“They will have to get through us first laddie.” He grinned. “Don’t you forget that.”
“I wish Kerian were here as well.” Thomas confessed.
“He could definitely handle himself in a fight.” Commagin agreed. “But whatever we have, will have to be enough. We have to return regardless. My lad’s there and I’m for rescuing him no matter what.” The dwarf looked up at Thomas’s face, only to find the captain’s face flushed, his mouth opened in surprise. The Engineer’s expression turned hard and he shot Thomas a withering look.
“Of course.” Thomas spluttered, kicking himself for forgetting the little Gnome Barney. “Of course!” He turned away, embarrassed, his gaze catching Colette’s attention.
“When you are ready.” He barked, his throat suddenly dry and scratchy. “Take us through.”
* * * * * *
The Forget-Me-Knot lay on her side terminally wounded, her hull ruptured, a wicked gash on her starboard side exposing her Ashok Leyland engine to the corrosive elements of the ship’s graveyard; her life as a trawler now nothing but a distant memory.
With an overall length of 12.8 meters and a beam of 4.28 meters she had been designed and built by the Central Institute of Fisheries in 1985 to fish the seas off Gujarat with a crew of six. However, cruel fate had decided that her fishing career end here, lying on her port side, wedged alongside a wrecked three-masted 1861 Barquentine christened Amazon and crushing the prow of a thirteenth century Carrack whose name was obscured somewhere beneath her damaged port side.
An inky shadow dropped down from the Amazon’s deck and paced across the starboard side of the marooned fishing vessel, its huge Scintarn claws finding secure hold on the rusting metal carcass of the wreck’s hull, before it leapt lightly down onto the smeared glass windows along the side of the wheelhouse, its huge paws padding across the surface with an agility that seemed impossible for a monster the size of a full grown panther.
The hound paused at the last window, considering its path carefully, its dark nose sniffing the air about the chimney jutting from the roof of the listing vessel, as if it could smell the scent of cooking from the hob inside the wheelhouse. Then it turned, its dark eyes narrowing at the scent of something else, something faint but exciting.
Prey had been here recently.
The Scintarn licked its lips and drooled hungrily, its long tail curling around as it continued its agitated pacing about the ship. The flint-like markings tracing along its back glinted wetly, despite the fact they were actually dry and as cold and hard as the creature they sprouted from. It checked the access hatches, nosing them to see if they would swing open at its touch, then pawed at the windows, razor sharp claws scratching at the glass. The hound whined at its lack of success, then dropped down off the fishing vessel and carefully checked if it could gain access by slithering under the wheelhouse to reach it from the underside. The Scintarn noted the thick slime and coarse corrosion that it would have to rub its gleaming coat across to get in there and then reconsidered its actions.
A large crab, suddenly disturbed, scuttled across the deck, eager to escape the Scintarn’s search and bury itself in a dark shadowy pool of water and hide from the voracious predator. However, it was not fast enough, its ill-fated charge ending by being flipped up into the air and having its shell crushed between the hound’s huge jaws as it fell.
Another scent, fainter that the other overlying smells. The hound paused in its feasting, realising with disappointment that this discovery signified the ship had already been searched. Its brethren had been here recently. It turned and sniffed the air, huffing at its own disappointment before confirming its findings and padded away, slinking off across the twisted hulls and disappearing between the buckled gantries, broken masts and sagging sails with a flick of its dark tail.
Something squeaked from inside the wheelhouse and two little circles appeared in the condensation on one of the windows. Two dark eyes stared out through the holes before pulling away and turning to regard the other occupant of the stranded vessel.
“That was close.” Octavian announced. “I think it has gone now.” He wiped a grimy hand across his face and blew out a relieved sigh.
“How much longer do we have to stay here? Can’t we go now. I’m cold and I’m hungry and I never want to eat Spam ever again.” Kerian looked up from the ledger he held in his hands and rolled his eyes. It was impossible to concentrate on reading when his travelling companion was in such an aggravating mood. He closed the water-stained log book and slid it into his satchel for safe keeping, dropping the flap closed before realising with intense irritation what he had done. Now he could never find the damn thing!
