The captain looked from Will to Halt, and back to Will. The young man's face was serious, with no sign that he was gulling the captain. The captain swallowed several times, then decided that, even if he were being deceived, it might be more kindly to let Halt suffer his seasickness in peace.
'Sail!'
The cry came from the masthead lookout. Instinctively, all three of them looked up at him. He was pointing behind them, arm outstretched to the south-east. Then they swung to follow that pointing arm. There was a low scud of sea mist further out to sea, but as they watched, a dark shape began to creep out of it, taking on firmer lines.
'Can you make her out?' the captain yelled.
The lookout shaded his eyes, peering more carefully at the following ship.
'Six oars a side . . . and a square mains'l. She's coming up on us fast. Headreaching on us too!'
The strange ship was running before the wind, and rowing strongly as well. Headreaching meant she was able to aim for a point in advance of the Sparrow, and reach it before them. There was no way they could avoid her.
'Can you make her out?' the captain repeated. There was a moment's hesitation.
'I think she's the Claw. The Black O'Malley's ship!' the lookout called. Will and Horace exchanged a worried glance.
'Then Halt was right,' Will said.
The morning after the confrontation with O'Malley in the tavern, Halt had roused his two companions early.
'Get dressed,' he told them briefly. 'We're heading back to Fingle Bay.'
'What about breakfast?' Horace asked grumpily, knowing what the answer was going to be.
'We'll eat on the way.'
'I hate it when we eat on the way,' Horace grumbled. 'It does terrible things to my digestion.' Nonetheless, he was an experienced campaigner. He dressed quickly, re-rolled his pack and buckled on his sword. Will was ready a few seconds after him. Halt looked them over, checking that they had all their equipment.
'Let's go,' he said and led the way downstairs. He paid the innkeeper for their stay and they made their way to the stables. The horses nickered a greeting as they entered.
'Halt,' Will asked, once they were on the road, 'why Fingle Bay?'
'We need a ship,' Halt told him.
Will glanced over his shoulder at the town they had just left. They were almost at the top of the hill and the forest of masts was clearly visible.
'There are ships here,' he pointed out and Halt looked at him sidelong.
'There are,' he agreed. 'And O'Malley is here as well. He already knows where we'll be going. I don't want him knowing when we go there.'
'You think he'd try to stop us, Halt?' Horace asked.
The Ranger nodded. 'I'm sure he would. In fact, I'm sure he will. But if he doesn't know when we leave, it may mean we can give him the slip. Besides, the shipmasters in Fingle Bay are a little more honest than that nest of smugglers and thieves back there.'
'Only a little?' Will asked, hiding a grin. He knew Halt had a poor opinion of shipmasters in general – probably due to the fact that he hated travelling by sea.
'No shipmaster is too honest,' Halt replied dourly.
At Fingle Bay, they'd contracted with the master of the Sparrow, a wide-beamed merchantman with enough space for them and their three horses. When the captain heard their destination, he frowned.
'Craiskill River?' he said. 'A smuggler's den. Still, it's a good spot for a landing. Probably why the smugglers use it so often. I'll want extra if we're going there.'
'Agreed,' said Halt. He felt it reasonable to pay the man extra for the risk he was going to take. But not quite as much extra as the captain seemed to think it was worth. Eventually, they settled on a fee and Halt counted it out. Then he added three more gold pieces to the pile on the table in front of them.
The captain cocked an eye at it. 'What's this?'
Halt shoved the money towards him. 'That's for keeping your mouth shut,' he said. 'I'd like to leave after dark and I don't want people knowing where we're headed.'
The shipmaster shrugged.
'My lips are sealed,' he said, then, turning away, he bellowed a string of curses and instructions at several crew members who were loading barrels into the ship's hold.
Will grinned. 'That's a lot of noise for sealed lips,' he remarked.
Now, here they were, a few kilometres from their destination, and O'Malley had found them.
His ship was faster and handier than theirs. It was designed to outrun King's vessels sent to intercept it. And it carried a larger crew then the Sparrow. Will could see their heads lining the bulwarks and see the occasional glint of weapons. At the raised stern, he could make out O'Malley himself, straining at the tiller and keeping the Claw on course.
'We can't outrun them, can we?'
Will started in surprise at Halt's voice, close behind him. He turned to see that the Ranger had left his post in the bow and was now intent on the ship pursuing them. He was pale, but he seemed in control of himself now.
Years ago, on the long trip to Hallasholm, Will remembered discussing seasickness with Svengal, Erak's first mate.
'You need something to take your mind off it,' the burly Skandian had told him. 'When you've got something else to focus on, you don't have time to be seasick.'
It seemed he had been right. Halt's attention was fixed on the smuggler's craft behind them. He seemed to have forgotten his uncertain stomach.
The captain was shaking his head in answer to Halt's question. 'No. We can't outrun them. He's faster than us, and he can point up higher into the wind than I can. He'll either drive us down onto the reef or . . .' He stopped, not liking the alternative.
'Or what?' Horace asked. He loosened his sword in its scabbard. He'd seen the armed men aboard the Claw as well.
