A Vanishing of Griffins Read online

“Indeed,” said Barver. “A new name would make sense, if he feared that someone might have been looking for him.”

  Wren’s paws flew to her mouth in horror. The woman who kidnapped Alkeran! she signed. You think she was taking him back to captivity?

  “It’s possible,” said Barver. “When you and Erner spoke to Underath, he told you it was the griffin that she’d been after all along. And Alkeran didn’t go with her willingly…” That was certainly the case – the woman was a Sorcerer, and had torn out Underath’s heart to use in a spell to bewitch the griffin. Underath himself had barely survived, using all the magic at his disposal to replace his heart – somewhat unconventionally – with a shoe.

  “Anyway,” said Barver. “Shanny promised that the Echoes would hear of it.”

  “The Echoes?” asked Patch.

  “It’s another griffin thing,” said Barver. “News is passed from one griffin to another. Most of the time it’s the only reason griffins meet, and they like to keep it as brief as they can. Anyway, Shanny will make sure to get word to us, either here or at Marwheel Abbey, if anything comes up.” He reached out a hand to Wren, and Wren hopped onto his huge palm. “We’ll find the griffin, little one. We’ll get Underath back his heart, and his powers shall return, enough for him to keep his promise and make you human again.”

  Wren wiped away a tear. Thank you, she signed. But what if it’s too late?

  “Nonsense,” said Patch. “Alia says it’s not too late, and she should know.” He met Barver’s eyes and had to look away – for while Alia had always been optimistic about it when talking to Wren, there had been times in Marwheel when she’d been open to both Patch and Barver about her fears: fears that Wren might be a rat for ever.

  Over the coming days, Erner’s fever reduced and his leg sores healed. Wren told him everything about their adventures, and made sure that Patch sounded suitably heroic in her telling – especially the part where he donned the Iron Mask, inside out, and went to face the Hamelyn Piper.

  Erner never brought up his ejection from Barver’s back, and said very little about his own “adventure” that had brought him to Pengersick, and the court of King Arpie. This was for the best, Alia explained – talking about it too soon could set back his recovery.

  Patch, doing everything he could to avoid Erner, spent much of his time in the outbuilding where Barver slept. When alone, he took out his Pipe and got some practice in, doing the familiar exercises he’d been taught at Tiviscan. At dusk, little swarms of midges would gather under the bows of a large beech tree next to the cottage, and Patch would play his Pipe; the midges would ripple and shift like the murmurations of starlings.

  Part of him wanted to start practising the Push Songs of the Battle Pipers, the kind he’d used in his confrontation with the Hamelyn Piper. He had a real knack for it, he knew, but it was also something that scared him. Whenever he thought of that evil Piper still being free, he imagined taking up his Pipe and not stopping until the villain lay broken and still.

  But that was not the future he wanted for himself. He needed to find a different path.

  One morning Alia announced she had news. “I sent a letter to Marwheel Abbey when we arrived in Sorkil, telling Tobias how things had gone. I just received his reply. Rundel Stone has woken from his illness!”

  You should tell Erner! signed Wren.

  “I already did,” Alia told her. “Hearing that piece of good news has buoyed him up even more than my ten-jack thistle tea does!” She frowned a little. “Tobias was slightly vague about how fully Rundel has recovered, which worries me. The moon-rot he was poisoned with can leave a mark, causing damage that lasts years. Rundel is well enough to travel, though – they’ve left Marwheel Abbey and relocated quite some distance south.”

  “Relocated?” said Patch. “Why?”

  “Oh, you’ll find out in good time,” said Alia. “Barver, can you arrange passage for us? A little port called Welderby is our best landing point. I’ll give you what silver I have left. The fastest ship you can find! A long sea voyage is the last thing Erner needs. He has no sea legs whatsoever, that boy.”

  “Leave it with me!” said Barver.

  By early afternoon, arrangements had been made. They went to the harbour, and Barver led them down a wooden pier. In front of them, on either side of a single jetty, were two ships. One was a simple three-masted fluit, a speedy vessel that had plenty of room for cargo. It was clean and solid, and looked almost new. The crew seemed like decent people, tidily dressed in identical white cotton clothing and getting about their business in a professional manner.

