The Caldera by John Flanagan
They were met by a waiter, recognizable as such by the long white apron tied round his waist and extending down to his shins. He glanced doubtfully at Kloof. Most taverns and inns had no restrictions on dogs in the bar, but this was a very large dog indeed.
“Is that dog of your likely to cause trouble?” he asked suspiciously.
Hal smiled winningly at him. “Bless you, no. She’s as peaceable as your old granny.”
The waiter’s frown deepened. “My old granny is always starting fights,” he said. “She set off a riot in here last month. Cracked the skull of one of the watch with a chamber pot.”
“Well, Kloof is hardly likely to do that. She doesn’t have a chamber pot,” Hal told him. He gestured for Kloof to sit and she did so, lolling her tongue out the side of her mouth and grinning disarmingly at the waiter.
“As you can see,” Hal continued, “she’s full of love and kindness.”
“Hmmm,” said the waiter, unconvinced, but weakening. “I’ll sit you near the door here. But any trouble and you’re out.”
“If your kitchen could spare a big beef bone, that’d ensure she remains peaceable,” Hal suggested.
The waiter nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. I suppose the rest of you want something less basic?”
“Oh yes,” Stig replied happily. “Bring us a dozen lamb skewers to start.” He paused and looked at his friends. “Did you two want something as well?”
Hal sighed. “Better make it two dozen skewers,” he said to the waiter, who made a note on the slate that hung from his waist.
“One beef bone, two dozen skewers. Any ale?”
“Coffee,” Thorn said. “For all of us.”
The waiter made another note, then turned away toward the kitchen. The three friends relaxed. Kloof remained sitting by Hal’s side and he fondled her ears idly. She inclined her head to his touch and rumbled with pleasure. There were few things Kloof enjoyed more than the undivided attention of her master.
One of those things was a bone, however, and when the waiter returned with a massive shinbone, she sat up a little straighter and trembled with expectation. The waiter eyed those massive jaws tentatively, then offered the bone to Hal.
“You give it to her,” he said. “I need all the fingers I’ve got.”
Hal accepted the bone and showed it to Kloof, who drooled alarmingly. He held up an admonishing finger.
“Be nice,” he said, and offered the bone to her. She took it delicately, then, with the bone clamped firmly in her massive jaws, she allowed her front paws to slide out from under her until she was lying on the floor beside the table. She turned her head to one side and gnawed blissfully on the bone, her eyes closed in pleasure. The waiter shivered slightly at the sound of jaws grinding bone.
“You’ve made a friend for life,” Hal told him.
He shook his head and turned back to the kitchen. “I’ll bring your skewers,” he said.
Stig grinned. “Then you’ll have made two friends for life.”
A serving girl brought them a coffeepot and three mugs, and Stig filled them and passed them around. The three friends pushed back from the table a little, stretching their legs and relaxing. It was good to be ashore after weeks on board ship.
Hal glanced around at the neighboring tables. There were four men seated at the next table, finishing off a large platter of skewers and a green salad. Hal nodded a greeting and their leader, a man with his hair in four thick pigtails, nodded back.
“New in town, are you?”
“Just got in from the South Dan,” Hal replied.
The man studied them for a few seconds, taking in their leather and sheepskin vests, the sealskin boots and heavy woolen trousers—and their weapons.
“Skandians, are you?” he asked. He seemed to have a habit of making a statement, then following it with “are you?” to turn it into a question.
“That’s right,” Hal said. “You?”
“Gallicans,” the man replied briefly. “We’re waiting on a cargo of coffee for Toscana. Been waiting eight days.” He leaned forward slightly. “If you don’t mind my offering a piece of advice, you’d be best to keep a low profile at the moment. Skandians aren’t too popular with the Empress—may the gods bless her name.” He added the last in an ironic tone.
Hal raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Why’s that? We’d heard she preferred hiring Skandians for her palace guard. Thought we might see if we could get a job with them.”