'Or else he'll ram us. The prow of his ship is reinforced. Rumour is he's sunk more than one ship that way.' He glared at Halt. 'If you'd told me that O'Malley would come after you I'd never have taken you on board.'
The faintest hint of a smile touched Halt's pale face.
'That's why I didn't tell you,' he said. 'So what do you plan to do?'
The captain shrugged helplessly. 'What can I do? I can't outrun him. Can't outfight him. Can't even hand you over to him. He doesn't leave witnesses. We're just going to have to stand here and wait for him to sink us.'
Halt raised an eyebrow.
'I think we can do a little better than that,' he said. 'Just let him get a little closer.'
The captain shrugged. 'I can't stop him getting a little closer.' Then he added, 'What are you going to do with that?'
Halt was unslinging the longbow that was over his left shoulder. At the same time, he hitched the quiver on his right shoulder up a little and selected a shaft. Will, seeing the movement, unslung his own bow.
'One or two arrows won't stop that ship,' the captain told him.
Halt regarded him with some curiosity. 'I asked what you had in mind. Apparently you're content to stand here while O'Malley rams us, sinks us and leaves to drown.'
The captain shifted uncomfortably. 'We might make it to shore,' he said. 'I can throw over empty barrels and baulks of timber to hang onto. We might be able to make it to the beach.'
'More likely we'll be washed into the reef itself,' Halt said. But he wasn't looking at the captain. He'd stepped closer to the rail and had an arrow nocked to the string. His eyes were fixed on the figure at the Claw's tiller. O'Malley had his feet braced wide apart as he dragged on the wooden bar, heaving the ship's bow upwind against the thrust on the sail and the pull of the oars. The whole ship was in a delicate state of balance. Wind, oars and tiller created a triangle of conflicting forces that resulted in the ship holding its present headway. Disturb one of those elements, Halt knew, and the result would be some moments of chaos as the remaining forces took charge.
He gauged the distance and the movement of the ship under his feet. Strange, now that he was concentrating on the problem of making an accurate s
hot, the nausea caused by that movement had receded. He frowned. The Claw was lifting and falling too. He'd have to factor that in to the shot. He sensed Will beside him, his own bow ready.
'Good lad,' he said. 'When I give you the word, we'll both shoot.'
'I told you,' the captain exclaimed. 'A couple of arrows won't stop that ship. We've little enough chance as it is. If you antagonise O'Malley, he'll make sure we're all dead before he leaves.'
'The way I see it,' Halt said, 'he won't be leaving. All right, Will. Now!'
As if they were linked by some invisible force, the two Rangers raised their bows, drew, sighted and shot. The two arrows sailed away within half a second of each other.
Seven
The two arrows, with one a little in the lead, arced away into the grey sky. Horace, watching their flight, lost sight of them against the clouds. He was conscious of the fact that Halt and Will had already nocked fresh arrows, ready for the next shot.
Then, eyes intent on the burly figure at the Claw's tiller, he caught a flicker of movement as the two arrows flashed down. He couldn't tell which arrow struck O'Malley. Halt was the better shot, Horace knew, but Will was nearly as skilled.
One arrow thudded, quivering, into the bulwark less than a metre from the helm. The other buried itself painfully in the fleshy part of O'Malley's upper left arm – the side that was facing towards them.
With the noise of wind and sea, Horace couldn't hear the cry of pain from the smuggler. But he saw him stagger, releasing the tiller and clutching his injured left arm.
The effect on the Claw was almost instantaneous – and disastrous. Freed of the steadying pressure of the rudder, holding her across the wind, she suddenly flew up ahead of the wind, her square sail bulging and ropes snapping like overtuned harp strings with the increase in pressure as the force came from dead astern. The lurching of the ship threw O'Malley to the deck. At the same time, several oarsmen completely missed their stroke and tumbled backwards on the rowing benches. One oar came unshipped. Several others tangled with their neighbours. The result was chaos.
The precise balance of forces that Halt had observed was totally disrupted. The Claw swung wildly downwind, already passing astern of the Sparrow, rushing madly towards the boiling waters of Palisade Reef.
One of the crew was lurching across the plunging deck, heading for the tiller, which was smashing back and forth, out of control.
'Stop him, Will,' Halt said briefly. They crossed to the opposite side of the deck, where they had a clearer view of the out-of-control smuggler ship. Again they shot. This time, both arrows found their mark and the man pitched forward, rolling into the scuppers as the ship heeled.
The Sparrow's captain watched, open-mouthed.
'Nobody can shoot like that,' he said softly. Horace, beside him, allowed himself a humourless smile.
'These two can,' he said.
On board the Claw, the stricken crew realised that it was too late to save their ship from driving onto the reef. They began to scramble towards the raised stern, trying instinctively to avoid the point of first impact. Their ship, rolling wildly, struck the first of the rocks, hidden below the seething water. There was a grating crash and the ship shuddered, her movement checked for a moment. The mast bowed forward under the sudden impact, then snapped off clean, a metre above the deck. It came crashing down across the ship in a tangle of rope and canvas and splintered wood, crushing and trapping a few who had been caught beneath it. The extra weight to one side heeled the ship downwind and that seemed to release it momentarily from the grip of the first rock. It surged upwards, staggered further into the tangle of the reef and crashed hard against another black, jagged mass rising from the sea. A wave broke over the trapped hull and several of the men on board were swept away. Halt and Will had lowered their bows. The bearded Ranger turned now to the captain.
