Brotherband 3: The Hunters (31 page)

‘Are you sure?’ he called. The lookout stood away from the viewing tube and looked down to the stocky figure on the ground below him.

‘I’m sure,’ he replied. ‘That Droghan swine chased us in the old
Naska
for three days before he caught us and burned her. I only just got away. I’d know her anywhere.’

‘What’s the other ship?’ Mihaly asked.

‘She’s smaller. Looks like
Seahawk
is after her, but she’s holding her own. Strange rig, like one of those Blood Sea craft. Triangular sail, set fore and aft.’

Mihaly climbed the first few rungs of the ladder leading to the platform until the two ships came into sight. The lookout was right, he thought. The second ship was definitely the
Seahawk
and she was obviously in pursuit of the smaller ship.

‘She’s flying a black flag,’ the lookout added. No need to say which ship he was talking about.
Seahawk
would never fly a black flag. It was the universal sign of a corsair – a term that Mihaly generally preferred to the word ‘pirate’.

As they watched, the leading ship changed course, turning towards the wind – and the harbour entrance. The fore and aft rig let her lie closer to the stiff breeze than
Seahawk
’s square mainsail would allow.

If I were starting out again, I’d have a ship with that sort of rig, Mihaly thought.

Gradually, the two ships began to diverge, the distance between them widening. Mihaly sensed an air of frustration about the
Seahawk
, although he realised he was probably being fanciful. He could see a small knot of men in the bow of the
Seahawk
, armed with bows and launching arrows after their escaping quarry. But the leading ship was already out of effective range and he saw several quick splashes in her wake as the arrows fell short. Some of her crew gathered in the stern to wave and yell abuse at the Droghan ship pursuing them.

A few hundred metres from the harbour, Mannoc admitted defeat and the
Seahawk
sheered away, not wanting to come within range of the waiting archers on either side of the harbour entrance. Bitter experience had taught Mannoc that there was nothing to be gained from coming too close to Raguza.

‘Orders, sir?’ the guard captain asked.

Mihaly thought for a moment, then replied. ‘Send out the longboats to escort her in.’

The captain saluted and turned away, bellowing orders.

‘And keep an eye on
Seahawk
. Mannoc may try one last throw of the dice.’

It was just possible that when her quarry lowered her sails to row into the harbour, Mannoc might try a desperate, last-minute dash to run down and seize her. That was why Mihaly had ordered the two longboats to bring the newcomer in. They were guardboats kept in constant readiness for an event such as this. With twenty armed men in each, they would ensure that Mannoc kept his distance.

Now that the smaller ship was closer, Mihaly could see that she was festooned with arrows and there were several long rips in her sail. Obviously, it had been a long chase and Mannoc had come close to catching her. The black flag at her stern was discernible now. It was decorated with a white device – the skeletal head of a sharp-beaked bird. As he watched, the helmsman on the newcomer acknowledged the longboats heading out to escort him into harbour. The punctured sail slid down and was gathered in and oars were run out either side.

Mihaly cast one more look at the
Seahawk
, but she was far out on the broad river now. At this point, where the river ran into the Constant Sea, it was five kilometres or more across. At high tide, the water was noticeably salty.
Seahawk
was little more than a faint flutter of white sail against the blue of the water. There was no further risk from her.

He jerked a thumb at the small ship as it rowed towards the harbour, flanked either side by the lean, predatory longboats.

‘Assign them a mooring, then send them to me,’ he ordered.

‘Aye, sir,’ the captain replied. ‘Alongside? Or out in the bay?’ he added.

Mihaly turned a baleful gaze on him. ‘Do I look as if I give a water rat’s behind?’ he snarled and the captain hastily apologised.

‘No, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll attend to it, sir.’ He remembered, too late, that it was unwise to ask the Korpaljo to bother with details – unless they involved a payment due to him. Then he was a real stickler, the captain thought.

