The Hunters

by John Flanagan

  Her eyes lit up with pleasure as she saw her weapons belt, with the atlatl handle clipped to it and the dirk in its long scabbard, lying beside the keel box where she had dropped it. The dirk was a plain, utilitarian weapon, devoid of any decoration or fine workmanship. A simple straight blade with a wooden handle and a brass crosspiece. Only Lydia knew how fine was the quality of the steel that formed the blade. Obviously it had attracted no attention from the searchers.

  She buckled it on, setting it below the other, narrower belt she wore over her long shirt. She welcomed its familiar weight around her waist. Without it, she realised, she had felt something was missing.

  The sentry’s slow, dragging footsteps were coming back. She lay full length in the rowing well, in case he decided to inspect the Heron. She heard the footsteps pass, then continue to the landward end once more.

  This time, he must have paused again. She couldn’t blame him. It was a deadly boring job that he had, pacing up and down a jetty past two empty ships.

  Well, empty most of the time, anyway.

  He was on the move again. Peering over the top of the rowing well, she could see his head and shoulders moving away. The spear was tilted over his shoulder now. Before too long, she thought, he’d probably lean it against the wall of the small office built at the outer end of the jetty and continue without it.

  He disappeared from her field of vision. She climbed out of the rowing well and slid across the central decking on her belly. At the landward side, she raised herself to peer carefully over the top of the jetty. He was two-thirds of the way along his route, giving her plenty of time to get away. She heaved herself up onto the jetty, then, in a crouch, moved to the darker side. Checking once more that he was still heading away from her, she ran lightly to the riverfront, crossing the street and merging into the shadows on the far side.

  Reaching the end of his beat, the sentry yawned and spat into the black water of the river.

  Another uneventful night, he thought morosely. Nothing ever happened in this town.

  ‘I think you should get up and move around,’ Edvin said. Hal frowned at him.

  ‘You do realise that I’m battered and bruised all over, don’t you?’

  Edvin nodded. ‘That’s exactly why you should move around. Otherwise you’ll stiffen up and it’ll be even harder to move when we get out of here.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ Stig said.

  Hal glared at him. It was all very well for Stig to think so. He wasn’t bruised and aching all over.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like me to dance a little jig? That’ll get everything loosened up and working.’

  Stig shrugged good-naturedly. ‘If that’s what you want to do, go ahead.’

  Hal muttered something highly uncomplimentary. It had to do with the comparative intelligence of Stig and a senile billygoat. But he allowed Edvin to help him to his feet, groaning as the movement stretched his bruised muscles and ribs.

  Ingvar hovered close by. ‘Are you all right, Hal?’ he asked.

  Hal eyed him balefully. ‘Of course I am. I’m making these strange noises because I’m overjoyed with the waves of agony that are running through my body,’ he said, through clenched teeth.

  He took a few tentative steps, supported by Edvin. The healer was right, he thought, although he wasn’t going to admit it. Moving was probably the best thing for his aches and pains. Slowly, he paced the length of the cellar, feeling the stiffness begin to work its way out of his muscles. He was young and very fit, and the injuries, although painful, were superficial. They reached the end of the cellar and he turned to retrace his steps. Edvin remained close by him, but now he was supporting less of his weight, leaving Hal to make his own way.

  ‘Jesper! Are you there?’

  It was Lydia’s voice, coming from the high, barred window. All eyes turned to the narrow slit and they saw her fingers once more, fluttering in greeting. Hal stepped away from Edvin’s supporting arm, forgetting his aches and pains, and hurried to stand under the window. Jesper was only half a pace behind him.

  ‘Lydia!’ he called softly. ‘Did you get Jesper’s tool kit?’

  ‘Hal?’ He could hear the relief in her voice. ‘You’re all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. Did you get the tools?’ he repeated. Her hand disappeared as she withdrew it. A few seconds later, they saw the grey canvas wallet beginning to appear as she pushed it through two bars.

  ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘Here it comes.’

  Jesper gave a quick nod of appreciation. ‘Excellent!’ he said, positioning himself under the spot. ‘Let it come.’

