Preeney Claw: The Demon Griffon of Fleet Street
Chapter 1: No Place Like Prattan
Chapter 1: No Place Like Prattan
The hold of the good ship, Bountiful, was filled with a vast number of crates, holding goods such as food, supplies and the occasional item of questionable legality. The ship often made use of a barter system to keep itself afloat, no pun intended; companies often paid them in valuable goods to trade in exchange for services, and some folks even offered to serve as the Bountiful’s crew in exchange for passage across the seas that dotted Equis. One such soul, a griffon, was sitting in the hold, leaning against a box of fine spices and in a light sleep.
He was a weathered old bird, his once golden brown feathers now a dull grey that, combined with the white plumes that covered his face, gave him a rather ghostly appearance… but really, what else could he have been? His only truly noticeable feature was a long scar that ran along his left eye. He’d crossed paths with a particularly sadistic drake eight years ago, who ran a single, white-hot claw down his face. What few doctors he could find couldn’t save the griffon’s eye, leaving it white and glassed over. The griffon didn’t let the scar get to him; it wasn’t his only reminder of the past fifteen years of cruelty he’d known.
“Mr. Claw?” Called a voice from the stairs up to the deck. Claw woke, his eyes lazily glancing towards the stairs. A young pegasus stood at the top, looking around for the griffon. He was dressed in a dark blue navy uniform, a simple shirt with a collar and holes that allowed his wings to poke through. He had a bright blue coat, a short brown mane and the image of a spyglass upon his flank; what did the ponies call them? Cutie marks, or some nonsense? “Mr. Claw? We’re about to make harbor! Come up and see!”
The pegasus had sounded excited, eager; it made the bird grit his teeth in agitation. While he, too, had been anticipating the return to Prattan, it would be no happy reunion. With a growl, Claw stood up, stretching his aging back before heading along the crates towards the stairs.
Claw arrived on the deck, the thick stench of the city reaching his beak. He approached the starboard and stood beside the pegasus, Eighth Bell, who was leaning over the side, gazing at the city that slowly passed as the Bountiful approached the docks. His eyes were filled with wonder, as though the acrid stench that filled the air was completely unnoticed by him.
“For all the wonder the world holds…” Bell said happily. “Prattan is like none other.”
Claw inhaled loudly. “On that, we are agreed,” he growled.
Bell turned to him. “Mr. Claw?”
Claw glanced at him, his frown unmoving. “When you’ve seen the things I have, Eighth Bell, you learn to see things differently.” His gaze returned to the passing city. He rested a foot on the edge of the ship; his talons dug into the woodwork, twitching with anger.
Within the hour the Bountiful docked on the southern edge of the city. Prattan was the capital of the griffon homelands, far from Equis’ most ‘prosperous’ nation of Equestria. Claw gathered his satchel and headed down the ramp to the dock, trying to ignore the almost audible spring in Eighth Bell’s step. The dock workers shuffled about their business- a number of griffons, ponies, even the occasional diamond dog exchanging goods with the various ships at dock. Claw’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a griffon and a unicorn close together, in the way you’d only do if you didn’t wish someone to eavesdrop. He caught a glimpse of a small bag, no doubt filled with a generous amount of bits, being given to the griffon, who smirked with satisfaction. Their business apparently concluded, the unicorn beckoned for several other ponies- likely in his hire- to carry a few unlabeled boxes towards the Bountiful.
Claw exhaled in disgust before taking a sharp left, through a darkened alley, onto the public street. He cast a glance back; Eighth Bell was still following him, likely waiting for some form of farewell. With a small sigh Claw turned around, trying to put some warmth in his voice. “Well, Eighth Bell… I believe this is where we part ways.” He placed a claw on Bell’s shoulder. “I won’t forget your kindness… Were it not for you I’d still be on that raft, with no hope at making landfall.”
Bell laughed good naturedly. “Mr. Claw, there are few I know, ponies or otherwise, who would have left you on that raft and been able to look at themselves in the mirror!”
“Then I envy the company you keep…” Claw said flatly. “Even so, I owe you a great deal of thanks, my… friend.” The word felt rather dry in his mouth.
The two suddenly became aware of a faint, frantic whispering in the shadows in the alley they’d just come through. A griffon, her frayed feathers visible beneath the torn black dress and veil that was draped over her in the same way one would do to obscure an unsightly piece of furniture, was creeping out of the shadows, staring up at them through the dusty, torn veil. “My good sirs,” she said, her voice sounding like a rusty butter knife being dragged along stone. “Any alms for an old bird, her wings clipped and her senses frayed?” She spoke as though in a dream, and moved just the same, swaying like she was sleepwalking.
