He fetched his tool kit and took out a hand plane, working it on the wood until the sharp edge was rounded off. Then he rubbed it with a smoothing stone to make it even less abrasive. As soon as he began to examine the weapon, Ingvar had joined him, crouching beside him to see if there was anything he could do to help. Hal smiled to himself. Ingvar had a proprietorial interest in the Mangler. He alone was strong enough to cock it and load it single-handed. After a lifetime of being made to feel superfluous, Ingvar was delighted to find a vital task that only he could accomplish.
‘How’s the side?’ Hal asked as he worked away with the plane. Ingvar touched the spot where he had been wounded, and pressed experimentally.
‘Feeling a lot better. I should be fine in a day or two.’
‘Good. Because I may need you in a day or two.’ Hal bent closer to study the strap. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. It seemed strong enough. He pointed it out to Ingvar.
‘Give that a good yank, will you?’
Ingvar complied and they both examined the strap again. ‘Felt solid enough,’ Ingvar said and Hal grunted.
‘I’ll grease it to stop it fraying any further.’
That done, he tightened both straps until they were evenly balanced, collected his tools and stood, looking once more across to the Seahawk. This time, he was pleased to see Mannoc standing in the bow, checking the forestay and discussing a repair with his first mate. In addition to the damaged rope, there were several raw patches on the hull and bulwarks, where axe strokes or spear thrusts from the pirate longboat had scarred the timber. They didn’t make the ship any less efficient, but Hal knew a proud skipper like Mannoc wouldn’t tolerate having his ship scarred and marked in that way. Before too long, he’d set men to work, sanding and patching the marks of battle.
He looked up and saw Hal watching. He smiled and waved a greeting, then Hal moved to the port rail, stepping up onto it and balancing with a light hold on a stay. It was freshly tarred and he felt the sticky substance, still slightly warm, adhering to his fingers. Absentmindedly, he wiped his hand on the seat of his pants, smiling as he thought of what his mother would have to say about such behaviour. He gestured to the Seahawk’s deck.
‘Come aboard?’ he asked. That was simply good manners. Mannoc nodded and beckoned him forward, moving to the rail to greet him as he stepped lightly across the gap between the two ships.
‘What’s on your mind?’ Mannoc said cheerfully as they shook hands.
‘Zavac and Raguza,’ Hal replied.
Mannoc’s smile faded a little. ‘Ah yes. And what exactly did you want to know about them?’
‘You’ve run across Zavac before, haven’t you?’ Hal asked.
Mannoc nodded. ‘Several times. I could never catch him, unfortunately. His ship was too fast for me and he always ran back into the safety of Raguza harbour.’
‘So the Seahawk is well known in Raguza? I mean, they’d recognise her if they saw her?’
Mannoc smiled grimly. ‘Oh, they’d recognise her, all right. Zavac aside, we’ve caused a lot of problems for the citizens of Raguza over the years.’ He paused and studied the younger man shrewdly. ‘I assume this has something to do with all the questions you were asking last night?’
Hal nodded. ‘From what you said, I take it that the most important person in the town is the Kopple . . .’ He hesitated over the word and Mannoc supplied it.
‘The Korpaljo. Yes. The ruling council is called the Korpal, which means “circle”. They’re called that because they meet in a circular tower room, sitting at a circular table. The circle theme reflects the fact that all members are equal, except for the Korpaljo, or Circle leader. He’s elected by the others for a term of four years and his word is law.’
He frowned, thinking, then added, ‘The current Korpaljo is called Mihaly. He was elected two years ago. He’s a former pirate captain himself and he can be a very bad enemy to anyone who crosses him. He’s a cruel, merciless man and he rules the Circle with an iron fist – doesn’t tolerate any disagreement with his decisions.’ He smiled ironically. ‘His name, incidentally, means “close to the gods”. I think he believes it’s true. He thinks he has god-like powers.’
Hal was frowning as Mannoc described the organisation of Raguza’s ruling body.
‘If the Korpaljo has absolute power, what’s the point of being on the Circle?’ he asked.
