In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers (4 page)

Conall threw a two-foot length of rope across the room onto the sacks of hay. Rufus followed, leaping on his prey, shaking it in his jaws as if breaking a rat’s neck.
 

“Keep the noise down.” Faro stood by the diesel engine, studying the machinery.
 

Conall rescued the rope from Rufus and threw it again for the dog to pounce on.
 

They had slept on the sacks of hay and woken when the first rays of dawn had filtered into the dank hold through the stairwell at the far end. Conall was beginning to feel safe down here, confident this part of the ship was rarely visited. But sooner or later the sailors would fetch supplies. The hay would be moved upstairs for the animals. The engineer would be back if the engine was needed. The spare sails might hide them in an emergency, but not for long.
 

He fumbled in the dark and grasped the end of the rope, hauled the dog around. Rufus tugged hard, teeth gripping, back feet heaving for all he was worth. A scrape, a shuffle of shoes above them, footsteps on the stairs and the electric lights flickered. The brothers lunged for the sacks of hay, Conall pulling Rufus along with him. The dog resisted, unaware this was no longer part of the game. Conall reached out, grabbed a handful of loose skin on the dog’s neck and yanked him off his feet. He placed the dog on his lap, pressing palms against the animal’s chest to calm him, urging him to be quiet. One bark, one growl would give them away.

Two men moved along the hold towards the engine. Conall shrank beneath the sacks, keeping his breathing soft, trying not to move, though cramp gripped his foot.
 

Voices, low, whispering. The men stood by the diesel engine, sure they were alone but taking care not to be overheard from the deck above.
 

“Let’s see,” one the men said. Conall knew the voice. Jonah Argent. The big man must be crouched over, unable to stand up straight down here. But why the secrecy?
 

The sound of paper being unrolled and spread out. “Don’t get it dirty,” Jonah growled.
 

“It’s all I found,” said a second voice, “in with the other charts. Nothing else, I searched his desk.”
 

Jonah snorted in disgust. “This isn’t it.”

“It’s Spitsbergen.”
 

“Aye, but it’s a shipping chart, nothing more.”
 

“That’s where she’s headed.”
 

“But there’s nothing marked,” Jonah said. “You see any clue? Big island, Spitsbergen. How you gonna find treasure without knowing where to look? Put this back, don’t let ‘em know you took it. He must have a different map, hidden somewhere.
 

“Carries it on him, maybe, keeping it safe.”
 

“Or disguised,” Argent said. “Hidden in the open, where no one sees for looking.”
 

“It’s an old printed map? Or hand drawn?”
 

“It’s a map,” Jonah growled, “looks like a map. What more do you need to know?”
 

Rufus wriggled in Conall’s arms, trying to break free. He pressed the dog down.
 

“We could knock him cold, search him. Stick him.”
 

“Foolish talk,” Argent said. “Don’t let ‘em suspect we’re on to them. We don’t know about the treasure, right? Not a word. Easier to sneak away, get there first, if no one knows we’re looking.”

Conall heard a grunt from the sailor, as if Argent had gripped a fistful of skin and twisted. “I get it,” the man hissed.
 

“So find it.”
 

“What about the girl, maybe she’s got it, hidden in her clothing. I could search her.”
 

“Aye, you’d like that, I’m sure. Don’t touch anyone, you hear? Least of all her. Put that chart back before it’s missed.”
 

The voices faded as footsteps crossed the hold towards the steps. Conall felt his lungs burning and realised he’d been barely breathing. He took a gulp of stale air as the men climbed the steps, and relaxed his grip on Rufus. The dog shook in protest and slunk off.
 

“You hear that?” The lights went off and the hatch closed. Faro moved a sack aside. “They’re planning something. Looking for a treasure map.”
 

“We should tell the girl, warn her.” Conall realised he didn’t even know her name. “She could be in danger, her father too.”
 

Faro paused. “Not yet. We can use this.”

His brother was busy scheming again, looking for ways to set one person off against another. “If she gets hurt…”
 

“We’ll find the map,” Faro said.
 

