02 The Invaders (13 page)

Hal’s brows came together in frustration. “We’ll deal with that later,” he said. “Let’s see if we can hit the target from fifty meters.”

He made a quick mental calculation as he returned to the bow. The minimum setting on the sight was one hundred meters, and the bolt flew virtually flat for that distance. If he set his aiming point slightly below the target, that should be enough.

“Load her up,” he told Ingvar. As the big boy heaved the cord back and placed the last bolt in its groove, he told him what they were planning. Ingvar’s mouth twisted into a thoughtful expression.

“Fifty meters? Isn’t that getting a little close?”

Hal raised one eyebrow. “So everyone tells me,” he said as he took his seat behind the bow.

The crew held their collective breath as the
Heron
swept in toward the beach. Ingvar eased the crossbow around until it was on line and Hal crouched over the sights, concentrating fiercely. The bead foresight rose and fell above and below the target.

“Any time now,” Thorn called. He was estimating the range. They’d agreed he would give Hal five seconds’ notice when they were coming up to fifty meters.

Hal watched the rise and fall of the foresight. Allowing for the slight delay between pulling the trigger and the crossbow’s release, he’d need to be a little below his selected aiming point.

Almost… almost… now!

SLAM!

He sat up in time to see the target explode in a hail of splintered wood. They were close enough to hear the smashing sound as the bolt crashed into it. As the thought hit him, he realized they were also coming perilously close to the beach.

“Bear away!” he called, and Stig brought the bow round once more. Hal slumped on his seat. The tension of the last few minutes had exhausted him. The other boys were cheering. Jesper and Stefan were dancing a jig on the deck between the rowing benches. Even Ulf and Wulf were pounding each other on the back.

Thorn slapped him on the shoulder. “Good work!” he said, a wide smile on his face. Hal rolled his eyes.

“Maybe. But you were right. We’ll be getting awfully close to them. I’m going to have to figure how we’ll handle that.”

Several days passed, and the Herons continued in their new schedule: physical drills and workouts in the morning and shooting practice with the Mangler in the afternoon.

The results of the shooting were improving. Now Hal could hit the target at least one time in four from one hundred meters. From fifty meters, the results were much better, with target after target being smashed to splinters.

But fifty meters was a dangerous distance, as Thorn had pointed out. In addition to the risk of arrows or other missiles
being shot from the
Raven
, it left no margin for any errors in ship handling.

The Magyaran ship was fast and, under oars, highly maneuverable. Any slight mistake or delay could leave
Heron
vulnerable to that cruel ram
Raven
carried in her bow. In his mind’s eye, late at night, Hal had visions of that dreadful iron-shod beam smashing its way through
Heron
’s fragile timbers and the cold water pouring through a huge rent in the hull.

He discussed the problem with Stig and Thorn late one night when the others had taken to their bunks.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Stig said. “After all, the
Raven
is a lot bigger than a one-meter target. It’s not as if you’d miss her entirely if we shot from one hundred meters.”

Hal shook his head. “I want to be able to hit specific targets,” he said. “The rudder, for example, or the hull at the waterline. Or the bulwarks where the shrouds supporting the mast are attached. Or Zavac himself and whoever’s on the tiller. We won’t have enough bolts to just shoot away at the entire ship and hope we hit something important.”

“So we need to get close,” Thorn said and, when Hal glanced at him, he continued. “We can always mount our shields higher on the bulwarks to protect the crew. And Edvin could cover you and Ingvar with a shield.”

“Ingvar particularly,” Hal said. “If he’s injured, we can’t load the Mangler. But it’s not just that. If we get in as close as fifty meters, and any one of us makes a mistake—Stig on the tiller, me with my timing, Ulf and Wulf on the sheets—we could find ourselves at the
Raven
’s mercy.”

“And that’s not a quality she’s renowned for,” Thorn said. Although there was no proof, he was convinced that the
Raven
was behind the disappearance of a small Skandian trading fleet many weeks ago.

