The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (25 page)

She brushed past a pair of shrieking girls, then saw a figure all in black step out of the house behind them, a strange-looking spear in its hands. She stepped forwards and swung the blunt sword viciously into where its face should be, her blow powered by muscles made strong by kneading dough and daily scrubbing.

She felt bone crunch beneath the blade and saw, from the light of the home, blood spurt out of the dark fabric covering his face. His cry of agony also sounded reassuringly human.

“So you are no selkie,” she said, bending down to pick up the spear he had dropped.

She paused for a moment to examine it, seeing no blade at its tip but instead a thick padded head. A strike from that would stun rather than kill, she decided, but its weight felt just as reassuring as if it were a real spear.

Another figure appeared across the street and raised a small crossbow. She instinctively ducked and felt something whistle past her head to bounce off the door and land at her feet, in the light being thrown from the house. It was a small crossbow bolt but, like the spear’s, its head was rounded. So they wanted them alive, rather than dead. That was slightly reassuring – but not much. She kicked the bolt under the door, where it might be missed by their attackers.

The figure dropped the fired crossbow and raced at her silently, drawing a thick club from his belt. She noticed idly he was wearing tight black robes and some sort of black head covering, then her right foot eased back and she swiveled to face him, spear held out. She had never held a spear before but she had used a broom every day of her life and now jabbed it out at his lower body as if she were trying to brush him away.

The man ran onto the end of the spear and screamed in agony as it mashed into his groin. She pulled it back and raced onwards, picking up the fallen club as the man writhed on the ground, hands pressed tight to his crushed balls.

Further down, Brendan’s wife Nola wrestled with one of the attackers until another stepped up behind her and stunned her with a blow from a club.

Bridgit howled out a challenge, drew back her arm and hurled her club with all her strength. Over the years she had hit plenty of fast-running mice around the home and all that practice now stood her in good stead. The club flipped end over end to crunch into one man’s head and send him flying. The other shouted something strange, a word she had never heard, but it was lost in the sound of the village’s fight for survival. There were shouts and screams going on all around – although each moment, these grew fewer and fewer.

But other attackers heard the shout and several came running, all with clubs in their hands.

She backed up defiantly, jabbing her spear out like a broom whenever any of them came close.

“Come on, you bastards! Are you afraid of a woman?” she shouted at them.

One tried to sneak in behind her but she was used to having eyes in the back of her head after twenty years of living with Fallon and another ten with Kerrin. She whirled around, still using the spear like a broom, only this time swinging it in a huge arc that caught him a wicked blow on the head. Instantly she reversed the swing and jabbed it out again, catching a second man full in the face. His feet flipped out from underneath him and she swung the spear again. Except this time a third masked man grabbed it, turning it into a test of strength. She heaved back hard – and then let go, sending him staggering backwards. A fourth swung a club at her head but she ducked under it and used her momentum to come up and punch him in the throat.

But others grabbed her arms and her feet were kicked out from underneath her, forcing her to her knees.

She glared up at them furiously. “Come on then, you cowards! Finish it!” she spat.

One stepped forwards, preparing to smash a club into her head, and she braced herself, murmuring a prayer to keep Kerrin safe, when he stopped at a sudden order.

“This one, we shall keep safe,” a voice said in a strange accent.

She barely had time to wonder what that meant when a strange-smelling bag was pulled over her head and everything went black.

By the time they could see Baltimore clearly, some of Fallon’s worry had transferred to all the men on board. And when they could see no movement in the village, when no crowd came down to the spit to wave at them, when no boats came out to welcome them, that worry turned into fear. All but the rowers were pressed up against the bow of the boat, desperately trying to see something and calling for more speed from Gallagher. Even though he alone had no family back at the village, he had the Duke’s ship plunging through the choppy waves and heading right for the same part of beach where it had crunched ashore to begin all this.

It was at a time like this that Padraig and his ability to use birds as long-range scouts would have been ideal. However, the old wizard had been exhausted by a sleepless night of pointless searching and had been unable to summon so much as a finch, let alone anything that could search the village and surrounding areas for signs of their family.

Fallon looked around and saw on everyone’s face the same sick worry he felt, a gut-tearing fear that their families had been taken while they were gone. Standing helpless on the ship, waiting for wind and tide to finally take them home, was driving them all crazy.

But Fallon was also cursing himself for being a fool. Again he had thought that he could outsmart these raiders! They must have been laughing at him as they sailed past and into undefended Baltimore. He also felt like dashing his head against the mast for not listening to Bridgit. She had known something was wrong and he should have learned to trust her feelings by now. He looked overboard, wondering what he would do if they were all gone, and a wave striking the ship’s hull kicked spray up into his face. It broke his bitter recriminations and he took a deep breath. “Slow down,” he ordered.

“What?” Gallagher turned to stare at him, followed a moment later by Devlin and Gallagher. Even Gannon and his men, who had yielded the deck to the worried fyrd and retreated to the stern, gaped at him.