‘Bring their captain to me within the hour,’ Mihaly said, turning away. ‘And bring him under guard until we know who they are.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the captain said briskly. He was already thinking. That meant he’d need to put the new ship on a mooring alongside the harbour front. It’d take too long to moor them out in the bay, then find a small boat to bring the captain ashore. And he knew that he’d better get the captain of the ship to Mihaly’s office without delay.

His sergeant watched the Korpaljo’s thick-set figure as he stalked off down the wharf, walking with a sailor’s rolling gait. As ever, Hugo skipped awkwardly behind him, trying to keep up.

‘Whew!’ he breathed. ‘Always a pleasure seeing him, isn’t it?’

The captain made a sharp cutting gesture with his right hand. ‘Shut up!’ he snapped. ‘He has ears like a hawk. Hears everything you say.’

He didn’t know if a hawk had good ears or not. But at the moment, he couldn’t think of a better simile to use.

‘T
his is getting to be a habit,’ Stig said as he, Thorn and Hal strode down the pier, accompanied by a sergeant of the guard and two armed troops. Thorn turned to look quizzically at him.

‘What is?’ he asked, although he had a shrewd idea that he knew what Stig was talking about. The tall boy shook his head in annoyance.

‘It seems every harbour we put into, we’re frogmarched off to see some jumped-up local nonentity whose main interest lies in separating us from our money. It’s starting to get tedious.’

‘It’s the way of the world,’ Thorn told him. ‘On a river like this, everyone has their hand out. Besides, if a foreign ship moors in Hallasholm, they pay a harbour tax to Erak.’

‘And I’d go easy with the “jumped-up local nonentity” talk,’ Hal advised in a lowered tone. ‘From what I’ve heard, the Korpaljo can be very dangerous if you make him mad.’

Stig sniffed disdainfully. But he resolved not to make any more disparaging comments about local authorities.

The land around Raguza harbour rose in steep hills, with the gleaming white buildings of the town built in a series of rising terraces. They followed their escort up a narrow, winding street that ran up from the harbour. As they went higher, Hal took a moment to glance back. The harbour lay below them, the masts of the ships moored there looking like a leafless, branchless forest. In addition to the thirty or so pirate ships in harbour, there were scores of smaller craft – fishing boats, barges and longboats, similar to the pair that had escorted
Heron
into harbour. The buildings below his vantage point were predominantly white, with orange terracotta tiled roofs.

The sergeant escorting them called impatiently and Hal turned and resumed toiling up the winding street.

At the very top, they came to a large building that took up one side of a small plaza. The building was colonnaded along the front, providing a deep shade area. It was painted white, of course, and it rose for three floors above the square. Rows of arched windows ran along the upper floors. At the left-hand end was a massive round tower, which soared up to twice the height of the rest of the building. Their escort pointed to the tower, then led the way.

‘The Korpal,’ Hal muttered and the others looked at him curiously. ‘The ruling council here is called the Korpal,’ he explained. ‘It means “Circle”. They meet in a circular room and I’m guessing that’s where it’s situated.’

The sergeant led them into the tower and up a staircase running round one of the walls, following the curve of the building. They went up two floors. On the first, the entire central floor consisted of a vast open space, with a circular table set in the middle and fifteen chairs placed around it. Hal guessed this was the meeting room for the Korpal, where official business was carried out. The next floor was divided into several spaces. A semi-circular anteroom took up half the floor space. It was sparsely furnished, with wooden chairs and benches, presumably for those who were waiting to be summoned through one of the several doors that led off it. The sergeant didn’t hesitate, but led them to a door set on the harbour side of the tower, knocked once and waited.

There was a pause of a few seconds, then a harsh voice from within called for them to enter. The sergeant opened the door and ushered the three Skandians in ahead of him. He and his three men followed, ranging themselves along the wall.

