'Any idea who might know?'
The innkeeper had shrugged. 'Your best bet would be to ask the Black O'Malley. Happen that he might know. When there's folk looking to leave in a hurry, he's often the one who'll accommodate them.'
'A strange name. How did he come by it?'
'There was a sea fight some years ago. His ship was boarded. By…' The man had hesitated briefly, then continued, 'By pirates. There was a fight and one of them hit him in the face with a flaming torch. The burning pitch of the torch clung to his skin and burned him badly, leaving a black scorch mark on the left side of his face.'
Will had nodded thoughtfully. If there had been any pirates involved in the fight, he was willing to bet that they were sailing in O'Malley's company. But that was immaterial.
'And how would I find this O'Malley?' he'd asked.
'Most nights, you'll find him at the Heron tavern, down by the docks.' The innkeeper had taken the coin and as Will turned away, he'd added:
'It's a dangerous place. Might not be a good idea to go there alone – you a stranger as you are. I've a couple of large lads do work for me from time to time. Might be they'd be willing to go along with you – for a small fee.'
The young man looked back, considered the suggestion and shook his head, smiling slowly.
'I think I can look after myself,' he'd said. Three It hadn't been any sense of arrogance that led him to refuse the innkeeper's offer. Walking into a place like the Heron with a couple of part-time, and probably second-rate, bully boys for company would cause nothing but contempt among the genuine hard cases who gathered here. All it would have done was advertise the fact that he was uncertain of himself. Better to be alone and rely on his own skill and wits to see him through.
The tavern had been half full when he'd arrived. It had been too early in the evening for the main trade to begin. But as he waited, it began to fill up. The temperature rose with the growing press of unwashed bodies. So did the sour, stale smell that pervaded the hot, smoke-filled room. The noise level increased, as people raised their voices to be heard over the growing clamour.
The situation suited him. The more people present and the noisier it was, the less chance there was of being noticed. With each new set of arrivals, he glanced at the tavern keeper. But each time, the thin-faced man merely shook his head.
It was somewhere between eleven o'clock and midnight when the door was hurled open and three bulky men entered, shoving their way through the throng to the bar, where the tavern keeper immediately began to pump up three large tankards of ale without a word passing between them. As he filled the second and placed it on the counter, he paused and, eyes down, tugged fiercely on his ear three times. Then he continued pulling the final ale.
Even without the signal, Will would have known that this was the man he was looking for. The large black burn mark on the side of his face, stretching from just below the left eye to the jawline, was obvious from across the room. He waited while O'Malley and his two cohorts picked up their tankards and made their way towards a table close to the peat fire. There were two men already seated there and they looked up anxiously as the smuggler approached.
'Ah now, O'Malley,' one of them began in a whining tone, 'we've been sitting here since -'
'Out.'
O'Malley gestured with his thumb and the two men, without further demurral, picked up their drinks and rose, leaving the table for the three smugglers. They settled into their seats, glanced around the room and called greetings to several acquaintances. Reactions to the newcomers, Will noted, were more guarded than friendly. O'Malley seemed to instil fear in the other patrons.
O'Malley's gaze touched briefly on the cloaked figure sitting alone in a corner. He studied Will for several seconds, then dismissed him. He inched his chair forward and he and his companions leaned over the table, speaking in low tones, their heads close together.
Will rose from his seat and moved towards them. Passing the bar, he allowed his hand to trail along the surface, leaving the mutilated half gold coin behind as he did so. The tavern keeper hurried to snatch it up. He made no sign of acknowledgement or thanks but Will expected none. The tavern keeper wouldn't be anxious for anyone to know that he had identified O'Malley to this stranger.
O'Malley became conscious of Will's presence as he approached the table. The smuggler had been muttering something in a low tone to his two companions and now he stopped, his eyes swivelling sideways to inspect the slim figure standing a metre or so away. There was a long pause.
