Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (49 page)

‘Honestly!’ he said. ‘Some people think only about themselves! Those two have been nothing but trouble. We should have left them behind.’

‘I see you found Kloof,’ Wulf said cheerfully, as the dog bounded down onto the deck.

‘Yes. We did,’ Hal said, a note of suspicion in his voice. ‘I was wondering how she got loose.’

‘I sent her to find you,’ Wulf said easily. ‘Thought you might need guiding back to the ship.’

Hal noticed that neither Edvin nor Stefan would meet his gaze as Wulf made that statement. Ulf looked away as well, as if something across the harbour had suddenly claimed his attention. There was more to this than Wulf was saying, Hal realised. But his thoughts were interrupted by Stig’s cheerful rejoinder.

‘Just as well you did! She really saved our bacon. Went charging into a platoon of
dooryeh
, scattering them like ninepins! They didn’t know what hit them.’

‘Yeah. I thought she might come in handy,’ Wulf said airily.

Again, the others seemed unwilling to meet Hal’s gaze and now he was sure there was more to this than he was being told. Still, he had more pressing matters to attend to right now. He resolved to quiz Edvin and Stefan later. Ulf, he knew, would lie for the sheer sake of it. Worse, he might tell the truth so that Hal would assume he was lying. That had happened before.

Hal walked quickly aft, unlashing the fastening on the tiller, which kept it from banging back and forth with the movement of the water while they were moored.

Stig had marshalled the twelve Araluans into the centre of the ship where they were out of the way. He looked curiously at Hal.

‘Oars?’

Hal shook his head, after checking the sternpost wind telltale. For the first leg of their course, the wind would be from astern.

‘We’ll run down harbour on port tack, then turn starboard so we’re on a reach for the first leg of the channel,’ he said. ‘Unless the wind shifts, we can make it out of here on one tack.’

Stig nodded. ‘Makes sense to me.’

‘And besides. I don’t want people tied up rowing. I want you and Ingvar on the Mangler when we’re running past those catapults at the fort,’ Hal said. Then added, ‘Gilan and Lydia too.’

They looked up as they heard their names mentioned and he beckoned them closer.

‘When we’re in that narrow channel, opposite the fort, we’ll be sitting ducks for those catapults. I want you two to keep up a constant barrage on them. Pick off the crews. Make them nervous. Nervous men don’t take time to aim,’ he said.

They both nodded. In a reflex action, Gilan’s hand went up to touch the feathered ends of the arrows in his quiver, now back in their normal place over his right shoulder.

Hal looked at the Araluans and made a downward gesture with the flat of his hand.

‘Lie down,’ he said to them. ‘You’ll be out of the way and you may be a little safer.’

The Araluans began to comply, but before they did, Walton, their spokesman, stepped closer to the steering platform.

‘We haven’t thanked you yet,’ he said. ‘Everything’s been in a rush, but we haven’t thanked you properly. We owe you our lives and our freedom – even George and Abel.’

From the direction of his quick glance, Hal realised that George and Abel were the reluctant pair who had carried the wounded man back to the ship. They looked suitably ashamed of themselves and reddened, while the other Araluans chorused their enthusiastic agreement to Walton’s words. Hal waved a dismissive hand.

‘Time enough to thank us later,’ he said. ‘We’re not out of here yet.’ He looked around his expectant crew, standing ready to get under way.

‘Stig, get the bow and stern lines. Ingvar, shove us off. Stefan and Edvin, as soon as we’re clear of the wharf, get the port sail up.’

Lydia watched the usual scene of organised and efficient chaos as the crew members went through their drill for leaving port. Stig ran along the wharf, casting off the bow line, then the stern line as the bow started to swing away from the wharf’s side. He dropped lightly back onto the deck as Ingvar set an oar against one of the wharf’s pilings and set the
Heron
moving out into the fairway with a powerful shove. The halyards ran squealing through the blocks as the port yardarm and sail rose quickly up the mast. Then there was the now familiar
whoomph
of captured air as Ulf and Wulf sheeted home and set the sail.

Heron
accelerated away from the wharf, the port side sail almost at right angles to catch the steady breeze that was blowing over their stern quarter. The water hissed under her forefoot and chuckled down her sides as she gathered way. Hal felt an enormous sense of relief. He was back in control of things here at the tiller. They might have to face Tursgud yet, and they would certainly have to run the gauntlet of those catapults. But his ship was fast and manoeuvrable and he was confident he could cope with anything the Socorrans threw at him. He smiled grimly as he realised how appropriate that expression was in this circumstance. That was exactly what they would be doing.

The bow wave peeled away from the ship in a giant V on the placid harbour waters. As it reached the shore, it set moored ships bobbing and rocking.

Ahead of them, the narrow north-eastern arm opened into the wider expanse of the harbour proper.

That was where Tursgud would be, if he was going to be anywhere.

