In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers

by Simon J. Townley

  Conall joined the captain and his wife along with two sailors as the first ashore. Erica Hudson took hold of Conall’s hand and whispered for him to stay close and not go wandering. She held onto his hand as if protecting him, and the sailors behind him sniggered. His face flushed with embarrassment. He was expected to work with the men. He was old enough, fully grown. He’d looked after himself all his life, no mother there to coddle him, only Faro. Now this woman treated him like a child in front of his crew-mates. But he didn’t dare pull his hand away. Upset the man’s wife and he’d soon get on the captain’s bad side. Besides, he might need this woman’s protection, before the voyage was out. So he put up with the indignity, and stuck close to her, though he touched the knife Jonah had given him, making sure it was still there, around his waist, hidden by his shirt.

  The mayor and a group of elders met the captain as they came down the gangplank onto the dockside. Most were stodgy men with big bellies, wearing shirts and ties. The people of Bergen didn’t suffer from food shortages, that was clear, judging by the waistlines on show. The mayor herself was an old woman, seventy or more, with a twinkle in her eye and a cheeky smile, and slim to the point of being frail. She took Captain’s Hudson’s arm and led him towards the town hall. Inside a buffet had been laid on. All around people spoke in a strange language unknown to Conall, but whenever they addressed anyone from The Arkady, they could all speak perfect English.

  Conall stuck beside Erica Hudson as they explored a long table full of food. “They don’t have things so bad. Better than Shetland.”

  “They have more land for growing food and grazing animals,” Erica said. “And they’ve always had a way with boats and ships. I guess they never lost it, and they can still take to the sea, go fishing. And there’s the climate too. Cooler here, don’t you think? Look at the trees. There are no forests like this now, not in England, not even in Scotland.”

  Conall stuck close to Captain Hudson and the mayor, listening to their conversation, keen to learn all he could about their trades, their talk and the worlds they lived in. It sounded as if Bergen was busier than Shetland had ever been, in his lifetime or even decades before, with passing ships and trade, people from inland bringing food and wood, metals and furs. All the same, no ship the size of The Arkady had been seen for a dozen years or more according to the mayor. “There’s no more fuel for the engines,” she said. “Few sail ships left, and no one to build new ones.”

  The captain told of the years spent refitting The Arkady, a ship he’d found abandoned in the old port of Liverpool. “We had to protect her from raiders, find men who could do the repairs, who understood the sails and masts and rigging. We needed a crew, men who knew the sea and they are hard to find. And we needed men we could trust, and that’s harder still.”

  Erica glanced at her husband as he said it, an odd expression on her face. Did she trust Jonah Argent and his men? Probably not. Part of him wanted to warn her, to tell her what he and Faro had heard about the treasure map.

  The mayor asked the captain about the voyage and where the ship was heading.

  “We make for Svalbard, to form a settlement,” he said. “All the work, refitting The Arkady, was so we could head north to the cooler climes, where it’s easier to grow food, and to live. There were no ships you see. We needed our own. And we wanted to bring so much. We have animals on board, to start a farm. It isn’t much, but a beginning. And once we’re settled, we can use the ship to make more journeys.”

  “She should be used for trade,” the mayor said. “A ship like that should be in use. There’s so many people who want to go north.”

  The captain agreed with her, but insisted his ship would be busy for many years, transporting people and animals, plants and equipment.

  “Tell me,” the mayor said, “why Svalbard? Why not Greenland? There’s more land. Almost a continent. They say the glaciers have gone.”

  “But is there any soil?”

  “Is there on Svalbard?”

  “Some, I’ve heard. And if there’s little, then we have plans. We’ll bring soil from further south.”

  “That’s the work of years,” the mayor said. Conall read her thoughts from the look in her eyes. She thought it was madness, to start a farm on soil shipped over the ocean. And she didn’t much believe him, either, as though she suspected he hid something, his real story still unspoken.

  “We must go,” Erica Hudson whispered in Conall’s ear. She made her excuses, thanked the mayor for the food, but insisted she must look for supplies. “Can’t trust the sailors to buy food,” she said. “It’ll all be bacon, and not a shred of greens among it.”

