In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers (7 page)

He had one thought then. Out here, in this town, somewhere, there was an inn. And Jonah Argent would be there with his men, with Faro, laughing and singing and drinking. Making too much noise. All the same, it was worth a try. He breathed deep into his belly and yelled as loud as he could, calling out Faro’s name. Then Jonah’s name.
 

The men surrounding them fell quiet. A moment of silence hung over the town. Then a shout, from streets away, a deep-throated roar that could only come from a bear of a man. A man who spent his life shouting over the top of a North Sea gale.
 

Jonah had heard him. Jonah was on his way.
 

The men around them melted into the stones and wood of the town, into the rocks and trees that surrounded the settlement, gone faster and more silently than they’d appeared. Jonah roared again, calling Conall’s name. This time Erica answered, shouting out their position.
 

Jonah and half a dozen of his men rounded a corner, Faro among them. Jonah held his cane in his left hand, a sword in the right. Conall realised the cane concealed the sword. That’s why he carried it, yet never needed it to walk. The man looked vulnerable but he was always armed.
 

Conall stood proud, his knife drawn. He’d screamed for help, but been willing to fight. He’d show Jonah he’d been true, he’d been a man, ready to defend the captain’s wife, to do right by the ship.
 

Then Erica ran her hands through his hair, kissed his cheek like a mother might, and told him to put the knife away. He scowled at her, but she didn’t see. Jonah reached them and pounded Conall on the back with his bear fist, knocking him off balance. “Don’t be roaming through quiet parts of town. Sure I said that, somewhere,” Jonah said. “Come on, Mrs Hudson, let’s get you back to
The Arkady
. Captain’ll be worried.”
 

The sailor scurried to gather up the flowers he’d scattered into the road. Erica insisted she was unharmed. She’d get on with her shopping, she said. But Jonah would hear none of it. He and his sailors escorted them back to the ship, left them there, with strict orders not to set foot on land again without a proper escort. By which he meant him and all his men. Erica protested, knowing Jonah Argent couldn’t give her orders, but he meant well by it, only wanted to protect her, so she did what he said.
 

News travels fast on a sail ship, and Heather ran to her mother, Rufus snapping at her heels. Conall scooped the animal into his arms and held him close, burying his face in the terrier’s fur, losing himself in the familiar, comforting smell of dog.
 

Jonah emerged from below deck with three handguns. Conall had never seen a gun for real, only in books, and he stared, opened mouthed. Jonah tucked one gun into his waistband, handed another to ‘Bones’ Bagatt. The second mate was on watch, responsible for keeping the ship secure. “We’ll take no chances,” Jonah told the crew as he readied them to set off into town to search for the captain.
 

Conall waited until Jonah was alone for a moment, no one else close to hear. “Who were those men? They weren’t like the rest of the townsfolk.”
 

“There’s always bad ‘uns. Everywhere you go. Always been true that,” Jonah said. “Men that look out only for themselves. Lot of it around.” He leant down, whispered. “Fine looking woman, Mrs Hudson. Fetch a deal of money, in certain parts, if you know what I mean.”
 

“Slavers?”
 

“Worst kind. You keep watch on this deck, you understand. And keep the girl below. Out of sight.” Conall glanced towards Heather. “Tell her to stay hidden. And she’s not to set foot on shore.”
 

“You tell her” Conall said. “I’m not allowed to talk to her. Captain’s orders.”
 

Jonah clipped Conall around the ear, but the blow didn’t hurt. “I’ve seen you talk to her.” The man grinned like a wolf about to rip open its prey, a silver tooth glinting at the back of his mouth, then roared for his men and was off down the gangplank, his cane clomping as he went.
 

Conall put Rufus into Heather’s arms, his hand accidentally brushing her breast beneath her blouse. He felt his face redden. “Thanks for looking after him.”
 

“It’s all right. He’s a good dog.”
 

