet leave the ground and he was carried up the side of the pillar. In seconds, he was a hundred metres off the ground. A hundred and fifty. Two hundred. The hauk tines showed no signs of slowing down and their claws had no trouble finding purchase on the sandstone surface. It was as if they didn’t even notice the extra weight they were hauling up with them. Their solid little legs pumped furiously as they rose ever higher.
A thought occurred to Junk and he called over to Lasel, who was about level with him.
‘What happens when they get to the top?’
‘Wait till you’re on the roof, and then just let go,’ she shouted back.
‘How do we get back down?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she called. ‘Getting down’s easy.’
The hauk tines powered onward and upward. Close to, the rock face wasn’t quite as smooth as it seemed from a distance and Junk was being bounced around viciously. He manoeuvred himself around so his back was to the wall and he looked out over the landscape. It occurred to him that this was a somewhat surreal moment in his life, but it felt wonderful. Just as wonderful as diving down in the ocean unencumbered by scuba gear, like one of the fish. This was as close as he had ever come to feeling like he was flying. He whooped with delight.
As they drew closer to the monastery, Junk and Lasel became silent. The hauk tines reached the walls and without pause continued up on to the sloping black-tiled roof. When they got near the apex, first Lasel and then Junk let go. The hauk tines sped up, surging forward, suddenly relieved of the extra weight of their passengers. They disappeared quickly over the lip at the top. Junk and Lasel both slipped back a little but quickly found purchase and came to a full stop. They lay still for several moments until their hearts stopped pounding.
‘That was amazing,’ said Junk quietly. Lasel smiled. She l
iked that he got as much of a rush from such things as she did.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Stay low.’
*
They rose slowly into a crouch and peered over the apex to get their bearings. Junk easily recognized the chapel. It was the highest point in the monastery and its row of small windows just under the eaves made it distinctive.
‘There it is,’ said Junk, pointing it out to Lasel.
‘Follow me,’ said Lasel. ‘Step where I step.’
Keeping low, they moved quietly across the rooftops, edging their way around to the chapel. As they drew closer they saw that the chapel was separate from the buildings around it, across a gap of three or four metres.
Lasel reached into the cloth sack that she had strung over her back and pulled out a length of rope.
‘Tie this end off,’ she said to Junk, giving him one end of the rope. He looked around and saw a stubby chimney stack nearby. He wound the rope around it and secured it with a sturdy knot. When he came back to Lasel, she had tied the other end around her waist.
‘What’s the plan?’ asked Junk in a whisper.
‘I’m going in through that window,’ said Lasel, pointing to one of the small chapel windows directly opposite. Junk glanced down at the ground twenty metres below.
‘It’s quite a gap,’ said Junk. ‘Are you sure you can make it?’
Lasel’s response was to launch herself from a standing position, sail across the gap and latch on to the eaves of the chapel. In one fluid movement, she twisted round, hooking her toes over a lip on the inside of the eaves so she was dangling upside down. She arched her back until she was facing the window, looking into the chapel. Junk gasped in wonder. She was impressive.
‘What can you see?’ he called quietly.
Lasel peered into the chapel. As far as she could tell from her perspective, it was empty. She felt around the window frame. It wasn’t designed to open. She assumed none of them were at such a height. She reached into her pocket, took out a knife and proceeded to scrape away at the putty that held the glass in place.