“From down here?”
 

“I wonder if she knows. Are they right? Does she have it?”
 

“She could be in danger.”
 

“What kind of treasure? Gold, from the old days?”
 

Conall recalled stories of treasure hunts, of pirates feuding over chests of gems and coins. Who valued such things now? Food was precious, fuel, wood. Not useless stones. “It’s a stupid story. Forget it, there’s no treasure.”

“Might be tech from the old days,” Faro said, “or weapons. Valuable, got to be, to go all that way. He mentioned Spitsbergen.”
 

Conall scrambled out from under the hay sacks, fumbling in the dark for Rufus. “They’re looking for a new home, same as mum and dad. Same as everyone. They’ve got the animals, farming tools. It’s probably just a shipping map, a place they’re looking for. Not treasure.”

“You’ll see,” Faro said, rubbing his hands together. “If there’s a map, I’ll find it. And the treasure too.”

≈≈≈≈

The hatch by the steps scraped open, slowly, cautiously, as if someone didn’t want to be heard. Conall slipped back under the sacks.
 

Faro wriggled in beside him. “Where’s the dog?”

“Don’t know.”
 

“Damn.”
 

No light went on. Steps, soft and hesitant. Then a whisper, the girl’s voice. “I’ve got food. Leftovers. Are you there?”
 

 
She’d brought them milk and water, cooked eggs, buttered bread, fried mushrooms and a rasher of bacon each.
 

“I can’t stay,” she said, almost invisible in the gloom, her hair tied up off her face. “You have to hide. There’s a storm coming, bad one. I have to get back, stay inside my cabin.”
 

Rufus smeared the side of his face against Conall’s arm. He handed the dog a chunk of bread and half his bacon.
 

“Make it last, don’t know when I’ll be back. Not until the storm passes.” She raised herself out of a crouched position. Footsteps thudded on the deck above, followed by shouts and bellowed orders.
 

“They’ll be down to use the engine,” Faro said. “Eat fast, and get that dog under cover.”
 

The girl scrambled along the hold towards the steps, paused, waiting to hear if the way was clear. Then she was gone.
 

“Good girl, bringing us food,” Faro said.
 

Conall slurped down his share of the milk. “We should have warned her, about Jonah and the map.”
 

“Say nothing,” Faro said. “We’ll save that, use it when we need it most.”
 

≈≈≈≈

The hatch to the hold swung open, the lights clicked on and the engineer clambered down. In their lair among the sacks of hay, the brothers lay motionless. Overhead, the wind howled through the rigging and rain hammered onto the deck as sailors stowed the sails, getting the ship ready to face the storm.
 

The engineer started the diesel engine then set about refilling the fuel tanks. The swell of the sea intensified, and the ship pitched and rolled. Jonah shouted something down the hatch, the engineer swore, banged and clanked. The roar of the engine increased. Rufus whimpered, cowering next to Conall under the sacks of hay.
 

The front of the ship veered up, then plunged forward. The hay sacks slid and tilted. Faro bent over on his knees and vomited. Tools and supplies scraped along the deck, the engineer swearing, the ship lurching back to forth, side to side. The wind grew louder in the rigging, the rain drumming on the deck. Conall’s stomach cramped and he knew he’d puke himself soon. Had the engineer heard them? He wriggled to keep out of sight, but lost his grip on Rufus. The dog scurried off, terrified.
 

The stench of Faro’s vomit made Conall’s throat contract. His stomach muscles hardened as he fought the reflex. The ship rolled violently to starboard and they were thrown against the side of the hull. Conall banged his head on a bulkhead and grunted in pain. Rufus barked, repeatedly. Faro swore, and Conall could hear the anger in his voice. Fear too. The ship lurched back towards level, but kept going. The sacks of hay plunged across the deck towards the port side. Conall grasped hold of the steel bulkhead and hung on. Faro reached for it but missed and slid, his arms flailing, smacking into the far wall. They were exposed, in clear sight, but Conall couldn’t see the engineer. He must have left the hold while they were hidden under the sacks. The ship lurched again and the sacks came sliding towards Conall. He crunched into a ball and braced for the impact.
 

