The Caldera by John Flanagan
“Well done,” the young warrior said sincerely.
Olaf gestured toward the escaping river rats from the first boat as they straggled ashore.
“What do we do about them?” he asked.
Hal shrugged. “We leave them,” he said. “We haven’t room to take them prisoner, and there’s always the chance that they’d rise up against us if we did.”
“Mind you,” Jesper put in, “with Olaf, Thorn and Stig on board, they’d be mad to try it.”
There was a general chorus of agreement and the awkward emotional moment was past. Hal gestured to the twins.
“Raise the sail,” he said. “Let’s rejoin the fleet.”
• • • • •
The little fleet continued its journey downriver with no further interference. They passed Drogha and the pirate stronghold at Raguza, where Hal was sure he felt dozens of baleful eyes turned on them. But he told himself this was fanciful thinking. None of the Raguza pirates felt inclined to try their luck against such a powerful fleet. The three escort vessels cruised close by the traders, setting themselves between the five ships and the port itself.
Two days later, they reached the point where the South Dan flowed into the Constant Sea and the traders dispersed, heading for their individual destinations. The three escorts heaved to close together while the traders sailed past in line astern, waving and cheering the men who had kept them safe on their voyage down the Dan.
When the traders were hull down, with only their masts and sails visible above the horizon, Mannoc ran his ship close alongside. Lines were passed across, and the two ships were drawn together. The tall captain stepped lightly across from one bulwark to the other and greeted Hal and his men with a wide smile.
“Well done—as ever,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure to sail with you Herons—good to know you have our backs. This is for you.”
He passed across a canvas sack that jingled suggestively. Hal weighed it in his hand and raised his eyebrows. It was a lot heavier than he had expected. Mannoc saw his look of surprise.
“The skipper of Southwind contributed a little extra,” he said. Then he amended the statement. “In fact, it was a lot extra. But it was well worth his while.”
“It was a good idea to have us shadow the fleet,” Hal said. “We caught two of the river rat boats napping that way.”
Mannoc nodded. “I’ll bear it in mind for the future,” he said. “But to do it, you need a fast, well-handled ship. And it helps if the rats don’t know how many escorts there will be.”
He paused, studying the neat little ship and its crew. “What’s your plan from here?” he asked.
“We’ll head for Byzantos and see what information we can pick up there,” Hal told him. “We need to find out where Myrgos’s base is, and when he goes raiding.”
Mannoc nodded thoughtfully. “Wish I could help you. I know Myrgos has a base on an island in the east Constant Sea. But the actual location is a well-kept secret. I guess if you’re going to find out more, Byzantos is as good a place as anywhere to start.”
Inadvertently, Hal glanced at the sun. It was already high overhead. Half the day was gone, and like all sailors, he was loath to lose a moment if the winds were favorable. Mannoc saw the look and smiled, reaching out to grasp hands once more.
“Daylight’s wasting,” he said. “And you have a long way to go. Travel safely, Hal, and thanks again for your help. You’re welcome to sail with us anytime.”
“Our thanks to you, Mannoc. It’s always good to give those pirates a beating.”
Mannoc shook hands quickly with Thorn and Stig, then stepped back across onto his own ship. The two crews lined the rails, calling farewells to one another. Then Jesper and Stefan released the lines holding the ships together and they began to drift apart. As the gap widened, Hal made a hand signal to Ulf and Wulf and the twins hauled the big triangular sail up the mast. It filled with a whoomp, and Heron began to move faster through the water, heading in a long curve to the east.
And Byzantos.
chapternineteen
The harbor at Byzantos was huge—many times larger than any port Hal had ever seen.
They crossed the Golden Reach, the large waterway that ran north from the Constant Sea to Byzantos, separating the western landmass from the eastern, and sailed through the harbor entrance, set between two headlands about a hundred meters apart.
Inside, the harbor opened up before them—an immense span of protected water filled with shipping. Fishing boats, traders, warships, ships of all shapes and sizes, all crisscrossed the harbor, setting up an erratic chop as their wakes met from a dozen different directions. Heron bucked and plunged in the disturbed water, and the crew stared openmouthed at the vast mass of shipping moored inside the protective walls.
Hal heaved on the tiller to swing Heron clear of a small trawler that seemed intent on dragging its nets under Heron’s bow.
“Drop the sail and run out the oars,” he ordered, gesturing for Stig to take his position at the stroke oar. Ulf and Wulf complied with his order, with Jesper and Stefan assisting them to bring the large sail down and gather it in, quickly bundling it up and lashing it to keep it from billowing in the wind that blew across the harbor. Heron rocked awkwardly in the chop for a few minutes as the oars were run out, manned by Stig, Stefan, Jesper and the twins. As they settled into their rhythm, Heron began to slip through the water and the plunging, rocking effect of the cross chop was reduced.
“Do you want me rowing?” Ingvar asked. He enjoyed rowing. Secretly, he was amused that when he took an oar, the ship tended to swing off course due to his powerful heaving. As a consequence, Hal rarely called on him to row.
