‘Yes?’ he said. His tone was neutral, neither friendly nor dismissive. He looked at them with dark eyes, his gaze switching from one to the other. Then he took a sip from the glass of tea on his table. He grimaced and turned to a side door, bellowing angrily.
‘Ullur!’
‘Yes, effendi!’ came the instant reply. The door opened to admit one of the line handlers from the wharf outside.
The clerk gestured to his tea. ‘This is cold. Get me a fresh one!’
‘At once, effendi!’ Ullur replied. His words were submissive but his tone wasn’t. He obviously had little respect for the other man’s authority. As he reached for the tea glass, the clerk aimed a swipe at his head with the back of his hand. Ullur obviously was expecting such a move and swayed backwards, avoiding the blow. Then he seized the glass and scuttled out of the room.
The clerk, now obviously in a much worse mood than before, turned to them again, frowning.
‘Yes?’ he repeated. His tone was sharper this time.
‘We want a mooring for ten days,’ Hal told him.
The man’s eyes, which had been trained on Thorn, switched to the younger man, a slightly surprised expression showing in them. Hal unhitched his money purse from his belt and began to loosen the drawstring that closed it. They would actually be out of here in less than a week if all went well, but it didn’t hurt to confuse the issue.
‘It’s ten dirum a day,’ the man told him, pulling a ledger towards him and dipping his quill in an inkwell.
‘I was told five,’ Hal said.
The eyes flicked from the ledger up to his face. ‘You were told incorrectly,’ the man said.
Hal shrugged slightly and began to re-tie the fastenings of his purse.
‘But there is a weekly rate,’ the man said. ‘Eight dirum a day.’
‘We’re staying more than a week,’ Hal pointed out. ‘Six would be fair.’
The clerk’s face showed what might almost have been taken for mild respect. ‘I’m not in the fair business. Seven.’
‘Seven it is,’ Hal agreed and reopened the purse, extracting a fifty and a twenty and placing them before the man. The man’s hand swept out like a pudgy cobra and the money disappeared into a drawer in front of him. He took up the pen once more, head bent over the ledger. Bureaucracy thrived on paper forms and reports and records, Hal thought.
‘Ship’s name?’
‘Ariadne,’ Hal told him. Ariadne was a goddess of the Hellenese, a race from the north-east corner of the Constant Sea. In consultation with Gilan, he had decided that the Herons’ fair complexions would be suited to that race, and this way, there was no likelihood that Tursgud would be alerted to the arrival of a shipful of his countrymen.
The pen scratched as the man wrote laboriously, flecks of ink spattering from its frayed point onto the ledger page. ‘Hellenese, are you?’
He didn’t seem too interested one way or the other, so Hal declined to answer.
The man finished writing and closed the ledger with a slam, pushing it to one side. That’ll have smeared the ink, Hal thought. The clerk slid open a drawer in the table and produced a larger sheet, scanning it swiftly. Viewing it upside down, Hal could see it was a chart of the harbour, with berths and moorings marked and numbered. He glanced at Thorn, who had another purse ready in the side pocket of his vest. It contained a hundred dirum, in case they needed to bribe the man to assign them their preferred position for a mooring. But Thorn relaxed as he saw the man jab a stubby finger at the north-west arm of the harbour.
‘Mooring forty-three, north-west,’ he said, shoving the map towards them and turning it so they could study it more easily. ‘Numbers are on the jetties,’ he added.
Hal nodded. That was standard practice. He slid a further ten dirum across the table. ‘For your kind assistance,’ he said. That was standard practice too.
The man grunted. This time, the money wasn’t swept into a drawer, but disappeared inside his grey robe.
As they turned to go, the man yelled towards the side door once more.
‘Ullur, you lazy oaf! Where’s my tea?’
Hal and Thorn exchanged a glance. They had both seen the surly expression on Ullur’s face and an unspoken agreement passed between them. If they were the clerk, they wouldn’t be drinking anything that Ullur prepared.
They cast off and rowed up harbour, finding their mooring in a relatively uncrowded inlet. As they stowed the yardarm and sail properly, Edvin set up his stove and began preparing a meal, using the last of Gilan’s coffee to make a final pot.
