Brotherband 3: The Hunters (21 page)

She walked along the quay more slowly now, scanning the jetties that ran out into the river as she drew closer to the toll office. Tall masts, surmounted by lanterns, bobbed gently on the wavelets that slapped quietly against the bank. She blinked her eyes to clear them. The masts were beginning to blend together again. She studied them individually but could see no sign of Hal’s little ship.

Then a thought struck her. She was looking for a tall mast among other tall masts. But the
Heron
’s mast, without its long curved yardarm, would be much shorter than the ones she was looking at. She needed to cast her gaze lower, searching for a heavy, short mast – and the sharp-beaked
Heron
figurehead that adorned the bowpost.

She moved faster now, coming level with the jetty where the toll office stood. So far, no sign of what she was looking for. She went on, past the toll office.

And, on the very next jetty, across a short stretch of dark water that rippled with reflected lantern light, there it was.

There was another ship moored beyond
Heron
, tied up bow to stern. Unlike most of the others in the basin, these two showed no masthead lights. They were unoccupied, she realised.

She hesitated. The jetty was still forty metres away and she thought it would be better to study it here, rather than get closer, where she might be noticed. She knew it would be a mistake to be observed paying too much attention to the impounded ship. There was sure to be a guard somewhere and too much interest on her part might make him suspicious.

She walked a few paces closer. Where was the guard? There had to be one. Then she saw him. He had walked out to the far end of the jetty. Now he was strolling back, looking around in a disinterested way. He stopped by the ship moored behind
Heron
and, stepping to the edge of the jetty, peered down into her. Perhaps he had heard a noise, she thought. Then, seemingly satisfied, he moved on, passing the
Heron
without a second glance and pacing to the landward end of the jetty.

He was armed, she could see. A short sword hung at his side and he was carrying a spear. He wore a mail shirt but no helmet. He paused under a lantern set on a pole at the entry to the jetty and peered up and down the quay. Lydia resisted the temptation to shrink down behind the low stone wall beside her. Movement would attract his attention, she knew. She was in an area of shadow between two lamps, and he had the full light of the lantern in his eyes. If he really wanted to study the waterfront, he would have been better to do it away from the light. He was simply going through the motions.

He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, then turned and began to pace slowly along the jetty again. She could hear his hard-shod boots on the jetty planks. His back was to her, so she moved quickly, getting closer to the entrance to the jetty. There was no gate, she saw, grateful for the fact. The jetty itself was littered with gear from ships – coiled ropes, rolled sails, oars, straw fenders and half a dozen fish traps in an untidy pile.

‘Must have been taken from an impounded fishing boat,’ she said to herself. It made sense that when Doutro detained a ship, he would strip her of her gear and put it up for sale. The value of the parts would be greater than the whole.

Moving carefully, her eyes fixed on the sentry as he paced away from her, she slipped onto the jetty itself. Crouched double, she moved away from the side where the lanterns were set, staying in the relative dimness. She was a trained hunter and it was second nature to her to move quickly but with no noise in a forest. On a bare jetty, with no deadfalls or twigs underfoot, it was child’s play. She reached the pile of fish traps and slipped behind them, staying on the outer side.

The sentry had reached the end of the jetty now. He turned and began to pace back. This time, he didn’t bother to look at either of the ships moored alongside. That was a good sign, she thought. He was getting bored. He’d probably been on duty for hours. He paced down to the riverfront road again. This time, he didn’t pause, but turned around and began to retrace his steps. Lydia crouched, absolutely motionless, behind the wicker fish traps.

The sentry went past, barely two metres away from her. As he passed, she could see his eyes were down, staring at the planks of the jetty. Definitely bored, she thought. Once he was a few metres past her hiding place, she slipped out and began to shadow him, making sure she matched her footsteps to his, to avoid any giveaway noise.

He passed the
Heron
. She let him go a few more metres, then moved quickly to the jetty’s edge and lowered herself to the deck of the little ship. The ropes groaned slightly and the wicker fenders creaked as her weight made the ship move. She dropped into the space that held the rowing benches, below the centre deck level, and crouched there. But the small riverside noises didn’t attract the guard’s attention. He continued to plod stolidly down the jetty. Staying low, she slipped over the centre decking and dropped into the well where the port side rowing benches were. Still in a crouch, she moved forward to Jesper’s bench and bent to peer into the recessed pigeonhole under the central decking.

There was nothing there. She put her hand in and felt around, but there was no sign of the canvas wallet he had described. She checked to make sure that she was at the right bench. Then she became aware of something under her feet. She bent and peered at the deck beside the footrests for the rowers. There was a clutter of small items there. A half-carved model of a ship, a fur-lined leather vest and a walrus tusk on a leather thong.

Then she realised. The ship had been searched. That was logical. And the searchers had cast aside anything that wasn’t of value – which meant virtually everything that wasn’t in the hidden strongbox. She looked now to the spot where she knew the deck planking concealed it. It was undisturbed, so the searchers obviously hadn’t found it. She breathed a sigh of relief. If they’d found the parcel she had entrusted to Hal when they left Limmat, they would have been highly excited.

She hoped a canvas tool roll wouldn’t count as an item of value. She looked over the rowing bench into the next space and saw it, where it had been tossed aside contemptuously by whoever had searched the ship. The roll was half undone and she checked inside. The strangely shaped, unidentifiable tools were held firmly in sewn pockets. There were no empty ones, so she assumed everything was in place. She tucked the wallet inside her jacket, then scrambled towards the foot of the mast, where she had been standing when Doutro’s soldiers had arrested Hal and the crew.