'Captain O'Malley?' Will asked, finally. The man was powerfully built, although not excessively tall. He would have stood a few centimetres taller than Will but then, most people did.
His shoulders were well muscled and his hands were calloused. Together, they showed the signs of a lifetime of hard work, hauling on ropes, heaving cargo aboard, tending a bucking tiller in a gale. His stomach showed signs of a lifetime of hard drinking. He was overweight but still a powerful man and an adversary to be wary of. His black hair hung in ragged curls to his collar and he had grown a beard, possibly in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise the disfiguring mark on his left cheek. His nose had been broken so many times that it now showed no defining shape at all. It was a lump of smashed gristle and bone. Will imagined that O'Malley had trouble breathing through that nose.
His two companions were less interesting specimens. Big bellied, broad shouldered and powerfully built, they were larger and taller than their leader. But he had the unmistakable air of authority about him.
'Captain O'Malley?' Will repeated. He smiled easily. O'Malley frowned in return.
'I don't think so,' he said shortly, and turned back to his two companions.
'I do,' Will said, still smiling.
O'Malley sat back, looking away for a second or two, then turned his close-set eyes on Will. There was a dangerous light in them.
'Sonny,' he said deliberately, the tone condescending and insulting, 'why don't you run along now?'
The room around them had gone silent as the drinkers turned to watch this strange confrontation. The young stranger was armed with a powerful longbow, they could all see. But in the confined space of the tavern, it was not the most useful weapon.
'I'm looking for information,' Will said. 'I'm willing to pay for it.'
He touched the purse at his belt and there was a slight musical chinking sound from it. O'Malley's eyes narrowed. This could be interesting.
'Information, is it? Well, perhaps we might talk after all. Carew!' he snapped at a man seated at the next table. 'Give the boy your stool here.'
It was significant that the man called Carew made no argument. He hurriedly rose and shoved the stool towards Will. His look of resentment he reserved for the young Ranger. He made sure that no sign of it showed to O'Malley.
Will nodded his thanks, received a scowl in return and pulled the stool up to O'Malley's table.
'So, information, is it?' the smuggler began. 'And what might you be wanting to know?'
'You gave passage to a man called Tennyson a few days ago,' Will said. 'Him and about twenty of his followers.'
'Did I now?' O'Malley's shaggy eyebrows came together in a dark frown of anger. 'You seem to have a lot of information already, don't you? And who told you that?'
'Nobody in this room,' Will said. Then, before O'Malley could query him further, he went on quickly, 'I need to know where you took him.'
The smuggler's eyebrows rose in simulated surprise.
'Oh, you need to know, do you? And what if I don't need to tell you? Assuming that I had taken this person anywhere at all – which I didn't.'
Will allowed a flash of exasperation to show, then realised that this was a mistake. He composed his features but he knew O'Malley had noticed it.
'I said, I'm willing to pay for the information,' he said, working to keep his voice level.
'And would you be willing to pay another gold coin – like the one I saw you slip to Ryan as you came past the bar
?' He glanced angrily at the tavern keeper, who had been an interested observer of their conversation and who now shrank back a little. 'We'll be having words about that later, Ryan,' he added.
Will pursed his lips in surprise. He would have been willing to bet that O'Malley's attention was engaged elsewhere when he had placed the half coin on the bar.
'You don't miss much, do you?' He allowed a note of admiration to enter his tone. No harm in a little flattery. But O'Malley wasn't as simple as all that.
'I don't miss anything, boy.' His angry gaze was back on Will now. Don't try to butter me up with soft words, it said.
Will shifted on his stool. He was losing control of this conversation, he thought. Then he amended that. He had never had control of this conversation. O'Malley had steered it from the first word. All Will had done so far was react to him. He tried again.
'Well, yes. I'd be willing to pay gold for the information.'
'I've already been paid,' O'Malley said. At least there was no pretence now that he hadn't given passage to Tennyson and his followers.
'Then you'll be paid twice. That sounds like good business to me,' Will said reasonably.
