Lockeran (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 2)

by Ruari McCallion

  I left him where he lay and made an unsteady progress back out to the main square, a short way back from the seashore. A few boats had already brought in cargoes of fish, packed in open baskets and being haggled over, with mounting volume and enthusiasm. I located a promising-looking tavern and went in, to spy out the possibilities for a trip to the north. It didn’t take long to find one. A dark-skinned sailor who gave his name as Quaid said that his ship would be setting sail with the tide, later that day - and it was big enough to carry my horses, as well as me. He described the vessel and where to find it, and said that he would warn the captain that I was coming. I bought him another drink for his trouble. As I was leaving, he called after me to ask my name. I stopped and thought for a moment. The conversations with the two Irish monks gave me inspiration.

  “Call me Ishmael.”

  Quaid advised me to tread carefully with the ship’s owner and captain - Machab - because he was known to have a short temper and irascible nature, as well as some obsessions that people may find strange.

  “I think a lot of seafarers have habits that land-dwellers would think strange,” I said, and Quaid shrugged agreement. “What is the name of the ship?”

  “Picard.”

  “Picard? What does that mean?”

  “Does it have to mean anything?” he replied. I shrugged in my turn. ‘In the end, he likes coin as much as any other man. Give him the price he wants and you will get your passage to Britain. “ I nodded and went to collect my belongings from the inn.

  He was right about his captain: irascible hardly did him justice. He was grumpy, irritable, unco-operative and made a fine show of, first, not wanting anyone other than crew aboard his boat - and hardly any of them, either. Second, he was strongly against carrying horses. But he was ferrying another two horses as cargo, I could not help but notice. Eventually, when the tide was just about full, we agreed a price - which even included a cabin, of sorts. Naturally, the transaction had to be supplemented when Wolf trotted aboard. When all was finally agreed, the horses were loaded and stabled on deck, we cast off and set a course north, with a gentle but insistent wind behind us. I wasn’t entirely at ease with the ship, the wind and the weather but I wasn’t much of a sailor at the best of times. I put it down to my natural apprehension and went to the cabin to sleep the journey away.

  The first interruption was entirely predictable. One of the crew had seen me bring my bags and baggage aboard and fancied a look at it. Once I had ascertained that he wasn’t the captain, I felt entirely confident in stabbing his hand through and attaching it to a wooden upright he was leaning against. His howl of pain brought several crew rushing to find out what had happened. Machab was among them. I scanned his mind to find out whether he had known what his crewman intended. He did not know directly and had not ordered any robbery but he was neither surprised nor particularly displeased by the attempt; he would have taken a share of whatever was stolen. What did annoy him was that it had failed, and that he now had an injured crewman. We were heading for a pointless argument over compensation or whether I should be tasked to replace him until he recovered so I emphasised that the injury was minor, undertook to stitch up and bandage the wound I had inflicted and forcefully reminded the captain that I had paid generously for my passage. The matter was settled, albeit grudgingly. The crewman accepted my medical care with guilty thanks and even an apology. He would be able to perform light tasks immediately and to resume full duties in a day or so. His life was spared because Machab employed barely enough crew to run the ship. As well as being bad-tempered, he was a miser.

  The second interruption was a bit more worrying. The wind had got up and was switching to the south-west; never a good direction in the British Sea. It had the potential to build itself into a fury and to form waves that would overturn a boat the size of the Picard, in a matter of seconds. What we had going for us was that we were several hours into our journey and were nearing the coast of Britain. Quaid was pretty confident that he had seen the coast, before the clouds started to gather heavily and cloak the sky in gloom. But the seas were treacherous around this coast and we had to proceed with great caution. The risk of being caught out in the open in the middle of a storm was balanced by the risk of sailing onto a reef, or onto a rocky shore. There were safe harbours in the southwest, offering shelter from even the most violent storm - but the sailors had to know where they were. It was perhaps late but I asked Quaid how well Machab knew the coast. My words were washed away by a surge of spray and I had to repeat the question. The two of us were hanging on to one of the ropes that secured the mast.

  ‘He knows the coast as well as any man I have known. We have made this journey a dozen times and more,” he replied.

  “Have you ever sailed in weather like this?” I shouted. The wind was getting stronger. Quaid shrugged.

  “Yes, but earlier in the day. We took a bearing on a harbour he knew before the weather closed in. We just made it.”

  This wasn’t good. And it was about to get worse. Machab was ordering the steersman to turn the ship left, towards where the storm was coming from and away from the coast. Quaid uttered a stream of obscenity.

  “What is it?”

  “He’s mad. He’s obsessed with giants of the deep - leviathans.”

  “What? What’s he doing now?”

