02 The Invaders (31 page)

“Stig… ,” Wulf said quietly.

Stig turned to him, grateful for the interruption. “What is it, Ulf?”

“I’m Wulf,” the twin said, aggrieved. Was it really so hard to tell him from his brother? he thought. After all,
he
had no problem with it. Stig raised a hand in apology.

“Sorry,” he said, making a mental note never to use either of their names in conversation again. “What is it, Wulf?” he said, and realized he’d just broken that resolution.

“The wind. It’s died,” Wulf told him.

Stig swung round, looking at the trees on the top of the hills inland. They were still. Then he turned again, looking across the smooth water of the bay. There were no ripples on the surface. Wulf was right. The wind had died.

He glanced up at the stars to gauge the time. In a few minutes, the tide would begin to ebb, and Hal and Jesper would push their makeshift raft off from the beach and drift out with it, searching the ocean around them for their first sight of
Heron
.

Except
Heron
wouldn’t be there. With no wind and only two crew members to row, Stig would never make it to the pickup point in time. He felt a surge of panic, forced himself to calm down and think. What could he do? What would Hal do?

The answer came to him. He stepped closer to Barat.

“I need six of your men,” he said urgently. “Six men who’ve worked around boats.”

Heron
carried eight oars, although they rarely used more than four or six. With eight men rowing—Ulf and Wulf and six Limmatans—they’d make the rendezvous in time.

Barat gave a short laugh. “Maybe you do. But you’re not getting them,” he said. His tone was final.

Stig glanced to Jonas, who stepped forward, his hands spread out in an appeal to his commander.

“Barat, be reasonable. We can—”

But Barat cut him off with a short, chopping gesture.

“I need all the men we have!” he said. “I can’t cut our force by six!”

They were speaking in low tones, and so far, the assembled Limmatans hadn’t heard what they’d been saying. Stig kept his voice low now.

“You already have four extra. In effect, I’m only asking for two.”

Barat was shaking his head. Stig took a deep breath, controlling the outburst of rage that wanted to flare up. He touched Barat’s arm and pointed to a small clump of rocks twenty meters down the beach.

“Can we discuss this in private, please? It’s not good for the men to see us arguing.”

“We can discuss it as long as you like. You’re not getting those men.” But Barat allowed Stig to take his arm and guide him toward the outcrop of rocks. Stig jerked his head to Jonas, indicating that the second in command should join them.

The sand squeaked under their boots as they walked along the beach. Then they moved behind the rocks, out of sight.

“You realize,” Stig said quietly, still forcing himself to be reasonable, “that if I’m not there to pick Hal up, he’ll drift out to sea?”

Barat shrugged. “He knew the risk when he took the job,” he said. “I always thought it was a harebrained idea.”

“And you realize that without Hal, we won’t be able to attack the towers? He’s the only one who’s trained to shoot the giant crossbow.” At the last moment, he chose not to call it the Mangler, sensing that the name would only lead to a derisive reply. But Barat made another negative gesture.

“Do you seriously think that plan is going to work?” he said dismissively. “You lot can cruise up and down the bay shooting your oversize crossbow all you like. But it won’t damage the towers. In the end, we’ll have to do all the hard work and face all the danger. And for that, I’m going to need every man I’ve got.”

Stig glanced at Jonas. He could tell from the pained expression on the man’s face that he disagreed with Barat.

“What do you think?” he said.

Jonas hesitated, then seemed to firm on an opinion. “I think we could manage without—”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks!” Barat cut in sharply. “I’m in command! He’s not!”

“And that’s your final word?” Stig said.

Barat snorted and didn’t even bother to answer.

“Well, I tried,” Stig said in a mild tone to Jonas. Then he hit Barat with every ounce of his strength.

The blow was so unexpected, so out of keeping with the mild, almost disappointed tone of voice that Stig had been using, Barat never saw it coming.

It was a savage right that connected flush on the side of his jaw, lifted him off his feet, then dropped him to the sand like a sack of potatoes. Stig’s left fist, cocked and ready for a follow-up, wasn’t required. Barat was out like a light.

