O'Malley couldn't help a smile forming on his face as he thought about it.
'Sure, I'm convinced you would,' he said, almost breezily. 'But you can't, can you?'
It'd never do to gamble with this one, he thought. His eyes showed no sign of the frustration and uncertainty he must be feeling now that O'Malley had called his bluff.
'Let's just review this, shall we?' Halt said softly. 'You say I can't kill you because then I'll never find out what you know. But at the same time, you've told Will over there that you won't divulge that information…'
'Ah, well now, that may be open to negotiation,' O'Malley began but Halt cut him off.
'So if I kill you, I'm not losing anything, am I? But it will be some compensation for the trouble you've caused. On the whole, I think I rather want to kill you. You're an annoying person, O'Malley. In fact, now I think about it, I'm glad you don't want to tell me because then I would feel duty bound to spare your miserable life.'
'Now look here…' The returning confidence O'Malley had felt had gone again. He'd pushed this man too far, he realised. But now the tip of the heavy knife left his throat and pointed at the tip of his nose.
'No! You listen to me!' Halt said. He spoke quietly but his voice cut like a whip. 'Look around this room and tell me if there's anyone here who owes you any sense of loyalty or friendship. Is there anyone here who might protest for one second if I simply cut your throat?'
In spite of himself, O'Malley's eyes wandered quickly to the watchful faces. He saw no sign of help there.
'Now answer me this: once you're dead, are you sure there's not somebody in this room who might know where you took Tennyson, and who might be willing to share that knowledge?'
And that was the point where O'Malley knew he'd lost. There certainly were people in the room who knew where he had taken the white-robed man. At the time, it had been no big secret. And if he, O'Malley, wasn't around to ensure their silence, they'd fall over themselves telling this grim-faced tormentor what he wanted to know.
'Craiskill River,' he said, almost in a whisper.
The knife wavered. 'What?' Halt asked him.
O'Malley's shoulders slumped and he lowered his gaze. 'Craiskill River. It's in Picta, below the Mull of Linkeith. It's one of our rendezvous points where we deliver cargo.'
Halt frowned, disbelieving him for a moment. 'Why the devil would Tennyson want to go to Picta?'
O'Malley shrugged. 'He didn't want to go there. He wanted to get away from here. That's where I was going, so that's where I took him.'
Halt was nodding slowly to himself.
'I could take you there,' O'Malley suggested hopefully.
Halt laughed contemptuously. 'Oh, I'm sure you could! My friend, I trust you about as far as Horace could kick you – and I'm tempted to find out how far that is. Now get out of my sight.'
He released his grip on the other man's collar and shoved him back. Off balance, O'Malley tried to regain his feet, then Halt stopped him.
'No. One more thing. Empty your purse on the table.'
'My purse?'
Halt said nothing but his eyebrows came together in a dark line. O'Malley noticed that the saxe knife was still in his right hand. He hurried to unfasten his purse and spill its contents onto the table top. Halt poked through the coins with a forefinger, and selected a gold piece. He held it up.
'This yours, Will?'
'Looks like it, Halt,' Will called cheerfully. After having been humiliated by O'Malley, he'd enjoyed this evening's confrontation.
'Take better care of it next time,' Halt told him. Then he turned back to O'Malley, his face set, his eyes dark and threatening. 'As for you, get the hell out of here.'
O'Malley, finally released, rose to his feet. He looked around the room, saw nothing but contempt in the faces watching him. Then he did as he was told. Six 'Your friend isn't looking too happy.'
The ship's captain nudged Will with his elbow and gestured with a smirk at the figure huddled in the bow of the Sparrow, leaning against the bulwark, the cowl of his cloak drawn up over his head.
It was a raw, overcast day, with the wind gusting at them out of the south-east, and a choppy, unpredictable swell surging in from the north. The wind blew the tops off the waves and hurled them back at the ship as it plunged into the troughs, smashing its bow down into the racing grey sea.
'He'll be fine,' Will said. But the shipmaster seemed to be uncommonly amused by the thought of someone suffering from seasickness. Perhaps, Will thought, it gave him a sense of superiority.
