In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers (14 page)

“No inns,” Conall said. “No brothels. Not this time. Follow the captain’s orders, even if he isn’t here.”
 

Jonah clipped him across the head, but grunted, accepting he’d have to miss his fun. “We’ve no money anyway, nothing to trade unless we steal and that’s asking for trouble.”
 

“One of the guns,” Tugon said, “for a room and a meal.”
 

“Shame to let one go,” Jonah said, “but you’ve a point. We could do with getting ourselves in shape, and supplies as well. But where would you trade a gun, in a town like this?”

“Not an inn,” Conall said in a flash.
 

Jonah clipped Conall’s head again. “Right enough boy, I get the message.”
 

They found a boarding house for travellers on a bluff overlooking the inlet. The owner examined the gun offered by Jonah, looking suspicious but he didn’t ask any questions. It was worth more than the price of a room for the day. More, maybe, than his whole place, a ramshackle ten-room building that looked set to fall down at any moment. Still, he haggled, reluctant to add supplies of food and fresh clothing to the deal. When Jonah turned and walked off, the man came round, and soon the three of them had their own room, with a view of the boat they planned to steal. Conall settled into a chair for the first shift, watching to see if anyone went on board.
 

≈≈≈≈

The old clock in the hallway of the boarding house ticked round to ten, only two hours to midnight, and still the sun hadn’t set. They collected their supplies, thrown in as part of the deal for the room: fresh water in a bear-skin container, a sack of flour and paraffin for cooking.
 

They made their way down stone steps towards a rocky beach and sat with their backs to the cliff wall, waiting for the sun to creep below the horizon. As the light faded Conall stripped to his underwear and strode into the sea, the cold making his muscles tense up, but he kept going, never pausing. He slipped into the water and swam towards the collection of skiffs moored to buoys a hundred feet or more from the shoreline. He pulled himself onto one of the boats, then looked to the foreshore to see if anyone was watching.
 

He slipped the oars into the rowlocks and pulled the skiff through the water. Jonah strode out to meet him. The first mate put the supplies at the front of the boat, handing Conall his shoes and clothing, with a towel from the boarding house. Jonah rowed them out into the channel towards the yawl while Conall dried himself and dressed, his skin covered in goose bumps from the swim and the cold night air.
 

There were no lights on the boat. No one had visited her all day or appeared on deck.
 

Jonah busied himself studying her sails and rigging, her layout and design. He seemed pleased with what he found, proud of his new command. Tugon took the supplies down the short wooden steps into the cabin.
 

“Check the lines, free the cleats, secure the front tack,” Jonah said.
 

The sun was still below the horizon but a blue glow filled the sky. Conall’s eyes were used to the gloom and he scurried around the deck carrying out the tasks for getting underway. Tugon stayed below deck even as they cast off and started to move.
 

“He don’t like the sea much, I reckon,” Jonah said. “He might not enjoy the crossing to Svalbard.”
 

The sails were up and had caught the wind before a shout went up from the shoreline. Voices of alarm rang across the bay. Lights came on in windows across the town.
 

“Steady now,” Jonah called, “they’re a long way off and can’t hurt us from there.”
 

Angry voices, shouting in Russian, drifted across the dark, still water. Conall heard men pushing a boat down the shore, the splash of the prow and the sound of oars hitting the water. He looked up at the sails. The night air was still, barely a breeze.
 

“I’d give anything for an engine, right about now,” Jonah said as he pulled on ropes, adjusting the sails. “Cleat the halyard off, let them luff,” he yelled at Conall. “Need you on deck, if it’s all the same,” he called down into the cabin. Tugon appeared at the top of the steps. “Take the wheel if you would, heel us away from the wind,” Jonah panted, hauling on rope. “And keep your gun handy. Shoot over their heads if they get that close. If it don’t stop ‘em, aim at the waterline, put a hole in them.”
 

“What if they’ve got guns?” Conall released the mainsheet to reduce the heel. “Take the wheel. Tugon doesn’t know what you mean. I’ll handle the sails. Just tell me what to do.”
 

