by Paul G Mann
into a giant funeral pyre away from the trees, covered them in brushwood and set them alight. He hoped the smoke and the smell would follow the judge and his injured companion back to Stonehaven or at least until everything was burned and the ashes scattered across the fields surrounding East Harbour.
He had thought long and hard about the actions he had taken against the judges reasoning they were bullies who once put in their place would keep clear of him and anywhere he lived. Threatened with retribution against their home he hoped it would become clear to them that to pursue him would lead them down a path leading to severe punishment at best and annihilation at worse. Whatever they decided it was his hope that he and East Harbour had seen the last of the judges for some quite considerable time to come.
All that remained for him to now was to get rid of the boat patrolling up and down the Inland Sea near to the harbour. The village elder was right. If the Hunki returned and saw the small vessel it would be destroyed where it was, out on the lake, without compunction. The history of Newth showed that any signs of civilization would be eradicated and the inhabitants of any nearby town or village exterminated without question. Why he didn’t know or even cared, it was a fact of life that everyone on Newth had to live with.
The maritime flag asking to talk had been on the rock for over a month and despite the boat passing the village at least twice a week in that time the flag had either been ignored or not understood. Only one course of action was open to him, if the sailor wouldn’t come to him he had to go to the sailor. The only water going craft was a small shallow canoe an enterprising fisherman had built some time ago that was kept hidden under a construction of woven twigs covered with a dusting of soil and leaves and topped off with moss. It was a flimsy thing not meant for anything other than fishing near the bank and not suited for deep water; the slightest bit of bad weather would have it over and sunk in seconds. It would be risky; one slight mistake out on the open water could be the last mistake he made. Not one to scare easily he assessed the risk and decided against his better judgement it was risk he had to take.
He watched the boat make its way north knowing the sailor was a creature of habit and would be back along the same route at the same time the next day. The following day was warm and sunny; a boon as he stripped to his waist and climbed into the rickety canoe as the sail of the small boat breached the horizon. Swift powerful strokes on the one bladed paddle pulled him quickly out from the shore and near the course of the small boat. Satisfied the sailor would see him he stopped paddling and waited for the boat to reach him.
The wait seemed like an eternity; with no headway the canoe was at the mercy of the waves. Small they may have been on a calm summer day but the un-seaworthiness of the craft made his wait a balancing act that defied his sea legs even with his constant re-positioning. After a wait that seemed to take hours, the sails ahead of him slowly inched towards him as he tried to keep the canoe dead ahead of the oncoming boat. Two to three hundred yards from him and the boat dropped her sails, the sailor obviously seeing him and slowing her headway. He began to paddle towards the boat, more out of desperation to remain afloat than a desire to confront whoever was on board her; as he neared the small spinnaker was dropped and the sailor on board threw out a sea anchor to prevent too much drift.
Reaching the boat he didn’t wait for an invitation to board deciding the dangers onboard could not be as bad as the threat of drowning from a capsized canoe. Grabbing a painter that hung over the side he hauled himself aboard the boat as it came alongside him letting out a pent up breath as he landed on the deck. His breath was soon sucked in again as he turned to see the lone sailor with a small crossbow fully loaded and pointed at his chest.
‘State your business and leave,’ the sailor said in a monotone voice that sounded a couple of octaves too low for it to be natural.
Fred tore his eyes from the crossbow and looked at the sailor; slight of build with little if any muscle, short hair, a dirty face and grubby hands and clothes that hadn’t seen soap since they had been made. With a start he realised the crossbow was being pointed at him by a woman. ‘First,’ he said with a jovial smile he didn’t quite feel. He liked to be in control of situations and this time the woman opposite him held all the control cards. ‘I mean you no harm; I just need to talk to you. Look to the shore you’ll see the communication flag I’ve been trying to get your attention with; you’ve ignored it so I was left with no alternative than to come out and try to speak with you.’
‘I said state your business,’ the monotone replied.
‘Please,’ Fred said with a resigned air, ‘put the bow down and speak to me and you can use your normal voice, I can see you’re a woman’.
