by Gray, C. M.
Barrels of Elder ale were rolled into the Acorn and then a good business was transacted from the stalls with the local people. After some time, the crowd thinned out and Tarent managed to draw the trader to one side and a discussion was started that had both of them smiling, frowning and gesturing wildly at various points, until Tarent abruptly turned on his heels and walked back to his friends at the table.
‘What’s the matter, is he pretending the Hidden don’t exist or something?’ asked Quint.
‘Oh he says they exist, and that if we’re crazy enough to want to go, then he’ll take us. He just doesn’t want to be seen doing it, case he loses his licence to trade.
‘If we can get out and meet them further up the path, he’ll take us for five gold pieces.’
Pardigan spluttered into his mug. ‘Five gold pieces…is he mad?’
‘No, he’s a salesman, and that’s a very good deal for asking him to do something highly illegal and, in his mind, incredibly stupid. It’s up to us to get out of here and meet him on the other side of the gate. The problem is, the gate is locked, and guess who has the key?’
‘Your friend the Customs man, of course,’ muttered Pardigan. ‘Don’t worry I’ll get the key, leave it to me.’
‘That’s what I hoped you’d say,’ said Tarent. ‘Our other problem is we have to move The Griffin, or it’ll be obvious we’re not here. If The Griffin is still at anchor and we’re not seen around town, they’ll know we’ve gone past the gate and we’ll have problems when we come back.’
‘Well maybe there’s some way that we won’t have to move her,’ said Loras drifting off in thought. The others left him to it, enjoying the afternoon’s entertainment, trusting in Loras’s ability to do whatever was necessary with The Griffin.
Trader Jack and his wagons left for the interior two days after arriving in town and that same morning The Griffin was also seen to leave, heading for open sea. The Customs man was greatly relieved. He hadn’t liked the scruffy little boat and its young crew and had sent letters to Freya asking for verification of the trading contract but wasn’t expecting a reply for weeks. All in all it was best they were gone and no longer his problem. What he didn’t see was one of the Minsten fishing boats limping back into port some time later, well before the rest of the small fleet, and tying up in a far corner. It was The Griffin having been disguised both physically and magically.
The crew had sailed east a short while then anchored up and changed the look of the boat, not in any great way, but enough so that it appeared to be different. Loras had added some spells to help make people believe that it was one of the normal fleet and they had sailed back in with only Quint on deck. The spell worked so well that even the harbourmaster ignored them as Quint tied up. They then sat below deck spending a hot and uncomfortable day out of sight, waiting for nightfall and an opportunity to move.
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Chapter 14
Finding The Hidden
The moon had long risen, bathing the island in a soft magical light, the harbour and streets long deserted. Even the band at the Acorn had gone home before The Griffin’s crew finally chanced to walk into town.
Mahra flew ahead, ready to warn of any late-night wanderers, as Pardigan practised his invisibility, from time to time flickering into view with a curse as he struggled to hold the spell. So it was three, then sometimes four people that headed past the Acorn and on towards the gated path.
The gate, when they reached it, was over twice the height of any of them and was inevitably made of wood. Wrapped around the two central poles was a thick metal chain and padlock with a sign that none of them could read. A small black and white house stood close by, a lamp burning in an upstairs window.
‘He’s still awake,’ hissed Tarent.
Pardigan peered up at the window. ‘No problem, I’ll see you later.’ He blinked out of sight and crossed the road. The others crouched down in the shade of a tree, out of the bright moonlight, watched over by a large owl, its eyes blinking and its head swivelling as it peered all around.
Pardigan skirted the house and saw his way in almost immediately; a downstairs window had been left slightly ajar allowing air into the pantry. He pushed up the latch with his knife and slipped over the sill.
