The Caldera by John Flanagan
“We’re gaining on her,” Olaf said, a note of triumph in his voice.
Hal nodded. “The wind’s easing,” he said. The lighter winds would favor the smaller ship and the more efficient sail rig that Heron carried. In addition, the Vulture was now on a beam reach to match Heron, and it was not her fastest point of sailing.
“We should be out of sight by nightfall if it keeps on this way,” Lydia said. She had taken over from Stig monitoring the relative positions of the two ships.
Thorn glared at her reproachfully. “Never tempt fate like that,” he said, and she looked suitably chastened. When it came to wind and weather conditions at sea, Thorn was highly superstitious. He felt the gods were always waiting for men to become overconfident. Then they would punish them for their hubris.
“Old wives’ tale,” Hal said, to ease Lydia’s embarrassment.
Half an hour later, the wind died.
The sail flapped several times, then hung loosely from the yardarm. Heron continued to carve through the water for another fifteen or twenty meters, but the way fell off her and eventually she lay becalmed, rocking gently on the swell. The crew didn’t need Hal’s urgent shout. As the wind died, they scrambled to unstow their oars and ran them out through the oarlocks. There was a rattle and clatter of wood on wood as they did so, then Stig called the order.
“Ready? Stroke!”
Six oars went back as one, dipped into the water, then heaved the ship forward once more—albeit at a fraction of her previous speed. Hal, watching astern, saw the flash of light on the Vulture’s oar blades as the pirate ship ran out her own oars, then they rose and fell in a deadly rhythm. He recalled hearing how the Toscans referred to a galley’s oars as its wings. Now, watching the constant, rhythmic beat of the twin banks, he understood why.
He looked round at his own rowers, willing Stig to increase the pace. But his first mate kept the beat steady at a three-quarter rate, and Hal realized it was the best way. This calm might last a few minutes—or a few hours. If they rowed flat out, they would soon be exhausted and, even though they were losing ground now to the bigger ship, they would lose it even faster if they wore themselves out. In a race between six oars and thirty, they were always going to lose. All they could do was delay that inevitable end as long as possible.
He sprang up onto the railing beside the steering platform, steadying himself on the backstay, and peered across the water for some indication that the wind was returning.
But there was nothing, although the sky to the north was dark with clouds, foretelling a change in the weather.
The question was, would it arrive in time to save them?
He looked back to the Vulture. It was bearing down inexorably, seeming to grow larger even as he watched. He scanned the sea to starboard, and his heart leapt as he saw a patch of darker water. It was the sign of little waves caused by a ruffle of wind. As he watched, the disturbance in the surface moved closer to them.
Now was the time to use their last reserves of strength, he knew.
“Full speed, Stig!” he yelled, and he heard his first mate increase the tempo of the rowing, felt a little shudder run through the ship as she accelerated. He looked at Vulture once more. She was still gaining, but not as quickly as she had been. Standing on the rail like this, he had his foot hooked through the handle of the tiller. He shoved it over now and the ship swung to starboard, heading for that beautiful patch of disturbed water, that life-saving wind.
“Ulf! Wulf! There’s a wind to starboard, bearing down on us. Be ready to leave those oars as soon as it hits!”
There was no reply. The twins were using all their energy to row. But looking quickly at them, he could see they understood and were ready. He looked astern again. Vulture was still there, still getting closer.
The first gust hit them and the sail flapped wildly, then hung loose again, then flapped once more. Ulf and Wulf shot to their feet, dragging their oars inboard and leaving them lying any which way as they lunged for the sheets. Somebody else would stow them. Hal dropped lightly to the deck, and as the sail filled, he felt the tiller come alive and he hauled the bow around to port, while Ulf and Wulf trimmed the sail.
Heron accelerated away, a triumphant shower of spray bursting over her starboard bow and drifting down onto the crew. Smiles broke out as they saw the big black ship beginning to fall behind again. They might have thirty oars, but they had been rowing hard too and were tiring. Myrgos made the mistake of staying with his oars for a few minutes too long, then realized he was losing ground and yelled orders for his crew to raise the sail and sheet home. The hairs on the back of Hal’s neck prickled. They were so close he could hear the pirate captain’s frantic orders.
