‘Yes. I suppose you’re right,’ Hal said heavily. But Jesper was only just warming to his theme.
‘And even if I did manage to make it on board undetected, Raven has – what, fifty men in her crew? Even if half of them were ashore, I’d have to sneak past twenty or thirty men on an open deck, then find the access hatch to Zavac’s sleeping cabin. Then get in and hope he wasn’t snoozing away in there. And then, finally, I’d have to do it all again on the way out. Sorry, Hal. I don’t think it can be done.’
For a few moments, the four of them sat, disconsolately staring at the table and the remnants of the meal in front of them. A waiter came and cleared it away and still they sat in silence, thinking over Jesper’s words. The waiter looked at them curiously, then returned with the reckoning.
Hal paid it. He had sold a second emerald to a gem trader in the city, to provide funds for the crew. Surprisingly for someone in a pirate haven, the trader had given him a very fair price.
Then again, he thought, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. Cheating people who made their living killing and robbing others was probably not a good career move.
They left the eating house, emerging onto a broad, well-lit street that wound back down to the harbour. For a moment, they stood uncertainly. Then Hal broke the downcast silence that had settled over them.
‘I guess we’ll have to find another way.’
Jesper hunched his shoulders, shoving his hands through his belt. ‘Sorry, Hal. I just don’t think I could pull it off.’
Hal slapped him on the back. ‘Not your fault, Jesper. We’ll come up with something else.’
They started down the street towards the harbour. They had gone fifty metres when they passed the dark mouth of a narrow alley running off to the left. As they did, Lydia stopped, her head cocked to one side.
‘What was that?’ she said. The three boys all looked at her, puzzled.
‘What?’ Stig asked. But she held up her hand for silence and this time they all heard it. A faint voice from the alley, weak and high-pitched.
‘Hal! Help m–’ The voice was cut off suddenly, as if a hand had been suddenly clamped over the speaker’s mouth.
‘Was that Edvin?’ Jesper asked. The voice was distorted and weak. But whoever it was had called Hal by name. It had to be one of their crew. They all reached the same decision at the same moment.
‘Come on!’ said Hal and led them in a rush into the narrow alley. It was pitch black after the brightly lit main street, but in a minute or two their eyes became accustomed to the darkness. They ran deeper into the alley but there was no further sound. Edvin, if it had been Edvin, had been silenced. Hal’s mouth went dry as he wondered what had happened to his crewman.
Stig, who had taken the lead from Hal, suddenly called out angrily and they heard him collide with something and stagger back. Peering closely, Hal saw that the alley ended in a blank wall. Stig had run headlong into it and was nursing a cut on his forehead, cursing quietly. Hal’s hand dropped to the hilt of his saxe.
‘I don’t like the look of this,’ he said. He realised now that they had been tricked. They should never have run pell-mell into the darkness of this alley, not knowing who or what might be waiting for them.
‘Stay close, everyone,’ he said and the small group instinctively moved closer together. Stig had stopped his swearing now. He mopped a trickle of blood away from his eyes and quietly drew his saxe. The muted sound of steel sliding against leather and wool was strangely comforting.
They faced back the way they had come. The entrance to the alley was no longer visible. It had taken a sharp curve halfway in. But now they saw a shaft of light suddenly illuminate the dark, narrow space twenty metres away. A door in one of the buildings lining the alley had opened, emitting bright lamplight from inside.
It emitted something else as well. Dark figures emerged from the doorway and moved towards them – armed men, silhouetted by the yellow light behind them.
‘I guess it wasn’t Edvin,’ Hal said.
‘Backs to the wall, everyone.’ Stig’s voice was calm and steady. He was always at his best when violent action was imminent, Hal thought. Hal and Jesper drew their saxes. Lydia already had her long, razor-sharp dirk ready. The four of them shuffled carefully backwards, until they felt the rough brickwork behind them. At least now, Hal thought, they were safe from attack from the rear.
