Dirt

by CC Hogan

Pree walked from the cold stream and wrapped her towel around her. With Mab-Tok and Weasel both still recovering, they had spent the last two days in this almost forgotten little pass through the mountains. Other than the men that had helped them with Mab-Tok, no one else had been through. Farthing had been gone since the previous day scouting ahead, Weasel was sleeping inside of the wagon as he had been for almost the whole time, and Mab-Tok had been taking short flights to try to ease his stiff muscles while Lily paced around fretting about him. Quite how badly injured he had been was a mystery to all except Weasel and Mab-Tok himself, and neither of them were keen to talk about it. Pree had found it puzzling, but Farthing had pointed out that Weasel was so tired and confused about it himself that he was happy to let it ride. Mab-Tok was alive when he probably should not be, and Farthing was not going to question it.

  Farthing was the other issue of course. The first night in the pass they had spent together, hidden behind a tree a little way from the wagon. It had been gentle and honest, and Pree was pretty damned certain that she was not going to let anything stop her and Farthing being together from now on. In that respect, it was almost a bonus that her father had turned against her. He had been the one person who could have stopped her being with the poor cart pusher from The Wealle. And yet, she still had to finish crossing that bridge from being the spoilt prelate’s daughter with servants. When they reached Taken, she was going to be Prelate Hearting’s daughter again, and Farthing would still be the cart pusher. She somehow had to reinvent herself and her role so she didn’t have to ask Farthing to be something he simply wasn’t capable of being. If he had been such a person, she wouldn’t have fallen for him in the first place, and she wanted him just as he was. Mistry had spoken about Fren-Eirol a lot during the journey, and Pree was dearly wishing the sea dragon was with them now. She felt she needed this ancient, wise, person; like Mistry, she found herself wishing for a mother.

  “If you have finished prancing around in the stream, Pree, Farthing has returned and I would like to get going down the hill.” Mistry walked up and poked Pree in the tummy. “And you ain’t properly wrapped up!” Pree stuck her tongue out. Mistry took her own towel and headed to the stream. “Just keep them away for me while I wash. Soap?”

  “On the rock, boss,” Pree said, and danced off to the Wagon.

  When Mistry returned, Farthing and Pree had the horses harnessed and hitched, and Rusty was changing some of Lily’s dressings. The small dragon had been far more hurt than she would admit to, but refused to let Mab-Tok try to heal her while he was still weak from his own injuries, so Rusty had more or less bullied Lily to let her help her out. Sometimes Rusty seemed closer to the little dragon than any of them as if there was an actual bond between them, a kinship. Mistry stopped by a tree and looked at her family. It was an odd bunch in so many ways. Farthing had made it clear at the abbey that Weasel was in charge, but the magician had spent more time deferring to her as wagon master than anything else. The result was that at only just sixteen, Mistry felt she was responsible for all of them, doubly so now that Weasel was currently almost incapable of standing up.

  “Miss Sparrow, how is your riding getting on?” Mistry asked Pree as she double-checked the horses. She knew Farthing would have harnessed them perfectly, but no driver ever took out a team without a last-minute check themselves.

  “Alright, as long as I am on the mare,” Pree answered. “Farthing’s gelding is too frisky for me.”

  “Fine, you are on Mr Horseman’s mount with Mr Goatherd riding next to you. Miss Parrot, you are up with me on the front of the wagon, Mr Horseman and Lily are in the back and Mr Dragon, are you alright to fly?” Well, she thought it unfair that he did not have some sort of pseudonym, even if it did lack in originality.

  “As long as I take it in stages, I’m fine, boss,” Mab-Tok said, bowing slightly in his odd way and grinning. “I will fly on ahead a couple of leagues and if I see no problems, I will just wait off the road for you. If I am worried, I’ll come back and find you. I will have an easier day than you, I suspect.”

  “Mr Goatherd, how far did you get?” Mistry was in bossy mood.

  “Almost to the bottom, boss,” Farthing said, picking up on the general theme of the conversation. “Not quite as far as the inn, but I could see it in the distance. There are two steep sections, but they are short and most of the larger wagons were only slowing a little for them. I ran into Den and his brother again. He has become a bit of a fan, you know.” He grinned wickedly. “Anyway, he said that driver with the oothens is in right trouble with the mines. Apparently, unlike many of the other drivers, the wagon was theirs not his, and they are trying to get him to pay up for the loss.”

  Mistry smiled. It made sense. If the beasts and wagon had been his, maybe he would have been more responsible. “Can we keep going down this old pass, or do we need to cut back to the new road?”

  “Stay on this pass. It is really busy up on the new pass because they are trying to level out the road. The two roads join quite a bit farther down so you will miss it all. It winds a lot, but nothing dramatic for you.”

  “Right, let’s get going,” Mistry said. “Inn and beer await, and then we have a long haul to the port at Tool.”

  Just before they left, Lily clambered sorely out of the wagon and gave Mab-Tok a hug and then climbed back in. Pree hid a grin. She was aware that she and Farthing had attracted some puerile comments with their little affair, but when it came to cute, they had no chance of competing against the diminutive Draig Wen and the permanently confused Mab-Tok. She mounted Weasel’s horse carefully as she was still learning, and waved at the dignified dragon. He waved briefly, and then, with a bit of an effort, launched himself into the air and disappeared over the trees. Pree looked back to the little, flattened grass area by the small stream and fixed it into her memory. Whatever happened next, this place was going to be very important to her for a long time to come.