  The other ship was a battered old sloop, bedecked with weapons and roughly tied barrels. Most of the crew were playing cards and drinking rum, or sleeping. Some were stitching rips in sailcloth that seemed to already carry the scars of older damage.

  The name of the first ship was the Steadfast Voyager.

  The second was called the Dubious Plum.

  Alia looked from one ship to the other, then turned to Barver, her eyes narrowing. “Which is ours?” she said. “The good one…or the pirate ship?”

  “That is not a pirate ship,” said Barver. His tone was rather defensive, and answered Alia’s question immediately. “It’ll get us where we need to go in three days, while everyone else would take a week or more. I did make a tiny compromise on where we’d be dropped off, but they’ll be fast, I guarantee it!”

  “It does look like a pirate ship,” said Patch, nervous.

  “These people are traders,” said Barver. “Yes, they’re well-armed and used to fighting. They have to be, in the seas they sail. They were highly recommended.”

  Alia nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. “They’d better not cause us any trouble, that’s all I’ll say.”

  It wasn’t long before they set off. The ship cut smoothly through the water, and even Alia’s sceptical frowning lessened as they made rapid progress. It was a good thing too – Erner’s seasickness was so bad that by the time evening drew in, Alia grew worried. She gave him a sleeping potion that knocked him flat out, and then had him bunked down below.

  As night fell, Patch listened to the sea shanties the crew sang, intrigued by how similar they were to several Songs he’d studied at Tiviscan, Songs for the control of air and liquids. Trying to join in with his Pipe, he managed to create a little whirlpool in a tankard of water. Wren was delighted.

  Ooh, water magic! she signed. I saw something like that in Underath’s books. I didn’t have long enough to memorize it, though.

  Alia leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “I imagine you came away from Underath’s books with a few other tricks up your sleeve,” she said. “What did you memorize?”

  Wren was coy. Oh, this and that, was all she would give as an answer.

  On the third day of sailing, Barver announced that it was time to disembark.

  Erner didn’t pay any attention, being too busy leaning over the side and being sick. Alia, Patch and Wren, however, looked around. Something very important was missing.

  “Um, Barver?” asked Patch. “Where’s the, um, land?” He scanned the horizon, but there was only sea.

  “I did mention that I made a bit of a compromise on where we’d be dropped off,” said Barver. “This is as close as we get to shore.”

  Wren’s face fell. You have to be kidding, she signed. She noticed that some of the crew were shifting cargo around on the deck, clearing a path that ran all the way back to the stern of the ship. Are they doing what I think they’re doing?

  Barver looked sheepish. “I need to get up some speed before take-off,” he said. “I’m not quite ready for a standing start.”

  “And how is your wing today?” said Patch. “Only I do remember Brother Duffle insisting that you kept that splint on for at least a few months…” Barver said nothing, but Patch saw an evasive look in his eye. “You’ve been flying already, haven’t you?”

  “Well…” said Barver. “Of course I have. It’s fine, I’ve been
practising! I’d sneak off sometimes in the early hours of the morning. The splint doesn’t even get in the way, not really. Come to think of it…”

  To Patch’s horror, Barver reached up to the splint on his wing and snapped it off.

  “All good,” said Barver. He flexed his wings, as if to prove the point. “It’s only a few miles! There are some great thermals around. I can probably glide much of the way once I get some height.” The crew finished shifting cargo and gave him a thumbs up, which he returned. “All ready! Oh, if we do go straight into the water, this lot promised they’d fish you out quick smart! Just don’t splash about too much. You don’t want to attract the attention of anything that might be…you know, in the water.”

  A few minutes later, Barver was at the ship’s stern, all his passengers on his back: Erner at the front, looking green around the gills, with Alia behind him, then Patch. Wren was on Patch’s shoulder, but she soon scampered down into his pocket.

  The crew cheered mightily as Barver started his run, and the cheer became a huge roar of well-wishing as he took off into the air. He plummeted towards the surface of the sea, and pulled back just in time, flapping hard.

