by Gray, C. M.
‘Mr Blake, good evening to you, my name is…’ he faltered, as Blake cast him a quick look before returning to his task of watching the room.
‘What do yer want and wot’s it werf?’ growled the innkeeper in a low voice.
‘I merely seek…’ started Bartholomew.
‘Speak up, man,’ growled Blake peering down at Bartholomew with disgust. ‘If yer got something to say then out with it and let me be, I’ve a business to run or can’t yer tell?’ he gawped at Bartholomew. ‘Well…?’
Bartholomew was sweating more than ever by this time and simply wanted to be done and gone from this awful place. He stared into Blake’s dark eyes then summoned a little courage and a lot of voice. ‘I seek the Hawk!’
Conversation stopped at several tables around them, and Blake quickly pulled Bartholomew to the side. ‘Shhh, not so loud with yer 'awk business.’ He glanced around Bartholomew’s shoulder at the room and, satisfied that his girls were all working and a fight hadn’t broken out in the last few heartbeats, he turned back to Bartholomew.
‘You better ’ave a real good reason for asking for the ‘awk’ in ere, my fat friend, a real good reason.’ He leaned closer and belched softly. Rank, stale breath wafted over Bartholomew, who blinked and held his handkerchief to his nose. ‘Well? …And not so loud, all right? What do yer want with the ‘awk?’
Bartholomew started to feel a little ill. ‘Oh dear…well…’ he started.
A short while later Bartholomew found himself being seated into what Blake described as a ‘private nook.’ A tankard of Elder ale was set down messily in front of him and Blake walked away. Bartholomew started to wipe down his shirt where the ale had splashed, and then noticed that he wasn’t alone. The nook was quite dark and the other occupant had been sitting well back in the corner saying nothing. Bartholomew couldn’t tell if the fellow was staring at him or even if he was awake. Was this the Hawk? He dabbed at the sweat on his upper lip and cleared his throat. ‘My name is Bartholomew Bask, Merchant by trade,’ he glanced around nervously, then peered into the corner, trying to make out more of the dark shape. Whoever it was, he was wearing a cloak with the hood up and Bartholomew couldn’t see whom he was addressing, which disturbed him. ‘I seek The Hawk,’ he managed to hiss, then sat back and drank thirstily from the tankard.
The stranger slowly leaned forward, his face briefly caught in the dim light. Bartholomew could just about make out the features of a man - he blinked. A large nose was the first thing to emerge from the hood, closely followed by two gleaming eyes. The Hawk folded his hands upon the table and stared at Bartholomew.
‘For what…and for why…’ rumbled the Hawk, in a deep gravely voice ‘…do you seek Matheus Hawk…Mr. Bask?’
It took a moment but once recovered; Bartholomew presented a lengthy heartfelt description of his problem, how little he had to go on and what a travesty of justice it was that strange criminals could be allowed to wander the streets at night taking advantage of…
Matheus Hawk stopped Bartholomew with a slap of his hand on the table. ‘Enough of your prattle…I’m expensive,’ he growled, ‘but I can find your goods, if found they can be, and I can skin the hides from the thieves and hang them out for the crows if that is your wish?’
Bartholomew smiled; now this was much more like it. Those thieves, whoever they were, would indeed wish they had never heard the name Bartholomew Bask. He gazed across at the Hawk and shivered. He detected something exceedingly strange about this Hawk person and Bartholomew was grateful that it was to his side that he was now recruited.
Matheus Hawk had been a sergeant in the King’s Guard - an army known for its brutish, violent behaviour, yet he had been discharged for having too heavy a hand. A big man, Matheus had loved to fight and inflict pain from a young age and had taken to war readily. He was cruel, and took a sadistic pleasure in the pain and suffering of his victims. The army wanted none of this. After receiving a number of complaints from the rest of his company, Matheus was court-martialled and imprisoned; but no prison could hold him and he escaped. He’d spent several years as a highwayman, robbing coaches and travellers, until one day he chanced upon a coach carrying two wizards.
