The Caldera Page 9

  Olaf refused to show any signs of regard for the girl’s exploits. “Well, you shouldn’t have been in there in the first place.”

  Stig moved a little closer, confronting him. “Really? And what would you have done?” he challenged.

  But Olaf wouldn’t be pinned down by his direct challenge. “I wouldn’t have got myself arrested,” he said.

  Their gazes locked for several seconds, his disdainful, Stig’s angry. Then the younger man turned and walked away.

  Olaf shrugged. “What did I say?” he asked, of nobody in particular.

  • • • • •

  Hal brought the Heron up into the wind and heaved to. They lay rocking gently on the smoothly flowing river, studying Bayrath. Little seemed to have changed since they had last seen it.

  “I wonder what became of our friend Doutro?” Thorn said.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Hal replied. “Last time we came through here, I heard he had been betrayed by his assistant,” Hal said. “He was killed in his bath and the new man took over.” Men like Doutro—cunning, treacherous and corrupt—rarely stayed in power too long. There was always someone ready to supplant them, and as a rule, they had done little to win the loyalty of those under them.

  “Can’t say I’m sorry to hear it,” Thorn replied. Doutro had arranged for Hal to be badly beaten when they were held prisoner and the one-armed sea wolf had always itched for revenge.

  “Well, I’m sure the new man won’t be any better,” Hal said. “They rarely are in cases like this. But at least he won’t hold a grudge against us.”

  Doutro, of course, had sworn vengeance on the Heron and his crew after his beautiful ship had burned to the waterline.

  Thorn grunted. “He’ll still try to gouge us and cheat us and overcharge us,” he said.

  Hal shrugged. “True. But it’ll all be in the name of business. It’ll be nothing personal.”

  “That’s not much comfort,” Thorn growled. His hand strayed to the hilt of his saxe.

  Hal grinned at him. “We could always sail back the way we came and run the Wildwater Rift again,” he suggested.

  Thorn shook his head. “No thanks.”

  Stig, who had been an amused spectator to their conversation, now weighed in. “I second that,” he said. The passage down the Rift, a wild, fast-flowing channel filled with rocks and rapids, had been a hair-raising experience.

  “And I third, fourth and fifth it,” Ingvar called from amidships.

  Hal regarded his huge friend with amusement. “Can one person act as third, fourth and fifth in a vote?” he asked.

  Ingvar nodded solemnly. “When they’re as big as me, they can.”

  chapterthirteen

  They’ve seen us,” Jesper said from the for’ard lookout position.

  That was hardly surprising. A ship like Heron could hardly expect to go unnoticed for long. After all, she was the only craft of any size on the river at the moment. Hal glanced toward the town. Several men had come out onto the toll office dock and were watching them, using their hands to shield their eyes from the glare of the sun. Like the toll officers at Krall, they used their free hands to beckon the little ship in alongside the dock.

  They had also attracted the interest of the six-man crew of the nearest boom vessel. Their main duty was to man the capstan that opened and closed the eastern half of the boom. Another similar ship was moored close to the western bank.

  “We’ll head for the boom ship,” Hal said, pointing toward it. “Ulf, Wulf, Stefan and Jesper, oars, please.”

  The four designated crewmen clambered into the rowing wells and ran out their oars.

  “Give way,” Hal said quietly, and they leaned back against the shafts, feet braced against the hull ribs, sending the ship gliding through the water. Hal steered for the boom ship.

  “Stig, be ready to pass a line,” he ordered.

  The first mate made his way to the bow, where he readied a line, coiling it in his left hand, preparing to throw it to the other ship. The boom ship’s crew made several gestures, pointing to the toll dock onshore. But Hal ignored them. Judging his moment, he gave the order to cease rowing and the Heron ran on through the calm water, her speed gradually falling off until she stopped, rolling gently, a mere three meters from the other craft. Stig tossed the line he had ready, and after a moment’s hesitation, one of the boom ship’s crew seized it and hauled in, bringing the two ships alongside one another. Stig tossed a wickerwork fender over the bow to protect the side of the ship as the two hulls bumped gently together. Then he made the line fast.

