His crewman was still unimpressed. ‘Lucky for him he did,’ he said, but Zavac was shaking his head at him.
‘Don’t underestimate them, Vargas. That would be a big mistake. So how did they find out about us?’
‘Well, obviously Rikard told them we’d be heading down the Dan, but they probably didn’t trust him. When I saw them, they were asking if anyone had seen the Raven passing. One drunken old fool told them he’d seen us. Actually shouted about it in the tavern. They left pretty smartly after that and I followed them back to their ship.’
Zavac swore quietly. ‘Stupid old fool. Everyone on this river knows you don’t give out information to strangers. I’d like to get my hands on him.’
‘Too late.’ Vargas smiled mirthlessly. ‘I already have. I slipped a knife into him on the way out. Left him looking as if he was sleeping it off at the table.’
‘Good!’ Zavac said viciously. ‘What happened next?’
‘I followed them back to their ship, and watched as they set Rikard free. He’d been chained to the mast. The one-handed one gave him some money and they let him go. I went down a few alleys and got ahead of him.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘And let me say, his betraying days are over. After I dealt with him, I slipped out of the harbour and headed down here to let you know the news.’
‘So they’re only a day or two behind us,’ Zavac said.
‘A little more than that. They wouldn’t have been allowed to leave harbour until sunrise. And even then I think they might have been detained.’ He saw the questioning look on the other man’s face and explained. ‘I left Rikard where his body would be easily found. The authorities knew he was from the Skandian ship. And I left some other evidence. He had three Limmatan coins that they paid him off with. I left them in his purse. Odds were they’re the only ship in harbour paying their way with Limmatan nobles.’
‘So the authorities would have held them for questioning,’ Zavac said slowly.
Vargas nodded. ‘Almost certainly. If only to get a nice big bribe for themselves. So we have a little time. But I thought maybe we could arrange to have them detained more permanently here in Bayrath. After all, the Gatmeister’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?’
The Gatmeister was the elected official who ruled the large river port. His position was the equivalent of a town mayor.
‘He’s a friend of anyone with a deep enough purse,’ Zavac said cynically. ‘Fortunately, mine is pretty deep.’
‘And nobody goes up or down the river without his permission,’ Vargas said.
Which was the crux of the matter. The citizens of Bayrath had chosen to build their city at a point where the river narrowed. The banks were only two hundred metres apart at the narrowest spot. The Bayrath town council had narrowed this gap further by building jetties out from either side. Then they closed the gap between the jetties with a boom made from three massive logs.
No ship could proceed up or down the Dan River unless they paid a hefty toll to the town – or, more correctly, to the Gatmeister himself.
Doutro, the Gatmeister of Bayrath, looked at the pile of five heavy gold coins on the table before him. He was an impressive sight, tall and well built, with a hawk nose, prominent cheekbones and dark brown, deep-set eyes. His dark hair was greying at the edge, which gave him a distinguished look. This was accentuated by the gold-trimmed purple robe he wore, and the thin gold circlet set on his head.
‘So you’re saying you’d like this ship delayed?’ he said. His manner was noncommittal.
Zavac nodded. ‘The ship and its crew. There are nine of them. An old Skandian with one arm, and eight boys.’
‘And how long should I detain them?’
Zavac carefully added another five gold coins to the stack on the table, placing each one with exaggerated care.
‘Permanently would be good,’ he said.
The Gatmeister pursed his lips. Another gold coin was placed beside the ten already stacked.
‘Of course, I’d need some pretext to arrest them,’ he said.
‘They killed Rikard,’ Zavac told him, then added by way of explanation, ‘Nagy’s first mate on Stingray.’
Most of the pirates who frequented Raguza and travelled up and down the Dan were well known to the Gatmeister. They and the town enjoyed a long-established and profitable business relationship. The pirates paid the toll to the Gatmeister whenever they passed through the boom – which was quite often. In return, he allowed them a generous discount. The two groups, pirates and town council, did well out of each other. And when a ship’s captain needed the occasional favour – as Zavac did now – the Gatmeister was always willing to consider granting it.
