White Eyes (part three)

“He’s still singing that song,” said Morgan out loud. Argo glared over his shoulder at her.
“If you must tag along, at least try to be quiet.”
“I don’t see why I should. What’s the need for secrecy?”
She had caught him. Argo stopped dead in his tracks, looking stuck. “I … I will tell you some day,” he said eventually, and walked on.
The two of them began to tiptoe as they grew nearer and nearer their quarry. Pegasus was sauntering along with as much of a swagger as he could manage under the weight of his pack, and all the while, singing.
Pretty soon Argo and Morgan were forced to drop back – they drew so close that if he looked back he would immediately see them. After this they made sure that he stayed one bend ahead of them. There was no problem keeping track of him – his singing did that for them – but they tried to keep as close as possible just in case.
Morgan started to grow tired of this ceaseless chase by the time about three hours had passed. Peg never tired – he trudged on and on, lugging his heavy pack with him, and singing. It occurred to Morgan that the contents of his pack might be what Argo was so curious about. Creeping a little closer to Argo, she whispered in his ear. “What’s in his pack?”
Argo glared her into silence. “Be quiet,” he hissed. “You’ll find out.” As he said this, the  two heard Peg heave a great sigh, and they heard a heavy thudding noise that sounded as though he had just dumped his pack on the ground. They heard another, softer thud that told them he had sat down beside it. They listened intently as he started talking.
“Well, young master Peg,” he began, “you’ve done well for the morning. I think you deserve something, don’t you?” He paused, as if thinking. Then, “I’m sure Ben won’t mind if I take a little sip. What harm can it do? There’ll be plenty left. Yes, now I come to think of it … I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Argo and Morgan listened even more intently as the sound of a drawstring was heard. They could distinguish a faint clunking sound from within the pack, then a scraping noise as an object was lifted out of it.
Argo nodded silently to his companion, and the two of them crept forward, inch by inch, until the tops of their heads were peering around the corner, concealed by a clump of leaves. Peg was further away than they had thought – at least twenty metres. He had a long, cylindrical object in his hand. A bottle, Morgan thought it was. Peering closer, Morgan saw its label. West Bridge Herbal Remedy, it read. Puzzled, Morgan leaned towards Argo.
“Why is he drinking a herbal remedy?”
Argo looked at her sharply. “What …? Oh, right. The label. No, that’s not medicine he’s drinking.”
Morgan did not ask any further questions, not because she wasn’t curious, but because at that moment Peg spoke to himself again. He had taken a long swig from the bottle, and now he was eyeing it with distaste. “I never did like this stuff,” he muttered, and hurled the bottle over his shoulder into the bushes. It made a muffled thud.
Rising, Pegasus dusted himself of and hitched the pack once more onto his back. The two heard a throaty rasping noise, and then Peg spat on the ground. “Urgh,” he spluttered, and then resumed his relentless plodding.
Morgan and Argo waited until he was around the next bend, and then followed him without a word. Morgan thanked the heavens the road was so windy.
“Argo,” she said quietly, “do you happen to know where exactly he is leading us?”
Argo did not look at her, but his brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down a little. “Truthfully?” he asked. Morgan nodded. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never managed to follow him that far.” When Morgan gave him an inquisitive look, he sighed. “Many times,” he said. “I’ve tried many times. Somehow, he always manages to lose me.”
“How? It has not been very difficult so far.”
“So far. But it will be. You see, Peg here has a tactic. He knows that I am always trying to follow him – and he knows that I’ve never managed. He has a few tricks up his sleeve. He never does anything he wouldn’t mind me seeing when he knows I’m following. He sings very loudly, all the time, letting me keep track of him. And then the singing stops. He just goes deadly quiet. And all the time, every time, he knows I’ll run to catch up with him. And every single time, he’s gone – without a trace. His footprints just end – they simply disappear. And that’s when I lose him. Once I tried the bush – no footprints there, either. I went on for at least a mile up the road, but his footsteps never re-entered the path.”
Morgan thought for a moment. “Does this happen at the same place, every time?”
Argo shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything looks the same round here to me. I –” he cut himself short as Morgan held a finger to her lips.
“Listen!” she said urgently. “The singing. Can you hear it?”
Argo’s face grew pallid. “Oh, that’s just great. Here we go again.” He ran helter-skelter down the path and round the bend, calling to Morgan as he went, “I knew it! I just knew it! Gone again.”
Morgan rounded the bend after him, and ran to him. “Don’t touch anything!” Argo stopped in his tracks and Morgan raced on ahead of him, following Peg’s footprints, and skidded to an abrupt halt as they ended. Bending down carefully, she studied them through squinted eyes. Argo caught up to her, hands on his hips.
“What did I tell you? Now, is that a mystery, or what?” Morgan silenced him with a hand gesture as peered even more closely at the footprints.
“Not so much as you think,” she said triumphantly. “He’s left some major clues for us to follow. See here.” She gestured at the footprints, and Argo bent down awkwardly to study them. Looking up, he shrugged.
