‘He’s called Sweyn,’ said Raul. ‘Likes to throw his weight about.’
The harbourmaster was shouting questions. ‘Tell him to keep off,’ Vallon said.
David called out. The boat kept coming.
Vallon drew his sword. ‘I mean it. No one boards without my permission. Raul, show them your crossbow.’
Confronted by the show of arms, the Norwegians sheered off and hung in the current. The harbourmaster shook his fist and shouted. David looked at Vallon in alarm.
‘It ain’t a good idea to mortify the harbourmaster,’ Raul said.
‘We aren’t in his harbour and I’ll decide who sets foot on this ship. Tell him to land on the island and we’ll let him and two of his men come aboard. Tell him that I’m a mad foreigner and I don’t trust strangers. If he doesn’t agree, we’ll up anchor and be off.’
Snorri wailed on hearing this ultimatum and added his voice to David’s, telling the harbourmaster that he was the owner of the ship and had kin on Orkney and that he could vouch for the peaceful intentions of the company. Exchanges went back and forth until the harbourmaster gave up the wrangle and ordered his crew to put him and two bodyguards ashore. Wayland and Garrick picked them up in the ship’s boat.
Sweyn stepped aboard glaring at Vallon as though he’d like to grind him into the earth. While Raul described their mission, he cast his eyes around the ship and its company, examined the contents of the hold. Before Raul had finished, he made for the side, gesturing for Shearwater’s crew to follow.
‘He’s ordering us into harbour,’ said Raul.
‘I’m not going anywhere. David and Snorri are the only ones who are leaving.’
Another flurry of arguments before the harbourmaster gave up. He clicked his fingers under Vallon’s nose.
‘We still have to pay harbour dues,’ said Raul. ‘Best pay up.’
Vallon put on a show of anger before parting with the money. Sweyn tucked it away and climbed into the boat with David. Snorri hesitated.
‘We can’t go anywhere without a pilot,’ Vallon reminded him.
Snorri left and the sailboat pulled away. It was evening, the islands black under the westering sun.
Raul put down his crossbow and rolled his shoulders. ‘We ain’t made any friends here. Better keep a sharp lookout.’
Thick cloud sagged low in the morning sky. Fitful gusts from the west made Shearwater hunt around her mooring. A few fishing boats began working in the shelter of Kirkwall bay. The morning wore on and the wind grew stronger.
‘What if David don’t come back?’ Raul said.
‘We’ll sail without him. We’ll pick up another pilot in the Faroes or wait for a convoy from Norway.’
‘Captain, them Faroes ain’t more than fly specks in an ocean of sea.’
‘David must have given you sailing directions.’
‘Oh, aye. Island-hop up to the Shetlands, then sail north-west keeping the ship’s stem a handspan to the left of the pole star. Next day look out for a current of pale water and the day after that head towards a cloud castle, keeping your eyes peeled for weed drifting south … Captain, learning the signs is a life’s work. Even with experienced skippers, not half the ships that leave for Iceland make it. Most turn back. The rest are never heard of again.’
‘Boat heading our way,’ Wayland called.
David was aboard with two men. They ignored Vallon’s waves to come alongside and ran up to the island.
‘The harbourmaster’s forbidden David to board in case we make a run for it,’ said Raul. ‘Sweyn says we have to be in harbour before dark or he’ll impound Shearwater.’
‘To hell with the harbourmaster. Let’s find out what Snorri’s been up to.’
They rowed to the island and questioned David at length. Raul turned to Vallon with a glow of self-vindication. ‘I told you Snorri was in up to the hubs. First thing he did was go to an ale house. David was too canny to go in himself. Instead, he paid a man to skulk and it was money well spent. First of all Snorri made enquiries about his kinsmen from Hordaland. Someone went to fetch them and after a while two brothers turned up and the three went into a huddle. Then another man came in and they went on with their palaver.’
‘Any idea what they talked about?’
‘They took good care no one could hear. After a time they left and rode away to the brothers’ farm. There wasn’t more the spy could do, so he went back and told David what he’d seen. Now the thing is, none of the men Snorri met owns a ship ’cept for maybe a little fishing boat. And David spent this morning down at the harbour, checking if anyone had been asking about ships for charter. Snorri never showed his ugly face the whole while. I told you he was a bald-faced liar.’
