A Vanishing of Griffins Page 2

  If they had come to rescue him, they had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  King Arpie cleared his throat. “Pitiful prisoners! You’re accused of being spies for the Custodian Elite, on account of you asking questions about my pet Piper.” He thwacked Erner’s cage with his staff. “Do you confess?” He grinned, and at that moment Erner knew that the King didn’t care if they were spies, not really. All he cared about was that other people would think it.

  Alia’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. “We don’t represent the Custodian Elite, Your Majesty,” she said. “We’re here to ask you to show mercy and release a friend.” She nodded to Erner. “He is a—”

  But the King interrupted. “Yes, yes, blah, blah, yakkity yak! You’re a spy, admit it! You admit he’s a friend, so admit you’re a spy and be done with it! We don’t have all day.”

  Erner saw the King’s hand move towards the lever. “No!” he cried, and the King gave him a sharp look and another thwack.

  Alia was also looking at the King’s hand, and at the lever it was now touching. “Don’t do anything you might regret, sire,” she said. Her voice was laced with the direst of warnings, a sound of deep foreboding woven into every word she uttered.

  There was sorcery at work here, Erner realized. The woman’s voice would make anyone with sense pause for a moment and wonder why it felt like the very stones of the throne room walls were shaking as she spoke. She was obviously powerful; ignoring her would be a very foolish thing indeed.

  Unfortunately, King Arpie Noss was a very foolish man.

  “This is how King Arpie deals with spies!” said the King. He pulled his lever. The floor under the prisoners swung down, and Erner watched them fall, their cries disappearing into the dark below. Everyone in the room listened, until at last the cries ceased and the trapdoor swung closed again.

  Erner was in so much shock he could hardly breathe. He didn’t know what awaited his would-be rescuers, but he did know this: the trapdoor led to a winding shaft, down which prisoners would tumble until they reached the bottom and found themselves in a place of absolute horror.

  A place the pirates called, “The Pit of Screaming Death”.

  King Arpie clapped his hands together in excitement and jumped out of his throne. “Come on, then,” he said. “Everyone to the viewing gallery!” He nodded towards Erner. “Bring him along, Skreep. Let him watch. It’ll be fun!”

  When Patch finally hit the ground, his first thought was that he’d crushed Wren.

  “No!” he cried. He stood and patted himself down, checking her favourite pocket; finding it empty, he looked around but saw no sign of her.

  A few feet away, Alia sat up with a groan. “That was annoying,” she said. “Are you okay, Patch?”

  “I’ve lost Wren,” he said. He called for his friend and listened; there was no reply, not a squeak. “She must have fallen out on the way down.” He took in his surroundings: a huge natural cavern, mostly in darkness. A few gaps in the highest part of the rock directly above let in some light. Beside them was the hole they’d hurtled out of, low on the wall. He put his head inside, looking up into the steep tunnel that led from the King’s trapdoor. The sides were smooth, giving a human no chance of slowing down, but for a rat everything was different. Wren could easily have found enough grip with her claws.

  “Wren?” he called. “If you’re in there, stay where you are until we’ve got this figured out.” He listened, but there was no reply. Still, at least that horrible first thought he’d had – of finding her broken body underneath him – hadn’t come true.

  There was a door further along in the rock wall, but it was heavily armoured, clad in iron. Patch didn’t like this one bit.

  Alia stood and dusted herself off. They heard a thunk from above them, and looked up. There was a large wooden platform near the cavern roof, and onto the platform came King Arpie, followed by several dozen grinning pirates. In among them was Erner – released from his cage, being led along by a chain fastened to his wrists.

  So much for rescues, thought Patch. This had not quite gone to plan.

  The plan had been a simple one. After battling the dreaded Hamelyn Piper at Tiviscan – the home of the Pipers’ Council – Patch, Wren and their friend Barver had returned to Marwheel Abbey. There, they found that Rundel Stone remained unconscious, still suffering the effects of the poison that had almost killed him. Rundel was a senior member of the Custodian Elite, one of only a few to hold their highest rank of Virtus. He was in good hands – Alia and Brother Tobias were looking after him.