“At the moment, she’s a good woman to steer clear of,” Pigtails told him. “She’s unpredictable and dangerous at the best of times, but since her son was taken by the pirate Myrgos, she’s worse than ever. Apparently, the commander in charge of the detail guarding her son when he was taken was a Skandian.” He glanced at one of his companions. “What was his name again, Aristide?”
The second Gallican looked up from the remains of his meal. “Whose name?”
“The Skandian guard commander. Remember, that tavern keeper was telling us about him the other night?”
“Oh, him. Yes. It was Olin or Odin or something like that.” He frowned, thinking. “Olaf!” he said as he remembered. “That was it. Olaf someone-or-other. She’s put out a reward for him.”
The three Skandians exchanged a worried glance. This was an unpleasant surprise.
“Why didn’t she just order him to get the boy back?” Hal asked, choosing his words carefully, and trying to sound indifferent.
Pigtails shrugged. “Well, she did at first. But when that didn’t bring any immediate results, she lost patience. I’m told she does that quite frequently,” he said with a grin. Then he frowned slightly. “You don’t know this fellow, do you?”
The three Herons hastened to deny any knowledge of Olaf.
“Probably a good thing,” he said. “The way she is, she’d probably have his friends arrested as well. Or instead of. She’s put posters up all over the city, offering a reward for his capture.”
“We’ll bear it in mind,” Thorn said, and looked up as the waiter arrived with their platters of sizzling grilled skewers. He turned his attention to the food as it was laid in front of him. “Nice talking to you,” he said to the Gallican, who nodded sociably and turned back to his own friends.
As he leaned forward to take a couple of the skewers, Stig spoke in a lowered voice. “Maybe we’d better—”
Hal cut him off with a quick hand gesture. Stig’s lowered voice could carry to the four corners of the room if he wasn’t careful.
“Eat your meal. Then we’ll be on our way,” he said, a warning expression on his face as he let his eyes glance quickly around the crowded room. Stig followed his eye movement and nodded, understanding. This was not the place to discuss Olaf’s predicament. He applied himself to the food, eating quickly. Even his concern for the new situation didn’t stop him from appreciating the meal. He polished off half a dozen skewers in rapid order, then took a deep draft of his coffee, smacking his lips in appreciation.
After five minutes, Hal judged that they had eaten enough of the meal to leave without drawing undue notice to themselves. He signaled to the waiter for the reckoning, counted out a handful of silver coins and pushed back from the table. Kloof rose reluctantly from her position between his feet, the huge bone clamped firmly in her jaws.
Nodding farewell to the pigtailed man, who raised his shoulder in a typical Gallic gesture, Hal led the way out into the street. The three friends formed a circle, leaning in close together to make sure they weren’t overheard. Hal cast a swift glance back to the tavern to make sure the Gallican wasn’t watching them. If he saw them engaged in an urgent discussion like this, so soon after learning about the predicament facing their countryman, he might put two and two together and decide that they knew Olaf, and his whereabouts. But the Gallican had remained inside, obviously having no further interest in them.
Hal nodded. “I’m not sure why I did. I just had a premonition. We’d better get back to the ship and make sure he stays out of sight.”
As they hurried back downhill toward the harbor, Thorn suddenly stopped and pointed to a large sheet of parchment pasted to a stone wall. They moved closer. The sheet contained a rough, but reasonably recognizable, sketch of Olaf, and a notice of the reward of one thousand crowns for his arrest.
“Not a bad likeness, unfortunately,” Hal said. He glanced down the street and noticed several other similar notices. “He said they were all over the city.”
“Didn’t see them on the way up,” Stig said.
Thorn shook his head. “We weren’t looking for them then.”
They redoubled their pace, moving down the winding street at a jog. Hal felt a sense of relief as the ship came in sight. He’d half expected to see crowds of soldiers milling around it, calling for Olaf to surrender. But everything seemed normal.
But everything was definitely not normal. As they approached down the quay, Edvin saw them coming and sprang ashore, running to meet them.
