The Huntsman's Amulet (21 page)

‘Thank you for your help, Commissioner,’ Varrisher said, ‘I would ask your leave to continue our pursuit.’

Chapter 31

The Pursuit

H
aving never been involved
in a naval pursuit, Soren was amazed by the unrelenting pace that Varrisher kept up. He’d slept only for an hour or two at a time since they had been at sea. Every time that Soren had gone on deck, Varrisher had been there, conferring with whoever was at the wheel, usually Rodin, or was helming the
Typhon
himself. He derived a manic energy from driving his ship on and eking every ounce of speed out of her that he could. He was never satisfied, and constantly called for minor alterations to the trim of the sails. Soren wondered how the crew tolerated the constant hectoring; no sooner had they made one change than another was called for. They did it though, without grumble or complaint.

The
Typhon
raised anchor no more than three hours after it had been dropped and once again she leaned into the breeze and pressed on like the thoroughbred she was. Varrisher had referred to the rutters he had been given to plot a course to Caytown. They were farther west than he had hitherto been in the Spice Isles, and he approached the matter of sailing in unknown waters with intense concentration. The town was on an island a little more than two days’ sail away, but it was through waters that the rutters indicated were heavily populated with small islands. It was not so much the islands that were of concern to Varrisher as the shoals, sandbars and reefs lurking out of sight below the surface that were also common features.

Nonetheless, Soren was once again surplus to requirements, so he retired to the stateroom. The fatigue of the past few weeks still weighed heavily on him, and combined with the regular motion of the ship and the comfortable couch, he quickly slipped into a light, dozing sleep that was full of vivid dreams.

He dreamt that Alessandra was calling him, but it was dark and he couldn’t find her. He was in a state of panic as he tried to work out where her voice was coming from, but each time he started to run in one direction her voice would come from somewhere else.

She screamed and he jolted awake, but the sound was still there. As the cloud of sleep departed he realised that the sound was an insidious screeching, grinding noise that reverberated through the timbers of the hull. It was dark outside, so he had been asleep for several hours. Soren wanted nothing more than to curl up and try to shake the sensations that he had been left with from his head, but something was going on and he couldn’t ignore it.

Varrisher stumbled from his small sleeping compartment on the port side of the stateroom, doing up his doublet with the clumsiness of one who has just been pulled abruptly from a deep sleep.

‘What’s going on?’ Soren said.

‘Dunno,’ Varrisher grunted, ‘but it doesn’t sound healthy.’

Soren followed him up the three steps out the doorway that led onto the main deck, before turning and ascending the final steps up onto the quarterdeck where the wheel was. Rodin was at the wheel with a grim expression on his face.

‘What’s happened?’ Varrisher said.

‘We touched bottom. A reef by the sounds of it, but we’re sailin’ free now,’ Rodin said. He was usually a cheerful man, but his face bore no trace of good humour now.

Varrisher rubbed his face with both hands. ‘All right, get some men down below to inspect for damage.’

‘Already done, Captain,’ Rodin said.

‘I feared something like this would happen. We’ve been pushing on too bloody hard in unknown waters, when the one thing we did know was that the area is cluttered with sandbanks and reefs. It’s lucky we didn’t hit whatever it was at low water, otherwise we might still be stuck on the bloody thing.’

Soren didn’t think he had ever heard Varrisher swear before, and part of him was curious to see how he acted now that things were not going his way. Would the Varrisher he had known in Ruripathia resurface?

A sound all too familiar to Soren disturbed the night’s peace as the clanking sound of a ship’s pump began to rattle across the deck. It sent a shiver down his spine as he thought of the night and day struggle to save the
Honest Christophe
.

‘Well, that answers the question of if we’ve been holed,’ Varrisher said. He went forward as two men came up the companionway steps, the opening of which was between the fore and main masts. They conferred for a moment before Varrisher came back up onto the quarterdeck.

‘We’ve sprung a couple of planks,’ he said.

Soren noted that Varrisher did not sound particularly concerned, but his own face must have betrayed that he was.

‘It’s a pretty common occurrence for ice runners, so there’s no need to be too worried. I’ve dealt with worse before and lived to tell the tale.’

He still seemed remarkably calm, if anything revelling in the situation. Soren began to wonder if he was slightly cracked; too many years at sea, too little sleep. Whatever the reason, Soren didn’t see how a large hole in the bottom of the boat was nothing to get too concerned about.

