Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (14 page)

With the Gallican ship in tow,
Heron
’s speed was drastically reduced. It took them the rest of that night and halfway through the following day to tow
Hirondelle
in to Gretagne.

As they approached the shore, houses and buildings slowly came into view. Yet the town also made its presence felt in another way. Predictably, Kloof noticed it first. She whined in protest, then lay flat on her belly, rubbing her forepaws over her muzzle in a futile attempt to mask the smell coming from the shore. The rest of the crew took a minute or two longer to sense it. Then cries of protest broke out throughout the ship.

Predictably, Ulf and Wulf blamed each other.

‘Why don’t you wash your socks occasionally?’ Ulf said belligerently. (Or perhaps it was Wulf, Hal was never sure.)

‘Why don’t you wash your
self
occasionally?’ his brother shot back. Then he added, ‘Besides, you know what they say. First to smell it usually did it.’

‘Yeah? Well, you probably did smell it first, but you just didn’t say,’ said the other twin. By this time, Hal had lost track of who was who.

‘It’s neither of you,’ Hal said sharply. ‘So shut up. It’s the tanneries onshore.’

Stig was holding his hand over his nose, unconsciously mimicking Kloof. ‘What makes them smell so bad?’ he asked.

Hal glanced meaningfully at him.

‘It’s a combination of the old hides, and what they use to treat them,’ he said, adding quickly as he saw the question rising to Stig’s lips, ‘You don’t want to know.’

Thorn was standing by them. He wrinkled his nose in protest. ‘Reminds me of me – before Karina took me in hand.’

Hal looked at him. Some years back, Thorn had been a little remiss in his personal hygiene, to put it mildly. Karina had solved the problem by having Hal throw a bucket of water over him as he lay snoring in the snow.

Hal shook his head now. ‘Even you were never that bad. Trust me.’

‘That’s a relief,’ Thorn said in a heartfelt tone.

The vile smell became stronger as they approached the town. But they also became more accustomed to it. They plodded heavily through the harbour mouth, with Jerard directing them to a beaching area that was – thankfully – situated away from the row of grim-looking tanneries, and upwind of them.

Two longboats came out from the beach at a signal from Jerard and took over the tow, dragging the crippled
Hirondelle
in to shore and beaching her. Hal, grateful to have lost the nagging dead weight behind
Heron
, ordered the sails down and followed the trader in under oars. The prow grated gently on the shingle beach and they came to rest.

Once his ship was safely beached and propped up to remain level, Jerard walked over to them and climbed aboard
Heron.
He walked back to the command position in the stern, where Hal, Stig, Thorn and Lydia were gathered.

‘I owe you my thanks,’ Jerard told them sincerely. ‘You saved my ship and all our lives and I’m more grateful than you can imagine.’

He shook hands with all of them, then turned back to Hal, an embarrassed expression on his face. ‘Unfortunately, that’s all I can offer you. Your countryman stole everything I own.’

Hal shrugged off his apologies. ‘It’s the law of the sea,’ he said. ‘We don’t leave other sailors in danger. You’d do the same for us.’

Jerard nodded his head. ‘That’s true. But if I can ever do anything for you . . .’ he began.

Thorn stepped forward. ‘There is one thing,’ he said. He jerked a thumb at Kloof, who was watching the proceedings while she chewed on an old boot she had found.

She had found it among Thorn’s gear, as a matter of fact.

‘You could take the dog – for fifteen silver crowns.’

Hal went to protest, but Thorn held up his hand.

Jerard looked at Kloof, who thumped her tail enthusiastically on the deck as she ripped the upper part of the boot away from the sole. ‘I told you. I don’t have any money left to pay you,’ Jerard said doubtfully.

‘I’m not saying you should pay us. I’ll pay
you
to take her off our hands,’ Thorn told him.

Jerard looked at him uncertainly, then looked at the dog and made a rough estimate of how much she would cost to feed.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

Thorn shrugged. ‘It was worth a try.’