“Can we trust Ulf and Wulf on the sail trimming?” he continued. “Should we switch them with Jesper and Stefan?”

Hal pursed his lips thoughtfully. “We’ll still need to use them somewhere,” he said. “And they have a good feeling for the trim of the sail, don’t you think, Stig?”

“Yes,” Stig agreed. “It’s a bit of an instinctive thing to get it exactly right so we get the best performance out of the ship. They have the right feel for it. I don’t have to keep telling them to adjust it. They get it right first time.”

Hal nodded. He’d noticed the same quality in the twins.

“But if they start arguing—”

Hal cut Thorn off. “I don’t think we need to worry about that. They know their lives will depend on it.”

“It’s not their lives I’m worried about,” Thorn replied. “Mine will be depending on it as well.”

There was a short silence while they considered that. Then Hal came to a decision.

“We’ll leave them as they are for the moment and keep drilling. If there’s any sign of an argument during the drills, I’ll switch one of them to raising the yardarm with Jesper and switch Stefan to sail trimming.”

Thorn looked at him keenly for a few seconds. There was no trace of doubt in Hal’s voice, or in his eyes. Finally, the shabby warrior nodded assent.

“You’re the skirl,” he said.

“There’s something else I wanted to bring up,” Hal said. “You’ve said the key to our winning a fight is speed and agility.”

Thorn nodded, waiting to hear what was coming next.

“I think it’s going to be the same in a ship-to-ship fight. Particularly if we’re getting in close. We need to get maximum speed out of the
Heron
. And we need to make her turn and change course as quickly as she can.”

“She’s pretty responsive to the helm now,” Thorn said. “And she’s fast.”

“I think we can make her faster,” Hal said. He glanced at Thorn. “What do you think, Thorn? Do you think she’s faster than
Raven
?”

Thorn rubbed his bristled chin before answering.

“Most of the time, yes,” he said. “If there’s a good wind. But if the wind drops and
Raven
’s under oars, she’ll be faster. And she’ll turn more quickly. All Zavac has to do is back oars on one side and row forward on the other and she’ll turn in her own length. What’s your idea?”

Hal paused, ordering his thoughts. “Two years ago, I went on a trading voyage with Anders,” he said. “He was buying hemp and timber and we went into several Sonderland ports. I saw some of their big trading vessels there. They had huge wooden boards on either side of the ship that they could raise or lower as they wished.” He looked questioningly at Thorn, who nodded.

“They call them leeboards,” Thorn said. “They extend below the hull when they’re lowered. They give the ship a greater resistance against the water, so they make less leeway. That’s important
for them because they spend a lot of time in shallow coastal waters, with the wind blowing toward the shore. When they get into really shallow water, they can raise them again so they don’t run aground.”

“I was thinking of trying something similar on
Heron
,” Hal said.

The others looked at him doubtfully.

“You can hardly mount big, heavy boards along
Heron
’s sides,” Stig said.

Thorn agreed with him. “Those Sonderland barges are massive slab-sided craft,” he said. “The
Heron
’s built much lighter and the hull is curved. There’d be no place to put leeboards—no structure to support them.”

“I wasn’t thinking of putting them on the sides. I thought I’d use one in the middle. Beside the keel.”

“And how would you mount it there?” Thorn was still trying to get his mind around this idea.

“I thought I’d cut away a section of the planking next to the keel and—”

“Just a moment!” Stig protested. “You’re planning to cut through a plank
next to the keel
?”

Hal nodded. “That’s right. Then I could—”

“You
do
know what happens when you cut a hole in the bottom
of a ship, don’t you? The ship tends to sink.” He looked to Thorn for corroboration. “You tell him, Thorn.”

Thorn raised his eyebrows. As a rule, he trusted Hal’s ideas, but this did seem extreme.

“It’s not usually considered a good idea to cut holes in the bottom of a ship,” he said. Stig threw his hands in the air in a see-what-I-mean gesture.

