Brotherband 3: The Hunters (24 page)

‘There’ll be a lot of back pressure there where the current hits that rock,’ he said. ‘The water builds up against the rock and has nowhere to go. Then it sort of . . . rebounds, I suppose. If we get it right, it’ll actually throw us back away from the rock.’

‘And if we get it wrong?’ Stig asked him.

He shrugged. ‘I prefer not to think of that.’

He was silent for a few moments, assessing the speed of the river and the force of the current.

‘We’ll need to keep two oars out,’ he said.

Stig frowned. ‘Why waste energy rowing? The river will keep us moving.’

‘That’s the point,’ Hal told him. ‘If we’re not moving a little faster than the water, I can’t steer. We’ll put Ulf and Wulf on the oars. The rest of you can stand by in the bow and stern to fend off from any rocks that come too close.’

He paused, chewing his lip as he thought further into the problem. ‘I’ll need a longer tiller – something that will give me greater purchase. I’ll have to be able to heave the stern around against the current.’

‘Use an oar,’ Thorn said.

Hal nodded. ‘That should do it.’ Abruptly, he rose, brushing the damp dirt off the knee of his trousers. ‘All right, take one last look and try to memorise where the rocks are. Then we’ll get back to the
Heron
and get under way.’

‘You’re going to run it now . . . today?’ Stig asked, his voice very quiet against the background roar of rushing water.

‘We don’t have time to waste. And it’s not going to get easier if we wait,’ he said.

Stig looked morosely at the thundering river below them.

‘Are you sure?’ he said.

T
hey made their way back to the ship, slipping and sliding on the treacherous muddy surface of the river bank. Seven pairs of eyes watched them as they appeared out of the trees.

Jesper voiced the thought that was on all their minds. ‘What’s it like?’ he asked.

Hal, Stig and Thorn exchanged a quick look, and Jesper’s shoulders slumped.

‘I think you just told us,’ he said. But Hal hurried to reassure him.

‘No! It’s not that bad. No, really.’ He turned to his first mate for confirmation. ‘Is it, Stig?’ But Stig hesitated just a little too long before he replied.

‘No. It’s . . . a bit wild. But we’ll make it all right.’ The words
I hope
hung in the air, unspoken, but heard by everyone. Hal looked around the half circle of despondent faces.

‘We’ll be fine. We just need to work together,’ he said.

Jesper looked doubtful. ‘Maybe we should try Stig’s idea,’ he said. When Hal looked at him, not understanding, he elaborated. ‘Maybe we should try to break through the boom.’

Stefan muttered cautious agreement. The twins looked doubtful. Edvin was similarly undecided. Only Lydia remained neutral. She was no sailor, so she had no real understanding of the problem or whether they could overcome it.

Ingvar stepped forward, peering directly at Hal. ‘Hal, do you really think we can do it?’

Hal hesitated a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, Ingvar. I do,’ he said firmly. He realised that half the problem was that the rest of the crew hadn’t actually seen the rift. As frightening as it might be in reality, their imaginations were building it up to be far worse than it really was.

Ingvar nodded ponderously. ‘Then if Hal says we can make it, I’m prepared to give it a go,’ he said. The others exchanged embarrassed glances. Jesper shuffled his feet awkwardly.

‘It comes down to this,’ Thorn said. ‘How much confidence do you have in Hal as a helmsman? How much do you trust his judgement?’ Usually, the old sea wolf tried to stay out of the decision-making process, unless it concerned a combat situation. But, like Hal, he could see that it was the unknown factor here that was affecting their judgement and he wanted to give them something positive to focus on.

And the point he made was a crucial one. They had all witnessed Hal’s skill on the tiller, time and time again, and seen his uncanny ability to judge speed and angles and distances. There was a long moment of silence, then Jesper nodded assent.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s try it.’

The collective mood changed within an instant as the others agreed. Hal seized the opportunity to brief them on their roles during the descent of the rift.

‘Ulf and Wulf, you’ll row. You need to keep us moving slightly faster than the current or I’ll lose steerage way. If we can keep the ship in the middle of the stream we’ll be fine.’

‘Except for that last turn,’ Stig said, without thinking. Hal could have cheerfully kicked him. The crew turned to him, the concern back on their faces.