For a price.
Apparently, that price was eleven large gold coins. Doutro nodded slowly. He didn’t care whether they had killed Rikard or not. In truth, he didn’t care if Rikard were dead or not. But the first mate’s murder provided him with the thin excuse that was all he would need to arrest the Heron’s crew.
‘So I could hold them on suspicion of murder. Then I can try them, find them guilty and hang them,’ he said.
Zavac nodded. ‘And confiscate their property, and their ship.’
Doutro said nothing for a few seconds. Then he reached out and divided the tall stack of coins into three smaller stacks. He opened a drawer on his side of the table and swept the coins into it. They clinked together in a most pleasant way, he thought.
‘I can’t see any problem with that,’ he said.
Heron came round a bend in the river with the wind from her port side. Her prow split the water, throwing up a white bow wave. Behind her, the wake of disturbed water was arrow straight.
‘There’s a town up ahead!’ Stefan called from the bow. It was an unnecessary warning. Nobody could miss the sprawling town, almost a city, that lay on the eastern bank of the river.
Hal had taken the opportunity to buy a map of the river before they left Krall. It was rough and a little shy on detail, but better than nothing.
‘That’ll be Bayrath,’ he said. ‘The map shows it’s where the river narrows. Ease the sail, boys, while we take a look.’
He called this last instruction to the twins. Obediently, they let the sail out a little, easing the driving force of the wind against it. Heron slowed, the loud hiss of her bow wave dying down to a quiet murmur.
‘What’s that in the river?’ Lydia asked, pointing ahead to the narrow gap between the jetties that were built out from either bank. There was a dark line across the surface of the water. Hal shook his head, frowning.
‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘The map doesn’t show anything.’
‘It’s a boom,’ Thorn said quietly. He pointed to the two craft moored at the ends of the two jetties. Each had a derrick – a kind of crane – set amidships, in place of a mast. As they drew closer, they could see heavy cables running at an angle from the derricks, down into the river. ‘Those two boats control it, letting it open or shut to allow traffic through.’
‘Why would they want to shut it?’ Stig asked.
Thorn looked at him. ‘So they can make people pay them to open it. It’s called a toll,’ he added patiently.
Stig shook his head in disgust. ‘That’s outrageous!’ he said. ‘Do they think they own the whole river? They have no right to restrict traffic.’
‘They don’t have to own the whole river,’ Thorn replied. ‘Just this part of it. As far as they’re concerned, we can travel the rest of it without charge.’
‘Let go the sheets and lower the sail,’ Hal called quietly. As the sail came down, the way slowly fell off the ship and she drifted, rocking gently. The wavelets made their usual pok-pok-pok sound against the timber hull.
The boom was a little past the town and its harbour. As Hal studied it, Stig was still voicing his disgust with the people who inhabited the riverside towns.
‘They’re nothing but parasites, these people!’ he said. ‘They constantly have their hands out, demanding money from honest
travellers. First Krall, now this. Somebody should bring a fleet of wolfships down here and burn them out.’
Thorn grinned at him. ‘Spoken like a true sea wolf, Stig. There’s hope for you yet.’
‘Well, maybe when I’m older, I might do just that,’ Stig threatened.
Hal had been studying the eastern jetty and he finally made out what he was looking for – a timber building with the circle and twin bars symbol outside it. There were mooring facilities close to it.
‘Looks like that’s the toll office,’ he said. ‘Run out the oars and we’ll go and pay whatever they’re asking.’
They rowed steadily across the river. Hal took the Heron in on a curving course, bringing her round to run at a shallow angle to the jetty. When he judged the moment was right, he ordered the rowers to ship their oars, and hauled on the tiller in the last few metres to bring the ship alongside, almost parallel. Stig, ready on the bulwark, jumped up onto the jetty and hurried to secure her bow and stern. Jesper and Stefan tossed the wicker fenders overside to protect the hull from the rough timbers of the jetty.
