Title: The Flight of the
Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Author: C.M. Gray
Publisher: C.M. Gray
Pages: 219
Language: English
ISBN: 9781471750359
Purchase at AMAZON
The Kingdom is dying…
The Darkness is coming… the balance between Order
and Chaos is rapidly shifting and the world is falling towards evil and horror,
and all misery that Chaos will bring.
But there is hope…
Pardigan’s had enough, he’s only 12, but he’s
breaking into the home of one of Freya's richest merchants... and he’s doing it
tonight…
A burglary that will change their lives forever
sets four friends upon a quest, a race against time, to locate three magical
objects and complete an ancient and desperate spell.
Sailing their boat The Griffin, the crew are
quickly pursued by The Hawk, an evil bounty hunter and master of dark sorcery,
and Belial, King of Demons and champion of Chaos who seeks to rule the world of
man… yet first he must capture the crew of The Griffin and end their
quest…
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The floorboard
creaked under the sole of his felt boot - a calculated risk whenever entering a
sleeping man's room uninvited.
A
breeze fluttered the loose linen curtain, and the sleeper stirred at the
welcome respite from the hot sticky night. The prowler slowly exhaled the
breath that was starting to burn in his lungs, every sense tingling, receptive
to any change in the room or a sound from the street below.
The
sleeper, thankfully, continued to sleep.
The
street under the second-storey window was silent, the night given up to the
occasional rounds of the city watch and those set on a darker business, the
never-ending cat and mouse game that went mostly unappreciated by the
law-abiding citizens of the sleeping city.
The
summer had been one of the hottest people could ever remember, taxing the
energy of the city’s inhabitants to the limit. Several of the more elderly
citizens down at the port could be heard explaining that, ‘in their day’, the
summers were often this hot, and indeed often hotter. Of course, these were the
same group who would entertain the regulars at the portside taverns with tales
of goblin hordes, ferocious sea serpents or the time the winters were so cold
that the seas had frozen solid.
‘A
man could have walked from here to Minster
Island
Pardigan
watched the now softly snoring form and, moving his foot from the traitorous
board, crept towards the cabinet that he knew held his prize. It was an elegant
cabinet - its construction given over to more than mere function. Gracefully
curved legs supported drawers and shelves that were fronted by a scrollwork of
intricate designs. He inserted the blade of his knife between the edges of the
middle left-hand drawer and felt for the hidden catch. If the information Quint
had given him was correct, the false front should spring open. A prickle of
sweat tickled his brow and he wiped it absently away. Glancing over to the still-sleeping
form, he applied a little more pressure on what he hoped was the catch.
Nothing.
The
merchant stirred, smacked his chops, exhaled wetly and then returned to
snoring. Pardigan tried again.
Most
people hated the fat merchant, known for his cheating ways and vile temper, so
he and Quint had set about the business of planning to rob him with great
enthusiasm. The break had come quite by chance when Quint had met the
apprentice of a cabinetmaker who’d been happy to talk about the merchant, and the
cabinet he’d helped his master build for him.
‘The
shame of it is that the true beauty of the cabinet will never be appreciated,’
the apprentice had moaned. ‘Such a cunning mechanism my master contrived to
conceal the hidden safe-box, nothing of the like have I seen before, nor I fear
will I ever see again.’ He had been all too happy to describe and even sketch
the piece for Quint who, of course, had shown great interest, marvelling at the
skill of the cabinetmaker and, naturally, his gifted apprentice. Several
glasses of elder ale had kept his new friend’s throat well lubricated, an
investment in tonight’s escapade that they had both placed huge hopes in.
Up
until this point, the information seemed to be good; the cabinet did indeed
look like the sketch that he and Quint had spent so much time studying.
Pardigan’s hopes had soared when he’d first set eyes on it as he was slipping
over the windowsill. Right up until now that is, as his frustration grew.
Because the Source damned catch simply wouldn’t shift - if catch it was.
Pardigan was beginning to wonder if the real catch hadn’t been poor old Quint,
whom the apprentice had conned into buying several glasses of elder ale on
another blisteringly hot day.
Without
warning, the warm still of the night was disturbed as the door to the bedroom
opened with a creak, causing the hairs on Pardigan’s neck to stand up. He
slowly turned, half-expecting to be staring at the tip of a crossbow bolt.