  “Beer!”

  “Three jugs over here!”

  “More pots please, love!”

  “Any of that stew left, Hilda?”

  “Beer!”

  “Hey, that was my beer, fathead!”

  “Joey, you put your fists down or I will crown you myself.”

  “Sorry, Hilda!”

  Farthing, Pree and Rusty stood in the open doorway of the large, busy inn at the bottom of the climb from the pass.

  “Now, this is more like it,” Rusty said with a grin. “Brother, you get the beers I will grab that lady and see what she’s serving. Coming, Sparrow?”

  “Want me to find a table?” Pree asked.

  “Think you can? It’s packed!”

  “Well, let me have a look, see if someone wants to move.”

  Farthing pushed his way through the deafening crowd of drivers and their mates. Many of the men were big, but he was still taller than most and managed to get his way through to the bar. “Barkles, you would love it here,” Farthing said to himself, looking at the big pots of frothing beer that were being thrown back.

  “What do you want, mate?” one of the barmen shouted over to him. It was a long, busy bar and there must have been six or seven barmen behind the counter. It reminded him of the Long Tavern in the Skattlings just up from Sally’s place. “Come on, mate, loads of people waiting.”

  “Sorry!” Farthing called over. “What is that beer?” he asked, pointing at one of the big frothing pots.

  “Wheat beer; strong and long.”

  “Perfect. Five of those, please.”

  “Six coin, two-thirds, mate.” Farthing handed over the money as he finally got to the bar. “First time on the trail?” the barman asked, filling the pots from the barrels stacked up along the wall.

  “Yeah, came down this morning.”

  “Hauling?”

  “Just travelling, the family and me.”

  “I saw you and the girls at the door. Nice family!”
r />   “Very close, mate,” Farthing said with a grin. Nothing wrong with making sure people knew up front where things stood.

  “Quite right too. Want a tray?”

  “Better had. Know much about the trail to Tool?”

  “Easy travelling, mate,” the barman said. “But keep it tight. Get some opportunistic types on the road, if you know what I mean.”

  “We have had some of those before. Thanks for the tip, I will keep my eyes open.” The barman turned to serve another customer, and Farthing carried the tray above everyone else’s heads till he reached a long table by the window that had five empty chairs, by some miracle.

  “What did you promise them?” he asked the grinning Pree as he sat down.

  “Oh, nothing more than a smile, lover,” she said, winking.

  Rusty fought her way back across the room, and Mistry pushed in through the door, helping the still weak but now awake Weasel to the table. Mab-Tok had taken a fretting Lily off hunting.

  “It was a choice of stew, stew, stew, or stew,” Rusty told them. “So, I went for the stew, for a change.” Mistry sat down next to the magician, and Farthing pushed one of the big frothy pots in front of her.

  “Oh, man! Now I think I really am in love,” she said with big eyes and took a huge gulp, emerging from behind the pot with foam all around her face. “That is really nice!”

  Weasel smiled at the girl and took a rather more cautious sip at his beer, nodding in approval.

  “I needed that,” he said seriously and a bit hoarsely. “Sorry I have been out of it, but that was hard.”

  “I realised it was,” Farthing said. “Want to tell us what you had to do?”

  Weasel shook his head. “No, not really. I am not sure how to describe it, and, well, let’s just say that was one messed up dragon. I think that needs to be between him and me.”

  “Well, and Lily.”

  “She didn’t see everything in her state. Can we leave it there?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Farthing said, taking a really good swig. “Wow, this is good!”

  The big woman Hilda, arrived with a tough looking serving girl who gave Farthing a once over with an appreciative nod. Pree smiled, slipped her hand through Farthing’s arm and looked at the girl with a “try it lady” look on her face. Mistry nearly choked on her beer.

  “Five stews, five loaves, five forks. No stabbing with the forks and no throwing the bread, it might hurt someone.” The big woman would have made Geezen look small and grinned twice as wide. Farthing liked her immediately. “Want anything more, shout for Hilda,” she told them, turning away and pushing the serving girl before her.

  “I am going to have to watch you,” Pree told Farthing, tapping him on the head with her bread.

  “Ow! Why? Hey, that actually is hard!” Pree looked at the bread in surprise. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “You yes, her no,” she said, pointing over to the serving girl who was having a long distance look.

  “Don’t worry, Sparrow,” Rusty said. “They have to get past me and Miss Raven first.”

  “Counting on you, sisters,” Pree said with a grin. She lifted her heavy pot and held it out in front of her. “To family. Our family!”

  “Family!” the young people answered with a shout.

  “Family!” most of the bar added in a louder shout followed by laughter.

  Weasel gazed at the young people gathered around him, laughing and drinking. Johnson Farthing, the eldest at nineteen. Nearly twenty now, but in many ways, more grown up than many in this bar. Precious Hearting, not many months behind him, yet strong and with a dangerous, unpredictable future. Rustina Farthing, seventeen, smart and beautiful, and a survivor of the most horrific few months. Weasel looked at her again. Not for the first time, there was something about Rusty that puzzled him. And finally, Mistry Jinks. The youngest at just sixteen, she was probably more grown up than all of them.