‘Well,’ said Thorn, ‘here we go again. This is getting to be all too familiar.’
But this time, things turned out to be quite different. As he stepped up, with one foot on the bulwark and the other on the timber decking of the jetty, there was a rush of feet and a party of armed men emerged from the toll office and from behind the building. They fanned out quickly into a semi-circle, weapons drawn, surrounding Stig and Thorn, who were the only members of the crew ashore.
Thorn’s left hand dropped to the hilt of his saxe as he quickly assessed the situation. Then he withdrew it. There were at least twenty of them, he realised. And they were all fully armed, carrying shields and wearing chain mail armour and helmets. Half a dozen of them had short, thick-limbed recurve bows, arrows on the string and half drawn. The odds were simply too great.
One of their number, an officer, judging by the superior quality of his armour, stepped forward as he saw Thorn’s hand fall away from the heavy knife.
‘Good thinking, northman,’ he said. ‘But I think I’d like to see you get rid of that knife altogether.’
He gestured with his sword point at the saxe hanging by Thorn’s waist. Realising he had no alternative, Thorn unbuckled his belt with his left hand, coiled it around the sheathed saxe, and tossed it into the ship. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stig measuring the distance to the nearest of the soldiers. His hand was hovering close to the hilt of his own saxe. Thorn wasn’t sure if the officer had noticed or not. But he was reasonably confident that at least two of the bowmen had.
‘Forget it, Stig,’ he said quietly. The youth looked at him quickly, then realised that Thorn was making good sense. He relaxed, his tensed shoulders falling slightly. Then he too unbuckled his knife belt and tossed it onboard the ship.
‘Now the rest of you,’ the officer ordered, gesturing with his sword at the crew of the Heron, crouched warily on the ship. They turned to Hal, who shrugged and nodded.
‘Do it,’ he said, and there was a series of dull thuds as the heavy knives fell to the decking. Before anyone could tell him not to, Edvin gathered the weapons and stowed them in a locker beside the rowing benches.
‘Leave them,’ the officer ordered belatedly. Then, seeing that Edvin had already stowed the knives, he shrugged. ‘Never mind. Let’s have you all up here on the jetty. One at a time.’
‘I suppose there’s no point in my asking you what’s going on?’ Thorn said.
The officer raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I’m arresting you. For murder.’
‘Murder?’ Hal said, unable to contain himself. ‘Who did we murder? We only just got here!’
The officer eyed him dispassionately. ‘Then you’re obviously very dangerous people to have worked so fast,’ he said. ‘My orders are to take you to the Gatmeister for interrogation.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Hal replied. But Thorn laid a calming hand on his arm.
‘You’re wasting your breath. I think I see Zavac’s hand behind all this.’ He was watching the captain as he said the words and he saw the man’s involuntary eye movement, flicking up to look at him, then away again. It confirmed his suspicion.
‘Captain!’ one of the soldiers called, and the officer turned. The soldier in question was holding Lydia by the arm. ‘There’s a girl here!’
Ingvar rumbled angrily, but Hal spoke quickly to him.
‘Be quiet, Ingvar,’ he said in an undertone. Reluctantly, the giant boy fell silent. The captain was studying a sheet of paper he had taken from inside his tunic. The arrest warrant, Hal realised. He frowned over the page.
‘Nothing here about a girl,’ he said. ‘I’m to arrest a one-armed Skandian and eight boys.’
‘I’m not one of them, Captain!’ Lydia said quickly. She moved forward, her hands clasped together in supplication. ‘You can see I’m not a Skandian!’
The captain studied her, then looked at the rest of the crew. They were mostly fair skinned and blue eyed. She was dark haired, with olive skin. She definitely didn’t look like a Skandian.
‘Treacherous cow!’ Jesper muttered. Then he grunted in pain as Stig shot an elbow into his ribs to silence him.
‘Shut up, you fool!’ Stig said, out of the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m just a passenger! I paid them for passage down the river!’ Lydia was saying, wringing her hands before her. ‘I’m from Krall. My parents are dead and I’m going to live with my uncle in Raguza.’ She glared at Thorn. ‘And they took advantage of me. They charged me double the going rate for my fare!’ she added angrily.