  Patch had told Alia and Tobias everything that had happened:

  He had told them of the Hamelyn Piper’s attempt to take control of the Pipers at Tiviscan, with a vast Organ constructed from obsidiac – the rare and magical substance also known as black diamond.

  He had told them of how Barver – half-dragon, half-griffin, and almost indestructible – had flown into the Organ, destroying it, only for the Hamelyn Piper to mysteriously vanish.

  He had told them of how Wren had broken the magical bracelet that let her turn back into human form, and might now be a rat for ever.

  And he had told them of the prophecy that had warned Patch of betrayal. That prophecy had led to him pushing Erner Whitlock off Barver’s back, thinking it was Erner who would betray them. But then the prophecy had seemed to point suspicion at members of the Pipers’ Council instead – at all of them, except for the Head of the Council, Lord Drevis.

  “Prophecies are sneaky,” Alia said. “They can seem to mean one thing, but mean the precise opposite.”

  “But what about the Pipers’ Council?” asked Patch. “Can we trust them or not?”

  “I think we should play it safe and assume not,” said Alia. “For now, at least.”

  There was one thing Patch didn’t tell Alia and Tobias, however: that they had discovered where obsidiac came from. They knew how the Hamelyn Piper had come by so much of it, and why he had kidnapped a hundred young dragons all those years ago. Barver’s mother had left him a letter after her death that led to this truth, and she had instructed him to tell only Lord Drevis about it.

  Once Patch had finished, Alia and Tobias sat in stunned silence.

  “We came so close to disaster,” said Alia at last. She looked at Patch, Wren and Barver. “The courage and wisdom all three of you showed… I’m so very proud of you!”

  “You’re heroes!” said Tobias. “All of you!”

  They quickly agreed on their next course of action: to find out what had become of Erner. This proved to be much simpler than Patch had expected. Barver sent a letter to some of his old acquaintances in the Islands of the Eastern Sea, the kind of people who tended to know things, especially if those things involved very serious wrongdoing. They’d hoped for some information about the mercenaries who’d been at Underath’s castle, enough to allow them to begin their search; instead, a reply had come detailing the rumours of a captive Custodian Apprentice, and his purchase by a Pirate King.

  They had found Erner!

  Tobias had ridden hard by horse to Kenniston, the site of the nearest Custodian Elite outpost. There, he had learned that the Custodians were already aware of the rumours, but had no intention of investigating.

  “What do you mean, they’re doing nothing?” Patch had spluttered when Tobias returned.

  “They believe it’s made-up,” said Tobias. “A bit of boasting by a Pirate King that couldn’t possibly be true, because nobody could be that stupid. Most of the Custodian Elite has been tasked with tracking down the Hamelyn Piper, and they can’t spare anyone to waste on what they think is a wild goose chase.”

  Patch was outraged. “But you’re one of the Eight, Tobias, surely they’d listen to you?”

  Tobias was indeed one of the Eight – the famed group of Custodians who had tracked down the Hamelyn Piper more than a decade ago. So too was Alia. But neither of them would meet his gaze. At last, Patch realized his error – heroes they may be, but they had
both left the Custodian Elite and sought anonymity once the Hamelyn Piper was (or so they’d thought) safely imprisoned. The burden of their fame had proved too much; they wanted to live their lives as they chose. Only a select few knew who they really were.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tobias. “If I’d started claiming to be one of the Eight they’d have thought me a madman. We must wait until Rundel wakes. He’ll convince them to act. Every Custodian in the world knows him!”

  And so they’d waited.

  And waited.

  The days passed slowly. Each morning, Patch, Wren and Barver would ask if Rundel Stone had woken. Each morning, Alia and Tobias would tell them that he had not. They had done all they could, and now it was just a matter of time. He would wake soon, they promised.

  Soon.

  Patch spent the time completing a new Pipe to replace the one that the Hamelyn Piper had broken. He didn’t feel complete without a Pipe, and finishing it made him feel much better. Guilt burned deep inside him, though – over and over, he would replay in his head the moment that he’d pushed Erner into the lake.