“I don’t see anything special.”
Morgan carried on. “Now look at the ones before this set. Do you see a difference?”
She waited as Argo touched his nose to the dusty ground. Eventually he spoke. “Well – I think the last pair are somewhat lighter. Or is that just me and my floury eyelashes?”
Morgan smiled. “No, it’s not. You’re right. Now, what might have made Peg lighter on this last set of steps?”
“He could have taken his pack off. But I don’t see it, nor an imprint of it neither.”
“No, you don’t. And that’s because he didn’t put it on the ground. Where else could he have put it?”
Argo shrugged. “Beats me,” he said.
“Look around you. And more importantly, look above you.”
Argo did, and found himself staring at the underside of a thick branch that jutted high and far over the road. “You think he lugged it all the way up there?”
Morgan nodded. “Well, what else could he do? See that fork in the branches? I’m guessing Peg threw his bag to nestle between those two, and then got up himself.”
“But there are no footsteps leading off the path. He can’t have climbed.”
“No, he didn’t, dimwit. Bend down again.”
Argo looked slightly indignant at being labelled a dimwit, but he did as he was ordered. He felt rather foolish, with his nose to the ground at the feet of a very bossy midget girl.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Look closer. Is there a difference in the weight or texture of the footprint in any part?”
“Well … yes, there is! At the toes. The weight was heavier at the toes. There’s also a bit of dirt around the tip of the footprint – like it was scuffed.”
Morgan clapped. “Very good! Bonus point. Now, for another one, can you tell me what that could mean?”
Argo shook his head, nonplussed. “No.”
“He jumped,” said Morgan simply. “Up to the branch. When you jump, your toes dig into the ground to lever you, don’t they? So that’s exactly what it means.” Without another word, she hopped lightly onto Argo’s hunched back, leaping into the air and catching hold of  the thick branch. She hauled herself up to straddle it, and then peered questioningly down at Argo, who had found himself face down in the dirt. His expression when he looked up was less than cheerful.
“By bouth’s full of dutht, you idthiot. Plurrgh!” He spat on the ground and leapt up after her. He found her studying the branch they sat on.
“See? Look, right there.” Morgan pointed to a very small branch that protruded from the main one at a sideways angle. “It’s bent. And look.” She pointed to a fork made by two branches to their left. “That’s where the sack thing landed. See here. It’s crushed a little bud.” As Morgan crawled over to inspect the spot, Argo heaved an exasperated sigh.
“Are we going to get on with it, or what? He’th prob’ly mileth away by now.” He was still attempting to scrape the remainders of dirt from his tongue.
Morgan looked up, as if from a dream. “Oh, yes. Silly me. Let’s move.” She scampered away down the length of the branch and swung herself onto the next – a somewhat lower one. She waited for her companion to catch up, and then went more slowly, studying the branches and leaves around her as she went. Once she stopped quite suddenly, to examine a snapped twig, and Argo cannoned into her, almost sending them both toppling to the ground. “Watch it,” hissed Morgan, and went on climbing.
Eventually they reached a very low branch that reached out over a grassy bank, and Argo slid down its barky length after his guide. Morgan looked triumphant. “I’ve got his trail!” she said excitedly. “Look – he leaves a track a blind maggot could follow. This is easier than I thought.”
After attempting to decide whether or not she was insulting him by comparing him to a blind maggot, Argo followed her. “So, where’s the trail?” he huffed.
“Right here. I’m following it.”
“I don’t see no trail.”
“You’re not looking. Clues everywhere – you just have to try to find them. Honestly, anyone would think he were hauling along a troublesome elephant by the trunk, judging by the track he’s leaving. Obviously he doesn’t know we’re following, or he’d be more careful.”
Argo decided to be the diplomat, and kept his mouth closed. He couldn’t see a trail, but he couldn’t see how pointing it out would help, either. So the two of them trudged along in silence, halting whenever there was a noise, studying the surrounding bush carefully for signs.
After a while Morgan called a halt, in a similar manner to a marching Sergeant ordering troops, and beckoned Argo over to her. “What do you see here?”
Thinking she was looking for another excuse to humiliate him, Argo peered closer at the spot, determined to impress her. “I see … a see a sort of twirly green frond, about knee height, in a bed of … of black leaves. The frond is dead, but it’s not brown.”
“Idiot, I see that too. I mean, what do you see that’s odd?”
Stung by her derisory remark, Argo shrugged huffily. “I dunno. There’s not much more, is there?”
Morgan looked disappointed. “Pity,” she sighed. “Because I don’t know either.”
Argo was surprised. “Then why do you think there’s something odd?”
“Well, firstly, what on Earth is a dead frond doing lying in a pit of black leaves – burnt, by the looks of it – but nice an green itself?”
“I du – ’’
“And secondly, why would Peg have made a fire out here in the woods, and then dropped this fern on it? And besides, the leaves don’t look newly burnt – a couple of days ago, I think.”