Not bad, Thorn thought. Then, in a loud voice, he snarled at her.
‘You were happy enough to pay when you came to us, girl! You pleaded with us to take you on board! You couldn’t thank us enough then, could you? I’ll wager you were in trouble in Krall and had to get away in a hurry. I told the boys you’d be nothing but bad luck, but you won them over with your big brown eyes!’
‘Quiet,’ the captain said distractedly. He studied the warrant again. There was definitely no mention of a girl. There was no order for her arrest and her story was logical. He knew from his briefing that the Skandians were pursuing a ship that was headed for Raguza. He came to a decision.
‘All right,’ he said to her. ‘You’ll come with us. I’ll let the Gatmeister decide what to do with you. The rest of you form up in pairs.’
The Herons shuffled into two lines, and the armed men formed up around them, weapons drawn and ready. Lydia, before the captain could say otherwise, took her place beside him, subtly distancing herself from the crew.
‘Sergeant,’ the captain said. But before the sergeant could call the order to move, Thorn turned to the captain.
‘One thing,’ he said. ‘Just to satisfy my curiosity, who is it we’re supposed to have murdered?’
The captain turned a superior gaze on him, his chin raised slightly to indicate his contempt for Skandians in general, and this ragged, one-armed beggar of a man in particular.
‘He was a Magyaran,’ he said loftily. ‘An honest, hard-working sailor.’
Thorn snorted in wry amusement. ‘No such person ever came out of Magyara,’ he said. ‘The place is a den of pirates and thieves. Does this paragon of a man happen to have a name? It’s only fair if you’re going to arrest me that you tell me who I’ve killed.’
The captain fumbled in his breast pocket again for the warrant. He checked the name on it, then folded it again and put it away.
‘His name was Rikard,’ he said.
The name was greeted with a chorus of groans from the Heron’s crew. He arched his eyebrows as he looked at them.
‘I see you’ve heard of him,’ he said. ‘That does nothing to help your case.’
‘Oh yes, we’ve heard of him,’ Thorn said. ‘It’s amazing how a dead man like him can keep popping up to cause us trouble.’
Doutro looked up as the prisoners filed
into his office and were herded into line in front of the large table that served as his desk. Always a cautious man, he had ordered that their hands be bound in front of them before they were brought in.
They were all surprisingly young, he noted, except for the one he took to be their leader. He was old, his hair, beard and moustache were grey and shaggy and untrimmed and his clothes were patched and ragged. The rest of the crew were dressed in rough seaman’s clothing – a mixture of leather or sheepskin vests and woollen shirts and pants. They all wore sealskin sea boots and he noted with mild curiosity that four of them were wearing rather smart-looking knitted watch caps.
He waited for at least a minute without saying anything, simply running his eyes up and down the line as if measuring them. Usually, he found this technique to be effective in making prisoners start to talk – babbling and protesting and often inadvertently revealing facts that they would rather have kept to themselves. But this group didn’t take the bait. They stood silently, eyeing him. One of them, a giant of a boy, was peering round the room, squinting as he tried to make out details. The others all returned his gaze evenly. Finally, a little annoyed, he had to break the silence himself.
‘So, what do you have to say for yourselves?’
He addressed the older man, assuming he would be their spokesman. The Skandian shrugged, twisted his lips and answered.
‘Aside from the fact that this is a load of nonsense? Nothing really.’
Doutro raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re accused of murder and you call it a load of nonsense?’ he said. ‘I’d say it’s a pretty serious matter.’
‘We were questioned by the authorities in Krall. They cleared us of any suspicion of Rikard’s murder,’ Thorn told him. As he said the Magyaran’s name, Doutro’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise.
‘So you admit you know the victim’s name?’ he said. ‘That’s suspicious.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Thorn replied. The ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘After all, your captain told us his name.’
The Hunters Page 10