O
nce they had recovered the canvas tent that had been wrapped around the trader’s hull, the Herons wasted little time lingering in Gretagne. The breeze was onshore, coming from the north, so Hal took the ship out of the harbour under oars. When they were half a kilometre from the harbour mouth, he ordered the oars to be stowed and the sail raised. Within minutes, the
Heron
was skimming the waves like her namesake, carving a pure white wake in the grey sea.

‘That’s better!’ he said to no one in particular, exulting in the light, easy movement of the ship after the wallowing, jerking passage with
Hirondelle
under tow.

Gradually, the stench of the tanneries lessened as they moved down the coast. The fresh salt air was a welcome change to all of them.

‘Phew!’ said Jesper, drawing his first deep lungful of air for some time. ‘How do they live with that vile stink?’

‘I suppose they get used to it,’ Lydia said, but Jesper shook his head doubtfully.

‘How could you get used to anything as awful as that?’ he asked.

‘Oh, it’s possible to get used to anything, no matter how annoying it might be. Or anyone,’ Stig said, looking meaningfully at the ex-thief. Several of the others grinned. Jesper could be an irritating person at times. He was invariably the one who queried any course of action, always the first to complain about discomfort or difficulty. He noticed the reaction from his shipmates and turned a hurt look on Stig.

‘Are you saying I stink?’ he asked resentfully.

Stig shook his head. ‘No. Just that you’re irritating. If you stank as well, that’d be too much.’

Jesper drew breath to reply but Hal was tired of the senseless argument that was developing.

‘Let it go,’ he said crisply and Jesper subsided, muttering, onto his rowing bench.

Watching and listening, Thorn smiled quietly. He remembered the early days of the brotherband, when Hal had been reluctant to assert his authority. Now it came naturally to him. He was secure in his position as skirl and, as a good captain should be, he was always ready to nip trouble in the bud before it got out of control. Thorn’s smile faded as he glanced down into the rowing well. Kloof had another boot in her mouth, and was proceeding to chew it, holding it steady between her forepaws.

His temper flared when he saw that it was the companion of the boot she had destroyed some time earlier.

‘Give me that, you numbskull!’ he roared, and grabbed at the boot.

As far as Kloof was concerned, this was an excellent game. As Thorn tugged one way, she set her forepaws, raised her backside in the air and tugged in the opposite direction, shaking the boot as she did so in an attempt to break Thorn’s grip.

Unfortunately for Thorn, he was leaning over when he first grabbed the boot and Kloof’s sudden and violent counter-action dragged him off balance, sending him sprawling. The Herons shouted with laughter – laughter that was quickly silenced as Thorn turned a murderous gaze on them.

He picked himself up. Kloof waited eagerly, tail lashing back and forth, the boot dangling from her jaws, ready for another bout of tug-of-war. It was her favourite game – no doubt because, with a body weight of forty-five kilograms, a low centre of gravity, and four massive paws to grip the ground beneath her, she usually won.

Thorn deliberately climbed to his feet and stood in front of Hal, his hands – one real and one wooden – on his hips.

‘If that dog of yours doesn’t stop chewing my things, I’m going to brain her with my club-hand,’ he threatened. Hal had equipped Thorn with several different devices to replace his lost hand. One was a simple smooth wooden hook. Then there was Thorn’s gripping hand, an ingenious split hook that hinged open and closed like a clamp, and allowed Thorn to grip items firmly in place. Finally, there was his club-hand. It was a massive, iron-studded wooden club on the end of an artificial arm. It was a terrifying weapon when wielded by the old warrior and had caused havoc in the streets of Limmat when the Herons had attacked the pirates who had overrun the town.

Hal glared at the dog. He had to admit, Thorn had a point. She seemed to have taken a liking to his belongings. Unfortunately, when she liked something, she showed her affection by chewing it.

‘Drop!’ he roared at the dog. Obediently, she slid her forepaws out in front of her and dropped to her belly on the deck. The boot was still dangling from her mouth.

