The Caldera Page 7

  “I’ll need fresh water too,” he said. “Always best to fill the water barrels as late as possible.”

  Water stored in the barrels belowdecks tended to develop an unpleasant taste and color if left too long. It was preferable to flush out the barrels and refill them with fresh water just before leaving.

  “You can get that in Aspenholm too,” Hal told him.

  Edvin nodded agreement.

  “How long will we be away?” Wulf asked.

  “Two months. Maybe more,” Hal told him.

  Instantly, his brother had another question. “Can you tell us where we’re going?”

  Hal paused. It was a reasonable question. Their choice of gear and clothing and equipment would be affected by it.

  “South,” he said. “We’ll be going down the Dan to the Constant Sea.” There was no harm in telling them that, he reasoned.

  Several of the crew smiled contentedly. South meant warmer weather. Had he said west or north, they might have expected a wet, cold trip, with freezing rain and sleet. South was preferable by far.

  Hal paused. He’d decided to say nothing about the fact that they would be carrying an extra person on board. The less said about Olaf, the better; and if word got out that there was a stranger on board Heron, people might become curious. And there were still too many people in the town who had cause to remember him with bitterness. He would tell the crew when Olaf boarded that night.

  He looked around the assembled faces. “Any questions?” he asked, then he smiled. “Not that I can answer too many at this stage anyway. I’ll tell you more when we’ve left port.”

  Several heads nodded. He made a gesture of dismissal.

  “Well, better get on home and get your gear together, and tell your families you’ll be gone for a couple of months.” There was nothing unusual in that. Most voyages took at least a month or two. As they stood and prepared to leave, he had one last word to add. “The tide is full at the tenth hour tonight,” he said. “I want to go out on the last of the ebb—about half an hour after eleven. So be here and be ready well before then.”

  There was a general surge to the side of the ship as they clambered ashore, breaking up to head for their homes. Hal caught Stig’s eye. The first mate hadn’t made any move to leave.

  “Best get home and get your own things ready,” Hal said. “And make sure Olaf stays out of sight for the rest of the day. Bring him aboard just before eleven.”

  Stig nodded and turned to go. Hal realized that Ulf and Wulf had hung back when the others had departed.

  “Did you want something?” he asked.

  Ulf shrugged his shoulders diffidently. “Well, we were just thinking about the Maktig contest. What should we do about that?”

  “Last I heard,” Hal told him, “you were going to draw straws to see who won the qualifying round. And if that didn’t happen, you were probably going to think of a number between one and ten to decide the contest. So do you really care what happens?”

  The twins exchanged a look, then both of them grinned.

  “Naah. Not really,” Wulf said, and his brother nodded agreement.

  “We were just filling in time, really,” Ulf said. “It was fun driving the judges mad.”

  Hal regarded them curiously. “So when you kept drawing events, you were doing it intentionally?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Not at all. We don’t need to do that sort of thing intentionally. It just happens,” said Wulf.

  “Try us out,” Ulf suggested.

  Hal thought for a moment, then said: “Think of a number between one and ten.”

  “Four,” the twins chorused simultaneously.

  Hal shook his head. “Remarkable. All right, think of a number between one and . . . three hundred.” That should test them, he thought.

  “One hundred and seventy-six,” both twins said at the same time.

  Hal looked at them with some awe.

  “Was that right?” Ulf prompted him.

  Hal shook his head. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of one myself. But you do realize that you just both picked the same number out of a possible three hundred, don’t you?”

  Wulf shrugged. “Well, of course we did. We always do.”

  Hal grinned at them. “I imagine the judges will be very glad when you don’t turn up tomorrow,” he said.

  • • • • •

  Dusk crept over the town and lights began to twinkle in the windows. In houses all over Hallasholm, the crew were making their preparations and saying their farewells to families. None of the latter were surprised or particularly concerned at the news that their sons—and in one case, Lydia—were heading off on another voyage. That was their life, after all. They were sea wolves, descendants of the fierce warriors who once raided all over the known world. Voyaging was what they were born to do, and what they loved doing.

  Nor was there any surprise at the secrecy involved in their departure. In the past few years, the Heron brotherband had carried out several clandestine operations for the Oberjarl, and their families accepted the need for confidentiality without question.

  As the night drew on and time for departure came closer, they began to straggle down to the harbor in ones and twos, carrying their kit bags slung over their shoulders and wearing their weapons. Their big round shields were slung over their backs, and once they boarded the Heron, they slipped them over the pegs that held them in place along the bulwarks, beside their rowing positions.

  The muted rattle and clatter of equipment sounded across the harbor as the crew unstowed their oars from the brackets that ran from behind the mast to the afterdeck, and Ulf and Wulf untied the frappings around the big sails and unrolled the heavy bolts of canvas, laying them out ready for hoisting. Ingvar busied himself checking the Mangler and its ammunition locker, ensuring there was a plentiful supply of bolts for the big weapon. Lydia stowed her quiver of darts and a heavy canvas bag holding two dozen spares, in her screened-off quarters in the stern of the rowing well. She wasn’t part of the sailing or rowing crew, although if required she could take a turn at the tiller. Her main contribution would come when Heron went into battle, at which time her darts would rain confusion and destruction down on the decks of any enemy ship they encountered.

