Hawk Quest (35 page)
‘Call your dog off!’
Even when Wayland had dragged it away, Dormarth wouldn’t give up. Spine broken, innards ruptured, he dragged himself on his front legs, his useless rear trailing the contents of bowel and bladder.
‘Don’t just stand there!’ Lachlan shouted. ‘Kill him.’
Regan lifted his sword in both hands and Dormarth swallowed the blade as if it were a reward. The crowd moaned with ecstatic revulsion.
The dog sat before Wayland, its lungs whooping and blood splashing from its torn muzzle. But for those sounds, you could have parcelled out the silence.
‘By God, I never saw anything like it.’
Someone swung down from a roof beam to claim his winnings. Lachlan wafted his sword as if to ward off a catastrophe he hadn’t yet got the measure of.
A rap sounded on the door. It came again, louder.
Lachlan’s cheek muscles knotted and unknotted. He waved a hand. ‘See who’s there.’
Bolts were hammered open. The mob by the door gave way and Vallon and Garrick entered with drawn swords. Raul snatched Regan’s sword from Wayland.
‘We heard there was a riot,’ Vallon said. ‘Are my men acting rowdy? Have they disturbed the peace?’
Lachlan looked at the remains of Dormarth. He looked at Wayland. He looked at Wayland’s bloodied dog. He looked at Raul hefting Regan’s sword. In the end he didn’t know where to fasten his gaze.
Raul began picking coins from the straw. ‘Captain, there was a wager on who had the best fighting dog.’
Someone hauled Dormarth’s mutilated corpse past Vallon. ‘An evening’s harmless sport,’ he said. ‘Good. Well, I’m sorry to drag my company away, but it looks like the entertainment is over.’
Lachlan took a step towards him. Vallon raised his chin. ‘Yes?’
Lachlan put on a brave face. ‘You’ll be Wayland’s master. Stay and share a cup before parting.’
Vallon spurned the handshake. ‘We have a long day ahead of us. I’ll bid you goodnight.’
Outside, he grabbed Wayland and Raul by their thrapples and hoisted them on tiptoe.
‘It wasn’t our fault,’ Raul wheezed. ‘The Irishman was determined to see a fight.’
Vallon glared at Wayland for corroboration.
‘It’s true. The man wanted revenge because I wouldn’t sell him my dog.’
Vallon growled, then dropped them and strode off towards the harbour. Raul rubbed his throat and grinned at Wayland.
‘Ain’t you glad I fixed things the way I did?’
Wayland punched him so hard that he trotted several steps backwards before falling flat in the mud. He lay dabbing his pulpy nose.
‘God’s teeth, there wasn’t no cause for that.’
Wayland stood over him. ‘I could kill you.’
Raul wrenched himself out of the quagmire with a great sucking sound and fished around for his hat. He pulled it on, mud and all, and blinked at Wayland.
‘You’re the only man I’d take that from,’ he said, and went sploshing down the street.
Someone laughed softly. Syth was standing on the other side of the lane. He managed a wan smile and she came towards him. They looked at each other without speaking and then walked side by side to the harbour, their glances never quite coinciding. She put her hand around his waist. By chance, her hand slipped under the hem of his tunic and she rubbed her fingers quickly up and down his back, and then withdrew her hand as if she hoped he hadn’t noticed. Wayland stopped, rooted by the sensation of her warm hand on his bare skin. He reached for her but she dodged aside.
‘Oh,’ she cried. ‘The dog’s hurt.’
The dog licked her once, its attention fixed on the empty street behind them. The storm growled far to the north. She looked up at Wayland.
‘It’s not right that he doesn’t have a name.’
‘You choose one.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Lachlan’s ship had left harbour by the time the company was up. They went on with their business. Vallon hired a pilot to steer them to Orkney, overriding Snorri’s furious protests. It was the governor who’d insisted that they engage a navigator familiar with the treacherous currents around the islands. David was the pilot’s name – a dark and melancholy Pict who spoke English and Norse, having plied his trade at every port between Lowestoft and the Faroes. The governor also gave them introductions to local traders. By the third day following the dogfight, the hold was half full with their purchases. As well as timber,
Shearwater
was carrying malt, salt, a ton of pig iron and dozens of clay cooking vessels.
That evening the governor’s French-speaking secretary called at the lodgings and asked for a private audience. Vallon took him up to his
room and closed the door. The emissary refused the offer of refreshments and remained standing.