Although ‘safe’ might not be the best word for this situation. He could see now that the shadowy figures of the men advancing down the alley were armed with a selection of swords, clubs and axes. Armed only with saxes and a dirk, the Herons were at a big disadvantage.
‘So much for the “no weapons in the town” rule,’ Jesper muttered bitterly. ‘I always knew that obeying the law would get me into trouble some day.’
Stig watched through slitted eyes as the men slowly advanced on the small group of Herons. Without thinking about it, he had assumed command. This was his area of expertise, after all. He was the warrior among them and he was bigger, stronger and faster than Hal or Jesper. It was up to him to lead the defence.
The gang paused uncertainly. They were only a few metres away now and Stig realised what was going through their minds. Like any rabble, they were all waiting for someone else to take the lead, to make a decision. He recalled something Thorn had told him, during one of their private training sessions.
Take the attack to the enemy. Take the initiative. If you wait for them to come to you, you’re giving them control of the situation.
The eight men couldn’t seem to decide who would launch the first attack. So Stig decided for them. With a loud cry that rang off the stone walls enclosing them, he leapt forward at the nearest swordsman, swinging his saxe in a backhanded stroke.
The saxe was heavy-bladed and razor-sharp, almost a short sword rather than a knife. The thug saw Stig coming at him, his shape blurry in the dim light, and instinctively raised his sword to parry the blow. The two blades rang together and shrieked against each other as Stig’s saxe slid down to the sword’s crosspiece. Instinctively, the other seven attackers had faltered and stepped back in the face of Stig’s unexpected advance. Nobody expected one man to attack eight.
Stig had been counting on that element of surprise and shock. With his blade locked against the sword, he grabbed the swordsman’s right hand with his left, twisting it down and around, bending the wrist back. The man howled in pain and inadvertently leaned forward to try to lessen the twisting pressure on his wrist. As he did so, Stig headbutted him in the face and jerked his wrist one more time.
The sword clattered to the ground. Stig put his shoulder into the man’s chest and sent him reeling back into two of his companions, then bent and scooped up the fallen sword.
The entire sequence of actions took less than two seconds.
Stig retreated now, the sword weaving and darting in front of him like the head of a snake. The gang, their number reduced by one, stood uncertainly. The game had changed. They had set out to attack four virtually unarmed teenagers. Now one of them had a sword and he looked as if he knew how to use it. And while they knew that one man could never hope to match seven, they also knew that if they did attack, there was a good chance that some of them would be injured, or even killed. None of them wanted to be in that number.
Then Vargas, who was among them, took control. His harsh voice lashed them like a whip.
‘Come on! He’s one man! Not even that, he’s a boy! If we come at him from three sides, we can finish him!’
Stig sensed a stirring in the gang as a sense of resolution passed through them. Then Vargas, sensing it as well, yelled the command.
‘Get him!’
The seven men, with Vargas safely in the rear, surged forward in a semi-circle, attempting to envelop Stig. The first man to move had taken two paces when Stig’s sword darted out and back. The thug clutched at his chest, a surprised look on his face, then crumpled to his knees. But Stig wasn’t watching him anymore. He knew he’d str
uck a fatal blow. Now he whirled the sword in a flashing circle and cut at a man on his left. The man parried the blow but was staggered by the power behind it.
Knowing he posed no more threat for a few seconds, Stig reversed his cut and sliced the arm of another with the flashing sword. The man’s hand opened and his club clattered to the cobblestones. Yet another attacker had gone wide to Stig’s right, and he slid in now, a short spear ready to lunge under the Skandian’s guard. As he drew it back, he felt an intense flame of agony in his leg as Lydia’s dirk stabbed deep into his thigh.
Jesper and Hal had noticed that the attackers were getting in their own way, hampering each other and leaving Stig free to slash and lunge at any of them who came close. The two of them stayed back, ready to guard Stig’s rear, as Lydia had just done, but leaving the brunt of the fighting to Stig. Hal watched carefully. He knew Stig would eventually tire. He couldn’t keep up this whirlwind pace indefinitely. He watched for any sign of Stig’s slowing down, ready to take the sword from his friend and carry on the fight whenever it might be necessary.