“I have no idea what animal a ‘Spam’ is.” Kerian confessed, clearly exasperated. “Look we have food in the pantry, we have the means to cook it and at the moment we are relatively safe. Whilst the doors and windows on this ship remain secure, we are sheltered from the elements and we can’t be eaten by any hounds. Just sit down and relax. I’m trying to formulate a plan and I can’t do it with you making all this noise.”
“Well the bad news is that we appear to have eaten everything in the pantry that looks substantial.” Octavian confessed, digging into the lop-sided cupboard and dragging out two sorry looking bent and mangled cans. “This is all that remains of our extensive supplies. All we have left is these two sorry specimens. Baked beans. Well I don’t know about you but to me that sounds disgusting?”
“Look, we need to keep quiet and we need to keep a low profile. Malum is out there somewhere and he will be searching for us.”
“I don’t even think he knows that we are here!” Octavian snapped. “Come on Kerian. We can’t keep hiding here on this ship. We need to get out, we need to explore. Maybe we can use the life raft from this ship and we can survey the surrounding waters. Then we can come up with a plan once we get the lay of the land as it were. After all, if we stay here, we could miss this El Defensor you keep talking about?”
“And if we go out, we could be eaten for dinner by a big black hound that appears to be one of your distant relations.” Kerian retaliated.
“They look nothing like me!” Octavian shot back. “I mean, just look at the size of those things! Nothing Malum ever created was that big?”
“Nothing looks like you.” Kerian smiled, taking in the crest fallen gypsy and his travelled stained clothing. “Indeed, nothing looks like either of us at the moment.” He shook his head despondently, not sure what else to do, allowing an uncomfortable silence to descend on them, punctuated by the ominous creak and groan of the stricken vessels constantly shifting.
It had all seemed so simple at the start. Jump through the portal, await rescue by the Spanish Galleon El Defensor, meet up with Colette and then sail into the sunset. Things were never that easy. He thought back over the last few weeks, the two of them scrabbling like rats across the skeletal remains of the wrecks, hiding from the Scintarns and trying to salvage food to survive. Looking for places to sleep that would keep them safe and warm, when everything about them felt so damned cold and dank. They had both become weak from lack of food, making agonising progress across the morass of splintered boats and shattered ships, slipping and sliding down listing decks and climbing slime covered rigging until they had stumbled upon these magical metal containers.
Somehow, Octavian had been able to identify the fact that these hand-sized rusty containers held food stuff. Kerian would have cast such objects aside without thinking but the gypsy’s keen nose had sniffed out these magical supplies with a skill that had stunned the knight. By keeping their searches restricted to the more intact vessels, they had discovered more of these strange containers, however, opening the damned things was another matter entirely. He rubbed his finger, remembering the painful cuts he had gained trying to open one that contained some congealed white sludge with grey and pink lumps floating in it. The gypsy had tentatively identified chicken, the label proclaimed soup but it had be
en absolutely foul, until they had realised that they needed to heat the contents before consuming it.
“Your bag is moving.” Octavian stated, breaking Kerian’s thoughts.
“What?” the knight replied, lifting one eyebrow in irritation. “Don’t be stupid. My bag is not moving.”
“I’m telling you that damn satchel just moved!” Octavian scrabbled away from his seat and backed away as far as the confines of the wheelhouse allowed. Kerian lifted his satchel up and stared at it, not noting any suspicious bulges or any signs of the flap moving.
“Very funny.” He snapped. “Why don’t you spend some time getting acquainted with your baked beans and leave me alo…” The flap lifted a few centimetres and a strange noise issued from the darkness within. Kerian nearly dropped the magical bag in shock. Octavian moved closer, his hand rummaging through a half open drawer of battered kitchen utensils, before grabbing a wooden stave and holding it menacingly above the satchel.
