The Caldera Read online

  “All right, Thorn, let him go,” Hal said after a few more seconds.

  Thorn released the twisting grip on Myrgos’s arm and shoved him back.

  “Now get out of here,” Hal told the two pirates, and they backed away toward the entrance, their faces black with rage. As they reached the door, Myrgos called across the now-silent room.

  “I’ll kill you for this, Skandian. All of you!”

  Then he flinched violently as a meter-long dart slammed into the doorjamb by his head and sat there, quivering. Lydia smiled grimly at him.

  “So you keep saying,” she said.

  Myrgos looked at the savage missile, its steel head buried in the hardwood doorjamb. He paled, then turned and hurried out, Demos close behind him.

  “I think we’ll use the rear exit,” Hal said.

  chaptertwenty-six

  The rest of the night passed without further incident—although Hal set a double guard for the night, with one sentry on the beach watching for potential enemies approaching landward and another in the stern of the ship, keeping an eye on the bay.

  The following morning, the crew were sitting down to breakfast when Thorn nudged Hal and pointed to the edge of the beach. A troop of armed men, carrying spears and shields and with swords at their waists, were marching in a double file down the sand toward them.

  They wore no uniform as such, with each man equipped with a different form of armor and helmet. Some wore brass-studded leather vests and others had shirts of chain mail. Some helmets were simple flat-topped metal caps; others were more ornate, cone shaped or spiked and, in some instances, with metal wings flaring out to the sides.

  But each man wore a yellow armband round his upper arm, embossed with a symbol of a black dolphin.

  Hal rose from the circle around the cooking fire and took a few paces toward the approaching men. There were ten of them in two files, he saw, with an eleventh marching three paces ahead of them. This man held up his hand in an unmistakable gesture as they drew closer to the interested circle of spectators round the breakfast fire, and the men halted.

  Their close-order drill was rather ragged and they obviously didn’t practice too often. But they handled their weapons with a familiarity that indicated that their marching had no bearing on their fighting efficiency.

  The leader regarded Hal for several seconds, sizing him up. Then he barked a question.

  “Your name?”

  Hal returned the look, letting his eyes rove over the two files of men halted behind the speaker. He didn’t like the peremptory tone the man had adopted.

  “Who’s asking?” he said finally, his tone as challenging as the other man’s had been. But the newcomer showed no sign of apology.

  “Fergil Drommond,” he said. “I’m a commander in the Citizens’ Vigilance Committee.”

  Hal raised an eyebrow. “Never heard of them,” he said, although the name smacked of the sort of unofficial organization that looked to assert an authority to which they had no legal right.

  Their fisherman friend from the day before had seen the men approaching and he joined Hal now. “They’re the nearest thing we have to a guard patrol here,” he said quietly.

  Hal glanced at him curiously. “I thought there was no elected body with jurisdiction over the town?”

  The fisherman shrugged. “There isn’t. But some years back, the merchants and tavern keepers recruited an unofficial force of armed men—usually foreign mercenaries—to more or less keep the peace. At least, the sort of peace that the merchants and tavern keepers want kept.”

  “I see,” said Hal. It made sense, he thought. There would have to be some sort of semiofficial body to patrol the streets and stop fights when they broke out. Otherwise, with so many sailors of varying nationalities swarming ashore every night, Cypra would be in a constant state of anarchy. He turned back to the patrol leader now. “So what do I call you? Captain? Colonel? Committeeman?”

  “Commander will do,” the man said stiffly. He sensed a certain lack of respect in Hal’s attitude and he was right to do so.

  Men like this, in Hal’s experience, often were no better than thugs and vigilantes, open to bribes and corruption and answerable to no official oversight.

  “And you can call me skirl,” Hal said. He saw the brief flash of incomprehension in the other man’s eyes. “It means ‘captain,’” he explained.

  “Very well . . . Captain. Were you and some of your men in the Blue Lizard tavern last night?”

