None of them, of course, were aware of the heart-stopping terror that her helmsman had felt when he had seen the Oberjarl’s ship looming up across his bows.
Now, as the crowd streamed along the beach to inspect the
Heron
at close quarters, Hal could hear the surprised exclamations as they identified the crew.
“It’s Hal Mikkelson—the Araluen boy,” he heard someone say and he sighed quietly. He knew that in spite of his Skandian father, he would always be known as an Araluen. Perhaps, he thought, that was why he had decided to stage such a flamboyant display. He knew Skandians placed a high value on seamanship and ship handling and saw them as particularly Skandian abilities. Perhaps, without realizing it, he had wanted to be accepted as an equal.
Other voices added their surprised comments.
“There’s that Ingvar boy. My, but he’s a big one.”
“But clumsy,” another added as Ingvar tried to vault lightly over the side, caught his foot on the rail and ended up sprawling on the wet sand at the water’s edge.
“There are those awful twins, too. I wonder what they’re fighting about now.”
Ulf and Wulf, true to their nature, were shoving and mouthing insults at each other as each tried to be first ashore.
“And look, it’s Stig Olafson. They’re all just boys.”
“So who was at the helm?”
Hal secured the steering oar with a looped cord and went forward, dropping over the side onto the beach.
He glanced eagerly around the gathering crowd and for a moment his heart sank as he could see no sign of Thorn. Then he grinned as he saw the tattered, untidy figure sitting on an upturned skiff, a little away from the general press. Thorn wasn’t fond of crowds, he knew. He’d spent too many years as an outcast, often finding himself the butt of cruel jokes, to make him feel comfortable among large numbers of people.
Hal waved and Thorn responded with a discreet nod of his head.
The crowd parted as the Oberjarl thrust his way through. Hal noted, with a sense of relief, that he no longer had his ax in his hand.
Erak looked around the group of five boys, standing close together. Like some of the others, he had half expected to see an older person among them.
“Who’s the skirl?” he asked, although after Thorn’s earlier comments, he already had a good idea. His eyes lit on Hal and the boy looked down, scuffing his feet in the sand. Suddenly, in spite of his fierce desire to be accepted, he felt reluctant to admit to it. It seemed excessively boastful.
He felt a hand drop on his shoulder and looked up to see Stig beside him, grinning at Erak.
“It was Hal, Oberjarl. He’s a master helmsman.”
Stig had no qualms about claiming credit for Hal. Hal had earned their respect, and Stig was going to see he got it.
Erak studied Hal closely. Over the years, he’d kept a watchful eye on the boy and his mother. Hal’s father had been a crewman on board
Wolfwind,
and a good skirl had an obligation to look after his crew and their families.
“So it was you. It was very prettily done. Are you really as skillful as your friend says? Or are you lucky?”
Hal met his gaze. He remembered the heart-stopping terror he’d felt when he’d seen the battleax in Erak’s hand.
“A bit of both, I think, Oberjarl,” he said. And Erak nodded, recognizing the truth in the statement.
“Nothing wrong with being lucky. What’s this crazy sail plan you’ve got there?”
He was walking down to the ship now. Someone had placed a boarding ramp against the rail and he climbed up, studying the twin yardarms and the bundled-up sails. Hal and Stig joined him. Others clustered round the bow of the beached ship, straining to see.
“It’s my design, Oberjarl. It’s based on a bird’s wing,” Hal said.
Erak frowned. He shoved one of the yardarms with his toe.
“Why? What’s the point? I mean, it’s pretty, but why do you want a sail like a bird’s wing?”
“She’ll point higher into the wind than a square sail,” Hal said.
Erak looked doubtful. “So you say.”
“She’ll point three times as high as a wolfship,” Stig interjected indignantly. “She’ll sail rings around a wolfship!”
Erak turned slowly to regard him. There was a long silence and Stig’s face began to redden.
“Who are you? His lawyer?” Erak asked.
Stig cleared his throat nervously. The Oberjarl was not a man to annoy. But still, he had no right to denigrate
Heron
’s performance. He hadn’t seen what Stig and the others had seen.
“I’m his first mate,” he said firmly. From the crowd below, they heard a cackle of laughter.
“Good for you, boy! A first mate should always stick up for his skirl!”
“Shut up, Svengal,” Erak said, without looking. Svengal had been his first mate for more years than they could remember. He was now the skirl of
Wolfwind,
except for those times when Erak decided he wanted to go to sea again. On those occasions, Svengal reverted cheerfully to his old position.
The Oberjarl measured Stig carefully. He liked what he saw. The boy was tall, well built and ready to meet the Oberjarl’s eye, even if he was tending to go a little red in the face as he did so. Svengal was right, he thought. A good first mate should stand by his skirl. And if this boy was ready to stand by the half-Araluen boy, that fact spoke well of Hal. This pair would merit watching, he thought, making a mental note to make sure they were assigned to the same brotherband the following week.
Still, there was one point he was not prepared to let pass. He gestured at the bundled sail once more.
“You say she’ll sail rings around a wolfship?”
Stig nodded determinedly. “That’s right.”
“Do you include
my
wolfship in that assessment?” Erak asked.
Stig hesitated. He glanced sidelong at Hal and saw the minuscule shake of his head, the warning look in his eye.
“Ah … of course not, Oberjarl.”
Erak nodded, satisfied. “Thought as much.” He nudged the yardarm with his toe again.
“Looks flimsy,” he said, then turned and stepped easily down the boarding ramp, moving nimbly in spite of his bulk.
When Erak was safely out of earshot, Stig turned to his friend. “Of course, she’ll sail rings around
Wolfwind,
” he said.