‘What about the last turn?’ Edvin asked.

Stig shrugged in apology at Hal.

‘The rift runs straight until the end, then it swings to the right,’ Hal said. ‘There’s a big rock in the stream there and we’re going to have to fend off. Stig, I want you in the bow to shove us clear with an oar.’

‘I could help with that,’ Ingvar said, then added reluctantly, ‘Of course, I don’t see too well.’

‘I’ll work with you,’ Lydia chipped in. ‘I’ll position the oar. Then you can do the pushing.’ Ingvar beamed at her. He hated feeling useless because of his eyesight.

‘That should do it,’ Hal said. He liked the idea of having Ingvar’s massive strength in the bow to help fend them off from that black, hulking rock. He glanced at Thorn, who shook his head apologetically.

‘I think this might be beyond me,’ the old sea wolf said. ‘My hook is good, but it doesn’t have the sort of dexterity I’d need to be swinging an oar over the side and fending us off.’

Hal nodded. He’d been thinking the same thing but hadn’t wanted to put the thought into words. There had been a time when Thorn would never have admitted such a shortcoming, he thought. But he had another task ready for him.

‘Stay for’ard, by the mast, and keep an eye out for rocks and snags. Edvin, Jesper and Stefan, you position yourself astern and fend off from there. When Stig and Ingvar swing the bow clear of the big rock, make sure the stern doesn’t swing into it. All right?’

They all nodded. Now that they had definite tasks to attend to, the nervousness about facing the unknown dangers of the rift was receding a little. Hal unshipped the tiller, then bound a spare oar to the tiller bracket. He heaved on it experimentally, feeling the drag of the blade in the water.
Heron
, tethered by the bow, swung her stern back and forth. The others watched with interest as he did so.

‘It’ll give me more purchase for heaving the bow around,’ he explained. Then he caught Edvin’s eye. ‘Edvin, be ready to drop what you’re doing if I call you and help me. I might need an extra pair of hands.’

He took a deep breath. ‘All right, everyone. Positions.’

There was a patter of feet on the deck as the crew moved to the positions he had assigned. Ulf and Wulf moved to the rowing benches. As Ulf dropped into the port side well, Wulf looked at him, hands on hips.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

Ulf glanced up. ‘I’m rowing port side today.’

Wulf gritted his teeth. ‘I row on the port side. I always have.’

‘Well, a change is as good as a holiday,’ Ulf replied airily. Wulf started to step down into the rowing well but Hal stopped him.

‘Are you two starting up again?’ he said. ‘Remember the rule.’

‘We’re not at sea,’ Wulf said. ‘The rule only applies when we’re at sea.’

‘A river is an extension of the sea,’ Hal said. ‘After all, it flows into the sea.’

‘I suppose that could be said to be true,’ Wulf agreed and Ulf nodded thoughtfully.

‘It’s definitely a point worth considering.’

‘Whether it is or not, remember Ingvar’s promise.’ Hal looked forward and beckoned. ‘Ingvar?’ he called. The huge boy turned and began to thread his way aft. As he came level with the twins, he stopped, eyeing them from close range. Ingvar at close range could be an unnerving sight.

‘Ingvar, do you consider that a river is part of the sea?’ Hal asked.

Ingvar nodded. ‘Oh, definitely.’

Ulf and Wulf exchanged worried looks. Hal smiled frostily at them. He inclined his head towards the black, racing river a few metres away.

‘Would you like to be thrown overboard into that?’ he asked, and they hastened to shake their heads and say that, no, they certainly didn’t think that would be pleasant, not at all. Hal looked meaningfully at the rowing benches and the two meekly took their places, Ulf to port and Wulf to starboard.

‘Thank you, Ingvar,’ Hal said.

‘Any time, Hal.’ Ingvar began to make his way back to the bow, stepping carefully over ropes and stowed equipment. Hal noticed a few of the others hiding their smiles and he suddenly looked at the twins with a certain amount of suspicion. Their performance had taken everyone’s minds off the dangers that lay ahead and he wondered if they had done so on purpose. He shrugged the thought away. Even if they had, there was a devious side to the twins’ natures that meant they would probably never admit it.