  And here he was. If you added all their ages together, he was still nearly a thousand years older than they, and today he could feel every year of it. He smiled, and then his thoughts drifted hundreds of leagues to a garden behind an ancient abbey, and to the dragon he had left behind.

  “To family, Snowy,” he whispered to himself. Farthing looked up, having heard what the magician said, and he too lifted his beer quietly to the health of the dragon.

  After five days of hard travel on the main highway from the mountains, the sight of the walled port of Tool was welcome. They had decided to just keep going. There were plenty of inns and liveries on the road set up to serve the traffic from the mines, but none had been as friendly as Hilda’s. So, with the girls getting a bit too much attention from some of the drivers, they had stuck to watering the horses and fending for themselves. They could have taken one of the quieter back routes through the villages, but they were all getting nervous about how long it had taken them to cross Bind, and they desperately wanted to get off this continent.

  When they reached the wall, the road split. All the mining traffic turned left outside the wall and straight down to new quays built outside the town, while they headed in through the gate, asking one of the gatekeepers for the shortest route to a good inn and livery.

  “Good-sized cart you got there, sir,” the man said to Weasel. “Passing through?”

  “Picking up a berth, we hope, so we’ll be selling up.”

  “Oh, right. Well that changes things a bit then. I was going to send you off into the main town, but you are better turning right up here and making your way along the wall to about halfway around to the north. There are a couple of big liveries up there that deal in wagons as well as horses. The inns are not much to write home about, though, so do whatever deal you need and then make you way down to the old port. The best inns are around the harbour, and it's where all the boat owners and agents are. Can’t miss it when you find it, it looks old!” he said, laughing.

  Weasel thanked the man and Mistry turned the horses right and headed along the road by the wall. Rusty was sitting on the folded down backboard of the wagon as usual, and watched the gatekeeper. He grabbed some young lad and pointed in their direction. He then handed something to the boy and sent him scurrying off into the town.

  “That’s odd,” she said to herself, and climbed through the wagon and onto the driver’s seat where she called over to Weasel and Farthing.

  “That gatekeeper. I think he is up to something.”

  “What you mean?” Farthing asked. She told him what she had just seen. Weasel frowned.

  “That sounds suspiciously like our luck has just run out. Pull up here, Mistry.”

  Mistry brought the horses to a halt. “What you want to do?” she asked.

  “Just stay here a few minutes. There’s no one around.” Weasel leapt from his horse and disappeared down a small alley.”

  “He’s been here before,” Farthing explained to the blank faces.

  “A few hundred years back, maybe,” Mistry said.

  “Well, let’s hope his memory is good then.”

  “Actually, it is rubbish,” Weasel said, reappearing. “But I haven’t lost the ability to stick my head into someone’s house and ask a question or two. Mistry, turn left down the next lane. There is a small livery yard right down the bottom that is always looking to buy and repair wagons. More to the point, he is not one of the big concerns that everyone knows.”

  Mistry walked the big horses on, and turned down the little lane.

  “I hope it doesn’t get much narrower down here; this is tight!”

  “We are one barrel thinner, so you should be fine,” Weasel said. “Hang on, I will just get this bloke to shift his cart.”

  “I’ve got one of those,” Farthing said, a surprising wave of nostalgia washing over him. Pree climbed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest.

  “Do I get my own cart or do we share?” she asked with a grin, nuzzling int
o his back.

  “Oh, definitely no shares,” he told her. “Man and his cart is a special relationship, you know.”

  The livery yard was tiny, but when the proprietor emerged, he looked at the wagon and the well-kept Bekon Brown horses once, and immediately started negotiating with Weasel. Mistry knew that Weasel was not going to mess around for the best price ever, it was more important for them to do a deal as soon as possible, so she started unhitching the horses. Within minutes, a deal was done and they stabled the horses and manhandled the wagon into the yard.

  “What about your stuff inside,” the man asked.

  “We need to find an inn down at the docks first,” Weasel said. “Can we leave it till then, and we’ll grab a handcart and come and collect it? We will leave you all the tack, naturally, and you can have the spare canvases; they are a bit worn, so I will just throw them in.”

  “Not going to argue with that. Anyway, I need to fix the wagon up and give it some paint before I sell her on, so no rush. You done me a fair deal, sir.”

  Weasel shook the man’s hand. “Come on, let’s go find an inn,” he told the others.

  As they walked on down the lane and further into the ancient town of Tool, Farthing caught up to Weasel.

  “We are in trouble, aren’t we?”

  “Well, we knew we would be walking into something. Mab-Tok guessed this might happen weeks ago and it was the most obvious scenario.”

  “It might have been nothing; the gatekeeper might have been doing something entirely innocent.”

  “Could be, but I trust your sister’s instincts. Like you, she is used to this sort of town and the people in it.”

  “Yeah, just trying to keep my hopes up,” Farthing admitted. “Look, I know nothing about finding a boat, but it sounds like we need to get a move on. So, why don’t we split ourselves up? I’ll go find an inn, and then the girls can go and get whatever we need from the livery. I’ll track you down at the docks and we can take it from there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Weasel told him. “See if you can find an inn farther into the town, since the Gatekeeper is expecting us to find one at the harbour. Now, if I remember correctly, there is a big market square up on the right here, which my gut says we should avoid. So, let’s take a detour.”