“Gorlog’s breath, I’ve been dying to do that for days!” Stig muttered.

Jonas goggled at him. “What are you doing?” he asked, shocked at the unexpected explosion of violence.

“I’m taking six of your men and I’m going to find my friend,” Stig told him very quietly, but very forcefully. “You’re going to detail them to come with me.”

“But… what about him?” Jonas asked.

Stig thought for a moment or two. “Who’s your god of battles in these parts?”

“What?” Jonas asked, confused by the sudden non sequitur. Then, frowning, he answered, “Torika, I suppose.”

“Good. We’ll tell the men Barat stayed behind to pray to Torika for a great victory. Then you detail six men to come with me and I’ll be off. Unless you have any other ideas?” He thrust his jaw forward pugnaciously.

Jonas threw his hands up. “No. Not at all. In fact, I rather wish I’d smacked that pompous idiot myself. Let’s get going.”

They walked down the beach and Jonas detailed six men to reboard the
Heron
. Stig nodded his thanks and they pushed off from the shore, Ulf and Wulf and the six Limmatans rattling their oars out through the oarlocks.

Stig raised a hand to Jonas.

“See you in Limmat, day after tomorrow,” he called. Jonas
waved in return, then the oars bit into the water at Wulf’s call and the
Heron
slid away.

Stig glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly receding beach. From behind the dark tumble of rocks, he thought he could make out a figure, staggering and waving his arms. A cry came faintly to his ears. He smiled.

“Keep calling the stroke, Wulf,” he said. “Make it nice and loud.”

chapter
twenty - nine

H
al was peering around the end of the log, looking for some sign of Jesper, when he felt a hand on his leg. He started in fright, just managing to stop from leaping to his feet in shock, and snapped around. Jesper’s grinning face was less than a meter from his own. His teeth looked unnaturally white in his ash-and-grease-blackened face.

“All in place,” Jesper said. “Shall we leave?”

“Good grief!” Hal said, in a harsh whisper. “You frightened the innards out of me! Don’t do that!”

Jesper’s grin widened. His nerves had been strained as tight as a lute string for the past forty minutes. His lighthearted attitude now was due to the relief of the tension he’d been under.

“Sorry,” he said. He sounded anything but. “If the sentries can’t hear me move, I guess you won’t either.”

“How do you
do
that?” Hal asked. He had heard no sound of the thief’s approach, had seen no sign of movement on the beach.

Jesper shrugged. “A lot of practice. A thief who can’t move
without being seen and heard doesn’t stay a thief for long. Now I’d really like to get going, if that’s all right with you.”

Hal gestured for him to wait and broke off a small fragment of dried wood from the log. He tossed it onto the water a meter away and watched it carefully. Slowly, the fragment began to drift toward the beach. He shook his head.

“Tide’s still coming in,” he said briefly. “But we may as well get ready. It’ll be turning soon. Help me drag the log farther out into the water.”

They found handholds on the log and heaved it backward. With two of them working at it, the log moved more easily and they soon had it floating freely. Hal watched the surface of the water around them as they held it in place, looking for the first sign that the tide had turned.

“Have you noticed that the wind has dropped?” Jesper whispered as they crouched in thigh-deep water.

Hal looked up in alarm. He’d been distracted, first by Jesper’s unexpected reappearance and then by the effort of moving the log. As a result, he hadn’t noticed. Now, as he gazed rapidly around, he realized that what Jesper said was true.

“That could be a problem,” he said quietly.

In the next few minutes, he and Jesper would have to commit themselves to drift out with the tide. But if there was no wind, Stig would be delayed. He might not reach the rendezvous point in time. And if that happened, there was a distinct chance that Jesper and Hal and the log would continue to drift out to sea.

Hal gritted his teeth as he assessed the situation. Jesper’s mind was obviously working along the same lines.

“I guess they could row,” he said.