“Maybe it’s a rat! We have seen enough of them around here.” The gypsy announced. “When I say, open it and I’ll brain it with this thing.” Kerian looked at his companion and nodded in agreement.
“Okay.” He licked his lips nervously. “Now!” Kerian threw back the flap and a moist little black nose poked out of the bag sniffing warily at the air. The knight instantly recognised it for what it was. His hand shot out, even as he warned Octavian not to make good on his threat. The rolling pin slammed onto Kerian’s hand making him yelp in alarm and the sniffing little black nose disappear back into the shadows of the magical bag. The two men moved in closer and opened the bag fully, exposing the little wriggling creature inside.
“Oh my!” Kerian remarked. “How on earth did you get here?” Octavian placed his hand on Kerian’s shoulder and grinned.
“Oh, please say we can keep him?”
* * * * * *
Marcus awoke to noises above deck and the unmistakable movement beneath him as the El Defensor raced across the waters. The ship was moving! He groaned at his own weakness. He needed to be up on deck, part of the crew, not down here being nursed by Violetta and her daughter.
He called out to Violetta, hungry for information, only to find there was no reply when he called. Little footsteps sounded and Katarina poked her head from around the corner. The young girl tilted her head to one side, swiftly taking in the signs her mother had told her to look out for and figured that the patient was not in imminent life-threatening danger.
“What’s the problem Marcus?” she asked, her little smile beaming and radiant.
“I just wondered what was going on?” he replied. “It sounds like we are on the move again.” Katarina stared up at the ceiling as if her eyes could see through the decking, up to where her mother stood with the crew.
“They are preparing to open a gateway and go back to the ship’s graveyard.” She confirmed. “Mum has told me to stay down here and keep an eye on you.” Marcus face paled.
“They are going to go back through. I need to be up there with them.” He moved to stand then realised that he had nothing on but his underclothes. “Um, excuse me please.”
“Oh Marcus I have seen much worse than you know.” Katarina tittered, before turning around to leave her back towards him. Marcus reached out, his fingers stretching for his blue robes folded on the chair by his bedside, determined to get dressed but not believing that Katarina would not turn around again just to see him blush. His finger caught the edge of the robe and he yanked it towards him, only for something to fall out from the deep folds of his hood.
The monk swiftly dressed then reached down to collect the object which had fallen, only for his hand to stop short as he recognised what lay there. It was a little stick man fashioned from thin dark twigs of a hawthorn tree, a sliver of hair was intertwined around its head, a small strip of blue robe fastened around its neck and there was some dark residue within the trunk of the figurine that looked wet and shiny. Marcus swallowed hard, noting how the figure was crunched over, its head buried in its hands whilst it knelt.
He picked the creation up with shaking hands, spreading out the blue piece of robe and noting the sign of the Bearer crudely etched upon the cloth. His fingertips tingled as he touched the crafted item confirming the monk’s fears.
“Did you make this?” he asked, slowly turning around towards Katarina.
“No.” the girl’s reply was too definite for this to be a lie.
“Your mother?” A shake of the head. “Do you know what this is?” Katarina nodded, stepping warily away.
“Black magic.” She replied ominously, marking the air with a sign, as if she could ward the evil from the figurine away. Marcus stood there for a moment undecided, then grabbed his boots and tried to pull them on, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him as he bent down. Someone was trying to curse him! He needed to do something, needed to tell someone. Richard. Brother Richard would know what to do.
“Wait here and don’t touch that thing. It’s dangerous.” He warned, staggering out into the main passageway, his legs feeling like jelly as he tried to spread his stance and prevent himself from falling over with the movements of the ship. Why had he let this happen? He should have been more aware, of what was going on; should have been paying more attention.
He collided with the bulkhead then staggered around the corner. Where could Richard be? His addled mind refused to work, still struggling with the after effects of the debilitating spell. Marcus’s first thought was that the priest was above deck with everyone else but Richard was never one to put himself in the path of danger, he was not that kind of man. Danger! They were in danger. He needed to get the book. Maybe he could summon the knights to help them?