  “He thinks he’s seen one. He wants us to hunt it. Everyone thinks he’s mad. He wants to prove he’s right.” I echoed Quaid’s string of curses. Machab was standing by the steersman, bellowing at him. As I managed to get closer I could hear that he was threatening him. The steersman was trying to hold his course.

  “We have to get out of this storm. It will sink us.”

  “It’s there, I tell you! Turn to port, or I will have your hide!” I hauled myself alongside him.

  “What the hell are you doing, captain? This storm will be the death of us!”

  “Over there!” he roared, and pointed over the port bow. “See? It’s breaching! That’s a leviathan! We are going to capture it and then they will see I was right!” I looked towards where he was pointing and scanned to see if I could detect any living evidence of a giant marine creature. Oh, I knew what a leviathan was - and it was no legend. I had seen them, but not in these waters - far to the west and south, off the Iberian coast. I had never heard of them coming into the British Sea. I could feel no evidence of one now.

  “There’s nothing there!” I bellowed. “There is no leviathan in these waters!”

  “Damn you, there it is!” he yelled back. I looked to where he was pointing. I could see spray spurting above the waves, true enough - but it wasn’t from any living creature. Quaid came back from the bow as fast as he could manage, as the boat was pitched up one wave and down the next.

  “That’s no leviathan!” I whispered, and then repeated it, louder.

  “It’s a reef!” Quaid called. The steersman blanched even whiter than he already was. We were close to the coast - far closer than we had realised, and were in great danger. The wind, waves and currents were driving us towards the rocks. How far the reef was from the shore - it was impossible to say. We could maybe have saved the day if we had all worked together but there was no guarantee.

  “You fool! You have killed us all!” the steersman shouted.

  The crew decided, almost as one, that it was every man for himself and survival was all that mattered. I looked for Wolf and found him, tied to a cleat. All I could do was untie him and wish him well. Something led me to open the stable crates that contained my horses, also. I was reasonably confident that I would survive, that the gods had work for me to do, but I was reminded of Malou’s injunction to avoid presumption. I could not walk on water; my safety required sensible actions by me as well. I was going to head to the stern of the ship, where the rest were gathering when

  Get to the front of the ship! Go to the prow - do it now! In the circumstances, I didn’t argue or even think about it. I hauled my way most of the lengths of the boat, hanging
on to anything that would let me hold it. I made it in time to see the waves breaking on almost invisible rocks. A bolt of lightning illuminated the scene for a second. I thought I could see the shoreline, further on. Not far - maybe a hundred yards or so - but it might as well have been on the Moon. We would not make it.

  A wave lifted the boat up high and dropped it with a booming crack onto the rocks. Its back was broken almost immediately. I looked towards the stern, in time to see it disappear, with all the crew as well. The front of the ship was held fast on the rocks, it seemed. Maybe I could hang on till the storm passed…

  No such luck. I could see the wave approaching. I started to break seconds before it hit. It smashed over me and I could not hold on to the ship or any part of it. My hands were torn from the ropes and I was thrown into the sea. I could see myself falling, and my bag of Frankish treasure…

  All those pretty baubles…

  Here are the pearls that were his eyes - see?

  All those pretty baubles…

  My burden no more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Fleet

  The gods evidently did still have work for me, for I survived the shipwreck. Two things woke me. I felt myself being dragged, or dunked up and down in the water, and there was the sound of growling, as if from a mighty and otherworldly beast. The wind was still howling, rain was falling and the sea was still pounding but I felt land beneath me. Not entirely solid - it was shingle - but more solid than the sea. As I came to my senses I realised what was dragging and dunking me. It was Wolf. I assured him I was awake and suggested that we found somewhere to shelter, until the storm blew out. He bounded up the beach, out of sight and then came back. He barked - I followed. He had not found a house or anything like it but he had discovered a hollow in the shingle, over the top of the bank and down, a little out of the wind - if not the rain. I was soaking but, fortunately, it was not all that cold, as wild as the storm was. We settled down against each other and I fell asleep again, hoping to see out the weather in dreams.

  Wolf roused me with a low bark, some hours later. It was light, shortly after dawn. I was still soaking wet, and shivered a little. It would be a very good idea to locate some dry clothes. As for where - I had no idea. Wolf growled, quietly and determinedly, and looked towards the sea. We were below the top of the bank so he must have smelled whatever was concerning him - I could see nothing. The wind was dying but it was still strong enough to drown out most sound, but there was another noise - that otherworldly growling I remembered from the night before. The dog and I semi-walked up to the top of the bank, the shingle giving way beneath our feet as we made our way. I dropped down the moment I reached the top. There were three or four figures on the beach, picking their way through the detritus that had been washed ashore. Merciful heaven, there were two horses that they were trying to round up - my Sage and Onion. I felt at my waist for my short sword and found it, still in its scabbard. My knife was where it should be also, in its sheath at my waist. This was good fortune almost beyond belief. I softly called Wolf to come with me and made my way down to the beach. The tide was out and our wrecked ship was no more than fifty yards into the sea, its keel destroyed and the two parts of the boat lying like a broken leg, tenuously linked by a few splinters.