  The wallet, some twenty centimetres long by nine wide, slid through the bars, teetered for a moment on the edge of the sill, then dropped with a soft metallic clink into Jesper’s waiting hands. Jesper quickly untied the thong securing it and checked the contents, satisfying himself that everything was in place.

  ‘Yes!’ he whispered triumphantly.

  ‘Is that it?’ Lydia asked apprehensively. She had a sudden fear that she might have brought the wrong tool kit. After all, she had no idea what lock-picks looked like.

  ‘From the look on Jesper’s face, that’s it, all right,’ Hal replied. ‘Good work, Lydia. Did you have any problems finding it?’

  ‘Not too many. They’ve moved the Heron to a different mooring. Took me a few minutes to find it,’ she replied. Then she added, ‘Oh, and it looks as though somebody has searched the ship.’

  ‘Doutro had that done. He was trying to find the strongbox.’

  ‘Thought it might be that. How long will it take for Jesper to open the door?’

  Hal looked at Jesper, who had already moved to the heavy iron gate. He repeated the question. Jesper frowned, studying the lock.

  ‘Give me a few minutes. It’s a pretty old lock. Shouldn’t take too long.’

  Hal repeated the information to Lydia. She paused a few seconds, then replied.

  ‘I’m feeling a little obvious lying here on the paving stones with my face against the window. I’ll wait for you in the alleyway across from the main entrance.’

  ‘We’ll see you there,’ he replied. Again, her hand appeared through the bars, the fingers fluttering briefly in farewell. Then he heard her soft footsteps receding. Hal turned to see how Jesper was managing at the door.

  The keyhole, of course, was on the outside of the door and Jesper had to reach out through the bars to work on it. He studied the strangely shaped tools in his kit, then selected two. One was a thin bar with the end twisted down at right angles. The other was much the same thickness, although twice as long. Its end was bent in a shallow arc, about a third of the circumference of a circle. The other end of each pick widened into a flat surface that allowed him to get a good purchase on the tool.

  He reached through the bars with the first tool, pursing his lips in concentration as he worked entirely by feel, inserting the pick a few millimetres into the lock, then turning it slightly. There was a very faint click and he nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Got that part,’ he said. ‘Bit tricky. I usually work from the other side. I’m used to breaking in, not out.’

  He glanced around and saw Stig watching, fascinated – as they all were. He jerked his head at the tall boy.

  ‘Here, Stig, come and hold this steady while I work the other one,’ he said. Stig stepped forward to stand beside him. He reached through the bars, on the side opposite to where Jesper was working, and gingerly took hold of the flattened end of the pick as Jesper relinquished it.

  ‘Hold it still,’ Jesper told him. ‘That one turns the whole lock just a little and frees up the other tumblers.’ He reached through the bars with the curved pick. ‘Then I should be able to run this one along them and release them.’

  He frowned in concentration as he attempted to do this. The watching crew held their breath. Jesper muttered angrily as his first attempt failed and the crew released a concerted sigh of frustration. He turned and grinned at them.

 
‘Early days yet. It’s stiffer than I expected. Let me have that one back, Stig.’

  He placed the curved pick between his teeth and took the right-angle one back from Stig’s grasp. He jiggled it slightly. Once more they heard the faint clicking sound, and he nodded for Stig to take hold again. Then he went back to work with the curved pick, easing it into the lock and feeling with sensitive fingers for the slight resistance on each of the successive three tumblers that held the lock in place.

  There was another click. Then another in swift succession. Jesper’s brow knitted in concentration as he slid the pick further into the keyhole, feeling the inner workings of the lock. His wrist was bent back at a ninety-degree angle so that the further he inserted the pick, the weaker his leverage became.

  Finally, the watching crew heard a third click and Jesper expelled his breath in a satisfied hiss. He slid the curved pick free and grinned at Stig.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Turn yours. Gently, but firmly.’

  Stig hesitated. He had no idea what Jesper had been doing and he didn’t want to mess up the whole procedure. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Left,’ said Jesper, then hurriedly corrected himself before Stig could obey. ‘No! Right!’