  Hal nodded. “We were,” he said. “I can recommend the baby squid grilled on a hotplate . . .”

  The commander brushed that information aside impatiently. “And you were involved in an . . . incident with Captain Myrgos and one of his men, correct?”

  “If you mean the pirate Myrgos and his bald henchman, yes, we were. They were extremely unpleasant and made various threats to our well-being.” He turned back to Stig, who was still seated on the beach with the others. “As I recall, he threatened to kill us all, didn’t he?”

  Stig nodded. “That’s how I heard it.”

  Drommond glanced quickly at Stig and the other Herons. Then he returned his attention to Hal.

  “Well, I’m afraid the committee doesn’t take kindly to that sort of thing going on. You’ll have to leave Cypra. You have an hour to stow your gear back aboard your ship and shove off.”

  “We have to leave port?” Hal said, a note of incredulity in his voice. “They threatened to kill us and we’re the ones being tossed out?”

  “That’s your side of the story,” Drommond said. “Myrgos and his man tell it differently. And the tavern keeper said you were quite belligerent.”

  “I often am when someone threatens to kill me,” Hal replied.

  But the commander was unapologetic. “Myrgos is a regular visitor to this island. He has a large ship and crew, and they spend a lot of money here.”

  “When they’re not sinking ships in the waters around Cypra,” Hal said, and the fisherman beside him snorted in agreement.

  The commander, however, shrugged the comment aside. “I know nothing about that. It’s not in my jurisdiction. But I know you’re strangers.”

  “And there’s only a round dozen of us,” Hal said.

  The commander was unmoved. He wasn’t here to win friends. He was here to give orders and make sure the peace was maintained, no matter who might be in the right or wrong of it all.

  “As you say. You have an hour. I suggest you stop wasting time.”

  “And of course, once we’ve put to sea, there’s nothing to stop Myrgos and that ugly black ship of his coming after us and sinking us just as soon as we’re out of what you call your jurisdiction,” Hal said.

  Drommond shook his head. “I’ll hold them in port for twenty-four hours after you’ve gone. That should see you safely on your way.”

  Hal looked at his friends and shrugged. They had little choice in the matter.

  Thorn stood up, dusting the beach sand from the seat of his trousers. “Money talks,” he said. “It always does.”

  The other Herons began to gather up the gear they had brought onto the beach. Drommond watched for several minutes, then issued a curt order to his men. They came to a rather sloppy attention preparatory to moving out.

  Hal stepped in front of him. “Just make sure you enforce that twenty-four-hour restriction on the Vulture,” he said.

  The commander met his gaze evenly. “Of course,” he replied, although Hal had little confidence that he would do as he said.

  Hal turned his back on the man pointedly, dismissing him, and called to his crew.

  “Let’s get her launched and under way,” he said.

  • • • • •

  Within half an hour, they were at sea, bowling smoothly along before a gentle breeze. Thorn and Stig had joined Hal at the steering platform.
Stig craned out now to look beyond the sternpost at the rapidly receding shape of Cypra as it sank below the horizon.

  “No sign that they’re following,” he said. “Maybe that jumped-up vigilante kept his word.”

  Thorn snorted derisively. “I doubt it,” he said. “I can’t see a stuffed shirt like that telling friend Myrgos what to do and what not to do.”

  “Well, keep an eye out for them,” Hal said. “I’m sure we’ll see them before too long.” He glanced up at the telltale. “In light winds like these, we might have an advantage over them.”

  “Fifteen oars a side,” Stig reminded him.

  He shrugged. “I know. But right now, we’ve got other decisions to make.” He glanced for’ard to where Olaf was leaning on the rail amidships, staring over the side at the wake as it constantly formed, dispersed, then regenerated. “Olaf! Can you join us, please?”