‘Here he comes,’ said Wayland.
A fishing boat approached, crewed by four men. Vallon and his men returned to Shearwater.
‘Three of them are the ones that were with Snorri. Captain, we can raise the sail and be out of here before they come alongside.’
Vallon’s jaw worked. ‘Not yet. I warned Snorri what would happen if he broke our agreement.’
Snorri hove up with a grin. His escort also wore expressions of such good cheer that Raul spat in disbelief. ‘Look at them. Don’t tell me they ain’t rogues.’
Vallon leaned out. ‘Snorri, tell your friends to stay in the boat.’
Snorri climbed aboard still grinning. ‘I found ye a ship like I said I would. A right good ’un.’
Vallon nodded towards the Norwegians. ‘Owned by those men?’
Snorri looked at them. ‘No, but they put me on to it.’
‘In Kirkwall?’
‘No. She’s in a bay a titty bit down the coast.’
So Snorri’s treachery wasn’t cut and dried. ‘Bring the ship up here so that we can inspect it.’
‘Against this wind? Cap’n, we’d best shift before it gets any stronger.’
‘We have to discuss it,’ said Vallon. He drew Raul and Wayland to one side.
‘He’s lying,’ said Raul. ‘Why waste any more time on him?’
Wayland nodded agreement.
Vallon stretched his mouth and clacked his teeth. ‘That leaves us with no choice but to take Shearwater. Raul, persuade David to pilot us to the Faroes. He can name his fee within reason.’
‘I already tried. He don’t want any part in piracy and he ain’t going against the harbourmaster’s orders. He’s got his livelihood to consider.’
‘Then we’ll do without him.’
‘It’s awful bad timing, Captain. There’s filthy weather brewing.’
The sea was already showing its teeth. ‘It can’t be helped.’
‘What do you plan to do with Snorri?’
‘Get rid of him.’
‘About time.’
Vallon went up to him. ‘How much does your friend want for his ship?’
‘Negotiable, I’d say.’
‘We’ll take a look at it. I’m not taking your friends on board. They can either row back to Kirkwall or accept a tow.’
The Norwegians tied a line to Shearwater’s stern. The crew raised anchor, brought the ship about and hoisted sail. Shearwater gathered way. David remained on the island and didn’t raise his hand in response to Vallon’s wave.
Snorri had taken the tiller.
‘Why did you let his cronies tag along?’ Raul asked.
‘You’ll see,’ said Vallon. He watched the shore to starboard. They passed a small bay. He turned and shouted into the wind. ‘How much further?’
‘Around the next headland.’
Sure enough, when they cleared the cape, Vallon saw a ship moored at the end of the bay.
Snorri began to bring the ship round. ‘I told ye I’d find ye a charter.’
‘Cut the tow,’ Vallon told Raul. ‘Wayland, prepare to take the helm.’
Raul ran to the stern and slashed the line tethering the boat. Its crew cried out and Snorri ran from the tiller and clawed at him. ‘What are ye doing?’ He turned
blasted eyes on Vallon. ‘What are ye doing?’
Vallon stepped forward and shoved a packet of silver down his tunic. ‘That’s payment in full.’ He pushed Snorri towards the stern. ‘Jump while your friends are close enough to save you.’
‘Jump from me own ship?’
The boat’s crew were fitting oars.
‘You’ll drown if you wait any longer.’
Snorri patted the silver. ‘Ye said ye’d pay me forty pounds for me ship. There ain’t one-quarter of that here.’
‘Forty pounds of silver would drag you to the bottom. Raul, throw him overboard.’
‘Wait! I’ll take ye to Iceland like ye want.’ Snorri’s voice rose to a scream as Raul clinched him in a bear-hug and lifted him kicking to the stem. ‘Curse ye! Curse ye all!’ He was still cursing when Raul pitched him into the sea.
He disappeared and Vallon thought he’d gone. Then his face bobbed up. The boat rowed towards him. Shearwater was running fast downwind and Vallon didn’t see if it reached him in time.