“Someone else, maybe?”
“Or maybe he’s been here already this week.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. That is a perfectly – perfectly plazzible possibility.”
“Plausible.”
“I said that.”
Morgan decided not to argue. Frowning slightly, she moved on at a brisk pace. She did not show it, but she was becoming increasingly uneasy. She had first heard it in the bushes a while back – a sort of rustling noise, so quiet it was barely audible, even to her keen ears. The first time she had ignored it, but now it was coming more and more frequently, and always directly beside them. Some sensation in the air made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and she kept glancing about warily.
Eventually Argo noticed her discomfort, and told her so. “What’s the matter?” He did not bother to keep his voice down.
Morgan jumped at the sudden noise, and whispered fiercely back at him. “Don’t say anything. Someone is following us.” Before she could add, ‘Act natural’ or ‘Don’t look now’, Argo had twisted his head around sharply, scanning the bushes behind him. He did an awkward little hop skip to catch up with Morgan, and whispered hoarsely in her ear.
“Are you sure?” Morgan ignored him. Argo kept shooting little worried glances at the greenery on either side, and did not let Morgan get in front of him.
What happened next was so sudden that Morgan and Argo did not know what had hit them. One moment the wood was as silent as the grave, and the next it seemed to be bursting with activity. Several things seemed to happen at once; afterwards Morgan could not put them into a sequence. Something shot out of the bushes on their right, hitting Argo in force and felling him immediately. Then a figure as large as a bear leapt out towards Morgan from the other side, tackling her to the ground. For a split second she heard a harsh rasp of breath in her ear – it stank horribly of strong wine and dead rat – and then she felt the air whoosh out of her as the bear-like figure landed on top of her. Her eyes felt ready to pop out of their sockets, she could not breathe and she could almost feel her ribcage cracking. Morgan heard a strangled yelp as Argo was hauled roughly upright and held with cruel, brutal strength in a headlock. Then she was hauled upright in a similar manner and she felt something very cold and sharp press against her throat. Only when she felt a warm liquid trickle from the point did she realize it was a knife.
And suddenly all movement ceased. The two children were held incredibly still as the two men eyed them. Morgan noticed an equally sharp knife pressing against Argo’s skinny neck – she was afraid it might slice through one of his very prominent veins. His eyes were wide with terror, trying to look at the men, whilst at the same time attempting to keep both his eyes on the knife that sat just above his collarbone.
Argo’s captor spoke. Morgan thought it was a vaguely familiar voice; it reminded her strangely of the smell of strong, pungent wine. “Well? This was your bright idea, gnat-face. What do you plan to do next?”
“I dunno, do I? ‘Twas your idea, not mine. Whadda we do wif ‘em?”
“I say it was your idea, and I also say we slit their throats, right here and now, to avoid any kind of trouble.”
“Trouble, is it? That’s exactly wot yer’ll get into, if ye do anyfink like t’at. They was followin’ the boy. We needs that kid alive, and this scum might be exactly wot we needs if we wants ter find ‘im.”
“We’ll get no truth out of these two. There’s no point – we know where he’s going, anyway.”
“I finks yore an idjit, be’aving like that. Ignorrygance, that’s wot it is, and no good never came to nobody ‘oo was lazy enuf ter fall fer it.”
“I’ll give you ignorance, you snotty-nosed excuse for a rat! I’ll give you lazy, you illiterate little pig!”
“Rat, is it? Pig, is that it, now? I’ll give yer something ter fink about when we’re done wif dis lot, you flabby, carrot-nosed, bug-eyed little maggot!”
Morgan saw the broad chest behind Argo swell enormously. “Is that right, my poor, deluded little popinjay? Well, I think it’s time you bought yourself a mirror!”
“Hah! Dat’s funny. I wouldn’t tink you’d never seen no mirrer – I wouldn’t think it’d last fer long enuf wifout cracking.” 
“Is that so? Well, I’m surprised you’ve ever even been allowed near harmless objects like mirrors. If I was your mother, I would keep you well away from anything that might make a smudge on your dainty little pinafore!”
“Aye, and if I were yer mother, ye wouldn’t even know me, cos I’d have died us soon as I saw yer great ugly mug in yer first wee little bonnet!”
As the two fuming men stood facing each other, their two captives completely forgotten, Argo began to think. If he could make them so angry with each other that they released himself and Morgan to charge each other, they might just be able to make their escape. A brilliant idea struck him, and he put it into action without thinking.
He shouted. “He’s right, actually, Morgan. Only I disagree with him on one thing – there wouldn’t be a bonnet on him, ‘cause nobody would dare to get close enough to him!”
The man holding Argo huffed loudly and turned red under his black mask. Morgan caught on and immediately started defending her captor.
“You keep your nose out of this, dimwit. The funny-looking shrimpy character over here ticks all the boxes for fatal ugliness.” Argo’s captor smiled gleefully.
“I think you’re right, actually,” said Argo. “And his breath does pong something awful.” Morgan’s captor looked ready to do murder.