“The best.” He wanted to say something more but his mind had gone blank. She looked at him, expecting him to speak. Nothing came. She smiled, kissed Rufus’s head and turned to go.
 

“Jonah says stay below. Out of sight.” The words came out gruffer than he’d intended.
 

She turned back, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a moment, nodded, her head low, and she slipped through the doorway into the cabins.
 

Conall stayed on deck, taking orders from Bagatt and helping ready the ship to sail. “I reckon we’ll pull out, soon as everyone’s on board and supplies are loaded,” Bagatt told him. “Hour or two at most, provided everyone gets back, safe.”
 

It took more than four hours before they were ready. More hay and straw arrived for the animals, vegetables and meat, and a cart full of roughly hewn wood for the carpenter, needed for repairs and running maintenance on board ship. Faro was among the last to return. Conall saw him coming, swaying behind Jonah Argent and his men, their faces red and flushed, voices loud. Drunk.
 

As the last of them staggered aboard, the captain gave orders to cast off. The crowd that had greeted their arrival had thinned to a handful of bystanders watching the workings of the ship.
 

Conall busied himself on deck. He felt Faro’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” his brother said, “got to talk. You won’t believe what I learnt from Jonah Argent.”
 

When the ship sailed from Bergen in the late afternoon Jonah and half a dozen of the men were still drunk, Faro included. Captain Hudson ordered them to sleep it off, and that left the ship short-handed. Conall was hard pressed on deck for the rest of the day and it was dark by the time he got off duty. He ate with the other sailors and by the time he headed his hammock, Faro was alone in the room, more sober but still excited.
 

“They talked of Svalbard,” Faro whispered. “The locals in Bergen, they’ve heard stories. There are wildmen there, they say, covering half the island. A tribe of them, they drive out strangers and live like savages. And they’re at war with the settlers. And there are slavers too, deep mines where the slaves work, digging coal and gold and diamonds. Some say there’s oil, but they all talk of the treasure of Spitsbergen. You should have seen Jonah’s face. He pretended he wasn’t interested but kept coming back to it in round-about ways.”
 

Conall frowned. “So what is this treasure?”
 

“Must be money, precious stones. Or technology from the old days. Someone said it was powerful weapons, so you could win any war. It’s a legend. The treasure of Spitsbergen. Something so valuable you couldn’t put a price on it.”
 

“It’s just stories, meaningless.”
 

“I’m going to find that map,” Faro said. “We can beat Jonah to it. They’ll take us right there. And we slip in first.”
 

“I don’t care about treasure. I’m here to find them.”
 

“Little child needs his mum and dad?”
 

“It’s why we’re going.”
 

Faro stood at the porthole staring into the darkness. “I can look after myself. I wouldn’t speak to them, even if they are alive.”
 

Conall slid into his hammock, rolled onto his side. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.”
 

“They deserted us,” Faro said, still staring through the porthole. “Deliberately. Must have. They didn’t want us, couldn’t afford passage on a ship, so they left us behind. You know it’s true.”
 

“They wouldn’t.”
 

“You were too young. You didn’t know them.”

“You were only ten.”
 

“Older than you, though.”

That was true. Faro was older. He always had that card to play, to put himself in charge.
 

“I’ll find the map,” Faro said. “I need you to stand watch outside the captain’s stateroom.”
 

“It isn’t there, the engineer didn’t find it.”
 

“Then I’ll search his cabin.”

“You can’t steal his map. They’ve helped us. They’re taking us to Svalbard. They didn’t have to. We’ve got what we need. They’re good people.”
 

“Are you going to help me?”
 

Conall rolled over so he could see Faro’s face in the gloom. “No.”
 

“You serious?” Faro glared at him, hate in his eyes.
 

“The treasure isn’t yours to take. Or the map.”

“They don’t belong to Jonah either, or the captain. You get what you take in life. You’ll learn. You’d better stand guard. Or else.”
 

“Or what?”
 