Instead, a large grey cat slunk around the door, ran across and rubbed against
his legs, purring as it sought attention. He ruffled its ears, before gently
pushing the animal away. Without a backward glance the cat walked over and
leapt up onto the bed. Settling comfortably against the sleeping merchant, it
lay watching as Pardigan renewed his efforts.
He
applied his knife once again. Nothing was happening with the left-hand side so
he moved his attention to the right. An audible click echoed around the room,
rewarding his efforts as the false door opened, wobbling the washbasin that sat
precariously upon the cabinet’s top. The merchant turned over, groaning loudly
and ejected the cat from the bed. It meowed, padded over to the open window and
leapt to the sill. Ignoring Pardigan, it sat regarding the street below with a
critical eye.
The
merchant continued to sleep. He was back to breathing heavily, his fat sweaty
chins bobbing with the effort of sucking in the warm moist air.
Pardigan
returned his attention to the cabinet. Behind the false front was a small
opening. Several moneybags had been carelessly tossed on top of some papers, a
few old books and some rolled documents that had been stacked neatly above on
two shelves.
Pardigan
hadn’t had any real idea what he might find, but when he and Quint had been
working out the finer details of the plan, they’d had plenty of time for
speculation. Jewels, money and magical items had been on the hoped-for and
expected list, but Pardigan now noted, with a certain touch of dismay, that
there was a distinct lack of necklaces, rings and brooches in the safe. He
turned over a few of the papers to see what they hid and wondered at the
markings on them. He could read after a fashion, but only the local low-speak,
enough to tell the difference between a bag of beans and a bag of rice. High-speak
was for merchants and nobles.
He
slipped several of the more promising-looking papers into his coat along with
the moneybags, and then a small knife without a scabbard caught his eye. He
picked it up. It had a blade about a hand’s span long and a plain blue jewel
set in the pommel. He put it into his pocket and cast a last glance over the
remainder of the contents. With a sigh, he gently reset the false front,
watching the merchant’s face to make sure he wasn’t disturbed as the catch
clicked softly back into place. Satisfied that he hadn’t been heard, he
straightened and tested the new weight in his pockets. With a smile, he crossed
to the window. The cat watched him approach then meowed in irritation as he
brushed it from the sill. Taking care to mind the loot in his pockets, he
straddled the windowsill and, with one eye to the street for the city watch and
the other on the still sleeping merchant, made his way carefully to the ground.
Dropping
the last few spans, he landed safely and offered up a silent prayer of thanks
to the Source. Then, after casting up and down the street, he drew in his first
real breath for what seemed an eternity and moved off towards the sanctuary of
the poor quarter. Keeping to the shadows, he kept an eye open for both the watch
and for any opportunist thieves that may be lying in wait for a rich victim
like himself.
****
The grey cat
continued to watch as he scuttled away, noting his haste now he was in the
open. The way he looked back and forth for danger, seeing everything, but
understanding so little.
She’d
been waiting for something like this to happen for several weeks and now she
felt both excitement and regret that the game was to move on. Maybe I was
beginning to enjoy the lazy life of a house cat too much, she wondered. The
easy life did have certain merits, especially for a cat. Licking a paw she
cleaned herself one last time, enjoying a few final moments in this form, and
then leapt from the window, shimmering before spreading wide, snowy white wings
and gliding silently in search of the departing figure.
****
Pardigan hurried
down the darkened alleyways, the houses crowding closer together the further he
got into the poor quarter. At several points, the buildings actually touched
above him and the alley became a pitch-black tunnel, blocking out even the
faint ambient light that had lit his progress so far. Earlier in the evening,
the oil-lamps would have been lit, but it was late now and the oil had long
burned away. He came to The Stag, an inn on Barrow Street
At
the end of Barrow Street midday and most would be sleeping like it was midnight , and then times like now,
they would be up and about sucking on a bottle and probably wondering idly
where the sun had gone to.
Keeping
to the shadows as best he could, he moved into the square being careful to
skirt the darker parts at the edge. Picking up his pace he had to clamp his
hand over his nose and hold his breath as he sidestepped several piles of
rotting vegetables; the warmth of the night rich in their pungent odours.
Several
of the square’s occupants were dotted about but none seemed interested in him.
