The Caldera

by John Flanagan

  The other helmsman seemed satisfied by this explanation. “Report in when you come back,” he said.

  Hal waved acknowledgment. “I’ll be sure to do that!” he shouted, adding in an undertone, “Whenever that may be.”

  The guard boat sheared away from them, the rowers gratefully reducing their pace. Hal signaled for Ulf and Wulf to tighten the sheets and Heron accelerated, heading for the wide gap that led to the open sea. He realized that Edvin had been standing close by for some minutes, obviously waiting for an opportunity to talk to him. He raised an eyebrow.

  “What can I do for you, Edvin?” he asked.

  “Just thought I’d let you know, I didn’t have time to replenish a lot of the stores we need. The main market day is tomorrow and I was going to do it then. We’ve plenty of water and enough dried and salted food to live on. But I like to give the lads fresh food whenever I can.”

  Hal nodded. “We’ll put in to an island in the next couple of days,” he said. “You can stock up then.”

  Edvin nodded. “That’s fine. You know I hate to miss an opportunity to lay in fresh supplies.”

  Hal grinned. “I do know,” he said. He looked around, saw Olaf standing nearby, looking over the stern at the rapidly receding city. He frowned. There was still something he had to do. He gestured to the tiller.

  “Take over for a few minutes, will you, Edvin?” he said, and the purser-cum-healer hurried to comply. “Just keep her steady on this course. I won’t be long.”

  He stepped down from the steering platform and moved closer to Olaf. Olaf glanced curiously at him, then Hal jerked his thumb for’ard.

  “Come with me,” he said tersely. “We need to talk.”

  They made their way to the bow. Jesper was on the lookout post and Lydia was leaning idly on the rail, watching the staggering variety of craft passing them. She had never seen so many different types of ships and boats in one place. The water fairly teemed with them. She glanced curiously at Hal and Olaf as they made their way for’ard.

  “Give us some privacy, please, Lydia,” Hal said. He was very calm and his speech was measured, but she knew him well enough by now to realize that, beneath the calm exterior, he was seething. She nodded and started aft. Hal glanced up at Jesper.

  “You too, please, Jes,” he said. The lookout slid down and hurried after Lydia, leaving Olaf and Hal alone in the bow.

  Olaf, sensing what this was about, heaved a long-suffering sigh. “All right,” he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shut your mouth,” Hal snapped at him. He kept his voice low. He didn’t want the crew overhearing. But the lack of volume didn’t negate the tone of command in his voice. “Shut your mouth and listen.”

  Olaf had spent the last five years as a commander of the Empress’s guard. He was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. He opened his mouth to demur, but something in Hal’s eyes stopped him. He shrugged, pretending an indifference that he didn’t really feel. Hal waited and locked his gaze on that of the older man. After a long pause, Olaf dropped his eyes.

  “You may think I’m young and inexperienced—someone you can ignore when it suits you. But if that’s the way you’re thinking, let me tell you how wrong you are. I’m the skirl of this ship and the leader of this brotherband. I’ve fought pirates and invaders. I’ve helped liberate two cities. When a raider stole the Andomal some years ago, I led the crew on a journey across the Stormwhite and down the Dan after him. We caught up with him at Raguza and we fought his ship—one twice as big as this and with three times as many men. And we beat him. We sank his ship and left him to drown.”

  He paused, letting this sink in. Then he continued.

  “Since then, I’ve carried out special missions for Oberjarl Erak on half a dozen occasions. He apparently doesn’t think of me as a boy. I’ve fought slavers in Arrida and a death cult in the eastern desert. Last year, we sailed to the far side of the earth and I led the crew in a pitched battle against a tribe of murdering raiders there.

  “All in all, my men and I have fought battles, single ship engagements and personal combats all over the world while you’ve been nursemaiding a pampered young emperor—and apparently not doing such a great job of it.”

  Olaf bristled angrily at those words. He straightened his shoulders to reply, but Hal continued before he could.

