Fortunately, the second portage was shorter than the first, and there was no dogleg, so the work was completed in a much shorter time. They rowed on to the next portage site, which was even shorter and not as steep as the others. But the repetitive nature of the task was aggravating, particularly now they were tired. Once they had launched the ship for the third time and moored her to the bank, Stig leaned back, his knuckles kneading his lower back.
“I’m glad that’s over,” he said.
Hal glanced at the sky. He estimated there was less than an hour’s light left. “We’ll load the ship again in the morning,” he said. “I think we’ve earned a rest.”
“I know I have,” Stig agreed heartily. “What about you, Jesper?”
Jesper was already stretched out on the grass. His only reply was a soft snore.
Stig grinned at Hal. “He seems to agree,” he said.
chapter fourteen
The following morning, Hal let the crew sleep late, then Edvin woke them with a hearty breakfast of bacon, toasted flatbread and eggs. They had reprovisioned before leaving Hallasholm and the eggs were fresh—a rare luxury for them when they were at sea.
As ever, they washed the meal down with hot, sweetened coffee. Thorn, sitting cross-legged on the ground, regarded his second cup appreciatively.
“It’s a good idea putting honey in the coffee,” he said to Hal. “Where did it come from?”
“I learned it from that Ranger, Gilan, when he came with us to Socorro,” Hal said. “And I agree. It’s a good idea.”
He held out his cup as Edvin passed by, the large coffeepot in his hand, and allowed him to refill it. He didn’t bother with more honey, as he had put plenty in the first cup and the remnants were still sweet. He sipped the fragrant brew, stretching his stiff shoulder and arm muscles. He knew that when he stood up, his thigh and calf muscles would protest violently after the exertions of the previous day. But they’d soon loosen up. Regretfully, he looked around their little campsite.
“All right, lads, let’s get the ship reloaded.”
There was a chorus of cheerful complaints, inevitably led by Jesper, but the brotherband climbed stiffly to their feet and set to work. They loaded the reduced food stores into the hull—Edvin and Hal had decided to leave most of the food at the first portage—and their weapons and equipment. The oars went back in their racks, running the length of the hull. Stefan, Jesper, Ulf and Wulf heaved the two yardarms and sails into the ship and busied themselves rerigging them.
Lydia had learned long ago that the work of restocking the ship was best left to the crew. “Each of us has a specific responsibility,” Stig had told her. “That way, we know that everything has been put back aboard.”
She accepted the situation gratefully. She had no wish to heave and lift heavy items into position, and stack and stow them so that they would remain stable even in a pitching, rolling sea. Instead, she scouted ahead upriver, traveling half a kilometer to spy out the land. She returned as the crew were shoving the now-laden ship back into the water.
Hal stood by critically, studying the Heron with an expert eye to make sure the trim was correct. He pointed to two large barrels of salt pork stowed amidships.
“Move one of them a few meters astern,” he ordered Thorn and Stig.
They tilted the barrel on its side, rolling it along the deck to the position he had indicated. He waved a hand for them to move it farther.
“A little more,” he said, then held up the hand for them to stop. “That’s fine there.”
The ship had been sitting slightly nose down, and the transfer of weight corrected the problem. Hal turned to Edvin. “Use the for’ard cask first,” he said. That cask was set virtually on the midpoint of the hull and lightening it gradually would have little effect on the trim. He paced along the bank, occasionally dropping to his haunches to study the ship. She was sitting a little high in the water, but once the crew was aboard and the freshwater tank refilled, that would be taken care of. He nodded, satisfied, and gestured for the crew to board and take up their rowing positions. He noticed Lydia standing by to report and walked over to her.
“See anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No sign of the Temujai. But a lot of grass. The trees thin out up here and the terrain becomes rolling grasslands, with occasional clumps of smaller trees. The river begins to widen out as well. I think you’ll be able to sail before too long.”
