They rode through the night, Murphy’s eyes and the glow of a moon lighting the way continuing on until first light when Corwin called a halt, puzzled. There had been no sign of anyone camping off the road and only horses of exceptional stamina could’ve ridden this far without stopping to rest. He sent Murphy out to look for any signs of a hidden camp and was doubly surprised when the gargoyle returned with negative news. The entire group suffered major disappointment.
Even with Corwin’s help, it took the party three days to reach the port city of Lever. They rode in, weary, dirty and silent as Murphy took them to an Inn near the harbor. A youngster with dark hair in tight curls took their horses to the stables and promised to look after them. The host met them at the postern gates and welcomed the party to a private room that he said was spelled so that none could overhear and that the Baron had sent a message his son would be needing accommodation. Corwin warded the room once he’d left and slowly pulled on his gloves and cape.
“Marcus, you and Murphy will wander the marketplace for news of our quarry. Captain, you and Sergeant Pire make the rounds of the taverns. Roelle, you and I will go see the mayor of this fine town and put a flea in his ear.”
“A what?” She asked but followed behind as they found their respective rooms, food, drink in that order.
***********
Marcus’ red hair was easy to spot as he trolled the busy crowd in the marketplace. Of course, Murphy drew more of the attention being over six and a half feet tall, gray skinned, gray eyed and so dour looking. People moved out of his way as if they feared he carried the plague.
He heard Marcus asking if anyone had seen an odd bird, or a creature that looked like a baby dragon. Or mercenaries inquiring about berths on a ship. Murphy shook his head. Really. The boy had no tact and would never make a spy.
He slid silently up behind him and the pair the boy was asking, blanched and stepped back.
“Mercenaries are in short supply, here,” the man stammered. “No work for ‘em. If there are any, they hang out at Dirty Bob’s.”
“And where would that be?” Murphy smiled and the sight of his wolf-like teeth made the man shiver in fear. He could smell piss and wrinkled his nose. The man was so terrified that he’d pissed his pants.
“Down Egret Lane off Bloodstone Alley,” he stammered. Murphy turned without another word as he followed the man’s pointing finger. Marcus hurried after him.
Egret Lane was a common enough street, wide enough for the dray wagon to unload huge casks of beer and liquor and pretty enough that the businesses had flower boxes on the windows. Most were painted in greens and yellows with maroon shutters and doors. The lane was iron hard cobblestones with gutters that drained the rainwater into the sea. The roofs were all thatched and smelled fresh. Just beyond its environs, you could smell the salt air and hear the lonely cries of the curlews and gulls.
There were a few pedestrians but most disappeared as Marcus and Murphy stepped further into the darkened end of the street. Here, the buildings leaned close together with hardly any room between them. Drab colored, they stank from years of brine and bird shit. Even the footing was slick with it. The air was curiously still and when they turned the corner, the lane split off. To the right was Bloodstone Alley, to the left Gutters Street. Neither looked savory. The faint shapes of tall masts could be seen through a heavy mist on the street side.
Murphy’s wings unfurled and he drew his talons forth like daggers “Marcus,” he grumbled. “Stay behind me.”
“Fat chance,” Marcus said and lit a Wyche ball so that the daylight positively ate the shadows. In complete brightness, they trod carefully down the alley until they found the noisy inn called Dirty Bob’s. There was sand on the flagstones and it crunched annoyingly under their feet as they pushed their way through a crowd of men dressed from tars to beggars and merchants to thieves. Surprisingly, no one tried to pickpocket them and the barkeep slid two ales down the bar towards them. He was a tall man, nearly Murphy’s height with shoulders that looked as if he could toss a bull. His wrists were surprisingly delicate and his face was nearly as ugly as Murphy’s. His eyes were deep maroon that flared as he stared at Murphy.
“Anademonaeisis,” he said flatly. Murphy swallowed the tankard in one gulp, his eyes never leaving the others.
“Belionophorous,” he countered and set the tankard down on the bar.
“Are you here for me, Anad –”
Murphy interrupted him. “Call me Murph. Or Murphy. I haven’t used the other name in 800 years.”
“Oh. I go by Bob.” Marcus snickered and Murphy slapped him on the back of the head but he held the front of the boy’s shirt so he didn’t go flying backwards. “Forgive my human friend. He has a big mouth and a small brain.”
“Hey!” Marcus protested and Murphy shook him.
“We’re looking for something,” he continued as if Marcus was just an annoying mosquito.
“What?”
“A black dragon the size of a small dog.”
