[Shattered Darkness]-A Fable II Fic-[Chapter Four]
The first thing to do was to turn the others to the idea. Hammer took little persuading, but as suspected, it was Reaver who caused trouble from the outset.
“No,” the Thief held up one hand to stop Sparrow in his eager explanation. “No, not a chance. I’m getting out of here as soon as I can, and I have no intentions of going gallivanting around Albion with the three of you.”
Hammer made an irritated sound, and beside her the Mage cleared his throat and laid a hand on her arm. Patiently, Sparrow gave a small nod, idly rubbing his hands together.
“Your decision entirely, of course,” he said. “But at least think about it. I have some business to attend to at Fairfax, so I am leaving Garth in charge here.”
It was a harsh reminder that the deed to Bloodstone Manor was still not in his possession, and Reaver found his fingers once more itching to reach for his gun. Sparrow seemed, if anything, amused at his reaction, and paused to shake Garth’s hand as he made his way to the door.
“Hold the fort,” he said jovially. Garth smiled and nodded, seeing the man out then turning to Reaver, who glanced from the Will user to the monk.
“This is ridiculous,” he stated. “All three of you are ridiculous. You’re searching for meaning where there is none, and I will have no part of it.”
Minutes later found him by the docks, holding a gun to the head of the first pirate captain to dare oppose his demand for a ship. No one had ever refused him before, and despite the gun barrel levelled at his forehead the man in front of him was unyielding in his response.
“Sorry, sir,” he said for the fifth time, his voice quivering and eyes darting about as an idle crowd gathered to watch the display. “No can do. I ‘ave me orders, sir.”
“Orders?”
“Aye, sir, and a tellin’ not to give ‘em up even on pain o’ death, sir.”
This was what really grated on Reaver’s nerves. He would have never gained such loyalty from these ruffians and vagabonds when he was in charge here and it riled him even more so to realise yet again that he was not in charge here. A shot rang out across the harbour and the pirate collapsed to the damp wood of the pier, being nudged over the side and into the murky water by a leather-booted foot moments later. There was a stunned silence. Not even the gulls were crying as every member of the gathered crowd took a simultaneous step backwards. It would have been amusingly theatrical, if Reaver did not have blood on his mind as he levelled his weapon at the next nearest pirate.
“Are you not as stupid as he was or do I have to kill you too?” he demanded. It was a shock to his system to suddenly find everyone gathered looking at him with a kind of malice, and slowly weapons were drawn, or picked up, making use of anything nearby. Did they really think so much of Sparrow that they were willing to die for him? Reaver’s pride was feeling rather battered by the events of the past week and this was yet another bruise for him to nurse. Reaver was a reckless man but he was not a stupid one, and he didn’t fail to notice the sniggers directed at his retreating back as he left the docks and stormed back up to the mansion.
“I see that you are in quite a foul humour today,” Garth quipped pleasantly as Reaver walked in, slamming the door behind him with more than his usual force, rocking the sturdy wood on its hinges. Reaver placed a hand on his gun then growled and wrenched it away, striding across the room and pouring himself a glass of brandy. Garth watched him with a vague curiosity, though he still leafed through the pages of the book open in his lap, noting the pirate’s shaking hand as he took a heavy gulp of the spirit. The Will user closed his book and softly cleared his throat, placing the volume to one side as he picked up a poker and idly jabbed at the fire in the grate. It was a silent invitation to sit down and Reaver took it, dropping heavily into the chair across from Garth and gripping one arm so tightly with his free hand that his knuckles whitened. In a fit of almost childish frustration he threw the glass of brandy into the fire, sending flames roaring up and cinders spitting out over the hearth.
“What in Skorm’s name is going on?” Reaver fumed. Garth was irritatingly unruffled, and moved one foot forwards to stamp out a glowing ember before it burned a hole into the carpet.
