Brotherband: Scorpion Mountain

by John Flanagan

  ‘Probably wouldn’t know what he was doing even if I could see it,’ he said. The others nodded.

  ‘We’ll find out when he’s ready to tell us,’ Thorn said. He’d learned over the years that Hal wouldn’t reveal his ideas until he was ready – probably because, in the past, some of them hadn’t worked out so well.

  ‘Did you want to take a look at the theatre?’ Gilan asked, sensing that Thorn was looking for a diversion from this talk of Hal and what he was up to.

  The bearded warrior nodded. ‘That. And a look at that person who’s been watching us all morning.’

  Involuntarily, they all looked towards the escarpment, where the solitary rider was still silhouetted against the bright sky. The other rider at the edge of the oasis was no longer in sight. But he may have retired into the shade and shelter of the trees there.

  ‘Anyone not interested in a cultural outing to the theatre?’ he asked the group in general.

  Jesper shrugged. He had no wish to study a group of crumbling stones. ‘Include me out,’ he said.

  Gilan raised an eyebrow – a skill he had copied from his long-time mentor, a Ranger named Halt. ‘Interesting way of putting it,’ he said.

  Jesper looked at him curiously. He saw nothing unusual in his statement.

  Thorn gestured around the camp site. ‘Right. You keep an eye on things here. Keep Kloof with you.’ The big dog thumped her tail on the ground at the mention of her name. She was lying on a warm flat rock in the sun, her chin on her forepaws, her eyes constantly busy, watching them. ‘If there’s any sign of trouble, blow that horn and we’ll come running.’

  He indicated a battered ram’s horn hanging from a pole inside the rough guardhouse cum shelter they had built inside the ditch, at the point where they had constructed a gate in the palisade.

  ‘I’ll blow to wake the dead,’ Jesper assured him with a grin.

  Thorn was never comfortable when Jesper said such things. The former thief had a way of sneaking off and avoiding extra duties. Thorn was willing to bet that the moment they vanished into the town, Jesper would be flat on his back snoring. Still, he thought, Kloof would keep a good watch.

  ‘If I come back and find you asleep,’ he said in an ominous tone, ‘you might not wake up yourself.’

  Jesper’s grin widened. ‘Trust me, Thorn,’ he said.

  Thorn raised his eyes to heaven. It was a statement that was almost exclusively said by totally untrustworthy people.

  ‘How I wish you hadn’t said that.’ He turned to the others. ‘All right, let’s get moving.’

  They straggled out of the camp behind him. It was noticeable that, although nothing was said, they brought their weapons with them.

  The mounted figure on the escarpment remained in place as they made their way through the derelict buildings of the town. When they began to climb the slope towards the theatre, he slowly turned his horse’s head and moved away, disappearing from sight. But they had managed to get close enough to make out some details.

  ‘He’s not Tualaghi,’ Gilan observed. ‘His headdress and cloak are red and black, whereas the Tualaghi’s headdresses are blue.’

  ‘Maybe red and black are the Scorpion cult’s colours,’ Lydia observed. ‘Do you want me to climb to the top of the escarpment and see where he’s gone?’

  Thorn shook his head. ‘It’s a safe bet to assume he’s out of reach. He’s mounted and we’re not. He’ll just move away, staying out of bowshot and continuing to watch us.’

  Gilan was pacing the performance area enclosed by the steep tiers of stone benches. He looked around, fascinated by the symmetry of the half circle of seats that rose steeply away into the side of the hill. Ingenious design like this fascinated the young Ranger. He had been in several Toscan theatres in the past and this one conformed to the usual overall design. He knew that the rising arc of seats provided an ideal acoustic setting for the actors who would have performed on the hard-packed sand stage – carrying their every word to each member of the audience. He gestured to the very top row of seats, some thirty metres above them, and said to Thorn, ‘Climb up to the back row and you’ll hear how perfect the acoustics are.’

  Thorn frowned at him. ‘How will I hear that?’ he asked. He didn’t share Gilan’s fascination with scientific matters. Hal might have, but Hal wasn’t here.

  ‘Well, I’ll stay down here and say something. And you’ll hear it.’

  ‘Why should I climb all those stairs when I’m right next to you now. What are you planning to say?’