But it never was.
Suddenly the dark alley rang and reverberated with a terrible sound – a roaring sound that combined rage and bloodlust and uncontrolled fury. A huge figure emerged from the shadows behind the remaining five men. There was a sickening, crunching thud as Vargas, in the rear, turned to see what was happening and was struck by a massive studded club. He fell to the filthy cobbles, stunned.
Thorn kept coming, his massive club-hand rising and falling, then sweeping from side to side, smashing ribs and skulls and arms as he scattered the gang, spilling them like ninepins before him.
And all the time, he kept up that dreadful, wordless war cry.
Stig stepped back, grinning, and grounded his sword, leaning both hands on the hilt. He could tell he wasn’t needed any more as Thorn went through the remaining members of the gang like a battering ram. One of the gang managed to evade him and ran from the alley as if a fiend from the netherworld was after him. Thorn sent another reeling with a casual backhanded sweep of the club. The remaining attacker, trapped between Thorn and his four friends, faced the fearsome, berserking Skandian, holding his heavy war mace protectively in front of him.
Later, recalling the moment, Hal would swear that he saw Thorn’s eyes flash with red fire. The shabby old sea wolf, transformed into a terrible and terrifying instrument of violence, simply lunged the club-hand in a straight-armed punch at the terrified thug. It hit him in the chest and hurled him backwards. Hal and Lydia stepped smartly to one side as the man flew between them, smashing into the brick wall with a sickening sound, then sliding to the ground as his knees gave way.
‘Well, Thorn,’ said Stig in the sudden silence. ‘How very nice to see you.’ He dropped the sword and it rang briefly on the cobbles.
Thorn was breathing deeply as the berserker rage slowly subsided. He realised he was still half crouched in readiness for an attack and slowly stood upright.
‘Good work, Stig,’ he said quietly.
But Hal had stepped forward. ‘Where did you spring from, Thorn? Have you been keeping an eye on us?’
Thorn nodded. ‘Yes. Thought that swine Zavac might try something like this. It’s right up his alley.’ He paused, realising what he’d said. Lydia allowed herself a faint smile.
‘That’s a really terrible pun,’ she said and Thorn nodded apologetically.
‘Not one of my best,’ he admitted. ‘In any event, I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you left Heron earlier tonight. Trouble was, I had to hang back in the main street so you wouldn’t notice me. I didn’t see you turn off into this alley. When I realised that’s where you’d got to, I had to double back.’
‘Well, Stig held them off until you got here,’ Hal said. He slapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘Nicely done, Stig.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Lydia said. ‘That was a brilliant move when you took that sword off the first man.’
Stig flushed with pleasure, conscious that Thorn had turned an approving eye on him. He shrugged.
‘Ah, someone had to do something,’ he said. ‘As Thorn says, make the first move, and make it fast. I . . .’
He stopped as they heard a clatter of boots on the cobbles, and saw lights wavering and reflecting off the alley walls. Then a squad of the town guard, five men under a corporal, rounded the corner and stopped, staring, at the tableau that faced them.
‘What’s going on here? We had a report there was fighting,’ the corporal said warily. Two of his men were carrying torches and their light revealed a scene of carnage in the alley. The cobbles were strewn with unconscious men and scattered weapons. ‘And it looks as if there has been. Don’t you know that the Korpaljo forbids fighting within the boundaries of the city?’
Hal stopped forward. ‘These men attacked us. There were eight of them but one got away. We were simply defending ourselves – as you can see, we’re unarmed and they outnumbered us.’
Unobtrusively, Thorn had allowed his club-hand to fall to his side. In the dim light of the torches, it was virtually unnoticeable. Looking round, the corporal could see that the four young people were armed only with knives, which most seamen carried as a matter of course, while the seven men sprawled on the cobbles had obviously been carrying an assortment of clubs, swords and spears. He frowned.
‘How did you . . .?’ he began, but Hal cut across him, indicating Stig.
