A Vanishing of Griffins Page 5

  “Your ship?” said Barver. “You’re the captain?”

  “Aye,” said Shanny. “The Heaven’s Reach is mine. Captain and pilot, all in one! We work the Outlying Treacheries, the most dangerous waters in the whole of the Eastern Sea! Weeks at a time, we spend there, finding the rarest things the sea can offer. Pearls the size of apples, and that’s not the half of it! Angry storms, waves as high as mountains, and I wouldn’t live any other way! Ever thought of piloting yourself, Barver?”

  Barver shook his head. “It does sound like a good life, but I’ve not got the loft for piloting. Being a Protector has proved much more my thing.”

  “A Protector!” said Shanny. “An exciting life, by all accounts! I have to admit, it appealed to me as a youngster, although it likely goes against a Griffin’s Covenant – or so my father told me. I suppose that as a dracogriff, you have more options open to you.”

  “My dad was a pilot,” said Barver. After a pause, he added: “You didn’t know him, by any chance? His name was Gaverry Tenso.”

  It was strange to Patch, hearing the name of Barver’s father for the first time.

  “Now it’s a funny thing,” said Shanny. “It’s said that humans outnumber dragons by a thousand to one, and dragons outnumber griffins by the same, so people always think every griffin knows every other. That’s not true, of course, not by a long way, but your father, I did know. Gaverry Tenso was one of the best pilots I ever worked with! I spent a year as a pilot in the Southern Churns, off the southernmost point of the Dragon Territories. Thirty years ago, this was! There was good fishing down there. Humans crewed the ships, of course – I mean, dragons love their fish, but they’re terrible seafarers.”

  Barver nodded, a distant look in his eyes. “Dad told me about the Churns,” he said. “Rocks would tear the bottom out of any vessel without a pilot! All kinds of ships would hire him. That was how my parents met – a dragon settlement on one of the large islands had an outbreak of disease and needed medicine, but storms were raging and the conditions were impossible for a direct flight. Only a piloted ship stood any chance of making it through in time. But none would risk it!” He took a long breath, nodding. “My mother was an advisor to the Triumvirate, and they sent her to deal with it.” The Triumvirate were the monarchs of the Dragon Territories – three dragons who ruled as one. “My dad was the only pilot willing to help.”

  “A Triumvirate advisor!” said Shanny. “I’m impressed! I’d come up north by then, but I imagine your parents made a fine couple.”

  Barver smiled. “They did.”

  “Well, it doesn’t surprise me that Gaverry was the one to volunteer,” said Shanny. “Your father was brimful with courage.”

  Wren caught Patch’s eye and signed: Ask him if he’s got stories, Barver would love that!

  Patch nodded. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stories about him, Shanny,” he said.

  “I do indeed!” said Shanny, and Wren was very pleased with her idea, although Barver’s next words made things take a rather dark turn.

  “Do you know how he died?” said Barver, his eyes sadder than Patch or Wren could ever recall seeing. “The details of it, I mean… My mother only told me he was lost at sea. She couldn’t talk about it without crying, and I never heard more than that.”

  For a moment Shanny seemed taken aback, but at last he gave a slow nod and began: “Of course, lad. It’s a tale familiar to all pilots, and you deserve to know. The port of Darnass Wenning has the greatest fishing fleet in the world, and two pilots are needed to keep it safe in the far reaches of the Great Grey Ocean. There are such Treacheries there, one griffin alone couldn’t hope to spot them all. Your father was one of their pilots; him, and another griffin called Tundin Wrass. They hit a storm, the kind you get once in a lifetime, while they were out deep among Treacheries. Rocks everywhere, and lightning raging, but the pilot griffins both kept flying, guiding the ships between the rocks. Lightning brought your father’s end, hit him full-square and down he went, under the waves. The last the fleet saw of Tundin Wrass, he was searching the water in vain. But the fleet made it home. They lost four vessels out of twenty, sixty human lives gone and both pilots, but it could have been hundreds! Your father and Tundin Wrass were heroes, Barver. You should always be proud of him.”

  Barver nodded, silent.