“Nah, what are you on about, Argo? He looks a pretty handsome chap to me. That idiot doesn’t even know how to hold a knife – he’s pressing it against your throat backwards!” The knife was swiftly re-handled and pressed even harder against Argo the wrong way around.
Argo was enjoying himself. “Yes, you’re right. Look at him, you’d think his head was a pumpkin, the way it swells like that!” The broad man behind Morgan gave a raucous laugh.
Morgan shook her head. “Idiot, his head is perfectly normal-sized. This one’s the one with a head that looks like it’s been clamped in a vice.”
“Quite right. And look at his ears! I wonder how big the elephant he got them from was.”
The broad man snarled. “I teach you to talk to me like that!” He raised the hand with the knife.
“Just joking. Honestly, you think I’d side with him? He’s a right idiot – look at the way he’s standing there, jaw agape. You’d think he might get on with the actual fighting instead of standing around like a gob-stopped goldfish.”
His remark spurred Morgan’s captor into action. His would-be victim completely forgotten, he advanced, snarling, upon his opponent. Argo shouted after him, “Good on you, mate! I knew you’d be the sensible one. Get him, before he decides to stop drooling and blinking like a dimwitted gorilla!”
In turn, Rat-face left Morgan and stalked forward, his black mask scrunched up horribly in a scowl.
“Slit their throats, would yer? Call me pig, would yer? I’ll teach you ter slit throats proper, and then ya can tell me I’m a pig.”
“Shut your trap, idiot. Where’s your backbone, snake? Lost a bit of colour have you, yellow-belly? I’ll colour you nicely, I will, if you come any closer. I hope you like red, you lily-livered toad!”
“Aye, an’ I hopes you likes diseases, cos there’s a big, fat, ugly rat comin’ right at yer!”
The two children did not wait to see the charge. They were already scampering down the road like desperate foxes evading a hunt, hardly noticing the pained shrieks and roars that cut through the air from behind them.
Soon all noise of the fight was left behind them, and they collapsed, both of them, against a nearby elm, gasping for breath and struggling to keep their heads.
Argo was the first to recover – having longer legs had made the scramble easier for him. “What about … Peg?”
Morgan looked up sharply. “Oh … almost … forgot …” Argo waited patiently as she regained her breath.
“We must have lost him,” she said finally. “There is no way we could find him now. He’s far, far ahead.”
Argo was determined, however. He had got further than ever before in this chase, and he was not going to give up lightly. “We just have to follow the path. It’ll be easy. Come on. Besides, Peg has that enormous pack – how fast can he possibly go?” He waited as Morgan thought.
“All right,” she sighed at last. “But really don’t want to be caught by those two skulking idiots again – that was, in case you didn’t notice, a very close call.”
“I did notice,” said Argo wryly. “But we’ll be more careful this time.”
And so they set off briskly, now running, now walking, now pausing for a rest. After a while Argo stopped in his tracks and peered at the bush on one side of the road.
Morgan prayed that they were not going to be beset again. “What is it?” she ventured warily.
Argo caught her tone and shook his head. “Nothing life-threatening,” he said, “but granted, it’s very interesting.” Peering closer, he beckoned Morgan to him and pointed. “What do you see there?”
“I see … hold on. Yes, I do see something. Wait – that boulder looks exactly like a fox’s head!”
“Yes,” nodded Argo. “That’s what I see too. What’s interesting is that I’ve seen it before.”
Morgan looked up at him eagerly. “You have? When? Where?”
“Well, it must have been here, mustn’t it? I’m just trying to remember where this place is. Hold on …” suddenly Argo’s face brightened. “Of course. I rested here once, on my way to …” his eyes widened dramatically. “On my way to North Bridge! I remember now!” Argo danced an excited little jig on the spot, waving his arms. “We are not lost, I know where we are! We’re on our way to North Bridge! See, I told you so, I told you we’d only have to follow the road.” In his relieved joy, he grasped Morgan by the arms and swung her around in a circle, laughing.
Suddenly he became sullen again, and released her, looking slightly embarrassed. “We’ll have to be quiet now,” he mumbled. “We’re very close.” Argo set off down the road.
It was not long before the quiet, tranquil sounds of the peaceful forest were disturbed by cruder, louder, more earthy noises – those of people laughing and shouting, and of heavy wheeled wagons being dragged along rugged rural roads. These were the sounds of the outskirts of North Bridge, the town that was labelled the heart of the trade and business of Halzar – the very small country within which Morgan had spent her whole short life. Beyond the town of North Bridge, across the Helz’yne River, lay Farthsward, the wide, flat plain that stretched for miles on end as far as the eye could see; a rolling, lonely expanse of emptiness that had known nothing but the soft sigh of the wind, the gentle ripple of blades of grass in the morning breeze, and maybe the weary tramp of a traveller’s boots. Beyond that land was said to lie a vast courtyard, old and crumbling and forever blanketed in mist; its tiles were cracked and faded, and in their places, long grass grew, and swayed sadly in the breeze, forever a testament to the times long past in which noble courtiers and princes would have strode proudly through that place, whilst trumpets blared and children laughed. Beyond there Morgan knew only of darkness.