 

  The Anchor was one of those inns that had existed for so long that it had sunk into the very fabric of the town, and you had to walk down three stone steps once you entered through the door, ducking in Farthing’s case. He had looked at three other inns so far, but they had been busy and he was nervous that they were too close to the harbour. This old inn was several streets back into the poorer part of the town and the common room was empty.

  “Beer, son?” asked the innkeeper, broom in hand.

  “Not yet, sir,” Farthing said with a smile. “Name is Goatherd, and I am looking for a couple of rooms for my family. Five of us; three in one, two in the other.”

  “Rooms I can do for you, Mr Goatherd. Downy’s the name.” Farthing shook the proffered hand. “How long? We’ve got a big market coming up in a few days and I have people booked in.”

  “Only a couple of days, I would think,” Farthing said. “So that should be fine.”

  “Do you want a price, then?”

  Farthing grinned, it was normally the first question you asked. “Yes, sorry. Been wandering around trying find rooms for the last couple of hours.”

  “The inns fill up at the harbour first, Mr Goatherd, and then it sort of works its way back to us.”

  “I realised that a bit late; I could have saved myself a walk!” The two men laughed, agreed on a price, and Farthing stepped outside to send the three girls back up to the livery to get their things.

  “Just grab what you can carry,” he told them. “As long as I have a couple of shirts and trousers, I don’t the care about the rest. I want all of us out of here as soon as possible.”

  There was a definite tension building up in the little party, and Mistry, Pree and Rusty headed off without a word, their expressions business like. Farthing popped back into the inn.

  “My sisters will be back with our stuff in about an hour, Mr Downy. I am just going to find my uncle and will be back later.”

  “You all be wanting supper, sir?”

  “Yeah, that would be good. Something simple and some of your stout would be welcome.” Farthing smiled. He needed to keep this light and uneventful, and to blend in as much as possible.

  “My wife does an excellent potato and fish casserole with home-baked bread, Mr Goatherd. I will ask her to put some on.”

  Weasel sat on the harbour wall, took off his old hat and wiped his brow. Even several days after having healed Mab-Tok he still felt beaten up inside. Mab-Tok had had some appalling internal injuries that had been bleeding badly, and Weasel had just worked his way through, healing as he went. Thankfully, by some miracle, the only broken bones had been two ribs and one of Mab-Tok’s toes; broken bones were very difficult to deal with. He had not managed to fix the toe before passing out and the dragon was still limping.

  He had spent two hours now walking up and down the harbour going from agent to agent, and no one knew of any boats with any room anywhere. The best he had been offered was some old sea dog and something about a vessel with problems. The agent had been vague but had told him he would send for the man and to meet him here, just by where they stored the lobster pots.

  “Mr Horseman?” asked an achingly familiar voice from behind him. Weasel span around. “Mr W…”

  “Shush! Yes, it’s Mr Horseman, and who be you?”

  “Oh, right, er, yes, Mr Jipperson at your service sir. I gather you be looking for passage?”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr Jipperson. Shall we go somewhere quiet?”

  “I know just the place, sir. Follow me!”

  Weasel followed the short, bandy-legged seaman like a puppy following its long-lost mother. Nathan Jipperson ducked down an alley and in through a door into some modest lodgings. Climbing the stairs, he entered a room with a single bed, turned around and held out his hand. Weasel shook it with both of his.

  “Mr Jipperson, you don’t know how glad I am to see you!”

  “Mr Weasel, and well met to you too. Now, I know that expression. How much trouble are you in?”

  “Plenty.” Weasel gave Jipperson the potted version of rescuing the girls from Tekkinmod and their fear that they had been spotted. He left out just about everything else; that would have to wait.

  “Well, that sounds like a much more complicated story in the offing, Mr Weasel, but I get your gist. Now for the bad news. To start with, I think you be right. There have been some men asking for a group seeking passage, just like you be, for several days now. Mercenary types they be and waving a lot of coin around. Now, I might have a boat for you, but it is not that easy.”

  “How comes, Mr Jipperson?”

  “Well, I have been on a small whaler as master for the last three months, but we had some bad luck. The owner has gone bankrupt and has had to let the crew go. I am stuck here till I can sort it. I have paid off some of the debt out of my own pocket so the boat is easier to flog, and I still have access to her, but the rest of the debt needs clearing, the mooring fees are unpaid and it has no crew.”

  “I can sort that out.”

  “You can?” Jipperson looked surprised. “It is a fair amount of coin.” Weasel stood up and fiddled around under his robe.

  “Nearly had a problem with this when some fool decided to throw me in a bath, but…” He struggled some more and came out with a small leather bag. “How much is gold worth in this town?”

  Farthing leant against the wall of the alley and peeked out. There was no mistaking the three men leaning against the railings by the slipway; Wesseners. He had nearly walked straight into them, and it was only because of a couple of kids who knocked into the men first causing a shouting match tha
t he had seen them at all. He had been here for a quarter of an hour, trying to see what they were up to, but they were just standing there talking. As he watched, another man came up, short and stocky, but dressed better. He said something to them, and then the four men split up, walking along the harbour questioning the fishermen. Farthing slipped back down the alley. He had to get hold of Weasel and let him know what was happening. All he could do for the moment was to return to the inn and warn the girls. First, he had to make his way back and he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. If he could find his way towards the market, however, he thought he would be alright from there to the Anchor.