  Patch stepped closer to Shanny, and whispered: “Um, do you have any pleasant stories about his dad?”

  Shanny nodded, and whispered back, “My thoughts exactly, don’t worry.”

  Patch clapped his hands theatrically. “Well,” he said, nice and loud, “I think me and Wren should get back to Alia with what supplies I can carry. Barver, why don’t you stay with Shanny a while longer, then collect the heavy stuff on your way home?”

  “Uh, okay…if you’re sure?” said Barver. There was a definite emotional sheen to his eyes. “And if that’s fine with you, Shanny?”

  “Oh, it’ll be my honour, lad!” said Shanny. There was a loud thump from on deck, and a huge barrel swung out from the ship, dangling from the hoist, spilling seawater from the top as it went. Shanny scowled. “Secure that grandel!” he cried. “Keep it where it is, you buffoons, I’ll guide it down myself!”

  He strode across the dock, and stretched up – the great barrel was easily within his reach, and he steadied it, ignoring the water splashing onto him, then did as he’d promised, guiding it safely down.

  Patch, Wren and Barver joined him. Patch was fascinated by the huge barrel, and Shanny could see how impressed he was.

  “These grandels are the biggest barrels we carry,” said Shanny. “For one of our most prized cargoes!”

  The top of the barrel wasn’t sealed. Instead, it was covered by a mesh of wire, and water was visible underneath. Patch reached out, but Shanny grabbed his arm. “Careful, lad!” he said. “If you were fool enough to put a hand in that barrel, three seconds later it’d just be bone and gristle!”

  Patch stared at the barrel. “What…what’s in there?”

  With a mischievous grin, Shanny reached down and found a stray fish that had fallen from one of the salted barrels. He tossed it onto the wire mesh; the water seemed to boil up, and a flurry of small black shapes began to push through the mesh, jabbing at the fish, so rapidly that it took Patch a moment to work out what he was seeing.

  They were like small crab claws, he realized, but more elongated and sharp-ended. In no time at all, not a trace of the fish remained, and the water surface settled.

  Patch, Wren and Barver were wide-eyed.

  “Natter-clumps!” said Shanny, his expression dark. “Dangerous and terrible little beasts! I don’t know of a more vicious and ugly creature in this whole world, above sea or below.” He patted the barrel and smiled. “But they are very tasty.”

  When Patch and Wren reached the cottage, Alia ushered them through into the small kitchen, where she unloaded the bag of supplies. Wren hopped down from Patch’s shoulder.

  “Oh, good, the ten-jack thistle is fresh,” said Alia, pulling out a small string-tied bunch of spiky weeds. “Dried is never as good.”

  “Barver’s bringing the rest soon,” said Patch. “He’s staying in the port for a bit, because…”

  “I heard the griffin, Patch. Couldn’t really miss it screeching overhead, could I? Friend of Barver, then?”

  “Barver didn’t know him. He was a bit nervous, to be honest. I don’t think he’s ever had that much to do with griffins, really.”

  Wren sniffed at the ten-jack thistle. What are you going to make with all this? she signed. Medicines or potions?

  Alia smiled. “Both!” she said. “I remember promising to take you on as an apprentice one day, Wren Cobble! Let’s see if you’re an attentive learner, shall we?”

  Wren clapped her paws together and grinned. I’ve nothing else planned, she signed. How is Erner doing, anyway?

  “He still has a fever,” said Alia. “There are open sores on his legs, and he’s underfed, but once I can g
et food in him he’ll quickly improve.” She looked at Patch. “You wouldn’t sit and watch him, would you?” she said. “While me and Wren get cooking? Let me know if he wakes.”

  “Of course,” said Patch, but it was with real reluctance that he made his way into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Alia had lit a fire, and the room was very warm. Patch sat on a wooden stool beside the bed. Erner was tucked in under a sheet and a thick woollen blanket.

  After an hour or so, Erner started to talk in his sleep – garbled little sounds that Patch couldn’t make out.

  “It’s okay,” Patch told him. “You’re safe here.”