‘This afternoon,’ he said, ‘information arrived from the king’s seat in Edinburgh concerning a gang of outlaws who, having wreaked havoc in England, fled by ship to Scotland. Since the King wishes to maintain cordial relations with his neighbour, he’s sent orders to his governors that they detain all arrivals from the south. If there’s any suspicion that they match the description of the felons, they’re to be transported to the capital for interrogation, pending their despatch into Norman custody.’
Vallon crossed to the casement and looked down at the empty quayside. ‘What do they look like?’
‘Their leader is a Frankish mercenary who commands a crew drawn from several countries. There’s even a Norman traitor with them. And a savage dog of uncommon size.’
Vallon turned. ‘Not easily overlooked.’
‘No. It so happens that the governor was called away on business before the letters arrived and therefore wasn’t able to give the matter his immediate attention. He won’t be back until morning when, of course, he’ll attend to the King’s commands with all the urgency that they deserve.’
Vallon clicked his tongue. ‘What a pity I won’t be able to say farewell to his Excellency and thank him for all his kindness. You see, we’ve concluded our dealings here and will be sailing tonight. Only our personal effects have to be loaded.’
The secretary nodded and went to the door. He paused with one hand on the latch. ‘The weather is set fair from the south. Two days’ sailing should carry you beyond the King’s writ. If I were you, I wouldn’t land before then.’
They exchanged bows and the secretary left. Vallon waited at the window until his footsteps died away on the cobbles, then hurried to the top of the stairs. ‘Raul! Wayland! All of you! Look lively! We’re sailing tonight!’
When the governor’s men-at-arms marched down the quay early next morning, they found the hostel deserted and
Shearwater
’s berth empty. Fingers fanned against the rising sun, the commander of the militia could just make out a fleck of sail bearing north.
Back at sea, the company spent the day re-establishing routines. A week ashore had restored their vigour and put them in good heart for the journey ahead. They were handy at their duties now, willing team members who were also confident enough to act on their own initiative. Watching Garrick lash the end of a shroud around a cleat, Vallon found it hard to believe that less than a month ago he’d never set foot on a ship. All in all, Vallon was content. April had given way to the lingering twilights of May.
Shearwater
was covering eighty miles a day. By this time tomorrow they’d be beyond Drogo’s reach.
Only one cloud darkened the outlook. Everyone was aware of it, but no one drew attention to it until the next evening, when Hero and Richard approached Vallon as he stood at the bow in an ocean reverie. They were nervous, neither wanting to be the first to speak. Richard held a bundle of documents. Vallon invited them to sit.
‘I see you’ve spent the day bringing our accounts up to date. How do they stand?’
‘After all our expenses, we’re left with little more than sixty pounds. I can itemise the outgoings if you want.’
‘No need,’ said Vallon. Sixty pounds was less than he’d expected. ‘How much do you think our cargo will fetch in Iceland?’
‘I’m sure we’ll make a profit in kind.’
‘That’s the problem,’ Hero said. ‘The Icelanders don’t deal in specie. We won’t be able to sell for silver until we reach Norway or Rus. Before then, we might have emptied our exchequer. We’ll have to hire a ship for the crossing to Iceland, and then charter another vessel to take us south. Raul thinks we’ll be lucky to find a captain willing to take us on either voyage for less than thirty pounds. There’s our money gone on transport alone.’
Syth was cooking on the stern deck and savoury smells reached Vallon. ‘I know you wouldn’t have brought the problem to me if you hadn’t thought of a solution.’
Hero glanced at Richard. ‘We were sure you’d anticipated it yourself when you took on David.’
Vallon pretended not to understand. ‘I hired David to pilot us only as far as Orkney.’
Another look passed between the youths. ‘He’d be willing to stay until we reach the Faroes,’ Hero said. ‘With David navigating, we can give Orkney a miss.’
Vallon dropped his pretence. ‘You’re suggesting we steal Snorri’s ship.’
Richard’s birthmark coloured. ‘Unless we hang on to
Shearwater
, we’ll run out of money before completing our journey.’
‘Where does that leave Snorri?’
Hero moved closer. ‘Put him ashore with what’s due to him. Pay him compensation if you wish. Twenty pounds would give him a comfortable start back in Norway.’
Vallon looked out to sea. They’d rounded the cape marking the northernmost point of the Scottish king’s dominion, and now they were beginning the long western passage towards Suther land and Caithness. ‘Our next landing will be in Norwegian territory. Drop Snorri among his own kind and he’d swear a suit against us for theft. Since Iceland is tied to Norway by blood and trade, he’d be able to pursue his case against us even there.’
Hero and Richard didn’t answer.
‘You think I should kill him.’