“You tried to chart a ship,” he stated, the amusement in his voice causing Reaver to look up suspiciously. There was a long silence, in which Reaver half rose from his chair and then sat back down, appearing a little perturbed at Garth’s stoic expression. It didn’t occur to the Thief that how he acted was more akin to a spoiled child than a Pirate King, but the thought had definitely crossed Garth’s mind, and it didn’t appear that he was quite ready to put up with the other man’s temper tantrums.
“Sparrow put out an order before he left, to make sure that you did not try to run. I hope that you did not kill too many people, Thief. We still need somebody to captain a ship for us when Sparrow sends word.” The Mage chuckled as Reaver simply made a disgruntled sound.
“I ought to shoot you right where you are,” the pirate stated, fingering the handle of his pistol but not drawing it.
“Then why haven’t you?” Garth replied calmly.
Reaver didn’t answer.
*
When Sparrow stepped down onto the jetty beneath Bowerstone bridge he was quick in making his way towards the castle that dominated the skyline. From here it looked imposing, and it was hard to believe that it was the same place he and his sister had longed for so many years ago. He had tried to rid the place of the wickedness and memories of evil deeds but it had been difficult, and shadows still lingered to ambush him when he worked late at night in the study where Rose had been killed. The window had been repaired, the glass toughened by magic but Sparrow still could not go near it, nor step up on the platform before it without feeling that all-too-familiar pain in his chest and seeing the body of his sister fallen beside him.
More often than not he preferred to walk to the castle, though a coach would have been readily available should he have asked for it. Even with the title of Mayor of Bowerstone the man still liked to keep in touch with the people. The children of the town adored him and he found himself surrounded by them as soon as he set foot in the market place.
“Sparrow! Sparrow!” they cried with delight as Rip dodged and bounced between them, barking excitedly. He couldn’t help but laugh with them, though he didn’t stop and quickly made his way through the square, pausing by the Blacksmith’s and hailing the man as he worked.
“Robin!” he called, distracting the man from his anvil. As the blacksmith grinned and turned to the counter, Sparrow pulled a pouch of gold from his belt.
“What can a do for ye, Sparrah?” Robin asked, though he fell silent as the leather pouch dropped heavily onto the scarred wood in front of him. He frowned, hesitating before he picked it up, weighing it in his hand and casting the other man a calculating look. “A big job, ey?”
Sparrow nodded in agreement, and silently handed the man a list of items written in a neat, cursive hand. The blacksmith glanced over the list, his expression growing increasingly sober, and when he finally looked up all traces of his earlier smile were gone.
“What’re ye up to, Sparrah? There’s some odd things on this list and no mistake.”
“Can you get them for me?” Sparrow’s gaze was intense, insistent, and Robin almost winced.
“Well, sure a can, but-“
“Wonderful! I knew I could count on you, Robin. I’ll want to see you at the castle tomorrow morning to go over the finer details.”
“Well, tha-” His protest was lost as Sparrow left, marching purposefully towards Fairfax Gardens. The Blacksmith let out a defeated sigh, glancing once more at the list in his hand before folding it and pushing it into his pocket. Many times Sparrow had asked him to make or obtain odd items, and he had never questioned it before, but this was a little strange, even for him.
Sparrow jogged the two miles to Fairfax Gardens, the castle an easy landmark as he travelled the well-known roads through Bowerstone. Thankfully, the streets were relatively deserted and he walked through the gates around fifteen minutes later. Entering the castle he trod quietly to avoid disturbing the crotchety demon door in the courtyard below, shut the ‘throne room’ door behind him and leaned against it, his quiet sigh echoing in the large room. Casting an almost accusatory glance up at the high, vaulted ceiling he made his way down the centre, taking his first right and climbing the stairs to yet another long corridor.
He always felt like a child here, expecting any moment to hear his sister’s voice behind him or to see Garth (so much younger then) approaching from the opposite direction. A warm breeze blew in from the open balcony and he moved out onto it, leaning on the cool stone and looking out over the view of the town. He remembered that it had been snowing the night they had been brought to the castle, and the bitter cold had pinched at his skin as he had slipped away from his sister and the butler to take one brief glance over the wall to the wintry scene below. Rip sniffed around his ankles, and made a small sound, distracting the man from his thoughts. He reached down and patted the animal’s warm head, turning away and walking down to the doors at the end of the corridor.