Her eyes lit up with pleasure as she saw her weapons belt, with the atlatl handle clipped to it and the dirk in its long scabbard, lying beside the keel box where she had dropped it. The dirk was a plain, utilitarian weapon, devoid of any decoration or fine workmanship. A simple straight blade with a wooden handle and a brass crosspiece. Only Lydia knew how fine was the quality of the steel that formed the blade. Obviously it had attracted no attention from the searchers.

She buckled it on, setting it below the other, narrower belt she wore over her long shirt. She welcomed its familiar weight around her waist. Without it, she realised, she had felt something was missing.

The sentry’s slow, dragging footsteps were coming back. She lay full length in the rowing well, in case he decided to inspect the
Heron
. She heard the footsteps pass, then continue to the landward end once more.

This time, he must have paused again. She couldn’t blame him. It was a deadly boring job that he had, pacing up and down a jetty past two empty ships.

Well, empty most of the time, anyway.

He was on the move again. Peering over the top of the rowing well, she could see his head and shoulders moving away. The spear was tilted over his shoulder now. Before too long, she thought, he’d probably lean it against the wall of the small office built at the outer end of the jetty and continue without it.

He disappeared from her field of vision. She climbed out of the rowing well and slid across the central decking on her belly. At the landward side, she raised herself to peer carefully over the top of the jetty. He was two-thirds of the way along his route, giving her plenty of time to get away. She heaved herself up onto the jetty, then, in a crouch, moved to the darker side. Checking once more that he was still heading away from her, she ran lightly to the riverfront, crossing the street and merging into the shadows on the far side.

Reaching the end of his beat, the sentry yawned and spat into the black water of the river.

Another uneventful night, he thought morosely. Nothing ever happened in this town.

‘I
think you should get up and move around,’ Edvin said. Hal frowned at him.

‘You do realise that I’m battered and bruised all over, don’t you?’

Edvin nodded. ‘That’s exactly why you should move around. Otherwise you’ll stiffen up and it’ll be even harder to move when we get out of here.’

‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ Stig said.

Hal glared at him. It was all very well for Stig to think so. He wasn’t bruised and aching all over.

‘Perhaps you’d like me to dance a little jig? That’ll get everything loosened up and working.’

Stig shrugged good-naturedly. ‘If that’s what you want to do, go ahead.’

Hal muttered something highly uncomplimentary. It had to do with the comparative intelligence of Stig and a senile billygoat. But he allowed Edvin to help him to his feet, groaning as the movement stretched his bruised muscles and ribs.

Ingvar hovered close by. ‘Are you all right, Hal?’ he asked.

Hal eyed him balefully. ‘Of course I am. I’m making these strange noises because I’m overjoyed with the waves of agony that are running through my body,’ he said, through clenched teeth.

He took a few tentative steps, supported by Edvin. The healer was right, he thought, although he wasn’t going to admit it. Moving was probably the best thing for his aches and pains. Slowly, he paced the length of the cellar, feeling the stiffness begin to work its way out of his muscles. He was young and very fit, and the injuries, although painful, were superficial. They reached the end of the cellar and he turned to retrace his steps. Edvin remained close by him, but now he was supporting less of his weight, leaving Hal to make his own way.

‘Jesper! Are you there?’

It was Lydia’s voice, coming from the high, barred window. All eyes turned to the narrow slit and they saw her fingers once more, fluttering in greeting. Hal stepped away from Edvin’s supporting arm, forgetting his aches and pains, and hurried to stand under the window. Jesper was only half a pace behind him.

‘Lydia!’ he called softly. ‘Did you get Jesper’s tool kit?’

‘Hal?’ He could hear the relief in her voice. ‘You’re all right?’

‘I’m fine. Did you get the tools?’ he repeated. Her hand disappeared as she withdrew it. A few seconds later, they saw the grey canvas wallet beginning to appear as she pushed it through two bars.

‘Got it,’ she said. ‘Here it comes.’

Jesper gave a quick nod of appreciation. ‘Excellent!’ he said, positioning himself under the spot. ‘Let it come.’

The wallet, some twenty centimetres long by nine wide, slid through the bars, teetered for a moment on the edge of the sill, then dropped with a soft metallic clink into Jesper’s waiting hands. Jesper quickly untied the thong securing it and checked the contents, satisfying himself that everything was in place.

‘Yes!’ he whispered triumphantly.

‘Is that it?’ Lydia asked apprehensively. She had a sudden fear that she might have brought the wrong tool kit. After all, she had no idea what lock-picks looked like.

‘From the look on Jesper’s face, that’s it, all right,’ Hal replied. ‘Good work, Lydia. Did you have any problems finding it?’

‘Not too many. They’ve moved the
Heron
to a different mooring. Took me a few minutes to find it,’ she replied. Then she added, ‘Oh, and it looks as though somebody has searched the ship.’

‘Doutro had that done. He was trying to find the strongbox.’

‘Thought it might be that. How long will it take for Jesper to open the door?’

Hal looked at Jesper, who had already moved to the heavy iron gate. He repeated the question. Jesper frowned, studying the lock.

‘Give me a few minutes. It’s a pretty old lock. Shouldn’t take too long.’

Hal repeated the information to Lydia. She paused a few seconds, then replied.

‘I’m feeling a little obvious lying here on the paving stones with my face against the window. I’ll wait for you in the alleyway across from the main entrance.’

‘We’ll see you there,’ he replied. Again, her hand appeared through the bars, the fingers fluttering briefly in farewell. Then he heard her soft footsteps receding. Hal turned to see how Jesper was managing at the door.

The keyhole, of course, was on the outside of the door and Jesper had to reach out through the bars to work on it. He studied the strangely shaped tools in his kit, then selected two. One was a thin bar with the end twisted down at right angles. The other was much the same thickness, although twice as long. Its end was bent in a shallow arc, about a third of the circumference of a circle. The other end of each pick widened into a flat surface that allowed him to get a good purchase on the tool.