Mannoc nodded. ‘Good question. The members of the Korpal carry out his orders. And they have no authority of their own. But of course Circle members wield a lot of influence in the city. And the only way to be elected Korpaljo is to be a member of the Circle in the first place.’
‘Aha. That makes sense,’ Hal said. ‘So if I can convince Mihaly that we’re pirates, nobody else can gainsay his decision – least of all Zavac?’
‘I should say that’s true. After all, Zavac’s not a member of the Korpal. But how do you propose to convince Mihaly?’
‘I thought I’d get you and the Seahawk to chase us into Raguza harbour,’ Hal said. Mannoc considered the idea for a few seconds, weighing it. Then he nodded.
‘Yes. That might work. It’s a good idea.’
‘It’s not mine,’ Hal admitted. ‘I stole it from Zavac. I’m going to say that he recruited us for the raid on Limmat, then deserted us, along with Stingray and her crew.’
Mannoc was familiar with the details of the invasion of Limmat. Hal had described it to him the previous evening.
‘Mentioning Stingray will add to your credibility. She was well known in Raguza. Mind you, if Mihaly doesn’t believe your story, you’ll be in a real fix. And there’ll be nothing I can do to help you.’
‘We have something to help sway him,’ Hal said and, when Mannoc looked questioningly at him, he added, ‘We’ve got a stash of Limmatan emeralds we plan to bribe him with.’
Mannoc thrust out his bottom lip and nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I should think that would do it.’
‘Something else I was wondering about,’ Hal said. ‘Do you think your trader friends would object if I returned the money they gave me and took their payment in cargo instead?’
Mannoc considered the idea, then shook his head. ‘I think they’d be delighted,’ he said. ‘They calculated your payment on the basis of their cargoes’ market price. If they pay you in goods, they’ll be saving money. But why do it that way?’
‘If we’re carrying some cargo, we can spin a story that we took it from a trading ship on the river – one that you were escorting. Then you turned up and chased us off. It all adds to our credibility as a pirate ship.’
Mannoc regarded the young man with increased respect. This one is a thinker, all right, he thought to himself. He covers every angle. Then another thought struck him. There was a further small detail they could add, and he was beginning to realise that small details could make a big difference.
‘You’ll need a black flag. All pirates fly them – a black flag with your own individual device on it.’
Hal smiled. ‘I’ll get Edvin onto it. If all else fails, he can knit us one.’
Mihaly, Korpaljo of the pirate haven of Raguza, strode resolutely along the waterfront, as he did most days. His secretary, Hugo, hurried behind him, struggling to keep up with the Korpaljo’s fast pace.
Mihaly’s dark eyes scanned the jetties and moorings, looking for new arrivals, checking for ships that had been in port too long. The one-tenth tribute paid to the Korpal bought a ship haven for a month. At the end of that time, the ship could either leave harbour, or pay an additional tribute – although at the lesser rate of one-twentieth.
His eyes fastened on a ship moored along the stone-edged waterfront. She had a distinctive blue paint job, and two large eyes were painted on her bow. Her captain, noticing the Korpaljo passing by, called a cheerful greeting.
‘Good morning, Mihaly! A beautiful day!’
He smiled and waved back at the man. ‘It is indeed, Drakis!’ he agreed. Then he swung round to his assistant, the smile fading as
he turned away from the ship.
‘How long has he been in port?’ he demanded.
Hugo fumbled through the ledger that he always carried with him, checking ships’ names and arrival dates.
‘Let’s see . . . Bluefire . . . Bluefire . . .’ he said, turning the pages as quickly as he could. Mihaly glared at him and snapped his fingers.
‘Get a move on, curse you.’
Hugo finally found the page he was looking for. ‘Yes, Korpaljo. Ah! Here it is. They came in four weeks and two days ago. They’re overdue,’ he added.
Mihaly glared at him. ‘I could work that out myself. Do you think I’m a dullard? Send the guard later to collect another tribute.’
‘Yes, Korpaljo,’ Hugo replied, making a mark against Bluefire’s name.