Faro’s hands twitched with anger. Conall stared back at his brother. He’d face him down, even lying in a hammock. Faro had four years on him, he was taller, heavier. But Conall fought like a terrier, never giving up. And Faro knew it.

“Last chance. You help now or get nothing.”

“You’ll be caught and it’ll ruin everything. They’re taking us to Spitsbergen. This is our chance.”
 

“Our chance to get rich. To have power. Or you want to be scrounging for food all your life? Not me. I’ll take what I need.”
 

“I’m not helping.”
 

“After all I’ve done for you, for years? Fine, you’re on your own, how does that feel?” Faro stormed from the room and slammed the door as he left.
 

Conall sunk into his hammock. What if Faro got caught? Or found the map? What would Jonah do? And how would Conall find his parents without Faro’s help, on an island full of wildmen at war with slavers, at the far ends of the Earth?

≈≈≈≈

On the second day out of Bergen, Conall sat with the first mate on the poop deck. Jonah steered the boat, his big hands on the massive wooden wheel, using Conall to run messages to the crew working in the rigging.
The Arkady
sailed up the western coast of Norway, making good time in strong winds but using more diesel than the crew would have liked. The engine was a safety net, Argent said, keeping them away from danger when the wind swirled or dropped. But the fuel was precious, it might run dry before they reached Spitsbergen, and no one knew where they’d get more once the supplies were gone.
 

The sea was littered with islands. The mainland was an ocean of rock with green farmsteads dotted wherever people found enough soil to set up home. They passed countless towns and villages perched over the water, houses built of wood and painted bright blues, whites and reds. Jonah told him there were more settlements, out of sight, deep within the fjords.

“Have you sailed this coast before?” Conall asked. “You speak as if you know it?”
 

“Many times, in my youth.”
 

“You’ve been to Svalbard?”

“No, not that far north. It was different then, climate’s changed so fast. There were glaciers on Spitsbergen, ice the year round if you can believe it. Gone now, they say. But it still snows up there, I’ve heard, in depths of winter. Long winters. Dark all day and night.”
 

“It’s true then? The sun never rises?”
 

“Never sets in summer. Unnatural place to be farming, if you ask me, but the captain’s set on it, or says he is at least.”
 

“You don’t believe him?”
 

“I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth young Hawkins. Now get over to the fore mast and tell Jim to put a bit of slack in that clewline.”

When his turn on deck was finished, Conall went below to muck out the animals. He opened the door to the pens and found Faro there already, with Heather, the two of them laughing, watching the piglets play. Heather turned and waved but Faro ignored him and left without speaking a word.

Heather gave Conall a questioning stare. “You two not speaking?”

“Guess not. How’s Rufus?”
 

“Missing you. What did you argue about?”
 

“Nothing. If he causes trouble, just tap him on the nose. He understands that.”
 

“I assume you mean the dog, not your brother.”
 

Conall grunted, shovelling pig muck into a bucket.

“Brothers. You’ve only got each other, and now you’re not talking.” She drifted towards the door, paused as if she wanted to say something more, but no words came. The door closed softly behind her as she left.
 

Conall went back to his shovelling but the row with his brother still raged in his thoughts. All those years on Shetland, barely a cross word. Always standing by each other, working as a team, because they had no one else.
 

But that had changed. The crew of
The Arkady
had taken them in. Fed them, protected them, forgiven them for sneaking on board.
 

Stealing the map was wrong. He wouldn’t help Faro. But he couldn’t speak against him either. The argument was only skin deep. There was still blood, tying them together. The bond of family was unbreakable.
 

≈≈≈≈

Four days later they arrived at Tromsø, one of the old cities of Norway. The town sprawled across an island, connected to the mainland by a long, ancient bridge. The houses were mostly wood, with some of stone and brick and concrete, patched together and mended over the years.

The crew were free to take shore leave, but the captain issued strict orders: go ashore in groups of four or more, an armed guard on the ship at all times, no straying too far from the dockside, and no drinking. The men grumbled bitterly, but put their hands to getting the ship ready for port.