  More garbled sounds came, but suddenly there was a word: “Patch…”

  Patch ignored his first instinct – to simply run and fetch Alia. In all likelihood, Erner would drift back under again in a moment. Better to leave Alia and Wren to get on with their work.

  He leaned over. “You’re not with King Arpie any more, Erner,” he said. “You’re…”

  Erner sat up suddenly, eyes wide; seeing Patch, he leaped from the bed and put his hands around Patch’s throat, squeezing, squeezing, and they both fell to the floor, Patch struggling for breath. Suddenly Erner’s expression changed, from rage to horror. He took his hands from Patch, staring at them. “I…” he said. “I…”

  Then he collapsed beside Patch, out cold.

  Patch stood and backed away, coughing.

  A voice from behind made him jump.

  “I’ll get him back into bed,” said Alia. She was at the door, with Wren on her shoulder. “He’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, look like you need some air.”

  Patch went through to the kitchen. Alia and Wren joined him a few moments later.

  Wren jumped down from Alia’s shoulder to the table, and watched him with real concern; beside her was a cup, and she tapped it twice with her paw. Drink this, she signed.

  Patch picked it up and sniffed. There was a strong smell of honey, and something a little like mint. “What is it?” he said.

  “Ten-jack thistle tea,” said Alia. “It’ll settle your nerves. Take it all in one gulp, though.”

  “Didn’t you make this for Erner?” he said.

  Alia nodded. “We’ll make more. Go ahead.”

  Patch looked at Alia, then at Wren, before he plucked up the courage. The tea had a peppery edge to it, but it was sweet. He sat down.

  Wren hopped onto his shoulder. Erner meant no harm, she signed. He’s having nightmares, that’s all.

  Patch shook his head. “We got him out,” he said. “That’s what counts. I never expected him to forgive me for what I did, Wren.”

  Of course he’ll forgive you, she signed. You two are friends, aren’t you?

  “I’ve known Erner since I first came to Tiviscan,” said Patch. He could feel a heavy sorrow wrap itself around him. “He treated me with kindness. Not all of the older trainees did, you know, when novices arrived to begin learning the Piping Arts. Yet without hesitating, I pushed him off Barver and into the water. I thought about being put back in the dungeons, and I pushed him. I think I should keep out of Erner’s sight as much as possible.”

  Don’t be silly, signed Wren. This can be fixed! She turned and looked at Alia. Can’t it?

  Alia said nothing.

  “Sometimes there’s no going back,” said Patch. “Sometimes if you cause someone hurt, the best you can do is take away the reminders of it. Even if that’s you. Especially if that’s you.”

  Wren shook her head. You’re wrong, she signed.

  “Think about it,” he said. “Imagine if it had been you I’d thrown off. Imagine how you would feel.”

  She stared at him. Long seconds passed, and tears welled up in her eyes. Even the thought of it was unbearable.

  “Go and watch the patient,” Alia told her. “I left the door open just a crack. Keep an eye on him.”

  Wren nodded. She scampered down to the floor and left the kitchen.

  Once she was gone, Alia took a seat next to Patch and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have thrown her off Barver,” she said.

  Patch shook his head. “No. And I think Erner would realize that. I’d known her for a few weeks, yet I’d known Erner for years. If Wren had been the one to say the words of the prophecy, I’d have told myself it was nonsense, that there was some kind of trick to it. But Erner…” He looked at Alia. “The best I can do is keep out of his way, isn’t it?”

  Alia gave his shoulder a squeeze. There was real pain on her face. “Erner is a good lad, and he’ll want to get to a point where he forgives you. Let him go at his own pace.”

  It was almost dark when Barver returned, the rest of their supplies strapped to the sides of his harness.

  “Hello there!” called Patch. “How did it go?”

  “Very well indeed,” said Barver. “Give me a hand with this lot first, would you?”

  He and Patch unloaded the shopping – several large sacks and a medium-sized cauldron, lashed to Barver’s harness with a considerable amount of rope.

  Alia came out to check it over. “Welcome back,” she said. “Did they have everything on my list?”

