And the point he made was a crucial one. They had all witnessed Hal’s skill on the tiller, time and time again, and seen his uncanny ability to judge speed and angles and distances. There was a long moment of silence, then Jesper nodded assent.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s try it.’
The collective mood changed within an instant as the others agreed. Hal seized the opportunity to brief them on their roles during the descent of the rift.
‘Ulf and Wulf, you’ll row. You need to keep us moving slightly faster than the current or I’ll lose steerage way. If we can keep the ship in the middle of the stream we’ll be fine.’
‘Except for that last turn,’ Stig said, without thinking. Hal could have cheerfully kicked him. The crew turned to him, the concern back on their faces.
‘What about the last turn?’ Edvin asked.
Stig shrugged in apology at Hal.
‘The rift runs straight until the end, then it swings to the right,’ Hal said. ‘There’s a big rock in the stream there and we’re going to have to fend off. Stig, I want you in the bow to shove us clear with an oar.’
‘I could help with that,’ Ingvar said, then added reluctantly, ‘Of course, I don’t see too well.’
‘I’ll work with you,’ Lydia chipped in. ‘I’ll position the oar. Then you can do the pushing.’ Ingvar beamed at her. He hated feeling useless because of his eyesight.
‘That should do it,’ Hal said. He liked the idea of having Ingvar’s massive strength in the bow to help fend them off from that black, hulking rock. He glanced at Thorn, who shook his head apologetically.
‘I think this might be beyond me,’ the old sea wolf said. ‘My hook is good, but it doesn’t have the sort of dexterity I’d need to be swinging an oar over the side and fending us off.’
Hal nodded. He’d been thinking the same thing but hadn’t wanted to put the thought into words. There had been a time when Thorn would never have admitted such a shortcoming, he thought. But he had another task ready for him.
‘Stay for’ard, by the mast, and keep an eye out for rocks and snags. Edvin, Jesper and Stefan, you position yourself astern and fend off from there. When Stig and Ingvar swing the bow clear of the big rock, make sure the stern doesn’t swing into it. All right?’
They all nodded. Now that they had definite tasks to attend to, the nervousness about facing the unknown dangers of the rift was receding a little. Hal unshipped the tiller, then bound a spare oar to the tiller bracket. He heaved on it experimentally, feeling the drag of the blade in the water. Heron, tethered by the bow, swung her stern back and forth. The others watched with interest as he did so.
‘It’ll give me more purchase for heaving the bow around,’ he explained. Then he caught Edvin’s eye. ‘Edvin, be ready to drop what you’re doing if I call you and help me. I might need an extra pair of hands.’
He took a deep breath. ‘All right, everyone. Positions.’
There was a patter of feet on the deck as the crew moved to the positions he had assigned. Ulf and Wulf moved to the rowing benches. As Ulf dropped into the port side well, Wulf looked at him, hands on hips.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
Ulf glanced up. ‘I’m rowing port side today.’
Wulf gritted his teeth. ‘I row on the port side. I always have.’
‘Well, a change is as good as a holiday,’ Ulf replied airily. Wulf started to step down into the rowing well but Hal stopped him.
‘Are you two starting up again?’ he said. ‘Remember the rule.’
‘We’re not at sea,’ Wulf said. ‘The rule only applies when we’re at sea.’
‘A river is an extension of the sea,’ Hal said. ‘After all, it flows into the sea.’
‘I suppose that could be said to be true,’ Wulf agreed and Ulf nodded thoughtfully.
‘It’s definitely a point worth considering.’
‘Whether it is or not, remember Ingvar’s promise.’ Hal looked forward and beckoned. ‘Ingvar?’ he called. The huge boy turned and began to thread his way aft. As he came level with the twins, he stopped, eyeing them from close range. Ingvar at close range could be an unnerving sight.
‘Ingvar, do you consider that a river is part of the sea?’ Hal asked.
Ingvar nodded. ‘Oh, definitely.’
Ulf and Wulf exchanged worried looks. Hal smiled frostily at them. He inclined his head towards the black, racing river a few metres away.
