02 The Invaders (12 page)

He’s enjoying having a purpose in life, Thorn thought. Then his eyebrows raised in surprise as another thought struck him. Just as I am. Hal was still speaking and the old sea wolf brought his attention back to what he was saying.

“. . . graduated the sights to those targets down the beach this morning. We paced out the distance and set them up at fifty-pace intervals. The nearest is one hundred paces away.”

Now, as the others looked in the direction he was pointing, they could make out a series of five wooden targets set up on poles hammered into the sand. Thorn squinted at the nearest. It was a square shape, made up of thick branches nailed onto a wooden frame. The sides of the frame looked to be about a meter in length.

“I figure the branches will offer about the same resistance as the planks of a ship,” Hal said. He took his position behind the bow again, peering at the target. Then he flipped up a flat piece of wood on the side of the weapon, marked with a distance scale. He pointed to the first mark and turned to the watching Herons.

“This indicates a range of one hundred meters,” he said. “When I line this mark up with the bead of the foresight, I have the right elevation for the shot.”

The boys leaned forward to peer at the weapon and they saw a wooden pin, surmounted by a small white bead, set ahead of the limbs, just clear of the line of flight that the projectile would follow.

“That’s like the sight on your small crossbow,” Stig said, recognizing the system.

“That’s right. I figured if it worked there, it’d work here. And it does.”

He crouched and concentrated once more on the sighting picture. He saw the bead of the foresight was in line with the target, but a little below the graduated mark on the rear sight. His hand went to the wooden cogwheel the boys had noticed earlier and he wound it slowly. The front of the crossbow began to rise as he did so. Then he stopped, checked once more and nodded to himself.

He picked up the heavy projectile that was lying on the ground beside him and set it in the shallow trough cut into the top of the bow, fitting a notch at its end into the thick cord.

“Stand clear,” he warned them, and pulled the trigger lanyard. It tripped the latch holding the string, and a fraction of a second later, there was a massive crash as the limbs released. The entire bow bucked with the recoil and the heavy projectile shot away on its shallow, curving trajectory.

Initially startled by the noise when the bow released, the crew followed the bolt’s flight with their eyes. A second later, they saw the target shudder under a massive impact. A cloud of wood splinters were hurled into the air and they heard the cracking sound of breaking timber. The pole holding the target lurched drunkenly to one side and the target itself hung loose on an angle, swinging back and forth from the force of the impact.

“No wonder it goes off line when you shoot it,” Stig muttered.

Hal didn’t reply. “Ingvar!” he called, and the giant boy stepped
forward, seized the two cocking levers and heaved the string back onto its retaining latch. Hal placed another bolt onto the string, then crouched behind the sights. Ingvar had already retrieved his lever and he began to traverse the bow in accordance with Hal’s orders.

“Right!” Hal commanded and, as Ingvar began to heave the crossbow round to the right to line up with the second target, he continued in a singsong tone.

“Right… right… right… easy now. A little right. A little more. A little more. Stop!”

His arm flew up in a signal to stop. Ingvar laid the pole aside and stood by as Hal wound the elevation wheel and the front of the bow came farther and farther up. Hal peered at the sights, made another small upward adjustment.

“Stand clear!” he called. He pulled the trigger again.

Once more, there was the massive crash of wood on wood, and once more, the crossbow bucked with the recoil. This time, the watchers could follow the flight of the projectile more easily, as it flew through a greater distance and with a slightly higher arc of flight.

The second target lurched under the impact and there was a splintering sound as more wood fragments flew. This time, however, the impact was slightly off center and the target was wrenched bodily from the support pole.

The watching crew members cheered at the sight. Nothing like a little wanton destruction to get boys excited, Thorn thought, smiling to himself. But, at the same time, he felt like joining them. Hal had come up with a fearsome weapon in this giant crossbow.
If they caught up with Zavac and the
Raven
, the pirates were in for a very nasty surprise.

Hal was smiling, relieved that the demonstration had gone so well. Stig stepped forward and slapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ve done it again!” he said. “This is brilliant—and no small details forgotten.” He added the last with a giant grin and another hearty slap on the back. Hal accepted both philosophically.

Stig ran his hand along the smoothed timber of the huge crossbow, admiring the workmanship that had gone into it. There was nothing ornate about it. It was simply a well-crafted piece of machinery.

“I can’t wait to see Zavac’s face when you start shooting big holes in his ship!” he said.

“And his crew!” Wulf added enthusiastically as he pictured the panic on board the pirate ship.

“They’ll be jumping overboard!” Ulf agreed, and they all laughed as they gathered round the crossbow to admire it.

“We should call it something,” Jesper suggested. They all muttered agreement, then there was a pause as each tried to come up with a name before the others could think of one.

“Big Bessie!” Ulf suggested impulsively.

Wulf snorted derisively. “You want to give it a girl’s name?” he jeered.

Ulf went red. Sometimes he wished he could remember to think twice before he spoke. Or even once.

“How about Gorlog’s Hammer?” Edvin suggested. The others looked at him, frowning.

“Bit classical, isn’t it?” Stefan said. Edvin shrugged diffidently, then Jesper pointed out a fault in the name.

“Gorlog doesn’t have a hammer,” he said. “Tharon has a hammer.” Tharon was the god of thunder.

“Well, Tharon’s Hammer then,” Edvin suggested, trying to salvage his idea. But he was greeted by headshakes all round.

“Naaah. Still too classical,” Stig said. “We want a good blood-and-guts name for it.”

There was another silence. Hal eventually broke it.

“I like what Thorn called it,” he said. They looked at him curiously, so he reminded them. “The Mangler.”