Bell frowned sympathetically, then reached a wing into his saddlebag. He withdrew five glistening bits, balanced on the tip of his wing, and held it out to the beggar, who snatched the coins quickly. “Oh, thank you, thank you, sir!!” She said, almost sounding on the verge of tears. She suddenly looked up at the pegasus; the barest hint of a lustuous smirk could be seen on her beak. “Perhaps I can pay you back, my dear colt?” She suddenly approached Bell so quickly that the pegasus had to take a startled step back. “Would you like me to be your filly? I know just how dearly you little ponies value… friendship!!” She cackled, but seemed to lose interest as Bell turned away, a look of confusion and terror in his eyes. She turned towards Claw, suddenly dawning her dreamy, almost innocent air again. “And you, sir? Would you take pity on a bird, so longing to sing again…”
She stopped. She stared at Claw through her veil, her head tilting to the side. “Have we met, good sir?”
Panic flickered in Claw’s mind. “I don’t associate myself with raving lunatics!!” He yelled, waving a claw at the beggar. “Off with you! Out of my sight!”
The beggar dropped into her ‘seductive’ stance again. “Perhaps you need some comfort? A dear mate with which to roost?” She stepped forward.
Claw immediately screeched. “To Tartarus with you, wench!! BE GONE!!” The beggar immediately turned and bolted down the alley; her wings, indeed, appeared to be clipped, or perhaps she’d long forgotten how to use them. Either way her panicked sobs could be heard as she fled down the alley, rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
“Mr. Claw…” Bell said carefully. “She was merely a half-mad beggar- they’re a bit a dozen here in Prattan…” Bell sounded somewhat disturbed nonetheless- likely nothing of the sort he’d see in Equestria.
“My apologies, Eighth Bell…” Claw sighed. “I suppose I’m not as much at ease as I’d have liked… Returning to these streets, the countless ghosts standing in the shadows, whispering…” His voice trailed off when he noticed the unnerved look Bell was giving him. Claw’s gaze dropped to the ground.
“...What ghosts do you speak of, Mr. Claw?” Bell asked. “What haunts you so?”
Claw looked up, sternly. “It is not just me that is haunted… Unlike your precious Princesses, who lead and love their subjects without end, to the leaders, the benevolent lords of Prattan, we are nothing more than bugs beneath the illustrious throne upon which they sit!!” Claw became aware that he was shouting. He took a steadying breath. “They have caused much misery in aims of satisfying their own greed… And yet those ‘beneath’ them do nothing, only hoping they don’t invoke the lords’ ire, due or otherwise.”
Bell looked somewhat confused. Claw sighed and turned away. “Over a decade ago, there was a barber- a griffon who, however naive, did no wrongs in his life. He had a wife he could never bear to part with, a griffon of such beauty it would put Celestia’s finest sunrise to shame… He had a daughter, a delightful little chick, with high promises of being just as beautiful as her mother…” Claw’s breath caught. He took a moment to gather himself.
“And his wife’s beauty was, indeed, alluring… She was noticed by one of our dear lords…” Claw began grinding his teeth. “A living mockery of any form of justice. He had the barber banished, sent to the dragon lands to burn… Then all he had to do was… wait. Wait for her anguish to claim her, to make her lower her guard enough for him to claim his prize…” Claw noticed he was gripping the ground, hard; his talons ached as they scraped along the cobblestone with a dull scratching noise.
“And did she?” Bell asked, almost fearful of the answer.
Claw shrugged. “I don’t know… I don’t think anyone would…” He took a calming breath. He’d wasted enough time. Fifteen years he’d waited, wondered… It was only a few minutes flight from here, yet here he was, talking. “I must be off, Eighth Bell… Prattan may be the same pit of refuse as it was when I’d left, but I shall need time to reacquaint myself with it… And there are answers I seek.”
“But we will meet again?” Bell asked, hopefully. “Before I return home?”
Claw scowled, for a moment, before shutting his eyes in irritation. “Perhaps… I’ll likely find a place on Fleet Street.”
“Until then, my friend!” Bell said cheerfully. Claw turned to notice his outstretched hoof. Out of custom, nothing more, Claw took the hoof, gave it two brief shakes, then turned and took to the skies without a word.
From the ash grey skies, the only major difference Claw could see was the immense number of new smokestacks, rising from the city’s many new factories, churning out a wide variety of goods and spewing out the smoke that billowed from the forges and furnaces. Yet there were a fair few familiar sights- a chapel there, an office building out there, and some distance ahead…
For the first time, a spark of warmth flashed in Claw’s heart; it was a small two-story building, with a staircase leading up the west side to its upper dwelling. The bottom floor looked to have been made into a store of some kind. Time hadn’t been kind to the property, but it still stood, likely owned by someone else by now. Perhaps Claw could persuade the current tenants to give him lodging for a while. He’d have to fabricate a story, of course- he could only speculate whether or not the current tenants knew of the previous owner’s fate… This was all assuming she wasn’t still there.
Claw folded his wings and dived towards what he now knew to be Fleet Street.
For the first time in fifteen years, Preeney Claw was home.