  It was just after the tenth hour when Stig shouldered his kit bag and shoved his ax through the retaining ring on his belt.

  “Time for us to be going,” he told Olaf, and the older man nodded, buckling on the war belt that held his sword and dagger. He slung the heavy fur around his shoulders and picked up his spiked helmet from the side table where he had left it.

  “Don’t put that on,” Stig cautioned him. “It’s a little exotic for these parts and it’ll only draw attention if we’re seen.”

  Olaf grunted agreement and looped the helmet’s chin strap over the hilt of his sheathed dagger. Stig turned to his mother and embraced her warmly.

  “Good-bye, Mam,” he said tenderly. “Take care while I’m gone.”

  “Travel safely, son. Go in Thalga’s care,” she said. Thalga was the Skandian goddess of sailors and travelers, and this was Hannah’s standard farewell when her son left home. But this time, she put extra feeling into the benediction. They held the embrace for several seconds, then Stig gently pushed her back and disengaged himself.

  Olaf cleared his throat uncertainly. “Good-bye, Hannah,” he said, shuffling his feet.

  She regarded him coolly. “Good-bye, Olaf.”

  He noticed that she didn’t invoke Thalga’s protection for him. He took a half pace toward her, uncertain as to whether he should embrace her or not. She settled the matter by withdrawing a corresponding distance. He stopped and made an awkward gesture in the air, not sure what to say.

  “You take care of my boy,” she said.

  He gave her a tentative smile. �
��Our boy,” he corrected.

  She snorted dismissively. “Not on past form,” she said. Then she stepped closer and he could see the light of anger burning in her eyes. “If any harm comes to him, I will find you, wherever you are,” she warned.

  Olaf held up a hand, palm out, in a defensive gesture. Stig broke the tension of the moment.

  “I’ll be fine, Mam,” he said reassuringly. “I’ll have the Herons with me, remember?”

  She switched her gaze to him and her expression softened somewhat.

  “Just as well you will,” she said.

  Stig opened the door and ushered his father outside into the darkness. He nodded once more to his mother, who stepped out onto the porch. She would stay there until he was out of sight, he knew. He pointed to a path through the thick trees that led down to the bay.

  “We’ll go through the trees and along the beach to the harbor,” he said. “No sense in chancing being seen walking through the town.” Then he gestured to his father, standing uncertainly by.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  chapterten

  Thorn had taken over as first mate in Stig’s absence, checking that the ship was ready for sea, that all mooring lines were ready to be cast off and that oars were ready in place at the rowing benches. Although, knowing Hal, he assumed that the young skirl would sail rather than row her out of the harbor. He glanced up at the wind telltale—a strip of ribbon at the sternpost. The wind was coming in over their port bow, a favorable direction for getting under way and making their exit through the harbor mouth.

  He glanced aft as two tall figures hurried along the quay and dropped lightly onto the deck. Stig had obviously waited until the security patrol had moved to the far end of the quay. The young warrior pointed to the stern and gestured for Olaf to wait there, where he’d be relatively inconspicuous. Several of the crew noticed their arrival and glanced curiously at the bulky figure in the fur cloak crouching in the stern, behind the rowing platform.

  Stig hurried forward to take up his duties as first mate. He nodded his thanks to Thorn.

  “Everything ready?” he asked. The old sea wolf pointed fore and aft.

  “Bow and stern lines are ready to cast off. Oars are unstowed.” Stig glanced quickly at the telltale.

  “He won’t use oars,” he said. “Not with this wind.”

  In the stern, Hal moved to his place by the tiller, untying the leather thong that fastened it and prevented it banging back and forth with the movement of the water. He nodded a curt greeting to Olaf.

  Lydia, who was accustomed to standing close by him as they moored and unmoored, glanced at the figure, muffled in his fur cloak.

  “Who’s that?” she asked softly.

  But Hal shook his head. “Later,” he said.

  She shrugged and leaned against the bulwark ahead of him. It had been idle curiosity that had led her to ask, and she realized Hal was preoccupied with getting the ship under way.

  The skirl cupped his hands round his mouth and called to the crew. “Stig! We’ll go out under sail. Ulf and Wulf, ready to hoist starboard! Stefan, tend the stern line.”

  He saw the dark mass of the starboard sail begin to rise a few meters as the twins heaved on the halyards, taking up the slack. Stefan left his rowing bench and ran aft. The stern line was looped around a large iron bollard on the quay and tied off at the ship. Stefan untied the knot securing it and held the rope firmly.

  “Starboard sail!” Hal called, and as the yardarm went aloft in a series of jerking motions, he called, “Release the bowline!”

  Stig, who had prepared the bowline the same way Stefan had done with the stern line, now let the end of the rope run free. It snaked out as he did so, running smoothly round the quayside bollard as the wind caught the sail, setting the sail flapping and shoving the bow to starboard, away from the quay. Stig quickly gathered in the line and coiled it on deck.

  “Sheet home! Hal yelled.