  “We’re here to help you, Olaf, not because we have any particular regard for you. We’re here for Stig’s sake. Because we all admire and respect him and you’re his father. As far as most of us are concerned, your record isn’t an impressive one. You’re a thief who betrayed his brotherband and robbed them, then ran off in the night, leaving your wife and son to pick up the pieces.”

  Olaf’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. Hal matched the movement, letting his hand rest on his saxe.

  “Go ahead,” he said evenly. “You’ll be dead before your sword is halfway clear of the scabbard. Trust me. That’s no idle boast.”

  Olaf was an experienced warrior. And that experience was borne of an ability to look at potential opponents and gauge their determination and skill. He saw no sign of hesitation or uncertainty in Hal’s eyes. He saw instead a calm assessment of his own confidence and ability. The lad facing him had a wealth of experience in combat. This was no unskilled river pirate. He’d been trained by Thorn, and Olaf knew Thorn to be a superlative warrior. And Hal was young—with the speed that goes with youth. His hand moved away from the sword hilt.

  Hal’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “That’s better. Now listen, and listen carefully, because I won’t be saying this again. This is your first and only warning. From now on, if I give you an order, you will obey it, without question. Is that clear?”

  Olaf hesitated, then he dropped his eyes. He knew that the young man facing him was right. He was the skirl and his orders were to be obeyed—promptly and to the letter.

  “It’s clear,” he said finally.

  Hal studied him for some time, gauging the level of conviction in his words. Then he nodded briefly.

  “It had better be,” he said finally. “Because here’s the other side of the coin. If you ever, ever, disobey one of my orders again, you will be off this ship so fast your ears will ring. I’ll put you ashore on the first piece of land we come to, even if it’s four square meters of bare rock that only reaches a few centimeters above the high-tide mark. I mean it.”

  Olaf took a deep breath. He needed this ship and this crew to help him rescue the boy emperor. And that meant he needed this skirl as well. He couldn’t afford to alienate Hal again.

  “I understand,” he said softly. Then he raised his eyes and met Hal’s steady, unwavering gaze with his own. For a few moments, their eyes were locked together, then Hal made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  “All right,” Hal said. “That’s settled. Now we need to find a port where Edvin can replenish his precious stores.”

  “And where we can get information about Myrgos,” Olaf added.

  Hal agreed. He gestured toward the stern, stepping aside to allow Olaf to precede him. “Let’s go look at the chart. You know this part of the world better than I do.”

  • • • • •

  “Here.” Olaf stabbed a blunt forefinger at a small island to the southwest of the Golden Reach. Hal leaned over and studied it. Thorn, Hal, Olaf and Stig were grouped around a small folding chart table close to the steering platform. Lydia was currently handling the tiller, and the ship was swooping gracefully over the clear waters of the Adrios Sea—an adjunct of the Constant Sea.

  “Cypra,” Hal said, reading the name. “Why there?”

  Olaf shrugged. “It’s a crossroads. There’s constant traffic there, so it has a well-stocked marketplace. And constant traffic means a good possibility of information.”

  “What are the people?” Thorn asked.

  “They�
�re a mix of Ottomans and Hellenese. About equal numbers of each.”

  “I thought they hated each other,” Thorn said.

  Olaf nodded confirmation. “They do. They’re constantly fighting, always at each other’s throats. But they tend to agree when it comes to cheating foreigners. Tell Edvin to haggle like mad when he’s buying supplies. Even then, he’s liable to pay too much.”

  Hal took one more look at the chart, then checked the wind telltale. It was an unconscious gesture, but one that sailors made constantly. He touched a point on the map that he calculated to be their current position, then placed his sun compass on the chart. He had recalibrated the instrument only that morning, so it showed an accurate reading for north. He laid off a straight edge between their position and the island of Cypra.

  “Maybe a day and a half away if the wind holds,” he said.

  “No reason why it shouldn’t,” Thorn put in.

  His young friend grinned at him. “No reason why it should either,” Hal said. “Particularly when we need it to.”

  “You’re a fatalist,” Thorn told him, matching his grin.

