Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (12 page)

‘Ready for a real shot?’ he asked.

Stig and Lydia exchanged a glance and both nodded.

‘Who’s going first?’ Hal asked.

This time, Lydia wasn’t about to defer to Stig. Both of them were keen to test their new skill with a loaded weapon.

‘Rock-paper-knife,’ Stig said and Lydia nodded. They faced each other and both counted, ‘Ro-sham-bo!’ On ‘bo’, they shot their right hands out. Stig’s was clasped in a fist – rock. Lydia’s hand extended the first two fingers straight out, the sign for knife. She was crestfallen.

‘I was sure you’d go paper,’ she said.

Hal shook his head pityingly. ‘Stig
always
goes rock,’ he told her. ‘You should have known. Look at him. He’s a rock sort of person.’

Stig raised an eyebrow, not sure if he’d just been handed a compliment or an insult. Then he turned back to the Mangler and straddled the seat.

Ingvar leaned forward and seized the two levers, heaving them back until the heavy cord was latched into the cocked position. As he opened the locker that held the bolts for the Mangler, Kloof came sniffing around, eagerly trying to see what was inside.

‘Close that before she chews them all!’ Hal ordered immediately. Ingvar grinned. He selected a bolt and closed the locker, much to Kloof’s disappointment. Hal shook his head. In the two days they had been at sea, Kloof had managed to chew several items belonging to the crew.

‘I’ll get back to the tiller,’ he said. Hal turned away, then stopped as a thought hit him. ‘When you’re actually shooting,’ he told Stig, ‘there’s a slight delay between pulling the lanyard and the bow firing. About half a second.’

Stig frowned. ‘What causes that?’

Hal shrugged. ‘Not sure. Could be the lanyard stretching a little. In any event, remember to allow for it when you shoot.’

He made his way back to the stern and took the tiller. Ulf and Wulf were watching him, ready to bring the sail back under control.

‘Sheet home!’ he ordered. They hauled on the sheets and the sail filled, shaping itself into a perfect swelling curve. The ship tried to come up head to wind, but Hal heaved on the tiller and she swung nimbly away, gathering speed as she came round.

‘Stand by up for’ard!’ he called.

Stig raised a hand in acknowledgement, then bent to the sights. Ingvar stepped forward and loaded the bolt into the grooved section on top of the Mangler. Kloof watched him do it, dancing on her toes, rearing back slightly onto her rear legs and letting her front legs come down together on the deck. Her tail lashed from side to side with excitement.

Lydia couldn’t help but smile at the dog’s prancing. Kloof obviously sensed the anticipation in the small group around the crossbow. Then Lydia shook her head and ignored Kloof, resuming her position on the mast support once more.

‘Two-fifty,’ she called.

Stig waved a hand to her but said nothing. He was concentrating on his sights.

They came in at speed, the wake hissing down
Heron
’s flanks, spray sheeting back as she occasionally cut deeper than normal into a wave. Stig kept up a muttered string of directions to Ingvar. He wanted this shot to be perfect. This was for real, after all.

Kloof!
said Kloof, rising and falling onto her forepaws once more.

‘Shut up,’ Stig told her, concentrating fiercely. She didn’t bark again, but she began to whine in expectation and excitement.

They passed the one-fifty mark, Lydia calling the range as they did. Ingvar was busy, constantly making the tiny corrections that Stig was calling for.

‘Ready?’ Hal called from the stern.

They all ignored him. Stig peered down the sights, winding the elevation up, watching the target drift from right to left again. He took the firing lanyard in his left hand, took up the tension on it. Mindful of Hal’s warning, he smoothly pulled the lanyard just before the target drifted across his sights. There was a slight delay, then . . .

SLAM!

The Mangler bucked with the recoil. The bolt streaked away.

And Kloof, with an excited yelp, hurled herself over the railing, hitting the water with an enormous splash and striking out after the streaking bolt.