  The first couple of alleys he tried were dead ends, but at last he found one that led up to a bigger thoroughfare. He looked out cautiously and saw two more of the Wesseners. How many were here? He looked up the other way and cursed. There was Weasel, walking straight towards the men. When they had raided Tekkinmod’s hall, Weasel had insisted on wearing his stupid hat, and now he had it on again. It was certain the men knew exactly what to look for. Farthing tried waving at the magician, but he was looking at his hands.

  “Damn it, Weasel,” Farthing said. “Oh bugger. I’ll have to risk it!”

  Making sure his back was firmly towards the Wesseners who were talking to a group of seamen, he walked confidently up the crowded street, grabbed Weasel by the arm, span him around and pushed him into another alley.

  “Wesseners, I know,” Weasel said before Farthing had a chance to open his mouth. “They’re everywhere.”

  “You nearly walked into two more!”

  “Did I?” Weasel grinned. “No, I knew they were there. I saw you hiding in the alley and was coming across to you quietly.”

  “What do we do? We have to get out of here tonight!”

  “I know.”

  “We could just leave the town and make our way up the coast.”

  “We’ve had some luck.”

  “What sort?” Farthing whispered. “You found a boat?”

  “Brotherly luck, Mr Goatherd. Brotherly luck.”

  Farthing looked blankly at the magician and then a couple of cogs got the right the idea. “You’re joking. Here?”

  “Here and with a boat.”

  “When? How?”

  “Back to the inn first. I tell you what is what then.”

  Weasel detoured into a small herbalist shop first, then they wound along the alleys until Farthing got his sense of direction back. When they arrived at the inn, the smell of fish stew filled the common room, and the girls were sitting around a table drinking stout. Weasel smiled broadly and sat down at the table, quietly shoving a small packet into Rusty’s hand. Farthing had already told Weasel who was meant to be related to whom.

  “Well, nieces. You have found a beautiful place here. And fish stew too!” The innkeeper brought over two stouts and Weasel thanked him, introducing himself with a shake of his hand. “Now, I hear there is some kind of celebration tonight in the square?”

  “That there be, Mr Horseman, sir. Night of the angels it is called, and quite a spectacular it is. Always have it before the big annual fair.”

  “Well, that sounds like our destination once we have eaten your wonderful smelling stew. And then back here for more stout, I would say!” Weasel was being a bit over the top, but he was keeping it memorable.

  “Sounds like a perfect evening sir. I wish I could join you.” Downy politely disappeared into the back.

  “Upstairs, Parrot and Sparrow; lose that red hair!”

  “What?” Pree sounded shocked.

  “Pree, the place is crawling with Tekkinmod’s men,” Farthing said urgently. “They know exactly what to look for.”

  Rusty was peeking into the packet. “Come on, Sparrow; always fancied black hair for fun.” She grabbed the girl’s hand and dragged her upstairs.

  “How much did you get from the wagon,” Weasel asked Mistry.

  “Only what we need. It is all upstairs.”

  “Which way are the room’s facing?”

  “Ours is out the front, yours is looking over the side alley by the back door.”

  “Farthing, get out to the alley while I go and distract the innkeeper and his misses. Mistry, you chuck our bags down to Farthing through the window. Then I must go to the north-east gate and meet with Mab-Tok and Lily. We have to be out of here just after sunset. The tide turns at nine tonight, and I want to be on it.”

  “Can we navigate out of the harbour in the dark?” Farthing asked.

  “I bet Jipperson can.” Weasel didn’t wait for questions. He put on his biggest smile and headed for the back of the Inn. Farthing and Mistry waited for Weasels loud, exaggerated performance and then she shot upstairs and he went outside.

  “The sea dragons were definitely working from here a year or so ago,” Mab-Tok told Lily. “A few of them came over to Taken a couple of times.”

  They were standing in the middle of a small dragon village, about size of the one at Wead-Wodder, but now abandoned.

  “Why have they left?” Lilygwin asked.

  “I don’t know. No work maybe? Not friendly? We have had to be careful on the way across Bind.”

  “I am not used to being not wanted,” the small dragon said in a tight voice.

  “Well, you are wanted by me, Lilygwin,” Mab-Tok said with a smile.

  “And you by me, but we must meet with Eafa.” She stepped lightly onto the back of the Draig Bach-Iachawr, and he jumped into the air with a huff. The toe was still annoying him.

  Weasel was already at the gate when they arrived. The sun was low in the sky and Mab-Tok landed quietly.

  “News, Eafa?” he asked.

  “We have a boat at the far end of the South Pier. Do you know where that is?”

  “I scouted earlier, so I think I know.”

  “The boat is the Melina and you already know its master.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Nathan Jipperson.”

  “My goodness,” said Mab-Tok. “That is useful!”

  “Very. Now, what about the dragons?”

  “Gone. Abandoned.”

  “It is completely empty,” Lily added. “I think they went ages ago.”

  Weasel frowned. “That is odd. No clue as to why they went?”

  “None,” Mab-Tok said. “And I wasn’t about to start asking the locals.”

  “Fair point. Look, I need to get back. The Wesseners are everywhere. They know we are here and are asking questions. It is not going to be easy to get down to the harbour.” He held Mab-Tok and Lily’s arms briefly. “It might get dangerous. Be careful.” He left and headed back into the town quietly.

  “I wish we could do more,” Lilygwin said.