They plunged on, regaining the distance they had lost while they had been becalmed. The wind was steady now, and Heron smashed through the oncoming waves, sending silver showers of spray high on either side of the bow, to hang there for several seconds, then drift back down onto the crew. The oars were stowed, and the crew stood ready for Hal’s orders. The skirl continued to peer to the north, where dark lines of clouds were gathering on the horizon.
It seemed only a few minutes before the first of the dark clouds rolled down upon them. Heron heeled over as the wind suddenly strengthened. Ulf and Wulf eased the sheets, and she came upright once more. Then the rain squall was all around them, blotting everything from sight. There was no sign of Vulture. Their ship was engulfed in sheets of cold rain and dark cloud.
Thorn moved close to the steering platform. “Are you going to turn?” he asked. “Myrgos can’t see us now.”
But Hal shook his head. “We’ll see how long this squall lasts. We could be in the clear any minute.”
Within a few minutes, they had burst clear of the rain and heavy wind, into the late afternoon sunshine again. Looking behind, they could see no sign of Vulture until she too nosed out of the squall. They had increased their lead over the pirates still farther. Hal looked ahead. Another dark squall line was bearing down on them.
“I’ll keep on this heading until the sun sets,” he said. “Once it’s dark we might have a chance of shaking him. Until then, I want him to think this is where we want to be going.”
The second squall hit them, even more violently than the first, and again they were surrounded by the howling wind and driving rain. Ulf and Wulf re-trimmed the sail. Having the ship heel over under the pressure of the wind might give an impression of speed, but it was a false one. Heron moved faster when she was more upright. Hal held the tiller lightly, gauging the speed of the ship as he felt the trembling in the rudder.
Once more they burst clear of the squall, and once more all eyes turned astern to see how Vulture had fared. The black hull shoved clear of the rain a few minutes later. There was a low cheer from the crew. They were even farther ahead.
“Only a few minutes of daylight left,” Thorn remarked.
Hal glanced to the west, where the sun was a giant, glowing orb just touching the horizon. Then it sank beneath the waves with a peculiar green flash of light.
chaptertwenty-eight
In the sudden darkness, it was difficult to see the black shape behind them—but just as difficult for Myrgos to see the Heron.
Perhaps more difficult, in fact. The Vulture’s hull, being darker than surrounding sea, showed as a black shadow in the night; whereas Heron’s deep green color scheme tended to blend in with her surroundings.
“Stefan!” Hal shouted. “Get for’ard and warn me when the next squall is about to hit.”
Stefan nodded and scrambled toward the bow. Hal turned to Lydia, who was close by, unconsciously fingering one of the darts for her atlatl where it sat in her belt quiver.
“Lydia, you keep watch aft and tell me the minute you lose sight of Vulture.”
Stefan and Lydia had the two sharpest pairs of eyes in the ship. Hal now called to the other member
“Sail handlers! On my call, be ready to go about to starboard!” That would put the ship on the port tack.
Jesper and Ingvar, who were tasked with bringing the yardarms up and down, waved acknowledgment. The twins crouched over the trimming sheets, ready to act.
“Squall coming!” yelled Stefan, then the wind and rain hit them.
A few seconds later, Lydia called out, “No sign of Vulture!”
“Come about starboard!” Hal yelled, his voice cracking with anxiety. A mistake now could be disastrous.
But the maneuver went ahead smoothly, with Ingvar and Jesper running up the starboard yardarm and Ulf and Wulf sheeting it home, so that Heron shot through the water on the new tack with barely any slackening in pace.
Although now she was running at an oblique angle to her former course.
