Brotherband 3: The Hunters

by John Flanagan

  ‘So you think I killed him?’ Thorn said and the captain nodded emphatically.

  ‘That’s certainly the way it looks to me,’ he said. ‘And until you can prove otherwise, you’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Why would I kill him?’ Thorn asked. ‘I’d finished with him. So I paid him off and let him go. He was a troublemaker.’

  The officer shrugged. ‘Could be for any number of reasons. But we know there was bad blood between you. Armant here –’ he indicated the pudgy toll collector ‘– says you had him chained up on deck. You told him the man had backchatted you and you were teaching him a lesson. Maybe you had a further fight. Maybe you paid him off, then had words with him. You say yourself he was a troublemaker. So you followed him and killed him.’

  Thorn nodded thoughtfully. ‘In which case, why did I leave those Limmatan coins on him? Why wouldn’t I take them? They were sure to point back to me, weren’t they? As your man here says, they’re not very common in these parts.’

  The guard captain stopped, mouth open to reply, as he considered what Thorn had said.

  ‘Well, who else would have done it?’ he asked.

  Thorn raised his eyebrows. ‘A thief, perhaps? Or are you going to tell me that, out of all the river ports I’ve ever been in, Krall is the only one totally devoid of such people?’

  ‘In which case, why did he leave the coins on him? Funny kind of thief who kills a man, then leaves his purse untouched.’

  Thorn shrugged. ‘For the same reason I wouldn’t have left them on him. They’re uncommon. If the man was killed, then a few days later someone turned up spending Limmatan nobles, it would be a sure pointer to the fact that he was the killer.’

  The captain considered the answer, his mouth screwed up in a tight, crooked line. There was a certain logic in what the old Skandian said. But he wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet.

  ‘It’s thin, Skandian. Too thin. At the moment I’m looking at a dead body, and a man who admits that there was bad blood between him and the victim. That’s a lot more evidence than some theory about a thief who kills a man, then doesn’t take his purse because the coins in it aren’t seen very often. More likely a thief would kill him, snatch the purse without looking, and then run. Later, he might decide that the Limmatan coins were a giveaway and he might get rid of the evidence. But to simply leave them behind on the night? I don’t think so.’

  Jesper stepped forward.

  ‘Did he still have the pearl?’ he asked.

  The captain frowned at the question. ‘Pearl? What pearl?’

  ‘Rikard wore a pearl on a silver chain round his neck.’ He turned to Hal and Stig. ‘Didn’t he?’ he asked, by way of confirmation. Instantly, they nodded. ‘Quite a reasonable size, it was, a freshwater pearl with a slightly pink colouration. I offered to buy it from him but he refused to sell. I was actually thinking of taking it myself,’ he added.

  Thorn repressed an annoyed shake of his head. It was a good lie, he thought. But Jesper, like so many people who believed they were smarter than those around them, had made the cardinal sin of embroidering too much. In his attempt to confuse the issue with the story of the non-existent pearl, he had opened himself to suspicion.

  The captain rounded on him. ‘So maybe that’s what you did,’ he said. ‘You followed him when he left and stuck a knife in him to get the pearl.’ He turned to one of the soldiers. ‘Was the victim wearing a pearl when you found the body, corporal?’

  The man shook his head doubtfully. ‘I don’t recall. I’m sure if he had been, I’d have noticed it.’ He looked at the guards grouped around him for confirmation. They all shook their heads uncertainly. None of them had noticed a pearl. But they weren’t willing to swear that there hadn’t been one.

  ‘I didn’t take it!’ Jesper said. His voice was shrill as, too late, he realised his mistake. ‘I was on board all night.’

  The captain studied him for several seconds. This was a better theory, he thought. Now he had a real suspect, one who had admitted coveting the pearl worn by the victim.

  ‘Can you prove that?’ he asked.

  Jesper cast a slightly panicked look around his companions.

  ‘They’ll tell you!’ he said, but the guard captain shook his head sceptically.

  ‘They’re your friends, of course they’d cover for you,’ he said. ‘Is there anyone else who could swear you never left the ship?’

  Jesper opened and closed his mouth several times. He couldn’t think of anyone.