“She’s going to sink. She won’t take much more,” Faro said.

“She’s not sinking.” Conall had been out on fishing boats in seas almost as bad, helping out when the fishermen were short handed, earning scraps of food for his trouble. Faro had spent his time pouring over the encyclopaedia, learning about ships instead. “She’s built to take it.”
 

“We should get up top,” Faro said “If she goes down we’ll be trapped in here.”
 

“We’ll hear the lifeboats going, if it comes to that.” But would these men would find room for a pair of stowaways? “If we go on deck we’ll be washed over.”
 

The steel hull groaned as the ship was thrown high by a wave and came crashing into the trough. They slid against the bulwark. Conall spotted Rufus cowering near the front of the ship where the walls narrowed, tucked up in a folded sail. Smart dog. It looked the safest place to be, and he could grip with his claws, hold himself steady. “We have to get hidden. The engineer will be back any minute.” The sacks of hay had been thrown to the middle of the hold, close to the diesel engine. Conall pointed forward. “Under the sails.”

The boys crawled, dodging sacks and loose tools as they made their way forwards. The canvas had been secured with strong rope and tight knots. They wouldn’t move. If the ship pitched forward, they might be crushed by flying debris, but they had to hide somewhere. Conall pulled at the sails, wriggled into a gap and curled up into a ball, determined to ride out the storm. He heard Faro vomit once more.

Conall felt sick himself, exhausted, too tired to stay awake. If the ship foundered, there’d be no escape. Not from here. He had to trust to the skills of Jonah Argent and his men, and hope
The Arkady
survived the storm. His head resting on the deck, he concentrated on the sounds of the ship, the roll of the waves, waiting for a sign that the worst of the tempest had passed.
 

He lay awake for hours, listening to the gale, the ocean and the groaning of the ship but eventually his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a disturbed sleep.
 

He woke with Rufus curled up beside him under the sail. The wind had dropped, the rain had stopped and the seas were calm. The ship no longer pitched and rolled. His stomach groaned, but with hunger, not sickness, and his throat felt parched.
 

Voices. Footsteps. Men were moving through the hold searching.
 

“They’re in here somewhere.” It was the engineer’s voice. “I heard ‘em, I tell you. And there’s a dog.”
 

“Think the storm’s affected his hearing,” said a sailor.

“His thinking more like.” That was Jonah’s voice. “There’s no one here.”
 

Then silence. Whispering. “There they are,” the engineer said. The men stomped to the front of the hold, standing over the pile of sails, only feet away. They must be able to see them.
 

The sail was pulled back and a torch shone into Conall’s face. “Well, if it isn’t the boy from the Old Broch,” Jonah said. “And you’re right, he did bring his dog. Come on boys, get ‘em to the brig. We’ve got us a couple of stowaways.”
 

The sailors grabbed Faro and Conall. One of them made a lunge at Rufus and the dog bit the man’s hand. The sailor yelled and kicked out. Conall wriggled free and snatched the dog, shielding him.
 

“Enough,” Jonah shouted and yanked at Conall by the collar. “Bring your dog, and if it bites me I’ll boil it for supper, you got that? Search the hold.”
 

The men soon found Conall’s bag and his binoculars. They were marched up the ladder to the middle deck and locked in a room, no more than seven foot by four, with a bunk bed and straw on the floor. Conall slumped onto the bottom bunk and put Rufus on the bed beside him.
 

Faro pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the top bunk, his feet swinging wildly. “It’s all right,” Faro said. “I’ve got a plan. This Jonah, he’s the one we heard in the hold. And he’s the first mate. So we tell the captain what we heard. Then the captain’s in our debt.”
 

“And the first mate will kill us.”
 

“He’s not in charge.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I reckon the men follow Jonah. And why should the captain believe us?”
 

“How else would we know about the map?”
 

“There might not be a map. We should tell the truth, offer to work our passage. Save the stuff about the map.”