They considered it. Gradually, smiles began to break out.

“The Mangler,” Stefan said, approval obvious in his tone.

“That’s what it’ll do, all right,” Ulf put in, and even his brother had to agree with that.

Hal grinned at Stig. “Well, what do you think? Is it blood-and-gutsy enough for you?”

Stig nodded, grinning broadly in his turn.

And so the Mangler it became.

chapter
eleven

T
he
Heron
was cruising in Shelter Bay.

It was the day after Hal had demonstrated the Mangler to his crew. Outside, on the open seas, the wind still howled out of the south, whipping the ocean into steep, fast-breaking whitecaps. It was no place for a small open ship like the
Heron
. But the tall headlands broke the force of the wind so that inside the bay there was nothing more than a stiff breeze.

The crew were made aware of the wild conditions outside when they looked at the trees on top of the headlands, and high on the inland ridge. They were bending and swaying madly, tossing their heads in the savage gusts that hit them.

The
Heron
was sailing parallel to the beach, about three hundred meters offshore. The wind was coming over their port side and the sail was trimmed in tight.

“Stig,” Hal called, and gestured to the tiller.

His friend leapt eagerly up to the steering platform and took control of the ship. He twitched the tiller from side to side, testing the ship’s instant reaction to the helm, and smiled at Hal.

“I love this,” he said. “She’s so light and responsive.”

“I never get tired of it myself,” Hal agreed. Then, in a more businesslike tone, he continued. “We’re coming up on the first target. When I signal, head her in toward the beach. I’ll shoot when we’re a hundred meters out.”

They’d discussed the plan the night before and the details were clear in Stig’s mind. But it didn’t hurt to run through them one more time. Hal hesitated. It seemed strange to leave the
Heron
in someone else’s hands. Stig shoved him playfully.

“Get for’ard to the Mangler!” he said.

Hal laughed, turned away and made his way to the bow. He passed Ulf and Wulf, who were crouched by the sheets that trimmed the big sail. They nodded to him with serious faces, and he nodded back, knowing they were obeying his rule about not arguing on board ship. He ducked under the port-side shrouds supporting the mast and joined Ingvar beside the Mangler.

The huge crossbow was now mounted on a wooden platform that swiveled through a forty-five-degree arc, either side of the bow. Hal had added a small bench seat to the carriage so he could look over the sights as Ingvar traversed the weapon to either side. He crouched on it now, watching the target onshore. Then he turned to Edvin, who was waiting to relay his instructions to Stig, and pointed to starboard.

“Come to starboard!” Edvin called, and as Stig hauled in on the tiller and the bow started to swing, and the wind came from astern, Ulf and Wulf let the sail out so that it stood out from the hull. It was a prearranged maneuver that they had discussed the previous night and everyone knew his part. Thorn moved forward
from the waist of the ship and stood with his back to the mast to observe the shot.

Hal crouched and peered down the sights, setting the hundred-meter mark against the front bead.

He was slightly to the right of the target. He held up his left hand.

“Left… left… left,” he called as Ingvar traversed the Mangler, heaving on a long lever inserted into a socket at the rear of the carriage. The big crossbow moved smoothly on its platform.

“Stop,” he called as the sights lined up with the target. Ingvar had already cocked and loaded the weapon while Hal was making his way forward.

The bead sight was still below the target, but as the
Heron
moved closer inshore, it was gradually coming up. The ship was pitching with the waves, so that the sights now started to move slightly above the target, then drop below it again. He’d have to compensate for that, Hal thought.

He waited until the sight was on target in the middle of the upward pitch, and pulled the trigger lanyard.

SLAM!

The limbs of the bow banged forward, the carriage bucked and the bolt went streaking away. He sat upright to watch it, eyes riveted on the target.

There was an explosion of sand five meters behind it.

“Missed,” Thorn said. He might be the oldest member of the crew, but his eyes were still sharper than anyone else’s.

There was a groan of disappointment from the crew and Thorn turned to speak to them.

“Early days yet,” he said. “It’s not easy shooting from a moving platform.”

“Bear away,” Hal said to Edvin, who repeated the order to Stig. They were getting too close to the beach. Hal couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. He’d been hoping for a perfect shot first time. He’d underestimated the difficulty of dealing with the movement of the ship, and the slight delay between pulling the trigger and the bow’s release.

Stig shouted sail trimming orders and the
Heron
spun neatly to port, angling out away from the beach. Ulf and Wulf hauled the sail in to match the new course.

“Was it close?” Ingvar asked. Of course, Hal thought, he hadn’t been able to see the result.

“Five meters long,” he said.

“But on line,” Thorn reminded him.

Hal shrugged. At least that was something, he thought. He glanced at Thorn.

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” he said.

The ragged sea wolf inclined his head. “Keep practicing. You’ll get it.”

But success continued to elude Hal. They tried four more times. On the third, the bolt clipped the right-hand side of the target. On all the others, it sailed clear—either over or under or to the side. Hal was left with only one bolt for the crossbow.

They stood off the beach and Hal called a council of war with Stig and Thorn.

“We’re going to have to get closer,” he said. “We’re pitching and rolling—and the
Raven
will be doing the same. A hundred meters
is too far for accuracy. Let’s take her in to fifty meters for the last shot.”

Thorn screwed his mouth up. Stig looked doubtful as well.

“Fifty meters?” Thorn said. “That’ll be getting awfully close if we’re fighting the
Raven
.”

Hal spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s no good staying away from her if I can’t hit her.”

Thorn nodded reluctant agreement. “You’ll be well in range if any of them are archers,” he pointed out.