  ‘As a matter of fact, there is,’ Hal said quietly.

  All eyes turned to him instantly. He pointed to the sentry at the foot of the jetty.

  ‘The sentry was there all night. He saw us come ashore, then saw Rikard leave the ship when Thorn set him free. Then he told us we couldn’t leave before daylight. He can testify that none of us left the ship after Rikard did. Is that good enough for you?’

  The guard captain stepped onto the jetty and hailed the sentry, beckoning for him to join them. Hal exchanged an annoyed glance with Thorn. They finally had concrete information that Zavac was only a couple of days ahead of them. Now this idiot official was wasting their time with his accusations. Hal was chafing at the delay, eager to be on their way, and aware that they needed to catch up with Zavac before he reached the sanctuary of Raguza.

  The sentry jogged along the jetty. Reaching them, he saluted, grounding the haft of his spear on the jetty’s planks with a hollow thud.

  ‘Did anyone leave this ship during the night, sentry?’ the captain asked him.

  The man shook his head immediately. ‘No, sir!’ he declared.

  Thorn spread his hands out, palms upwards. ‘There. What did I tell you? Now can we please be on our –’

  ‘At least, not since I came on duty,’ the man added, a note of apology in his voice.

  Thorn sighed audibly. The captain glared at him, then turned back to the sentry.

  ‘And when was that?’

  ‘Four in the morning, sir. I have the four till eight watch. Nobody left the ship after four o’clock, sir. That’s definite.’

  ‘Well, who was on duty before you?’ Thorn demanded in an exasperated voice. The man looked at him, then made his reply to the guard captain.

  ‘Dellon, sir. He had the midnight to four duty. I relieved him. Anson is due to relieve me, but he’s running late,’ he added, a little aggrieved.

  ‘We don’t care who’s due to relieve you,’ Thorn said acidly. ‘Where’s this Dellon character?’

  The sentry shrugged. ‘At home, I suppose.’ Then, seeing the next question coming, he added, ‘I don’t know where that is. I only see him when we’re on duty together.’

  ‘Oh for Gorlog’s sake,’ Thorn muttered. The captain made it very obvious that he was ignoring him.

  ‘Who would know where he lives? And who would know who was on duty before him, and where he might live?’

  ‘They’d know that at the port office, I suppose. They organise the guard.’

  The captain nodded his thanks and turned to one of his men.

  ‘Soldier, get along to the port office and find out where this Dellon lives. Then go and fetch him.’ He pointed to another man. ‘You find out who was on watch before him, then go and bring him here.’

  The two men saluted and turned away, strolling down the jetty. It was too much for Thorn.

  ‘AND GET A MOVE ON!’ he bellowed.

  The two men didn’t wait to find out who had shouted at them. The tone of command was unmistakable – and irresistible. They doubled their pace, their thudding feet setting the old jetty vibrating.

  Thorn glared at the captain. ‘And now I suppose we wait?’

  The captain nodded stiffly. ‘That’s exactly what we’re going to do.’

  Thorn turned away to look out to the river. ‘Wonderful,’ he scowled.

  It took half an hour for the second soldier to return with the sentry who had taken the eight to midnight watch. He had seen Thorn, Hal and Stig retu
rn from the tavern, and had also witnessed Rikard’s departure. He confirmed that nobody from the Heron had gone ashore while he was on watch.

  ‘There!’ Thorn said angrily. ‘What more do you want? Rikard went ashore at nine. This man was here for a further three hours and saw nobody follow him. In fact, he saw us getting ready to leave harbour.’ He looked at the sentry, who nodded agreement.

  ‘That’s right, sir. I had to tell them they couldn’t leave before daybreak.’

  ‘At this rate,’ Thorn said, ‘we’ll be lucky to leave before nightfall! I’m getting well and truly sick of this. I’ve a good mind to leave right now.’

  The captain made a gesture to one of his men, who stepped forward, his spear held at the ready across his body, at an angle of forty-five degrees.

  ‘I’ve got an armed squad here, ready to stop you,’ the captain said. ‘You seem to have forgotten that.’