Three drinkers grouped around a spluttering fire were singing and laughing as they
passed a small barrel. Pardigan slowed and watched for a moment, fascinated as
they took turns, upending it and laughing at each other’s efforts as more of
the liquid splashed down their chests than into their mouths. Pardigan
shuddered, and wondered at the mystery that was adulthood and at what age you
lost your mind and did crazy things like that.
At 12
years old, Pardigan dreaded the thought of waking up one morning as an adult.
To have had all the fun sucked out of his life, replaced by the need to scowl
at people and tell everyone off for not seeing the world his way. Growing old
was inevitable, growing up was not. He and the others had made several vows
that they would never grow up and would sail the coast in their boat The Griffin, for a lifetime of fun,
adventure and good times. Whatever happens, I’ll not be sitting in this square
drunk, dribbling and howling at the moon like some crazy dog, he vowed. Casting
another look at the small group, he moved on.
The
square was crossed without incident and he started down The Cannery, a street
so named because of all the fish canning shops that lined its sides as it went
down the hill towards the city's little port. During daylight hours, it was one
of the busiest areas of town, with fishermen hauling their catch up from the
port and the canneries bustling with wagons shipping out their product all over
the realm. At this hour, all was deserted and Pardigan passed down the pungent
street without incident, a few squabbling rats its only nocturnal residents.
Coming
down into the port, there remained one final obstacle in his path - Blake’s.
The largest of the inns around the harbour, it never closed. On a warm night
like tonight, even at this late hour, there could be people sitting outside
hoping for the comfort of a small breeze to come in across the sea.
The
sound of music drifted up to him accompanied by the sound of voices laughing
and talking – there was no way he could escape being noticed. He would have to
cross right in front of the entrance to get to where The Griffin was moored. Drawing his coat about him, he walked on, a
shiver running the length of his spine - his nerves once again on edge.
A
lone figure sat on a barrel under the main window, bathed in a pool of light
from a lantern that hung above the door. Keeping his eyes averted and with his
heart beating in his ears, Pardigan tried not to stumble on the uneven cobbles
in his haste to get past. Nearly there,
only Blake’s to pass, almost there… Talking to himself often helped in times of
stress, it was almost as if some of the burden of the moment was shared … Only
a little way more … Nearly …
A
sudden movement from behind and he spun round in time to see a dark figure loom
up with arms outstretched. With a cry, Pardigan stepped back, tripped over
something and then hit the ground hard, pain instantly screaming from his back
and left ankle.
He
lay writhing on the cobblestones gasping, fear and despair filling him as he
realised he’d been caught so close to The
Griffin. It was almost in sight, only a little further
around the port, but this obviously wasn’t to be his night after all. That’s
how my luck’s been running lately, thought Pardigan, offering a silent curse to
the Source. Shadows gathered about him and he tried to struggle up but someone
flipped him face down and sat on his back. Powerless to move or even breathe
properly - flutterings of panic threatened to overcome him. Footfalls
surrounded him and he waited for the touch of a knife.
‘You
should have told us you were going to do it tonight.’ The speaker tapped
Pardigan’s head with something hard. ‘We could have helped you know.’ He
sounded cross.
‘Quint?’
Pardigan felt a wave of relief and then anger at being tricked like this. ‘Get
off me, you lump.’ He felt the weight move and several pairs of hands rolled
him over. A lantern was lit and he gazed up into the shadowy faces of his
friends.
‘Well,
how did it go?’ asked the tall scruffy boy holding the lamp. Tarent, for that
was his name, reached down and pulled Pardigan to his feet. Waves of relief
filled Pardigan and he smiled, his anger slipping away.
‘You
rotten…’ he took a half-hearted swing at Tarent who moved aside easily. ‘Why
did you jump me? I thought you were…’
‘Serves
you right, now tell us…’ hissed Loras, the fourth and final member of The Griffin
‘Which
he wasn’t meant to carry out yet,’ added Quint.
‘So
we came and waited for you here. You’ve been ages.’ Loras was moving from one
foot to the other, clearly agitated. ‘Quint seemed to think you’d have plenty
of coins and would be in a better position to settle our bill than we are,’ he
glanced back into the inn, a worried look on his face. ‘Like I said, you’ve
been ages and we were hungry.’
‘And
thirsty,’ added Tarent. ‘So we appear to be a little in arrears with the good
landlord here.’
Loras
reached out and dusted Pardigan’s cloak. ‘Sorry about the surprise, but you
should have included us, so…how did it go?’ All three waited patiently for some
sort of response.