  Stig glared at him. ‘Which is it?’

  Jesper grinned. ‘Right. Sorry. I forgot we were working backwards here.’

  Shaking his head, Stig began to turn the pick he was holding. For a moment nothing happened and he increased the pressure.

  ‘Gently,’ Jesper cautioned him.

  Stig gritted his teeth. ‘I just tried gently. It didn’t work.’ He twisted the flattened metal, gradually building up the pressure. Suddenly, there was a loud, metallic clank, and the lock opened.

  A low chorus of approval came from the crew. Jesper patted Stig’s muscular shoulder.

  ‘Just as I said, gently but firmly,’ he said.

  Stig wiped his hand across his forehead. He hadn’t realised that he had been sweating. Then he pushed the gate open a few centimetres, worried that it might somehow re-lock itself, and removed the pick from the lock, handing it back to Jesper.

  ‘One day,’ he said, ‘I’ll get you to tell me how that worked.’

  ‘It’s simple, really,’ the thief began. ‘The lock has three –’ He stopped as Stig held up a hand.

  ‘I said one day. I’m sure it’s fascinating. But right now, we have to get out of here.’

  ‘Any ideas, Thorn?’ Hal asked. He was the captain, but Thorn was their battle commander and Hal had the feeling there might be a bit of fighting in the near future.

  ‘Let’s be subtle,’ Thorn said. ‘We’ll go up the stairs to the guardroom as quietly as possible. Then we’ll bash anyone who’s there and head for the main door. Anyone else gets in our way, we give them the same treatment.’

  ‘That’s subtle?’ Stefan asked.

  Thorn looked at him and shrugged. ‘It’s as subtle as I get. The bit about going up the stairs quietly is subtle,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I should have said “uncomplicated”.’ He turned towards the now open gate, but a voice from further back in the cellar stopped him.

  ‘What about me?’ It was Pedr, his hands held out, palms upwards, in a gesture of supplication.

  ‘What about you?’ Hal asked. ‘You’re free to come with us.’

  ‘But I don’t want to come with you,’ Pedr objected, his voice high-pitched. ‘Once my wife pays Doutro my bribe, I’ll be free. But if I escape with you, he’ll come looking for me and I’ll have to leave Bayrath.’

  ‘Then stay here,’ Hal told him.

  But again, Pedr objected. ‘If I stay here and don’t raise the alarm that you’ve gone, he’ll take it out on me,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you tie me up or something?’

  Hal glanced around the cellar and shook his head. ‘There’s nothing to tie you up with,’ he pointed out. But Stig placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘I think I have an idea,’ he said. He crossed the cellar to where Pedr stood. He smiled at the gambler, who smiled nervously back, not sure what Stig had in mind. Then Stig hit him with a blinding right cross that sent him sprawling. Luckily, there was a pile of dirty straw to break his fall. He lay spread-eagled on it, out cold.

  ‘I was growing a little tired of his whining,’ Stig explained to the others.

  Thorn grinned at him. ‘Nice work, Stig,’ he said. ‘Very subtle.’

  ‘About as subtle as a bull walrus,’ Stefan commented and Thorn eyed him innocently.

  ‘Bull walruses can be very subtle . . . when they choose.’

  ‘Shall we leave?’ Hal suggested mildly. ‘Lydia will be wondering what’s happened to us.’

  They went through the guardroom like a hurricane. Thorn, Stig, Ulf and Wulf led the way and the jailer and the three guards had no chance. In seconds, they were sprawled unconscious on the floor.

  At least here, there were materials available to make sure the guards didn’t raise the alarm when they regained consciousness. There were at least a dozen sets of manacles hanging from pegs along the wall. Hal and Stefan took two each and passed them to Stig and Thorn. They chained one man’s wrist to the next man’s ankles so that they were contained in a tangled mass. Then Ingvar took a cloak hanging inside the door and tore it into long strips, which they used to gag the unfortunate men.