'It does, does it? Well, let me tell you a little about business. For a start, I'd happily slit your throat for that purse you're carrying. And I have no particular regard for this Tennyson fellow you speak of. If I'd had the chance, I would have killed him and dumped him overboard and no one the wiser. But those purple-cloaked friends of his watched me like a hawk the whole time. I tell you this to point out that trust means nothing to me. Nothing at all.'
'Then…' Will began, but the smuggler cut him off with a curt gesture.
'But here's what business is about, boy. I took money from that man to get him out of Clonmel. That's the sort of business I'm in. Now if I take more money from a second party to tell where I took him, and everyone here sees me do it, how long do you think my business will last? People come to me for one reason. I know how to keep my mouth shut.'
He paused. Will sat awkwardly. There was no reasonable answer he could think of.
'I don't believe in honesty,' O'Malley continued. 'Or trust. Or loyalty. I believe in profit, that's all. And profit means I know how to keep my mouth shut when it's necessary.' Without warning, he glanced around the tavern. Eyes that had been watching with interest turned quickly away.
'And everyone else in this room had better know the same thing,' he said, raising his voice.
Will spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. He could see no way to turn this situation around. Abruptly, he found himself wishing that Halt were here. Halt would know what to do, he thought. And with that thought, he felt thoroughly inadequate.
'Well then, I'll be on my way.' He began to rise.
'Just a minute!' O'Malley's hand slapped down on the table between them. 'You haven't paid me.'
Will gave a snort of incredulous laughter. 'Paid you? You didn't answer my question.'
'Yes I did. It just wasn't the answer you were looking for. Now pay me.'
Will looked around the room. Everyone present was watching the exchange and most of them were grinning. O'Malley might be feared and disliked here, but Will was a stranger and they were happy to see him bested. He realised that the smuggler had created this confrontation for the purpose of magnifying his own reputation. It wasn't so much the money he was interested in, more the opportunity to show everyone else in the tavern that he was cock of the walk. Trying to hide his fury, he reached into his purse and took out another gold piece. This was getting expensive, he thought, and he'd found out nothing worthwhile. He slid the piece across the table. O'Malley gathered it in, tested it with his teeth, and smiled wickedly.
'Good to do business with you, boy. Now get on out of here.'
Will knew his face was burning with the suppressed fury inside him. He stood abruptly, overturning the stool behind him. From somewhere in the room, there was a low chuckle. Then he turned and shoved his way through the crowd to the door.
As it banged shut behind him, O'Malley leaned forward to his two followers and said quietly, 'Dennis, Nialls. Bring me back that purse.'
The two heavily built men rose and followed Will to the door. With a shrewd idea what they might be about, the tavern customers cleared a path for them. Some watched reluctantly. They'd planned to go after the young man themselves.
Dennis and Nialls stepped out into the clear, cold night, looking up and down the narrow street to see which way the stranger had gone. They hesitated. There were several mean little alleys that led off the street. The youth could be hiding in one of them.
'Let's try…'
Nialls got no further. The air between the two men was split by a vicious hiss as something flashed past Nialls's nose and thudded into the door frame. The two men jerked apart in shock, then stared in disbelief at the grey-shafted arrow, buried quivering in the wood.
From somewhere up the street, a voice carried to them.
'One more step and the next arrow will be through your heart.' There was a slight pause, then the voice continued, with obvious venom, 'And I'm just angry enough to do it.'
'Where is he?' Dennis whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
'Must be in one of the alleys,' Nialls answered. The threat of the quivering arrow was unmistakable. But they both knew the danger involved in going back to O'Malley empty-handed.
Without warning, there was another hiss-thud between them. Only this time, Niall's hand flew to his right ear, where the arrow had nicked him on its way through. Blood ran hotly down his cheek. Suddenly, facing O'Malley seemed like the better alternative.
'Let's get out of here!' he said and they jostled each other to get back through the door, slamming it behind them.