  The first two I came across had found my bag of Frankish treasure. How on earth it had survived I had no idea - I thought I saw it split and all its contents drift to the bottom of the sea but here it was, intact. It seemed that my burden was determined to be carried to my final destination. Or maybe beyond. Whatever - it was still intact. The two had not yet opened it but they had tested its weight and wanted to find out what was inside.

  “I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” I said.

  “We do mind - we found it first,” one of them said. They spoke British, with a Dumnonian accent. Both of them were reaching for their swords.

  “It is mine. It has come with me through the Frankish kingdoms and has survived a shipwreck. Step back and let me have my property.”

  “Your property? There are two of us and only one of you. That makes the odds on our side, would you not say? Be on your way and count yourself lucky.” The two of them had drawn their swords and were now looking at me more clearly. They saw a figure soaked to the skin - I must have looked like a creature from the deep. I could see that they were disturbed by the sight. I loosened my cloak and made as if to form it into a sort of shield for my left arm.

  They decided not to argue the case any further. They glanced at each other and came at me at the same time. The one to my left I dealt with by throwing my cloak over his advancing sword-arm and his head; I had not wrapped it as securely as I had appeared to. A wet cloak is a heavy thing - a question entered my mind about how I had survived the sea while wearing it but I put it to one side as I turned my attention to the second man. He was brave but he was not much of a swordsman. I had his weapon out of his hand in a moment. He took to his heels and ran off to the north-west, along the beach and its shingle bank. I could see that he was not a professional thief, just a man trying to get by, but if I left him to his own devices he would probably come back with reinforcements. I was reaching for my knife and preparing to bring him down when I thought better of it. Or rather, the gods did.

  Leave him be. Attend to your possessions.

  The first one had just about untangled himself from my cloak. He looked at me, glanced around and saw his companion’s sword. That was enough - he ran off up towards the shingle bank. That left one, or maybe two. I looked down the beach and saw four. None of them had noticed me, as yet. One had at his feet something that might have been my saddle. I trotted down to confirm whether it was or not - it was.

  “That’s my saddle you have there, sir,” I called. He looked up and swore some kind of oath - in Saxon. I repeated my claim, in his language. He reached for his sword and we were at it a moment later. The Saxon was a better fighter than his British fellow-scavenger had been. (How did they demarcate the beach? I wondered, briefly.) It took me a few minutes to overcome him. He fell to one knee, breathing heavily. His sword made a light tinkle against the shingle, barely audible above the wind, the hiss of the sea and the crunching growl of stone against stone. No Otherworldly animal - just the sea, the wind and the shingle. I sought guidance from the gods as to this one’s fate; there was no answer. Maybe they didn’t care about him.

  “Where is your village?” I asked. He seemed reluctant to answer so I jabbed my sword against his neck, enough to draw his attention, if not blood. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

  “Chesilton,” he grunted. I jabbed again and reminded him I had asked where it was. He jerked his head over his shoulder. “Back down there. About half an hour away.” I nodded, let my sword down and then whacked him across the head with the hilt of my knife. He dropped like a stone, unconscious, onto the stones and pebbles. Three left. Two of them were trying to catch my horses. I left them to it while I attended to the third. He was trying to open a chest that I did not recognise - nothing to do with me. I tapped him behind the ear with my sword-hilt and moved on. There were a few bodies strewn across the beach - maybe five altogether - but no sign of life. I thought I recognised the forms of Machab, the captain, and Quaid, but I was too busy to take a closer look. The last two had noticed me. They had caught Onion and left off trying to capture Sage. I saw them exchange a few words; they were hatching a plan. I squelched over to them and even smiled in greeting.

  “Gentlemen,” I said. “As you can see, I have survived the shipwreck. Those two horses are mine and I thank you for securing this one. If you would be so kind -” I got no further. They dropped the rope halter they had made for Onion and charged. I had left my cloak down on the beach so this would be a straight swordfight.

  Actually, not so straight. I pulled out my knife and dropped the one to my right by throwing it into his chest. His shirt was no protection against its keen point. The other one pulled up short. Wolf joined me and emitted a bl
ood-curdling growl. I silenced him with a word.

  “Where are you from?” I asked, in Saxon. He jerked his head towards Chesilton. “Why don’t you go back there? Take your friend over there - I indicated the prone figure of the one who had sought to keep me from my saddle - and go home. I have no desire to kill you, but I will do so if you insist.” He thought about it and I fervently hoped he would decide to leave me be and live another day. He started to raise his sword. “Don’t. That would be very disappointing.” He looked at his dead companion and the other two on the beach, and looked at me.