The Hunters

  ‘She should be.’ The sentry relaxed. It wasn’t the first time someone had admired that particular ship. He spoke with a certain proprietorial air. ‘She’s the Gatmeister’s personal yacht.’

  Stig whistled in admiration. ‘Doutro has a yacht?’ he asked. He sounded impressed. ‘What does he use her for?’

  The sentry, hearing the newcomer refer to the Gatmeister by name, relaxed even more. People who knew the Gatmeister by name tended to be further up the food chain than a mere sentry. He grounded the spear and leaned lightly on it as he answered.

  ‘Oh, he takes business associates out when he wants to entertain them. Takes them on cruises down the river. Lots of girls, lots of ale, lots of good food. I’ve seen some pretty wild parties on that craft, let me tell you.’

  He hadn’t but he liked to imply that he knew what was going on in the town. Stig nodded admiringly.

  ‘I’ll bet you have. Any idea how much he wants for her?’

  The sentry looked puzzled. ‘Wants for her? What do you mean?’

  Stig pointed. ‘That sign says she’s for sale,’ he said. The sentry turned to follow his pointing finger and Stig almost sighed. It was really too easy, he thought. The sentry’s jaw was nicely exposed as he turned to look at the ship and he never saw the crashing left hook coming.

  His knees gave way under him and he sagged to the jetty deck. Stig managed to catch the spear as he released it, to prevent it making any noise as it fell. Then he wrinkled his nose. He might as well have saved himself the effort. The sound of the sentry’s body, clad in his mail shirt, hitting the planks was louder than the clatter of the spear would have been.

  He bent down and grabbed the prone figure under the shoulders, quickly dragging him behind the fish traps Lydia had used for cover earlier in the night. Then he stepped out into the light and picked up the spear again, holding it in the at-ease position, in case any passer-by might wonder what had become of the sentry. He checked to see if anyone was watching, satisfied himself that nobody was, and beckoned to the others.

  A few seconds later, a line of dark figures ran furtively across the street and onto the jetty, concealing themselves in the shadows as they arrived.

  Hal moved to stand beside Stig. ‘No trouble?’

  Stig shook his head. ‘He didn’t suspect a thing. But guess what? That rather pretty ship moored behind us is Doutro’s personal yacht.’

  Hal studied the ship for several seconds. ‘Is that so?’ he said thoughtfully. Then, checking to make sure that nobody on the riverfront was paying them any undue attention, he signalled to his crew.

  ‘All right, everyone. Get on board and take your stations.’ He wet a finger and held it up, checking that the wind was coming off the shore. ‘Sailing stations,’ he added. ‘We’ll sail her out once we fend off.’

  As the crew clambered aboard the Heron, he beckoned to Thorn.

  ‘Make me a torch and light it, will you?’ he said. ‘I think we’ll create a little diversion.’

  Thorn nodded and moved to the pile of equipment and boxes by the confiscated fish traps. There was plenty of tarry rope and dried canvas there. He wrapped bundles of both round the end of a piece of scrap timber. He looked around. On the jetty, beneath the nearest light, there was a jar of oil used to replenish the lantern. He retrieved it and opened it, pouring the oil over the dried canvas until it was soaked.

  Hal was at the tiller, removing the restraining loop that kept it from banging against the hull with the movement of the water. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brilliant flash of Thorn’s saxe against his flint. It came again, then there was a pause, followed by a dull glow that quickly grew into a yellow flame as the oil-soaked cloth and tarred rope caught fire. Thorn rose from his crouched position, crossed the jetty and dropped onto the deck of the Heron. Stig was already standing by the bow rope. They were moored facing out towards the river, which made things a lot easier.

  ‘Cast off!’ Hal called softly. He heard the soft thump of the rope on deck as Stig tossed it aboard, then his friend ran to the stern and cast off the stern rope as well. The ship rocked as he jumped aboard.

  ‘Starboard sail,’ Hal called, and Stefan and Jesper sent it soaring up the mast. Forward, Ingvar and Lydia used an oar to fend off from the jetty, swinging the ship’s bow towards open water. The rattle and squeal of ropes running through the blocks told Hal that the twins were already sheeting the sail home. Heron began to slip through the dark water, gathering speed with each second. Hal smiled at Thorn, standing close by with the flaring torch in his left hand.

