In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers (18 page)

“We could stay here, live aboard, wait for the crew to return. Captain Hudson will have a plan.” But he knew the idea was foolish. What if they never returned? And there was no fresh water here. No food.
 

“Search the boat for supplies, top to bottom,” Jonah said. “Every nook and cranny, every sack in the hold. We need food, ways to store water, and a spare sail for the row-boat. There used to be one stored aft and starboard. Bring what you find up on deck.”
 

“What are you doing?”
 

“Looking for charts, anything that’ll help us know where we are.”
 

Conall’s eyes met Jonah’s. The first mate looked away. Conall said nothing, but went off on the errands. They were back on board, and Jonah was in charge, but it didn’t mean Conall would trust him. He knew what Argent intended. He’d ransack the ship from top to bottom, now that he had a free run at it, looking for the captain’s treasure map. If it was hidden well enough to defy Jonah and the engineer all this time, and defeat Faro, then whoever raided
The Arkady
might have missed it too. Jonah still meant to have the map, and there was no way to stop him.
 

Conall searched for supplies as Jonah asked. He found a bag of potatoes and half a sack of flour. Two containers on deck were filled with rain water from the storm. Conall took the flour to the ship’s galley, got the ovens going using the last of the dry wood, and set about making flatbread. He used the flour to make enough bread for four days, packed it carefully and put the supplies into the row-boat. He found old pans, empty wine and beer bottles, and filled them with water. They would weigh down the row-boat, but they’d need several day’s supply, not knowing the land around here or where to find fresh water. They might get blown out to sea. Or be unable to make land for days on end if faced with nothing but steep cliffs.
 

He found Jonah in the captain’s stateroom. A concealed cupboard in the wall had been ripped out, the wood splintered. The first mate sat at the table, bent over a sheet of paper, studying it intensely.
 

“You found the captain’s treasure map then?”
 

Jonah looked up at him.
 

“No point leaving it.”
 

“You meant to steal it, all along.”
 

“Steal is a big word. Desired a look, that’s all.”
 

“And you’ll take the treasure too, if you find it.”
 

“It’s as much mine as the captain’s. He has no claim on it.”
 

“Nor have you.”
 

“Nor any man. Not alive at least. Whoever buried it is long dead.”
 

“So what is this treasure everyone wants so bad?”
 

“No one knows, that’s the thing. It’s a legend, something so valuable, the people of the old world built a place, all the way out here when it was snow and ice and glaciers, hidden away, protected. Priceless, they say.”
 

“But you don’t know what? Gold?”

“Or diamonds.”
 

“What if it’s money, old money, useless paper?”
 

“Can’t be, why would they put that out here? Go to all that trouble? It’s special, be sure of that. Something they wanted to protect.”
 

“And you’re going to take it?”
 

“I’ll solve the mystery, young Hawkins, and do the world a favour at the same time. No point leaving it moulding in the ground. Put it to good use, that’s the idea.”
 

“You mean waste it on beer and whores across every town in the arctic?”
 

“Now that’s unfair. I’ve got big plans, if only I could get started. A ship of my own. Start up the old trade routes. Things are ready for a change, and a canny merchant could make a good living, spread some wealth around, with the right ship.”
 

“You mean
The Arkady
? You want her? If you’re going to steal the map, why not just take the ship?”

“That would be piracy, young Hawkins, and I’m no pirate. Whatever anyone says, I obey the laws of the sea.”
 

“But the treasure’s on land.”
 

“And owned by no man. The first to find it, claims it. Nothing wrong in that.”
 

Conall leant over Jonah, to see the map. Jonah hid it with his arm, but Conall saw enough. “That’s a map of Spitsbergen, that’s the old town, what’s it called?”
 

“Longyearbyen, if you must know.”
 

“And the treasure’s there?”
 

“Nearby, aye.”
 

“But there’s no detail. No ‘ten paces from the tree.’ No ‘dig here.’ It’s just an arrow on a map. The captain could have drawn that.”
 