For a second, they were all struck dumb by the dog’s unexpected action. Jesper and Stefan collapsed with laughter, closely followed by Ulf and Wulf. Stig, who had been concentrating on his sights, hadn’t seen the dog leap overboard and was looking around, a bewildered expression on his face. In all the confusion, nobody saw where the shot had gone – except, presumably, Kloof. Hal yelled at his dog to come back – a command that went totally unheeded as Kloof ploughed on determinedly through the water. Lydia and Thorn exchanged puzzled looks, wondering what had come over Kloof. It was Edvin who first realised what had happened.

‘She’s going to fetch it!’ he said. The laughter redoubled from the twins, Jesper and Stefan.

Ingvar had only seen a blur of movement from behind him and had heard the massive splash as Kloof hit the water. ‘What happened?’ he said.

Lydia quickly explained the situation and a crooked grin settled over the big boy’s features.

Thorn turned a withering look on Hal, who was red-faced with rage as his dog continued to ignore his shouted commands.

‘Where did you say you found this dog?’ he asked.

Hal shook his head dismissively. ‘Never mind that. We’ll have to go get her.’

‘Why?’ Thorn asked. ‘She seems perfectly happy out there, swimming off into the distance.’

The ship and the dog were on slightly divergent courses, so that Kloof was moving further and further away.

‘We’ll have to go round to fetch her,’ Hal called. ‘Lydia, keep an eye on her so we don’t lose her. Stig, get ready to haul her on board. Sail handlers, get ready to go about.’

‘Is there anything you’d like me to do?’ Thorn asked, smiling sweetly.

Hal glared at him. ‘I suppose it’d be too much to ask you to shut up?’

‘Absolutely too much,’ Thorn said.

They came about, describing a giant circle, then heading back in to intercept the dog, still swimming strongly in the direction she had seen the bolt disappear. Lydia had mounted the bulwark and was standing next to the bowpost, keeping the small black and white shape in sight as Kloof bobbed up and down in the waves. She held the bowpost lightly for balance with one hand, and pointed the direction for Hal to follow with the other.

‘I’ll bring her alongside the starboard rail,’ Hal called to Stig, who moved to the rail and peered ahead. He could see the dog now, still ploughing along determinedly.

‘Get ready to grab hold of my legs as we come alongside, Ingvar,’ Stig said. ‘I’m going to have to lean way over to get her.’

Ingvar nodded and moved to stand just behind him. As they came closer, Hal leaned out as well, measuring the angle and the distance and the speed of the ship. When he judged the moment was right, he yelled.

‘Let go the sheets. Down sail!’

The wind spilled from the sail and Jesper and Stefan worked quickly to bring it down, gathering in the billowing folds and stowing them roughly into the rowing well. Hal’s forward vision was now unrestricted. He saw the dog close ahead, then saw Stig lean over the rail, supported by Ingvar’s powerful grip. He edged the bow to port slightly.

Thorn, watching from alongside Stig’s inverted form, turned and waved. ‘Hold her at that!’ he said. He shook his head in admiration. As ever, Hal had judged the moment exactly.

The speed fell off the ship, and Stig grabbed the swimming dog by the scruff of her neck, hauling her in alongside the hull. Kloof looked up at him, surprised.

A wave broke over Stig, drenching him from head to waist. But he maintained his grip on the dog. Then, as the wave passed, he changed his hold so that he had her under the shoulders.

‘Heave away, Ingvar!’ he spluttered, spitting out sea water. Ingvar reared back, hauling Stig and the sodden dog up the side of the hull. As Kloof came free of the water, her dead weight doubled and Ingvar grunted with extra effort. Then he felt Thorn’s arms around him and the two of them hauled Stig and Kloof on board, sprawling in a heap on the foredeck.

Kloof was first to recover. She bounded to her feet, then crouched. Lydia realised, too late, what was about to happen.

‘Look out!’ she called, then Kloof shook herself, hurling sheets of sea water from her thick double coat and thoroughly drenching her rescuers. Ingvar and Thorn yelled curses at the dog. Stig, already soaked to the waist, shrugged philosophically.

‘A little water never did a true sailor any harm,’ he told Thorn, who was glaring at the dog.

‘I’m beginning to think Erak had the right idea,’ Thorn said grimly.

H
al decided they had spent enough time on target practice. They retrieved the target raft and hauled it aboard. Stig was gratified to see a triangular rent in the canvas.