She had been a member of the crew long enough to know how much room the ship required to tack successfully against a current.
Hal grunted appreciatively. “The boys will be pleased to hear that. And the wind has backed. So not so much tacking.”
The offshore wind of the day before had shifted during the night. It was now blowing firmly onshore, which meant it would be behind Heron as she made her way upriver. She’d still be switching from one diagonal run to another once the river got wider, but not as much as if they were heading into the wind and the current. Another advantage was that the wind had cleared the snow clouds away and the day was clear and bright.
The crew made their way to the plank that ran from the grassy riverbank to the entry port in the ship’s bulwarks. They stepped up and ran lightly one after the other across the plank, dropping onto the deck. Jesper and Edvin hauled the gangplank inboard and stowed it as Hal made his way to the tiller.
“Right, lads, oars!” Stig called, and the rowers detailed to the task took their places on the rowing benches and ran out their long oars with a clatter of wood on wood.
Stig stepped up onto the railing for one last look at the campsite, making sure the fire was extinguished and nothing had been left behind. He turned and nodded to Hal, then dropped down and took his own position on the benches.
“Cast off!” Hal ordered. Jesper in the bow and Edvin in the stern released the mooring lines that had been looped around trees on the bank, hauling the ropes in. Released from the bank, Heron began to crab sideways under the wind coming over her port quarter.
“Fend off port!” Hal ordered, and the three port-side rowers used their oars to push the little ship out from the bank and into the stream. Now the current, working in the opposite direction to the wind, began to swing the bow out to starboard.
“Give way, starboard oars!”
The three oars on the starboard side dipped into the water and heaved against the current. The ship’s bow swung back to port under the uneven thrust.
“Give way, port!” Hal ordered, and the other three oars now dipped into the river and pulled as well. The ship straightened and began to head upriver, moving out from the bank at a shallow angle. Hal eased the tiller to keep the ship close to the bank. In the center of the stream, the current would be much stronger, he knew. Heron steadied on her upriver course, the oars finding their natural rhythm and heaving her smoothly through the water. The wavelets began to chuckle against her hull and a small ripple of a bow wave formed at her prow, where the bow post cut through the water.
Hal grinned at Wulf, who was manning the middle oar on the port side. “This is better than hauling her uphill,” he said.
Wulf cocked his head thoughtfully, without losing the rhythm of his stroke. “It is for you,” he said. “All you have to do is lean on the tiller all day.”
But he was grinning as he said it, and the grin robbed the words of any animosity. Hal smiled back at him, then turned his gaze for’ard. As Lydia had told him, the river was beginning to widen. Already it was fifty meters from bank to bank and the distance continued to grow. As well as making it possible to use the sails, the extra width would reduce the force of the current. It ran faster when it was restricted between narrow banks.
After a few more minutes, he caught Ulf’s eye and nodded toward the mast. “Let’s hoist the port sail,” he said.
The well-drilled crew took only a few minutes to ready the sail and s
end it soaring up the top of the mast.
Ulf and Wulf hauled on the sheets and brought the sail under control, forming it into a smooth, bellying curve as they trapped the wind. Hal felt the familiar extra pressure on the rudder as the Heron accelerated and the tattoo of wavelets against the hull became more and more rapid.
“We’ll need to go about in ten minutes,” Hal told Stig, then revised the estimate as he realized that the banks were rapidly moving apart and the river widening, as Lydia had foretold. “Make that twenty minutes.”
He studied the smooth surface of the river, gauging the speed of the current as small branches sped past them downriver. The water was deep until close in to the banks, so he could maintain this course until they had nearly reached the western shore.
“Coming about,” he called some time later, as he judged they had reached the optimum position. He shoved the tiller over and the bow swung to port. As it did, Ulf and Wulf let out the sheets so that the sail was blown out at almost ninety degrees to the hull by the following wind. Then they tightened the sheets to gain more speed. Hal felt the boat surge forward.
