Witch Hunt: A coffer of bad fortune (Pt.3)

Gunther had been trapped in that cart for two days and nights already and it was a damn miracle he hadn't choked himself out yet. He'd been holding his breath throughout the whole journey and wasn't about to stop now, as the wheels still rattled dangerously underneath the wagon, while the horses slithered their way down the steep ravines of the isle. To make it even worse, the glass windows also revealed that the fate, or in this case the hook and rope, kept them on a very thin line from turning into a massive kebab by the stone spear formations that loomed in the depths beyond.
To top it off, Gunther also had to deal with the constant ramblings of his number one and only fan, or Grant McKingsley as he was named. The young man who wasn't much else than just a boy had in less than a couple hours subjugated him to the worst verbal torture that his eardrums had ever gone through. Still, Bishops could not find it in his heart to shut the boy up, even though his endless pladder had almost driven him crazy. Deep down, Grant was still a good lad.
He'd break the steeds into a stop whenever Gunther required to pause, either to repair the hole in the roof or just get his bloodflow in motion again from all the sitting.
It was on one of those breaks, just as the carriage was properly repaired, that they noticed a haggard old lady with a bad back shuffling past. She tried to hide at first, once she saw the emblem on the cart, but then Grant came up with the grand idea to bring her along on a detour. Once they had reached her village, her son who was the local tavern inkeep gave them a free meal of roasted potatoes with boar and brown sauce. It tasted fantastic with the honey mead. He and Grant even managed to win a good looking leather hat with a wide brim, during a game of poker. It fit Gunther like hand in glove.
Still, he longed for the solitude at Falconwatch. The dark stone halls, crows chirping in the tower, the feeling to acctualy have purpose rather than waste ones days, trapped in a cell like a rat with no escape.
And on the topic of rodents, he did not look forwards to bringing his future four or so hours as a ferry mouse. Sadly geography didn't see things his way though, so he'd happily have to sail the waves away from civilization to meet up with his brothers again. Did they even know he was alive? Did the commander even know he was taken prisoner? Likely they'd know, as such word got around swift, but it would not be the first time vital information 'somehow' skiped past the headquarters. Anyways, once he'd get there, nobody would stop him from celebrating the victory in court with the bottle of scotch that the old lady insisted he'd take. It was home brewn by northern herbs, picked and sold by the friendly savages. Not some crap Southportian quantity over quality product.
Gunther carefully placed down the bottle next to him, before he stretched out his arms. His limbs were aching from all the waiting and the lack of exercise had him dead tired. With a sigh, he pushed himself upwards with his palms, so that he could take a good look outside of the front hatch. Too his great relief, they had somehow made their way down from the suicidal ride and he could finally see the docks growing larger as they closed in on the buildings. Soon he'd be out of that damn rolling cage for good, so he could finally pay off Grant and... damn. That's when he realized, his pockets were as hollow as his heart probably was. There was no telling how much he owed Grant.
The commander would not be happy if he returned with a fat bill stamped on his face, so desperately Gunther searched around in the cart. There were exotic pillows, silken draperies, a couple of papers inside, nothing really of use, except for maybe. Gunther looked down at the large gold embrodied steel coffer that had invaded the space of his feet during the whole blasted journey, surely it must hold something of value within?
The boy glanced back over his shoulder to see what Bishops was doing, as he heard the rattling of something likely metalic. "What's that?" He asked with a curious smile, while his green tunica twisted to the movement so it looked like a mix of a dress and puke.
"This, my good stable boy, is what we in the business call treasure. You don't happen to have a pin on you?"
"Pin?" He asked back with a confused expression as smooth as gravel.
"Something I can crack open this safe with." Gunther repeated himself with a low sigh.
"So we are tax collectors now?" Grant chuckled as he reached for the pin that kept his bucket of a cap in place. It wasn't much of a sacrifice though, as his short dark hair, while not the best kept, still looked far from as ridiculous as his old, yeah it'd be a damn shame to even call it a hat.
"Thank you kindly." Bishops reached for the pin and took it with a spark of anticpiation in the eye as he started his attempt in picking up the lock of the coffer. It was a hard lock though, complex, like a whole clockwork mechanism that was cone-shaped inwards with at least thirty pegs to get through. He slammed his fist against the top of the coffer. "Damn."
"Wait, perhaps there is a key somewhere back there, try searching the luggage." Grant calmly suggested.