Argo turned to his companion, smiling broadly, as they breached the last trailing evidence of woodlands. Before them lay a long, wide, dusty road, crisscrossed here and there by parked mules and wagons, and alive with the bustle of little children running about freely, laughing and playing. Morgan returned the smile without knowing; it was so good to be back in the company of people. Even she grew tired of nothing but endless trees after a while.
“I told you so,” said Argo smugly.
“Yes, you did,” admitted Morgan freely. “Are we even now?” she stuck out her hand in front of his swollen chest, offering it to him. Argo blinked at it rapidly for a moment, and then his eyes seemed to pop out of his head.
“You mean …?”
Morgan nodded, waiting. Argo’s astonished expression transformed suddenly, and his face  broke into an incredibly broad grin. He clasped her hand tightly and shook it fiercely. “We’re even,” he said.
Morgan smiled. “Then let’s cut the formalities and get on with it!”

*

It was already early afternoon by the time they had passed the last traces of the open countryside and farmland. In front of them stretched a long line of peasants trickling slowly down the hill – all of them farmers, hoping to sell their produce amidst the bustle of the main town. At the foot of the hill, the road continued to stretch for about fifty metres – and then it passed right through the main gates of the town, where it became very heavily packed and well-trodden. Morgan eyed the scruffy battlements of the fort with distaste.
“I tell you, I don’t like it. It’s got a really shifty look about it, if you ask me. I’ll bet it’s the centre for thieves and scallywags and well as trade and business. Mind you, it’s not uncommon for the three to go together.”
Argo looked at her with curiosity. “Why? What’s wrong with it? I think it’s jolly interesting.”
“I’m a country kid,” said Morgan. “I don’t like all this nasty shoving and pushing, and people yelling at each other and gambling.”
Argo shrugged. “I’ve always thought it’s rather exciting.” He looked puzzled for a moment. Then, “Oh well. We can’t hang around – we have a Pegasus to catch, remember?”
Morgan grinned wryly at the pun. “Oh, very funny; very funny indeed.” Without another word, she was off, racing down the hill as fast as her legs and gravity combined could carry her, shouting back over her shoulder as she went: “Last one through the gate’s a flying horse’s rotten egg!”
Argo went tumbling after her, his long legs tangling and twisting underneath him as he strove to keep his balance. He set his eyes on the figure of Morgan, whirling down the slope, gaining on the gate. He swung his legs even faster, determined to catch up with her…
WHUMP!
Argo found himself flying through the air in a confusion of limbs, having collided with a very sturdy object he took to be a wagon. He landed heavily in the dust, and looked up, coughing and spluttering. He saw no wagon – indeed, nothing that seemed solid enough  to have sent him flying like that. All he saw was a rather flimsy looking middle-aged man, peering down at him severely. His hair was thick and auburn, and both it and his beard were riddled with twigs and leaves, giving him the odd appearance of a cross between a tree and a beanstalk. Argo eyed him sceptically. He refused to believe that this twig of a man could possibly have sent him on such a remarkable flight.
“Who bumped me?” he demanded gruffly.
The man looked indignant and strangely aloof at the same time. “Who bumped you, did you say?” he had a distinct rustic accent, but it was mixed in with something Argo thought sounded very posh. “Rather! ‘Who bumped me’, he says, and doesn’t even give the slightest fig for the thought that he might have been the jolly bumper.” He continued to peer sternly down at him, and Argo was reminded of a strict father reprimanding his little son.
“Sorry,” mumbled Argo, abashed.
“Sorry! I should jolly well think so. D’you realize you flippin’ well almost knocked me brains out?”
“No. Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
“I should hope not! By the by, who are you with? Your Pa?”
Argo was taken by surprise. “Er … no. No, my – my second uncle’s wife twice … twice removed …” 
The man did not seem at all bothered by his uncertainty. “Jolly good. You can tell your ol’ auntie’s husband’s son’s great grand-daddy thrice removed that you’ve jolly well had a brush with the infamous Mauga the Mad!” He put on a ferocious scowl, and, with a would-be-elegant turn on his toes, he strode off with a slightly tipsy swagger.
Argo stared after him, and felt the corner of his right eye twitch with incredulity. “Mad he is,” he muttered to himself, and then, picking himself up, he proceeded to stroll more cautiously down the slope.

He found Morgan waiting for him just inside the gates of the city. She eyed his dusty face with ill-concealed mirth as he reached her. “Well, what happened?” she snorted. He scowled at her and she shut up.
“Anyway,” continued Morgan, changing the subject, “I think I have a lead. I questioned this funny old chap sitting by the gate over there – ’’ she pointed, “ – and he says he saw a boy pass through not too long ago, carrying a big heavy sack. He says – ’’ she lowered her voice, “ – he says that he’s seen the boy before, always with the same pack, although sometimes the pack is more full, sometimes practically empty. I think that’s a start.”