‘Jesper,’ he ordered quietly, ‘get onto the bow lookout. Keep an eye out for Tursgud and
Nightwolf.
’

Jesper looked surprised. ‘Do you think he’ll try to stop us?’

Hal met his gaze steadily. ‘If he sees us, he’ll try to sink us,’ he said. He glanced at Lydia and Gilan. ‘Get ready. We may need you any minute.’

Stig caught his eye and gestured to the Mangler in the bow, shrouded in its canvas covers. ‘What about Ingvar and me?’ he asked.

Hal nodded. ‘Get her ready to shoot. But I don’t think we’ll need you against
Nightwolf.
We’ll save our ammunition for the catapults at the fort.’

Stig grunted agreement and, calling to Ingvar to accompany him, went forward and began removing the covers from the Mangler. A few of the Araluans uttered expressions of surprise at the sight of the massive crossbow.

‘What on earth is that?’ one of them said.

Thorn favoured him with a wolfish grin. ‘That’s a little surprise for anyone who tries to stop us,’ he said.

‘They’re coming, skirl!’

Tursgud had posted a lookout on the higher ground of the wharf alongside them. Now, as he followed the direction that the man was pointing, his lips curled in a satisfied sneer.

The familiar, and hated, triangular sail was visible as the
Heron
slipped out of the narrow north-eastern reach into the more open waters of the main harbour. He beckoned the lookout back on board, and checked to see that his crew were ready.

Two men stood by the bow and stern lines – he’d replaced the normal heavy hawsers with light ropes. When the time came, they would hack through them, untethering the ship from the shore.

Six others were crouched, ready to haul the big square sail aloft. The wind was on their beam and that was their best and fastest point of sailing. Tursgud crouched by the tiller – as if his crouching would somehow delay the
Heron
’s spotting them. He planned to let the smaller ship sail down the middle of the fairway. Then, at the right moment, he’d cut the bow and stern lines and hoist the sail.
Nightwolf
would go from dead stop to full speed in the space of about thirty metres. The wind was strong enough to let them power out across the harbour and intercept the
Heron.
When they did, the cruel, iron-tipped ram set under
Nightwolf
’s bow would smash into the other ship’s frail sides, rending and tearing the planks, shattering the ribs and letting the cold harbour water surge in.

The tide was running out. That meant that any survivors from the sinking ship would have little chance of reaching shore. They’d be swept out to sea, moving ever faster as the outgoing tide was constricted by the narrow exit channel and accelerated as a result. And good riddance to them, Tursgud thought savagely.

It had been a long time since Hal and his crew of misfits had heaped scorn and shame on Tursgud’s head.

But today, he would finally have his revenge.

‘A
ny sign of
Nightwolf
?’ Hal called to Jesper.

‘Not so far,’ came the reply. It wasn’t surprising. Even though they knew Tursgud’s ship was moored on the western side of the harbour, the chance of picking one ship out among the forest of masts would be slim. But Hal knew they were close to where the dark blue ship was moored.

‘Keep your eyes peeled,’ he called, and regretted it immediately. There was no point in telling Jesper to keep a good lookout. He’d do that without being told. Gilan and Lydia had moved to the waist of the ship, clear of the port sail, their weapons ready.

All eyes were fastened on the harbour shore sliding past them on their left.

Tursgud watched the graceful little ship cruising smoothly down the outbound channel in the middle of the harbour. His eyes narrowed as he judged distances and speed. He would let
Heron
come almost level with him, then he’d bring
Nightwolf
surging out from the wharf. He gauged the distance to
Heron.
She was about a hundred metres from the western shore, where
Nightwolf
lurked, ready. He smiled. That would give him plenty of time to reach maximum speed before he smashed into that hated little ship.

He remembered how she had bested him in the final race in the brotherband contest two years ago. Just when he thought he had beaten her, she had spun on her heel and accelerated into Hallasholm harbour to deny him his victory.

Today would be a different story.

‘Raise the sail and sheet home!’ he ordered.

His first mate stared at him in surprise. ‘But we’re still tied up –’

Tursgud rounded on him in a fury. ‘Get that sail up!’ he snarled.

Hastily, the first mate gave the order to the waiting sail crew. The huge square sail went up the mast, swelling out in the wind, then hardening into a perfect curve as the sail handlers sheeted home.
Nightwolf
began to surge forward under the massive thrust, then was brought up short as the hawsers tautened.

For a few seconds, there was an ominous creaking from the rigging and the mast as the wind tried to tear her loose from the shore and the hawsers held her tight.

‘Axes!’ yelled Tursgud, leaving it until the last possible minute before something broke loose. The two thuds came close together, almost merging into one, and the bow and stern lines were severed, the ends springing high into the air as the strain was suddenly released.

Nightwolf
shot forward, like an arrow leaving a bow.