From an alley further up the street, a dark figure emerged. Will figured it would be several minutes before anyone chanced coming back again. He ran soft-footed back to the tavern, retrieved his arrows, then led Tug from the stableyard. Swinging into the saddle, he galloped away. The little horse's hooves rang on the cobbles, the sound echoing off the buildings lining the street.
Altogether, it had been a very unsatisfying encounter. Four Halt and Horace crested a small rise and reined in their horses. Less than a kilometre away, Port Cael was spread out before them. White-painted buildings huddled together at the top of a hill, which swept away down to the harbour itself – a man-made breakwater that stretched out into the sea then turned at a right angle to form an L-shaped haven for the small fleet moored inside the walls. From where they sat their horses, the ships could be seen only as a forest of masts, jumbled together and indistinguishable as individual craft.
The houses on the hill were freshly painted and looked neatly kept. Even in the dull sunshine that was breaking through the overcast, they seemed to gleam. Down the hill and closer to the docks, there was a more utilitarian look to the buildings and the predominant colour was a dull grey. Typical of any working port, Halt thought. The more genteel people lived on the hill in their spotless homes. The riffraff gathered by the water.
Still, he was willing to bet that the spotless homes on the hill held their share of villains and unscrupulous traders. The people who lived there weren't more honest than the others – just more successful.
'Isn't that someone we know?' asked Horace. He pointed to where a cloaked figure sat by the side of the road a few hundred metres away, arms wrapped around his knees. Close by him, a small shaggy horse cropped the grass growing at the edge of the drainage ditch that ran beside the road.
'So it is,' Halt replied. 'And he seems to have brought Will with him.'
Horace glanced quickly at his older companion. He felt his spirits lift with the sally. It wasn't much of a joke, but it was the first one Halt had made since they had left his brother's grave at Dun Kilty. The Ranger was never a garrulous companion, but he had been even more taciturn than usual over the past few days. Understandable, thought Horace. After all, he had lost his twin brother. Now, the Ranger seemed p
repared to slough off his depression. Possibly it had something to do with the prospect of imminent action, the young knight thought.
'Looks like he's lost a guinea and found a farthing,' Horace said, then added, unnecessarily, 'Will, I mean.'
Halt turned in his saddle to regard the younger man and raised an eyebrow.
'I may be almost senile in your eyes, Horace, but there's no need to explain the blindingly obvious to me. I'd hardly have thought you were referring to Tug.'
'Sorry, Halt.' But Horace couldn't help a smile touching the corner of his mouth. First a joke and now an acerbic reply. That was better than the morose silence that had enshrouded Halt since his brother's death.
'Let's see what's troubling him,' Halt said. He made no discernible movement or signal to his horse that Horace could notice, but Abelard immediately moved off at a slow trot. Horace touched his heels to Kicker's ribs and the battlehorse responded, quickly catching up to the smaller horse and settling beside him.
As they drew near, Will stood, brushing himself off. Tug whinnied a greeting to Abelard and Kicker and the other horses responded in kind.
'Halt, Horace,' Will greeted them as they drew rein beside him. 'I hoped you'd be along today.'
'We got the message you left for us at Fingle Bay,' Halt told him, 'so we pushed on early this morning.'
Fingle Bay had been Tennyson's original destination. It was a prosperous trading and fishing port some kilometres to the south of Port Cael. The majority of shipowners and captains there were honest men. Port Cael was the home of more shady operations, as Tennyson, and then Will, had discovered.
'Had any luck?' Horace asked. While he and Halt had stayed to tidy up things in Dun Kilty, Will had gone ahead to trail Tennyson and discover where he was heading. The young Ranger shrugged now.
'Some,' he said. 'Good and bad, I'm afraid. Tennyson has fled the country, as you thought, Halt.'
Halt nodded. He'd expected as much. 'Where'd he go?'
Will shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. Halt smiled to himself. He knew that his former apprentice hated to fail at any task Halt set him.
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