Pardigan
finally shook his head in wonder at his friends, then checked up and down the
path for observers. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out a moneybag,
recently the property of a certain local merchant, and fished out a silver coin
that he tossed to Tarent. ‘Settle up here and let’s get back to the boat. I’ll
tell you all just how well it went when we get there.’ Tarent disappeared
inside the inn as the others moved off towards the gently bobbing boats of the
port eager to hear more.
Now,
back in the company of his three friends, Pardigan finally felt safe. They were
a strange group, all with a different story of hard luck and the tough times
they’d had before finding each other. They’d since formed the closest thing to
a family that any of them had ever known - even the boat that they called home
had a sorry tale. Quint had found it in a terrible state, rotting in a small
river, off the main estuary to the city. Having nowhere better to go and all
alone, he’d started to live on it. The boat had conveyed the feeling of
abandonment and the only other inhabitants had been a few mice and lots of
spiders. Quint had spent the first few weeks alone and in fear, expecting a
gang of cutthroats to reclaim their vessel at any moment. Then, as the weeks
had turned to months, he had realised The
Griffin, for that was the name he had found under layers of grime, really
was abandoned and he began to relax. The hull was sound, had no leaks and it
had several cabins plus a good-sized cargo area. The problem with the boat had
simply been neglect. Whoever had abandoned her hadn’t left any clue to their
identity, but abandoned she most certainly was.
About
ten spans long, The Griffin made a
wonderful home, blending in wherever the boys moored her. They spent most of
their time in the rivers hidden from the world, but made several trips into the
port cities for supplies and a change of scene.
Pardigan, of course, was the practised thief, bringing gold, food and
supplies to the boat whenever they were needed. He felt no remorse from his
exploits, saying it was a harsh world and if he didn’t take stuff then someone
else would. Quint often found the rich targets for Pardigan and was the only
one who had known how to sail, making him the logical choice as Captain. As the
oldest, Quint was the unofficial leader of the group.
Loras
had once been apprenticed to a magician, but the old boy had died before
passing on much of his craft. When he had left, Loras took what he could of the
books and spells; the boys had found him appearing dazed and confused, with
soot all over his face, blowing up tree stumps in the forest.
‘That’s
great!’ Quint had said, obviously impressed at Loras’s efforts, ‘How do you do
it?’
‘I
haven’t the foggiest idea,’ Loras had replied. ‘I was actually trying to make
the stumps grow new leaves; they aren’t supposed to blow up like this.’ He’d
looked questioningly at a tatty old book held together with string. ‘I think I
must be doing something wrong - maybe there’s another page missing?’ He
was waving his wand again, hopping about and trying to read, all at the same
time. Quint had brought him back to the boat and Loras had settled in well.
The
fourth crewmember was Tarent who was the laziest person that any of them had
ever met, or so they often told him. Fortunately, he hid this flaw in his
character by being one of the nicest people you could ever want to meet. He slept
more than anyone had a need or right to, and could spend the most amazing
amount of time merely gazing out to sea, or up at a star-filled night while the
others were working. To many this would have grated and annoyed, but he would
also talk and talk and talk, which was a good thing. He would tell about the
night skies or monsters from the deep and he knew the reason why a compass
always pointed north or how to make the ticker fish bite on a hot afternoon.
After supper Tarent could always be relied upon for a good story to lead their
minds around the world or bring enchanted sea creatures up from the deep. His
body could be lazy, but his mind was as nimble as an acrobat. He was one of the
crew, and shared many of the responsibilities of leadership with Quint.
The Griffin was waiting for
them at the end of the quay, dwarfed in the shadow of a large black barge. The
fragrant aromas of spices and herbs rich on the warm night air attesting to the
cargo the barge was carrying. They clambered up the gangplank and Quint waited
at the top until the last of them came aboard, then he pulled it in, sealing
the boat from the land. He glanced over to the barge where a sailor was smoking
a clay pipe, watching them. Giving a wave that was returned; he slipped down
the hatchway pulling it closed behind him.
Down
below, two lamps were already lit, the slight breeze from the open portholes
enough to make the flames flicker, sending shadows dancing around the cabin.
Everyone had settled; waiting for the news as Pardigan stood at the table and,
without any ceremony, started to empty out his pockets.