They came out of the squall into the dark night. The moon was a slender crescent riding high above the driving clouds, alternately casting a dim light, then allowing the darkness to blanket the ocean, seeming even darker after the few minutes of light. All eyes were on the black line of the squall as it fell behind them. Then Jesper let out a muted cheer, hastily muffled as Ingvar threw his hand across his mouth.
Vulture emerged from the squall, still on her original course, and now twice as far away as she had been before. It took several minutes for her crew, searching the horizon desperately, to sight the dim form of the Heron, slipping through the waves. As they did, Myrgos, who had taken control of the tiller, tried to bring his ship around to starboard, tacking across the wind as Heron had done. But, like many a square-rigger captain before him, Myrgos discovered too late that it wasn’t easy to match Heron’s agility. It had been an instinctive action to try to follow the other ship, but it nearly brought him to grief. The wind caught the huge square mainsail as the ship came up into the wind, driving it back against the mast and stopping Vulture dead in the water. Then she began to gather sternway, and the mast and shrouds creaked alarmingly. Furious, Myrgos shouted a series of commands to his men. He was fortunate that, with a large crew, he had the necessary numbers to carry out the tasks he ordered.
The square sail slid down the mast, releasing the back pressure on the ship. Simultaneously, half a dozen oars on either side slid out through their oarlocks, the starboard-side oars backing water furiously, the port six driving ahead. And at last, the ship came round onto the new heading and the sail was reset.
Myrgos was an experienced sailor, and he recovered from his initial mistake quickly and efficiently. Even so, it had cost him time and distance while he lay stopped.
All the while Heron was driving away upwind.
“Squall coming!” Stefan shouted, and Hal looked off the port bow to where another dark line of wind and rain was bearing down on them. An idea was beginning to form in his mind, and he shouted to the rest of the crew. “Get those shields down off the bulwarks!”
The hull was dull green, but the line of regularly spaced shields were lighter in color, each one decorated with its owner’s choice of symbol. They would be easy to spot in the darkness and he wanted them down. The Herons grabbed them from the pegs that held them in position and dropped them into the rowing wells.
“Got something in mind?” Thorn was an interested onlooker.
Hal shook his head, loath to reveal his thinking just yet. He had his own superstitions and one was to avoid talking about a plan too soon, in case it all went wrong. He checked the onrushing squall, then glanced astern at Vulture. She couldn’t lie as close to the wind as Heron and she was angled off to starboard.
The squall hit them.
“She’s gone!” Lydia cried as she lost sight of their pursuer.
“Hard aport!” Hal yelled into the storm, and the sail handlers went to work once more, swinging Heron back the way she had been heading before, bringing down one yardarm and sending another soaring aloft. Ulf and Wulf, crouched low, scuttled across the deck to the opposite side and began trimming the sheets. Heron steadied, then smashed into a rogue wave, drenching everyone on deck with spray and solid water, then shook herself like a wet dog and accelerated away again.
Anxious eyes watched for Vulture to emerge from the squall. When she did, there was an involuntary cry of disappointment from several throats.
Myrgos had outguessed Hal. Seeing that the Heron lay slightly to port of his own course, it had been a logical assumption that Hal would turn that way, going back to the starboard tack—with the wind coming over his starboard side. Accordingly, while he had been hidden by the driving rain of the squall, Myrgos had worn ship, swinging her on a two-hundred-and-seventy-degree arc to the right, until the wind was on her starboard side once more. As a result, she was on the same tack as Heron and had even made up some distance. Hal estimated that she was at least a hundred meters closer than she had been.
But even as he had the thought, he realized she was falling away to port, unable to keep the same heading that Heron could manage. The two ships raced on, on slightly diverging courses.
“Squall coming!” Stefan warned.
Hal thought quickly. Once to the right. Once to the left. And Myrgos had outguessed him the second time. Which way this time? His fingers drummed nervously on the tiller, then he yelled his instructions.
“We’re going straight through this time!” he yelled. Let’s see if Myrgos sees that coming, he thought to himself.