Landing softly he stopped, listening, every sense tingling as he waited for sound, but the house was silent. He allowed himself to relax a little, stood and looked around the small pantry. A large cheese sat under a mesh dome and Pardigan cut a slice and stuffed it into his mouth as he moved to the door. It creaked as he opened it and he froze. A ginger cat had lifted its head and was staring at him. His last encounter with a cat had turned out to be Mahra, so he didn’t take this one’s presence for granted, especially when it followed his invisible progress across the kitchen as if it could see him. The kitchen opened out onto a small hallway with a staircase going up to bedrooms above and two other doors, one of which he carefully opened and slipped through.
A writing desk covered with papers stood centrally with two cabinets to either side. Glancing out of the window, he could just make out the shapes of his friends by the tree opposite and he stifled the impulse to hold back the curtain and wave. He had been hoping the key would be lying on a desk or hung on a wall, but after a brief search, it was obvious that there were no keys in the study at all. The next room, a small sitting room was quickly searched and no keys found; it must be upstairs.
Mahra returned from a short flight and landed on a branch above the boys’ heads. ‘Have you seen him yet?’ Her voice was strange and hooting as an owl.
‘No, no sign, he’s been in there for a while now but he’ll be okay.’ Quint sounded confident in his friend’s abilities. ‘Did you fly up the path and see if the traders are there?’
‘Oh they’re there. The wagons are all grouped together and they’re playing music.’ Her head twisted to stare at Loras, her eyes blinked. ‘It’s much better music than that awful noise in the Acorn.’
‘Oh and an owl is going to know good music when it hears it,’ retorted Loras with a grin, his teeth white in the moonlight.
Mahra ignored him and took off; gliding across to the house she landed and peered into the upper window.
The Customs man was sitting upright in his bed; his glasses propped on his nose and a huge pile of papers in front of him. He was working in fits and starts. Waking from sleep he would push his glasses back up his nose, take a few pages, enter some figures in the ledger then sleep would reclaim him, his head would slump and papers would fall.
Pardigan was watching from the bottom of the bed, waiting for his moment to take the keys he could see on the bedside cabinet. He was invisible but could see Mahra peering through the window and became visible for a moment as his concentration dropped and she jumped back in a flurry of feathers. Fortunately for Pardigan, the sleeper continued to sleep and missed what would have been a scary moment for all three of them.
The Customs man awoke once more and scrabbled about, spilling some papers onto the floor in the process. Pardigan decided to sit down with his back to the base of the bed and wait for a better moment to make his move.
The decision came when the hard wooden floor had finally made his legs feel numb. He stood and peered over the bottom of the bed. The Customs man was asleep again with his head flopped to one side and a thin line of dribble falling from his mouth. Pardigan smiled and whispered, ‘Hide.’ He flickered invisible and crept around to the bedside cabinet. Making sure not to step on the fallen papers, he gently picked up the large bunch of keys and with a last glance at the sleeping form he crept carefully out of the room.
He only became visible again when he was standing in front of his friends, making Quint fall back and all three of them jump in surprise.
Pardigan held out the keys, a grin on his face. ‘Let’s go find the Hidden.’
Grabbing the keys, Quint slapped Pardigan’s arm. ‘Nice job, but don’t go sneaking up on us like that, eh. I almost wet myself.’ He walked to the
gate and peered around. Seeing that Mahra was perched on the house keeping watch, he tried several keys in the lock, found one that fit, turned it and the lock sprang open easily. He waved them over and they silently slipped through to the other side. Pardigan stayed and beckoned for the key.
Quint held it out. ‘Silly question maybe, but how do you plan to get over?’
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Pardigan, ‘I’ve got that covered.’ He re-looped the chain, clicked the lock back into position, and then blinked back to invisibility.
Returning to the house he made his way back to the bedroom and was glad to see its occupant still fast asleep. He replaced the keys on the bedside table and, feeling rather smug, made for the door. Unfortunately, the perfect burglary came to an end as his foot disturbed the fallen papers and the sleeper awoke with a start. Pardigan froze less than an arm's length away, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears.
‘Who’s there?’ called the Customs man in a frightened voice. He sat up and felt around for his glasses.
Pardigan stopped breathing and didn’t move a muscle.