He
carefully placed the bags on the table, side by side, eight in all. The boys
watched without saying a word as each bag made a soft chink, the cord
drawstring falling softly to the side. Eight bags. Four were blue, one red, one
yellow and two were of common canvas. The papers and books were passed across
to Tarent, while the small knife was placed upon the table alongside the bags.
They
hadn't believed Quint when he’d told them of the plan; hadn't actually thought
that Pardigan would come back with anything except a tall tale of a daring
escape and some would-have-beens and should-have-beens. They hadn't thought
they’d really be seeing moneybags this evening. They all sat and stared.
Loras
eventually broke the silence. ‘So what’s in ‘em?’
‘I
haven’t had a chance to look,’ said an exhausted Pardigan. He waved them an
invitation to the table.
Loras
jumped up and tipped out the contents from one of the canvas bags. Copper coins
fell out and rolled around. ‘About thirteen shillings in coppers,’ he muttered,
pushing the coins with his fingers. He picked up a red bag, untied the cord,
and upended it. More coins hit the table making an altogether different sound,
the buttery colour of gold glinting in the lamplight. ‘Seven sovereigns and one
royal crown,’ said Loras after a moment, his interest growing. The other bags
were duly opened and all but the yellow bag held coins of gold, silver and
copper. The yellow bag held a necklace that sparkled with precious stones as
Loras held it up in awe for the boys to see.
‘It’s
beautiful, Pardigan. Who, in the name of the Source did you rob? Was it the
King?’ They all stared at Pardigan.
‘What
sort of trouble are we in?’ asked Loras, as the peril of their situation
suddenly dawned upon him. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Come on, let’s not panic,’ said Quint. ‘Did
anybody see you, stop you or question you at any point, Pardigan?’
‘No,
nobody saw me and I’m sure I didn’t leave any clues,’ stated Pardigan confidently.
‘I’m very good at what I do.’
‘Course
you are, but come morning the city will be in uproar about this - we have to
play this with cunning and no mistake.’
Quint
looked at each of them in turn; lastly he turned to Tarent. ‘What do you
think?’
Tarent
sighed. ‘If we up and sail on the first tide come daybreak, the watch will be
after us like a shot. We can’t be appearing guilty.’ He pondered a moment.
‘...Even if we did want to give it all back, which I don’t think we do’? He
glanced around the group seeing shaking heads, ‘Well we couldn’t, could we?’
Everyone shook their heads again. ‘We keep the coins, some on the boat and some
we take up river and stash back at the moorings.’
Quint
nodded.
‘The
papers I’ll look over tonight to see what we have, then we either burn them or
plan on their use. What we don’t do is leave them here to be found if we do get
searched. Source willing, we can up and leave in a few days' time and be back
on our usual moorings for further plans.’ He turned once more to Quint.
‘Agreed,’
said Quint. ‘Check the papers as quick as you can. The coppers we can add to
our own cash box with a few of the silver as well, so we can get our normal
provisions.’
‘And
the knife?’ asked Pardigan.
They
all stared at the knife, still lying next to the sacks. The blue jewel sparkled
in the lamplight.
‘It’s
a very unusual knife,’ said Tarent in a soft voice almost as if talking to
himself. ‘The best thing would be to lose it over the side, or drop it in some
back alley well away from here.’ He glanced across at Quint, but he was saying
nothing, simply staring with the others at the knife on the table.
It
seemed almost to be calling out to each one of them, and they all knew they
wouldn’t be throwing it into the sea, or losing it anywhere else for that
matter.
‘Stash
it in the stove for now until we can think on it,’ said Quint. Sounds of ready
agreement came from all around.
Pardigan
placed the knife in the cold stove then piled old ash and wood over it. The
cash was split between that which was staying, and that which was going, and
then Tarent moved off to his cabin to check the papers. The boat settled down;
Pardigan and Quint went on deck in search of fresh air before sleeping.
‘I
can't believe it was really there, false front and all,’ whispered Quint as he
lay back looking up at the stars.
‘Oh,
it really was there, just as he said it was and twice as lovely as the
picture.’
‘I
wish I could have seen it. What were you thinking when you were creeping round
the room?’
Quint sat up and stared at Pardigan. ‘Weren’t you scared to the very
marrow of your bones?’
‘Being
scared is what keeps a thief alive and not caught and hanged,’ replied
Pardigan. He pulled the knife from his pocket, and rubbed the blue gem with his
thumb.