“But which way did he go? That’s what we need to know.”
Morgan fidgeted with the rim of her dusty frock. “Truth be told, I don’t know,” she admitted. “The little chap over there said I had to pay him for any more information. Said he’d already given more than he should.”
Argo bristled with indignation. “Did he now? Well, I’ll teach him a lesson or three…”   
He was stopped in mid-stride by Morgan’s arm. “No,” she said. “Not that way. Look at him, he guesses what we’re up to. We should pay him and get on with it. Do you have any money?”
Argo reluctantly stepped back. “Yes,” he muttered. “But not much. He’ll have to make do. And if he doesn’t …” he shot the sneering man a murderous scowl.     
“Fine,” said Morgan. “But we’d best be quick.” The two of them strode casually towards the little man. He sat hunched in a shadow behind the gate. He eyed them warily, but did not cease grinning his crooked little sneer.
“Whaddya want? I’m bizzy.” He began fiddling with a bundle that sat beside him. A pungent reek emanated from it, and Morgan tried not to guess what was wrapped in it.
Argo looked slightly sick as he attempted to look the man in the eye. “You told my friend here,” he forced out, “that a boy with a sack passed through here not so long ago. We want – we want to know where he went.”
The man’s sneer broadened, displaying cracked, black teeth with all manner of nasty substances stuck between them. Argo almost retched. “An’ why shid I tell ye?”
“Because,” explained Argo, “I have money.”
A noticeable change came over the man’s eyes. There seemed to be a greedy light in them, and they roved restlessly over Argo’s tatty attire, obviously searching for a pocket of some sort.
“Weel, why dincha tell me dat afore? Sure I’ll tell ye, as soon as ye hand over da dosh, mate.” He held out a grubby hand.
Argo backed off a few steps, eyeing the hand with distaste. “I’ll only give it to you when you tell me where the boy went.”
The man’s sneer seemed to become a little strained. “Ah, sure an’ ye don’t mean that, mate? Ye can trust me, I’ll keep me werd.” He stretched out his bony hand a little further.
Argo scowled. “No,” he said. “Only when you tell us.”
The man’s mocking smile disappeared. “Yew don’t know who yer dealing wif, mate. Gimme the money or yew’ll know egzaccally who yer dealing wif!”
Argo did not bother to ask what ‘egzaccally’ meant. Thinking fast, he fetched his scruffy wallet from his vest pocket, and held it high above his head. The man’s smirk suddenly reappeared, and he appealed to Argo.
“C’mon, mate. I knew ye’d warm up to me. Now, just hand it over.” His hand was stretched out even further than before. “C’mon,” he chided.
Argo rummaged in his wallet and pulled out a silver coin, placing it in the man’s grimy palm. The man looked at it incredulously. “Aww, mate, c’mon. That’s hardly enuf to knit me ole skin an’ bones together.” Argo placed one more coin into the man’s palm. “One more,” said the man. “One more an’ I’ll tell ye all I know.”
As soon as the last coin had landed in his filthy palm, he was scrambling to his feet and scurrying away with surprising speed. Argo had not been expecting that, and he took a moment to come to his senses and spring after him.
“Stop!” he yelled. “Stop, thief!” The fact that nobody helped him made hardly any difference – Argo was faster than the man, and anger lent speed to his feet. The man had hardly run thirty metres when the boy caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. He almost vomited all over him as he caught a whiff of the man’s breath. He grunted and panted as he struggled to hold him down – no matter how slight the man was, it was clear he was no weakling. However, Argo was bigger and overpowered him quite easily. No sooner than he had slammed his opponent against the wall of a nearby building than Morgan raced around the corner and helped her friend pull him down. She also noticed that one of the man’s hands was tucked inside the folds of his scruffy clothing, and grabbed his wrist as he attempted to pull it out. Argo noticed the danger and, quick as lightning, he wrenched the knife from the man’s clenched fist and held it firmly, the point a millimetre from the man’s left eye. Immediately all struggling ceased. The thief’s eyes were fixed in terrified wonder on the cold steel point hovering right in front of his nose.
Immediately he began to whimper. “Please, mate … I didn’t do nothin’ … please, ‘twas only a joke …” 
Argo brought the knife a little closer to his eye and snarled at him. “Stop sniveling, thief. I want you to tell us now – where did the boy go?”
“I dunno, honest I don’t …”
The knife point nicked his eyelid and he screamed. “No! No, don’t blind me, please, I beg ye! I never did nothin’ ter no-one, I –’’
“If you don’t tell, I’ll carve your eye out with this knife – nice and slow like, so as you can feel it before you bleed to death.”
“Alright! Alright, I’ll tell. He went to the port, the port, like he always does – please don’t kill me!”
He was released before he knew it, and found himself alone, cowering against the building with his hands covering his eyes. The two children were already twenty metres away – the boy still clutching the knife.