The skirl shook his head now. “We don’t need speed here,” he said. “We need control.” He heaved the tiller over as a four-oared wherry cut under their bow, missing them by mere centimeters. “Particularly with idiots like that around,” he added, yelling an insult after the other craft. He turned to where Thorn was standing behind him, surveying the scene that surrounded them.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Hal asked.
The old sea wolf shook his head. “Never,” he said. “I thought Raguza was one of the busiest harbors I’d ever seen. But this—this is something else altogether.”
Olaf had joined them and Hal addressed his next question to the former guard commander.
“Is it always this busy?” he asked.
Olaf nodded. “Pretty much,” he said. “Ships put in here from east and west. It’s a major trade center, so there’s a lot of shipping passing through. Plus there’s the local fleet, which numbers in the hundreds—fishing vessels, trading vessels and the Empress’s warships, of course.”
He indicated one such—a high-sided galley with two banks of oars down either side. It plowed through the assembled shipping in the harbor, turning neither left nor right. There was a heavy ram visible just below the waterline at her bow, and the timbers themselves were reinforced with brass plates. A sailor stood in the bow, blowing constantly on a braying horn to warn other ships to stay clear.
“Imperial ships have right of way, no matter what. And they tend to enforce it. Don’t get in front of one,” he said.
Hal eyed the heavy warship as it continued its undeviating way toward the harbor mouth. “I’ll remember that,” he commented.
Olaf glanced up at the wind telltale. “Remember not to get downwind of one either,” he said. “The rowing slaves don’t have the best personal hygiene.”
Even as he spoke, a stray gust of wind carried from the galley to where they stood. They all turned their heads away from the stench of unwashed bodies, and worse. The four rowers responded by redoubling their effort, pulling Heron clear of the drifting miasma.
Hal looked around, bemused by the mass of shipping moored all around the huge harbor front, and at buoys and pontoons o
“Where should we moor?” he asked.
Olaf pointed across the water to a large wharf with the universal symbol of a gold circle with two black strokes through it. “There’s the harbor master’s office,” he said. “Head for that and they’ll assign us a berth.”
“But where?” Hal asked, shaking his head as he peered around at the huge number of moored ships. It seemed that every centimeter of space available was in use. “It all looks full.”
Olaf smiled. “You’d be surprised. They’ll find room for us.”
They were lucky. A berth along the main waterfront, close by the commercial district and the serried ranks of inns, taverns and restaurants, had just been vacated by a departing fishing vessel. Since Heron was a small ship, it was an ideal fit for her. There were several larger traders waiting to find moorings, but none of them would fit in the newly empty space. Hal brought the ship in, bow toward the waterfront. At the last moment, the rowers backed water to slow the ship down and he guided her into the space, as easily as threading a needle. Thorn, ready in the bow, leapt ashore and fastened the hawser to a bollard. He leaned his weight against the hawser as Heron drifted in the final few meters, taking the last of her speed off her. Two fishing boats rode in their moorings on either side of the little ship. Jesper sniffed, wrinkling his nose, as he tossed the wicker fenders over the side to protect the hull.
“Ugh. Old fish guts,” he said. “Wish they’d sluice those ships down from time to time.”
Stefan grinned at him. “They’d only be covered in more fish guts and scales within a day or two,” he pointed out.
Jesper grimaced. “Still, it’d be nice to have a day or two without that stink.”
They stowed the oars and furled the sail properly, making the ship neat and tidy for her stay in port. Hal had paid three days’ mooring fees. He, Thorn, Olaf and Stig sat cross-legged on the stern deck, holding a council.
“What do we do now?” Stig asked.
Hal indicated the thronging harbor foreshore close by. “Go ashore and see what we can find out,” he said. “We’ll see if there’s been any further word of this pirate, and what he’s up to.” He smiled. “Who knows, he may have had a change of heart and handed young Constantus back to his mother.”
Olaf nodded agreement. “I know a few tavern keepers who might be able to bring us up to date,” he said. “Tavern keepers tend to hear most of the gossip around a port.”
“Good idea,” Hal said.
But Thorn interposed, frowning. “Will it be safe for you to go ashore?”
Olaf shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
Thorn continued. “You’ve said this Empress is a little unpredictable. Maybe she had a change of heart while you were gone and decided she needs to teach you a lesson.”
Olaf made a small moue. “I doubt it,” he said. “There’s no reason why she should have done that.”
“Empresses don’t need a reason to be difficult,” Thorn said.
Hal nodded agreement. “Thorn may be right,” he said. “We’ll go ashore and check things out. You might be better to stay on board—and out of sight—until we see how things lie.”
Olaf wasn’t happy with the idea. After all, he knew this harbor, and the city. He felt he would be quicker to gather information about the missing boy emperor, and the whereabouts of the pirates who had taken him, than a group of Skandians unfamiliar with the city—and unknown by its inhabitants.
“I think you’re being too careful,” he said. “I’m sure it’s safe for me.”
Hal paused for a few seconds, then came a decision. “No,” he said firmly. “Let’s wait until I’m sure it’s safe. Thorn and Stig and I will go first and check things out. You stay on board until we know it’s safe for you.”