The wind and rain hit them again, laying the ship over under its increased force. Lydia called out that Vulture was out of sight, but this time Hal ignored the information. Ulf and Wulf eased the sheets, but Hal sensed they had let them go too far.
“Sheet home!” he called urgently. Then: “Steady there!”
The sail tightened. The deck heeled a little farther, but Heron moved fractionally faster through the water. The twins raised their eyebrows at each other. They were expert sail trimmers, but nobody had the feeling for this ship the way Hal did.
The ship burst into the clear again, the bow riding high on a wave, then knifing down into the trough, and sending twin arcs of silver spray high into the air on either side of the bow. Ulf and Wulf adjusted for the slackening of the wind, and Heron flew across the dark sea.
All hands faced aft, waiting and watching for Vulture to emerge. Then the black shape slid out of the murk, and Jesper, Stefan and Edvin raised an ironic cheer. This time, Myrgos had been too clever. He had turned left once more, and now Vulture was well out of position and well behind them.
Hal glanced for’ard. He could see the dark line of the next squall approaching them. But it was several minutes away. He called out to the crew.
“Ulf and Wulf, stay at your positions! Everyone else come aft.”
The crew hurried aft to group around the steering platform, waiting to hear what he had in mind. When he told them, several hearts beat a little faster. He was taking an awful risk.
“We can go on ducking and dodging like this all night,” he said. “Myrgos has guessed wrong twice now and he’ll be anxious not to miss again. This time, just as we go into the squall, I’m going to start a turn to the left. Lydia, warn me just before Vulture is out of sight. I want her to see us start that turn.”
The girl warrior nodded.
Hal continued. “Then I’m coming back to our original course. When I do, I want you, Ingvar and Jesper, to drop the sail.”
“Drop the sail, Hal? Are you sure?” That was Ingvar, the worry obvious in his voice.
Hal nodded firmly. “Drop it. We’re going to stop. The two most visible things about us are our sail and our wake through the water. If we drop the sail and heave to, Myrgos won’t be able to see either. But be ready to hoist it again in a moment if we’re spotted. If we’re lucky, Myrgos will turn one way or another and sail on past us. Even if he keeps on straight ahead, the odds are good he won’t see us. Once he’s past, we’ll
With any luck, he thought to himself.
“Lydia, you stand by here and, if we’re spotted, let fly. Try to kill the helmsman. It might even be Myrgos himself. But if not, it’ll buy us a few seconds.” She nodded grimly and Hal turned to his first mate. “Stig, tell the twins what we’re doing. Make sure they understand.”
The Herons started to turn back to their stations, and he stopped them again. “One more thing. When we stop, everyone keep down. Don’t look. Your pale faces will be too visible in the gloom. Anyone looks up, I’ll throw him overboard.”
“Including me, Hal?” Ingvar said. The grin was obvious in his voice, and Hal nodded emphatically.
“Especially you, Ingvar. That moon face of yours will be seen for miles.”
He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and they returned to their posts. He kept a long, dark scarf hanging by the chart table for wild and windy weather and he picked it up now and wound it round his neck and face. Then he pulled down his watch cap so only his eyes were showing.
Thorn waited to study the effect. “You look beautiful,” he said, then he went for’ard to his post by the mast. He sat down beside Kloof, one arm around her, ready to muzzle her if she should make any noise. The dog thumped her tail at his touch.
“Squall’s coming!” Stefan warned.
Hal glanced at Lydia. “Warn me just before we lose sight of them,” he said, and she nodded, then fixed her eyes on the pirate behind them.
They sailed into the first few meters of disturbed air and rain.
“Now!” Lydia called.
Hal instantly pushed the tiller to the right, letting the bow swing to port.
After a few seconds, Lydia called again, “Gone!”
He straightened their course back to where it had been. He allowed a minute to pass, then shouted his orders. “Down sail. Everyone flat on the deck!”
The sail, the biggest and lightest-colored item on board—and so the most visible—slid down the mast, and Jesper and Edvin gathered it in. Then all the crew threw themselves flat, facedown on the deck.