  Patch wondered if there were any disappointed sharks looking up at them.

  Barver managed to gain good speed and height. Soon they could see the coast, and a small port town.

  “Head west of the port,” Alia called to Barver. “Two miles beyond you’ll see a hill overlooking a village. The mansion at the top of the hill is where we’ll find Rundel and Tobias.”

  Barver turned his head back. “Why did they come here?”

  Erner, seated in front of Alia, began to respond: “Because this is the home of—”

  Alia interrupted. “Don’t spoil the surprise, Erner. I promise it’ll be explained soon enough!”

  They flew on, leaving the coast behind. The hill Alia had spoken of was forested; as they drew nearer, they saw a huge mansion on the summit, surrounded by ornate gardens.

  And somewhere in that mansion, thought Patch, was Rundel Stone, one of the most famous Pipers of the Custodian Elite, woken at last from his poison-induced sleep. The man who had rescued Patch from the villagers of Patterfall, only to see him imprisoned in the dungeons of Tiviscan, with a sentence of five hundred and ten years! The thought suddenly made Patch very nervous indeed. Instinctively, his hand went to his pocket, where he kept the pardon given to him by the Pipers’ Council as reward for his heroics against the Hamelyn Piper. In the pocket below that, he could feel the warm bulge of a snuggling rat. “We’re about to land, Wren,” he said. Wren stuck her head out, eyes squinting against the fast-flowing air.

  Barver veered down, clearly enjoying himself. He skimmed unnervingly close to the treetops on the edge of the forest, and approached the centre of the garden at some speed. Then, just in time, he tilted up and caught the air in his wings as a brake, so that when his feet reached the ground he was at walking pace.

  Wren caught Patch’s eye and shook her head. Show-off, she signed.

  They dismounted. As they reached the mansion, the large front doors opened, and there stood Brother Tobias, waving at them and grinning. “Welcome!” he said. “Come in, come in! Your timing couldn’t be better – I was just putting the finishing touches to some stew. Barver, the doorway might be a squeeze but it’s roomy inside!”

  Soon enough they were standing in an opulent entrance hall, the air full of the smell of cooking. A vast wooden staircase was in front of them, and enormous portraits of serious-looking men and women filled the walls. As Tobias had promised, Barver had plenty of space – enough to spread his wings and have a good flap if he’d wanted.

  The dracogriff peered closely at one of the portraits, which depicted a young woman, stern yet beautiful, standing beside a large and ferocious-looking boar which seemed to be on a lead. Barver squinted at the inscription on the frame. “Posna de Frenn,” he said. He gave Alia a pointed look. “Where are we, and why are we here? I mean, you did promise to explain.”

  “I did,” she said. “This, Barver, is the estate of Lady Posna de Frenn, the woman in that picture. She was sole heir to the de Frenn fortune, and died thirty-five years ago alongside her husband Gregor, leaving a son, Yemas de Frenn, to inherit everything.” Alia pointed to another portrait on the furthest wall, which depicted mother, father and son; the boar was there too, looking much older and slightly frail. “Yemas was fifteen at the time and wanted nothing of wealth. Instead, having natural skill at Piping, he took on a false identity and went to Tiviscan to train as a Piper. He excelled, and also grew fascinated with sorcery; he devoted his life to the study of how the two magics of sorcery and music overlapped. Eventually, he became a celebrated hero, but the thought of fame horrified him. Instead, becoming Yemas de Frenn once more, he used his family’s fortune to secretly continue his studies, here in his childhood home.” Barver was frowning, and looked like he was about to speak, but then the penny dropped. He smiled, as did Wren. Alia smiled back. “Now you understand,” she said.

  Patch scowled, none the wiser. “Not entirely,” he grumbled.

  “This,” said Alia, gesturing around the room in which they stood, “is the family home of Yemas de Frenn. Better known to you as Ural Casimir, the Sorcerer Engineer, one of the Eight.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Patch, suddenly very excited. He nodded at Wren.

  You got there in the end, she signed.