The wizards had defended themselves well. Matheus had been badly beaten, and in risk of his life, but a lucky crossbow shot from Matheus had killed the driver and the frightened horses had run off, taking the coach with them. With nobody driving, the coach had careened off the road and into a ravine. Both horses and one of the wizards had died straight away, yet the other had survived for several weeks while Matheus tortured him until he gave up the secrets to his spells. The wizard had eventually died and Matheus had used his new-found skills to act as a bounty hunter and tracker. He’d made a name for himself, not only with the people, but also with the King’s Guard. They now saw him as someone to arrest upon sight for continued acts of terrible violence. Matheus Hawk was not a pleasant man, but he was the best tracker in the entire kingdom, and Bartholomew always wanted the best.
Bartholomew handed the few pieces of evidence over to the Hawk and wished him well with his endeavours. ‘How shall I contact you?’ he enquired.
‘You shan’t,’ growled the Hawk, sliding back into the shadows once more. ‘If I want you or have news, then I shall contact you. Now leave me to my work.’
Bartholomew wiped his face and stood up. He wasn’t used to taking orders, especially from someone in his employ, but thought better of mentioning anything to Mr Hawk on this first meeting; maybe next time, when they knew each other a little better.
He hurried back through the crowded bar and out into the night, confident that he had done what he could and that the matter was now in capable hands.
Outside on the slightly cooler street, Bartholomew thought again of the hands that the Hawk had crossed in front of him on the table. Long and thin with sharp nails like…like talons…like a Hawk for goodness sake! Bartholomew shivered in the warm evening air, then waved as he saw a carriage that was empty. I almost pity the thieves; he chuckled to himself as he clambered in and settled back into the carriage seat, but then again…maybe I don’t. He was giggling as the carriage set off, back up to the ‘better part’ of town.
****
The barge left on time with Loras on deck waving back to Pardigan. Much to his dismay, the cat hadn’t wanted to go with Loras, preferring to stay on The Griffin with the knife and book. Pardigan returned the wave as the barge left the harbour, slowly creeping out into the open sea.
Quint had gone off to purchase a few more supplies and to try and find out what the word on the street was about the robbery. If the watch were tracking the thief, they had to find out where they were searching and what they had to go on. Pardigan took a last look around at the other boats and the few people walking on the jetty, then made his way down below. At the bottom of the ladder, he peered around the gloom of the hold waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The book was on the table and the cat was curled up not far from it on a pile of sacking. It lifted its head and watched him as he came down into the room, making him feel awkward. Trying his best to ignore it, he crossed to the table and sat down so that he could read in the small square of sunlight that came in from the hatch. Touching the papers with the knife made the stone flare bright blue and the book once more transformed into the slim leather-bound volume they’d seen before. He studied the cover once more, his finger slowly following the words, his brow creasing in concentration as he read.
The title had appeared written in gold script and below this, was now a picture of a wizard, not the knife, and more tiny words that Pardigan could only just make out, but at least it was written in low speak.
Hmm, interesting, thought Pardigan. I wonder if that’s Magician Ignacius Pew? He doesn’t look particularly happy. He opened the book to the first page, which was an introduction of sorts, from Magician Pew.
Pardigan slowly read the rhyme through again, but still couldn't make much sense of it. It seemed to descri
be the crew of The Griffin, and that they all had to decide to make some journey together. What the guide - if that’s what it was - didn’t reveal, was why they should make the journey; a journey that promised to be both dangerous and perilous - as if they weren’t in enough trouble as it was. He turned the page and found a clean white sheet staring back at him, as was the next one, then the next one. All the pages were blank except for the page of introduction. Maybe the knife has to touch each page? He touched the blank pages with first the blade and then the gem in the pommel, but nothing happened. He tried several other pages with the same result.
‘Well that sorts that,’ said Pardigan aloud. ‘No more book. I guess he didn’t finish it.’ It had all been exciting until the book turned out to be a collection of pages never finished. ‘What a waste of a magic book,’ he murmured in disgust, and was about to throw it into a corner.