If the outer room was sparsely furnished, Mihaly’s office was a different matter altogether. His large desk dominated the room and he sat behind it on a high-backed chair, marked with intricate carvings. There were several other chairs, matching in design but not as large as the Korpaljo’s, ranged around the room, upholstered with thick, brightly coloured cushions. The wood was dark and lustrous and bore the mark of constant polishing. Several dark wooden chests were ranged along the walls. The curved outer wall of the tower was behind Mihaly’s desk. It was undecorated, but a large curved window looked down over the terracotta roofs of the houses and the sparkling blue of the harbour.

The walls themselves were hung with rich tapestries, and a painting of a two-masted ship was in a prominent position. Hal eyed it with professional interest but he decided that it had been painted by an artist with no concept of good ship design. The masts were badly spaced, so that the rear sail would mask the breeze reaching the forward one.

Above the Korpaljo’s desk, a large embroidered rectangle of tasselled fabric hung from a narrow, polished wooden beam. As they watched, it swayed slowly back and forth, providing a pleasant breeze through the room. Stig wondered what kept it moving. Then he noticed a thin draw cord leading away from it and through a small hole in the upper part of the wall. Presumably, somewhere outside the room, a servant sat, pulling the cord then releasing it, so the square of heavy fabric maintained its steady back and forth motion.

It was the room of a rich and powerful man. By comparison, Doutro’s office in Bayrath had been small, shabby and unimpressive.

‘Sit down,’ Mihaly said. He waved a hand at three chairs that had been placed in front of his desk. It was not an invitation, Hal thought. It was an order. He guessed that most of the Korpaljo’s conversation would be phrased the same way. The three Herons took their seats, Thorn in the middle, Hal on his right and Stig on his left. It had been agreed that, as before, Thorn would act as the ship’s captain.

‘So, who are you? Where are you from? What do you want?’ Mihaly shot the questions out in rapid succession. Thorn replied calmly.

‘We’re Skandians. We’re from Hallasholm on the Stormwhite originally, but we’ve been raiding down the east and south coasts, then down the Dan. We’re looking for refuge here in Raguza. We’ve been told it’s friendly to raiders.’

‘Pirates, you mean?’ Mihaly might prefer to apply the term ‘corsair’ to himself. But these newcomers hadn’t earned the distinction.

Thorn shrugged. ‘If you prefer.’

Mihaly’s eyes bored into his for a few seconds, then switched to the two young men beside him. He noted that all three of the Skandians wore identical woollen watch caps.

‘Who are these two?’ he snapped.

‘My helmsman and my bosun,’ Thorn said, indicating Hal and Stig in turn. Mihaly’s eyes flicked back to the shabby old sea wolf.

‘Bit on the young side, aren’t they?’ he sneered.

Thorn took no offence. He replied evenly.

‘They’re the best I could do. Not many experienced sailors want to serve with a one-armed man.’ He held up the carved hook on his right arm. ‘But these lads have done well by me. I’ve trained them and they know how to fight.’

‘So you say,’ Mihaly said, a sneer in his voice.

‘So I say,’ Thorn replied, still keeping his voice even. But his eyes met the Korpaljo’s in an unwavering stare. Eventually, Mihaly nodded and glanced away. This wasn’t a man he could browbeat or intimidate too easily, he thought. He felt a small flicker of respect for the one-armed man opposite him. Mihaly preferred to deal with men who were straightforward and plain speaking – unlike Zavac, he thought sourly.

He gathered his thoughts, glancing down at some papers on his desk, then looked up again after a few seconds.

‘So, you want the protection of the Korpal,’ he said.

Thorn frowned slightly, as if not understanding. ‘The Korpal?’

Mihaly gestured impatiently. ‘The Circle Council. The ruling body here in Raguza. Perhaps you should have found out a few basic things about us before you blundered in here.’

‘We were in a bit of a rush when we arrived,’ Thorn said and Mihaly smiled scornfully.

‘I saw,’ he said.

Thorn shook his head angrily. ‘We’d taken a trader about ten kilometres upriver. We were transferring her cargo to our ship when that blasted Droghan cruiser came round a bend and nearly caught us.’