Jonah scowled at Conall. “So you saw. What of it. The captain knows something. Spent years doing his research, so I’ll take my chances, when the time comes. I know it’s buried underground.”
 

“But where? How deep?”
 

“I’ll find out when I get there. I was hoping for more, I’ll admit.”
 

Conall noticed the first mate’s elbow, hiding something. “What’s that?”
 

“Nothing.”
 

Conall grabbed at it. “A second map.”
 

“Aye, you need them both.”
 

“And what does that show?”
 

“Nothing to bother you, young Hawkins. Or are you going after the treasure too?”
 

“I’ve as much right as you.”
 

Conall pulled at the second map. It showed a headland at the mouth of a fjord, and a hillside. On it was sketched a strange shaped building, thin and tall, angular and awkward. The sketch showed tunnels, dug into the mountainside, and rooms within. “Are those caves? Is that the entrance?”
 

Jonah covered the second map, stuffed it into a pocket inside his jacket. “Enough,” he said. “I’m the senior officer on board. And you won’t question me. It’s mutiny to try, you hear.”
 

“You steal from the captain, then talk of mutiny.”
 

“He’s dead for all we know.”
 

“For all you care.”
 

“That ain’t fair, Mr Hawkins, that ain’t fair.”
 

“But true.”
 

Jonah snorted, and Conall realised he was offended. The first mate’s feelings had been hurt. He shook his head. The old rogue had a heart, it was true, and maybe he wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless the fly got in his way.
 

He let Jonah take the maps. There was nothing he could do to stop it. But he’d make sure to tell the captain. If they ever found him. If he was alive.
 

Conall pointed to the captain’s books, left behind by whoever raided and stripped the ship. “Should we take those?”
 

“No use in ‘em,” Jonah said. “Plants and farming and trees and those things his wife studies, but won’t help us none. Leave ‘em there. If he’s alive, if he ever gets back here, his books will be waiting for him.”
 

They packed up cooking tools from the galley, fetched a spare canvas from the hold to act as a weather-cover on the boat or a tent on land, and stowed the supplies.

“That’ll have to do,” Jonah said. “She’s low in the water already. And we’ve had enough shipwrecks for one day.”
 

They sat side by side in the centre of the boat, one oar each, and pulled away from
The Arkady
, heading out of the bay towards the open sea. Before they rounded the headland, they each stopped rowing, no words spoken between them. They took one last look at the ship, beached on the red sand, her masts pointed at the cliffs as if jabbing an indictment at the cold stone that had done for her and left her wrecked and alone.

They took up their oars once more, Conall straining to match Jonah’s immense strength and so keep the boat straight. “What of Tugon? We should look for him.”
 

“He’s alive or not, nothing we can do,” Jonah said. “And if he’s alive, he’s to the south. But we go north.”
 

“Towards Longyearbyen?”
 

“We have to go somewhere, young Hawkins, and there’s nothing to the south of us but cold rocks and four hundred miles of the Barents Sea.”
 

They were alone, the two of them, in an open boat, in a hostile land, but somewhere out there were the crew, the captain. Faro was out there. Rufus and Heather. Conall kept his head down, keeping time with Jonah to make sure the boat held true. He took one more pull on the oars as they slipped around the headland, and the white hull of
The Arkady
disappeared from sight.
 

Conall kept his hand on the tiller, keeping the boat steady. The sea was calm, the wind had dropped and they looked set for a fair day. The sun, pale through mist to the south, scudded along the horizon but never dipped below it. At the front of the boat, Jonah stirred under the spare canvas. He yawned and stretched. The coastline drifted by, bare rocks, stone and shingle, high cliffs. For mile after mile, Conall saw no trees or grass. No animals grazed or hunted, only seals and seabirds. He stared mournfully at the world of cold rock. “It’s barren. How could Captain Hudson start a farm here? What use are animals, if there’s no grass?”
 