‘And I can see you’re a man,’ she replied in a husky voice, ‘who despite his assurances that he means me no harm is probably lying through his teeth.’
‘Then we find ourselves at a bit of an impasse,’ he smiled at her, ‘you don’t trust me and I can’t say I can blame you on this God forsaken world, and I have to talk to you because you are putting yourself and everyone in East Harbour in danger.’
‘I don’t see how,’ she said indignantly, ‘I don’t go anywhere near the place.’
‘Maybe not,’ he replied in the softest voice his huge frame could muster, ‘but if the Hunki come and see this boat of yours they’ll destroy it out of hand and anywhere within a hundred miles of here. They’ve done it before so what I say is no idle threat, it’s a dire warning.’
‘The Hunki aren’t due for a few years yet,’ she said, ‘so they are no concern. Besides I only need this boat for a few more months; then it can be sunk, and now you know that you can go.’ The hands on the crossbow tightened their grip and raised it a fraction to point once more at the middle of Fred’s chest.
‘I don’t know your business my friend,’ Fred said icily, ‘but the Hunki are due sooner than you think, be warned, I give you till winter sets in to do what you will in this craft, after that I’ll sink it myself if I see it plying up and down off East Harbour. Oh and one more thing,’ he said in an almost inaudible whisper as he stood and began to climb over the gunwale and down to his rickety canoe. ‘The next time you point that thing at me you better use it, if you don’t I’ll shove that bolt down your throat.’
‘Friend,’ she replied sarcastically, ‘thank you for the warning, next time we meet I’ll forgo any pleasantries and bury this bolt in your heart. Now go,’ she commanded.
‘Remember,’ Fred smiled as he stopped at the top of the gunwale. ‘Until winter sets in; for your sake I wouldn’t forget it.’
‘Humour me,’ she laughed, ‘how can you in that thing you risked life and limb on coming out here, even consider trying to damage this boat never mind sink it?’
‘Sail past this point on the first day of winter and find out.’ He replied quietly staring her in the eye before he dropped into the canoe without any more repartee. Long slow powerful strokes of the canoes paddle soon took him away from the boat and back to shore.
Her attitude had infuriated him; not the crossbow, he fully understood the need for protection on this planet and appreciated the way she had handled the weapon and the way in which she had threatened him with it. What he objected to was her flippant dismissal of the danger she posed from the Hunki on to the people of East Harbour and possibly Lizzyville to the north and Riggers Cove to the south. There was nothing he could do about it now but come the first day of winter; if she still sailed up and down this coast it would be her last time. She had had her warning; the next time they met he would not be so nice.
He had hoped to have the situation concerning the boat done and dusted so he could be on his way but with the stance the lone female sailor was taking he was stuck here until winter at the earliest. Not that it would be all doom and gloom, he had the company of Liz at night, his carvings and trading during the day and when he yearned for life out in the woods a day’s hunting in the nearby trees and low hills provided welcome exercise and fresh
meat and hides he could trade.
Life slowed to a pleasant crawl. As expected there was no reaction from the judges; even the dumbest of them would be afraid of waking to find Rippers running amok through the village they lived in and while Fred knew the threat was an idle one, the judges didn’t. He had been lucky capturing and controlling a single Ripper, more than one was a near impossibility and he was glad he wouldn’t have to try and carry out the threat.
The boat still sailed up and down the Inland Sea but the frequency changed; it dropped from twice to once a week and to Fred’s perception the course it took was further out from the village than it had been. Maybe the female on board had heeded his warning or had been telling the truth when she told him her work was nearly done. Whatever the reason he kept a wary eye on the situation as he waited for the first snows of winter.
The air started to turn chilly as winter approached. The blistering heat of long summer days had long gone; now the cooler climate of late summer heralded the onset of winter. Fred estimated no more than three weeks would pass before the first snows fell and as he watched the distant boat out on the Inland Sea, he tried to formulate a plan to sink it. His main