They sailed on, staying on the same tack but progressing upriver in a series of diagonal runs. As the river continued to widen, they could hold each diagonal course longer and they were making good progress.
Jesper, as usual, was perched on the lookout position on the bow post. It was midafternoon when he called back to Hal.
“Something ahead!”
Hal frowned. It wasn’t like Jesper to give such a vague report. “Something ahead” could be anything from the Great Blue Tortoise of Tarantas to a live volcano spewing lava.
“What is it?” Hal yelled back.
Jesper hesitated a few seconds. “The river seems to be getting much, much wider,” he replied eventually. “And I think I can see breakers.”
Breakers, thought Hal, this far inland? He had to be mistaken. But then Jesper called again.
“It’s breakers, all right. A line of them on the port side. And there’s open water beyond them.”
Hal glanced at Stig, signaling for him to take the tiller. Then he ran for’ard to the bow. He gestured for the lookout to come down onto the deck and hurriedly took Jesper’s place, shielding his eyes with his hand to block the glare of the lowering sun.
Sure enough, he could see a line of white water reaching some twenty meters out into the river. And beyond them, he could see a wide expanse of gray water. He turned and called back to Stig.
“Bring her round to starboard a little.” He waited until their course was well clear of the line of broken water, then held up a hand. The ship steadied on course. The breakers were obviously caused by a sandbar, formed by sand and silt carried on the current and piling up in the shallow part of the river. He heard their low rumble as the ship came abreast of them, then, powered by the wind, she shot out onto the broad expanse of a massive lake.
chapter fifteen
There was a chorus of surprised exclamations from the crew as the size of the lake became apparent. The eastern edge was three kilometers from their current position. It stretched away to the north until it was lost in the misty distance. To the left, the shoreline angled to the west until it too was lost from sight. At the farthest point he could see, he estimated that it was seven or eight kilometers away. Then it receded farther into the distance until there was no sign of a shoreline.
Stig had moved to stand beside him as he studied the lake. “It’s more like an inland sea, really,” he said.
Hal nodded. “It gives us a bit of room to move,” he said. He wasn’t in any way awed by the immensity of the lake. On the contrary, he felt a little relieved. Sailing up a river in what might prove to be enemy territory always gave him a sense of confinement, and a feeling that if something went wrong, it would be difficult to escape. This way, he had lots of sea room—or perhaps that should be lake room—in which to disappear.
The crew crowded the bulwarks, staring at the shoreline on either side. Even Kloof was interested—she was always keen to go ashore when they were afloat. She stood on her hind legs, her forepaws propped on the starboard gunwale, with her head thrown back and her nostrils quivering as she sniffed the air, checking out and categorizing all the alien smells she could pick up.
The surface of the lake close to them was dotted here and there with small islets—too small to deserve any real attention. Most weren’t much longer than the ship itself and were dotted with solitary trees and small shrubs. But in the distance, Hal could see a larger mass, set perhaps a kilometer off the eastern coastline. He had automatically kept the ship close to the eastern side of the lake, realizing that this was the direction from which they might see any Temujai who were present. The Temujai’s lands lay to the east and it was logical to assume that they would approach from that direction.
If they were going to approach at all.
Now that they were in open water, the brisk wind was kicking up the surface into steep, short waves, about a meter high. They drove into Heron from her starboard quarter, lifting the stern and rolling the ship to port, then passing under her as she rolled and pitched back. It was a short, sharp motion and not particularly comfortable. It was necessary to keep hold of something—a halyard, a shroud or the gunwale itself—to keep from staggering with the jerky movement. Back in his position on the bow-post lookout, Jesper clung on with two hands, his knees bending and flexing to absorb the abrupt movement. It was a tiring action and Hal made a mental note to relieve him before long.
But not just yet. This was new territory, and any moment, enemies could show themselves. In case that happened, he wanted his best lookout on the job. He called down the length of the deck.
