Brotherband 3: The Hunters (22 page)

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.’

T
hey 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.

‘She should be.’ The sentry relaxed. It wasn’t the first time someone had admired that particular ship. He spoke with a certain proprietorial air. ‘She’s the Gatmeister’s personal yacht.’

Stig whistled in admiration. ‘Doutro has a yacht?’ he asked. He sounded impressed. ‘What does he use her for?’

The sentry, hearing the newcomer refer to the Gatmeister by name, relaxed even more. People who knew the Gatmeister by name tended to be further up the food chain than a mere sentry. He grounded the spear and leaned lightly on it as he answered.

‘Oh, he takes business associates out when he wants to entertain them. Takes them on cruises down the river. Lots of girls, lots of ale, lots of good food. I’ve seen some pretty wild parties on that craft, let me tell you.’

He hadn’t but he liked to imply that he knew what was going on in the town. Stig nodded admiringly.

‘I’ll bet you have. Any idea how much he wants for her?’

The sentry looked puzzled. ‘Wants for her? What do you mean?’

Stig pointed. ‘That sign says she’s for sale,’ he said. The sentry turned to follow his pointing finger and Stig almost sighed. It was really too easy, he thought. The sentry’s jaw was nicely exposed as he turned to look at the ship and he never saw the crashing left hook coming.

His knees gave way under him and he sagged to the jetty deck. Stig managed to catch the spear as he released it, to prevent it making any noise as it fell. Then he wrinkled his nose. He might as well have saved himself the effort. The sound of the sentry’s body, clad in his mail shirt, hitting the planks was louder than the clatter of the spear would have been.

He bent down and grabbed the prone figure under the shoulders, quickly dragging him behind the fish traps Lydia had used for cover earlier in the night. Then he stepped out into the light and picked up the spear again, holding it in the at-ease position, in case any passer-by might wonder what had become of the sentry. He checked to see if anyone was watching, satisfied himself that nobody was, and beckoned to the others.

A few seconds later, a line of dark figures ran furtively across the street and onto the jetty, concealing themselves in the shadows as they arrived.