  ‘And you seem to have forgotten that we’re Skandians, not gutless pirates or river rats. If I really wanted to leave, I’d simply do this.’

  And before anyone could react, he stepped towards the guard. His left hand flashed out to grip the spear at its midpoint, thumb down. Then he twisted his hand and the spear upwards in a half circle and jerked backwards, all in one rapid motion. Caught unprepared, the soldier felt his weapon twisted out of his hands and snatched from his grip. A heartbeat later, Thorn had levelled the razor-sharp point at the captain’s throat, holding it one-handed, as if it were no heavier than a small knife.

  The rest of the squad dropped their hands to their weapons, then froze as they saw the danger to their captain. The crew of the Heron came to their feet as one. There was a multiple rasp of steel on leather as they drew their saxes.

  For a moment, the jetty seemed about to explode with violence. Then Thorn snorted in disgust and threw the spear down on the planks. He held the captain’s eyes with his own.

  ‘That’s what I’d do if I really wanted to leave,’ he said. ‘Count your lucky stars I’m a patient man. But I warn you, my patience is running out.’

  Fortunately, at that moment, the second guardsman returned with the delinquent Dellon. It took a few minutes for him to confirm that nobody had left the ship during his watch. With exceedingly bad grace, the captain turned to Thorn.

  ‘Very well, it appears that you may be telling the truth,’ he began. But Thorn held up a hand to stop him.

  ‘It appears that I may be telling the truth?’ he said. ‘You’ve just had one narrow escape, thanks to my forbearance. Are you really sure you want to take a risk by insulting me?’

  The captain looked into the cold eyes fixed on him. He recalled the feeling of the sharp spear point just touching the skin of his throat and the lightning speed with which Thorn had moved. This was no helpless, one-armed cripple, he realised. This was a very dangerous man. He swallowed nervously.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘You are telling the truth. You’re free to go.’

  ‘And about time,’ Thorn said, the disgust obvious in his voice. He gestured to Hal. ‘Take her out, Hal.’

  ‘Stig! Get those mooring ropes! The rest of you, ready on the oars!’

  Stig ran lightly along the jetty, unlooping first the bow rope, then the stern rope, from their bollards and tossing them aboard. Then he stretched out to the sternpost and pushed the stern away from the jetty as he leapt back on board. The port side rowers shoved with their oars to widen the gap then, at Hal’s command, both port and starboard sides bent to their oars and sent the Heron surging back with three firm strokes.

  Clear of the jetty, the little ship pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees with the port side oarsmen rowing ahead and the starboard side backing water.

  ‘Give way together,’ Hal ordered and steered for the river outside the little harbour. Thorn glanced up at the wind telltale – a long streamer that was blowing virtually straight on the sternpost.

  ‘Let’s get her under sail as soon as we can,’ he said to Hal. ‘We’ve lost enough time fooling around here.’

  Zavac was relaxing in a tavern in Bayrath, a large river town south of Krall, when Vargas found him.

  Now that he was sailing down the calm waters of the Dan, with Raguza only a few days away, Zavac felt as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders. After several weeks with no report of the Skandian ship that had been pursuing him, he finally could believe that he’d given them the slip. Apparently, when he had turned into the Dan and headed south for Raguza, they had lost his trail.

  Of course, the Skandians were open-sea sailors, he thought. The idea of confining themselves to the relatively narrow waters of a river would be unnatural to them. Presumably, the small ship with the strange sail pattern was still blundering around the Stormwhite Sea, asking for news of the Raven in every port she entered.

  And getting none.

  He signalled the tavern keeper for another jug of brandy, and leaned back in his chair, sighing contentedly. He heard the door open, felt the sudden gust of the draught that it let in, just as quickly shut off, and looked up. Vargas had entered the room and was looking around, obviously searching for him. He raised a hand over his head.

  ‘Here,’ he called, and Vargas began to shove his way through the tightly packed crowd towards Zavac’s table.

  He arrived a few seconds after the brandy jug Zavac had ordered. The pirate captain smiled.

  ‘Good timing. Have a drink.’

  He poured the rough spirit into a spare tumbler on the table. Vargas nodded his thanks, drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Bad news,’ he said briefly.