  They took one of the sailors with them as a guard, and toured the shops and market stalls of Bergen. Traders sold fresh fish, prawns and crabs, caught that day they claimed. Erica visited every flower stall, every trader with vegetables, anyone selling seeds or roots or saplings. “Botany is a study of mine,” she said as they walked from a stall, her arms laden with flowers.

  They wound through side-streets as she continued to explore, until Conall realised they were a quarter of a mile or more from the quayside. The streets were narrower and more enclosed. He sensed something. They weren’t safe. He couldn’t say why. He’d seen nothing. But they were being watched. Followed. Stalked. He stopped, called out to Erica but she was too far ahead. The sailor looked back at him, read his expression and bellowed at the top of his voice. The captain’s wife turned, and the sailor gestured for her to stop, to come back to where they stood. He had his long knife in his hand as if ready to fight, and gestured to Conall to do the same.

  “What did you see?” the sailor asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just…”

  “I know. I feel it too.” The sailor dropped the flowers he carried into the gutter and took the captain’s wife by the arm. “We have to leave,” he said.

  At that moment a group of six men surrounded them, coming from different directions. They kept well back, not threatening directly, but watching, letting them know they were trapped.

  The sailor swore. They’d have to fight, might die here. But Conall’s only thought was Rufus. Not his brother, his mother or father, or his duty to The Arkady. The only image in his mind was the dog, never knowing what happened, not understanding, pining for him, hoping he’d return one day, staring over the side of the ship in Heather’s arms, longing for Conall to come home.

  The sailor had drawn his long sword, waving it threateningly in the air.

  “Now boys, no need for that,” one of the men said. “Let us have the woman and you can go.”

  Conall took the knife from his waist, held ready in his right hand. Could he use it? Stab a man with cold steel?

  “Conall, no.” Erica put her hands on his shoulders protectively, as if he were a child. He shook her off instinctively, angry. Didn’t she understand? This was real. These men would take her. He’d fight, die here if it came to it rather than back down. It didn’t matter. When someone came at you, you stood up to them. It’s the way it was.

  Conall glanced at the sailor. He held his sword lower, his body less tense. He was wavering, thinking about their offer.

  “Run,” Erica whispered to Conall. “You’re too young. Get away.”

  “Keep back,” Conall shouted at the men. He shouted louder than needed. Loud enough to be heard half way across the town. A yell. “Keep back or we’ll fight,” he screamed. In his fear, his throat was tight, his voice the high-pitched screech of a boy, not the commanding bellow of a man that he’d intended. The men surrounding them laughed. He held a knife in his hands, an eight inch blade clean and sharp, ready to cut them. And they laughed.

  He had one thought then. Out here, in this town, somewhere, there was an inn. And Jonah Argent would be there with his men, with Faro, laughing and singing and drinking. Making too much noise. All the same, it was worth a try. He breathed deep into his belly and yelled as loud as he could, calling out Faro’s name. Then Jonah’s name.

&
nbsp; The men surrounding them fell quiet. A moment of silence hung over the town. Then a shout, from streets away, a deep-throated roar that could only come from a bear of a man. A man who spent his life shouting over the top of a North Sea gale.

  Jonah had heard him. Jonah was on his way.

  The men around them melted into the stones and wood of the town, into the rocks and trees that surrounded the settlement, gone faster and more silently than they’d appeared. Jonah roared again, calling Conall’s name. This time Erica answered, shouting out their position.

  Jonah and half a dozen of his men rounded a corner, Faro among them. Jonah held his cane in his left hand, a sword in the right. Conall realised the cane concealed the sword. That’s why he carried it, yet never needed it to walk. The man looked vulnerable but he was always armed.

  Conall stood proud, his knife drawn. He’d screamed for help, but been willing to fight. He’d show Jonah he’d been true, he’d been a man, ready to defend the captain’s wife, to do right by the ship.