'We should do something to help them,' he said.
The captain shook his head fearfully. 'I can't take my ship down into that!' he protested.
'I'm not suggesting you do. But we could toss some barrels overboard to float down to them. It might give them a chance.' Halt glanced coldly back towards the wrecked ship. 'Which is more than they would have given us.'
Horace nodded, grim-faced. The sight of the Claw, so recently a fast, agile creature of the water, now turned into a splintered, helpless wreck, was a terrible one indeed. But he knew the men on board had been willing to consign him, his friends and the crew of the Sparrow to the exact same fate. At a word from the captain, some of the Sparrow's crewmen left the oars and began to heave empty casks over the rail and he moved to help them. Soon a line of bobbing, floating barrels was drifting down towards the sinking ship.
The captain turned to Halt, fear in his eyes.
'I need my men back on the oars now,' he said, 'or we'll join them on the reef.'
Halt nodded. 'We've done all we can for them. Let's get out of here.'
The sailors scrambled back to their benches and began to heave on the oars again. Slowly, the Sparrow began to drag herself away from the dreadful reef. But it was a close-run thing. One of the jagged rocks passed a few metres by their bow and was actually hidden by the port bulwark as they surged past it, emerging a few minutes later in their wake. Horace shuddered at the sight of it. He had no idea how they'd missed it and in his mind's eye he could see the Sparrow suddenly smashing into it, pinned to the rock by the wind, slewing round, her mast crashing down under the shock, men hurled in all directions as the grey waves broke over the deck. He shook the image away as they crept closer to safety. Then he felt a strange sensation as the wind on his right cheek faltered and died, to be replaced by a gust from the left, then another, then a steady breeze. They'd reached the backlift!
'Go about!' the captain was yelling and the crew left the oars and rushed to the halyards. The big square sail began to swing ponderously, then filled with a loud crack on the opposite tack. As if she were aware of the danger she had just faced, the Sparrow surged gratefully away from the reef.
They beached the ship on the southern bank of the wide river mouth, running her prow into the sand so that she gradually eased to a halt. As the crew rigged a sling to the mast to haul the three horses overboard, the captain confronted Halt.
'You should have told me,' he said accusingly. 'You should have told me O'Malley was an enemy.'
Surprisingly, Halt merely nodded.
'You're right,' he said. 'But I knew you'd never take us if I did and I needed to get here.'
The captain shook his head and began to say something further. Then he hesitated, remembering the uncanny skill of the two bowmen when they had sent their arrows streaking across the water at the smuggler's ship. Perhaps it might not do to show too much indignation with such men, he thought. Halt saw the struggle on his face and touched his arm gently. He understood the man's feelings and he had to admit to himself that he had used him and his crew and he had put them all in danger.
'I'd pay you more,' he said apologetically. 'But I need all the gold I have left.' He thought for a moment, then said, 'Bring me a pen and paper.'
The skipper hesitated for a moment, then, as Halt urged him with a nod of his head, he disappeared into the low cabin at the stern. It was several minutes before he emerged, with a ragged-edged sheet of vellum and a writing quill and inkhorn. He had no idea what Halt intended and his expression said as much.
Halt took the writing implements, looked around for somewhere to rest the paper and saw the capstan set in the foredeck of the ship. He walked to it, the captain trailing him curiously, and spread the paper on the flat, scarred wooden surface. The top of the inkhorn was stuck in place by dried ink and it took him some seconds to pry it loose.
'What's your name?' he said suddenly. The question took the captain by surprise.
'Keelty. Ardel Keelty.'
Halt thought for a second or two, then wrote quickly. He covered the vellum with half a dozen lines, leaned back to read what he had written, h
is head at a slight angle, then nodded, satisfied. He signed the sheet with a flourish and waved it in the air to allow the ink to dry. Then he handed it to the captain, who looked at it and shrugged.
'I'm no great hand at reading,' he said.
Halt nodded. It explained the length of time it had taken Keelty to find pen and paper, and the state of the inkhorn. He took the paper back and read it aloud.
'Captain Keelty and the crew of the ship Sparrow have been instrumental in the taking and sinking of the notorious pirate and smuggling ship Claw off the coast of Picta. I request that these men be given a suitable reward from the royal coffers. Signed Halt, Araluen Rangers.' He looked up and added, 'It's addressed to King Sean. Present it to him and he'll make it worth your while.'
The captain snorted derisively as Halt handed him the sheet again. 'King Sean? Never heard of him. Ferris is the King of Clonmel.'
'Ferris is dead,' Horace put in. He wanted to spare Halt the anguish of discussing his brother's death. 'We're following the men who killed him. His nephew Sean has taken the throne.'
The captain turned to Horace. He was mildly surprised at the news of the King's death. Fingle Bay was a long way from the capital, after all. He looked sceptically at the words Halt had written.
'So if he has,' he said, 'why should this new king take any notice of you?'