  Zavac’s smile faded and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘What’s gone wrong? Couldn’t you get the rope I ordered? I’ll skin that factory foreman. He swore blind on three different gods that he’d have it ready!’

  Vargas shook his head at the second question and made a negative gesture with his hand.

  ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘The rope’s all here. It’s in the skiff and the men are busy loading it onto Raven.’

  Zavac frowned. ‘Then what’s gone wrong?’

  ‘It’s that Skandian ship,’ Vargas told him.

  ‘What about it?’ Zavac snapped. ‘That ship has become the bane of my life. Don’t tell me you saw it again.’

  ‘I saw it, all right. It’s only a few days behind us – although by now that may be a little more.’

  ‘What?’ Zavac exploded with rage. ‘How did they catch up to us so soon?’

  Vargas shrugged and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter how they did it. The fact is, they’re on our trail. I’ve arranged things so they’ll probably be delayed in Krall, but they’ll soon be on the river again.’

  ‘How did they find us?’ Zavac raged. ‘How did they know we turned into the Dan?’ He let out a string of curses, and slammed his open hand on the table in fury. The tavern keeper looked up at the sudden sound and Zavac made a dismissing gesture. The tavern keeper frowned. He could sense trouble brewing. He reached below the bar and made sure that his heavy, studded cudgel was easily to hand.

  Vargas waited patiently until Zavac’s outburst was done.

  ‘We were betrayed,’ he said calmly. ‘I saw Rikard with them.’

  Zavac’s eyes narrowed as he sought to place the name. ‘Rikard? Who in the Blue Fiend’s name is Rikard?’ It was vaguely familiar, he realised.

  Vargas took another sip of brandy before he answered. Times like these, he knew, it was best to go slowly with Zavac. The man’s temper had a tendency to flare up, leading to unfortunate, unpleasant results.

  ‘He was on Stingray,’ he said, after a pause. ‘He was Nagy’s first mate.’

  Realisation dawned on Zavac’s face. ‘That’s right,’ he said softly, as memory came back to him. Then he frowned again. ‘But weren’t he and the rest of Stingray’s crew caught by the Skandians when we burnt their ship?’

  ‘That’s what we all thought. But somehow, he escaped. And somehow, he e
nded up with the Skandians. He was with them when they sailed into Krall harbour. They actually had him chained up. My guess is, they spared him in return for him telling them where we were heading.’

  ‘And of course,’ Zavac said thoughtfully, twisting one of the long ringlets that hung down his cheek around a forefinger, ‘we’d planned to rendezvous with Nagy and his men at Raguza.’

  ‘So he would have known we were heading down the river,’ Vargas concluded and Zavac nodded slowly. He looked at his crewman from under lowered lids.

  ‘How did you learn all this?’ he asked. It was in Zavac’s nature to be suspicious.

  Vargas wasn’t insulted. He’d known the pirate captain for several years and he knew that people who weren’t suspicious didn’t last long in this line of business.

  ‘I saw the Skandians in a tavern,’ he said. ‘The big one with the wooden hook for a hand . . .’

  Zavac cursed again. ‘I thought he was a harmless drunk!’ he said. ‘He was always hanging round the harbour in Hallasholm when we were there. Remember?’

  Vargas nodded. ‘Odds are he was spying on us for that buffoon they call the Oberjarl,’ he said. ‘But he’s no drunk and he’s certainly not harmless. There were two others with him. The big blond boy and the smaller one – the half Araluan.’

  While the Raven had lingered in Hallasholm, pretending to be in need of repair, Zavac and his men had learned as much as they could about the crews of the two brotherbands that would compete in the final race. They had planned to steal the Andomal, a priceless ball of amber, while the triumphant brotherband was guarding it, and Zavac always believed it paid to know your enemy – or your prospective victim.

  ‘He’s the one to watch,’ he said bitterly, as Vargas mentioned Hal. ‘He’s as cunning as a bilge rat, that one.’

  Vargas twisted his lip in a sneer. ‘Not so cunning,’ he said. ‘After all, he left his men asleep when they were supposed to be guarding that treasure-ball.’