 
“Used to be ice and snow, glaciers year round,” Jonah said. “Nothing but polar bears and walruses, until the warming. The captain says there are places here now where people grow fruit trees. There are farms all right, he’s heard tales. But it’s hard living, for sure. No soil, you see. Have to bring it in, or make it.”
 

“How do you make soil?”
 

“I wouldn’t know, boy, I’m a man of the sea. But the captain had ideas. He was a good one for a wild scheme.”
 

“There are no people.”
 

“Spitsbergen’s a big island. There are people sure enough. We’ll find ‘em.”

Jonah moved towards the back of the boat and took the tiller. Conall baited a hook with a remnant of dried meat from the galley floor, let it down into the water, his hand trailing through the sea. “Where did you learn to sail? There are no ships.”

“There was plenty, when I was a lad. I was born at sea,” Jonah said. “My father owned a merchant ship, diesel engines, no sail. That was the only home we knew and we travelled the world. Then the fuel ran dry and she couldn’t go anywhere. Couldn’t convert her, she wasn’t right for sail, broke my father’s heart. But there were sail ships around, men that learnt the old ways from books, some that never lost them, and about your age I went as crew. A fine ship, nothing like
The Arkady
, didn’t have her speed or grace. Nor the clean lines. But she managed all right, built for sail, out of wood, if you’ll believe it, and sixty foot long. We sailed to the south, to Portugal, the Mediterranean, North Africa. To the low countries, Scandinavia.”

“You never came here, to Svalbard?”
 

Jonah shook his head. “No reason to, back then, unless you were carrying refugees. And we had no room for them. We sailed as far north as Hammerfest though, with a cargo of iron ore, and took back dried fish and fruit and wheat.”
 

“You’d been there before?”
 

“Aye, but it was safer then. Not like now. Damn the place. Damn those men, taking us as slaves.” Jonah pointed to the east, to where smoke rose from within a narrow fjord. “See, I told you there was people.”
 

They hauled down the sail and rowed into the fjord, passing between pillars of rock covered with lichen and moss. They saw a green swathe of grass leading down a narrow valley, a wooden house built close to the water. Sheep and cows grazed the fields and small, rough barns dotted the landscape.
 

“A farmstead,” Jonah said. He pointed to a boat, tied to a jetty by the house, not much bigger than their row-boat. “No way in, but by sea, I’d guess. Best way. Safest. But the welcome may not be as warm as we’d like. They’ll be scared of us, I expect.”
 

Anyone in the house or working the surrounding fields would have seen their approach. But no one appeared to greet them. The place was quiet and looked deserted but for the smoke from the chimney.
 

“Keep your eyes open,” Jonah said, “but act friendly.”
 

They tied the row-boat up to the quay and approached the house. Conall knocked but there was no answer. He knocked again, tried the handle. The door opened. “Should we? It doesn’t seem right. Maybe they’re in the fields.”
 

Jonah leant over him, pushed open the door. “Wait here.” He put one foot over the threshold, and a voice from behind them barked commands. Conall took the language to be German or Dutch. He looked around slowly. Something about that voice said the man was armed. There was no fear, only the certainty of action if they didn’t do as he said.
 

The man carried a gun with two long, wide barrels held at waist height. A tall man, in his thirties, pale skin but fresh-faced, a tussle of brown hair, clothes made of rough-spun wool. He waved them away from the door.

“You speak any English, my friend?” Jonah asked.
 

“Some.” The man scowled.
 

“We’re shipwrecks, looking for help and shelter.” Jonah thrust out a hand for the man to shake. “I’m Jonah Argent, at your service, first mate of
The Arkady
, a ship that’s had it’s share of troubles of late.”
 

“And captain of
The Angela
.” Conall smirked behind Jonah’s back.

“I was, that’s true, but she sank and some will say it’s my fault but a storm’s a storm. We swam ashore, lucky to escape with our lives, and we’re seeking help. Information. Food and rest and a warm welcome. A chance to talk.”