‘Would you like to be thrown overboard into that?’ he asked, and they hastened to shake their heads and say that, no, they certainly didn’t think that would be pleasant, not at all. Hal looked meaningfully at the rowing benches and the two meekly took their places, Ulf to port and Wulf to starboard.
‘Thank you, Ingvar,’ Hal said.
‘Any time, Hal.’ Ingvar began to make his way back to the bow, stepping carefully over ropes and stowed equipment. Hal noticed a few of the others hiding their smiles and he suddenly looked at the twins with a certain amount of suspicion. Their performance had taken everyone’s minds off the dangers that lay ahead and he wondered if they had done so on purpose. He shrugged the thought away. Even if they had, there was a devious side to the twins’ natures that meant they would probably never admit it.
‘Cast off, Stefan,’ he ordered. Stefan unfastened the rope from the deck bollard, then hauled the loose end in hand over hand. The ship began to move like a nervous horse, even in the calm waters of the inshore eddy.
‘Back water,’ Hal called, and Ulf and Wulf rowed the ship backwards to gain a little room. ‘Give way together,’ Hal ordered, and they began rowing forward. He heaved on the steering oar and was gratified by the ship’s instant response. The long shaft of the oar gave him much greater purchase and the bow swung rapidly.
They nosed out into the main stream and the racing current gripped them immediately.
‘Keep rowing!’ Hal shouted as they shot downstream. If the Heron lost steerage way, they’d broach sideways and begin to spin in the current, helpless as a piece of driftwood. He felt the stern begin to swing to port and checked it with back pressure on the oar, keeping the ship centred in the current. The roar of the water echoed back from the steep walls of the canyon. There were no trees here, no potential landing places – only stone walls that rose vertically out of the water for ten metres or more.
Heron shot down a slope. The water had looked smooth from above, but it was actually following the contours of the river bottom, first dropping away, then rearing up again in smooth mounds, and the ship tossed and bounced as she went. The prow dug in as they reached the bottom of the slope, and spray and solid water sheeted back on either side. Hal had the feel of her now and worked the steering oar to keep her from yawing or spinning.
‘Rocks!’ Thorn yelled, pointing to starboard. Stig responded instantly, moving to the starboard bow and setting his oar against the black, glistening object that reared out of the water. Hal felt the bow move to port, which set the stern swinging to starboard, towards the rock. He heaved frantically on the steering oar, dragging the stern clear as the black fang shot past them, barely two metres away.
Heron plunged again, sliding down a chute, then smashing into the mound of disturbed water at the bottom. Out of the corner of his eye, Hal saw Stefan lose his balance and fall, hurriedly regaining his feet. The roiling water as they passed the chute set the stern swinging again, and this time Hal couldn’t check it sufficiently.
‘Ulf! Back water!’ he yelled. ‘Wulf, row like hell!’
The two oars working in opposition, aided by the pressure of the steering oar, dragged the bow back to a straight course.
‘Ahead together!’ he yelled.
Hal’s heart was pounding and his throat was dry. The moment when he had felt himself unable to control the ship had been terrifying.
They raced on, the cliffs either side flying past at a frightening rate. Thorn called and pointed and Stig moved once more to fend off the bow from an exposed rock. This
time, Lydia joined him, with Ingvar ready to add his weight to the oar as she placed it.
Hal felt the extra thrust of Ingvar’s strength and the bow seemed to bounce clear of the rock. That augured well for the right-hand turn at the end of the chute, he thought. Instinctively, he checked the movement of the stern, swinging it out away from the danger. Again the rock flew by, only metres away. But now he saw that as a comfortable margin.
The deck heaved under him as Heron rode up a swelling curve in the river. Obviously, there was a large underwater obstruction deep below them. He rode the movement with his knees flexed, ready this time for the sudden yawing effect as the water raced down again. For a few seconds, Heron was sliding downstream at an angle to the current, but he heaved on the oar, setting his right foot against the bulwark for extra purchase, and she came straight again. Almost immediately, she dived into an unseen trough and water drenched him as it broke over the bow and gunwales, along the length of the ship.