‘Is somebody there?’ Swinging his legs out of the bed, the opposite side to where Pardigan was standing, he walked to the door. ‘Hello?’ he gingerly peeked into the hallway before venturing further out.
Pardigan let out his breath and lifted his foot from the papers. The constant effort of holding the invisibility spell, and the tension of the ordeal, was beginning to tire him. He was feeling faint and was sweating freely. I've got to get out of here soon or I’m going to blow this, he thought. He took a couple of deep breaths. Hold steady now...get a grip, not long and we’re out. The self-encouragement helped and he started to regain control. Noises were drifting up from below and he decided to take his chance on the stairs. They creaked a little in several places but he made it to the bottom without being discovered.
The Customs man was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich, talking to the cat as it brushed up against his leg, purring for a saucer of milk. Pardigan slipped past into the pantry without a problem.
Once out of the window he slumped down, becoming visible then wiped his face on his cloak and finally allowed himself to relax.
‘Are you okay?’ whispered Mahra. She was standing over him in her human form, calmly scanning for observers.
‘I think so, or I will be as soon as we get to the other side of that gate. I have to be somewhere high to shift across. I need to see where I’m going.’
Mahra helped him to his feet and they walked around to the side of the building. It felt good to be outside even if it wasn’t much cooler than inside the house. She helped him climb to the top of an outbuilding, which was an easier and less noisy climb than the roof of the house. Once on top, Pardigan could see his friends standing in the moonlight watching anxiously for his arrival. With the last of his energy, he place-shifted, appearing so fast in front of Quint that his friend once again found himself sitting on the ground staring up at him with a shocked expression. Mahra landed softly beside them, changing once more from an owl to a smiling girl. She stared down at Quint.
‘Are you still resting?’
Quint glared up at her then at Pardigan, who murmured an apology.
‘Sorry, Quint, I didn’t mean to make you jump this time.’ He slumped to the ground exhausted and Quint’s anger turned to concern for his friend. Helping him up, he half carried him down the path until they rounded a bend and were able to rest without being seen from the gate.
After taking a drink and receiving a little healing energy from Loras, Pardigan began to feel better and was soon able to walk unaided. The forest was dense and oppressive, but the path in comparison, was wide and clear of obstructions making it easy to follow in the moonlight. Night birds sang and an occasional monkey chattered at them, unseen in the trees.
Quint led while Mahra remained at the back, padding along silently as a Panther, a low growl sounding from her every now and then as she sensed something watching from the gloom. The camp came into view fairly quickly and one of the helpers who had been keeping watch rose warily to greet them. He was a small man even by Minsten standards, coming not much higher than Quint’s waist. His lank hair almost covered his eyes and he was smiling, or leering, at them through a mask of dirt. His clothing was little more than animal skins crudely stitched together. He was absently pulling at what passed for a shirt as if it itched. Rubbing his hands together, he licked his lips and readied himself to greet them.
‘Greetings…visitors, come in come in,’ his said in a voice that was thin and whining. His teeth were crooked and pointed, and his pink tongue flicked nervously between thin lips as he gestured for them to enter the camp. ‘I’ve been anticipating your arrival,’ he simpered. ‘You’re the first travellers that have…requested to visit my people in many years, interesting, yes very interesting. You weren’t scared by the stories? We know all about the stories.’ He began mumbling as he assessed the crew with critical beady eyes. ‘Nasty stories…not true…poor Hidden,’ he wiped his nose with the back of his hand then reached out and squeezed Loras’s arm, only to scuttle back as Loras pulled away.
‘Oh where are my manners, I am Groober, partner of Trader Jack.’ Thin bony hands darted out to clasp Quint’s in an attempt at welcome, then quickly moved back to Loras. ‘I like you,’ he smiled, his tongue squeezing between his teeth.