  Barver, whose wing had been badly injured when he’d flown into the Obsidiac Organ, was starting to heal. He had help from Brother Duffle, who had designed an elaborate hinged splint for his broken wing.

  Wren was quiet, and this worried Patch terribly. Of the three of them, she had lost the most. All hope of ever being human again was gone, it seemed, and she would likely be a rat for the rest of her days. She did little more than eat and sleep, and even the prospect of playing her favourite game of Fox and Owls with Barver held no interest for her.

  It was Barver who, seeing his friends suffer so, decided that they’d all had enough of waiting. The time for action had come.

  “I have a plan,” he announced one morning. “A plan that absolutely cannot fail.”

  Of course, having spent the previous seven years working as a Protector – a kind of bodyguard – in the Islands of the Eastern Sea, Barver had plenty of contacts there, and quite a few people who owed him their lives. He would return and see what favours he could cash in. “A week or two in the Islands, and I’ll know exactly how to get Erner freed,” he told them. “You should all come along, I can show you around!”

  Tobias scowled. “The Islands aren’t somewhere I’d ever want to go.”

  Sitting beside him, Alia laughed. “That’s because you made a few enemies there, as I recall.”

  Wren suddenly had a wistful look on her little rat face. She started to sign in Merisax, the hand speech that Patch had taught her. I’ve always wanted to see the Islands of the Eastern Sea, she signed. Even before I met you, Barver. Some of the best stories my mother read to me are set there. Pirate adventures were always my favourite!

  “Then you must come!” said Barver. “You too, Patch. I promise you’ll never be in any danger.”

  As far as Patch was concerned, the Islands had always sounded particularly dangerous. Still, when he’d escaped the dungeons of Tiviscan, the Islands were the only place he could have made a living as a Piper. Before his pardon by the Pipers’ Council, he’d been making plans to go with Barver and see what kind of life he could have there. He’d managed to convince himself that it didn’t seem so bad.

  There was something else, though – something that had already made up his mind. Since they’d returned to Marwheel Abbey, all he’d ever seen in Wren’s eyes was a look of utter hopelessness.

  Now, he saw excitement, and a yearning for adventure. If anything could snap Wren out of the despair she’d been engulfed by, surely a trip to such an exotic location would do it.

  “You’re sure we’ll be safe?” said Patch. “I mean, really safe?”

  Barver grinned. “There’s little to fear in the Islands if you’re with someone who knows the ways of the place, trust me. And the food… Well, I’ve told you all about the food, haven’t I?”

  Patch shared a look with Wren, and they both nodded, smiling. Yes, Barver had told them many times about the glorious grub the Islands boasted. It sounded heavenly.

  “Then I’m in,” said Patch.

  I am too, signed Wren.

  “You’re most certainly not going alone,” said Alia. “Barver, while I have complete faith in you, you’ll have to spend time in the company of, shall we say, less desirable folk, or visit some of the more dubious parts of the Islands. I’d be much happier if there was an extra pair of hands to keep this young duo safe. I’m coming with you.”

  “But…” started Tobias, and Alia flapped a hand at him.

  “Not a word!” she said. “You’re perfectly capable of keeping an eye on Rundel while I’m gone. The poison has cleared from his body. What he needs now is the best Healing Piper in the world to ease him back to waking, and, yes, I do mean you.”

  With Barver’s wing still in a splint, there was no possibility of flying to the Islands. Instead, it was a day’s walk to Grittleham, then a barge down the Platter River to the port of Trelance, where they bought passage on a merchant ship headed for the most westerly of the Islands – the famous Sunfish Bay.

  It was a three-day sail, and Patch loved every second of it. The weather helped – a good warm wind and calm seas made for very pleasant conditions aboard.

  What he loved most was seeing Wren’s bright smile at every wondrous new sight, her dark miserable cloud gone. She marvelled at the porpoises and dolphins leaping from the water alongside the ship.