“I’m not
cutting holes in the bottom of the ship
, as you put it. It’s only one hole.” But Hal got no further before Stig erupted again.

“It’s only one ship! How many holes do you want? One will definitely be enough to do the job! You cut. We sink. Not a good idea, Hal!” He shook his head violently. “Or is this just another one of those small details you tend to forget?”

Hal’s head snapped up angrily at those words. “I wondered when we’d get to that,” he said.

Stig threw his hands up again. “Well, it’s a pretty obvious question, isn’t it? You do have something of a track record with water going where it shouldn’t.”

They all paused for a second, remembering the disastrous scene in Karina’s kitchen when Hal’s running water system had gone disastrously wrong, flooding the kitchen and nearly landing a large cask on Stig’s head.

“This is different,” Hal said.

Stig nodded vigorously. “It’s different, all right. That time we just got wet. This time we could drown!”

Thorn decided it might be time to intervene. At least, he thought, Hal should be given a chance to explain his idea.

“Let’s hear what Hal has to say without interrupting all the—”

“Who’s interrupting?” Stig said. Then, catching Thorn’s steely gaze, he subsided. “Oh… well, yes. I suppose I am.”

“I suppose you are,” Thorn agreed. Stig shrugged several times, then made a rolling gesture with his hand.

“Well, sorry. Carry on, Hal. I’ll try not to interrupt.”

“That would be nice,” Hal said. He paused, to see if his friend had anything further to say. When he didn’t, Hal continued. “You see, water seeks its own level—”

But Stig couldn’t help himself.

“That’s what I’m saying! You cut a hole and it will seek its own level. It will come into the boat and sink it and we’ll all drown.” He paused and shook his head at Hal. “But your way of putting it is much more scientific.”

“Stig,” said Thorn, “if you don’t shut up for five minutes, I’ll take you down to the beach and drown you right now. You won’t have to wait for the boat to sink.”

Stig met Thorn’s eyes and saw a nasty glint there. He sensed that the old sea wolf wasn’t making an idle threat.

“All right,” he said, with very bad grace. “I’ll shut up.”

“If I could believe it—” Hal began. But Thorn cut in testily.

“Don’t you start or I’ll drown the two of you! Get on with this crazy scheme of yours.”

“Hah!” said Stig, feeling he was vindicated by Thorn’s words. Thorn swung a furious glance at him.

“You’re trembling on the brink, boy. On the brink! Hal, go on.”

“All right. Stig, you’re right, if I was just cutting a hole in the bottom of the boat, we would be in trouble.” He raised a hand to stop the words springing to Stig’s lips. “But I’m not doing that. I’m going to remove a section of plank next to the keel, and then I’m going to build a cofferdam around it.”

Stig frowned. “A coffledam? What’s a coffledam?”

“Cofferdam,” Hal corrected him. “It’s like a barrier against the water—a reinforced box structure around the gap in the planks,
which extends up past the waterline. The water will come up into it as far as the waterline of the ship, then it’ll stop.”

Stig frowned, not quite understanding. Thorn looked a little more convinced, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure.

“Why does the water stop?” Stig asked.

“Because it’s reached its own level. It reaches the level of the water outside the hull and it doesn’t go any farther.”

“Are you sure?” Thorn asked. It all sounded very theoretical. But in his experience, theories didn’t always work out in practice.

“I’m sure,” Hal said, his entire manner positive. But they’d seen him be positive about things in the past and they both eyed him with some skepticism. He shrugged.

“All right,” he said. “I’ve built a model to test it. I’ll show you tomorrow morning.”

Thorn rose, groaning slightly as his knees creaked with the movement.

“We’ll look in the morning then,” he agreed. “For now, let’s get to sleep.”

The boys rose as well and he watched them balefully, seeing how easily they accomplished the movement.

“One day your knees will creak,” he told them. Stig looked up at him and rolled his eyes.

“If I don’t get drowned by my best friend in the meantime.”

chapter
twelve