  “Edvin, stand by the tiller, please,” Hal ordered. Then he gestured to Thorn and the four oarsmen, who had now run their oars in and stowed them along the line of the hull.

  “You lot, get your weapons and come with me.”

  The five crewmen picked up their weapons—an assortment of swords and battleaxes, which were kept ready by the rowing benches—and scrambled onto the center deck after him. Hal was buckling his sword belt as he walked toward the bow. Thorn, who would normally go into a fight armed with the huge club Hal had made for him, was caught unprepared. He snatched up a sword belt and slung it over his right shoulder.

  Even left-handed, he was a formidable warrior.

  Olaf followed a few paces behind the skirl, his hand dropping to the hilt of the long, slightly curved sword that he wore on his left hip.

  “Do you need me?” he asked.

  Hal hesitated. He had no doubt that Olaf was a capable warrior, but he didn’t know him and didn’t know how he might respond to orders. The upcoming situation could be tricky. Hal had no intention of going ashore to pay the toll. If the new Gatmeister proved to be obstructionist or excessively greedy, they could be held here for days—or worse. Hal would pay the toll, but he wasn’t going to be delayed and he was prepared to use force if necessary. He knew how his own men would respond to his commands if there were trouble. But Olaf was an unknown quantity.

  “I’ll let you know,” he said finally. Then, as he was passing Lydia, he jerked his head toward the crew of the boom vessel, clustered curiously along the rail of their ship.

  “Keep an eye on them,” he said, and she nodded, fingering the atlatl handle at her belt. It always felt comforting to go into a potentially dangerous situation with Lydia guarding their backs. She could load and cast an atlatl dart in mere seconds, with devastating accuracy.

  He reached the bow, held firmly against the side of the boom vessel, and stepped up onto the railing. The uptilted bow of the Heron was half a meter higher than the other ship. As he prepared to step down, one of the boom vessel’s crew—presumably the captain—gestured for him to stop.

  “Coming aboard,” Hal said.

  The other man looked flustered. “But . . . you can’t. You have to go . . .” He fluttered his hands toward the shore and the toll office set on the dock there.

  “Stand aside,” Hal said. His tone didn’t invite any discussion.

  He stepped down onto the other ship’s rail, then dropped lightly to the deck. The captain was forced to make way for him. Behind him, Hal heard the thud of feet as his men followed him aboard.

  The captain backed up a pace or two, looking round nervously as he took in the situation. He had five men with him but they were unarmed, except for the knives they all wore at their waists. They were facing an equal number of armed men, who had swarmed aboard without any warning and without giving them a chance to resist. As he watched, Stig came aboard. Ingvar had hurried forward to hand him his ax, and the first mate now shoved it through the retaining ring on his belt. That made seven warriors in all, armed with a variety of axes, swords and saxe knives. And those seven were all Skandians, he could see—men from the north who were famous for their proficiency in battle. This group were young, except for the one-handed, bearded man, who had followed their captain aboard. But they loo
ked capable enough.

  “You have to pay the toll,” he said weakly, trying to assert his authority but failing.

  Hal nodded pleasantly. “And I’m prepared to do just that,” he said. “How much is it these days?”

  The Bayrathian captain shook his head several times. “No, no, no,” he said. “You have to pay it at the toll office. You have to see the Gatmeister.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Hal said firmly. “I don’t have time to get mixed up with gatmeisters. They’re usually crooked and spend all their energy trying to cheat sailors passing through. Plus, whoever he is, he’ll probably hold us up while he haggles over a price. And I don’t have time for that. We’re in a hurry.”

  In spite of himself, the captain found himself nodding slightly. This Skandian’s assessment of gatmeisters was a pretty accurate one, he had to admit.