  “But hang on,” said Patch. “I thought Casimir lived in a run-down shack in the far reaches of Turniss! And under his shack was his greatest secret, the Caves of Casimir, a treasure trove of mysterious magical artefacts hidden deep underground! I mean, that’s what it said in The Adventures of the Eight. I read it until the pages were worn thin!” He looked to Wren. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Wren nodded. I know the story as well as you do, she signed. But just because it said it in the story, doesn’t mean it was all true—

  “Not…not all true?” said Patch, appalled; Alia and Tobias shared a smile.

  A voice came to them from above: “There were certainly some tweaks.” They all looked up. At the top of the staircase stood Rundel Stone. “Ural most definitely did not live in a shack, as you can see,” he said. He descended the stairs, and as he did, Patch noticed the anxious expression on Alia’s face, and on Erner’s. The reason was obvious: Rundel was moving slowly, his left hand holding a cane, his right keeping a tight grip of the bannisters. Now and again, a hint of a grimace crossed his face, as if he was in pain but trying to hide it.

  Alia’s fears had been well founded. The poison had indeed left its mark.

  When Rundel reached the bottom of the staircase, he stepped over to Erner and embraced him, much to Erner’s surprise.

  Everyone else was surprised too. Alia turned her head to Patch, who was standing beside her. “Not something you see every day…” she whispered, before adding: “Nor that.”

  For a moment Patch didn’t know what she meant, but then he saw the tears in Rundel Stone’s eyes. Here was the man widely known as the Cold Heart of Justice, famed for his emotionless enforcement of the law. Tears were not expected.

  Rundel released Erner and wiped his eyes, seeming perplexed at his own display of emotion. “Apprentice Whitlock,” he said, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat, then added: “Good to have you back.”

  “So now we know where we are,” said Barver. “But why have we come here?”

  “We stand in a crime scene,” said Rundel. “It was here that Ural Casimir was killed.” He clenched his fist, clearly enraged by the thought of his old friend’s death. “Bludgeoned from behind, his life’s blood pouring over the very floor he’d played on as a child!”

  Horrified, Patch looked to the floorboards beneath his feet. He shifted position a little, half-expecting a squelch.

  “No, Brightwater,” said Rundel, sounding rather impatient. “Not where you stand. Ural was murdered in his library. Through there.” He pointed to a small oak door that
led from the entrance hall. “I have come here to complete the task that my poisoning interrupted. The investigation of Ural Casimir’s murder!”

  Everyone stood in absolute silence as Rundel Stone’s words settled in their minds. The atmosphere was one of total solemnity, and was only broken by a long and extremely loud rumble from Barver’s stomach.

  “I’m sorry,” said Barver. “But that food does smell amazing.”

  “Thank you,” said Tobias, smiling. “Indeed, there’s plenty of time for murder-solving later! If you would all take a seat in the dining room, I’ll serve up shortly.”

  To Barver’s great relief, the dining room was through a large double doorway next to the stairs, which he could fit through with ease. The dining room itself was enormous, big enough to have a slight echo. The table was vast too, made from a very dark wood and finely carved, as were the chairs.

  Barver moved three of the chairs away from one side to give himself plenty of space. Patch sat next to him, and Wren scampered down from Patch’s shoulder onto the table. Soon enough Tobias came through another doorway, pushing a huge blackened cooking pot that perched precariously on top of a wooden trolley, beside a stack of bowls. He pushed his trolley around, filling each person’s bowl in turn.

  “Forgive the simple fodder,” said Tobias, taking a seat as they all tucked in. “Mutton stew with plenty of onion! A Palafox family speciality, one which the monks of Marwheel never seem to get bored of.” He smiled at Wren, who was already stuffing her little face with delicious onion shreds as if she’d never eaten in her life. She gave a thumbs up and kept eating. “I’m glad to see you all enjoying it,” said Tobias. “It’s well deserved.”

  “It is indeed,” said Rundel. “And I am the most grateful of all to be sitting here with those to whom I owe a great debt. I must thank all of you. Erner, for getting me to the Abbey so quickly when I was poisoned; Tobias, for keeping me alive while you sought the poison’s remedy from the Witch of Gemspar; and Alia, of course, whose remedy proved so effective.”