  Then Erica ran her hands through his hair, kissed his cheek like a mother might, and told him to put the knife away. He scowled at her, but she didn’t see. Jonah reached them and pounded Conall on the back with his bear fist, knocking him off balance. “Don’t be roaming through quiet parts of town. Sure I said that, somewhere,” Jonah said. “Come on, Mrs Hudson, let’s get you back to The Arkady. Captain’ll be worried.”

  The sailor scurried to gather up the flowers he’d scattered into the road. Erica insisted she was unharmed. She’d get on with her shopping, she said. But Jonah would hear none of it. He and his sailors escorted them back to the ship, left them there, with strict orders not to set foot on land again without a proper escort. By which he meant him and all his men. Erica protested, knowing Jonah Argent couldn’t give her orders, but he meant well by it, only wanted to protect her, so she did what he said.

  News travels fast on a sail ship, and Heather ran to her mother, Rufus snapping at her heels. Conall scooped the animal into his arms and held him close, burying his face in the terrier’s fur, losing himself in the familiar, comforting smell of dog.

  Jonah emerged from below deck with three handguns. Conall had never seen a gun for real, only in books, and he stared, opened mouthed. Jonah tucked one gun into his waistband, handed another to ‘Bones’ Bagatt. The second mate was on watch, responsible for keeping the ship secure. “We’ll take no chances,” Jonah told the crew as he readied them to set off into town to search for the captain.

  Conall waited until Jonah was alone for a moment, no one else close to hear. “Who were those men? They weren’t like the rest of the townsfolk.”

  “There’s always bad ‘uns. Everywhere you go. Always been true that,” Jonah said. “Men that look out only for themselves. Lot of it around.” He leant down, whispered. “Fine looking woman, Mrs Hudson. Fetch a deal of money, in certain parts, if you know what I mean.”

  “Slavers?”

  “Worst kind. You keep watch on this deck, you understand. And keep the girl below. Out of sight.” Conall glanced towards Heather. “Tell her to stay hidden. And she’s not to set foot on shore.”

  “You tell her” Conall said. “I’m not allowed to talk to her. Captain’s orders.”

  Jonah clipped Conall around the ear, but the blow didn’t hurt. “I’ve seen you talk to her.” The man grinned like a wolf about to rip open its prey, a silver tooth glinting at the back of his mouth, then roared for his men and was off down the gangplank, his cane clomping as he went.

  Conall put Rufus into Heather’s arms, his hand accidentally brushing her breast beneath her blouse. He felt his face redden. “Thanks for looking after him.”

  “It’s all right. He’s a good dog.”

  “The best.” He wanted to say something more but his mind had gone blank. She looked at him, expecting him to speak. Nothing came. She smiled, kissed Rufus’s head and turned to go.

  “Jonah says stay below. Out of sight.” The words came out gruffer than he’d intended.

  She turned back, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a moment, nodded, her head low, and she slipped through the doorway into the cabins.

  Conall stayed on deck, taking orders from Bagatt and helping ready the ship to sail. “I reckon we’ll pull out, soon as everyone’s on board and supplies are loaded,” Bagatt told him. “Hour or two at most, provided everyone gets back, safe.”

  It took more than four hours before they were ready. More hay and straw arrived for the animals, vegetables and meat, and a cart full of roughly hewn wood for the carpenter, needed for repairs and running maintenance on board ship. Faro was among the last to return. Conall saw him coming, swaying behind Jonah Argent and his men, their faces red and flushed, voices loud. Drunk.

  As the last of them staggered aboard, the captain gave orders to cast off. The crowd that had greeted their arrival had thinned to a handful of bystanders watching the workings of the ship.

  Conall busied himself on deck. He felt Faro’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” his brother said, “got to talk. You won’t believe what I learnt from Jonah Argent.”

  Chapter Six

  TROMSØ

  When the ship sailed from Bergen in the late afternoon Jonah and half a dozen of the men were still drunk, Faro included. Captain Hudson ordered them to sleep it off, and that left the ship short-handed. Conall was hard pressed on deck for the rest of the day and it was dark by the time he got off duty. He ate with the other sailors and by the time he headed his hammock, Faro was alone in the room, more sober but still excited.