  The stairs were steep and, since they doubled as seating, each one was the best part of a metre high. Clambering from one to the next would be a considerable effort. But Gilan gestured in frustration. Thorn was missing the point – and Gilan suspected that he was doing so intentionally.

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing important.’

  ‘Then I’m not going to climb all that way for something that’s not very important. If you want to say something to me, just say it now while I’m standing next to you.’

  ‘No. I want to demonstrate . . .’ Gilan began. But he saw a slight gleam of amusement in Thorn’s eye and stopped.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Lydia said. Then, with a wicked smile in Thorn’s direction, she added, ‘After all, those steps do look a little steep for a poor old dodderer like Thorn.’

  And having said that, she ran lightly up the steps, leaping from one to the next with speed and grace until she was at the very top. Thorn glared at her.

  ‘Go ahead. Say something,’ she called. The acoustic properties of the theatre were such that her voice carried clearly to the small group in the centre of the stage.

  Gilan opened his mouth but, as often happens at such times, his mind went blank and he couldn’t think of anything to say. He shut his mouth again. He suddenly felt it was important that he didn’t say something banal or meaningless. In times past, he’d seen theatre assistants and actors testing the acoustics by saying ‘Two! Two! Two!’ repeatedly. But he’d always felt that was vaguely mindless and he didn’t want to say that now. So he hesitated, searching for inspiration.

  Stefan was standing off to one side, an interested spectator. Over the past months, Stefan had begun to feel a sense of frustration. He was a skilled mimic and, growing up in Hallasholm, he had often caused confusion by mimicking important people like the Oberjarl or his hilfmann, or their instructors on the brotherband course. But it had been a long time since he’d had the opportunity to put his unique skill to use and he was missing it. Jesper, on the other hand, had been frequently called upon to employ his ability to open locked doors or padlocks and Stefan was feeling a little deprived by comparison. Now he saw an opportunity for mischief. He moved a few paces away from Gilan and Thorn, turned his back on Lydia high above him, and said, in a perfect imitation of Thorn’s voice:

  ‘You know, Lydia should lay off those honey pastries. She’s getting a bit wide in the beam.’

  Lydia’s head shot up as the comment was carried clearly to her by the curving amphitheatre. She glared at Thorn, who was standing innocently beside Gilan. The comment was all the more pointed because Lydia had developed a weakness for the little layered squares of pastry, honey, walnuts and pine nuts since they had been introduced to them at the guesthouse in Al Shabah. At her request, Edvin had procured the recipe and barely a meal went by when she didn’t help herself to two or three of the delicious treats. Or even three or four.

  ‘You shut up, old man! I’ll give you wide in the beam with one of my darts!’ she shouted at him. Lydia, of course, was anything but wide in the beam. Even though she did indulge in the pastries, she was fit and active and kept herself in excellent shape.

  Thorn looked up in surprise. He could hear the anger in Lydia’s voice, and see it in the way she stood, hands on hips and feet apart, glaring at him. For a moment, he wondered what had set her off. Then he heard a muffled snigger. Stefan was a few metres away, his back turned and his shoulders shaking with suppressed laugher. Stealthily, T
horn moved towards him, measuring the distance to his backside and drawing back one booted foot.

  ‘Owwwww!’ Stefan howled in surprise and pain as a battering ram seemed to smash into his unsuspecting backside, lifting him half a metre off the ground and propelling him several metres across the open space of the stage. He turned and gave Thorn an injured look – injured in both pride and in body.

  Thorn made an exaggerated bow in Lydia’s direction.

  ‘It seems our tame mimic had something he wanted to share, princess,’ he said.

  Lydia transferred her angry glare to the hapless Stefan, who was rubbing his bruised posterior. ‘I’ll settle with you later, Stefan,’ she threatened.

  ‘No need, Lydia. I’m well and truly settled,’ he replied in a miserable tone. He flinched as Thorn stepped closer, but the old sea wolf was planning to speak, not give him a repeat dose of his boot.

  ‘Next time you mimic me, boy, make sure you’re not in kicking range.’