Even now the place still reeked of Old Magic and he felt a shudder go up his spine as he entered the room. There were some taints that couldn’t be removed. Scanning quickly along the shelves he selected several books and left with them, heading up to his sleeping quarters. At least up there, with its comfortably low roof and (almost) cosy desk space, he could think without hearing every breath whispered back to him. If this was going to work, then it would require some research.
*
It was several days before any news was heard from Sparrow. A falcon arrived, waking the household with noisy shrieking which continued until the bird was found by Garth. Hammer had been awake since sunrise and Reaver barely slept at all since the Bowerstone Hero had left the manor, which had only added to his bad temper. Garth took the bird to the study, Hammer joining him minutes later and glancing down to the thin strip of paper held in his hand.
“What is it, then?” she asked after a few long moments of silence, a touch of impatience in her voice as she tapped one foot. Behind her, Reaver muttered some obscenity and something about noisy women before heading straight for the brandy bottle, only to have it snatched out of his hands by the Pilgrim. Over his spluttered protest which was entirely ignored, Garth spoke.
“A message from Sparrow. We are to join him at Fairfax as soon as possible. All of us,” the man said, shooting a pointed look towards Reaver before moving to the desk and writing a quick reply on the back of the paper. Rolling it up he slipped it into the leather pouch on the bird’s leg, and took the falcon up onto his forearm. He left the room, and Hammer cast a glance at Reaver. The Thief was leaning on the edge of the desk, looking tired, pale and thoroughly fed up. Despite their mutual dislike for one another Hammer couldn’t help but feel a ghost of concern, though it was quite nicely cleared away as the pirate noticed her looking at him and glared.
“What do you want?” he spat.
“Oh, nothing,” the woman replied testily. “You look terrible, Reaver. It’s not like you to let yourself go.”
“You shouldn’t try to be witty, woman, it doesn’t suit you,” the Thief shot back, bristling as Hammer simply laughed at him and went after Garth, only to return moments later.
“I have let Sparrow know that the three of us will be joining him at Fairfax as soon as we can convince a captain that Reaver isn’t going to kill them while we’re sailing,” the man said, striding to the desk and picking up a few papers, crouching to pull his satchel from beneath the table before carefully stowing the documents inside. As he put the bag on the smooth wood and continued to pack the various books and tattered scrolls scattered over it, he cleared his throat and went on. “Hopefully that will not take too long.”
Reaver had moved away, containing his annoyance for now though it showed in how his fingertips absently stroked along the smooth handle of his firearm.
“He assumes that all three of us will be going?” he queried, frowning. “That is a little presumptuous.”
Hammer snorted, but Garth lifted his hand to silence her as he fixed Reaver with a calculating look. “Perhaps, Reaver,” the Mage said, walking over to the Thief and looking him up and down, appraising him as one might do an apprentice or a child. It grated on Reaver’s already frayed temperament. “Perhaps he thinks that you be forced, since really, you don’t have any choice in the matter.” Garth cast his gaze towards the sea, Will-blue eyes narrowing. “Or perhaps he believes that you are a better man than you would appear to be.”
“I could get used to him being quiet,” Hammer said cheerfully as she followed Garth from the room, leaving an apparently stunned Reaver to trail silently behind. He had not expected the stubborn man to come so easily, but appearing willing no doubt would allow him to keep more of his pride than being dragged like a captive.
“Try not to render him entirely mute, Hammer,” Garth murmured, shifting the weight of his satchel and leaving it to Hammer to pick up the pack of supplies that the servants had left beside the door (so efficient). “We may need his input before this task is done. Come along!”
Tags: fable 2, Fanfiction, reaver, sparrow