  “I’m a realist,” Hal replied. He turned to call to Lydia. “Bring her around four points to starboard.” Then, raising his voice, he addressed the twins beside the mast. “Trim the sail for the new course.”

  Heron heeled sharply as she came round. Spray cascaded over the bow, showering them all with warm salt water. The sheets creaked as Ulf and Wulf hauled in and allowed her to settle on her new course.

  “Better tell Edvin to get his haggling shoes on,” Hal said.

  PART THREE

  THE CALDERA

  chaptertwenty-four

  There was no harbor as such at Cypra, just an open bay with a long crescent of beach where ships were drawn up above the high-water mark. There were no piers and no infrastructure. The constant feuding between the two indigenous groups meant that there was no civil administration on the island. Neither side would trust the other to take control, hence nobody did.

  On the positive side, that meant there were no harbor fees or mooring charges. Ships arrived, found a space and beached themselves.

  Hal cruised along the beach under oars until he found an open space between a fishing boat and a small freighter unloading a cargo of oil in clay amphoras.

  “Beaching!” he called. He swung the bow of the ship toward the gap between the other two boats.

  Stig peered over his shoulder as he rowed, then, judging his moment, he called to the other oarsmen. “Easy all!”

  They stopped rowing, bringing their oars inboard, and Heron slid smoothly onto the beach, her curved bow letting her run up onto the sand. As she came to a halt, she tilted to one side on her keel, and Jesper sprang over the bow onto the wet sand and ran farther up the beach to set the anchor. The rest of the crew began stowing oars, furling the sail properly and coiling the various ropes and halyards that were no longer required now the ship was immobile.

  Kloof went for’ard and reared up with her forepaws on the bulwark, peering at the land, with her tail wagging heavily. She was a good seadog but always preferred to go ashore when there was dry land nearby. Hal glanced at Thorn and nodded toward the beach.

  “Let’s stretch our legs and give Kloof some exercise,” he said. Stig, as first mate, would oversee the general tidying up and stowing of gear. “Rig the awning,” Hal told him. “It’s going to be a hot day.”

  Stig nodded. The tentlike awning would shade them from the sun as they lay on the beach. Without the breeze of their motion, it would soon become insufferably hot on board. Ingvar and Stefan were preparing to drop over the side with props to level the ship on the sand—after a few hours, it became tiring to stand and sit on a sloping deck. Ingvar’s enormous strength would allow him to heave the ship upright while Stefan placed props under the hull to keep it level.

  Lydia, without any task to do, saw Thorn and Hal moving to the bow.

  “Going ashore?” she asked, and when Hal nodded, she added, “Mind if I come with you?”

  Hal grinned. Unlike the rest of them, Lydia hadn’t been brought up around boats and the sea. She was always keen to go ashore—except in places like Byzantos, where the mass of people and buildings crowded in on her. By contrast, the long, open beach was an inviting sight.

  “Can’t wait to get off our little floating home?” he asked.

  She smiled in return. “It’s nice enough. But it gets smaller with every day we’re aboard.”

  “Ships will do that,” Thorn chipped in. “Even the biggest ones shrink after a week at sea.”

  Kloof had heard them coming and she turned now, still propped up against the rail, her tail wagging faster and an expectant look on her face. Hal clicked his fingers and gestured overside.

  “Go on,” he told her.

  Without hesitation, she scrambled her back legs up onto the bulwark, then sprang down to the beach. Feeling the soft, giving sand under her paws, she streaked off in a huge semicircle, her tail streaming behind her, her ears flapping madly with each bound. A fisherman from the neighboring boat, sitting cross-legged on the sand mending his nets, smiled at the big, lolloping dog.

  “He’s happy,” he said to Hal as the skirl dropped lightly over the side and onto the sand.

  “He’s a she,” Hal corrected him, but he kept his tone friendly. “And she does love to get ashore.”

  Kloof, seeing her humans had climbed down to the beach, came rocketing back to them and dropped belly down in the sand, her hindquarters tensed, ready for a game. Hal leaned down to ruffle her ears.