  A very subdued Stefan nodded his head several times. ‘I’ll definitely keep that in mind, Thorn.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THEY TRUDGED SLOWLY back to the camp site. Thorn grinned to himself as he watched Stefan. The mimic was careful to stay well away from Lydia, who still eyed him from time to time with a scowl. At the same time, he contrived to keep a reasonable distance between himself and Thorn.

  The old sea wolf made this more difficult for him by constantly changing his own pace and direction, and straying to within easy kicking distance of Stefan.

  Whenever Stefan noticed, he would shy hastily away, then realise he was getting dangerously close to Lydia, and skip off in a third direction, sometimes taking shelter behind Stig or Ingvar, or one of the others. Whereupon Thorn would repeat his own action and set the whole sequence in train again.

  Gilan noticed the wordless pantomime taking place and smiled quietly. He estimated that, by the time they reached camp, Stefan would have walked three times as far as anyone else in the party.

  As they approached the entryway through the ditch and thornbush barrier, Kloof greeted them with a single, deep bark. Almost immediately, they saw a head appear over the barrier to one side of the entrance. Not Jesper, Thorn noted sourly, but Hal.

  The skirl greeted them cheerfully as they entered. There was an air of suppressed excitement about him that Stig and Thorn had seen before. It told them that, whatever he had been working on, he had been successful.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Hal asked.

  Stig gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘We’ve been absorbing some culture at the theatre.’

  Hal frowned. That didn’t sound like his crew. ‘Why are you limping, Stefan?’

  But before the mimic could reply, Thorn answered for him. ‘He had a problem,’ he said, smiling evilly.

  ‘With his ankle?’ Hal asked.

  Thorn shook his head. ‘With his mouth.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Hal stopped as he digested that statement. It didn’t really make sense but then, Thorn often spoke in riddles. He decided to let the matter drop. He had more exciting things to discuss and to show them. ‘So,’ he said, pausing dramatically, ‘do you want to see what we’ve been up to?’

  Stig and Thorn exchanged a quick glance. They had discussed this on the walk back from the theatre. Hal’s secretive ways could get to be too much after a while and they had decided it was time to take him down a peg or two.

  Thorn pretended to consider the invitation, then shook his head. ‘Naaah. Not really.’

  Stig took his lead from the battlemaster. He feigned a huge yawn and stretched his arms out wide. ‘Think I’ll get in a nap before supper. All that digging has made me sleepy.’

  And then they couldn’t keep it up any longer. Hal’s crestfallen expression was too much to resist. They both burst out laughing, the others in the group following suit.

  ‘Of course we want to see!’ Thorn said, clapping an arm around Hal’s shoulders. ‘We’ve been wondering all day what you’ve come up with.’

  Lydia looked around the camp. ‘Where’s Edvin?’

  Hal gestured with a thumb towards the hippodrome. ‘He’s just putting the finishing touches to the sail.’

  Stig looked at him in surprise. ‘The sail? You’ve been building a ship? Why?’

  Hal grinned at the double questions, then answered them both.

  ‘No and you’ll see,’ he said. The cryptic reply left Stig more confused than before. But Thorn was also looking round the camp site.

  ‘More to the point, where’s Jesper? I left him on watch,’ he said, an ominous tone creeping into his voice. Hal shrugged easily.

  ‘Oh, he was asleep when I came back about ten minutes ago. Kloof barked like mad, but she didn’t wake him. He looked so tired I thought I’d let him sleep on.’

  Thorn’s shaggy eyebrows came together in a scowl. ‘I’ll let him sleep permanently when he wakes up,’ he threatened.

  Hal turned his head to one side curiously. ‘That doesn’t make a lot of sense,’ he said.

  ‘Jesper will understand,’ Thorn replied. He walked to the pole where the ram’s horn was hanging, took it down, then continued to the small tent where Jesper was curled up on his blankets, a cherubic smile on his face. ‘What lovely dreams he must be having.’ Then, raising the horn to his lips, he blew a shattering blast of noise.

  To those watching, it appeared that Jesper levitated straight off his blankets, rising half a metre into the air. Then, suddenly wide awake, he scrambled round on all fours, feeling for the sword that lay beside his sleeping space.