“We’ve got trouble,” he said. “Olaf went ashore shortly after you left and he’s been arrested.”
chaptertwenty-one
Arrested?” Hal asked, his voice rising in disbelief. “Where? How?”
“He decided to go ashore after you’d gone—” Edvin began, but Hal interrupted him.
“I told him to stay on the ship! Who let him go ashore? Gorlog’s teeth, doesn’t anyone do what they’re told these days?”
Edvin spread his hands in a defensive gesture. “Don’t kill the messenger, Hal. I’m simply telling you what happened. I reminded him that you’d said he should stay aboard, but he ignored me. What did you want me to do, tie him up?”
Hal calmed down and raised a hand apologetically. “Sorry, Edvin. Not your fault. If someone’s determined to be an idiot, they will be one. So what happened?”
“He said there was a tavern along the waterfront where he’d be able to get good information about the pirate—Myrgos. The tavern keeper was an old friend and he always had his finger on the pulse, Olaf said. He waited till you were out of sight, then he took off.”
“Why didn’t he simply tell us about this tavern keeper? We could have questioned him.”
Edvin shook his head. “I suggested that. But he said the man wouldn’t talk to strangers.”
Hal shook his head in frustration. Edvin continued. “I sent Ulf and Wulf after him to keep an eye on him. Just in case there was any trouble.”
“Good thinking, Edvin,” Hal said. “And I take it there was trouble?”
“Yes. They were almost at the tavern when a brawl broke out. Half a dozen thugs started beating up a young man who was out with his girlfriend. Olaf intervened and the thugs turned on him.”
“At least his heart’s in the right place,” Thorn remarked.
Hal turned to him. “Even if his brain’s not,” he said. Then, seeing Stig’s concerned expression, he added, “Sorry, Stig.”
The first mate waved the apology aside. “I tend to agree with you.”
“Anyway,” Edvin continued, “someone called the watch and a patrol arrived and arrested everyone involved, marching them off to the watch house.”
“At least it has nothing to do with those posters offering a reward for him,” Hal said. That had been his first concern when he heard about the arrest.
Edvin raised his eyebrows. “A reward? For what?”
“The Empress has had time to reconsider her position,” Hal told him. “She’s now convinced that Olaf is to blame for her son’s capture and she wants him arrested.”
“Well, that could be awkward,” Edvin said. “But so far the arrest has nothing to do with that. As far as I know, he wasn’t recognized.”
Hal was glancing around the ship, studying the crew who were standing by, listening keenly. He realized that Ulf wasn’t present.
“Where’s Ulf?” he asked, a nasty suspicion forming in his gut.
Edvin sighed. “I’m afraid he was arrested too. He tried to drag Olaf out of the fight and he got caught up as well. They’re both in the watch-house jail with the others. They’ll be brought before a magistrate the day after tomorrow.”
“At which time he’ll probably be recognized,” Hal said. A watch-house jailer might not recognize the former guard commander, but a magistrate most likely would. “Is there any chance we could break him out before then?”
Edvin looked doubtful. “It’s a pretty solid building—made of stone with only one entrance. There are half a dozen guards in the upper room. The prisoners are all in one big cell on the ground floor.”
“Hold on, how do you know that?” Hal asked.
Edvin indicated Lydia, leaning against the ship’s rail. “I sent Lydia in, pretending to be Ulf’s fiancée, asking if she could bail him out. The corporal on the desk was quite polite, but he told her it was impossible. That’s when we learned about the magistrate and the date of the hearing.”
“That was good thinking, Edvin,” Hal said, and Edvin shrugged.
Hal moved over and sat on the central decking, his feet dangling into the rowing well. He put his chin on his hand and thought for several long minutes, waiting for inspiration. None came. The crew watched expectantly. They had sublime trust in their skirl and his ability to always come up with a plan of action.
“Maybe . . . ,” said Stig slowly, and all eyes turned to him. He flushed slightly, then continued. “Maybe Jesper could get himself arrested . . .”