Gunther pulled the hat down over his ears as he growled internaly. At least he could feel the wheels slowing down now, which meant he could finally hold the thing steady. He closed his eyes and carefully laid his ear right next to the lock, as he started breaking it open. The first row was easy, the second almost as simple as well, but the third was different. "Seems these bastards had a budget cut." The third was indeed much harder, but Gunther played it like a damn fiddle, it took a few minutes, but soon, he was at the very last peg, when suddenly the cart hit a bump on the dirt road. Metalic clangs rang out of the coffer as all the pegs shot back into place again. Muffling his own scream, Gunther had to restart and do it all over again, meanwhile Grant laughed like a maniac and started teasing for ten minutes straight, untill then, finally, the tune he had waited for came. The music of the mechanism opening up for him and revealing-
The wheels came to an abrupt stop which caused Bishops to stumble forwards and hit his knee against the seat infront. He cursed low but then caught hint of a scent. It was the sweet breeze from the sea, finally. He peered out from the hatch once again and breathed in the smell of salt and smoke, while his ears carefully listened to the voices of the seafarers outside.
Eager to get out, Bishops decided he'd open that coffer inside the boat where no prying eyes could see, so while smiling wide he tossed the door open just before setting out to a sprint from the wagon and onto the road. But as he did, Gunther felt an impact against something hard, that sent the door bouncing right back against the same knee he hit in the chair. He fell face first into the dirt but swiftly lifted his head, only to face a titanic worker with kind eyes filled with dread, but he wasn't staring at Bishops.
Gunther followed the workers gaze untill his own set on a very thin piece of womens nightgown with a matching mask that lied nicely in a muddy mess, just next to him under the broken coffer.
"Yeah... Uhm" Bishops breathed out from an awkward grin. "Thats, thats not mine."
The worker looked even more terrified as he stood there, petrified as a statue. "S-sorry mister..."
Gunther averted his eyes away from the dirty luggage and pushed himself up from the ground. "Lets just pretend nothing of this happened, aight?." His voice was dead serious as he stared the giant down, but just the moment as the worker gave a slow nod, Grant's head suddenly poped up behind the horses.
"That statement just makes it all the more more suspicious."
"Grant, for fucks sake..."
The worker started to back away from the scene with as subtle steps he could, which only caused him to draw the attention of more seafarers and dockworkers that started to approach and check around the scene. It took mere seconds before a storm of curious whispers started to flood from the burly men. Or, well, debatable if they were whispers, as Gunther could make out well enough what they all said, and he was glad to not be a part of that noble family.
With no intention in mind to try and explain the situation, Gunther walked past the men that now started to point fingers behind his back while they failed completely to hold down their chuckles. Still, he kept pushing on towards the brigg of the boat, dead set to endure the trip, untill he heard it. One brave fool behind him just made a massive mistake. "The ol' dog seem barle' able ta' walk."
The doors came crashing down from the weigh of the worker as he flew through the entrance of the steam freight, followed by an angry witch hunter that brushed the dirt of his coat while Grant followed after with a wide smirk. The captain inside even looked amused as he stroked his long fine beard.
"Gunther Bishops... It wasn't yesterday me friend." The captain smiled wide and opened up his arms as he gave the much smaller man an almost boneshattering bearhug, all while he laughed like a maniac.
When he released Gunther, he almost fell flat forwards again, but a titanic hand that probably could onehand a warhammer stabilized him just in the nick of time as the northerner laid a friendly palm on his shoulder. "I heard what happened back there, nasty business, witches." His kind blue eyes went over to Grant and the roughed up worker that now stood by his side. "Where's Iowan, did you forget him in a tavern again?"
"I thoght he already made his way here?" Gunther looked rather confused. Damn, Iowan was always the first to the scene, lest some tavern wench slowed him down.
The northerner looked down at him with his fine aged lines suddenly turning dark under his eyes, as his parched lips let a worried breath escape out. "So... The rumors were true."
Grant took a carefull step forth as he felt the mood in the room change for the worse. He swallowed anxiously before breaking the newfound silence with his questions. "Rumors?"
The captain reached for a ciggar in his pocket. He lit it up with a shaky hand before he looked back at the two, taking a draw to calm his nerves before he kept talking. "The ravens bore black news, that the trial found you all guilty. Sentenced to death." He looked pale as snow while he inhaled the vapours.
Gunther went to his quarters early that night, shaking, he wanted to sleep, but at the same time not, lest his nightmares would haunt him again. It would turn into a long, sleepless freight.