The cat leapt up screeching, forcing him to step back.
‘Wohhhh, cat, I’m sorry. I won’t harm your book, honest, here, you take it.’ Pardigan held it out to the cat and the cat jumped up onto the table and placed its paw on top of it. Its eyes flashed bright blue, unsettling him further.
‘Foolish boy,’ purred the cat. ‘Did you read the first page or were you just looking at the pretty squiggles hoping one day to understand?’ Pardigan had never been insulted by a cat before but thought that this was indeed an insult.
‘Of course I read it, but it finishes there. It’s blank after the first page and anyhow, it doesn’t make much sense…Hey! How come you can talk?’ he added as an afterthought.
‘Magician Pew never made large amounts of sense when he was alive, so I think it’s asking a bit much for him to make sense now, don’t you?’ The cat purred and lay down across the book. ‘If you read the introduction, there’s a line that reads, ‘A journey’s choice you all must make.’ It licked a paw and started washing itself. ‘You will note by this that you must all decide to make the journey together, only then will the book reveal more to you.’ It glanced up from its washing to stare into his eyes. ‘So no throwing the book around, I’ve taken care of it for too long and will not let you destroy it now.’
All Pardigan could think to reply to all this was to repeat again, ‘So, how come you can talk?’
The cat turned it’s head to one side questioningly. ‘I’m a cat. Cats can’t talk. Maybe you’re going mad?’ It went back to its cleaning then curled up and fell asleep on the book without speaking again. Pardigan stared at it open-mouthed, unsure what he could say or do.
By the time Quint returned, Pardigan had recovered from his chat with the cat. He’d tried several times to engage it in conversation and was doing so again when Quint dropped down the hatchway.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Quint, grinning. ‘Loras will chat to anything, especially a cat, but surely not you, Pardigan?’
‘But it spoke to me,’ objected Pardigan. ‘I was reading the book, well the first page, and it started talking to me.’ He sat down at the table. ‘It was actually quite insulting,’ he added dejectedly. ‘Only now I can’t get it to talk again.’
Quint laughed. ‘Pardigan it’s a cat! Cats can’t talk.’
‘I did tell him that,’ said the cat lifting its head. ‘But he just wouldn’t listen.’
‘There you are, I told you,’ said Pardigan laughing in relief as Quint stared in shock at the cat.
‘It talked!’ spluttered Quint.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Pardigan. ‘Just don’t get on its bad side, it can be very rude.’ He told Quint what it had said and after carefully retrieving the book, Quint read the page while still keeping a wary eye on the cat.
‘Well, we’ll have to wait until we’re back at the moorings and discuss this with the others. It does sound like fun though, eh, Pardigan? Challenges, danger and gifts, I wonder what the gifts are?’ He skipped up the ladder whistling and Pardigan hurried after him.
The cat slept, and if a cat could smile, which they can, then the cat was smiling, happily.
****
Up on deck Quint was coiling rope and putting the loose objects into lockers making preparations to go to sea.
‘I walked round the town for the last three hours,’ he said re-tying a sail. ‘I’m telling you there’s no talk about a big theft,’ he glanced at Pardigan. ‘Nothing...maybe he doesn’t know he was robbed?’
‘Well maybe. I just can’t believe our luck would be that good, but if he does discover it in a few days, and we’re not even here, then we won’t be suspected at all!’
‘My thoughts exactly, so we’re leaving on the morning tide. I’m off to pay our dues to the Harbourmaster, then we can take another walk around town to get another feel for things.’
They locked the hatchway and after paying the harbourmaster for their stay, they walked through the port and into the bustling town of Freya. The only gossip they heard about the merchant was close to his house, where they’d heard that he’d fired his maid that very morning and had been seen screaming at her from his window.
‘Maybe he thinks it was her,’ said Pardigan.
‘Maybe,’ Quint replied. ‘Let’s just keep moving and see what else is happening.’