“Oh, thank you very much!” said Jesper heatedly.
Stig made a mollifying gesture. “Just for something minor. And you could take your lockpicks and open the cell door. That way you could set the prisoners free and overpower the guards.”
“That’s not bad,” Hal said.
But Edvin was already shaking his head. “Won’t work,” he said. “They’d search him and find the lockpicks on him.”
“And watch-house guards would recognize them for what they are,” Jesper said. He sounded relieved that he would not have to get himself arrested. After all, he’d spent most of his former life as a thief attempting to avoid such an eventuality.
“They search anyone who goes in?” Hal asked, although, in truth, it wasn’t unexpected that they would do so.
Edvin nodded. “They even searched Lydia. They had one of their serving women go over her to make sure she wasn’t carrying any weapons.”
Hal grunted, aware that the crew were watching him intently. He found he was looking steadily at Wulf. The sail handler noticed his skirl’s scrutiny and shifted uncomfortably. A thought was forming in Hal’s fertile mind.
“What was Ulf wearing?” Hal asked suddenly. The question was an unexpected one, and for a second or two, nobody replied.
Then Wulf, aware that Hal was still watching him, indicated his own clothes. “Much the same as me,” he said. “A linen shirt, sheepskin vest and woolen pants over his sea boots. And his watch cap, of course,” he added, indicating his own woolen watch cap, emblazoned with a white heron symbol.
Hal nodded. Wulf had described the de facto uniform worn by most of the Herons, with a few individual variations.
“What have you got in mind, Hal?” Stig asked. He was intrigued to know. He sensed that his original suggestion had sparked Hal’s current train of thought but he couldn’t see what his friend was planning.
Hal looked at him and a slow smile spread over his face. “I’m thinking that they search everyone who goes in, but they wouldn’t bother with someone who’s already inside.”
“Well, of course not,” Stig said, still mystified.
But Thorn was starting to grin, as he saw where Hal was going. “Or somebody they think is
Hal glanced at him. “Exactly,” he said. He switched his gaze back to Wulf. “How’s your lockpicking coming along?”
Wulf considered the question. Being Wulf, he was tempted to exaggerate his skills. But he sensed this might not be a good time to do so. He shrugged diffidently.
“Not too bad. I’m getting faster,” he said.
Hal looked to Jesper for confirmation. The former thief nodded agreement.
“He’s pretty good, for an amateur,” he said. He couldn’t help differentiating between his own ability and that of the sail handler. “Ulf is faster,” he added.
Wulf turned angrily toward him. “Not anymore! I’ve caught up with him! I can . . .” He sensed Hal’s steady, unamused gaze still on him and subsided. “Well, maybe he is,” he admitted.
“Thank you,” Hal said. Then he looked back at Jesper. “Jes, I want you to practice with him for the next hour. I assume we’d be looking at a pretty old-fashioned lock in the watch house?”
“I’d be surprised if we weren’t,” Jesper said. “It doesn’t look like the most modern jail in the world.”
“I can vouch for that,” Lydia put in. “The place looks as if it’s at least a hundred years old.”
“I suppose Olaf could confirm that, if he were here,” Thorn said.
Hal looked at him, a grim expression on his face. “And there lies the problem,” he said. “All right, Jes.” His manner became brisk and businesslike again. “Get to work with Wulf for the next hour. Then we’ll get moving. Wulf has work to do.”
“What am I going to do?” Wulf asked, a little nervously.
Hal smiled at him. “You’re going to break into the jail.”
• • • • •
Corporal Junius Dall, commander of the watch-house garrison, looked up from the requisition form he was painstakingly filling out as the outer door to the watch house creaked open on its rusty hinges.
A figure slipped tentatively through the gap, silhouetted against the glare of the sunlight outside, and made his way across to the raised counter behind which the corporal sat. As he came closer, and the light stabilized, Junius realized that he was vaguely familiar.