“You might be right at that,” Jonah said.
 

Conall staggered across the deck and handed his gun to Tugon. “Stay aft. Watch for other boats. Leave the sailing to us.”
 

Jonah took the wheel, barking instructions at Conall. They caught the wind, began to pick up speed. Conall heard the oar strokes, steady and getting louder, more shouting from the shoreline. Then the sound of an outboard engine kicking into life. Jonah cursed. “They’ll catch us all right,” he said.
 

Conall looked back. One of the open fishing boats, a twelve footer with an outboard was gaining on them fast. He made out three men, two standing near the front, a third at the back, his hands on the engine, steering her straight for them.

Tugon took aim. He fired into the air above their heads. The men shouted, confused, angry and afraid. They had no guns, Conall guessed. Still the boat kept coming. Jonah let go off the wheel, leaned over the side, and fired three bullets at the boat. One of the Russians ducked, diving into the belly of the boat, then one of them screamed with pain.
 

“Damn fools,” Jonah yelled. “Holed their boat at the waterline, that’ll slow ‘em up, but didn’t mean to anyone. They’ll learn a lesson from that.”
 

The engine noise quietened as the men eased off on the throttle. They’d given up the chase.

“They might be back,” Jonah said. But the yawl was picking up speed. The Russians were far behind them now, disappearing into the gloom. Jonah steered the craft out into deep waters, standing at the wheel with the wind in his hair. “Feels good being back on the water,” he shouted, a grin across his face. Jonah Argent was back in his element, and all was right with the world.

The yawl slipped through the waters of the fjord, tall cliffs to east and west. In front of them lay the town of Kirkenes, sprawling up a hill on a headland. An arm of land created a sheltered bay where the town’s fishing fleet lay tied to a quay, the smaller rowboats pulled up onto the shoreline close by. It was close to eleven at night according to the clock in the cabin but there was still light in the sky to the south, the sun hidden behind mountains. Conall adjusted the wheel, easing the boat towards the harbour. “The town looks peaceful enough. You think anyone’s awake?”
 

“They’ll be watching us, don’t you worry,” Jonah said. “Let’s make sure we watch them in return. Don’t want any more surprises.”
 

He gave Jonah the wheel and stowed the sails as the first mate guided the boat to the side of the quay. Conall leapt ashore, caught the rope thrown by Tugon and tied her securely. He stopped and listened, looking inland towards the cluster of wooden houses for signs of life.

The town was smaller than Lerwick. There couldn’t be more than a few thousand here, yet new houses were being built around the town, construction work dotting the hillside and the surrounding bays. But Kirkenes didn’t look like it was thriving. He sensed something in the air, a suspicion, as if this place was a wounded animal, ready to strike.
 

Conall waited on the quayside for the others. But Jonah and Tugon hesitated, staying on board. Did they sense something was wrong?
 

“The way things are in this part of the world, a strange boat turns up, I’d expect someone to come take a look, find out who we are,” Jonah said.
 

Conall turned back to the town. Few lights burnt in window. Most of the windows were dark and shuttered. “It’s late. They’re in bed.”
 

“No,” Tugon said. “Waiting. Watching.”
 

“They don’t trust us,” Jonah said. “Don’t blame ‘em. We might be slavers for all they know. She’s a Russian boat, with a Russian name, whatever that says.” He pointed towards the bow of the yawl. “Not sure I want to leave this boat unguarded. But then again, don’t split up is good advice, when newly arrived in a strange place. Damn it, let’s go. Lock her up, best we can. If someone steals her, then they do. Bring the guns.”
 

They marched three abreast down the quay, guns tucked in their waistbands out of sight. Conall kept his arms relaxed but poised, listening intently. They had come to the end of the quay, heading towards a group of wooden buildings, when men appeared in front and behind, encircling them. Some carried knives, others pitch-forks, and one had a gun.
 

“We’re armed and we’ll shoot, be sure of that,” shouted Jonah. “We’ll not be taken as fools twice by you folk.”
 

Jonah had his gun out, waving it in front of him.
 