‘I’ll buy more ashore,’ he reassured the Ranger.
Gilan raised his eyebrows at the somewhat cavalier treatment of his coffee beans. Then he shrugged mentally. He was eating their provisions, he thought, and Edvin’s cooking was good. Sharing his coffee was a small price to pay.
Particularly when he knew they would be able to buy much better coffee ashore in Socorro. The Arridans, after all, had introduced coffee drinking to the rest of the world.
The crew lounged on the deck, relaxing after their meal. Only Hal seemed preoccupied. He stood and paced back and forth, deep in thought.
‘Something on your mind?’ Gilan asked him.
‘I’m still trying to work out a way to get into the slave market. We can’t plan a rescue if we don’t know what we’re facing.’
‘Buyers are allowed in the day before the sale begins,’ Lydia told him.
He nodded distractedly. ‘That’s cutting it too fine. That means we’d have to do a reconnaissance, then plan the rescue, all within a few hours.’
‘Well, only sellers are allowed in before the sale,’ Gilan pointed out.
Hal’s mouth set in a tight line as he tried to find a way around the problem.
Thorn’s face lit up with a beatific smile.
‘Why don’t we sell Ingvar?’ he suggested.
The reaction from the crew was mixed. The majority looked shocked. Ulf and Wulf were obviously amused by the idea of having their nemesis sold off to the highest bidder. Jesper fingered his chin thoughtfully, trying to assess how much they might get for the massively built boy. Lydia was outraged.
‘Sell Ingvar?’ she said, her voice rising into a higher register than normal. ‘You really are too much, old man! How could you suggest such a thing?’
Ingvar’s reaction was the most interesting. He nodded thoughtfully.
‘You know, that’s not a bad idea,’ he said.
Lydia rounded on him furiously. ‘Not a bad idea? It’s a terrible idea! Have you taken leave of your senses?’
Ingvar shook his head, grinning at her. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ He switched his gaze to Thorn. ‘I assume you don’t mean to leave me to the tender mercies of whoever buys me?’
Thorn pushed his bottom lip out and tilted his head to one side.
‘Not necessarily,’ he said. ‘Depends on how much we get for you.’ Ingvar regarded him steadily for a few seconds and he added, ‘Actually, I thought we’d rescue you along with the others.’
‘No need to take it as far as that,’ Hal said, catching on to the idea. ‘We can simply take Ingvar along to the market, pretending we want to sell him. That way, we can get a look at what we’re up against, how many guards there are, what sort of locks are on the doors . . .’ He glanced at Jesper as he said this.
The former thief nodded. Unconsciously, his hand dropped to touch the canvas wallet that he always kept handy. It contained his lock-picking tools.
‘Then,’ Hal continued, ‘I could ask for a valuation on him.’ He smiled at Ingvar. ‘Should get plenty for a big hulk like you.’
Ingvar replied, without smiling, ‘Although I do cost a lot to feed.’
Stig made a disclaiming gesture. ‘Gruel is cheap,’ he said. ‘That’s what they’ll feed you. Gruel,’ he repeated the word, savouring its sound.
Ingvar’s top lip wrinkled at the thought. ‘I’d want more than gruel,’ he said. ‘You should stipulate that, Hal.’
r /> ‘I’ll definitely do that, Ingvar. Point is, whatever they tell me you’re worth, I’ll get on my high horse and say it’s not enough. Then we’ll leave in a huff, taking you with us.’
‘I’ve always wanted to travel in a huff,’ Ingvar mused. ‘It sounds very comfortable. I imagine they’re well padded.’
‘Lined with feathers, in fact,’ Gilan put in.
‘So who goes to the slave market with you?’ Stig asked. Hal considered his answer.
‘You and Thorn,’ he said. ‘I’ll need some muscle to contain this big bruiser, even if he is chained up.’ He slapped Ingvar affectionately on the shoulder. Ingvar raised one eyebrow in response. ‘And Jesper, of course. He’ll need to get a look at the locks they’re using in there.’
Jesper nodded.
‘I want to be in on it too!’ protested Ulf.