  ‘Would you like to get rid of that now?’ he asked, gesturing towards the immaculate ship they were passing, now only a few metres away from their stern. Thorn nodded and tossed the torch underarm onto her decks, onto a coil of rope. There was a momentary lull, then the heavily tarred rope caught fire. Flames leapt into the sky and, within seconds, the standing rigging was ablaze. Fire on a ship, with its dried timbers and tarred rigging and ropes, was a terrible hazard.

  Forward, Hal heard a voice call a challenge. He peered under the sail and saw a guard boat rowing towards them, on the port side. Then he heard Lydia’s quick-witted reply.

  ‘Fire!’ she shouted, and that in itself was sufficient reason for them to be on the move. No sane captain would keep his ship moored close to a burning vessel. But Lydia had more to add.

  ‘The Gatmeister’s ship is on fire! Get help at once!’ she shouted, pointing to the ship by the jetty, now outlined starkly against a mass of flames.

  That was enough to distract the guard boat. The news that a ship belonging to the most powerful official in Bayrath was on fire dismissed any other consideration from their minds. Hal heard the helmsman on the guard boat issue a string of orders, then the long, low craft swept down their port side, heading to try to quell the fire consuming Doutro’s ship. At the last moment, as a cascade of sparks showered down onto the guard boat, her helmsman hauled on the tiller and swung clear, deciding discretion was the better part of valour. In any event, the Gatmeister was no friend of his.

  The Heron was clear of the basin now. On her port side, the boom and its attendant vessels stretched across the dark river. Hal checked to starboard, making sure he was clear of any other shipping.

  Hal swung Heron’s bow to starboard. The bow wave began its steady hiss as they gathered speed.

  Thorn looked back at the fire, which had now engulfed the entire ship at the jetty. He had a wide grin on his face.

  ‘Did I hear right?’ he said. ‘Does that ship belong to Doutro?’

  ‘It did,’ Hal said succinctly, and Thorn shook his head in delight.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Just beautiful.’

  There was no pursuit.

  Any troops who might have mounted one were totally occupied fighting the fire that had engulfed Doutro’s ship. After some minutes, the mast collapsed across the jetty, spreading the flames to the piles of spare lumber and confiscated equipment stored there. As the Heron rounded the first bend, the glow of the fire was vivid in the night sky behind them.

  Lydia walked aft and stood by the steering platform, gazing at the orange light in the sky, visible above the headland they had just rounded.

  ‘Well, that certainly caught their attention,’ she said. Hal smiled at her. But Stig was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘You know, I’ve been thinking . . .’ he began slowly. Hal called to Edvin, who was seated amidships.

  ‘Edvin. Note the time and the date, please. A unique event has just occurred.’

  ‘Very funny,’ Stig said. Edvin glanced up briefly from his knitting and shook his head.

  ‘If I might continue?’ Stig persisted and Hal made a gracious, sweeping gesture with his free hand.

  ‘Pray do.’

  ‘Well then, I was th–’ Stig realised he was about to say ‘thinking’ again and leave himself open to further sarcastic comment. He changed his choice of words. ‘Wondering . . . yes, wondering. Why don?
??t we try something similar, instead of running this Wildwater Rift?’

  ‘Similar to what?’ Hal asked.

  Stig gestured towards the glow in the sky behind them. ‘Why don’t we start another fire and, while everyone’s distracted, open the boom and sail on through?’

  ‘What, now?’ Thorn asked.

  Stig shook his head impatiently. ‘No. They’re all alert now. We could come back tomorrow night. Sneak into the town and start a fire, then head for the boom.’

  Hal considered the idea for a moment or two, then shook his head.

  ‘Too risky,’ he said. ‘It’s one thing to head out of the harbour and sail away while they’re all distracted by the fire. But if we want to break through the boom, we’ll have to board one of the boom vessels, overcome the crew, then figure out how the opening mechanism works. It’ll take time and we’re bound to be spotted.’

  Stig pursed his lips as he thought about Hal’s words. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. But he sounded only half convinced.