Raul glared at Vallon. ‘You might as well have hanged him. Stretching his neck in front of the harbourmaster wouldn’t get us into any more trouble than what you’ve just done. Throwing him off his ship in front of witnesses … Why didn’t ye let me cut his throat on the quiet?’
‘Remember who you’re speaking to,’ Vallon snapped. The islands were merging into a darkening haze. The wind hummed in the shrouds and whisked foam from the grey-green waves. ‘I’m appointing you sailing master. Prepare the ship for the storm.’
XXI
The wind was blowing half a gale, shredding the wavetops into ribbons. Raul ordered the crew to tie down everything that wasn’t fixed. Hero and Richard were given the job of packing the clay vessels in straw. Garrick and Wayland struggled to secure the timber. The logs had been stacked in a wooden cradle fixed to the beams, but Raul was worried that they would shift in heavy seas and ordered them to be lashed tight.
Down in the hold was a horrible place to be. Hero could hear seams straining and the mast groaning in its socket. Each time a wave whacked the hull, he expected to see the planking give way and the ocean flood in. As Shearwater left the lee of the Orkneys and met the Atlantic rollers, the pitching settled into a longer rhythm of stomach-churning swoops. The mast head no longer jerked and twitched, but swung in wild rotations.
Hero finished his task and climbed on deck. They were racing tight-reefed before the wind, the swell running so high that down in the troughs he could see only the crests directly fore and aft. They looked almost as tall as Shearwater’s mast. He made his way to the helm, flailing for balance and then fetching up against the side at a skittering run. The wind droned so loud in the rigging that he had to shout.
‘I can’t see land. I thought we were meant to use the islands as stepping stones.’
‘Wind’s backing south,’ yelled Raul. ‘I don’t know how far east the Orkneys go. Can’t risk being driven on to a lee shore.’
Shearwater slid into another trough, burying herself to within a foot of the gunwale. Spray flew the length of the ship. Hero clung to a shroud. ‘The waves will swallow us.’
Raul slapped the tiller. ‘No, they won’t. Look how smoothly the old lady rides — like a cow on skates. Ain’t nothing to do except sit it out. Tie yourself to a line just in case.’
Hero huddled next to Richard on the stern thwart. Garrick tied ropes around their waists and made the ends fast through an oar port. The wind yowled in the shrouds. Fear squatted like a dog in Hero’s chest. A wave pitched him onto the deck. He hooked his hands around the back of the thwart, shifting his hold as the ship rose and fell. Each time the deck lifted, his stomach dropped away into his feet; each time it sank, his stomach climbed into his throat. Richard hunched over beside him, strings of yellow bile dangling from his chin. With the coming of night, Hero couldn’t see the waves before they struck and had to anticipate when to brace. His hands seized into claws. A wave catching them broadside staggered the ship and convulsed him with water so cold that he couldn’t breathe. Richard clutched him.
‘We’re going to die!’
‘I don’t care!’
A hand groped at his shoulder. ‘Richard?’ cried Vallon.
‘It’s Hero. Richard’s beside me.’
‘Good lads. How are you bearing up?’
‘Awful.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
With a clap on the back, Vallon was gone. Hero couldn’t imagine how he’d get through the night. Nothing but din and blackness, the screaming wind and swooping waves. Eventually the sheer brutality of the elements battered him into a stunned trance, dulling terror and shutting down his mind.
He raised his stinging eyes for the thousandth time to see the first grey signs of day. Grinning crests leered out of the dark and Richard’s face showed as something more definite than a blur.
Black cloud patches still raced past, but the pall was thinning. The sun rose and shot livid rays through the wrack. Hero worked his neck from side to side, trying to loosen sinews stretched as taut as hawsers. He fumbled at his safety line with fingers as useless as sticks. He stood, fell back again, and then propped himself shivering against the gunwale and looked out across the white-maned rollers. Raul was still at the helm, working the tiller to keep Shearwater at right angles to the swell. Every so often he looked behind him to read the oncoming sea. Hero was about to struggle forward when Raul made another inspection and gaped.
