The Huntsman's Amulet (5 page)

Chapter 5

The Voyage

T
here was little that
needed doing to prepare Soren for departure from Auracia. He’d arrived there with nothing more than his sword and dagger, a purse of coins and the clothes on his back. In the time since, he’d added little to this; no more than the additional clothing he needed so as not to appear completely down and out.

He arrived at the docks shortly after dawn. The tide was not due to turn for another couple of hours, but he didn’t want Joris to have an excuse not to take him.

He was pleased to see there was more activity on the ship than there had been the previous day. It was not quite the hive of activity that the larger merchantmen were, but she showed signs of being ready to go to sea. The deck looked ordered and neat and men moved about with a sense of purpose.

‘Captain Joris,’ Soren shouted.

A moment later Joris appeared at the bulwark. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t show.’

Soren shrugged.

‘You’re insane. You realise that?’

‘It’s been said before.’ He knew he had his berth and smiled.

‘If I think my crew or ship are in danger at any time, I’ll turn around.’

‘All right. I understand,’ Soren said.

‘If I think you are a danger to my crew at any time, I’ll throw you overboard.’

‘That’s fair,’ Soren said.

‘You’d best come aboard and get your kit stowed away then,’ Joris said.

There was not much enthusiasm in his voice, but he had agreed and that was enough for Soren.

Ferrata felt his anger threaten to flare as he watched the sails drop and the ship accelerate away from the harbour. A few deep breaths were all he needed to quell the rage, but his displeasure would be harder to shift.

‘You.’

The rough looking dockworker Ferrata directed his call at stopped. He did not appear to take kindly to being spoken to so harshly. One look at Ferrata clearly convinced him that his irritation would be better taken out on someone else.

‘That ship.’ Ferrata pointed out at the ship Soren had boarded. ‘Where’s it headed?’

The dockworker looked out to where Ferrata was pointing. ‘
Honest Christophe
? Sails between here and Venter,’ he said, before continuing on his way.

Ferrata looked back at the ship and swore.

As Captain Joris had promised, there was not much in the way of luxury to be found on board the
Honest Christophe
. Soren’s berth was a hammock on the lower deck, slung from the wooden beams above. The air had a putrid tang of bilge water and the stench of the rotting remains of whatever loose bits of cargo had ended up in the bilge. The smell, coupled with the rolling of the ship meant that Soren could only spend a couple of moments below before he became nauseated. It wasn’t so bad when he remained up on deck, but there was little or no chance to get any sleep there.

He had taken a sea voyage several years before and the memory of it still made the bile rise in his throat. This time around he seemed to be coping better, but the sea was far more placid than it was in the north. A gentle and regular swell rolled across from the west, giving the ship a slow pitching gait as she ploughed her way toward Venter. He hoped the conditions would remain similar for the rest of the voyage.

The ship looked very different under sail than she had tied up at the dock. It reminded Soren of the difference in a tree between winter and summer. The once bare, skeletal masts, sprits and yards were now alive with billowing cream coloured canvas. While she could never be called a thing of beauty, the
Honest Christophe
was no longer an inanimate hulk tied to a quayside; she felt lively and spirited under a full press of sail.

They had been at sea for a few days before Soren began to relax into life on a constantly moving surface. He found that his feet began to meet with the deck when he expected them to. To alleviate boredom, he had even taken to pitching in with one of the watches, and although he would not contemplate going up into the rigging, he liked to think that he was useful to have around.

He stood for a while at the bulwark each evening after supper, looking out to sea in the direction that the Isles lay. Usually he was left in peace, as the few men of his watch went below to rest and those on watch went about their duties. It was not the case on that night however, as Captain Joris made his way over with two mugs of steaming tea.

‘Staring won’t make them appear any sooner!’ he said, as he handed Soren one of the mugs.

Soren nodded in appreciation as he took it. ‘I know.’

‘You’ll see the bank of cloud long before the Isles anyway. Still determined to go ashore?’

