The Ghostfaces (17 page)

chapter
twenty-six

T
he rest of the evening was an unqualified success as the Mawags—as Hal discovered they were more familiarly known—and the Herons enjoyed one another's company. The food was excellent, and if the Skandians had any regret, it was that the locals had no knowledge of coffee. But they were offered an herbal tea that they found quite pleasant to the taste, and for those who wanted something different, there was pure cold water and pressed fruit juices.

Perhaps the highlight of the meal was the moment when Edvin revealed his mud-baked oggle bird. Ulf and Wulf had left it wrapped in the canvas sheet they had used to carry it, and it had retained most of its heat. As Edvin unwrapped the unprepossessing sphere of dried, whitened mud, the women of the tribe gathered round him curiously, while he explained the cooking technique.

“The mud seals the bird,” he told them. “So all the juices and fragrances are kept inside, and the bird cooks in them, staying moist and juicy. I noticed these birds are low on fat content and can dry out when they're roasted.”

Several of the older women nodded agreement. It was one of the disadvantages of the bird. The flesh was delicious, but incautious cooking could cause it to dry out. Edvin's technique was a fascinating approach to the subject and they crowded closer as he took his saxe and struck the hardened mud sharply with the hilt. The mud cracked in a long, uneven line around the bird. Edvin struck it again, opening another crack at right angles to the first. Then he used the tip of the blade to flick several large segments of mud away, revealing the bark wrapping underneath.

“The bark keeps the wet mud away from the flesh,” he explained. “After all, you wouldn't want to eat a muddy bird, would you?”

Several heads shook in agreement. That had been one of the reservations they had felt about this method of cooking. As Edvin now used the saxe to open the bark and strip it away, a cloud of delicious-smelling steam rose from inside. Mouths watered all round the feast circle, and now the men of the tribe gathered round as well, some of them actually licking their lips at the delicious fragrance of the bird.

Edvin uncovered more of it, revealing the golden-brown skin, and a low chorus of appreciation went round the circle. Then he quickly jointed the bird, placing legs, thighs and wings on a large platter supplied by one of the women. Once that was done, he continued with the razor-sharp saxe, deftly carving thick, juicy slices
of breast and thigh meat and placing them on the platter with the legs.

“Hop in,” he said, gesturing with the knife, and the assembled Mawags and Herons needed no further invitation.

Hal moved quickly. “Better grab some or there'll be none left,” he said.

Thorn eyed the flashing blade of Edvin's saxe as he continued to reduce the big bird to a large pile of delicious meat slices. “Hope he cleaned that knife after our last battle,” he said. But the thought didn't deter him from seizing a wing and several slices of dark meat from the thigh.

There was just enough to give each of the adults a small sample of the roast bird. People drifted back to their seats, savoring the juice-laden, fragrant meat. The flavor of the onions and herbs that had been stuffed into the cavity and then trapped inside the mud shell had permeated the flesh, adding their own delicious highlights to the meat. Everyone agreed that it was an excellent method of cooking. Within a few minutes, the huge bird was reduced to a pile of stripped bones.

For the first time since they had arrived in this unknown land, the Herons found themselves really relaxing, reclining on their elbows around the fire and exchanging stories with the Mawags. Ulf and Wulf were fascinated by the ministrations of the Mawag twins, Millika and Pillika. The girls were extremely vivacious, laughing long and often at the feeble sallies of the two sail trimmers.

Ulf had gravitated to Millika. At least, he thought she was Millika. He whispered in an aside to his brother: “This one's mine. She's prettier than her sister by a long way.”

“You must be blind as well as stupid,” Wulf told him. “Anyone can see that Pillika is much prettier.”

The two girls exchanged a secretive smile. So did several of the Mawags who were watching the little tableau with interested amusement. They had noticed, as Ulf and Wulf had failed to do, that some minutes earlier, the girls had switched places and partners. Millika, who had been wearing a red leather headband, had surreptitiously handed it to her sister, who quickly donned it.

The result was that Ulf, who had begun the feast with Millika, was now being served by Pillika. And Wulf, who assumed his partner was Pillika, was actually sitting beside Millika. It was a familiar sight for the Mawags. The girls had been playing this trick on boyfriends and dance partners since they were thirteen years old.

“What we should do,” said Ulf, “is change places just for a laugh, so they don't know who's who.”

He was somewhat surprised by the outburst of laughter that greeted his words. The Mawags, of course, had understood every word, even if the two girls pretended not to have heard.

Oblivious to this byplay, Stig sat cross-legged, facing the beautiful Tecumsa, totally absorbed by her loveliness and grace. For her part, she was equally fascinated by this tall, muscular young man from an unknown land across the sea. She could see that he was a warrior, and she guessed that he was an expert in the craft. She also noted how the rest of the crew deferred to him—with the exception of Hal, their leader, and the one-armed, shaggy-haired older man. Those two treated him as an equal and that indicated to her that he was one of the senior members of the Skandian hierarchy.

Not that he needed any such status to impress her. He was
handsome and blond and moved with the grace of a natural athlete. And he had a ready smile and a delightful sense of humor that had her constantly breaking into helpless laughter.

As the night wore on, the two had eyes only for each other. The other Skandians and most of the Mawags noticed and smiled indulgently.

Most, but not all. There was one Mawag who eyed the smiling couple with hot, angry eyes. Orvik, who was familiar with the social undercurrents in the Mawagansett tribe, noticed and wondered whether he should say something. Then he shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't his part to interfere, he thought. All the same, he wondered whether Stig's obvious attraction to Tecumsa, and her reciprocal interest in him, would eventually cause trouble.