‘Cast off, Stefan,’ he ordered. Stefan unfastened the rope from the deck bollard, then hauled the loose end in hand over hand. The ship began to move like a nervous horse, even in the calm waters of the inshore eddy.

‘Back water,’ Hal called, and Ulf and Wulf rowed the ship backwards to gain a little room. ‘Give way together,’ Hal ordered, and they began rowing forward. He heaved on the steering oar and was gratified by the ship’s instant response. The long shaft of the oar gave him much greater purchase and the bow swung rapidly.

They nosed out into the main stream and the racing current gripped them immediately.

‘Keep rowing!’ Hal shouted as they shot downstream. If the
Heron
lost steerage way, they’d broach sideways and begin to spin in the current, helpless as a piece of driftwood. He felt the stern begin to swing to port and checked it with back pressure on the oar, keeping the ship centred in the current. The roar of the water echoed back from the steep walls of the canyon. There were no trees here, no potential landing places – only stone walls that rose vertically out of the water for ten metres or more.

Heron
shot down a slope. The water had looked smooth from above, but it was actually following the contours of the river bottom, first dropping away, then rearing up again in smooth mounds, and the ship tossed and bounced as she went. The prow dug in as they reached the bottom of the slope, and spray and solid water sheeted back on either side. Hal had the feel of her now and worked the steering oar to keep her from yawing or spinning.

‘Rocks!’ Thorn yelled, pointing to starboard. Stig responded instantly, moving to the starboard bow and setting his oar against the black, glistening object that reared out of the water. Hal felt the bow move to port, which set the stern swinging to starboard, towards the rock. He heaved frantically on the steering oar, dragging the stern clear as the black fang shot past them, barely two metres away.

Heron
plunged again, sliding down a chute, then smashing into the mound of disturbed water at the bottom. Out of the corner of his eye, Hal saw Stefan lose his balance and fall, hurriedly regaining his feet. The roiling water as they passed the chute set the stern swinging again, and this time Hal couldn’t check it sufficiently.

‘Ulf! Back water!’ he yelled. ‘Wulf, row like hell!’

The two oars working in opposition, aided by the pressure of the steering oar, dragged the bow back to a straight course.

‘Ahead together!’ he yelled.

Hal’s heart was pounding and his throat was dry. The moment when he had felt himself unable to control the ship had been terrifying.

They raced on, the cliffs either side flying past at a frightening rate. Thorn called and pointed and Stig moved once more to fend off the bow from an exposed rock. This time, Lydia joined him, with Ingvar ready to add his weight to the oar as she placed it.

Hal felt the extra thrust of Ingvar’s strength and the bow seemed to bounce clear of the rock. That augured well for the right-hand turn at the end of the chute, he thought. Instinctively, he checked the movement of the stern, swinging it out away from the danger. Again the rock flew by, only metres away. But now he saw that as a comfortable margin.

The deck heaved under him as
Heron
rode up a swelling curve in the river. Obviously, there was a large underwater obstruction deep below them. He rode the movement with his knees flexed, ready this time for the sudden yawing effect as the water raced down again. For a few seconds,
Heron
was sliding downstream at an angle to the current, but he heaved on the oar, setting his right foot against the bulwark for extra purchase, and she came straight again. Almost immediately, she dived into an unseen trough and water drenched him as it broke over the bow and gunwales, along the length of the ship.

Another one like that and they’d have to start bailing, he thought. He could feel the extra weight of water in the hull. Strangely enough, it seemed to help, keeping the ship a little more stable as the river tried to wrench her this way and that.

He glanced to port and saw Edvin, Stefan and Jesper fending them away from a rock that only just broke the surface. He gulped in fear. He hadn’t seen that one. Then Stig, Ingvar and Lydia were at work again as Thorn yelled and pointed to another potential danger in their path. The river roared at them, the sound bouncing back from the cliffs, battering at their senses. It seemed like a living, malevolent thing, trying to lull them, then suddenly springing a surprise in the form of a piled-up wall of water or a sudden trough to one side that they would lurch down, slamming heavily into the water at the bottom, sheeting spray up higher than the stumpy mast.