'Never fails,' the skipper continued cheerfully. 'These strong, silent types on land always turn into green-faced cry-babies once they feel a ship move an inch or two under their feet.'
In fact, the Sparrow was moving considerably more than that. She was plunging, lurching and rolling against the opposing forces of wind and wave.
'Are those rocks a problem?' Horace asked, pointing to where a line of rocks protruded from the sea as each line of rollers passed over them, seething with foam. They were several hundred metres away on the port side of the ship, and the wind was taking the ship down diagonally towards the rocks.
The skipper regarded the line of rocks as they disappeared then reappeared in time to the movement of the waves.
'That's Palisade Reef,' he told them. He squinted a little, measuring distances and angles in his mind, making sure the situation hadn't changed since the last time he'd checked – which had been only a few minutes previously.
'We seem to be getting a little close to it,' Horace said. 'I've heard that's not a good idea.'
'We'll come close, but we'll weather it all right,' the captain replied. 'Land people like you always get a little edgy at the sight of Palisade Reef.'
'I'm not edgy,' Horace told him. But the stiff tone of his voice belied his words. 'I just wanted to make sure you know what you're doing.'
'Well now, my boy, that's why we've got the oars out, you see. The sail is powering us, but the force of the wind is sending us down onto the reef. With the oars out, we're dragging her upwind enough so that we'll reach the back-lift with plenty of room to spare.'
'The backlift?' Will asked. 'What might that be?'
'See how the reef line runs in to the edge of the Mull?' the captain told him, pointing. Will nodded. He could see the line of troubled water that marked the reef. It did run into the foot of the large headland to the north-west – the Mull of Linkeith.
'And see how the wind is coming from over my shoulder here, and setting us down towards the reef itself?'
Again, Will nodded.
'Well, the oars will keep us far enough to the east to avoid the reef. Then, as we get closer to the Mull, the wind will hit it and be deflected back at us – that's the backlift. In effect, it'll reverse, and we'll go about so it's actually blowing us clear of the reef. Then we've got a simple run for a few kilometres down the bay to the river mouth. We'll have to row that, because the backlift will only last for a few hundred metres – enough to get us clear of the reef.'
'Interesting,' Will said thoughtfully, studying the situation, and assessing distances and angles for himself. Now that it had been pointed out, he could see that the Sparrow would pass clear of the end of the reef as they ran in under the Mull. The captain might be lacking in sensitivity, but he seemed to know his business.
'Maybe I should go for'ard and point out the reef to your friend,' the captain said, grinning. 'That should be good for a laugh. I'll wager he hasn't noticed it yet.' He laughed at his own wit. 'I'll look worried, like this, shall I?'
He assumed a mock-worried look, puckering his brows and pretending to chew his fingernails. Will regarded him coldly.
'You could do that,' he agreed. Then he added, 'Tell me, is your first mate a good seaman?'
'Well, of course he is! I wouldn't have him with me, else,' the captain replied. 'Why do you ask?'
'We may need him to handle the ship when Halt throws you overboard,' Will replied mildly. The capt
ain started to laugh, then saw the look on Will's face and stopped uncertainly.
'Halt becomes very bad-tempered when he's seasick,' Will told him. 'Particularly when people try to make sport of him.'
'Especially when people try to make sport of him,' Horace added.
The captain suddenly didn't look so sure of himself. 'I was only joking.'
Will shook his head. 'So was that Skandian who laughed at him.' He glanced at Horace. 'Remember what Halt did to him?'
Horace nodded seriously. 'It wasn't pretty.'
The captain looked from one to the other now. He'd had dealings with Skandians over the years. Most seafarers had. And he'd never met anyone who'd bested one.
'What did he do? Your friend, I mean?' he asked.
'He puked into his helmet,' Will said.
'Extensively,' Horace added.
The captain's jaw dropped as he tried to picture the scene. Will and Horace didn't bother to explain that Halt was wearing the borrowed helmet at the time, nor that he was under the protection of the massive Erak, future Oberjarl of the Skandians. So the captain assumed that the smallish, grey-bearded man in the bows had ripped the helmet off a giant Skandian's head and thrown up into it – an action that would normally be tantamount to suicide.