Olaf shrugged resignedly. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Hal replied. He wasn’t sure why he felt there might be a problem for Olaf going ashore. But he’d heard enough about the unpredictability of the Empress, and her impulsive mood swings and temper, to feel an indefinable sense of danger for Stig’s father, in spite of his Olaf’s confidence that all would be well.
As their meeting broke up, Edvin came to Hal with a list of supplies that he wanted to purchase. He was always looking to buy fresh supplies whenever they came into port. “Salted and smoked food will keep a crew alive,” he was known to say, “but fresh food keeps them happy and well fed.”
Hal quickly scanned the list Edvin had prepared and nodded his agreement.
“I don’t know why you feel you have to ask me every time,” he said. “You know I trust your judgment. And you have control of the ship’s purse.”
Edvin shook his head doggedly. “I’ve heard of too many ships where the purser or cook got too greedy. This way, I know someone’s keeping an eye on me.”
Hal laughed. The idea that Edvin would cheat his shipmates was so implausible. He touched his finger against a few items at the bottom of the list: willow bark, warmweed extract and linen bandages.
“Medical supplies?” he asked.
Edvin nodded. “Plus I expect they’ll have items here we haven’t heard of. I’ll spend some time at an apothecary and get some advice.”
Hal glanced at him warmly. Some healers he had seen assumed that they knew it all. Edvin, on the other hand, was always ready to learn new ways and new techniques from foreign sources. That willingness to learn was what made him such a good healer. That train of thought reminded him of something else.
“How’s Lydia’s arm?” he asked. “Should she go ashore and find a local healer?”
Edvin inclined his head. “I’ll ask her,” he said. “But it seems to be healing pretty well.”
As it turned out, Lydia agreed that there was no need for a second opinion on the wound she’d sustained during the battle on the South Dan. She flexed her left arm experimentally, although Hal noted that she did flinch slightly at the end of the movement.
“It’s healing cleanly,” she said. “Maybe a little stiff still, but if I keep working it, that’ll take care of itself.”
“Do you want to come ashore with us?” Hal asked.
She looked doubtfully at the thronging waterfront a few meters away, then shook her head. She was uncomfortable among crowds, and Byzantos was more crowded and noisy than anywhere she had ever seen.
“Maybe tomorrow,” she said.
Hal glanced around. The rest of the crew were sprawled comfortably on the deck, some dozing, others repairing items of kit. Like all sailors, they took every opportunity to rest when they weren’t at sea. Ulf and Wulf, he noticed, were busy practicing with the padlock and the lockpicks that Jesper had lent them. As he watched, he saw Wulf spring the lock open and grin triumphantly at his brother.
“You’re getting good at that,” Hal said.
Wulf beamed with pleasure, but Ulf snorted sardonically.
“I’m better,” he said. He snatched the lock from his brother, slapped the hasp shut, then inserted the lockpicks into the key slot. In a few seconds, there was a loud CLICK and the lock sprang open. Instantly, Wulf snatched the lock back and closed it again. Hal turned away. This could go on all day, he realized.
“Stig and Thorn and I are going ashore. Stay on board until we’ve checked things out. If everything’s clear, you can all go ashore tonight.”
The others nodded. They’d be glad to have a few idle hours with no duties to take care of.
Hal started toward the gangway that led to the dock, then hesitated, taking up his sword belt and swinging it around his waist. Stig, seeing the action, buckled on his own weapons belt, slipping his ax through the iron ring at his side. Thorn was already wearing a short sword in a scabbard. The three of them stepped up on the bulwark, then Hal stopped as
“Oh, all right,” he said, clicking his fingers, and she bounded forward gleefully to join them.
chaptertwenty
The broad thoroughfare that ran along the waterfront was, as they had noted, crammed with taverns, bars and eating houses, all of them crowded, with customers spilling out into the road.
In some cases, customers weren’t just spilling, they were being ejected onto the footpath, to go staggering farther down the street in search of a tavern that might let them in. Some were so confused that they attempted to reenter the place that had just thrown them out. The second time, they were treated far less gently by the tavern keepers and their staff.
Hal frowned at the noisy scene. “Let’s get away from the waterfront,” he said. “I can hardly hear myself think here.”
They took a narrow cobbled path that wound uphill away from the harbor, bringing them to another large street running parallel. This was similarly furnished with taverns and inns, but they appeared to be of a higher quality, and the clientele was less rowdy.
They walked slowly past the establishments on offer, peering at the menus displayed outside the doors. They paused at one, where the mouthwatering smell of grilling meat drifted out to them. The three shipmates exchanged a grin.
“This seems like a likely spot,” Stig said happily. The smell of cooking meat always put him in a good mood.
Hal smiled indulgently. “You think grilled skewers of lamb and good information go together?”
Stig nodded emphatically. “That has been my experience.”
They went in through the open doorway, stooping under the low-hanging lintel. Inside, they paused, allowing their eyes to become accustomed to the dimness, after the bright sunlight outside. Kloof wagged her tail experimentally and emitted a little whine. Like Stig, she enjoyed the smell of grilling meat.