Another one like that and they’d have to start bailing, he thought. He could feel the extra weight of water in the hull. Strangely enough, it seemed to help, keeping the ship a little more stable as the river tried to wrench her this way and that.
He glanced to port and saw Edvin, Stefan and Jesper fending them away from a rock that only just broke the surface. He gulped in fear. He hadn’t seen that one. Then Stig, Ingvar and Lydia were at work again as Thorn yelled and pointed to another potential danger in their path. The river roared at them, the sound bouncing back from the cliffs, battering at their senses. It seemed like a living, malevolent thing, trying to lull them, then suddenly springing a surprise in the form of a piled-up wall of water or a sudden trough to one side that they would lurch down, slamming heavily into the water at the bottom, sheeting spray up higher than the stumpy mast.
The speed they were moving at was terrifying. He had never before felt a ship moving so fast. And he sensed now that the downhill course of the river was steepening, and the speed was increasing with each metre. Ulf and Wulf kept stroking desperately. Hal heaved and shoved on the steering oar. He had a sudden, terrifying thought that he mustn’t work it too hard in case he snapped it. If that happened, they would spin out of control and be tossed downriver at the whim of the rapids. But he had no choice as the river fought him, trying to wrest control of his beloved Heron out of his hands. He began screaming insults at the river, defying it, challenging it. His words were lost in the roaring, thundering sound of the water rushing between the rocks.
He could hear Thorn yelling and looked to see him pointing downstream. Amazing, he thought, that the old sea wolf’s voice could conquer the thundering river around them.
He stopped to peer ahead. There was the final turn, and the huge, black rock that barred their way. From above it had seemed normal enough. From here, it looked like a cliff in their path – a solid wall.
The angle of their descent steepened suddenly and the ship accelerated down the smooth slope of water. He heaved on the steering oar as the rock grew closer, trying to drag the bow away from it. But the current had them and it was rushing them straight at the rock.
For’ard, he could see Stig was yelling, shouting instructions to Lydia and Ingvar, but his words were lost in the thundering roar of the river. Heron plunged on.
‘Edvin!’ Hal yelled. ‘Help me!’
Edvin scrambled across the heaving, plunging deck and threw his weight on the steering oar with Hal. Slowly, she began to crab across the current, so that her bow was no longer pointing at the black mass rising from the river. But they were still being swept towards it. Then Stig leaned far over the port bow and set his oar against the rock. Lydia was half a second behind him, yelling at Ingvar as the three of them threw their weight and their strength against the inexorable force of the river. Again, Hal felt Ingvar’s power make the difference as the bow shifted away from the rock. But he could tell it wasn’t going to be enough. They were going to be smashed against that black, evil piece of granite. He felt, more than heard, an ugly grating sound as Heron’s planks contacted the rock and despair swept over him.
Then the backwash that he’d predicted hit them and shoved the ship clear.
‘Reverse it! Reverse it!’ he yelled to Edvin and together they pushed against the oar to shove the swinging stern clear of the rock as Heron tried to pivot.
The black mass hung there for an instant in his vision, seeming to be close enough to touch. Then it whirled away in their wake as Heron plunged down one more smooth slope of water, splitting it high into spray on either side. In the bow, Ingvar stumbled and Lydia tried to help him. The two of them fell to the deck. Stig looked down at them, laughing.
Then the banks seemed to fall away on either side as the river suddenly widened and the Heron shot clear of the rift into calm water.
Gradually, the stream widened and the current slowed. They drifted with the flow, Ulf and Wulf taking an occasional stroke with the oars to give Hal steerage way. But he could see that his crew was exhausted, mentally as well as physically. And he felt the same way himself – wrung out by the terrifying experience of running the Wildwater Rift. He waited until he saw a piece of open land on the bank and steered towards it, letting the prow ground with its customary gentle grating sound.
Stefan dropped over the side with a rope, fastening it round a tree, then returning it to the ship, where Jesper tied it off around a bollard. But they both moved without the usual spring in their step.