  “Not quite,” said Barver. “A few items proved tricky.” He fished out a piece of paper from a pocket on his harness, and squinted at it. “You wanted some unwashed wool straight from a sheep, which they’ll have tomorrow, but it was a definite no on the Kanda Bat droppings.”

  Alia shrugged and took the paper. “It was a long shot, really. I’ll just have to make do.” She lifted her cauldron with surprising ease and headed back inside. A moment later, Wren emerged and scampered up onto Patch’s shoulder.

  How was it? she signed to Barver.

  Barver smiled. “It was good,” he said. “Thanks for encouraging me to say hello.”

  Our pleasure, signed Wren.

  “I told Shanny how shy I felt around griffins,” said Barver. “He told me I wasn’t to think ill of myself, as he often feels the same way. Griffins don’t tend to seek out the company of other griffins, if they don’t have to.”

  Is it true what Shanny said? signed Wren. Do dragons really outnumber griffins by a thousand to one?

  “Nobody really knows how many griffins there are in the world,” said Barver. “A thousand to one is probably an exaggeration, but they’re few and far between.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. “There’s an old joke sailors play on inexperienced new shipmates. You point at the sky and say, ‘Oh, a flock of griffins,’ and when they look, you just say, ‘Too late, they vanished behind a cloud,’ and the whole crew would burst out laughing.”

  “Is there a special word for that?” asked Patch. “A flock of griffins?”

  Barver laughed. “Of course not! Seeing two griffins flying together is rare enough. Why would there be a word for a flock?”

  But why are there so few griffins? asked Wren.

  “It’s just the nature of things,” said Barver. “Griffins are very closely related to birds, and there are plenty of birds who are similar in their solitude – falcons, say, who spread out over large areas, so their numbers never grow by much. Dragons are happy to live in large communities, so they’re far greater in number. And humans…well…” He coughed. “Let’s just say there are a lot of them.”

  Did Shanny have some good tales to tell? signed Wren.

  “Absolutely!” said Barver. “And to hear stories about my dad, other than the ones my mum would tell me, was wonderful.”

  Wren squeaked with joy. I’m so glad, she signed.

  “I’ve never heard you talk about your father before,” said Patch.

  “I don’t suppose I have,” said Barver. “When my mother died, it brought back how hard I’d found it to lose him. In the year before his death I didn’t get to see him much. I was already missing him badly, and then the terrible news came…” For a second, he looked distraught. “When me and my mum drifted apart, I felt absolutely alone. Dragons didn’t really accept me as one
of them, and as for griffins… You heard Shanny mention the Griffin Covenant, yes?”

  “We did,” said Patch. “What’s that about?”

  “It’s a promise a griffin makes when they come of age,” said Barver. “A code of honour, really. Griffins vow to only do certain kinds of work. Anything involving violence is frowned on, which is why there aren’t many griffin Protectors – they have to be careful that everything they do is in self-defence, or in the defence of others under attack. And anything related to war is completely forbidden.”

  What happens to a griffin who breaks their vow? signed Wren.

  “They’d be in disgrace,” he said. “Rejected. And because the Covenant is only for griffins, not for dracogriffs, I always thought other griffins would know I’d not taken it. I suppose I always avoided them, in case they’d reject me too.”

  Well, Shanny didn’t reject you, did he? signed Wren, getting slightly cross at the thought of somebody being mean to Barver. And anyone who did…they’d have me to deal with, for a start!

  Barver smiled at her. “You’re a good friend,” he said. “And don’t think for a moment that I forgot about you! I plucked up the courage to ask Shanny for a favour.”

  Wren looked puzzled. What favour? she signed.

  “I asked him about Underath’s griffin, Alkeran.”

  Wren felt herself scowl at the mention of Underath – the Sorcerer who had turned her into a rat. But Underath’s griffin had been kidnapped, and he’d promised that, if his griffin was returned, he would undo his curse.

  “Shanny had never heard the name before,” continued Barver. “It’s possible that Alkeran is not his true name. You recall the metal collar and chain we found in Alkeran’s home?”

  Patch nodded. “A reminder, we assumed, that he’d escaped from captivity somewhere.”