‘My friend here disarmed one of them and took his sword. Then, when they attacked us, Thorn heard the noise and came at them from behind.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘They weren’t very good fighters.’
‘Obviously not,’ said the corporal, shaking his head as he surveyed the unconscious bodies littering the alley.
‘Why did they attack you?’ the sergeant asked.
‘We’re from the Skandian ship Heron,’ Hal explained. ‘We had a falling-out today with Zavac, skipper of the Raven. It was in the Korpaljo’s office. He’ll confirm it. I’ll wager these men are from the Raven and Zavac sent them to kill us.’
‘Can you prove that? Do you recognise any of them?’
One of the soldiers with a torch had been examining the dead and unconscious gang members. As he reached Vargas, he held the torch down to illuminate the man’s face.
‘This one’s alive, corporal,’ he said.
Thorn stepped forward as the soldier went to move the torch away. He stopped him and studied Vargas’s face. The man was familiar. Then he remembered where he’d seen him before.
‘I know this one. He was in the tavern in Krall,’ he said, looking up at Hal. ‘I’ll wager he’s one of Zavac’s crew.’
The corporal chewed on the ends of his moustache, considering the situation. On the whole, he tended to believe Hal’s story. It was highly unlikely that one older man and four teenagers, one of them a girl, would attack seven or eight heavily armed men – all of whom looked to be warriors. And he’d heard talk that Zavac had been in trouble with the Korpaljo earlier in the day. He came a decision.
‘Very well. Get back to your ship. And present yourselves at the Korpal building tomorrow at ten. The Korpaljo will want to hold an inquiry into this. If he decides that Zavac’s crew started the fight, they’ll be punished.’
He turned to one of his soldiers. ‘Get extra men from headquarters and clean up around here. The dead ones can go to the mortuary. Any still alive, take them to the infirmary. But keep them under guard.’
He stepped back and pushed his helmet back off his brow, still wondering about what had happened here. How had these five managed to cause such havoc among their attackers? He looked at the young Skandians again. The tall one looked pretty capable, he thought. But the other two were smaller than him and not as heavily built. Any one of the pirates would have been bigger and stronger. And of course, the fourth member of the group was a girl. She’d hardly count for anything in a fight, he thought, having no idea how very wrong he was in that assumption.
As for the older man, he noticed now that he had some kind of false arm. He couldn’t see any details, but he noticed the dull gleam of the polished wood where the flickering torchlight reflected from it. The northman was holding it close by his side, partially concealing it from view. Probably embarrassed him if people took too much notice of it. A one-armed man and four kids, he thought. Would wonders never cease?
It was beyond him. But he wasn’t paid to solve problems like this. He decided he’d leave it to the Korpaljo to get to the bottom of things.
‘Are you finished with us?’ Hal asked.
The corporal nodded distractedly. ‘Yes. Yes. You can go. But be at the Korpal building tomorrow and don’t try to leave Raguza in the meantime. I’ll set a guard over your ship to make sure of it.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Hal said. The corporal eyed him cynically.
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘But I’m going to do it anyway. And remember, the harbour is patrolled by guard boats night and day.’
Hal nodded. He had no intention of trying to leave Raguza. He gestured to his friends and the five of them trooped out of the alley and down the hill towards the harbour.
‘What if it turns out they’re not from Zavac’s crew?’ Jesper asked. Hal glanced at him.
‘They are,’ he said grimly.
The evidence against Zavac was overwhelming.
Naturally, he swore on the gods of several different religions, none of which counted him as a devoted follower, that he knew nothing about the fight in the alley. But two town guardsmen who were stationed in Goathead Bay recognised Vargas and some of the other men as coming from Raven’s crew.
Even then, Zavac might still have claimed innocence. The evidence against him was all circumstantial. But the crucial moment came when one of the survivors of the fight in the alley, offered immunity from punishment if he testified, swore to the Korpaljo that Zavac had sent him and seven others to ambush the Skandians and kill them.
The Hunters Page 24