‘Not you! The boot!’ Hal yelled. ‘Drop the boot!’ Kloof thumped her tail on the deck and he raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation.

‘That’s great. One word from you and she does exactly what she wants,’ Thorn said sarcastically. ‘That’s the second boot of mine she’s got at! She’s already destroyed the other one.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ Lydia asked sweetly. She had been the butt of many of Thorn’s jokes and she revelled in the chance to even the score. He glared at her suspiciously, his bushy eyebrows drawing together like storm clouds gathering.

‘The problem is, my lady, that she’s
chewing my boots
!’ Thorn’s voice and volume rose as he said the last few words, pointing angrily at the boot that still dangled from Kloof’s jaws. Kloof, aware that they were talking about her, dropped the boot and barked cheerfully. She kept the boot close between her forepaws, however, ready to snatch it up again if Thorn tried to grab for it.

‘But you said she’s already destroyed the first one,’ Lydia pointed out.

Thorn nodded sarcastically. ‘Oh, you understood that part, did you. Yes, she has. She’s torn the other one to pieces!’

‘Then what good is this one to you?’ Lydia asked, maintaining her tone of reason, and smiling angelically at the furious warrior.

‘What . . . ?’ Thorn hesitated, frowning even more deeply. He had a sense that he’d been outsmarted, but he was so angry he couldn’t work out how. ‘What good is it? It’s my boot! They are both my boots. I have two boots and they are them!’

‘That’s not grammatically correct,’ Edvin said, very careful to maintain a straight face. ‘You can’t say
they are them.
You have to say
They are they. Are
is a reflexive verb.’

‘Is that right?’ Thorn took a step towards Edvin.

The boy stood his ground and nodded seriously. ‘Yes. I’m pretty sure it is.’

Thorn raised his polished wood hook and shook it in front of Edvin’s face.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘this is a reflexive hook. How would you like me to shove it up your reflexive nose?’

Edvin considered the comment for about five seconds, then decided that standing his ground wasn’t such a good idea. ‘I don’t think I’d like that at all,’ he said, and backed away a few paces.

‘Well, that’s a very wise decision,’ Thorn said. He glared around at the rest of the crew, who were all being very careful not to smile. They were so careful, in fact, that it was blatantly obvious that they were not smiling. ‘Anyone else got anything to say?’ he demanded.

Heads shook and blank looks were the order of the day.

But Lydia wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. ‘All I’m saying is,’ she repeated, ‘that you said Kloof destroyed your other boot –’

Kloof!
barked the dog, hearing her name.

‘Shut up!’ Thorn snarled at the massive dog. Then he looked back to Lydia, suspicion writ large on his features. He sensed he was being set up for a killer blow here. ‘That’s right,’ he said.

Lydia shrugged disingenuously. ‘So what good is this boot?’ she asked. He glared at her, then had an inspiration.

‘I was planning to repair the other boot,’ he said triumphantly.

Lydia had to consider that. His recent appearance at the festival notwithstanding, Thorn was not what might be called a snappy dresser. It was true that he was prone to patching and repairing his clothes until they were more patches than garments. In fact, he had been known to repair and wear clothes until they simply disintegrated around him. But she still had one card up her sleeve.

‘So . . . why did you throw it overboard as we left Gretagne?’ she asked.

Thorn’s face began to grow redder and redder. ‘Because that idiot dog destroyed it!’ he yelled in frustration.

Lydia smiled at him, content that she had made her point.

The discussion could have gone on for some time. But Hal had noticed a line of dark clouds on the northern horizon. There was a change in the weather coming and a squall was bearing down on them. He glanced quickly to the west, where a long headland jutted out into the Stormwhite. They were going to need sea room to get round it once that squall hit them, he knew. He cursed under his breath. That meant they would have to swing to the north – heading away from the course they needed to follow if they were to catch
Nightwolf.
Still, there was nothing for it.

‘Sailing stations!’ he snapped. ‘We’re going to come about!’