“The port. Are you sure that’s what he said?”
“Yes, for the third time. That’s what he said, and that’s where we’re going.”
“But what if he was lying? I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“It can’t do any harm checking, can it? It’s the best bet we have.”
Morgan and Argo were striding at a brisk pace through the busy streets of North Bridge, attempting to locate the port. They had taken numerous directions from stall owners and passer-bys, and finally it seemed they were nearing their mark. Morgan could catch the distinctive calls of sailors and of heavy objects thudding onto wood. She frowned. She knew that there was a high likelihood that the man had been lying, or that they had been roped into an ambush and, once they had reached the port, would be robbed blind before Argo had the chance to say, “I told you so.” Whatever the risk, however, Morgan was determined to take it. She was not overly fond of the possibility that they had come all this way for a filthy man’s knife and dusty faces.
Argo still harboured doubts, but decided to take the diplomatic option. He shrugged his shoulders and mumbled a meek sort of last stand: “Fine, then. It’s your funeral.” After that he plodded on in silence.
It was not long before the two reached the port. The deck was a long, creaky stretch of wood that jutted out at an odd angle over the water. It was here that Morgan caught her first glimpse of the river Hel’zyne. If she had ever seen the sea, she would not have been able to tell the difference between it and the vast expanse of water now stretched out before her. The river was wide indeed – if Morgan had had a telescope she would only just have been able to distinguish the dark line that marked the bank on the other side; the water seemed to disappear into swirling mists and patterns about halfway across. Morgan imagined the lonely moor on the opposite bank – flat, lifeless grassland swathed in a blanket of grey fog, stretching away east for as far as ever a wanderer travelled. Standing there on the deck, she vowed that one day she should go there herself, and explore the nothingness– and the dark courtyard that lay at its easternmost end.
Tugging her head back out of the clouds (out of the mists would be a more apt description), Morgan discovered that Argo had set off without her, and was already exploring the dock – despite his adamancy that they were walking idly into a trap. Trotting off in pursuit, Morgan caught hold of his elbow and stopped him.
“Be careful,” she hissed. “Don’t go gallivanting off like that. You never know what might happen.”
Argo sighed. “You sound just like my mother.” Shaking his arm free, he strode a little closer to a tiny coracle moored close to them. It was nudging the water-logged wood of the deck gently. “I think we should check every boat or ship or whatever around here, just in case. If Peg really is here, he’s bound to be aboard one.”
Morgan smirked derisively. “Alright, then. You search the bow and stern, and I’ll scour the cabin and galley. We’ll have to search thoroughly – there are so many places for him to hide.”
Argo scowled at her, backing away from the tiny boat. To cover up his embarrassment, he scanned the port with a shadowed eye and pointed in a professional manner to the boat nearest them. He made sure it was big enough to search before speaking. “I was talking about ships. Let’s start with that one.”
Argo ambled off in a casual manner, trying not to appear in a hurry. Morgan trailed along behind him, waving cheerily at curious passer-bys. Reaching the boat, they found a scruffy boy leaning nonchalantly against the bow, flipping knucklebones. He barely glanced upward as they approached him; he was more concerned about where the bones were landing.
Argo cleared his throat. There was no answer, so, without wasting another important cough, he spoke. “Are you the cabin boy of this ship?”
The boy did not look up. “Aye.” He executed a complicated manoeuvre with his fingers carelessly, and all five bones landed neatly on top of his scrawny knuckles.
“We would like to go aboard.”
The boy still did not look up, but shrugged his shoulders and tossed the bones in the air, snatching them all deftly out of space.
The two children took that as a rather dismissive gesture, and so proceeded to board the ship.
Their search was fruitless; two drunken sailors who were supposedly on guard duty and a green-eyed cat were the lone rewards of their hunt.
Upon disembarking, the two found the boy in the same position, still fiddling with his knucklebones. He gave them a slight nod as they departed.
The next ship they tried was larger and better kept, but it was completely unguarded. Morgan and Argo split and searched every corner of the big vessel, without results. Somewhat disheartened, the children scanned the dock for any other unguarded or suspicious-looking crafts. Finding none, Argo began to suggest that they give up and go home – when he halted in his tracks. Following his gaze, Morgan spied what he had seen. It was a mast – hardly visible in the bright afternoon sun, but still there. No sails were visible; no flag either, but Morgan was quite sure that it was a ship. It seemed to be moored just around the thin spit of land that might someday in the distant past have been a headland – this was called Northayde, and where it began was where the town of Northbridge ended. Its northernmost side was the south end of Skeylondé, and the northern border of Halzar.   
Morgan wondered with some suspicion why a ship should be moored so close to the port of Northbridge, yet right on the border of another country. It was almost as though it were trying hard not to be seen. Glancing sideways at her companion, she nudged his arm.
“We could be on to something.”
Argo nodded. “I think you’re right. Let’s check it out.”