  The big former guard commander moved aft to join them, matching his gait to the rolling and gentle plunging of the deck beneath his feet. It was good to be afloat again, he thought, after so many years ashore. He looked curiously at the other three as he joined them.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  Hal shook his head. “More of an opportunity,” he replied. “It strikes me that this might be the ideal time for us to rescue young Constantus from Santorillos.”

  He paused and looked at his companions. They all nodded as he expanded on his thought.

  “Our fisherman friend told us that the Vulture stays on her cruise for two months or more. And Myrgos has at least fifty men on board. His total strength is seventy, so that leaves just twenty of them to guard his compound, and the young emperor. We may never have a better opportunity to raid the place and set Constantus free.”

  His words were met by murmurs of agreement.

  “It make sense to me,” Thorn said.

  Olaf rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Me too,” he said. “In addition, he’ll have taken his best men along on his cruise. So we’re likely to be contending with the leftovers at Santorillos.”

  “Mind you, we’ve still got to find a way up the cliffs,” Stig pointed out.

  “Lydia seems confident she can climb them,” Hal said.

  Stig shrugged doubtfully. “She hasn’t seen them. And we don’t know if they’re guarded or not. She’s assuming a lot. Confidence is a good thing, up to a point. But overconfidence can be fatal.”

  “That’s true. But we won’t know the answer to that until we’ve had a chance to reconnoiter the site,” Hal said. “And the sooner we do that, the sooner we’ll be able to form a plan to rescue Constantus.”

  “So, the sooner we head for Santorillos, the better,” Olaf said.

  Hal nodded. “Santorillos lies more or less southwest of our current position,” he said. “Let’s come about and head that way. I’ll check the charts for an exact course once we’ve turned.”

  “Maybe we’d better wait,” Thorn said. He’d moved to the sternpost and was peering aft over their wake. “We appear to have company.”

  chaptertwenty-seven

  They all turned and looked astern at his words. There was small white square just visible above the horizon—the sail of a large ship.

  Like them, she was running before the wind and making excellent speed. It was the best point of sailing for a square rig, Hal knew. Within an hour, the other ship was hull up on the horizon—and the black hull told them it was definitely the Vulture.

  “She’s gaining on us,” said Lydia. She had come aft to watch the progress of the ship behind them.

  “Not by much,” Hal said. He glanced at the sun, now almost overhead. “If we can hold her off until dark, we can give her the slip then.” He looked back at the other ship once more. She was almost dead astern. “We’ll come about to starboard and get the wind on our beam.”

  They all knew that was Heron’s best point of sailing.

  Thorn issued a warning, however. “If we turn, she can cut the corner and make up ground on us,” he said.

  Hal acknowledged the point. “But we’ll be faster on that leg,” he said. “And that should make up for any distance she gains.”

  “Why starboard?” Olaf asked. “Santorillos lies to port.”

  “That’s why we’ll go starboard,” Hal told him. “No point in giving him any hint that we’re heading for his base.”

  Olaf shrugged, a little annoyed with himself for not seeing that. “Of course,” he said.

  Hal gestured for Stig to take the helm and walked forward to address the rest of the crew. They had overheard the discussion from the steering platform but the earlier conversation—about Santorillos—hadn’t carried for’ard.

  He stopped amidships, by Ulf’s and Wulf’s position. The others all moved closer to hear what he had to tell them. Kloof padded slowly from her customary position by the mast and stood beside him, as if she too would understand what he was about to say. He smiled at her and ruffled her ears.

  “This is all your fault,” he said in a mock accusatory tone. Kloof tilted her head to his touch and closed her eyes in pleasure. Then Hal looked up at the crew. “You’ve probably realized that the Vulture is behind us, and obviously trying to catch us,” he said. There were a few nods, and several of the Herons leaned out to glance astern at the other ship. When he had their attention again, he continued.

  “We’re going to come about on the starboard tack. We should make up some distance on her that way. We’ll keep ahead of her through the afternoon, then we’ll give her the slip once darkness falls.”