They walked and walked, and listened to all types of gossip. There was much about the merchants and about the King and his troubles in the northern realms, but nothing more about Merchant Bask or his maid. They ate fried fish and shared a drink of lemon fizz from a bottle, all bought from a stall in Market Square, then headed back down to the port.
As they approached The Griffin, they got the impression that something wasn’t right, so sprinted the last short distance, coming to a stop in front of the boat. The hatchway was open.
‘We’re being robbed,’ hissed Pardigan as they crept up the gangplank. Nothing unusual could be heard from below decks, only the normal creaking of the ropes and a few groans from the old timbers - the normal sounds of The Griffin sleeping. The lock was still set but strangely the hatch was open, pushed to the side. Quint dropped down inside, quickly followed by Pardigan.
It was a mess with things thrown everywhere - crates upturned, bottles smashed, the contents of lockers all over the floor - and the cabin doors were all open showing similar scenes within. Someone had been searching for something.
‘I think our secret’s out,’ hissed Pardigan. ‘They got the book and knife by the look of it,’ he muttered unhappily as he set the table back the right way round. ‘Let’s just get out of here while we still can. Whoever was here could come back.’
They spent some time despondently clearing up the mess and set the hold back as it had been, then got food ready for an evening meal. They had decided to eat up on deck and Pardigan was still below cutting bread, when he noticed the table. There, sleeping as if nothing had happened was the cat - her head propped on the book.
‘Where did you come from?’ he gasped.
The cat lifted its head and regarded him sleepily. ‘Oh, you’re back. You’ve had a visitor,’ it purred. ‘Not a very nice man at all. I’m glad to see you had a tidy up.’ It rose and stretched as if it had spent the afternoon sleeping in the same position. ‘He was looking for…things, but didn’t find anything, he got very upset. I think you’ll find his calling card on the back of the mast there.’
Pardigan turned to look at the mast and at first couldn’t see anything. Then at the top, near where it went through the roof, he saw a black mark. He clambered up onto a chair to get a better look.
‘It’s a spell,’ purred the cat. Pardigan froze.
‘It’s a listening spell, really quite clever. It lets whoever set it know when you return, so he can listen to what you’re saying.’ Pardigan crouched on the chair, not daring to move, and stared at the cat. The cat stared back at him. ‘Don’t worry, I stopped it working. He’ll think the boat is empty and you’re still away.’
‘You...stopped it working?’ said Pardigan.
‘I did,’ purred the cat and went back to sleep.
A little uncertainly, Pardigan decided to look at the spell mark a little closer. It was the outline of a hawk burnt into the wood - he reached out to touch it.
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ the cat purred, opening an eye. ‘He may have left traces of something very nasty for you to touch…I would have.’
Pardigan slowly pulled his hand back and got down. ‘I bet you would have,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘There’s a good boy,’ purred the cat.
‘Where did you go during all this?’ asked Pardigan.
‘I went…away, you wouldn’t understand, so don’t even try.’ She curled back down, returning to sleep.
‘There you go insulting me again,’ muttered Pardigan and he went off to tell Quint.
They cast off at daybreak and slipped out of port into open sea, both boys feeling that they were being watched, but both very glad to have some water between them and whoever their uninvited guest had been.
****
Chapter 4
A Hunter's Moon
The trip up the coast to Sterling Port took the boys three days, during which they were blessed with good weather and good winds all the way. Sailing gave immense pleasure to all of them, but it was Quint who truly revelled in it. As the wind became stronger he made his way to the very front of the boat and stood on the bowsprit, where he indulged himself in shouting and laughing into the face of the sea.
Spray covered him, bursting in a rainbow of colours time and time again as he held on, bracing himself against the pounding of the waves that tried to dislodge him. Several times he had to grab for the safety rope to stop being washed over by a particularly big wave but simply laughed, loving every moment. Eventually, he dripped his way back to Pardigan at the helm.
‘Oh, Pardigan, you just have to try it, it makes you feel so…so…alive!’