  ‘On top of that,’ Hal continued, ‘it’ll cost us another day while we lay up somewhere waiting for tomorrow night. And we can’t afford that.’

  ‘Fair point,’ said Stig. ‘But maybe we should keep the idea in mind.’

  Hal nodded. He wanted all the crew to be willing to suggest ideas and new plans if they thought of them, and rejecting Stig’s idea out of hand would discourage the others from coming forward in the future.

  ‘We’ll keep it in mind,’ he agreed, smiling at his friend. ‘Let’s keep our options open until we’ve seen this Wildwater Rift.’

  ‘It sounded pretty bad,’ Stig said.

  Hal shrugged. ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘Pedr wasn’t a sailor and he knew nothing about boats. Besides, he’s never actually seen the rift. Often these things get blown out of all proportion. It’s probably a whole lot better than it sounded.’

  ‘That’s a whole lot worse than it sounded,’ Stig said. Hal had to agree. He felt his heart sinking as he studied the Wildwater Rift below them.

  They had found the tributary stream just after first light and turned into it. The further they went, the narrower the stream had become, and the faster the water flowed, until it was rushing by the banks on either side, its surface made smooth and slick as oil by the speed of its passage.

  The banks had also become progressively higher and they were conscious of the fact that the stream was now rushing downhill. With the water moving so quickly, it was difficult for Hal to maintain steerage. They had lowered the sail and continued under oars.

  The stream had twisted continually so that Hal had been unable to see more than fifty metres ahead at any time. But he’d become aware of a deep, roaring sound somewhere up ahead. It was constant and unvarying and the further they fled down the stream, the louder it became. Finally, he had seen a small indentation in the left bank of the stream, where a jutting outcrop of the bank formed a calm eddy, with a small level stretch of bank.

  ‘Back water!’ he shouted, somewhat louder than he had intended to. All six oars were manned. The rowers heaved on them in reverse to slow the onrushing ship. She shuddered and lost speed, slewing slightly as the current swung her. Then they were in the slower water of the eddy and she grated her bow ashore.

  Moving with a little more urgency than he was accustomed to, Stefan leapt over the bow and ran ashore with a rope, passing it round a stout tree, then bringing the end back to the Heron to make fast.

  ‘Let’s go and take a look at this Wildwater Rift,’ Hal said.

  Hal, Stig and Thorn went ashore and began to make their way up the steep sides of the bank. It was hard work. The ground was soft and muddy, and the rocks, soaked with ever-present spray from the river, were wet and slippery. Eventually, they reached the top of the bank and looked down on the stream, a narrow cut running between the banks below them. The Heron looked like a toy, moored in the shelter of the rock outcrop.

  Hal pointed downstream, where a fine mist of spray stood high above the river, catching the rays of the early sun.

  ‘Looks like we’re heading that way,’ he said.

  Thorn shook his head doubtfully. ‘Looks ominous,’ he replied.

  It took them another half hour to work their way along the precipitous edge of the bank to a spot above the rift. They gazed down at the water, smooth and dark and fast running, as it raced over the downhill slope and poured down into a narrow gulf between the banks. The banks themselves couldn’t have been more than five metres apart in some places, and as they grew closer together, the river rushed with increasing velocity between them. They were steep, with no possible landing places in sight. Once the Heron was committed to running the rift, there could be no stopping.

  The rift shot downstream in a straight line for approximately three hundred metres. The water was black and its surface was silky smooth – except where wet, glistening rocks broke through. There, the water piled up against them, smashing itself into fantastic clouds of white spray, flinging a fine mist high in the air. As it leapt up out of the gorge, the sun refracted through the mist, forming dozens of rainbows.

  ‘If we can stay in the middle we should be all right,’ said Stig, trying to convince himself as much as the others. ‘Those rocks are mainly on the side of the stream, not in the middle where the water is deeper.’

  ‘Except for that one,’ Thorn said, pointing with his wooden hook towards the bottom of the gorge.

  At that point, the river hurled itself headlong against a massive black rock that was a third of the stream’s width away from the left bank. Spray erupted from the collision and drifted high in the air. Stig whistled softly as he saw it.