  “How do you plan to do that?” Jesper asked.

  “I’m a cunning devil. I’ll find a way,” Hal told him cheerfully. “Once we’re shot of her, we’ll reverse course and head for the island of Santorillos. By tomorrow morning, Myrgos should be leagues away from us and continuing on his raiding cruise. We figure there’ll only be twenty or so men left at his base at Santorillos, so this is an ideal opportunity to snatch young Constantus away from them.”

  “That make sense,” said Ingvar. The others muttered agreement.

  Stefan had been watching the other ship while Hal talked. He pointed now. “He’s still gaining on us,” he said.

  Hal looked and could see that the pirate was noticeably closer—although not enough to worry about. “That’ll change when we get the wind on our beam.”

  Stefan looked doubtful. “She’s a big ship—nearly twice our length.”

  They all knew that the longer a ship’s waterline was, the faster her potential hull speed would be. But Hal hoped that advantage would be outweighed by Heron’s more efficient sail plan—and the fact that the light wind would favor the smaller ship. He said as much now and Stefan looked mollified.

  “So long as the wind holds,” he said.

  Hal inclined his head. “Why wouldn’t it?” he replied. Then he added in a more serious tone, “The thing is, we don’t have a big margin to play with, so all our sail drill, all our tacks, must be as fast and as efficient as we can make them. No mistakes please. No tangled sheets, no twisted sails. Clear?”

  “Clear,” they all chorused. They were a well-drilled crew and they rarely made mistakes. But it was worth making the point to keep them on their toes. Hal looked at each of them in turn, then nodded.

  “All right. As soon as I’m back on the tiller, we’ll come about. Let’s show Myrgos how a Skandian ship can move.”

  There was a low growl of assent and he walked quickly back to the steering platform, taking the tiller from Stig. He twitched it once or twice experimentally, then called out to those for’ard.

  “Stand by . . . coming about to starboard . . . NOW!”

  As he shouted the last word, he put the helm over and Heron swung her sharp prow to starboard. They had been sailing under the starboard sail and now the crew for’ard released it, sending it sliding down while the port sail and
yardarm soared upward. For a moment, there was the usual scene of apparent confusion as the new sail flapped and shook in the wind. Then, on his order, Ulf and Wulf heaved on the sheets and brought it under control. With barely a check in her movement, Heron accelerated onto her new course, moving noticeably faster through the water.

  “What’s Vulture doing?” Hal asked Stig. His own attention was on the trim of the sail, making sure it was set to the most efficient angle and tautness possible.

  “Nothing so far . . . ,” Stig said, shading his eyes to peer astern. “Now she’s turning! She’s coming about to starboard as well. Thorn’s right. She’s cutting the corner to pick up ground on us.”

  This was Vulture’s chance to make up ground. As Heron steadied on her new course, the black ship could aim to intercept her by swinging even farther to starboard, drawing a giant imaginary triangle on the face of the ocean between the two ships.

  “She’s head-reaching on us,” Stig warned. That meant the pirates were gaining ground across the triangle. If they continued in this way, they would intercept the Heron at a point farther along her course. Hal studied the set of the sail. It wasn’t quite to his liking.

  “Sheet home . . . that’s enough.”

  The adjustment sent Heron flying through the water even faster. He judged now that he was getting maximum speed from her and glanced at Stig.

  “How is it now?”

  Stig crouched down, closing one eye and lining the pursuing ship up with the sternpost as a reference point. He waited half a minute or so, then grinned.

  “That’s done it,” he said. “She’s falling behind.”

  There were grins all around as the crew heard him. Some of them had been sitting or standing tensely at their posts. Now they relaxed.

  It was a strange feeling as the sun passed overhead and the afternoon progressed. It wasn’t altogether comfortable to be sailing with a pursuing enemy in plain sight behind them. But Heron managed to keep the other ship at bay. And, after an hour, she began to draw away.