‘I hit it,’ he said triumphantly, as he and Thorn stowed the raft in the bow of the ship.

Hal signalled for Lydia to join him at the tiller as they got under way.

‘Sorry you missed your chance for a shot. It was starting to take up more time than I’d allowed – what with having to fetch Kloof on board again,’ he said.

Lydia shrugged. ‘I’m sure I’ll get another chance.’

‘When we get to Araluen, we’ll set up a target onshore and practise on that. That way we won’t be losing all our bolts. After all,’ Hal added with a wry grin, ‘I’m the one who has to make them.’

‘Fair point,’ she said. ‘And in any event, Stig would have been unbearable if I’d missed. He’d have bragging rights for the rest of the journey.’

Hal shook his head. ‘Not really,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘That hole was already in the canvas when we put the raft over the side.’

An hour later, they sighted a crippled Gallican ship.

Edvin was on the bowpost lookout. ‘Ship!’ he called, pointing to the south-west.

At first, Hal saw nothing. But as
Heron
rose onto the crest of a wave, he saw a dark shape, low in the water. Stefan, who had the keenest eyesight, had leapt up onto the starboard rail, steadying himself on one of the thick stays.

‘She’s dismasted!’ he called. ‘She’s in trouble!’

Hal glanced quickly at the wind telltale on the top of the sternpost. The wind was from the north-east. There was no need to tack. He swung the tiller and brought
Heron
round to intercept the other ship. As the wind came further astern, Ulf and Wulf let out the sail to take full advantage of it.

‘We’ll go aboard if she needs help,’ Hal called. ‘Stig, Jesper, Stefan, Ulf and Wulf – you come with me. Ingvar, get the boat hook on her and keep us alongside. Edvin, come aft and take the tiller.’

As they came closer, he could see that the other ship was obviously holed. Her bow was low in the water and she rose and fell sluggishly on the swell. She was a trader – a wide-beamed, slow-sailing ship with plenty of room for cargo. Her mast was gone, snapped off a metre from the deck and trailing overside in a tangle of canvas and rope. Hal counted two of her crew struggling ineffectually with it, while another three were for’ard, working on damage to the hull close to her bow.

‘Ulf, Wulf, give them a hand to cut that mast loose. Thorn, you can help with that.’ Thorn was perfectly capable of wielding an axe with his left hand, Hal knew – in fact, he was far more efficient than most right-handed axemen. He peered more closely at the men for’ard on the ship. There was a ragged, triangular rent smashed in the side of the ship.

‘Stefan, Edvin, get out the tent canvas. We’ll fother it over that hole in the side.’

Fothering entailed sliding a large piece of canvas, usually a sail, under the ship at the bows and sliding it aft until it sat over the hole. When the canvas was pulled tight, the flow of water into the ship was greatly reduced. It was a technique they had learned during their brotherband training, and which they had used before – when
Wolfwind
had been rammed by the pirate ship
Raven
in the waters off the town of Limmat.

‘Can I do anything?’ Lydia asked. She understood that this was one of those situations for which she wasn’t trained. It was a matter of seamanship and sailing craft. The boys knew what they had to do, and she would only be in the way if she tried to help.

Hal glanced around the horizon before he answered.

‘Stay here and keep a lookout,’ he told her. ‘We want to be sure that whoever did that to her isn’t anywhere around.’

‘You think they might be?’ she asked.

He chewed his lip for a second, then answered. ‘To be honest, probably not. But it would be very embarrassing if they came back and sank us while we were trying to save her.’

A faint grin touched her mouth. ‘Very embarrassing indeed. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.’

Hal nodded, but he was preoccupied now as they approached the wallowing trader. The men on board had seen them coming and rushed to group together in the waist of the ship. Several of them were shaking their fists, or pieces of wood as makeshift weapons. They gesticulated for
Heron
to keep her distance.

‘Allez-vous en!’
one of them shouted.

‘Oh, Gorlog’s socks, they think we’re going to attack them,’ Hal said. ‘Anyone speak Gallican?’ he asked, recognising the man’s language. It was a vain plea. He knew none of the brotherband did.