  ‘Now that is quite ugly,’ he said. And he was right. Even worse was the fact that at that point, the river, which had so far run in a relatively straight line downhill, made a thirty-degree turn to the right. The huge rock was on the outside of the turn.

  ‘If we hit that, we’re done for,’ Thorn observed. Hal looked at him for a second or two, then knelt to study the water flow around the rock, his chin resting on his hand.

  ‘It looks worse than it really is,’ he said finally. The others regarded him as if he had lost his mind.

  ‘How bad would you like it?’ Stig asked, but Hal shook his hand and pointed.

  ‘There’ll be a lot of back pressure there where the current hits that rock,’ he said. ‘The water builds up against the rock and has nowhere to go. Then it sort of . . . rebounds, I suppose. If we get it right, it’ll actually throw us back away from the rock.’

  ‘And if we get it wrong?’ Stig asked him.

  He shrugged. ‘I prefer not to think of that.’

  He was silent for a few moments, assessing the speed of the river and the force of the current.

  ‘We’ll need to keep two oars out,’ he said.

  Stig frowned. ‘Why waste energy rowing? The river will keep us moving.’

  ‘That’s the point,’ Hal told him. ‘If we’re not moving a little faster than the water, I can’t steer. We’ll put Ulf and Wulf on the oars. The rest of you can stand by in the bow and stern to fend off from any rocks that come too close.’

  He paused, chewing his lip as he thought further into the problem. ‘I’ll need a longer tiller – something that will give me greater purchase. I’ll have to be able to heave the stern around against the current.’

  ‘Use an oar,’ Thorn said.

  Hal nodded. ‘That should do it.’ Abruptly, he rose, brushing the damp dirt off the knee of his trousers. ‘All right, take one last look and try to memorise where the rocks are. Then we’ll get back to the Heron and get under way.’

  ‘You’re going to run it now . . . today?’ Stig asked, his voice very quiet against the background roar of rushing water.

  ‘We don’t have time to waste. And it’s not going to get easier if we wait,’ he said.

  Stig looked morosely at the thundering river below them.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he said.

  They made th
eir way back to the ship, slipping and sliding on the treacherous muddy surface of the river bank. Seven pairs of eyes watched them as they appeared out of the trees.

  Jesper voiced the thought that was on all their minds. ‘What’s it like?’ he asked.

  Hal, Stig and Thorn exchanged a quick look, and Jesper’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘I think you just told us,’ he said. But Hal hurried to reassure him.

  ‘No! It’s not that bad. No, really.’ He turned to his first mate for confirmation. ‘Is it, Stig?’ But Stig hesitated just a little too long before he replied.

  ‘No. It’s . . . a bit wild. But we’ll make it all right.’ The words I hope hung in the air, unspoken, but heard by everyone. Hal looked around the half circle of despondent faces.

  ‘We’ll be fine. We just need to work together,’ he said.

  Jesper looked doubtful. ‘Maybe we should try Stig’s idea,’ he said. When Hal looked at him, not understanding, he elaborated. ‘Maybe we should try to break through the boom.’

  Stefan muttered cautious agreement. The twins looked doubtful. Edvin was similarly undecided. Only Lydia remained neutral. She was no sailor, so she had no real understanding of the problem or whether they could overcome it.

  Ingvar stepped forward, peering directly at Hal. ‘Hal, do you really think we can do it?’

  Hal hesitated a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, Ingvar. I do,’ he said firmly. He realised that half the problem was that the rest of the crew hadn’t actually seen the rift. As frightening as it might be in reality, their imaginations were building it up to be far worse than it really was.

  Ingvar nodded ponderously. ‘Then if Hal says we can make it, I’m prepared to give it a go,’ he said. The others exchanged embarrassed glances. Jesper shuffled his feet awkwardly.

  ‘It comes down to this,’ Thorn said. ‘How much confidence do you have in Hal as a helmsman? How much do you trust his judgement?’ Usually, the old sea wolf tried to stay out of the decision-making process, unless it concerned a combat situation. But, like Hal, he could see that it was the unknown factor here that was affecting their judgement and he wanted to give them something positive to focus on.