  The crew were utterly charmed by her, thinking she was merely a highly trained rat rather than a rat-shaped girl. Indeed, Wren and Barver both were the stars of the voyage. Griffins have a special place in the hearts of those who make their living at sea; sighting a griffin was considered one of the luckiest omens on any sea journey. And even though Barver was a dracogriff – half-dragon, half-griffin – having him on board left every sailor in high spirits.

  Wren was eager to talk to Alia about magic, but Alia’s grasp of Merisax hand speech was rather shaky. Patch spent much of each day helping her improve, and she was just as fast a learner as Wren had been.

  Each night, Barver and Wren played Fox and Owls in front of an audience of astonished sailors, while Alia sat sipping rum, and Patch looked on with a glad heart. It hadn’t been so long, after all, since he’d watched Wren fall to what seemed like certain death, as he’d stood precariously on the vast Obsidiac Organ, Barver flying hard towards him with murderous intent.

  He much preferred this.

  Even the thought of the Hamelyn Piper, still on the loose, didn’t prey on his mind – it was the Custodian Elite’s problem now, not his. The biggest knot in his stomach came from his guilt about Erner, but they were on their way to do everything in their power to save him.

  The journey was so perfect, indeed, that when Sunfish Bay came into view on the horizon Patch felt an odd sort of disappointment. The following few days were almost as wonderful, though – Sunfish Bay itself was an amazing place. Barver set off to meet various shady characters who might help in his quest to secure Erner’s release, while Alia, Patch and Wren made the most of the inns that Barver recommended. The food did not disappoint.

  From Sunfish Bay, they headed east to Calamity Sands, then north to Hangman’s Cove; a short hop to Dysentery Beach (where the food was much better than they feared) was followed by a longer sailing across to Lanyard Island.

  Patch was starting to understand the sheer scale of the Islands of the Eastern Sea; he’d known there were over two hundred Pirate Kings and Queens, but not that – as Barver told him – there were over ten thousand islands, ranging from half a mile across to several hundred.

  At last, Barver declared that it was time to head for Pengersick itself, where Erner was being held. “As it turns out, someone I know very well is highly regarded by King Arpie Noss,” he said. “I’ll go and see how things are. You three can stop off at The Ungrateful Worm and try their famous roasted natter-clumps, the best shellfish you’ll ever taste! Delicious.”

  By evening of the f
ollowing day, they had reached Pengersick. Barver left them at The Ungrateful Worm, where they found a quiet corner and ordered up some natter-clumps. These had turned out to be probably the strangest thing Patch had ever eaten, odd little fleshy lumps that were fish-like in texture but tasted of juicy pork.

  Then, halfway through their meal, Alia went and put her foot in it. When the innkeeper came over to offer her some mead, she asked him a very simple question.

  “I heard the King of these parts has a captive Custodian Piper,” she said. “Doesn’t that worry anyone?”

  All conversation died away at once; every pair of eyes was looking right at their little table.

  Alia’s face fell. “Oh,” she said.

  In no time at all, they’d been accused of spying for the Custodian Elite, clapped in manacles, had their heads covered, and were being marched off to the King. Alia and Patch had both been searched; Wren had scampered halfway down Patch’s trouser leg just in time to avoid being discovered, and Patch had managed not to shriek. Their captors had taken Alia’s knapsack; to anyone versed in sorcery, it would have been blindingly obvious that the bag was chock-a-block with magical items. To their captors, it had just been some bits of plants, a few strange stones and some funny-looking lumps of metal.

  Patch was immensely glad that he’d left his own bag, with his Pipe inside, tied to Barver’s harness packs. If they’d found that… Well, finding a Pipe would have been taken as clear proof of guilt, and he really didn’t want to think about what their captors might have done. Or tried to do, at any rate – Alia certainly wouldn’t let them come to any real harm. After all, at Gemspar Mountain he’d seen what kind of power she could conjure up with her bare hands.

  “Don’t worry,” Alia kept whispering to him and Wren, as they were marched along. “When we see the King I’ll sort everything out.”

  And then came the throne room.