The rest of the crew were watching him, dull eyed. They felt strangely let down. The excitement and fear that had built up during that wild ride down the rift was suddenly gone, leaving a sense of deep fatigue as the adrenaline that had been racing through their bloodstreams slowly dispersed.
‘We’ll rest here for an hour,’ Hal announced. He looked at Edvin. ‘Edvin, can you get a meal together, please?’
They hadn’t eaten since they’d left Bayrath. Slowly, the crew climbed over the railing and dropped ashore. Moving like sleepwalkers, they began to collect firewood under Edvin’s direction, then got a fire going. Thorn filled a kettle from the stream. As he placed it over the fire, he announced:
‘None of that wishy-washy herbal tea today. Let’s have coffee.’
Edvin checked in his supplies. ‘We’re almost out,’ he warned but Thorn shook his head dismissively.
‘Then let’s use what’s left. No sense in hoarding it. We need a good, strong drink and we need it now.’
Stig and the twins chorused their agreement and Edvin nodded. After all, he thought, sooner or later they would have to have that one final pot. And the strong, bracing taste of coffee was far more restorative than the thin, earthy-tasting herbal teas he had in his supplies.
Hal, meanwhile, was inspecting the bow of the Heron. He remembered the grating sensation he had felt through the timbers of the ship as they brushed against the final rock in the Wildwater Rift and he wanted to make sure there had been no major damage done.
He was reassured by the sight that met his eyes. One plank had been gouged and splintered. Obviously, they had struck a glancing blow against the rock. There was a scar of fresh wood some thirty centimetres long, and they’d lost some of the caulking material that sealed the plank against its neighbour. A nail had been torn loose where the plank was attached to a frame. But the timber hadn’t fractured and the damage could be easily repaired.
Although right now, Hal wasn’t inclined to leap to the task. ‘I’ll do it tonight,’ he said to himself.
The aroma of sizzling beef raised all their spirits, and their appetites. They crowded eagerly around the fire as Edvin doled out generous helpings of hot beef and toasted flat bread. Best of all, Hal thought, they began to talk as the food loosened their tongues, chattering excitedly as they recalled the more hair-raising moments of their ride down the rapids.
He stood back, watching them, gauging their mood and pleased by what he saw. Of course, it was Ingvar who brought him a plate of bread and beef and a cup of hot coffe
e.
‘Thanks, Ingvar,’ he said. ‘You did well today. I could feel the difference you made.’
Ingvar nodded solemnly. ‘Thank Lydia,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have done it without her. She’s quite a girl, Hal.’
Hal sensed an underlying message in Ingvar’s words. The big boy was regarding him steadily, and nodding meaningfully, as if to underscore his statement. Matchmaking, Ingvar? Hal thought. But he nodded in return.
‘I know, Ingvar.’ Then something caught his eye and he pointed to Ingvar’s shirt, just below his belt. ‘What’s that?’
There was a dull red stain on the shirt, and on the trousers beneath it, near Ingvar’s hip. Ingvar glanced down and touched it delicately, wincing as he did so.
‘Oh, I think I might have reopened my wound when we pushed off that last rock,’ he said. ‘It’s all right. I re-bandaged it as soon as I noticed.’ Hal regarded him with some concern.
‘Have Edvin check it out as soon as you can,’ he ordered. ‘We can’t take chances, Ingvar. I’m going to need you when we catch up with the Raven.’
‘I’ll be fine, Hal. I just did a little too much, a little too early, that’s all.’
‘Have it checked,’ Hal repeated, in a tone that brooked no argument. Ingvar spread his hands in submission.
‘I will,’ he promised. Hal tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the grass and walked to the fire, washing his plate and cup in a basin of hot water that Edvin kept ready. He dried them both and stacked them away into the canvas pack where Edvin kept the utensils. He glanced around the faces of his friends. They were relaxed now and that gaunt, haunted look that had followed the sudden letdown after the terror of the rift was gone.
‘We’d better get under way,’ he said crisply. ‘Every moment we sit here, Zavac is moving closer to Raguza.’ He glanced at his first mate.