Mihaly stopped, hands on hips, surveying the wide harbour, crowded with ships and surrounded by elegant, white-painted buildings built on the hills that rose on all sides round the harbour.
‘Any new arrivals?’ he asked and Hugo shook his head.
‘None since Raven,’ he said, watching his master carefully.
A scowl came over Mihaly’s swarthy features at the name. ‘Ah yes, our friend Zavac. Where’s he moored?’
This time, Hugo didn’t need to check his ledger. He pointed down harbour, towards one of the inner bays.
‘You put him in Goathead Bay,’ he said. Mihaly snorted.
‘Good place for him.’ He shaded his eyes and followed the direction Hugo had indicated. But from this point, a headland obscured the view into Goathead Bay.
‘I don’t trust that man,’ he said softly. ‘He’s a liar and a cheat.’
Hugo shrugged. ‘He’s a pirate, after all,’ he said, without thinking, then went pale as he realised his mistake. Mihaly turned those dark eyes on him so they seemed to bore into Hugo’s brain.
‘So was I,’ he reminded him. Hugo backed away a few paces, stammering.
‘Well, yes, Korpaljo . . . I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, I didn’t intend . . .’
Mihaly made a disgusted gesture. ‘Oh, shut up your bleating!’ he ordered. ‘What I mean is, Zavac has a bad habit of cheating his own kind. There should be a sense of trust between us, after all. If we don’t stick together, if we can’t trust each other, then we’ll become easy prey for the rest of the world. That’s why Raguza is such a powerful and impregnable haven. We stick together and provide mutual support.’
And in addition, you’re paid large bribes by every ship that enters the port, Hugo thought. But he was wise enough not to voice the sentiment. He stood silent, nodding agreement.
Mihaly stood, feet braced wide apart in the unconscious stance of an experienced sailor. He was a dark, swarthy man, with close-cropped black hair and heavy eyebrows above his dark brown, almost black, eyes. His face was weathered by years of sun, wind and salt water. He was stocky and a little below average height, although to compensate, he wore knee-high boots with high heels. His career as a pirate had taken him through the eastern reaches of the Constant Sea, into the Sea of Rostov and out through the Assaranyan Channel to the Blood Sea. His wide war belt held a long, curved sabre and two heavy daggers.
It had been many years since his last raiding cruise, and his waist had begun to thicken. Still, Hugo knew, he was incredibly fast with the sword or either of the daggers – and with either hand. He was not a man to trifle with.
The Korpaljo grunted. The thought of Zavac and his ship had put him in a bad mood. He sensed that the Magyaran was hiding something from him, that he had underpaid the amount of tribute owed to the Korpal. But he couldn’t prove it. He swung on his heel and turned abruptly back towards the town. Mihaly tended to move abruptly, Hugo thought.
‘Right! Let’s get back to –’
‘Sail! Two ships approaching!’
The shout came from a wooden lookout platform set at the end of the harbour mole. Mihaly spun on his heel again to face it. The lookout on duty was pointing out to sea and Mihaly hurried along the cobbled surface of the harbour front, where it curved out in a long sweep to the narrow harbour entrance.
As he went, with Hugo skipping hurriedly in his wake, they heard the rattle of a drum as the harbour guard turned out on either side of the entrance. Armed men lined the stone harbour walls on either side. On each headland, a dozen archers took up shooting positions.
Mihaly and Hugo reached the end of the mole. The guard captain, recognising the Korpaljo, saluted briskly.
‘Two ships, sir,’ he said, before Mihaly could ask. ‘Heading for the harbour. They’re coming fast.’
The lookout was crouched on his platform above them, staring through a viewing tube set on a swivelling mount, designed to cut side glare and focus his vision.
‘Second ship is the Seahawk!’ he called.
Mihaly’s head jerked up at the name. He hated the Seahawk, and her commander, Mannoc. The escort ship commander had cost him a great deal of money over the years. While Mihaly no longer went to sea, he held shares in many of the ships operating out of Raguza. Mannoc had burned and sunk far too many of them.
‘Are you sure?’ he called. The lookout stood away from the viewing tube and looked down to the stocky figure on the ground below him.