“I’ll give you a spell soon, Jes.”
Jesper waved one hand in acknowledgment, then hastily grabbed at the bow post as the ship lurched in an unexpected motion. “I’m fine for now, Hal,” he said.
Hal nodded in appreciation. Jesper could be a pain at times, and a nuisance. But he understood the need for a good lookout on occasions like this, and he could be trusted to keep his eyes on the job and avoid distractions.
Hal’s faith in him was borne out a few minutes later when he suddenly stiffened and pointed to the eastern bank ahead of the ship.
“Riders!” he called. He wrapped his left arm around the bow post to give him a secure hold while he pointed with his right hand to a spot forty-five degrees off the Heron’s starboard bow. “A dozen of them!”
The ship was currently on a starboard tack, with the sail blowing out to port, so that Hal had a relatively unrestricted view in the direction Jesper was pointing. After a few seconds searching, he sighted movement. A group of riders, traveling in single file, was moving toward the lakeshore, traveling in a southwest direction and about half a kilometer inland. He couldn’t make out any details of clothing or equipment at this distance, but they could only be Temujai.
He reacted instinctively, calling out a rapid set of orders.
“Sail down! Everybody out of sight. No noise. No movement!”
There was a good chance that the riders hadn’t noticed the little ship yet. But the longer the light gray sail, which would appear white at a distance, was left up, the greater the chance was that they would be spotted. He heard the sail come down with a slithering rush and a clatter as Stefan and Edvin released the halyards. The canvas flapped on the deck for a minute until Ulf and Wulf subdued it by the simple expedient of clambering onto the central deck and lying on the canvas.
Jesper slid quickly down from the lookout post and crouched by the bow bulwark, only his eyes above the timber railing. The rest of the crew dropped into the rowing wells, out of sight. They were too disciplined to make the mistake of raising their heads above the bulwarks to peer at the Temujai. Pale faces were all too visible at a distance, they knew.
As it was, there was a good chance that the Heron’s dull gr
een hull would merge with the gray background of the lake’s surface and she would remain unseen—particularly since there was no reason why the riders might be studying the lake’s surface. They would be more inclined to look for danger on the shore, Hal reasoned.
He himself was hunkered down below the bulwark at the steering position. Like Jesper, he allowed only his eyes to show above the smooth timber railing. He held the tiller in a tight grip to prevent its banging back and forth in the uneven chop—although the noise would hardly be loud enough to alert the riders onshore.
Still, he realized, sound could carry a long way over water and there was no harm in making sure it was kept to a minimum. Not that there was any chance the Temujai could attack them. They were well out of bowshot. But he didn’t want them to be aware of the Heron’s presence here on the lake.
Conscious that his crew would be wondering what was happening, as they kept their heads bent and their eyes below the bulwarks, he spoke in a low but carrying voice as he detailed the horsemen’s movements.
“They’re heading toward the bank . . . traveling southwest. If they keep on in that direction, they’ll reach the shore about two hundred meters astern of our position.”
As he said the last few words, he glanced up at the telltale on the sternpost above him. It was streaming out at an angle off the port bow. That was fortunate. If the wind was in that direction, it would keep the Heron drifting away from the eastern shore. It would have been potentially disastrous if the wind had been setting them ashore. If that had been the case, they would have had to row back out, and risk discovery.
“They don’t seem to have seen us,” he continued as he had that last thought. “Still keeping on in the direction they were heading when Jes spotted them . . .”
He trailed off. It was one thing to keep the crew informed, another entirely to chatter on about unimportant details. It was enough that the crew knew the Temujai were moving closer and that, so far, they hadn’t noticed the little ship drifting on the gray water of the lake. The grass was long, he noticed, reaching up to the horses’ shoulders as the Temujai warriors rode through it. It gave a strange impression that they were somehow floating on the top of the grass, as the Heron was floating on the lake.
Return of the Temujai Page 10