Varrisher could see that Soren wasn’t convinced, so he elaborated. ‘The ship’s hull is specially designed to cope with being holed and still remain afloat.
Typhon
also has two sets of pumps, one of which would be more than enough to service an oceanman, so we’re not likely to have a problem clearing any water we take on. The problem that we do have is a great bloody hole in the hull slows us down considerably, and best counsel is to avoid pootling about too much when you have one. I’m afraid we’re going to have to beach her to repair the damage as soon as we can.’

‘How long’s that going to take?’

‘We’re lucky that we’re on a flood tide, which means if we can find a suitable beach in the next couple of hours, we can hove down straight away,’ Varrisher said.

‘Hove down?’ Soren constantly felt like an idiot when he was on board ships. Sailors seemed to have a language all of their own.

‘A true mariner will never admit to intentionally running his vessel aground, so we just call it something different. Basically, we ground
Typhon
on a soft, sandy beach at high tide, take lines from the top of the mast, the halyards, secure them to some trees or rocks and winch them down so when the tide goes out, the damaged area of the hull is exposed and we can patch it up. I’ve sent men aloft to keep a look out for somewhere suitable and there are so many small islands hereabouts it won’t be too difficult to find one.’

‘That doesn’t sound too complicated,’ Soren said.

‘Well that’s the condensed version, but we carry everything we need to do the repair on board, so long as it’s not too extensive.’

‘And how long?’ Soren said, trying to bring the subject back to his original question.

‘We’re at the mercy of the tide. We can only work on the damage while enough of the hull is exposed, which will be no more than three hours or so at a time. I really won’t know how many hours of work will be needed until I see just how bad it is. Two tides minimum though, which means we won’t be floating off until tomorrow morning at the earliest. That’s assuming we manage to find somewhere suitable before this tide turns. If we don’t, you can add at least another twelve hours,’ Varrisher said.

‘Lots of uncertainty then,’ Soren said, distracted by the dream he had been having, which still felt real to his groggy mind.

‘Yes,’ Varrisher said. ‘Such is the way of the sea. I’m as keen to get my hands on Rui as you are. Right now my future plans are entirely dependent on getting the bounty on his head. Rest assured that we’ll deal with this as quickly as we can.’

Ferrata had watched the docks at Auracia each day since returning to the city. It was the same tactic that he employed in Voorn, and he was beginning to see that it was flawed. However, when someone moved about as much as Soren did there were few ways to keep track of them.

One of the
Honest Christophe
’s sailors was less than guarded with his tongue after a few drinks, and Ferrata had been able to learn that Soren had been on the
Honest Christophe
, but had disembarked for the Shrouded Isles. The mention of the Shrouded Isles came as a surprise, and made Ferrata wonder if Soren had a death wish. Ferrata couldn’t help but wonder what it was that drew him there, but it didn’t matter.

All that interested Ferrata was the fact that they were collecting Soren on their return to Auracia. Another trip across the Middle Sea and now he was loitering by the docks in Auracia waiting for a ship to come in. Again. At least the weather was better. Several days overdue, even taking into account their detour, and it looked as though the
Honest Christophe
wasn’t going to arrive.

With all of the stories surrounding the Isles, it was possible that neither Soren, nor the
Honest Christophe
would ever be seen again. This would make it very difficult for Ferrata to collect the bounty. Failing to kill an ordinary man would also be bad for Ferrata’s reputation. Give me a duke and I’ll give you a corpse, he thought, but an ordinary man? It explained why the price on Soren’s head was so high at least, but it was frustrating.

As though the involvement of cursed islands wasn’t enough, there was also talk of a ferocious storm that had swept down from the north and wrecked a number of ships, damaging several more. Ferrata was lucky that his ship had arrived in Auracia before it hit.

There was a third story, and that one was far more interesting. Of the ships that had managed to make it back to Auracia after the storm, several of them had spoken of being chased by a pirate ship that was preying on vessels crippled by the bad weather. If it was true, Ferrata rather admired the captain’s initiative. It might also mean that Soren was headed for a pirate sanctuary in the Spice Isles, rather than providing food for fish, or whatever was on the Shrouded Isles.

So much uncertainty, so much frustration. He would think twice before taking another high price contract on anyone but the aristocracy or merchant elite, people whose greed tied them to a particular place.

Ferrata groaned. Another sea voyage was the last thing he wanted, but there was no rest for the wicked, and he most certainly was that.