  Ulf and Wulf hauled on the sheets, bringing the sail tight up to the wind. The ship was now swinging thirty degrees clear of the quay, held only by the looped stern line.

  “Let go aft!” Hal said, judging angles and forces. Stefan released his end of the stern line, and it ran out over the bulwark. He gathered it in before it could fall into the water alongside.

  At the tiller, Hal felt that familiar sense of exultation as the ship came to life. The tiller vibrated under his hand, and the rudder bit into the water as he hauled the bow back to port. Within a few seconds, Heron was sliding smoothly through the water, gathering speed until she was moving faster than a man could run and angling out into the harbor.

  The two men of the harbor watch raised their arms in farewell as the ship accelerated away from them. Lydia, Jesper and Ingvar returned the greeting.

  “Down fin keel!” Hal called now.

  Thorn raised a hand in acknowledgment, then leaned his weight on the fin keel behind the mast, sending the bladelike fin down through the keel box and out into the water below.

  Hal felt the ship’s sideways drift check as the fin bit into the water. He glanced at the harbor mouth, bringing the ship’s head a few degrees farther to port, judging angles and speed and drift until he was satisfied they would make it through the gap on one tack, without further adjustment.

  He looked down and saw Lydia watching him, an expression of amused tolerance on her face. He grinned at her.

  “Ah, Gorlog’s eyebrows, I love this!” he said.

  She couldn’t help smiling in return. “That’s pretty obvious.”

  Stig came aft now and joined their little group. They always stood this way when they were leaving port.

  “That was pretty neat,” he said. “The boys haven’t got rusty while they’ve been ashore.”

  The dark bulk of the starboard mole loomed alongside them, only five meters away, then they shot clear of it into the open sea, heeling slightly as the wind, now unobstructed by the quay and the mole, hit them with increased force. Ulf and Wulf released the sheets slightly without being told. They knew their job. Hal used the extra power to bring the ship even farther round to port.

  “Ship ahead!” called Stefan, who had taken up his customary position as bow lookout. Hal craned down to peer round the billowing sail as Stefan added more information.

  “Off the starboard bow. Heading away.”

  Hal could make out the long, low shape in the water. The massive square sail above the hull told him whose ship it was. She was heading to cross their course at an angle and there was no risk of collision.

  “It’s Wolfwind,” he said just before Stefan called again, confirming his identification. “She must be waiting for the tide to flood before she goes into the harbor,” he added.

  “We got away just in time, then,” Stig remarked.

  “Just in time for what?” Lydia asked, puzzled.

  Her two friends replied simultaneously. “Later.”

  • • • • •

  On board Wolfwind, the lookout called to the deck as he sighted the small dark shape sliding away from them.

  “Ship to starboard!”

  Erak and Svengal, standing by the tiller, both followed the direction of his pointing arm. They could only just make out the little hull as she slipped away into the darkness. But the triangular sail was unmistakable.

  “It’s the Heron,” Erak said, frowning. “What’s she doing leaving harbor at this time of night?”

  Svengal glanced over the side at the racing water below them. “Taking advantage of the ebbing tide?”

  But Erak continued to frown. “He could have done that tomorrow. What’s the hurry?”

  “Maybe he’s testing his night sails,” Svengal suggested. He saw Erak nod, and he smiled to himself as he waited for the inevitable comment, which came a few seconds later.

  “Night sails? What are n
ight sails?”

  “They’re sails you use at night so people can’t see you so well,” Svengal answered, allowing no hint of his grin to enter his voice.

  Erak shook his head angrily. “Never heard of such a thing.”

  “People don’t talk about them much—they’re hard to see,” Svengal told him. Erak glared suspiciously at his first mate, conscious that Svengal was always ready to pull his leg. Svengal’s innocent look confirmed his suspicions.

  “Idiot,” Erak said. Then he turned away and bellowed a series of sail orders to the crew as he angled Wolfwind away from the harbor. They had half an hour to wait before the tide stopped flowing out and they had still water to enter port. He glanced over his shoulder but there was no sign of the little ship that had passed them.

  “Night sails,” he muttered disgustedly.

  Svengal nodded. “Night sails,” he agreed.

  • • • • •

  Hal waited until Wolfwind had been lost astern for some minutes, then he called the crew aft for a briefing. Ulf and Wulf tied off the sheets and joined the others as Hal kept the ship on a steady course.

  “Take the helm, please, Stig,” Hal said, and when the first mate did so, he stepped down from the steering platform and moved close to the assembled crew, noting the expectant looks on their faces.

  “You’ve noticed we have a passenger on board,” he began. Inevitably, all eyes turned to Olaf, who was now standing by the sternpost. Hal indicated him with his hand.

  “His name is Olaf and he’s Stig’s father,” he said.

  That caused a ripple of interest and curiosity among the crew. They all knew the story of Stig’s father, of course, and the shame he had brought upon their shipmate and his mother. The look they turned on the bulky, fur-cloaked figure changed from curiosity to dislike. Hal had expected the reaction, and he went on regardless.

  “He’s asked our help and we’ve agreed to give it to him. We’re heading for the Constant Sea to rescue a young lad who’s been kidnapped by a gang of Hellenic pirates.”