  “Calm down, you big idiot,” he said fondly. Kloof raised herself, then moved over to sniff the malodorous pile of fishing nets. Hal could see what was about to happen and scolded her quickly. “Get out of that!”

  “She’s all right,” the fisherman said tolerantly. He liked dogs, and this one was obviously good-natured. “She can’t do any damage.”

  “Maybe not,” said Hal, “but she’s liable to roll in them and it’ll take me weeks to get the stink out of her. Nothing worse than a wet dog who smells of dead fish.”

  Reluctantly, Kloof moved away from the nets, giving Hal a reproachful look. The fisherman studied her with interest. He’d never seen a dog like her before.

  “She’s a big one, isn’t she?” he said, reaching out to fondle her ears. Sensing a friend, Kloof angled her head to one side, allowing him to scratch under her chin and around her ruff, her eyes half closed with pleasure. “What is she?”

  “She’s a mountain dog,” Hal told him. “We’re from Skandia, way north of here. She’s big, but she’s very friendly.”

  “Best keep her away from that lot, then,” the man said, nodding his head to the eastern end of the beach.

  Following the direction he’d indicated, Hal could make out a long, low-slung black ship. It was nearly three times as big as Heron, and pierced for fifteen oars a side. There was a square-rigged sail furled on the cross yard of its single mast.

  “Who’s that?” Hal asked, although instinct was beginning to tell him who it might be. The fisherman’s next words confirmed it.

  “She’s the Vulture,” he said. “Myrgos’s ship.” The dislike in his voice was all too obvious. Lydia, Hal and Thorn exchanged a look.

  “Myrgos?” Hal said. “He’s the famous pirate captain, right?”

  The fisherman leaned over and spat in the sand. “Infamous is more like it. He’s started his summer cruise, which is why I’m ashore, mending nets while he’s in the area.”

  “Why would he bother a fisherman?” Thorn asked, his tone friendly. “Last I heard, you people aren’t exactly rolling in riches.”

  “He does it because he can,” the fisherman replied. “He’ll sink, burn and destroy any ship he sees, just for the sake of it. He’s an evil, cruel swine of a man.”

  “But you say he likes d
ogs,” Hal said. It seemed at odds with the description of the man.

  The fisherman shook his head. “He doesn’t like them. He breeds them for fighting.”

  Hal screwed up his lips in a gesture of distaste. “Kloof here’s not a fighter,” he said. “She’ll protect any of our crew if they’re in trouble, but she won’t start a fight.”

  “That’s why he’d want her. He looks for big, powerful dogs—but dogs that aren’t aggressive. And he uses them to train his fighting dogs. He trains his dogs to kill, you see. So a dog like yours would put up a good resistance, but it would lack the killer instinct that his fighting dogs have been taught.”

  Thorn made a sound of disgust, and Hal looked at his dog. She had discovered something under the sand and was pawing with her left foot to reveal it, her head cocked to one side. She sensed his glance and looked up at him, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

  “I don’t know how anyone could mistreat a dog,” he said quietly.

  The other man shrugged. “He’s been doing it for years. I suppose if you’re prepared to kill and torture people without mercy, dogs don’t really rate a second thought. Best keep her where he can’t see her. If he does, he’ll offer to buy her. And if you refuse, he’ll take her anyway.”

  “He could try,” Thorn said grimly.

  The fisherman looked at him, assessing him. His gaze took in the missing hand and the wooden hook. For all that loss, the bearded Skandian looked like he’d be a tough nut to crack.

  Meanwhile, Hal had sensed this was their opportunity to get more information about Myrgos. It was a heaven-sent coincidence that they had chosen to beach beside this particular ship.

  “You said he’s started a summer cruise,” he said. “How long does that last?”

  “Two, maybe three months if the pickings are good. He’ll range around the Adrios, up to the edge of the Golden Reach. Then he’ll head back to the mouth of the South Dan to see what’s happening there. He stays out to sea. The pirates at Raguza don’t make him welcome—they don’t like competition. Then he’ll make his way through the smaller islands, sinking and burning anything he can put his hands on, before he returns to his base.”