“I’ll be fine,” said Arren. He straightened up. “I’m going to have to take him back to the hatchery, and fast. But I’d better have a look at some of this stuff first.”
“Don’t worry about that, sir,” said Bran. “I’ll pick out a few things for yeh and send ’em along to your place, how about that?”
Arren paused, and smiled. “Thanks, Bran.”
“I’ll make sure there’s some oranges,” Bran added, grinning.
“Thanks. And if there’s any decent leather there, I’ll take some of that, too.”
“Righto, sir.” Bran glanced at the floor, where the dead man’s blood was soaking into the wood. “There’ll be an inquiry about this, sir.”
“I know. Leave me to deal with that.” Arren picked up the cage. “But I sincerely doubt anyone will care much about what happens to a griffin thief.”
“Doubt it, sir.”
Arren left via the front door, carrying the covered cage in his arms. Eluna was waiting for him and silently fell in beside him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the hatchery.”
She fluttered her wings, apparently pleased. “I would like to see Keth again. Why are we going?”
Arren looked grim. “Those men stole a griffin chick. We have to take it back.”
Eluna stopped dead. Arren watched her carefully. The griffin nosed at the cage. “I can smell—”
Arren lifted the cloth, revealing the chick. It peered out at Eluna, and she laid her beak against its beak. Then she looked up at Arren. He looked back stonily.
Eluna screamed. The noise was loud and furious, and she reared up and screamed again. “Thieves! Scum!”
Arren patted her to calm her down. “I know, Eluna, I know. It’s all right, we got them.”
“I got them,” Eluna rasped. “I killed the one who attacked you.”
“Yes.” Arren pulled the cloth back over the cage and walked on, trying to hold it steady as the chick shifted inside. Neither of them looked at the bloody bandage on his arm.
The hatchery was on the edge, next to the market district. Arren and Eluna both knew the way there, but even if they hadn’t, it would have been fairly easy to find. There were dozens of griffins flying over it.
The hatchery itself consisted of a collection of wooden buildings, which were some of the biggest in the city. They had to be. Around them there were pens full of animals—mostly goats—feeding on racks of hay. The griffins circled lazily overhead, enjoying the morning sun. Most of them were young, smaller than Eluna. The air was full of their screeching voices and the bleating of the goats.
Arren and Eluna went along the walkway between the pens. A man paused in the act of refilling one of the water troughs and waved. “Hello, Arren. Nice to see you here again. What’s that you’ve got there?”
“It’s a present for Roland,” said Arren. “Is he up yet?”
“I think so, yeah,” said the man. “He’s in the hatchery, or he should be.”
“Thanks.” Arren made for one of the smaller buildings. It had large windows, which had been thrown open to let in the light, and the doors opened easily when he pushed on them. He backed through, carrying the cage, and found himself in a big open room. Most of it was lined with pens, and in them were the chicks. The place rang with their piping voices and the scuffling of talons on the wooden floor. When Arren came in, the noise redoubled. He smiled to himself. He loved the hatchery. It was where he and Eluna had first met, years ago.
There was a huge griffin there, crouched in the middle of the room. She was old—her feathers greying, her beak chipped and one eye whitened—but she stood up and came toward him at once, tail swishing. Arren stood still and let Eluna go forward. She loped toward the old griffin, moving confidently, and clicked her beak. The old griffin sniffed at her and then relaxed. “Eluna.” She looked past her. “And Arren. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Keth. Are you well?”
“I am,” said Keth. She sat back on her haunches. “I am pleased to see you, Arren Cardockson. And you, Eluna.”
Arren bowed. “We’re here to see Roland. Is he here?”
“I will call him,” Keth said. She raised her head. “Keth! Keth!”
There was silence for a short while, and then a man emerged from a back room. He was short and stocky, and his once-yellow beard was greying. There was a griffin chick nestled in his arms. “Hello, what’s this?” he said, speaking griffish.