  “We will do what we can, Lily, but we need to wait till it is darker first.”

  The fish stew was good and so was the stout, thought they all drank less than it might have appeared. Rusty and Pree were sitting together, clean, spruced up and resplendent in their new black hair. The innkeeper didn’t say anything, but they had been so dirty earlier, and both had had their hair tied up out of the way under scarves, so it was doubtful he had noticed the sudden change. Mistry sat a little more quietly than the others and Farthing asked her whether she was all right.

  “I know I have nothing left here, Johnson,” she said a little sadly. “But Bind is my home, and I have never left it before. My father’s body is in the desert up at Jerr-Vone somewhere and my family is four hundred leagues east, but it is all in Bind. Tonight, I leave it behind.”

  Farthing put an arm around her. “I know. I am beginning to feel the same about Redust.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have no idea whether we can actually return. Pree certainly can’t without a lot of help, and I am not going back without her. Rusty can’t either. But wherever we go, it is all of us together now, Mistry. Not just Pree and me, or me and Rusty. All of us.”
The girl nodded.

  She knew she should be overjoyed to get away from what her life had become, but it was proving more difficult that she had imagined. She desperately wanted Fren-Eirol, more than anything else. Downy, the innkeeper, appeared with his wife to collect their plates.

  “You all should be getting down to the market soon,” he told them. “There is a little parade of the local children first and then it gets going pretty quick after that. We have some other guests coming in soon or we would be coming with you, but we will have some stout ready for you when you get back.” The rotund man grinned broadly.

  “Well, your fish was delicious,” Weasel told Mrs Downy. “And we are looking forward to more of your cooking tomorrow. Come on family, let’s away to the market!” They all stood, and with the three girls arm in arm, piled out of the door to have fun, making lots of noise. As the girls walked up the lane, Weasel and Farthing turned quickly down the side alley and grabbed their few bags of belongings.

  “Did you leave a note upstairs?” Weasel asked the young man.

  “Rusty did. I don’t write,” Farthing admitted. “And we left a few coins. Nice people.” The two of them sneaked passed the inn’s shuttered windows and ran after the girls. At the corner leading to the market, they each grabbed their own bags and then sneaked off down a dark alley towards the harbour. Mistry looked back up the lane one more time towards the western wall.

  “What is it, Mistry?” Rusty asked her.

  “Best wagon and four I ever had. I am going to miss them.”

  Rusty stood for a moment too. “Yeah, so will I. Come on.”

  “Quiet, stop!” Farthing reversed back into the alley. “Wesseners,” he said in a whisper. Weasel pushed passed and peeked around the wall of the inn they were standing next to at the harbour.

  “Dammit! They are right at the pier. And with everyone else up at the Market tonight, it is dead quiet. We can hardly sneak up there.”

  “No other way?”

  “No, it is just a long thin pier. Only one way on or off unless you swim. I looked into that harbour earlier. Bad idea.”

  “Do you think they will move?” Mistry asked.

  “Doubt it. They know we have to get to one of the two piers and really it needs to be this one since it is where all the traders moor up. The bigger boats are too deep to use the north pier; that’s just used by the local fishermen. They know we are here, just not exactly where. So, all they need to do is wait for us.”

  “They have been doing that all along, haven’t they?” Farthing said in a tired voice. “Didn’t need to chase us, just wait for us.”

  “Well, maybe we could have headed east instead, but there are no boats that side of Bind that would take us around to here, so we would have been stuck.”

  “Can we draw them away somehow?” Rusty suggested, then immediately wished she hadn’t as Farthing and Weasel looked at each other.

  “How fast can you run, Mr Horseman?”

  “As fast as you I would say, Mr Goatherd.”

  “And how fast do you think those kind gentlemen can run with all their lovely leather and big heavy weapons, Mr Horseman?”

  “I think they will give it their best shot, Mr Goatherd.”

  “Do you think they would like a race?”

  “Why not, Mr Goatherd!” Weasel said with a grin. He turned to the girls. “Look, this is going to be dangerous, but we have no choice. We will draw them off and you get to the boat.”

  “What if they don’t all follow you?” Pree asked.

  “If they think we are going to find you two,” Weasel said to Pree and Rusty, “then they’ll follow.”

  “How are you going to get back to the boat?”

  “We won’t. Get to Jipperson and tell him to go to the North Pier, or as close as he can. With any luck, Mab-Tok is already at the boat, and he might be able to help us, at least for a short hop.”

  The girls looked at one another and then at the men.

  “Not happy about this, Weasel,” Mistry said.

  “Have you got a better idea, girl?” he said, more unkindly than he meant. He grabbed her by the shoulders gently. “If we do not get away tonight, we will be dead. Tekkinmod wants the two redheads. Not us. Though he might want you for the same as Sirrupp did, I suppose. He won’t want Farthing or me at all. So we are fighting for something too.”

  She nodded, then threw her arms around the magician and kissed him hard. “Don’t you lose my brother, magician. You hear?” He nodded. “And don’t you lose yourself either. I need both of you. Family.” Rusty, Pree and Mistry hugged both the men, and Pree looked deep into Farthing’s eyes. She didn’t need to say anything.

  The two men got rid of their belongings to the girls, dumping some of the less important stuff to lighten the load, then took off their coats.

  “We walk out, Farthing, nice and slow like they are not here. On my cue, we run.”