‘I’m sure,’ he replied. ‘That Droghan swine chased us in the old Naska for three days before he caught us and burned her. I only just got away. I’d know her anywhere.’
‘What’s the other ship?’ Mihaly asked.
‘She’s smaller. Looks like Seahawk is after her, but she’s holding her own. Strange rig, like one of those Blood Sea craft. Triangular sail, set fore and aft.’
Mihaly climbed the first few rungs of the ladder leading to the platform until the two ships came into sight. The lookout was right, he thought. The second ship was definitely the Seahawk and she was obviously in pursuit of the smaller ship.
‘She’s flying a black flag,’ the lookout added. No need to say which ship he was talking about. Seahawk would never fly a black flag. It was the universal sign of a corsair – a term that Mihaly generally preferred to the word ‘pirate’.
As they watched, the leading ship changed course, turning towards the wind – and the harbour entrance. The fore and aft rig let her lie closer to the stiff breeze than Seahawk’s square mainsail would allow.
If I were starting out again, I’d have a ship with that sort of rig, Mihaly thought.
Gradually, the two ships began to diverge, the distance between them widening. Mihaly sensed an air of frustration about the Seahawk, although he realised he was probably being fanciful. He could see a small knot of men in the bow of the Seahawk, armed with bows and launching arrows after their escaping quarry. But the leading ship was already out of effective range and he saw several quick splashes in her wake as the arrows fell short. Some of her crew gathered in the stern to wave and yell abuse at the Droghan ship pursuing them.
A few hundred metres from the harbour, Mannoc admitted defeat and the Seahawk sheered away, not wanting to come within range of the waiting archers on either side of the harbour entrance. Bitter experience had taught Mannoc that there was nothing to be gained from coming too close to Raguza.
‘Orders, sir?’ the guard captain asked.
Mihaly thought for a moment, then replied. ‘Send out the longboats to escort her in.’
The captain saluted and turned away, bellowing orders.
‘And keep an eye on Seahawk. Mannoc may try one last throw of the dice.’
It was just possible that when her quarry lowered her sails to row into the harbour, Mannoc might try a desperate, last-minute dash to run down and seize her. That was why Mihaly had ordered the two longboats to bring the newcomer in. They were guardboats kept in constant readiness for an event such as this. With twenty armed men in each, they would ensure that Mannoc kept his distance.
Now that the smaller ship was closer, Mihaly could see that she was festooned with arrows and there were several long rips in her sail. Obviously, it had been a long c
hase and Mannoc had come close to catching her. The black flag at her stern was discernible now. It was decorated with a white device – the skeletal head of a sharp-beaked bird. As he watched, the helmsman on the newcomer acknowledged the longboats heading out to escort him into harbour. The punctured sail slid down and was gathered in and oars were run out either side.
Mihaly cast one more look at the Seahawk, but she was far out on the broad river now. At this point, where the river ran into the Constant Sea, it was five kilometres or more across. At high tide, the water was noticeably salty. Seahawk was little more than a faint flutter of white sail against the blue of the water. There was no further risk from her.
He jerked a thumb at the small ship as it rowed towards the harbour, flanked either side by the lean, predatory longboats.
‘Assign them a mooring, then send them to me,’ he ordered.
‘Aye, sir,’ the captain replied. ‘Alongside? Or out in the bay?’ he added.
Mihaly turned a baleful gaze on him. ‘Do I look as if I give a water rat’s behind?’ he snarled and the captain hastily apologised.
‘No, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll attend to it, sir.’ He remembered, too late, that it was unwise to ask the Korpaljo to bother with details – unless they involved a payment due to him. Then he was a real stickler, the captain thought.
‘Bring their captain to me within the hour,’ Mihaly said, turning away. ‘And bring him under guard until we know who they are.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the captain said briskly. He was already thinking. That meant he’d need to put the new ship on a mooring alongside the harbour front. It’d take too long to moor them out in the bay, then find a small boat to bring the captain ashore. And he knew that he’d better get the captain of the ship to Mihaly’s office without delay.