'And the Skandian? What did he do?'
Will shrugged. 'He apologised. What else could he do?'
The captain looked from Will to Halt, and back to Will. The young man's face was serious, with no sign that he was gulling the captain. The captain swallowed several times, then decided that, even if he were being deceived, it might be more kindly to let Halt suffer his seasickness in peace.
'Sail!'
The cry came from the masthead lookout. Instinctively, all three of them looked up at him. He was pointing behind them, arm outstretched to the south-east. Then they swung to follow that pointing arm. There was a low scud of sea mist further out to sea, but as they watched, a dark shape began to creep out of it, taking on firmer lines.
'Can you make her out?' the captain yelled.
The lookout shaded his eyes, peering more carefully at the following ship.
'Six oars a side… and a square mains'l. She's coming up on us fast. Headreaching on us too!'
The strange ship was running before the wind, and rowing strongly as well. Headreaching meant she was able to aim for a point in advance of the Sparrow, and reach it before them. There was no way they could avoid her.
'Can you make her out?' the captain repeated. There was a moment's hesitation.
'I think she's the Claw. The Black O'Malley's ship!' the lookout called. Will and Horace exchanged a worried glance.
'Then Halt was right,' Will said.
The morning after the confrontation with O'Malley in the tavern, Halt had roused his two companions early.
'Get dressed,' he told them briefly. 'We're heading back to Fingle Bay.'
'What about breakfast?' Horace asked grumpily, knowing what the answer was going to be.
'We'll eat on the way.'
'I hate it when we eat on the way,' Horace grumbled. 'It does terrible things to my digestion.' Nonetheless, he was an experienced campaigner. He dressed quickly, re-rolled his pack and buckled on his sword. Will was ready a few seconds after him. Halt looked them over, checking that they had all their equipment.
'Let's go,' he said and led the way downstairs. He paid the innkeeper for their stay and they made their way to the stables. The horses nickered a greeting as they entered.
'Halt,' Will asked, once they were on the road, 'why Fingle Bay?'
'We need a ship,' Halt told him.
Will glanced over his shoulder at the town they had just left. They were almost at the top of the hill and the forest of masts was clearly visible.
'There are ships here,' he pointed out and Halt looked at him sidelong.
'There are,' he agreed. 'And O'Malley is here as well. He already knows where we'll be going. I don't want him knowing when we go there.'
'You think he'd try to stop us, Halt?' Horace asked.
The Ranger nodded. 'I'm sure he would. In fact, I'm sure he will. But if he doesn't know when we leave, it may mean we can give him the slip. Besides, the shipmasters in Fingle Bay are a little more honest than that nest of smugglers and thieves back there.'
'Only a little?' Will asked, hiding a grin. He knew Halt had a poor opinion of shipmasters in general – probably due to the fact that he hated travelling by sea.
'No shipmaster is too honest,' Halt replied dourly.
At Fingle Bay, they'd contracted with the master of the Sparrow, a wide-beamed merchantman with enough space for them and their three horses. When the captain heard their destination, he frowned.
'Craiskill River?' he said. 'A smuggler's den. Still, it's a good spot for a landing. Probably why the smugglers use it so often. I'll want extra if we're going there.'
'Agreed,' said Halt. He felt it reasonable to pay the man extra for the risk he was going to take. But not quite as much extra as the captain seemed to think it was worth. Eventually, they settled on a fee and Halt counted it out. Then he added three more gold pieces to the pile on the table in front of them.
The captain cocked an eye at it. 'What's this?'
Halt shoved the money towards him. 'That's for keeping your mouth shut,' he said. 'I'd like to leave after dark and I don't want people knowing where we're headed.'
The shipmaster shrugged.
'My lips are sealed,' he said, then, turning away, he bellowed a string of curses and instructions at several crew members who were loading barrels into the ship's hold.
Will grinned. 'That's a lot of noise for sealed lips,' he remarked.
Now, here they were, a few kilometres from their destination, and O'Malley had found them.