Soren nodded, but he felt his certainty was less now; it seemed to ebb ever more the closer they got.

‘I want to convince you to stay on board. I’m only going to do it the once. You’re a decent young man. You’ve pitched in when others wouldn’t have and all the lads like you. If you were to stay aboard you’d be a rated seaman by the time we reach Voorn and you’d have no trouble at all finding work if you wanted to move ship. I’ll even offer to keep you on myself if you want it.’

‘It’s kind of you,’ Soren said, ‘but I have to go ashore. I’m not going to explain why, but I’m going.’

‘I thought you might say that,’ Joris said, ‘but I had to try. I expect we’ll be seeing the cloud by tomorrow.

‘Land ho!’

The call came from one of the top-men, perched at the junction of the yard with the mast far enough off the deck to make Soren feel dizzy every time he looked up.

As Joris promised, they had been able to see the cloudbank since the previous day, a thick grey blanket sitting above the sea, out of place in the otherwise clear sky. The mood on board had changed as soon as it was spotted. The men’s spirits sank and they all started to treat Soren a little differently, as though he were a condemned man.

The winds had been fair up until that point, blowing across the side of the ship and allowing them to continue in a straight line, but the next leg of the voyage would not be as easy and part of Soren was glad that he would not be on board to endure it. After doubling back to clear the Shrouded Isles, the crew of the
Honest Christophe
would have to beat against the wind as they made their way north to reach Venter. This meant zig-zagging back and forth, with every ten miles sailed only getting them four or five miles closer to home. It seemed like a very frustrating way to travel and the value of being able to pass safely through the straits was obvious.

The Isles were much as Captain Joris had described them. Where the ship sat, out in the open sea, it was a fine, clear day, the late winter sun strong, but not hot. The dark grey blanket of cloud hovering low in the sky over the Isles was ominous and ugly.

Joris joined him at the bulwark and surveyed the Isles. ‘I wasn’t much more than a child when I saw this place. Hoped I never would again. Gives me a chill just looking at them. They’re just as I remember. Grey, empty, dead. Seems nothin’ has changed.’

‘It’s bleak,’ Soren said, feeling a little reluctance to continue.

‘You’re still sure you want to go ashore?’ Joris said.

Soren nodded. ‘You’d best prepare the boat. I’m sure you want to get underway again as quickly as you can. I can tell the men don’t like being this close.’

‘They don’t and neither do I. Superstition or not, there’s something not right about that place,’ Joris said. ‘It’ll take us about twenty-five or twenty-six days to get home, if the winds remain fair. We’ll need two days there to unload and take on a new cargo, and to give the lads some time to relax. The trip back’ll be faster, two weeks maybe. When we get back, I’ll hold station off the point where you go ashore. I’ll wait from dawn to dusk for three days before I continue on to Auracia. Start watching for us forty days from today. If we get back sooner, I’ll only start counting the days from then. It’s up to you to be back on that beach looking out for us. If you don’t signal during those three days, I’ll consider you lost to the curse of the Isles. I won’t be sending anyone ashore to look for you. If we’re late by more than ten days, you may consider us lost to the curse of the seas.’

He laughed, but Soren could hear the tension in his voice. He felt the same.

‘There won’t be any other ships coming this way. I’ve given you my word that I’ll be back for you, which means I’ll be back if it’s in my power to do so, but if the worst happens you’ll be stranded here.’

Soren felt a twist in his guts, but he trusted Joris. Soren would just have to hope they’d have fair seas and winds until they met again. There was no turning back now. There might not be any answers there, but if there were any to be found at all, this was his best chance.

The boat was prepared quickly and the crew loaded it with dried meat and biscuits, along with several skins of wine and water. If strictly rationed, it would last the forty days and more. Soren didn’t find the prospect of eating dried rations for that long attractive, but it didn’t look like there would be much opportunity to forage for fresh food on the islands.