‘And if he’s going, I need to be along to look after him,’ Wulf added. ‘He’s a little slow on the uptake, after all.’
Ulf turned on him indignantly. ‘Me? Slow on the uptake? Then why did our mam tell me, “Take care of your brother. He’s not too bright?”’
‘She was talking to me,’ Wulf said placidly.
But Ulf was shaking his head. ‘She was looking at me!’
Wulf spread his hands in a ‘that proves it’ sort of gesture. ‘She’s cross-eyed,’ he said, which was the truth. Their mother did have a definite cast in one eye and it did tend to wander through a wide arc from time to time. Ulf tried to think of a reply, but Ingvar interrupted in a cautionary tone.
‘Wouldn’t care to be thrown overboard in this harbour,’ he said. ‘That water is very badly polluted.’ Ulf’s protest died unspoken on his lips. He and his brother resumed their seats on the rowing benches. They had risen to their feet in the passion of the moment. Ulf looked from Ingvar to Hal.
‘Are you sure you couldn’t sell him for real?’ he asked plaintively.
‘When do you want us to drag him along to the slave market?’ Thorn asked.
‘Tomorrow,’ Hal said decisively. ‘No point in wasting time – and we may find that we need to get special equipment ready for the rescue.’
‘What sort of special equipment?’ Stefan asked.
Hal shrugged. ‘I have no idea,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe nothing. It’ll depend on what we find at the market. In the meantime, there’s something I want to attend to tonight. I’ll need Stig, Thorn and Ingvar to help me with that.’
‘Are you sure you need me?’ Ingvar said, surprised. Stig and Thorn were the two best warriors in the crew. Usually, Ingvar’s short-sightedness precluded him from being included in any fighting.
‘Definitely,’ Hal told him. ‘They’ll be along in case we run into any trouble. I need you for some heavy lifting.’
‘When do we do this . . . whatever it is?’ Stig asked. The prospect of action cheered him immensely.
‘After midnight,’ Hal replied. ‘So get some sleep early, all of you.’
It was well after midnight when the four of them padded silently through the deserted streets of Socorro’s waterfront district. A few blocks back from the water, the night was alive with the sound of carousing and arguing from dozens of taverns. But here, the buildings were mainly warehouses and storage sheds – busy during the day but deserted by night.
Here and there, a solitary lantern burned high on the wall of a building, casting a dim, uncertain light over the area.
Ships were moored alongside the wharf. Their halyards made a low rattling sound against the masts as the wind stirred them, and there was a constant slap of water against the hulls as they rose and fell gently.
For the most part, the ships were dark and silent, their crews either asleep or absent onshore. Occasionally, the four silently moving Skandians would see a night watchman leaning on the rail, staring over the side at the black harbour.
‘Left here,’ Hal whispered. He had scouted their route at sundown, when the light was uncertain and there was less chance of his being recognised in the event that he ran into Tursgud or one of his crew. They were in the south reach of the harbour, heading for the spot where Nightwolf was moored.
They followed, moving in single file, staying in the deep shadows left by the scattered lanterns. Ingvar stayed close behind Hal. In this dim light, he was at less of a disadvantage than normal. None of them could see clearly, and at least he was accustomed to that condition. He was burdened by an immense coil of heavy rope slung over his left shoulder.
It consisted of half of Heron’s anchor cable. Stig and Thorn carried the other half, in two pieces, between them. Hal was unburdened, aside from his own tool bag and two of the inflated bladders that the crew used for their football game.
Stefan had frowned when he saw his skirl inflating them. ‘Planning on challenging Tursgud to a game?’
Hal had grinned. ‘Something like that.’
He stopped now, in the shadow cast by a storage shed at the harbour’s edge, holding up his hand for the others to do likewise. They moved around him and he pointed to a large wooden wharf twenty metres away.
‘Nightwolf’s moored over there,’ he told them. They all craned around the edge of the shed to look at her. Sure enough, the long wolfship was moored on the far side of the wharf. Her yardarm was hoisted, and the sail was furled loosely on it. Obviously, Tursgud liked to be ready to make a fast getaway if necessary.