‘You’re one of the Hidden! You keep away from me!’ said Loras stepping back, amazed that he hadn’t noticed the helpers were Hidden when the caravan was camped outside the Acorn. Now that he realised, the differences were more than apparent. The Hidden were much thinner than the Minstens who were almost as short, but more stocky in comparison. Groober was beardless, very dirty, and had a longer narrow nose; his lips were thinner than the Minstens as well. The little creature’s eyes were darting nervously about him and he was shuffling his feet uncomfortably as if worried that they might attack him at any moment.
‘I won’t harm you! The Hidden are good people, not like the stories, nasty stories. For some reason Trader Jack makes us wash and change clothes before we enter the town,’ whined Groober unhappily as he tried to explain the difference in his appearance. ‘We do not like to bathe because the trees do not bathe, nor do the animals. This we know appears strange to outsiders, so Trader Jack makes us wash.’ His nose crinkled in distaste. ‘But it’s perfectly natural and is the way the Source intended us to be, but you’re right, I am indeed proud to be one of the Hidden. Come into our camp and be seated.’ He ushered them towards the fire area.
‘We’ve been waiting for you and now that you’re here we can leave at first light. Trader Jack is sleeping and I wouldn’t wish to wake him. We Hidden need only a little sleep and can go days without the need to rest,’ he explained. ‘He is human and not as young as he used to be so needs his sleep. My friends Serik and Char are about here somewhere looking for food.’ He tried to smile at the group before him, but it appeared to make them even more uncomfortable, so he stopped and decided to try a little bow. ‘We are the Hidden, do not fear us, we simply remain…a little different perhaps than others you have met. We are an ancient race, both noble and peaceful. Do not judge us until you know us…please.’
‘Now, are you in need of sleep or maybe refreshment of some kind?’ He pounced upon a bag and started to dig around, bobbing up a moment later to offer a hunk of something brown and greasy wrapped in a large leaf. All eyes fell on the offering as Groober held it out, his hand shaking as he saw they weren’t going to take it. ‘Woodcake…it’s made of all the very best things in the forest…it’s very good.’ He bit into it and tried the smile again, which was a mistake.
‘Er, thank you…but no,’ said Pardigan tearing his eyes away. He untied his bedroll as the others dropped their bags around the fire. ‘I’m going to sleep but I’m sure Loras will stay up and chat with you, and I bet he would like to try woodcake.’
Loras tried to decline but Quint whispered in his ear. ‘Someone has to
stay up and keep an eye on these…people. I’ll relieve you in a turn or two.’ Loras nodded unhappily but waved away the proffered woodcake with an apologetic look. ‘I am not eating that...stuff,’ he whispered. ‘It looks like there might be worms in it! ’
Pardigan lay down and Quint and Tarent began unrolling bedrolls close by. Loras and Mahra both stayed with Groober by the fire as the little man glanced about him nervously. He appeared sad and was pitifully shy, but brightened a little when two other Hidden, supposedly Serik and Char, appeared out of the forest without any warning clutching armloads of roots and fungus. They skirted around the seated figures keeping their eyes downcast, only glancing over timidly as they stored their finds in the back of a wagon. When Groober finally plucked up courage and asked Loras about life outside of Minster, the two other Hidden quietly crept over and all three cuddled up together to listen.
Loras began by telling them of Freya and Sterling, of the bustling cities made of stone and Sterling’s great colourful Dhurbar caravans. When he told them of The Isle of Skulls with its perpetual storms and the cold solemn Academy, the little Hidden held each other closely. Seeing their reaction he refrained from any mention of demons, skulls or skeletons.
Mahra listened and watched. She wasn’t sure what to make of the Hidden, they were strange creatures, with their toothy grins, greasy dirty hair and dark beady eyes, but the more she observed them, the more she felt they couldn’t be the monsters that legends described. They were behaving like three small children, not three small monsters.
Loras finished his tale, and the three Hidden reluctantly told stories of Minster Island and their people who had lived in hiding since time began. They told of how, many generations ago, the Hidden were charged with the sacred duty of remaining in seclusion, cut off from the outside world, never to mix with the world of man. With pride they told of how their little caravan was the only exception as it travelled around the island.