‘I
thought you put that into the stove,’ said Quint watching him.
Pardigan
stared at the knife, a frown creasing his face. ‘I did, I’m sure I did but…’
‘Well
you can’t have, can you?’ Quint nodded at the knife in Pardigan’s hand. ‘Don’t get caught with it, put it in the
stove, eh?’
‘I
will.’ Pardigan ran his finger across the long thin blade. It wasn’t sharp but
it didn’t feel dull either, he could just make out signs or writing on the side
in the dim light, but unfortunately it wasn’t bright enough to see properly.
‘I’m sure I put it in the stove, I remember covering it with ash,’ he murmured
as he slipped it back in his cloak.
The
boys chatted about the night’s events for a while longer. Pardigan telling of
scaling the wall and creeping around the sleeping chamber as the fat merchant
snored, puffed and farted, and Quint telling a lengthy story of how Tarent and
Loras and he had managed to dine at Blake’s on the slim hope of him turning up
with a few coins to pay for it all.
‘Blake
would have skinned you all alive if he’d known you were eating and drinking all
evening with no money in your pockets,’ laughed Pardigan.
‘Ahhh,
but we had faith in you, my friend,’ countered Quint, punching Pardigan softly
in the arm. ‘And besides, we were hungry and the iced lemon water at Blake's is
the best in all of Freya; we needed it.’
‘I
know,’ murmured Pardigan softly, ‘let’s hope this is a sign that our fortunes
have changed.’
As
the stars maintained their journey across the night sky, the city continued to
sleep and the boys finally went below to their bunks, ready for a busy day.
****
The owl watched
from the top of the boat’s mast as the two boys disappeared and with a beat of
her wings flew off, back into the city. It had been an interesting evening and
she felt pleased that events were finally moving along. She knew the boys would
need a nudge or two to put them in the right direction, but she had a good
feeling about them, a far better feeling than she had when the merchant had got
his greedy, pudgy hands on the knife.
She
soared over the shops and buildings of the city enjoying the freedom of flight,
the air flowing over her feathers as she rode the warm currents rising from the
buildings below. She watched as the moon rose above the water, its reflection
rippling upon the calm ocean, its pale light making long dark shadows of the
boats in the harbour, giving a new texture to the cityscape beneath her.
She
flew until she saw the world start to awake and with it, dawn break on a brand
new day.
Turning back towards the harbour, she glided down to alight upon the
deck of The Griffin and, returning to
the form of the grey cat curled up on a badly stored sail and there she slept,
waiting for the start of the day’s events to unfold.
About the Author:
Born in England Essex countryside. A beautiful part of England, close to the Suffolk border, but he was born with the need to expand his horizons, so as soon as he could get a passport at the age of just seventeen he packed a backpack and went exploring!
A slightly risky decision, and one his parents were not too taken with, yet a number of years later he is still traveling…. but with a slightly larger bag. Over the years, C.M.Gray has been lucky enough to live and travel in many many parts of the world, met some incredible people and experienced some amazing places. In fact, he has now lived for more years outside of England
During his journey he worked and trained as a carpenter and a house restorer… picked more types of fruit over the years than he knew existed - from grapes in France Israel Israel India Himalayan Mountains Hong Kong .
To celebrate the millennium he traveled back to Europe, then found and restored an old farmhouse in deep rural Burgundy, France… but then looked to the open road and spent an number of years in Amsterdam… but the winters were cold so he went south again in search of the sun.
Always vowing to return and sink some roots back in English soil... he hasn’t quite got there yet, but maybe someday, it seems there are just too many interesting places out there to see first! He does, however, live a little closer to England Barcelona Northern Spain , in the middle of the forest with his dogs and two wonderful children, he claims the Pyrenean mountains and forests of northern Spain
As you will have noticed, his writing is mostly fantasy and he says that many of his experiences in Asia, India, Africa and the Middle East come to life in his writing. He has seen and done some pretty strange things on his travels, and bumped into some amazing characters, so writing fantasy is almost like writing fact for him… you just wouldn’t believe it if he presented it as fact – there are people and things out there in this world of ours that would simply amaze you!
His latest book is the mystery/thriller The Flight of the Griffin.
To explore his life and writing more, please visit his webpage and blog at https://author-cmgray.blogspot.com
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The Flight of the Griffin
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