Marcus slithered down the ladder to the berths, barely controlling his descent and headed unsteadily towards his own sparse cabin, pushing his doubts about controlling the book from his mind. He was the Bearer; he had the bestowed right to order the book and the knights within to carry out his wishes. His friends could be in danger, whoever had cursed him could also be cursing other members of the crew. They needed his help, no matter what the risks.
He reached the door of his cabin and pulled it open, staggering forwards as the ship rolled into the trough of a deep swell. The monk fell unsteadily to his knees as the galleon rose again, his legs like jelly. He cursed, placing his hand on the floor to steady himself and shake his head clear, then lifted his head to find that the room was full of shadowy figures. Marcus blinked twice trying to understand what his confused mind was screaming at him, his eyes darting instantly towards where the ledger lay.
The hiding place where he had secreted the book lay wide open, the dark hole beyond appearing to mock the monk for his naivety at leaving such a dangerous ledger unguarded. The shadows stepped forwards as one, armour rattling, boots stamping on the wooden floor responding to a call to arms. His shaken mind realised that they were the knights from his book, summoned forth, called to action by forces unknown but there was no way that the warriors could be outside of the tome without Marcus calling them. It was impossible! The magic could not work that way! It had never worked that way! Hands grabbed roughly at his robes, heaving him up from the floor, pulling Marcus further into the cabin. The monk was too shocked to respond, his eyes straining in the darkness, struggling to make out who his assailant was. Clarity slowly registered with the troubled monk as his surroundings were revealed. Was that the silhouette of Tobias?
“Tobias. Why are you out of the book? I never gave you permission. I never summoned you. Return now from where you came.” The magical knight sneered, then incredibly bounced Marcus’s head maliciously off the ceiling, making the monk see stars.
“You have no hold over me.” Tobias spat. Marcus tried to push down the rising panic he felt within himself, tried to squash any self-doubt that remained. He needed to focus, needed to channel his command with authority.
“Return to the book.” He ordered.
“I don
’t think so.” Tobias threw Marcus back through the cabin door, smashing him into the wall on the other side of the passageway. The monk groaned, slumping down to the ground as Tobias strode purposefully from the cabin to deliver further punishment. One gauntleted hand reached forward to grab him at the throat as the other pulled back to throw a fearsome punch.
Marcus instinctively shoved down with his left hand, pulling his right hand up between them and sweeping it to the side, deflecting the punch, letting it crash harmlessly into the wall behind him, even as his right hand swept back and slapped Tobias hard on the side of his helmet. The knight loosened his grip at the monk’s throat in shock, staggering backwards, shaking his head, only for Marcus to lift up one leg and propel himself from the wall, using his momentum to crash into Tobias, causing the warrior to stagger backwards into Marcus’s cabin.
The novice landed lightly on the floor, his splayed hands catching his fall and allowing him to place his feet and flip back into a combat stance. Tobias quickly regained his own balance and charged back in, his fists lashing out first left, then right, each attack parried by the exhausted monk who repelled them, or dodged the blows, so that Tobias became increasingly frustrated and even angrier. Marcus feinted right then, slipped left, determined to find more room to counter the unprovoked attack.
Other fighters started to march from the monk’s cabin, following the furious melee as it backed into a larger open area of crew sleeping quarters; where crude sheet partitions gave the junior crew an illusion of privacy, enclosing hammocks swung between wooden posts in the middle of the deck and the small cupboards or sea chests bolted to the floor in which they stored their personal belongings. Cannon had once occupied this space and their runners still crossed the floor making the area a trip hazard for the unwary, whilst several shuttered lanterns cast meagre illumination doing little to relieve the gloom.
Tobias lunged forwards, just as Marcus snapped out a kick, launching a small footstool in his direction, that knocked the knight’s feet out from under him and sent him crashing to the floor. Marcus dropped through one partition, rolled across a sea chest and off the other side, determined to give himself some space, only to find his pathway being rapidly blocked by several knights advancing towards him.
The Labyris Knight Page 96