“No. Not here. There have been some rumors. I had heard some people brought a mysterious caged creature onto a ship bound for Khafra and the Palace but I’ve also heard that war is imminent between Amber and several shades close to us.”
“What ship, Bob? When did it leave?”
“Yesterday. On the morning tide, there were a dozen ships that set out, Murphy.”
“I am not here for you, Bob. When I died, the feud died with me,” Murphy said and the barkeep looked relieved. Marcus stared.
“You died?” He gaped.
“Over a thousand years ago on earth. The unicorn gathered my ashes and made me into the gargoyle, bonded me to Raven’s life. As Bob here was bonded to his charge. How is your charge, Bob?” Murphy’s tone was sarcastic.
“He died,” Bob said flatly and Murphy turned on his heel, dragged Marcus with him and left the bar. The Wyche light had dimmed, allowing the shadows to creep back and clothe the alley. Marcus stumbled trying to keep up with Murphy’s long strides and before he had time to gulp, the gargoyle lifted him into the sky was flying back towards the inn.
“Who was that?” He shouted.
“Once, he was a gargoyle like me,” Murphy answered. “He sold his stone form to become human and in doing so, let his charge be murdered. So now, he is condemned to remain in the flesh until he wears out.”
“Yeah? How long is that?”
“It is now over four hundred years.” Marcus shut his mouth and concentrated on not losing his stomach as flying made him seasick. They met up at the inn and all had the same tale, mercenaries with a secret wrapped in a cloth had stayed for one night and disappeared with their horses onto a ship headed for Khafra’s capital. Four men and six horses.
Corwin sighed. “I spoke to the mayor. He says he knows nothing and I believe him. Not many men can stare down the length of Grayswandir and lie. Marcus, you said before you can track his magic aura? Can you feel anything now?”
Marcus closed his eyes and cast his senses out, felt the solid presence of the Black Dragon yet could not feel Raven’s essence in it. “He’s alive,” he said hesitantly. “I can feel that something’s blocking me.”
“Which way?”
“Northeast, I think.”
“We’ll spend the night. In the morning, we’ll see about booking passage to Khafra,” Corwin decided.
“Prince Corwin,” Marcus stated. “Why don’t you just call King Luke and have him bring us all there?”
“Because I don’t trust Luke or his mother, Jasra,” Corwin denied his lips thinning. “She doesn’t like me anymore than I do her.”
“I believe it involves a coatrack,” the Sergeant grinned and wiped it off his face as the Prince frowned.
“Anyway, it’s not a good idea to let anyone know we’re in Khafra. Get some rest and eat. We’ll leave in the morning. I’ve managed to contact an old friend who will let us board his ship.”
They went to their respective rooms with Murphy guarding the girl because he never slept and she knew what Raven had felt to have the stone man underfoot as a constant presence – like having a huge boulder poised over one’s head. Only the gargoyle’s rest was peaceful.
In the morning, they met for breakfast in the warded room where they ate fitfully and quickly. After that, Corwin took them to South Harbor where the smaller less reputable ships were docked yet the atmosphere was pleasant and none of the bustling dock workers or sailors were cantankerous. The ship the Prince stopped at was called the Jolly Roger and only Murphy’s eyes rose at the skull and crossbones. He shot an inquiring look at Corwin who explained, “I did him a favor. He’s from your shadow, Murphy. Wanted adventure on the high seas, where a man could make a name for himself.” He shouted and presently, a tall sturdy man with a weathered face appeared on the forward part of the schooner between the four masts. His eyes were brilliant blue in a tanned face and there were a hundred wrinkles around his eyes and wide lifted smile. His teeth were brilliant white.
“Corey!” He exclaimed and leaped over the rail to land neatly on the wooden docks. He moved like a supple wildcat, balancing on toes and fingers. When he stood up, he was as tall as Murphy but more slender. He pulled Corwin off the horse and hugged him, slapping him on the back.
“Roger, do I have to check my pockets?” Corwin laughed. The man grinned sheepishly and handed back the Prince’s wallet, rose and dagger.
“It’s good to see you Corey, but what are you doing here?”
“War’s over. Been over for three years,” Corwin said.
“I know. Business is down.” Without turning, he yelled for a sinnett and a curly headed boy dropped from the canvas to land next to the Captain.
“Sir?” The boy asked, spooking the horses.
“Take their mounts to the hold and make sure they’re comfortable. Corey, bring your people aboard. We’ll discuss your fare in my cabin.” He studied the group before he bowed to the Prince and Roelle. “Gargoyle, hmmm. Well, we can always use you for ballast.” With that, he led them up the boarding ramp.