From The Doomsong Voyage
Chapter 1
Finn had never seen a dragonship like this in the harbour before. A sea-going flying serpent with scales painted green and black along the hull. He gave an involuntary shudder and hurried into the tavern known as The Old Salvation..
“Have you got coin tonight, Tale-maker?” the tavern maid demanded.
“Maybe. Later,” Finn said with a slow wink. “My throat’s too dry for story-telling at the moment, though.”
Grinning despite herself, the girl lowered the tray. Finn grabbed a mug and drank heartily of the warm golden liquid then gazed about him to see if any of the dragonship crew were also drinking here. There were a few new faces but they hadn’t reached the rowdy stage yet. He’d have to time it right to try a tale on them. The tavern was busy, some familiar bodies were grouped around a barrel yarning about their latest voyage. Another group were moaning about the cargo for their next. A shrunken, raggedy old woman perched on a bench near the main door was knitting something long and shapeless. Her wooden-clogged feet barely touched the floorboards. Beside her, a skinny youth in a yellow jerkin was also scanning the smoky room as if searching for a face. Finn met his gaze, caught a shred of scarlet red stocking above his scuffed boots, and hastily looked away.
Turning to face the steaming peat fire, Finn noticed a ginger cat occupying a cushioned chair. She – Finn knew instinctively the cat was a she – was curled as if sleeping, but her eyes were open slits. She too was watching, and waiting.
Finn slurped his ale and peered over the rim of his mug. The dragonship crew didn’t look as if they’d be recruiting. He gave a sigh of relief, not wanting to be taken as an oarsman against his will, and sat back in his bentwood chair to enjoy the evening. The next time he looked up, an elderly Wanderer was seated in the chair opposite him. Seated so close their knees nearly touched. The man twitched the wide brim of his dark blue hat with a long-fingered hand in greeting. Finn gulped with surprise.
“Do not worry, Finn of the Volsung, I came with the dragonship, but I am not here to entice you away. Not with me, that is.”
Finn gulped again, unable to form a reply. Around them, men and women carried on normal conversations. Some laughed, some argued. Between Finn and the Wanderer there was an awkward silence. Finn sipped his ale, let the barley malt warm his sudden chill and tried to relax. When he felt he could speak without croaking, he struggled for a polite greeting then blurted out, “Are you Master Odo?”
The Wanderer inclined his head. “That is what some name me.”
“Oh. Erm, well, pleased to meet you, sir. Master Odo.”
The Wanderer inclined his head again, this time with a smile beneath the wide brimmed hat.
Finn responded with a nervous grin. “Good day to you. I mean, evening. Not good exactly. Far too cold for springtime. Mad weather, isn’t it? For the time of year. Four months since Yule-tide.”
“A storm will come soon, then sleet and snow during the night.” The Wanderer spoke quietly. Finn leaned forward to hear him better. “Yes?” the elderly man said, cocking his head to one side and revealing a single very blue eye. “Is there something you wish to ask me?”
“I don’t think so.” Finn’s mind went blank as he raced through all the snippets of gossip and the warnings he heard about the legendary Master Odo. He was tempted to ask which bits were true, instead he heard himself say, “Why are you here?”
“Why are you here, Finn?” the Wanderer replied.
“This is my island. I stay here during the winter months. I’m planning to move back to the mainland again, when the weather improves.”
“Are you? That should please your cousins and their wives.”
“Yes,” Finn said with a frown, wondering how he knew about his cousins and their wives.
“Not surprising. You are no great help to them, are you? More of an extra mouth to feed, or so I’m advised.”
Finn winced at the truth of it and studied the fire, then looked up, “Advised? Has someone complained about me?”
“What do you think?”
“But why would you be interested in . . . Oh, no! No, no. No. I am not boarding that dragonship.”
“Have no fear on that score. I am not here for oarsmen.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Finn sighed, then realised the old man was repeatedly using his name and spluttered, “How do you know who I am?”
“Inspired guess based on . . .” the wrinkled features beneath the dark blue hat broke into a wide smile, “your appearance. I have been looking for you. In the end you were relatively easy to locate, with a little help from my fine-feathered friends in high places.” Finn squinted at him, trying to make sense of what was being said. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, boy, your Volsung colouring: snow white hair on a young head.”
Finn flicked a wave of thick white-blond hair off his brow, embarrassed and hurt by the Wanderer’s patronising tone. “Why do you want to see me?”
“I’m beginning to wonder that myself.” Master Odo gave a long meaningful sniff. His thin lips disappeared into his chest-long grey beard. After a moment, he said, “Perhaps this will help to explain.” Pushing his floor-length grey cloak from his knees he tapped an arrangement of leather straps lying across his lap. “Unlikely as it may now seem, I – that is we – have need of you. You are to voyage to the Middle Sea Isles.”
Finn peered at the straps on the man’s bony knees, none the wiser, then with a jolt of fear reacted sharply. “You just said you weren’t here to get me on that dragonship!”
“And I spoke the truth. Which, incidentally, I always do. One way or another.”
*****