Richard ducked his head and blinked as if he had something in his eye. Hero spoke in an urgent whisper. ‘Wayland and Raul are sure that Snorri intends to double-cross us. When we were in harbour, Raul saw him talking to a Norwegian crew who sailed to Orkney a few days before we left. Raul says that the way the men looked him over made him feel like a goose ready for plucking.’
Vallon conned the ship. Snorri was at the tiller. Raul stood behind him whipping a rope’s end, one eye on the conference at the bow.
‘If we were to murder him, the crime would poison our enterprise. How would your consciences bear it? And David wouldn’t serve with men who’d killed the ship’s master.’
‘I don’t want anyone’s death on my conscience,’ said Richard. ‘We just thought you should hear our concerns.’
‘I share them and I think I have the remedy. It will be expensive, though. Wipe the guilty look off your faces and tell Snorri I want a word.’
Watching the Norwegian come forward, Vallon wondered if he had any inkling that his life hung in the balance. His manner had grown more confident, less ingratiating since they’d left St Andrews.
Vallon assumed a pleasant aspect and made small talk about the fine weather and sailing prospects, before getting down to business. ‘Do you still intend to end our partnership once we reach Orkney?’
‘Aye, my heart is set on returning home.’
‘Suppose I increased my original offer – one-third of everything we gain by trade. Generous terms by any measure.’
‘I can take on cargo of me own in Orkney. It’s the beginning of the sailing season. Ye’ll have no trouble finding a fresh charter in Kirkwall. I’ll find ye one meself.’
‘How much will it cost?’
‘Twenty pound.’
‘And another twenty to Norway.’
‘Aye. Thereabouts.’
Vallon mused on the sums. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you forty pounds to buy
Shearwater
outright. That’s in addition to the sum we already owe you. It will almost empty our chest of silver, but it will give us freedom of action. With fifty pounds in ready money, you’ll be able to buy a ship as good as
Shearwater
with silver to spare.’
Snorri had begun shaking his head before Vallon had finished. ‘I ain’t selling
Shearwater
fer any price.’
Vallon made his final throw. ‘All right. You won’t have to part with her. Agree to join us on the voyage and you’ll get the forty pounds –
plus
one-third of the profits,
plus
your ship back once we reach Rus. If that seems too good to be true, I’m happy to have the contract notarised in a court of your choosing. What do you say?’
Watching Snorri make his calculations, Vallon thought he’d hooked him. He wondered if he’d been too generous.
Snorri sneered. ‘Ye’re desperate, ain’t ye? Not so high and mighty now.’ He stamped his foot. ‘I say no to yer offer. Mebbe I’d’ve looked more kindly on it if ye hadn’t used me so ill, shown me more respect, kept yer word about the girl.’
‘Perhaps there’s another reason.’ Vallon raised up. ‘When we first met, I suspected that you planned to betray us. I hoped that time would sweeten your intentions, but it begins to look as if my fears were justified.’
The brand on Snorri’s forehead turned livid. He shook his good arm at Vallon. ‘I know what ye’re hatching. Ye mean to rob me of me ship. Well, ye won’t get away with it. I’ve sent messages to Orkney. If
Shearwater
arrives without me, ye’ll be arrested for piracy and manslaughter. However far ye run, the law will catch ye.’
‘It won’t be me who breaks our agreement,’ said Vallon. ‘Once
you’ve brought us safe to Orkney and helped find us another ship, your obligation is discharged and I’ll pay you your due.’
‘Ye’d better.’ Snorri shuffled his feet, aware that Vallon hadn’t finished.
Vallon stared past him. ‘But if I come by proof that you don’t intend keeping your side of the bargain … ’ He smiled – the expression conveying the very opposite of a smile.
Another concern – at least for Wayland and Syth – was the dog. Its injuries were worse than had first appeared. On the third day it refused food and lay stretched on its side, breathing fast. Next morning its head was badly swollen, its eyes half shut and oozing matter. Hero prescribed a liquid diet and poultices of warm seawater. Vallon had little affection for the beast and privately wished it good riddance. Syth was distraught and spent all her free time nursing it, applying brine-soaked cloths to its head. When it showed no improvement, she dissolved a block of salt in boiling water. She let the solution cool just enough to be able to dip a hand in it, then Wayland held the dog down while she wrapped the hot cloth around the dog’s muzzle. The dog thrashed so violently that it dragged both minders along the deck. When the poultice cooled, Syth renewed it. She must have applied the cloth a dozen times before one of the puncture wounds in its muzzle burst and erupted a gout of pus together with one of Dormarth’s broken canines. Syth ran around showing off the tooth on the stained bandage as if it were a piece of the true cross.