  “They talked of Svalbard,” Faro whispered. “The locals in Bergen, they’ve heard stories. There are wildmen there, they say, covering half the island. A tribe of them, they drive out strangers and live like savages. And they’re at war with the settlers. And there are slavers too, deep mines where the slaves work, digging coal and gold and diamonds. Some say there’s oil, but they all talk of the treasure of Spitsbergen. You should have seen Jonah’s face. He pretended he wasn’t interested but kept coming back to it in round-about ways.”

  Conall frowned. “So what is this treasure?”

  “Must be money, precious stones. Or technology from the old days. Someone said it was powerful weapons, so you could win any war. It’s a legend. The treasure of Spitsbergen. Something so valuable you couldn’t put a price on it.”

  “It’s just stories, meaningless.”

  “I’m going to find that map,” Faro said. “We can beat Jonah to it. They’ll take us right there. And we slip in first.”

  “I don’t care about treasure. I’m here to find them.”

  “Little child needs his mum and dad?”

  “It’s why we’re going.”

  Faro stood at the porthole staring into the darkness. “I can look after myself. I wouldn’t speak to them, even if they are alive.”

  Conall slid into his hammock, rolled onto his side. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.”

  “They deserted us,” Faro said, still staring through the porthole. “Deliberately. Must have. They didn’t want us, couldn’t afford passage on a ship, so they left us behind. You know it’s true.”

  “They wouldn’t.”

  “You were too young. You didn’t know them.”

  “You were only ten.”

  “Older than you, though.”

  That was true. Faro was older. He always had that card to play, to put himself in charge.

  “I’ll find the map,” Faro said. “I need you to stand watch outside the captain’s stateroom.”

  “It isn’t there, the engineer didn’t find it.”

  “Then I’ll search his cabin.”

  “You can’t steal his map. They’ve helped us. They’re taking us to Svalbard. They didn’t have to. We’ve got what we need. They’re good people.”

  “Are you going to help me?”

  Conall rolled over so he could see Faro’s face in the gloom. “No.”

  “You serious?” Faro glared at
him, hate in his eyes.

  “The treasure isn’t yours to take. Or the map.”

  “They don’t belong to Jonah either, or the captain. You get what you take in life. You’ll learn. You’d better stand guard. Or else.”

  “Or what?”

  Faro’s hands twitched with anger. Conall stared back at his brother. He’d face him down, even lying in a hammock. Faro had four years on him, he was taller, heavier. But Conall fought like a terrier, never giving up. And Faro knew it.

  “Last chance. You help now or get nothing.”

  “You’ll be caught and it’ll ruin everything. They’re taking us to Spitsbergen. This is our chance.”

  “Our chance to get rich. To have power. Or you want to be scrounging for food all your life? Not me. I’ll take what I need.”

  “I’m not helping.”

  “After all I’ve done for you, for years? Fine, you’re on your own, how does that feel?” Faro stormed from the room and slammed the door as he left.

  Conall sunk into his hammock. What if Faro got caught? Or found the map? What would Jonah do? And how would Conall find his parents without Faro’s help, on an island full of wildmen at war with slavers, at the far ends of the Earth?

  ≈≈≈≈

  On the second day out of Bergen, Conall sat with the first mate on the poop deck. Jonah steered the boat, his big hands on the massive wooden wheel, using Conall to run messages to the crew working in the rigging. The Arkady sailed up the western coast of Norway, making good time in strong winds but using more diesel than the crew would have liked. The engine was a safety net, Argent said, keeping them away from danger when the wind swirled or dropped. But the fuel was precious, it might run dry before they reached Spitsbergen, and no one knew where they’d get more once the supplies were gone.

  The sea was littered with islands. The mainland was an ocean of rock with green farmsteads dotted wherever people found enough soil to set up home. They passed countless towns and villages perched over the water, houses built of wood and painted bright blues, whites and reds. Jonah told him there were more settlements, out of sight, deep within the fjords.