‘I’m going to go into the water on this side, and swim under the wharf to reach her,’ he told them. ‘You get busy splicing the anchor cable. I’ll come back this side when I need it.’
Stig nodded his understanding. But so far, Hal hadn’t explained exactly what he was planning to do, or why.
‘What’s the plan?’ he asked.
‘Insurance,’ Hal told him. ‘When we leave, the alarm’s sure to go up and people will come after us. The only ship I’m concerned with is Nightwolf. None of the local ships will have the speed to catch us. But she might, if the wind’s in the right direction. So I plan to slow her down.’
While he had been speaking, he had opened his tool bag and taken out a hand auger and a large bit.
‘I’m going to bore a hole in her sternpost, just below the waterline, and pass the anchor cable through it. Then I’ll fasten the other end to one of the wharf pilings. That way, if they take off after us, they’ll get a very nasty surprise by the time they’ve gone one hundred metres.’
‘What if the rope floats up in the meantime and they see it?’ Thorn said, frowning. Sometimes, Hal was known to forget small details like that.
‘There’s plenty of scrap pieces of metal on the wharf here. Tie some of them to the line before you pass it down to me. That’ll keep the rope below the surface and out of sight.’
Thorn grinned approvingly. Hal did seem to have thought of everything this time. One thing puzzled him, however.
‘What are you going to do with those bladders?’ he asked.
‘They’re to keep me afloat while I’m boring the hole,’ Hal told him. ‘After all, I’ll need to use two hands.’
As he spoke, he was tying a short length of cord between the two bladders. Then he stripped down to his underwear and placed the rope across his chest and under his armpits, so the bladders were held at shoulder height behind his back.
Thorn studied the arrangement and could see how, once in the water, the bladders would float up, pulling the cord tight under his arms and across his chest. He whistled softly.
‘Good thinking,’ he said. He never failed to be impressed by Hal’s ingenuity.
But Stig had a problem with the plan. ‘You’re really going to swim in this water?’ he asked, pointing down to the black, glossy surface of the harbour.
Hal’s teeth showed in a quick grin. ‘I’m swimming in it, not drinking it,’ he said. ‘Now let’s go.’
And, bending double, he led the way across the darkened wharf to the edge.
The task was completed in a little over two hours.
The thick cable, wei
ghed down by several iron shackles and chain links, was securely fastened to Nightwolf’s sternpost, just below the waterline. The other end passed round one of the thick wharf pilings, also below the surface. Hal had fastened the rope to a point well underneath the stern of the ship, so that the likelihood of anyone looking overboard and seeing it was low.
‘What if they decide to move the ship before we leave?’ Stig asked, as Hal dried himself off and re-donned his clothing.
Hal shrugged. ‘It won’t really matter. They’ll damage her and that’s the important thing. Either way, they won’t be able to follow us when we sail out.’
The four friends ghosted back through the now deserted streets of the city to the northern arm of the harbour. As they stepped aboard Heron, seven anxious pairs of eyes focused on them.
‘Any problems?’ Gilan asked.
‘All as smooth as silk,’ Hal said. ‘Nightwolf is now securely tethered to her wharf, although her crew are completely unaware of the fact.’
‘Let’s hope she tries to leave in a hurry,’ Stefan said. ‘What do you think is likely to happen when she does get under way, Hal?’
Hal thought about his answer for a few moments. ‘Well, the least that will happen is that she’ll do her sternpost some damage – maybe pull it out of alignment. Or even dislodge the backstay and weaken the mast. And since all the planks are attached to the sternpost, she might spring a few of them.’
‘I hope we’re around to see it,’ Stefan replied, smiling at the thought of the disaster waiting for Tursgud and his crew.
‘I hope we’re a long way down harbour from her if it does happen,’ Hal said. He yawned. ‘Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. We have to sell Ingvar.’
‘If only that were true,’ muttered Wulf.
They dressed Ingvar in a torn, sleeveless shirt and tattered knee-length shorts. Thorn wound a length of grubby linen around Ingvar’s head, like a makeshift turban, leaving one end hanging down over his shoulder. He stood back and surveyed his work.