• • • • • 

Several days passed and the Herons and the Mawags were now bonded as friends. There was a good deal of to and fro passage between the village and the campsite by the beach. Edvin had been adopted by the women of the village, who were fascinated to see a man cooking—and cooking well. They gave him free run of the large vegetable garden they maintained behind the village, where they grew beans, squash, onions and the strange vegetable called corn they had eaten at the feast. It was cylindrical in shape, and covered in delicious small golden kernels. Its outer layers consisted of fine, silklike threads covered by thick green leaves. Roasted over the coals of a fire, it had a deliciously sweet flavor. The kernels could also be ground to make a fine flourlike substance, and Edvin began baking bread with it. The vegetables added a welcome new dimension to the Herons' basic meat diet.

Orvik arrived one morning with Mohegas and several of the other elder men to inspect the
Heron
itself, where it was concealed in the narrow inlet beyond the camp.

The Mawags, of course, had never seen
Wolf Foot
, the ship on which Orvik had sailed. It had been wrecked several miles farther north. And nobody had been present to witness the
Heron
's arrival. Their concept of a ship was limited by their experience of the bark-covered canoes that they used to travel up and down the river and to fish in the bay. These were small, flimsy craft made from spruce frames, with birch bark glued and sewn in place over them. They were light and handy craft but they would be dwarfed by the graceful ship moored in the inlet. The men clambered aboard, wondering at the solid deck planking beneath their feet. In a canoe, one had to tread carefully to avoid putting a foot through the bark skin.

On this craft, one could step anywhere without fear of doing damage. They inspected the long oakwood oars, making a mental comparison with the light birchwood paddles they wielded in their canoes. All in all, they thought, the foreigners had a completely different take on the subject of water transport.

Orvik, however, was at first somewhat disappointed.

“She's not very big,” he said. Then he realized that this might be taken as a criticism and hastily amended his statement. “I mean, compared with a wolfship. We were pulling fifteen oars a side on
Wolf Foot
. Here you've got only . . .” He hesitated, counting the rowing positions. “Four a side.”

“Four on one side, three on the other,” Hal corrected him. He wasn't offended by the older man's comments. He'd heard them all
before when he first built
Heron
. “When Ingvar's rowing, he counts as two oarsmen.”

Orvik looked doubtful. “Seven rowers. Eight if you count Ingvar as two. Is that enough to row upwind?”

Thorn smiled. “We don't row upwind. We sail.”

Orvik regarded him with disbelief. “You can't sail upwind,” he said.

Thorn inclined his head. “This ship can. She was designed by a genius.”

“Oh, and who would that be?” Orvik wanted to know.

Thorn jerked a thumb at Hal. “That would be Hal. He came up with a sail plan that will run rings round a square-rigged wolfship.” He could see the skepticism in Orvik's eyes and he gestured for Hal to explain the advantages of the
Heron
's fore and aft sail rig.

They moved for'ard and Hal demonstrated how the twin yardarms could raise a triangular sail on either side and how, with their rigid leading edges, they could point into the wind.

“Of course,” he said, “she won't sail dead upwind. But we can tack back and forth and zigzag our way.”

Mohegas, listening keenly, didn't understand much that was said. But he could see Orvik's growing acceptance of what he was being told and realized that this ship, and its young designer, were something very special. He gestured to a large shape in the bow, covered in a canvas shroud.

“What is this?” he asked.

Hal smiled. He was enjoying showing off his successful inventions. He reflected ruefully that there had been more than one unsuccessful invention over the years, and he'd borne the brunt of
ridicule when they'd failed to measure up to expectations. So when one worked, he felt he owed it to himself to boast a little.

“This is what we call the Mangler,” he told the Mawag elder. He had repaired the thongs he had cut during the fight with the bear. He loosened them now and stripped the cover away, revealing the massive crossbow, which seemed to crouch malevolently on its mounting. He demonstrated the salient features of the weapon, showing how it traversed through an arc of forty-five degrees to either side of the bow, and how the massive arms were cocked.

“Ingvar takes care of that,” he said, grinning. “He's the only one strong enough to haul the cord back.”

Next, he opened the locker behind the weapon and showed them a selection of the heavy projectiles that the bow could shoot. Mohegas weighed one in his hand.

“This is what you used to kill the bear?” he said.

Hal nodded. “Exactly.”

Orvik looked at the weapon with great interest. “I've never seen a ship carrying a weapon like this before,” he said.

Thorn nodded, slapping his hand on the smooth wood of the Mangler.

“Hal designed this as well,” he said. “We used it to defeat Zavac a couple of years ago.”

Orvik shook his head, frowning. “Zavac? Who's he when he's at home?”

Thorn smiled, but without humor. “He's not at home anymore,” he said. “He was a pirate and he raided Hallasholm and stole the Andomal.”

Orvik's eyebrows shot up. The Andomal was the Skandian
nation's most precious artifact. Before he could ask the obvious question, Thorn continued.

“We chased him across half the world. Finally cornered him and fought him. His ship was the size of a wolfship,” he explained. “But Hal outmaneuvered him and shot him and his crew to pieces with the Mangler here, and got it back.”

As ever, when he boasted about Hal's achievements, Thorn didn't think it necessary to explain that his young friend had allowed the Andomal to be stolen in the first place. That was a minor detail, he thought.

Orvik regarded the young skirl with new respect.

Hal shrugged diffidently. He enjoyed showing off his inventions, but he was less eager to boast about his achievements.

“Let's get back to the camp,” he said, and led the way to the boarding plank that connected the ship to the bank.

He glanced back as he reached the shore. Mohegas was still standing in the bow, regarding the massive crossbow with a thoughtful expression. Then, realizing he had been left behind, he hastily followed them to the bank.