  Edvin studied the sprawling heap of bodies.

  ‘Aren’t we making it a bit obvious that we’ve gone?’ he asked.

  Hal tilted his head thoughtfully. ‘The unlocked cell makes it obvious,’ he said. ‘This just makes it unanimous.’

  They encountered nobody else on their way to the main entrance on the ground floor. This was an administrative office, after all, not a garrison post, and most of the daytime staff had gone home.

  As they emerged onto the street, looking around cautiously, a low voice called to them from the entrance of an alley opposite. It was Lydia, concealed in the shadows, and they hurried to join her.

  ‘This way,’ Lydia said, pointing down the alley in the direction that led to the riverfront.

  Thorn hesitated, peering back at the Gatmeister’s office building, and at the lighted window showing on the third floor.

  ‘He’s up there, isn’t he?’ he said.

  Lydia followed the direction of his gaze and nodded. ‘Probably. That’s about where his office should be. What about it?’

  Thorn shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’d like to pay him a visit – after what he did to Hal.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ingvar said, looming out of the shadows to stand at the alleyway entrance with Thorn.

  ‘Forget it,’ Hal said crisply. There was an unmistakable note of command in his voice and they turned towards him. ‘We’re free and nobody’s looking for us. If you go back there now, you’re taking the risk that we’ll be discovered.’

  ‘I’m willing to take the risk,’ Thorn said and Ingvar nodded agreement. But Hal was adamant.

  ‘You’re not just risking it for yourself. You’re risking all of us, just for the sake of a few minutes’ revenge. I’m the one with the bruises and I say we forget it. We can deal with Doutro another time.’

  For a few seconds, Thorn looked as if he were going to rebel. But then he relented, grinning at his young friend.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I guess that’s why you’re the skirl.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Hal replied. ‘Now let’s go and get our ship back.’

  With Lydia leading the way, they moved in pairs through the darkened alleys and narrow streets. As she had done earlier, they occasionally encountered other figures moving stealthily through the shadows. But one look at the large party of determined young Skandians was enough to send them skulking back into the shadows.

  Now that she was sure of the way, it took Lydia only a few minutes to lead them to the waterfront, and to the dock where Heron was impounded. They stood in the shadows of a ship’s chandlery building opposite the jetty, studying the situation.

  ‘There’s one guard,’ Lydia told
them. ‘There he is now.’

  The sentry was making his slow journey back down the jetty towards the street.

  ‘How do we deal with him?’ Hal asked.

  Stig grinned. ‘I suggest we try the subtle approach again. Wait here.’

  As he went to step out into the well-lit street, Hal caught his arm. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Stig jerked a contemptuous thumb at the sentry, who had stopped to scratch himself.

  ‘Look at him! He’s bored to tears. He’s not expecting any trouble. My guess is he’ll be grateful for a little light conversation.’

  Hal considered his friend’s reply. He decided that he was probably correct. The jetty wasn’t any sort of high-security area, after all. The entrance from the street was open and unsecured. The guard was probably posted there as an afterthought. He nodded.

  ‘All right. But be careful,’ he said. He saw the flash of Stig’s teeth as his friend grinned at him.

  ‘I’ll be subtle. That’s pretty much the same thing.’

  He stepped out into the street and crossed to the far side, thumbs thrust through his belt. He whistled a rather tuneless air as he went, peering at the ships in the basin, making no attempt at concealment. The sentry, noticing him, looked up curiously. As Stig had suggested, he was glad for any break in his boring routine.

  Stig sauntered along the road to the end of the jetty, then seemed to take notice of the ship moored beyond Heron. He stopped and looked more closely at her, then started down the jetty. The guard stepped out to bar his path, the spear held casually across his body.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he challenged. Stig took one hand out of his belt and pointed at the larger ship.

  ‘Just wanted a look at that ship. She’s a neat craft, isn’t she?’ The ship was trimmed with polished timber and brass fittings that caught the uncertain lantern light in the basin. She was freshly painted and in excellent condition. From her well-kept appearance, she was obviously not a working boat.