  “What will the cue be?”

  “Me running.”

  The eight Wesseners had had a dull day and were itching for a fight. They had been marching up and down the harbour and through the town, and there had not been a sign of the two slaves anywhere or the people who had rescued them. Their messenger from Henderton had given them a good description of who they were looking for, and another one of their spies at Hilda’s had confirmed they had come over the pass. Tekkinmod walked out from the shadows where he had been relieving himself.

  “They will have to come here. If not tonight, then tomorrow. We won’t have to wait long and I have men at all the gates, so they are not heading back into Bind. Remember, keep the slaves alive, but the others, just kill them.”

  “What about the dragon?” one of the men asked.

  “It’s only a Draig Bach-Iachawr,” Tekkinmod sneered. “A spear will finish him quick, which is why two of you have got them, idiots. Retton, any sign?” Tekkinmod’s shorter second appeared from across the street.

  “We found their wagon. The bloke who bought it said they picked up their things earlier and were staying at an inn near the market. Got a couple of people poking around in case.”

  “Good. Just need to wait then.” Tekkinmod stretched and scratched at his crotch as two men sauntered past chatting. It took him a moment to register who they were. “It’s the men; get them!”

  The shorter man looked over in alarm and grabbed the bigger man’s arm. “Quick!” he shouted in panic. “Get to the girls!” And the two ran off up along the harbour wall.

  “They are going after the slaves!” Tekkinmod shouted. “After them, catch them!” He and the men ran off leaving Retton standing there undecided. Something was not quite right.

  “Oh, sod it, Tekkinmod,” he cursed, and ran off after his boss.

  “Wait,” Mistry ordered the girls. “Wait until they pass those sheds.” The two men were risking everything and there was no way she was letting them down. “Alright, come on, quietly.” She grabbed the two bags, hers and Weasels, and slipped across the road and onto the pier, Rusty and Pree following. The pier was surprisingly long and when they reach the end where the boat was berthed, Mab-Tok was waiting with Lily, oblivious to what had happened. Mistry quickly explained and without saying another word, Mab-Tok leapt into the night.

  “Who is who?” asked Jipperson, walking down the gangplank.

  “I am Mistry, and this is Pree and Rusty, Farthing’s sister.”

  “I am Mr Jipperson, Miss Farthing, Miss Hearting and …?”

  “Miss Jinx,” Mistry said in confusion. She hardly ever used her family name.

  “And the two gentlemen?”

  “Running for their lives!” Mistry told him and explained the plan. Jipperson didn’t even question it.

  “On board, now!” The politeness vanished. “Sebbon!”

  “Aye, Sir!”

  “Get us into the middle of the harbour, now. Tides turning, you should be able t
o drift her. Franks?”

  “Aye, Sir!”

  “Two of you into the Jolly Boat and over to the North Pier.”

  “It is eight hundred paces, sir!”

  “Well, you better row fast then, mister!”

  “Aye, Sir!”

  “You four,” he turned to the four girls. “Don’t need you in the way. My cabin is aft; get in there and stay there.” The girls hesitated.

  “He said now!” Mistry shouted at them, and Lily, Rusty, Pree and Mistry ran into the aft cabin, taking all their bags.”

  “Little one is sweet,” said the boatswain. “Someone’s kid?”

  “That is a dragon, idiot,” Jipperson said.

  “Oh. I only seen one other dragon, sir, and that was this evening.”

  “Well, you are going to get your right fill of them in a few weeks, son.”

  Farthing couldn't believe how fast the magician ran off, but he picked up his cue and got his legs moving.

  “Get to the girls!” Weasel shouted back at him, far louder than needed. He grinned.

  “They’re up the far end waiting,” he shouted back

  “Come on then!” Weasel yelled and picked up the pace.

  The roar of the men behind Farthing was deafening and frightening, but he heard one voice clearly. He had heard it when lying on the ground, bleeding out from his leg wound in Wessen; Tekkinmod.

  He and Weasel had no armour and were carrying nothing except Weasel’s hat, but the men behind them were fit hunters from the ices, and they would not be left behind that quickly. One in particular, was closing. Farthing grabbed at a lobster pot on his way past a pile and pulled the whole lot down behind him. He was hard on Weasel’s heels.

  “They are gaining; speed up!” he shouted. Weasel nodded breathlessly, and dug his heels in.

  “Up here.” Weasel jumped up onto the harbour wall. The road twisted and turned through sheds and crates so the wall was more direct. Farthing scrambled up after him, pulling some nets down. The men behind split up, some on the wall and some on the road. Farthing and Weasel pulled a little ahead. Suddenly, Weasel slipped on the wall and went crashing into a pile of crates. The men behind yelled for Tekkinmod.

  “Get out of here!” Weasel shouted at Farthing.

  “No way, magician!” Farthing reached down and pulled Weasel straight back onto the wall. “Run!” He could feel the first of the men right behind him.

  Mab-Tok flew straight up from the pier, looking for his friends. He heard shouting from the road and he saw Farthing and Weasel running along the harbour wall, closely pursued by two of the Wesseners, the others not far behind. Suddenly, Weasel slipped and Farthing pulled the magician to his feet, but the men were too close now. Mab-Tok growled and plummeted out of the air, slamming into the backs of the two Wesseners, then soared into the sky, back into the dark. He saw two others turn and look up. They had spears. That was a problem. A spear could down him, he knew, and he had no real protection. Still…

  He dived again, further back, knocking another man over and flew back into the night once more, circling around, ready to strike again. If they didn’t know where he was going to target next, then it would slow them all down. Suddenly, he felt the air move around him and something brushed his wingtip.