Hal glanced at him. “Four of them? I suppose so. But it’ll be a long, hard pull for four people.” He paused. “Maybe the wind will get up again,” he added hopefully.

“Maybe,” Jesper replied. He sounded a lot less hopeful about it. “I’ve found in the past that when you’re in a jam and you really need something to happen, it usually doesn’t.”

“Must be great to have such a positive outlook,” Hal said sarcastically.

Jesper shrugged. “So what do we do?”

Hal hesitated before answering. “Let’s look at what we can’t do,” he said. “We can’t stay here. We’ll be spotted once the sun comes up.”

“So we go?” Jesper asked.

Hal hesitated again, weighing the alternatives, finding there were none. He nodded.

“Stig will find a way to reach us,” he said. “Maybe he’ll get one or two extra rowers from Barat’s men.”

As they spoke, he had been watching the water around them. The small piece of wood he had tossed out earlier was slowly drifting out to sea.

“Tide’s turned,” he said. Jesper took a deep breath and they exchanged a long look. Both of them knew the risk they were about to take.

“Let’s go then,” the former thief said reluctantly, tying himself onto the log once more. But again, Hal held up a hand for him to wait.

“I’ll let this out first,” he said.

“This” was a bundle of ten thin wooden stakes, each about
thirty centimeters in length, wound around with twine. As Hal unrolled the bundle, Jesper could see that the twine actually tied the stakes together, with a space of five meters between each one. Each stake was rammed through a piece of cork, so that two-thirds of its length remained above the cork. A large dollop of pitch weighted down the lower end of each, while a strip of red cloth was tied to the longer end. Hal set the first stake in the water. The weight of the pitch held the stake floating upright, so that the red ribbon was above the water.

Slowly, Hal paid out the twine as it drifted away from the log. Within a few minutes, the little flags bobbed out to sea in a fifty-meter-long line, borne on the ebbing tide. In the darkness, the red ribbons were all but invisible. Once the sun rose, however, they should stand out.

“It was Edvin’s idea,” Hal explained. “He made it yesterday. It’ll make it a lot easier for Stig to see us.”

Jesper was impressed. “Suddenly,” he said, “everyone’s an inventor.”

Hal waited till the last flag was drifting five meters from them and tied the end of the twine to one of the dead branches on the log. Then he nodded to Jesper.

“Time to go,” he said quietly. He took a deep breath, knowing Jesper was doing the same. “Are you tied on?” he asked. Jesper nodded. “Then come on.”

They raised their feet from the sand, letting their legs float out behind them. Slowly, the log began to drift out, away from the beach. Ahead of it, unseen in the dark, ten tiny red flags dipped and bobbed on the wavelets.

Don’t let me down, Stig, Hal thought. But he kept the wish to himself.

At first, their motion was barely discernible. But as the ebb tide gathered force, they began to move with greater speed, and the beach quickly receded from sight. As they drifted out farther, they could see the torches and lanterns burning in the two watchtowers, and the ever-present halo of light that loomed over the town itself. By contrast, the sea around them looked very dark and very empty.

Lying low to the water as they were, they soon lost sight of the town. The towers dipped below the horizon and they could only be seen if the boys heaved themselves up onto the log for a better vantage point. Once the lights were out of sight, there was little sensation of movement, although Hal knew they would still be moving at a considerable speed. He tried in vain to make out the reference points he had given to Stig, but he was too low in the water to see any features of the land.

“Hope Stig gets here soon,” Jesper said. His voice was tight again, from a combination of nerves and cold.

“He should turn up after dawn,” Hal said. He twisted and looked to the east but so far there were no telltale streaks of light to be seen.

They drifted on. Hal’s teeth were chattering and his jaw ached from trying to stop them. He was cold. His upper body wasn’t too bad. The sodden sheepskin was serving its purpose. But his legs ached with the biting cold of the water. Like all the Herons, he’d grown up around boats and ships and bad weather and he was used to being wet and cold. But he’d been immersed now for some time
and he hadn’t expected the cold to sap his energy quite as much as it had.