The end of the dock was not so very far from the first slopes of Northayde, so the two had no trouble whatsoever in reaching them. Northayde’s southern side was bare and brown, meaning they could not screen themselves from unfriendly eyes, but as Argo said, there was nothing they could do about that.
Once they had scaled the gentle slopes and reached a rather pitiful excuse for a summit, they were relieved that the people of Skeylondé were less concerned with the tree-felling industry; thick bush provided a concealing screen from prying eyes. The children descended gratefully into the shady cover of the trees, trying to lighten their footfalls. Morgan wondered vaguely why this was necessary, and then decided that she wouldn’t bother trying to figure it out, concentrating on more important things – for example, trying not to crash headlong into Argo as she made an ungainly scramble down the somewhat steeper slopes of the northern side of Northayde.
It was not long before they could distinguish human voices mixed with the sounds of the bush. Morgan strained her ears until they were almost wrenching themselves from the sides of her head, but still she could not make out what they were saying. They were coarse male voices and there were many of them, but aside from that Morgan could not define anything particular.
Soon the two were close enough to hear the voices clearly, though not nearly clearly enough – it was a raucous din and there was not much to be clearly distinguished, even if one were standing amongst the perpetrators. Morgan halted her friend with a gesture, and with the agility of a squirrel, scaled a nearby tree trunk, peering cautiously over its topmost leaves.
Morgan had expected to see a crowd milling down by the shore, or at least a group of men. Instead, she saw two solid-looking sentries slouching resignedly against a tree, now and again peering moodily over their shoulders. They were not speaking. The din seemed to come from the ship itself – a large, square-rigged galleon with its sails furled. Life was not visible on deck – an illusion that belied the obvious bedlam going on below deck.
Morgan pulled her head under the cover of leaves and began descending from the flimsy branch she was clinging to. She had seen enough.
Beckoning Argo over to her, she muttered softly, “Two sailors on guard duty, just beside the ship. Big four-sailed thingamajig. No flag.”
Argo looked quizzically at his small friend. “Four-sailed thingamajig?”
“If you want to see it, you scurvy dimwit, you’d best bend your back and get down his hill.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Shut up.”
As the two neared the tree-line, Morgan heard one of the sentries strike up a conversation with his fellow.
“Yah, I hate this place. Too quiet. There ain’t nuffink to do, an’ what’s more, we be the ones the Cap’n decides to biff out here. In the sun an’ all.”   
“Shut yer trap. If yore heard that’s the end of yew, and that’s that. Doncha remember wot he did to the last one wot got up his nose?”
“Idjit, I weren’t there. Yore Cap’n picked me up on’y a coupla weeks ago. Wot ‘appened?”
“Ye don’t want to know wot he did.”
“Go on, be a sport. I wanna know. Wot did the Captain do?”
“There ain’t no way I’m telling ye, mate. Same end’ll come ta me, if I do. Captain’s orders. No speakin’ of it.”
“Yah, ole flabby-guts. Where’s yore nerve?”
“Don’t yew ‘flabby-guts’ me, yew ole ‘alf-baked landlubber. I’m on’y doing wot I have to, to keep me skin in one piece.”
Morgan swung around to face her friend. He looked almost as nonplussed as she felt. How on Earth were they supposed to sneak passed without being spotted?
Suddenly Argo made a gesture with his hand. He brought a clenched fist down hard onto his palm, and then looked questioningly at Morgan. He had to make the gesture twice more before she realised what he was trying to convey.
She glanced doubtfully through the trees ahead of her, where she could just distinguish the figures of the two sentries. Now that the time had come, she had not the faintest clue of how they should go about getting aboard. The suggestion of fighting the sentries did not seem entirely sensible, but after challenging herself to find a better way, Morgan conceded. She nodded at Argo, who began to move forward.
Morgan was by his side in a nanosecond, and had stopped him in his tracks. Shaking her head slightly, she leaned close and whispered in his ear.
“We thould thneak,” she lisped, knowing that the letter ‘s’ is the easiest sound to discern in silence. “Thneak up behind them. Knock their headth together. You take the left one, I’ll take the right. When the time ith right, lithen for me thaying, ‘now’”.
Argo nodded. He cursed silently as the blanket of dead leaves beneath his feet crunched slightly under his weight. He thanked the heavens for the raised voices of their two targets.
“Yew try that, me bold beauty, and ye’ll find yerself hanging from the yardarm wif a cutlass in the place of an eye. We’ll see ‘ow saucy y’are then, eh, mate?”
“Twice as saucy, ye cocky ole barrel-belly, cos ye’ll be ‘anging there aside me, aye that ye will, wif two cutlasses in place of yer nose, savvy?”
“Aye, I savvy, mate. I savvy that yore a – ’’ However, his friend never got to find out just what he was, for at that moment the two of them toppled over sideways with matching expressions of shock and puzzlement on their ugly features.
Morgan strode out from behind the tree first, heading straight for the big galleon. Argo followed her hesitantly, bending over their two felled victims.