“This could be a trap. We go rushing in there, we could all end up captured. For all we know, our families ran for it and now there’s a crowd of attackers waiting to grab us. And if what we all fear has come true, we’ll need this ship again,” Fallon said, feeling more sure of himself with every word.

“But we need to get there now!” Brendan protested.

“Whatever has happened, a little more time is not going to make any difference. If we could see another ship there and fighting going on, our families being carried away, then I would say we ram the bastards and then go right in. But we can’t see anything happening. There’s no mast in sight, let alone another ship.”

“They could be waiting up the river, in boats. We couldn’t see them then,” Gallagher said.

“If they are we need to be able to chase them down. And how can we do that in a ship that has its bow stove in?” Fallon challenged. “We need to slow down.”

Gallagher stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Aye. But I think you’d better tell them, not me.”

Fallon tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. “I’ll do that. Take us around slow so that we can head back to sea quickly, if we need to.”

He jumped down the steps to the main deck and strode towards the frightened crowd clustered up at the bow, pushing and shoving and trying to see something. He welcomed the chance to release some of his anger and fear, even though it was against friends and neighbors who were feeling just as he was.

“Listen to me!” he roared and most of them turned instinctively, only a handful so intent on the village that they refused to look around.

“First, I need every sailor aloft, to bring down most of the sails, so we can turn in the harbor and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Next, you can’t go running off to your homes the moment we hit land –”

“What are you talking about?” someone yelled, to a general rumble of agreement.

“They’re either safe or they’re taken. Nothing is happening in the village now, so waiting a few moments is not going to change anything. But wrecking this ship because we’re all afraid will destroy our chances of getting them back, if they have gone,” Fallon shouted carefully, measuring each word.

“Are you mad?” the crowd’s self-appointed spokesman stepped out.

Fallon stared at him. Like all of them, he knew him well. He was a young farmer called Murphy, with a pretty wife called Ena and a baby son. He was a good man, hard working, kind to his animals and always willing to train with the fyrd, unlike some of the others there. But all that made no difference now.

“Yes I am. I am bloody furious. But I will not throw away our last hope because of it.”

“This is all your fault!” Murphy accused, striding closer. “It was your bloody idea to sail out here, leaving our families behind, hunting for the raiders! You were the one who –”

His words were choked off as Fallon took three quick steps and drove his fist into Murphy’s stomach, doubling the young man over, then knocked him down to the deck with another blow.

“My family is back in Baltimore as well,” he snarled at the shocked ring of faces watching him. Every man had turned around to hear Murphy’s challenge and all had seen the result as well. “This is what is going to happen. You will get the sails down and, when we land, we will all go in together, in case it’s a trap. If anyone wants to disagree, then step up now and you can swim back to land, because I’ll bloody throw you overboard!”

He glared around, daring just one of them to challenge him. But none did.

“What are you waiting for? Get to it!” he roared and they scurried to obey.

He let the sailors rush for the lines up to the mast and then helped the wheezing Murphy up. “If they’re gone, we’ll get them back, lad. I swear it. I will not rest until we can hold them again,” he said softly. “I don’t care what I have to do to rescue them.”

Murphy glared at him, still unable to speak.

He could not spare any more time for him, nor did he think it would do any good, so he stalked back to the stern, feeling the ship’s progress slow as the sails were brought in.

“What if your families are all gone?” Gannon asked as he rejoined the others. “Those men are going to think we had something to do with it.” He pointed down the deck.

“Well, did you? Are they right and you have something to worry about?” Fallon snarled.

“No! I swear it!” Gannon protested. “But we are the outsiders. No one with a family back in the village is going to sell them out to raiders.”

Fallon glanced towards Devlin, expecting his friend to make some remark about wanting to get rid of the wife’s mother, but it was a mark of how worried they all were that the farmer said nothing.

“What makes you so sure we were betrayed?” he asked suspiciously. “We might have just looked like a trap, sailing slowly at night with lights blazing in all directions.”

“But how did they know you were from Baltimore? Yes, the ship was there, but surely they would think we were stuffed with soldiers, not farmers and fishermen.”

Fallon pointed at Gannon, who flinched a little. “You are right. Stay on board the ship. I don’t think you had anything to do with it but I might have Sister Rosaleen and Padraig have a chat with you anyway.”

Gannon nodded, his face showing his relief.

“But if I find out you did sell us out, then I will hang you with a noose made of your own guts,” Fallon said, fury vibrating in every word.

The guards shrank back against the rail as Gallagher brought the ship around the headland and into the harbor.

“Come on.” Fallon signaled to Brendan and Devlin and they walked down to join the crowd of men at the rail.

He muscled his way through to the front, seeing pale, worried faces looking back at him.

“I know what you feel. I feel it myself,” he told them. “But we’re not going to help our families if we run into a trap and get killed or captured ourselves. Stay with me until we can be sure what is going on. Run off and put everyone’s families at risk and you’ll wish you’d been killed by a selkie.”