  “Ignore him. Get the men!” Tekkinmod jumped over the lifeless form of one of his men, his back torn open by the dragon. “There is only one of him.” Tekkinmod leapt up onto the Harbour wall. He was no young man, but he spent months hunting tundra bears up in the ices every summer. He was tall, strong and fit, and he was angry.

  “Where are the slaves?” Retton shouted behind him. “They are just running!”

  “What?”

  “It’s a bloody diversion, Belin!”

  “Dammit. Right. Kill them! Five hundred coins to the man who kills them.”

  His men sped up.

  “The pier is on the left!” Weasel shouted. “Where are those men?”

  “Er, don’t know! Fell off?” Farthing was running out of breath and he had no idea what had happened to the two men who moments ago were right behind him. Above them, they heard a roar. “Mab-Tok?”

  “A bit deep!” Weasel called back.

  “What is it then?”

  “Left turn here!” The two leapt off the wall, skidded on some fish oil and shot up the wooden north pier, their boots banging on the planks. Behind them, they could hear the battle roar of Tekkinmod’s men.

  “Up the pier! After them,” Tekkinmod shouted.

  Farthing risked looking back; the Wesseners were closing in.

  Mab-Tok peered into the gloom to his right to see a big, smiling face.

  “Hello, Mab-Tok.”

  “Fren-Eirol?”

  “And me too,” said another voice to his left.

  “Be-Elin?”

  “Shall we go rescue our friends?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Where is he?” Weasel shouted. “Where is Jipperson?” The two had reached the end of the pier and had run out of places to run. He could hear splashing of oars and a call from out in the harbour. It was the Jolly Boat, but it was too far away.

  “Jump?” Farthing asked.

  “No point, they will just chuck spears at us. Come on.” Weasel turned and walked back down the pier, Farthing following, getting his breath back. Tekkinmod’s men skidded to a halt, jostling for position. All of them wanted the money for themselves. Tekkinmod pushed through his men.

  “Kill them, now.”

  “Kill us and you will never find your property, Tekkinmod,” Weasel said, sneering. “Two redheads? Quite a prize. Don’t find that often, do you? How much are they worth? How much did you pay?”

  “I will find them. I am good at finding things.”

  “And I am good at hiding things, Tekkinmod.”

  Tekkinmod hesitated for a moment. “He is bluffing; kill them both now. Five hundred to each of you!” That broke the stalemate and the men rushed forward.

  “Run!” shouted Mab-Tok from overhead as the pier shook like an earthquake.

  Tekkinmod’s men slid to a halt, and Farthing and Weasel span around to see what was happening behind them. The two looked at each other in amazement. There, sat at the end of the pier, their backs towards them, their wings out wide and their tails out straight, were two of the most beautiful dragons on Dirt.

  “Run, you idiots!” shouted Mab-Tok again, and Farthing and Weasel charged back up the pier, ran straight up the tails of the dragons and threw themselves onto the hides. The two huge beasts leapt straight into the air, Mab-Tok hard on their tails.

  Back in the harbour, Jipperson helped pull up the small jolly boat.

  “Sebbon!”

  “Aye, Sir. Already turning.”

  “Good man. Grab that tide and get us out of here.”

  Weasel and Farthing hung onto Fren-Eirol and Be-Elin like life itself. The big desert dragon turned her head and rumbled in pleasure.

  “What are you doing here?” Farthing asked the dragon in amazement. “You are a desert dragon from the Sand Hills.”

  “You are my rider, Johnson Farthing,” the dragon purred. “And once I choose a rider I never abandon them, ever.” Farthing was speechless. He owed this beautiful person his life twice.

  “How can I ever pay you back, Be-Elin.”

  “Never be so stupid again would be a start!” the dragon said with a chuckle. “Now, where are we flying to, rider?”

  “Er, can you take two?”

  Weasel sat cross-legged on Fren-Eirol. They had flown high into the sky, leaving Farthing and Be-Elin far below. Fren-Eirol just drifted and the two of them had been silent for many minutes.

  “You are wearing hides, Snowy,” Weasel said.

  “I am an honorary desert dragon now, it appears,” the sea dragon said with amusement. “And anyway, I rather like them. I think they suit me.”

  “I think they do
too.” Weasel stroked the dragon’s soft skin on the back of her neck and she rumbled in pleasure. “Family.”

  “What?”

  “We toasted to family in an inn a week ago. We meant you as well.”

  “You have a lot to tell me.”

  “Yes, starting with Farthing and the Prelates daughter.”

  “Oh dear,” Fren-Eirol said. “What about Mistry?”

  “About them? She is fine. Well, she is getting fine. But then, she has done more than anyone to get us here. You should be proud of her.”

  “I have missed her, Eafa, for some reason.”

  “I know you have, Snowy.”

  “You need to get down to the boat, wave talker. They are going to need you.”

  “In the early morning, if you can bare me till then. We have much to talk about and more to plan for. I am sorry, old friend, but I think I might have started something.”

  Fren-Eirol frowned. What had her magician been up to?