Hero turned. What he saw was so unexpected that at first he thought exhaustion had warped his sense of perception. The horizon loomed above him like a green-black wall, only the wall was moving and his heart stopped as he realised that it was a rogue wave sweeping soundlessly up on them, foam beginning to cream along its crest and slide down its face. The wind dropped to nothing and there was an ear-popping silence. Shearwater was in the lee of the wave, shut off from the storm. Hero flung himself down and gripped the thwart just before the wave struck. It caught Shearwater by the stern and swung her up and up until Hero, staring terror-stricken down the ship’s length, was certain it would pitch stern over stem. For a moment that seemed to last for ever the ship hung weightless on the peak, then the crest surged past and Hero toppled backwards as Shearwater slid into the following trough. Raul was screaming something and Hero grabbed the thwart, aware that another roller was about to hit. It smashed over the stern and boiled across the deck, scraping him off the thwart and tumbling him over the side. His lifeline brought him up with a shock and he took water into his lungs.
He was underwater, rolling through a green chaos of bubbles, unable to tell up from down. He popped to the surface and for a moment saw Wayland and Garrick leaning out to grab his lifeline. Another wave swept him back under and dragged him deep. The sea roared in his ears and then he felt the rope yank tight around his waist and he came flailing into the light. Wayland dragged him to the side and Garrick hauled him gasping and choking on to the deck.
Wayland’s anxious face stared at him. ‘Are you hurt?’
Hero couldn’t speak. His lungs felt like they’d been scoured with sand.
Wayland took him under his armpits and hoisted him into a sitting position. The stern thwart was empty. He saw the frayed end of a safety line trailing on the deck.
‘Richard!’
‘He’s alive,’ said Wayland. ‘The wave tossed him into the hold. Everyone’s safe, but we’ve been swamped. We have to bail out before another wave hits.’
Hero managed to nod through another fit of coughing. Wayland lifted him to his feet. He saw Richard standing dumbfounded in the hold, water sloshing up to his thighs. Garrick was supporting him, fending off barrels of salt that had broken loose and were surging up and down the hold. Shearwater had lost a foot of buoyancy and rode as ponderously as a log. Vallon threw a bucket at Hero.
‘You and Richard stay on deck.’
Hero stared at the flooded hold. Bailing would be as effective as taking a spoon to a lake.
‘We ain’t going to sink,’ Raul shouted. ‘The timber will keep us afloat even if we fill to the gunwales. Now get bailing before we ship another wave.’
Wayland had already thrown himself into the task, scooping water as fast as he could and swinging the bucket up to Syth. Garrick and Vallon joined him. Up on deck Hero laboured away mechanically. The wind was falling and the clouds were breaking.
All morning they toiled and the water level was only a couple of inches lower than when they’d started. There came a time when Hero tried to raise his bucket and couldn’t.
‘That’s enough for now,’ said Vallon.
They ate cold rations in their soaking clothes and then resumed their toil. The wind had slackened to a light southerly, and though the swell still ran high, the danger of swamping was receding. Raul even raised a scrap of sail to give better steerage.
It was late evening before they’d emptied the hold. Hero crawled out weeping from the pain in his hands. The air had fallen still. A fiery reef stretched along the horizon. Slowly the whole sky turned red, staining the sea crimson and flooding the faces of the company. Then the light died and the clouds cooled down through green to black. Venus glowed in the west, Mars twinkled red and green. The Pole Star appeared. They were alone on the ocean.
Hero’s teeth chattered. ‘Where do you think we are?’ he asked Raul.
Raul’s beard was grey with salt. ‘Must have cleared the Shetlands by now. The Faroes should be about two days to the north-west.’
Hero looked at the rollers sweeping past. ‘We might already be too far north. I think we should set a course due west.’
Raul seemed to juggle directions in his hands. ‘You sure about that?’
‘No.’
‘West it is,’ said Raul. He leaned against the tiller and Shearwater turned, trailing a phosphorescent wake.
Hero slept right through the next day in his exhaustion. He woke to a lulling motion, the sail rippling above him. The sun had gone down, its resting place marked by a golden plume of cloud fading to pink. Far out on the still waters, the glossy black flukes of a whale arched out of the sea and slapped down in a soundless fountain of spray.
Hawk Quest Page 29