“If they don’t get that message through their thick heads then they’re dead already,” Devlin whispered, but Fallon could see the fear behind his eyes.

He was not sure if it was visible on his own face but he thought it must be. He felt sick, so sick he had to grip the rail to keep himself under control. The thought of Bridgit and Kerrin taken was so terrible his mind could barely comprehend it. His chest felt tight, his stomach heavy and the air seemed to be made of flour. He had to fight for every breath.

With a scraping of wood on shingle, Gallagher brought the Duke’s ship around gently to nestle against the shore, leaning over slightly to make it even easier to jump from the side.

“Stay with me! Nobody go past me, or you’ll see how good I am with this crossbow,” Fallon shouted raggedly, holding up his favorite weapon.

He climbed over the ship’s rail and jumped down, boots crunching into the shingle, stumbling slightly as he did so. Although he wanted to race into the village, go tearing into his home calling their names, he forced himself to walk forwards at a cautious pace, crossbow at the ready.

Behind him he could hear a wave of men jumping down, some crying out as they fell, most landing in silence and striding forwards grimly.

“Who lives close? Call some names!” Fallon shouted over his shoulder.

Instantly men began calling out the names of their wives and children, fear and pleading in their voices.

Fallon paused for a moment, watching the nearest huts. But nothing and nobody moved. He led the way up to the closest.

“You three – inside,” he said, being horribly reminded of the other deserted village he had checked with Prince Cavan and his guards and how that had ended.

The closest trio, Devlin and two others, darted inside and he forced himself to look around, to keep watch rather than go with them.

The search only took a few moments, which was his worst fear.

“Nobody there,” Devlin said grimly, his voice cracking slightly.

“Next one,” Fallon said, the fear inside him like a raging beast now, fighting to get free. He could not say too much, or he would lose control.

On they moved, the mood getting darker and more fearful with every empty home.

“There’re not even any signs of a fight. It’s as if they have vanished,” Brendan muttered.

“Wait!” Fallon snapped, holding up his hand and then pointing at the ground.

“What is it?” men asked as they pushed closer to get a look.

“Blood. There
was
a fight here.” He pointed to dark spatters on the ground.

“Not enough to see someone dead,” Devlin said.

“Aye. So if they fought and were taken, they were taken alive,” Fallon said loudly, desperately wanting to believe that.

He raced up to the next house, eyes scanning the ground as well as everywhere else.

“Look at this!” he shouted, seeing a much bigger pool of blood in the doorway. Brendan and a pair of other men slipped inside to look around but Fallon looked on the ground instead, trying to see what had caused what looked like a serious wound. He was about to give up when something glinted at him from the corner of the doorframe. He dropped to one knee and felt around, picking it up and standing to show it to Devlin and the other men nearby.

“What in Aroaril’s name is that?” Devlin asked.

“It’s a crossbow bolt. A very special one,” Fallon said, rolling it around in his fingers. It was the same size as the one he had found in the Duke’s cabin but in place of an arrowhead point was a thick circle of wood with some strange brown substance covering the top. It was softer than the wood, giving under the pressure of a finger but then springing back when you took it away.

“Get hit in the head with this and you wouldn’t be doing much running,” Fallon said. “That must be how they do it.”

Brendan had disappeared into his own house and now staggered out, sinking to his knees and weeping into his hands. Seeing the giant smith sobbing like a little child was enough to destroy their last hopes.

“Come on,” Fallon said, sticking the strange bolt into his quiver for later. There was no relief at having found the evidence – only more fear.

That grew worse as they saw the next houses. Rather than looking as though they had been abandoned, these ones showed evidence of a fight. Weapons lay around, while there were more spots of blood and furniture broken and scattered.

Men whose houses had been revealed to be empty were wandering around and calling, or sitting in their homes, either stunned or sobbing. Their numbers were being whittled down every moment and Fallon knew they were easy prey. But there was still no attack and the village felt empty; there was no menace here and all his precautions felt foolish. Well, not keeping the ship safe. That was going to save them.

“Stop!” he called. “There’s no trap here. Something would have happened before now. Go to your houses, then check the fields. If you see anything, anything at all, shout out and we all come running. Go!”

They needed no second bidding and raced off in all directions.

Fallon let them go, made sure there were none close by, then abandoned all attempt at control and raced up to his house, heart threatening to burst from his chest, his stomach rising up his throat.

“Bridgit! Kerrin!” he roared as he burst through the door.

He looked around desperately but everything seemed to be in place. In fact, apart from a cracked earthenware lid on the table and Kerrin’s bed looking messy, it was sparkling. The floor was swept, everything was clean, Kerrin’s toys were neatly packed away and bunches of fresh-cut lavender made it smell sweet.

It was the smell that did it. He dropped to his knees and vomited, a long drool of bile, on Bridgit’s clean floor. He thought, irrationally, that she would hate that and then the tears came: she would never see it.

“Bridgit! Kerrin!” he howled at the roof and thumped the ground in anguish, tears rolling down his face, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.