His ship was faster and handier than theirs. It was designed to outrun King's vessels sent to intercept it. And it carried a larger crew then the Sparrow. Will could see their heads lining the bulwarks and see the occasional glint of weapons. At the raised stern, he could make out O'Malley himself, straining at the tiller and keeping the Claw on course.
'We can't outrun them, can we?'
Will started in surprise at Halt's voice, close behind him. He turned to see that the Ranger had left his post in the bow and was now intent on the ship pursuing them. He was pale, but he seemed in control of himself now.
Years ago, on the long trip to Hallasholm, Will remembered discussing seasickness with Svengal, Erak's first mate.
'You need something to take your mind off it,' the burly Skandian had told him. 'When you've got something else to focus on, you don't have time to be seasick.'
It seemed he had been right. Halt's attention was fixed on the smuggler's craft behind them. He seemed to have forgotten his uncertain stomach.
The captain was shaking his head in answer to Halt's question. 'No. We can't outrun them. He's faster than us, and he can point up higher into the wind than I can. He'll either drive us down onto the reef or…' He stopped, not liking the alternative.
'Or what?' Horace asked. He loosened his sword in its scabbard. He'd seen the armed men aboard the Claw as well.
'Or else he'll ram us. The prow of his ship is reinforced. Rumour is he's sunk more than one ship that way.' He glared at Halt. 'If you'd told me that O'Malley would come after you I'd never have taken you on board.'
The faintest hint of a smile touched Halt's pale face.
'That's why I didn't tell you,' he said. 'So what do you plan to do?'
The captain shrugged helplessly. 'What can I do? I can't outrun him. Can't outfight him. Can't even hand you over to him. He doesn't leave witnesses. We're just going to have to stand here and wait for him to sink us.'
Halt raised an eyebrow.
'I think we can do a little better than that,' he said. 'Just let him get a little closer.'
The captain shrugged. 'I can't stop him getting a little closer.' Then he added, 'What are you going to do with that?'
H
alt was unslinging the longbow that was over his left shoulder. At the same time, he hitched the quiver on his right shoulder up a little and selected a shaft. Will, seeing the movement, unslung his own bow.
'One or two arrows won't stop that ship,' the captain told him.
Halt regarded him with some curiosity. 'I asked what you had in mind. Apparently you're content to stand here while O'Malley rams us, sinks us and leaves to drown.'
The captain shifted uncomfortably. 'We might make it to shore,' he said. 'I can throw over empty barrels and baulks of timber to hang onto. We might be able to make it to the beach.'
'More likely we'll be washed into the reef itself,' Halt said. But he wasn't looking at the captain. He'd stepped closer to the rail and had an arrow nocked to the string. His eyes were fixed on the figure at the Claw's tiller. O'Malley had his feet braced wide apart as he dragged on the wooden bar, heaving the ship's bow upwind against the thrust on the sail and the pull of the oars. The whole ship was in a delicate state of balance. Wind, oars and tiller created a triangle of conflicting forces that resulted in the ship holding its present headway. Disturb one of those elements, Halt knew, and the result would be some moments of chaos as the remaining forces took charge.
He gauged the distance and the movement of the ship under his feet. Strange, now that he was concentrating on the problem of making an accurate shot, the nausea caused by that movement had receded. He frowned. The Claw was lifting and falling too. He'd have to factor that in to the shot. He sensed Will beside him, his own bow ready.
'Good lad,' he said. 'When I give you the word, we'll both shoot.'
'I told you,' the captain exclaimed. 'A couple of arrows won't stop that ship. We've little enough chance as it is. If you antagonise O'Malley, he'll make sure we're all dead before he leaves.'
'The way I see it,' Halt said, 'he won't be leaving. All right, Will. Now!'
As if they were linked by some invisible force, the two Rangers raised their bows, drew, sighted and shot. The two arrows sailed away within half a second of each other. Seven The two arrows, with one a little in the lead, arced away into the grey sky. Horace, watching their flight, lost sight of them against the clouds. He was conscious of the fact that Halt and Will had already nocked fresh arrows, ready for the next shot.
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