  Hal saw the movement of his head and seized the advantage. “Tell me the toll,” he said, “and I’ll pay you. Plus I’ll pay you the usual . . . commission . . . the Gatmeister adds on.” He hesitated meaningfully over the word commission. A more accurate term would be bribe. “You can choose to share that with him or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  He saw a gleam of interest in the captain’s eyes. As he had guessed, the bribes paid to the senior officials never filtered their way down the line to men like these.

  “And if I refuse?” the captain asked, but Hal could sense his resolve was faltering since the mention of the commission.

  He smiled disarmingly. “Well, we’ll throw you and your men overboard, open the boom ourselves and sail upriver.” He let that message sink in and then added in a deceptively mild tone, “And we’ll burn your ship when we go.”

  A light of recognition shone in the captain’s eyes. He looked back at Heron to confirm his suspicion, then said nervously, “You’re that ship! The one who burned Doutro’s ship.” His tone said that he believed Hal’s threat was no empty one.

  Hal smiled grimly. “We have been back once or twice since then,” he pointed out. “But yes, we might have accidentally set the Gatmeister’s ship on fire when we were leaving.”

  Thorn smothered a short bark of laughter. If tossing a burning torch onto the decks of the ship constituted “accidentally” setting it on fire, Hal’s description was accurate.

  The captain glanced quickly at him, then back to Hal. He straightened his shoulders as he came to a decision.

  “The toll will be eleven korona,” he said. “You can pay here. No need to go ashore.”

  Hal smiled at him. “Price has gone up since last time,” he remarked.

  The captain shrugged. “That’s what happens.”

  Hal untied his purse from his belt, opened it and counted out the money. Then he added a four-korona gold piece to the small pile in his hand.

  “And this is for you and your men,” he said. It was worth it to make sure they left no hard feelings behind. After all, for all his talk of throwing the boom vessel crew overboard and opening the boom themselves, they still had to come back this way, eventually. The captain grinned eagerly as he saw the extra payment, and Hal knew he had made a good decision.

  “My men will appreciate it,” he said, and there was a murmur of agreement from his crew. He swept the money into his own purse and reached out to shake Hal’s hand.

  “My name’s Zigmund,” he said. “When you come back downriver, if I’m not here, mention my name.”

  “I’ll do that,” Hal said, then he turned to his own crew, who were standing by expectantly. “Back to the Heron, everyone,” he ordered, and they clambered quickly back on board. As they settled into their positions, one of Zigmund’s crew was already rowing a small skiff out to the center of the river, where he unlocked the two ends of the boom. Once it was clear, he waved and began paddling back. The rest of the crew were manning the capstan, fitted with four long wooden bars. At Zigmund’s order, they leaned their weight on the bars and began to tramp round in a small circle, turning the capstan and winding in the cable that opened and closed the boom.

  The cable ran out to a buoy moored thirty meters upriver. As they wound it in, it pulled the boom to one side, opening a gap between the eastern and western sections. Hal took the tiller and ordered his men to the oars. As Zigmund tossed their bowline back on board, Heron backed water for a few meters to clear the boom vessel, then went ahead with the tiller over to port, swinging the slim bow to starboard and heading for the middle of the river. They slid smoothly through the gap in the boom and he waved a farewell to Zigmund on board the boom vessel. The man in the skiff was already paddling back to relock the boom as Zigmund’s crew reversed the direction of the capstan, pulling the two ends together again.

  “In oars,” Hal ordered, glancing up at the wind telltale. “Hoist the starboard sail.”

  Ulf and Wulf were ready for the order. Hal felt the little ship gathering speed and adjusted his course toward a distant headland. The Dan here was broad and deep and relatively slow flowing. Lydia leaned on the sternpost beside Hal’s steering position.

  “That went well,” she said.

  “Saved us a lot of time,” he agreed. “If we’d gone ashore, we’d probably still be haggling with the Gatmeister.” He grinned. “He probably would have wanted to buy you as a housemaid.”