“Then why didn’t you tell him that?” Hal asked, grinning.
“I like my head where it is.”
chapter
nine
G
radually, the crowd began to drift away, their curiosity over the new ship and her crew satisfied.
Ingvar and the twins said their good-byes. Hal had decided to leave the ship beached overnight. They would return it to the creek the following day. He and Stig rigged anchors to hold
Heron
fast when the tide rose. A few people lingered, asking questions about the boat and its sail plan. Thorn sat on the upturned skiff watching them, some meters away. He had a satisfied smile on his face.
The two boys went back aboard the ship and furled the sail properly, binding them neatly to the yardarms. They stacked the oars neatly fore and aft, either side of the mast, and tidied up the boat.
“That was amazing,” Stig said.
Hal grinned happily. “It was better than that,” he said. Then he frowned. “Although I wish Erak hadn’t said that—about it being flimsy.”
Stig shook his head, discounting the comment.
“He was just saving face,” he said. “He’s a traditionalist. When a new idea comes along, he’ll always look to find something wrong with it—even if it’s not true.”
They climbed back down to the beach and stopped in surprise. There were two girls standing by the ramp, waiting for them. Hal’s breath came a little faster as he recognized Lotte Ilafsdotir.
She was the same age as he, with a neat, slim figure and blond hair that had just a hint of red in it. There were a few freckles dusted on her face but they made her look even prettier in his eyes. Hal had admired Lotte for years—as had every red-blooded young male in Hallasholm. Several times, he had summoned up the courage to strike up a conversation with her. She had been polite, but distant, leaving him in no doubt that there was no chance she would ever be interested in him. Which, of course, only made him more desperately interested in her.
She smiled at him now, her eyes appraising him and, apparently, finding him worthy of interest for the first time.
“Hello, Hal,” she said.
He took a deep breath. “Lotte. How are you?” he said, trying to make sure his voice didn’t crack. His throat felt dry all of a sudden.
Lotte’s companion, taller than she and dark haired, smiled at Stig.
“Hé, Stig,” she said, smiling. Nina was every bit as beautiful as her friend Lotte. But Lotte had that indefinable something extra. At least, that was true only as far as most boys were concerned. Stig, however, had always worshipped the ground Nina walked on. Now he flushed and went red to the roots of his hair.
“Hé, Nina,” he said thickly. Then, turning to Hal, he blurted, “Well, I’d better be going. See you tomorrow.” He turned to leave but, to his surprise, Nina, after a quick conspiratorial glance at Lotte, fell in step with him.
“I’ll come with you,” she said.
“Oh … um … all right. Fine,” Stig said.
He wished he could think of something to say. Something gallant or romantic. He recalled that Nina had suffered a bout of stomach flu a week earlier.
“So, I guess you’re not chucking up anymore?”
She smiled at him. “No. That’s all over.”
Stig ground his teeth in frustration. Another romantic quip like that, he thought sarcastically, and she’d be putty in his hands.
Hal and Lotte watched them go, smiling. Lotte laughed quietly.
“He’s a silver-tongued devil, that one,” Hal said, and was rewarded by another gurgling laugh. Lotte had a delightful laugh, he thought. He liked hearing it. He tried to think of another amusing comment to make but, for the life of him, he couldn’t. He realized that he was staring at her, his mouth gaping slightly open. He closed it suddenly, making an audible
clop!
noise. Lotte seemed not to notice. She stepped closer to the
Heron
and ran a hand over the smooth planks of the bow.
“Is this really your ship?” she said, eyes wide.
Hal nodded. “Yes. The others helped me build it. But she’s mine all right.”
“She’s beautiful,” Lotte said, turning to admire the sleek lines.
I was just thinking the same thing,
he thought, looking at Lotte. He wondered if he should say it aloud, then decided it was just too corny. Someone else might get away with it. Not him.
“Would you take me out in her sometime?” Lotte asked, her head tilted prettily to one side.
Hal licked his lips. They had suddenly gone dry again. Lotte was talking to him! She was actually asking him if she could go out on his ship one day! But before he could answer, he felt a violent shove on the back of his shoulder and went staggering, throwing up his hands just in time to save himself from crashing into
Heron
’s bow.
“Who do you think you are, you Araluen weasel?” said a harsh, angry voice.
Hal turned to find himself facing Tursgud. Big, muscular, handsome. And angry. His face was flushed and his eyes were dangerously narrowed. He was flanked by two of his regular companions, both big and athletic like himself.
“Tursgud!” Lotte said, alarmed at the sudden assault. “What are you doing?”
Tursgud glanced quickly at her, then ignored her. He advanced a pace on Hal, standing just too close, intentionally invading Hal’s personal space.
“Think you can go sneaking behind my back and making eyes at my girl, do you?” he challenged.
Lotte bridled angrily. “Your girl? I’m not your girl! I’m not anybody’s girl!”
Again, Tursgud ignored her. Hal faced him warily, tensed and ready for another attack.
“I’m not aware she’s your girl, Tursgud,” he said.
“I’m not!” Lotte put in. But Tursgud continued to ignore her, his eyes blazing at Hal.
“Why don’t you just stay away from where you’re not wanted and play with your silly little boat with its silly little sail,” he said.
He shoved Hal again, sending him back a pace or two.
“Or go back to that greasy slop house where your mother tries to poison her customers.”
That was too much. Hal’s temper boiled over at the insult to his mother and he reacted without thinking. He thrust forward and shoved both hands into Tursgud’s chest, sending the bigger boy stumbling and falling in the soft sand. One of his companions reached down to help him but he slapped the proffered hand away angrily as he leapt to his feet.