A burly man in his fifties, face covered in a tangle of beard called out to the men to hold. “You speak English,” he said, his accent foreign but his words clear enough.
 

“We do,” Jonah said. “We’re British, and this man here a friend of ours from the far north and we’ll vouch for him. You Norwegians?”
 

“You’re in Norway,” the man said.
 

“It don’t count for much these day,” Jonah said. “But we’ll believe you. And we’re no slavers, if that’s what you think. We escaped a mine, out there to the East. Taken from Hammerfest, carried off and separated from our ship. We’re looking for a port with supplies and friendly faces.”
 

“In a stolen boat,” said the man with the beard.
 

“We were stolen ourselves, taken as slaves. If we did a little stealing right back, then it’s only fair and settles the matter,” Jonah said.
 

“But if you steal in our town, the penalty is death,” said the man with the beard.
 

“And who would you be?” Jonah kept his gun raised.
 

“Lars Nielson, harbour master. This is my port, and we have laws. No weapons in the town.”
 

“Strange that,” Jonah said, “as you all seem to be armed well enough.”
 

“No weapons for strangers,” Lars said. “Leave weapons on your boat, and you can go into town to do your business. But not for long. If you’re fleeing the Russian slavers in a stolen boat, then you can’t stay. A day at most. We’ll give you that, no more.”
 

Jonah stroked his straggle of a beard with his left hand, while his right relaxed, still holding the gun.

“We have to trust them.” Conall kept his voice low so only Jonah and Tugon could hear. “It’s that or sail for Svalbard.”
 

“Need more supplies, and maps,” Jonah said.
 

“Where’s this one from,” Lars said. “You say the north?”
 

“Spitsbergen,” Tugon said.

“That makes him a Norwegian,” Jonah said. “One of your own.”
 

“He doesn’t sound Norwegian,” Lars said.
 

“He’s harmless, friendly,” Jonah said. “Helped us escape. And he’s no friend of the Russian slavers, either.”
 

“Make sure he causes no trouble. Your guns.”
 

“All right, we’ll put ‘em back on the boat,” Jonah said, “though I warn you, double cross us and we’ll fight like bears.” He handed his gun to Conall and gestured for him to take them to the cabin.
 

Once the guns were gone the Norwegians relaxed, and the harbour master welcomed them into the town. He told them where they could find a meal and rooms for the evening, where to buy supplies in the morning, and where to get the navigation charts that Jonah desired above all else.
 

“We’ve no money, no gold or silver,” Jonah said. “Will people here trade?”

“What do you have, apart from a boat?”

“Her gear,” Jonah said. “Nets and tackle, spare rigging and a sail.”
 

“We’ll need it, not that.” Conall kept a close ear on these negotiations. And an eye on Jonah Argent.
 

“Maps of the Russian coastline,” Jonah said.
 

“In Russian?” Lars sounded unimpressed.
 

“There’s these.” Jonah held up the binoculars Conall had found in a cupboard of the yawl. Not as good as his pair, still with Captain Hudson on
The Arkady
, but a reminder, all the same, of his prized possession. He’d studied the coastline all the way here, examined farmsteads and villages, watched birds and fishing boats, kept an eye out for signs of pursuit.
 

“No, not those.”

“Has to be done,” Jonah said. “It’s that or the guns, and we need them more. We’ll find
The Arkady
and yours’ll be waiting for you.”
 

“There’s plenty’ll give you silver for these,” Lars said. “I’ll take ‘em myself, if you’ll do a trade.”
 

The two men wandered off together, haggling over prices and commodities, sweeteners and extras to make a deal work. After a few minutes Jonah returned with coins used in the towns of the north, accepted by the people of Kirkenes. “These’ll get us a room and a hot meal and plenty more besides,” Jonah said. “Keep the rest of it back for maps, we can get those in the morning from a man up in the town. For now, I say we make for the inn.”

Conall gripped the first mate’s arm. “Don’t drink the money away.”
 

“No man could drink all this,” Jonah said, leading the way up the road towards the town, swaggering as he went, “not in one night, at least. Not unless he tried real hard.”