  Lydia smiled. “I doubt it,” she said. “My references aren’t too good in that department.”

  “I guess you’re not cut out to be the demure housemaid type,” Hal said.

  She nodded, the smile fading. “Not on your life,” she said. “I don’t do demure.”

  chapterfourteen

  The river was wide and smooth, the sun was shining and the wind was constant out of the northeast.

  Heron bowled along easily, zigzagging on a constant port tack. The V-shaped ripples of her wake spread out on the glassy surface of the river behind her, eventually reaching the banks on either side, where they set the reeds and water grasses bobbing gently. From time to time, a waterbird, alarmed by the disturbance, would splash its way out onto the river, squawking in annoyance.

  Ulf and Wulf sat at ease by the sheets and halyards. There was little for them to do. As Hal changed direction for each leg of the zigzag, they would haul in or ease the sheets as required. Then they could relax again.

  The other crew members had even less to keep them busy. They passed the time by attending to small personal chores—repairing clothes or items of harness, sharpening weapons and so forth. Only Stefan was occupied, perched on the bow-post lookout, searching the banks either side for the first sign of a potential enemy.

  Jesper, having completed his stint as lookout, was relaxing on deck near the twins, practicing his lockpicking skills. He had a canvas tool roll that contained picks of differing sizes and several examples of locks that he practiced on. As the twins watched, he inserted one of his tools into a large iron padlock on his lap and twisted it a few degrees. Then he slipped another rod into the lock and seemed to jiggle it slightly. Within a few seconds, there was a loud click! and the lock sprang open.

  “That looked easy enough,” Wulf said.

  Jesper glanced up at him and smiled tolerantly, pushing the haft of the lock back into its recess and clicking it shut again.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Ulf said loftily.

  Wulf rounded on him. “You think so?” he challenged.

  Ulf shrugged. “If it’s as easy as it looks, I’d like to see you do it.”

  Wulf snorted derisively. “I could if I wanted to,” he said. Since Jesper never lent his tools to anyone, he knew there was no risk that he would be asked to live up to his words.

  Then, to his surprise, Jesper offered him the padlock and the two lockpicks. “Go ahead,” he said.

  Wulf went to reach out, then hesitated. In truth, he had no idea what Jesper had just done with the lock. He waved a hand in the air, refus
ing the proffered tools.

  “Show me again,” he said.

  Jesper nodded and took the lock and the picks back. With Wulf watching like a hawk, he inserted the first pick, one with a flattened end, into the lock and turned it slightly. Then, as Wulf leaned forward to watch closely, he took the other pick—a slender rod shaped into a small half-moon at the working end—and inserted it into the key slot above the first tool. He gently worked it into the lock, moving it slightly back and forth. Listening carefully, Wulf heard three faint clicks, then the lock sprang open.

  Jesper grinned. He removed the picks, pushed the lock closed once more and offered the three pieces to Wulf. “Go ahead,” he said.

  Wulf hesitated, then his brother cackled.

  “Yes. Go ahead,” Ulf said.

  There was nothing for it. Wulf took the lock and the picks, handling them gingerly, and turned them round in his hands, studying them, not knowing what to do next. Ulf cackled once more. Wulf shoved the first pick into the lock, as he had seen Jesper do, and turned it firmly. He glanced up at Jesper to see if he was doing it correctly. Jesper’s expression was noncommittal, so he proceeded with the second pick. He had seen Jesper slide the curved end section into the key slot, so he mimicked the action and jiggled it energetically.

  Nothing happened. The lock remained closed. Jesper eyed Wulf with amusement as he jiggled some more, his actions becoming increasingly violent as the lock remained obdurate.

  “Do you have the faintest idea what you’re doing?” Jesper asked.

  “Of course I do,” Wulf snapped.

  “Of course he doesn’t,” Ulf said at the same time.

  Angrily, Wulf shoved the lock and the picks toward his brother. “Let’s see you do better,” he challenged.