  ‘Alarm! Alarm!’ he cried, his voice breaking with panic and surprise. ‘We’re under attack! Alarm! Al–’

  He tailed off as he realised that his friends were standing around him in a semi-circle. He saw the horn in Thorn’s left hand and understanding dawned on his face.

  ‘Oh . . .’ he said. ‘You’re back then? Just closed my eyes for a second . . .’

  ‘We’ve been back five minutes,’ Thorn said cuttingly. ‘And Hal has been back for longer than that. But of course, you knew that.’

  ‘What? Oh . . . yes. Of course I did. Funny that Kloof didn’t bark. Bad dog, Kloofy!’ He turned to the massive dog, waving an admonishing finger at her. She rolled back her top lip in what could only be construed as a sneer. Hal looked at her, surprised. He’d never seen a dog sneer before.

  ‘I left you on watch, Jesper,’ Thorn said. ‘Remember: Oh yes, Thorn, trust me. I’ll blow the horn to wake the dead. Kloof did her job. But then, she has more brains than you.’ He regarded the dog quizzically. She wagged her tail. ‘And I never thought I’d use the words “Kloof” and “more brains” in the same sentence. If you ever sleep on watch again, you’ll be the permanent bilge bailer for the next two years. Understood?’

  Jesper hung his head in shame. ‘Understood, Thorn,’ he mumbled.

  Thorn regarded him in silence for some seconds. He thought the message had got through – until next time, at least. Then he lightened his mood and turned back to Hal.

  ‘Come on. Show us your latest invention.’

  Hal gestured for them to follow him and they all began to straggle along behind him. Jesper, after a moment’s hesitation, joined in. But Thorn stopped him with a finger prodding into his chest.

  ‘Not you,’ he growled. ‘You stay on guard. And stay awake!’ The last two words were delivered in an angry shout.

  Jesper flinched then nodded hurriedly. ‘Yes, yes! Of course, Thorn! Whatever you say! Tr–’

  Thorn’s eyes blazed with anger and he held that forefinger up in a gesture commanding silence.

  Jesper had a vague memory that he might have said ‘Trust me’ earlier. He hastily changed his statement. ‘Try and stop me! I’ll be here on watch.’

  ‘You’d better be,’ Thorn told him. Then he turned and followed the others on the way to the hippodrome.

  It stood in the centre of the race track outside the stable room where they had discovered th
e chariots.

  It was a large but rather spidery structure – a triangular frame some six metres wide by five long, built from springy bamboo trunks.

  The central spine was made from the thickest piece of bamboo. At the rear end, two outriggers, each three metres long, angled out to either side. They were braced by two struts, bamboo again, running back to the other end of the spine. At the end of each outrigger was one of the chariot wheels. A third was placed at the front of the main spine. That wheel appeared to be free to swivel, with leather ropes running back to a rudimentary seat at the rear end of the spine.

  A series of lighter struts connected the spine to each of the outriggers, creating a triangular platform at the rear third of the spine.

  Rising high above the three-wheeled vehicle was a five-metre length of bamboo, secured at the forward end just behind the steering wheel, and braced by a backstay that held it in a slight curve. A triangular sail had been slipped over this mast – a sleeve sewn into one side of the sail for this purpose. At the base of the mast, a light boom ran backwards, attached to the sail at several points.

  A rope ran through two sets of pulleys – one on the spine and one on the boom – to allow the boom to be controlled by the person occupying the rear seat. Each of the outrigger poles was also fitted with a simple seat, with handholds and footrests, about halfway between the spine and the wheel.

  For several moments, the group looked at this remarkable giant tricycle in awed silence. Finally, Stig asked the question they all had on the tips of their tongues.

  ‘What is it?’

  Hal smiled proudly and moved to stroke the wood near the central seat with a proprietorial air. ‘It’s a land sailer,’ he said. ‘It’ll sail across land rather than the ocean. The sail will catch the wind to power it – and there’s plenty of that. The wheels will help it roll across the desert. I can steer it by the swivelling wheel at the front – just as I’d use a rudder to steer a ship. The bamboo is flexible so it’ll absorb the shock of running on rough ground. I couldn’t manage to rig a second yardarm like the one on Heron, so I’ve used a boom to control the sail at the lower side. It means a smaller sail, but it’s simpler to handle.’